intermittently working on this in between forcing myself to draw bc itâs been super funnnnn . figured iâd ask here if thereâs a preferred prime youâd like to see . both will be written eventually . working on an easterman one tonight :)
easterman increasingly self-harming to focus his thoughts in the new documents . a great display of the very cathartic control and clarity that comes with being your own abuser
omg me and my friend love ur easterman writing đ€€đ€€ do u think easterman wld enjoy bathing someone ?? both as a power play and a way to feed into his whole father thing he has going on. i want him bad
i do, very much so!! i think it could go one of two ways, though:
1) as a paternal thing, like you mentioned. definitely plays into the whole bdsm thing, or simply aftercare. itâs very vulnerable to bath with or around someone, to be naked intimately but not necessarily sexually. in this context, easterman would view it as him taking care of his things, yâknow? he wants his little one to feel loved and valuedâbathing would be him stepping into that father role and taking care of you. itâs sacred, in a way. itâs him saying âiâm your daddy, youâll let me do this for youâas a father should.â
2) the second way i could see him enjoying it is similar to a little girl taking care of her favorite doll. i think itâd be very cathartic and calming for him to put energy into making something neat and pretty. brushing your hair, washing dirt from skin, dressing youâall things a child would do to their plastic best friend. if the receiver was a girl, it could also play into his gender dysphoria / worshipping the female form. this one would be inherently nonsexual imo. itâs more about respect, tranquility, and oneness. likeâŠtaking care of a sick lover or nursing a baby. a very innocent kind of trust.
iâm too lazy to post the fics here as of now, but my beautiful oomf and i are doing kink roulette with outlast characters for a fic trade and will be posting them as we go !! you can read my trager ones now, and i should have my first prime asset one up soon !!! yay !!!!
Hiii i love you writing idk how to word it im English (it would better if you think about a strong foreign accent while you read this) but I very much like the psychological tunneling you do.
I wonder about pre divorce Easterman and his Irene or whatever poor creature he would be planning on marrying and who would say yes to him. In the hours before the proposal how Easterman is. Just internally psyching himself up or waiting for the moment. Would he be having more of a thousand yard stare than usual. Or actually maintaining his usual calculated and calm demeanour(?). Or he could just be assuming any substances he finds. Idk he could be probably pre-Murkoff (?) Easterman (SO CUTE. )
HI I have been thinking about this ask for so, so long, not only because I love love love it, but also because I wanted to answer it the best I could.
I think that Easterman definitely has a romantic streak, so the proposal would be hush hush, but very sincere. Maybe over a nice dinner, or in the safety of a bedroom. We know he loves to monologue, so expect a mentally prepared speech about his devotions and intentions. I can see him triple-checking that the ring is in his pocket, that everything is in place before the proposal to avoid any missteps.
We know so little about Irene and their marriage that it's kinda hard to say anything definitively, but given the time period, I think it's safe to assume they got married young, and he might've proposed out of a feeling of responsibility or security. His mother's shadow follows him constantly, and the kind of mommy issues he has definitely drive that need to care for something. We've seen this in how he treats the reagentsâhe longs to be needed, to be important, as a way of compensating how he was treated.
I wrote on my other blog about my headcanons for his pre-Irene experiences, and in it, talked briefly about how I think the Easterman of then and the one we know now would be very different. I very much headcanon that he was less boisterous and theatrical as he is now, and I think it's very possible that the further he got from his mother, the more he felt inclined to be himself. I kind of hate this conception that he's calculating or suave, because he's extremely emotionally driven despite his intellect. To me, he is constantly trying to conceal his inner chaotic self with a projected confidence. Tying this back to the setting of a proposal, he would present the ring with certainty and intimate enthusiasm, but the shake of his hands and forced perfect posture would be little gateways into the nervous wreck he'd be on the inside. Desperate to be good enough for someoneâas a husband, a lover, and a caretaker.
Dr Obscura what do you think will happen with Easterman upon discovering Ameliaâs escape
yes hello dr obscura reporting for duty
i was just talking to oomf about this earlier today !! obviously i love easterman very much, but from a logical, in-universe standpoint, he is a messy hoe LMAO . he shouldâve been shot down sooo long ago, and iâm certain that murkoff only lets him live because they either need a scapegoat or they donât have anyone to take his place.
i have a theory that avellanos/someone inside (re: project judas) are now aiding amelia to help lead easterman in some sort of trapâeither to ensnare him or flat out kill him. thereâs no way she wouldâve had the strength to break free on her own after being in a coma for so long.
i also think thereâs a very real possibility he could be driven to suicide, as a mirror to stanley, but this is less likely.
easterman was like, kinda getting his shit together as of recent . in terms of not abusing drugs or shitting himself lol. the loss of amelia and having that paranoia return is just gonna make him spiral again. murkoff definitely does Not want another breach, so i feel like theyâre gonna try to silence him in some way before it can get out of their hands.
going meta, heâs such a fan favorite that i donât think red barrels will get rid of him too soon. which is why i am the president of the prime asset easterman fan club. but, they also have no problem killing off people, so never say never.
Priest!Easterman AU. Father Easterman has filled a vacancy in the clergy, and despite your distrust, he's convinced he can sway you to his side.
pairing: easterman x reader (afab, gn pronouns)
wc: 2.3k
warnings: priest kink, canon typical violence, abuse/harm, temperature play, injury, blood and blood drinking, oral sex, masturbation, penetration
notes: big preesh to @westerlandgotnuked for requesting this au . it's something that i had been meaning to write but never brought to fruition. anyways, i literally thought of the plot of this at like, 5am and then wrote it all out as soon as i could lol.
link: ao3
When Father Matthews retired last winter due to his failing health, the congregation waited with bated breath to see who would lead their convent. The replacement first showed his face a day before the winter solstice, all smiles and honeyed words. Everyone had welcomed Father Easterman with open hearts and minds, hearing nothing but praise from his peers out east.Â
Everyone except you.
Your intuition was better than most, stomach tightening with uncertainty the moment he took your hand and shook it. Your brothers and sisters treated him like an apostle from then on, unquestioning the vast changes he made to the church. Though you remained wary, disobeying his wishes would be to go against the very cloth you wore. So, you followed orders, nodded when he spoke, moved at his willâeven when your soul cried for direction and forgiveness from God. The church was soon sculpted to Eastermanâs liking, and it was hard to deny the impact he made. Every week, a few more worshippers filled the pews, till the church was filled every Sunday by the time February rolled by. It was unprecedented, the way in which he stood before the mass and laid down his creed with such conviction that it left no choice but for anyone that listened to believe his word as truth. It was as if he could peer into your very spirit and dissect the woven threads of who you were: your fears, your dreams, your sins. Nothing could remain sheltered from him.
Tried as you did, he knew of your skepticism. The first week of his arrival, he could smell the defiance in your blood, the refusal to bow to the unknown; he made it his mission to change that. You didnât notice at first, the way silver eyes would linger on you during instruction. How that gilded tongue would preach words meant only for you to a nave full of followers. As the weeks went by and the snow softened outside, your guard lowered as you accepted the normalcy of your new routines. Father Easterman had shown no malice or threat to you in the time of his stay, and you had convinced yourself that the gut feeling you felt prior was a blunder, a misjudgement in the wake of change.Â
It was the second week of March when the tides changed.
The lingering stares and increasing excuses to corner you amounted to hands too low on your back, whispers too close to your ear. By the time he had lured you to one of the studies, with the promise of dedicated and personal lecture, you didn't even fight the fingers that slid up your legs. It was so sudden, so erroneous, that your brain failed to comprehend an alternative. To disobey was to defy the will of God, but to succumb was an invitation of sin. The dilemma kept you awake with the moon for the next several evenings, unable to shake the memory of how he filled your body with sensations too divine to call unholy. It rattled you to your core, to the point of doubling down on prayer to scrub away the experiences.Â
So when he summoned you to the sacristy early Wednesday morning, you obeyed. Instead of slipping on the chasuble for mass, Father Easterman had dropped his trousers and burrowed himself in your warmth. The old wooden table rattled as his hips rutted into your hole with harbored pants, blunt nails imprinting on the back of your thighs for purchase to keep your legs spread.
âOh, the clarity that the flesh brings,â Easterman moans, hazy eyes looking over his nose at your mewling form. âHow could I abandon this? This feeling of wholeness, of completionâwhen you're so willing to serve and kneel. My little lamb, so helplessâŠyearning for guidance.â
Father Easterman pulled out before orgasm could shake either of you, a plea in the shape of a moan falling from your mouth. A laugh makes a toothy smile spread on his face, warmed by the complicity of your desire. As he runs a hand down your leg soothingly, palming your ass, he leans forward to peer down at you properly.
âDesperation can lead even the weakest of followers to do even the most difficult of challenges. So eager to find meaning in absolution.â
âFather, the service. We don't have time forâ,â you begin to protest weakly, lifting your head to sit up. His other hand whips out to shove you back down to the table, a loud, disapproving puff exhaling from his nose.Â
âIâm not done.â
Gray eyes seemed to dim to a charcoal as he stared you down, demanding obedience without words. A wave of fear spiked your heartrate, and you obeyed, lying back down. The room went dead silent for a few breaths before you saw the muscles in his face relax, the violent streak in his glare receding back. Father Easterman sighed quietly and pulled his hand from your chest, running it over his mouth in thought. âEven the sweetest of disciples falter occasionally. I wonât hold this against you. Though, perhaps a lesson in contrition would do you well.â
His eyes slip away from you to a candle at the end of the table, reaching to grab the chamberstick with prudence for the tears of wax. He held it up, focused on the flame as it danced on the wick, before he waved a hand through it. The warmth licked his skin in a way that reminded him of his mortality, making his palm sweat from the heat and sting from the threat of danger.Â
âSuch fragile things, aren't we? Most shy away from the unpleasant, when Jesus welcomed pain as a display of love and fortitude,â Eastermanâs words came out gentle and unhurried, as if speaking to a troubled child. He returned his hand to the candle to watch his skin redden till he dropped it away. The same hand went back to you, thumb brushing over the neglected, slicked hole he had abandoned, and you can see a flicker of something akin to fondness spark on his face as he observes your squirmingâcaptivated and deceivingly tender.Â
âAnd what will you do, my child? How will you respond in the face of peril?â
Before you can respond, the receptors between your thighs switch from a pleasant buzz to the wails of hurt. A choked squeal makes you jerk on the table, trying to wiggle away, only to be pressed into place by his hand again. His other, still in possession of the candle, held the flame to your sex, watching it swell and blush from the heat. The smell of burnt hair and warmed flesh tinged the air, only making Father Easterman smile and lean in closer to observe the defilement. Pain racked the lower half of your body, hips jumping on the table to get away with little success.
ââThe righteous cry out, and ï»żthe Lord hears, and delivers them out of all their troubles. The Lord is near ï»żto those who have a broken heart, and saves such as ï»żhave a contrite spiritâ,â he quotes amongst the chimes of your screams, flitting his eyes up to your distressed face. âYou know the book of Psalms well, donât you?â
The flame sweltered against your flesh, making the skin break and begin to blister. A few more seconds and Easterman finally retracted the chamberstick, setting it back down on the table. Pain makes your vision swim, the scent of your own suffering luring bile up your esophagus before you can swallow it back down. You could feel the lingering sting of the burn radiate down to your knees, an ache that made tears stream steadily down the sides of your face.Â
âNo moreâŠPlease, Father, noâ, it hurts,â you mumble out the merciful words as trembling fingers reach out for him, contradicting the way you inched away from him.
Father Easterman catches your hand in his without pause, holding them close and tight as he steps closer. He bows his head to kiss the fingers in place of a spoken apology before he clutches it to his chest. âIâm here, shhh. Feel it through, honey. Surrender to the will of God, and let me lead you. Donât turn away from it, from me.â
His free hand wipes tears from your face with the utmost gentleness, the warmth of his hand like the sun on a summerâs day and not the scorch of the flame from before. Your head leans into the touch with a lame sob, wet lashes clumping together as you close your eyes to try and breathe through the pain. Pulling away, his hand disappears between your bodies, and you whimper at the brush of his knuckles against your injured sex. The slick sounds of him stroking himself mingled with your sniffles, his eyes getting that hazy look in them once more as he observed your features. Easterman didnât bother to contain the moans of pleasure that parted his mouth, lids growing heavy as sought relief from the throes of denial.Â
It didnât take long for him to cum, off-white globs of sacred seed spilling onto his hands and between your legs. Unholy curses are muttered under his breath as he just his hips into his closed palm to chase the high, the sweat from his brow dripping onto your cheek. As his vision centers, Father Easterman leans back to examine the excrement, dragging a finger through the mess. His gaze flits to your ruined face before back down to your soiled folds, proceeding to smear his cum into the flesh like a healing salve. The sperm mixed with your slick and the plasma that leaked from the burns, creating a lustful concoction of fluids. His fingers rub into you, alternating between circles and strokes til your bud perked back up and he was able to coax that patiently awaited climax from you. Easterman ignored your moans as he watched the sticky release weep from your cunt, slow strings of the mess dripping down and onto the table.
âLike the sap of a maple in spring,â He mused softly, slowly squatting to be face-level with your flesh. âWhat sweetness youâve bore for me. And you tried to shove me away, to beg God for salvationâwhen I have offered it to you with no expectations in return.â
Your legs shake on the table as his mouth busies itself with slurping up the tangy concoction, his gluttonous streak showing through. He exhales against you as he catches his breath, slithering away with a gleam of pride. Large hands smooth over the skin of your thighs once more to soothe their tremble. After yanking up his pants to conceal his now flaccid member, he produces a rosary from his pocket, seemingly contemplating something as he turns the beads in his fingers. He only looks back up when you push yourself up, brushing down frazzled strands of hair, your gaze already on him. Instead of helping to dress you, he steps to stand between your dangling legs, an eerie silence blanketing over the two of you as he loses himself in his thoughts.
This wasnât unusual, though most overlooked the contemplative tendencies of the priest. There were moments where you could see him disappear within, scouring the etched walls of his mind for something he couldnât find as his eyes glassed over and was consumed by uncharacteristic reticence. The tension became too much and you opened your mouth to break it, only to be beaten to the punch by him.
âDonât you want me?â
The question makes you scrunch your brow in confusion, head cocking at him. âWhat? Whatâre you talking about?â
âYou look at me like you canât wait to leave. ThisâŠthis uncertainty, this lack of faith, has a way of taking over even the strongest of spirits,â Eastermanâs eyes danced back and forth between yours, searching for total honesty even after youâve already bared yourself to his whims. The sudden shift in confidence left you confused, though it reminded you of that initial feeling of wariness you had felt when meeting him, as if you had had a premonition of the smoke and mirrors that concealed his soft innards.
âFather,â you lift a hand to brush the one holding the rosary. âYou doubt me? Despite my devotion to you and your cause?â
Instead of answering, Father Easterman stands frightening still, eyes boring into you. With a sharp inhale, he turns the rosary in his hand till the crucifix is between clammy fingers. He stabs the end into the palm of his other hand, digging the gold cross into his skin and puncturing it. Blood blossomed out of the shallow stab wound and he tightened his hand into a fist, squeezing the wound to draw out more from it with a curled lip.Â
ââWhoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in themâ.â
The rosary clatters to the hardwood as he moves to cup your face, a wild yet resolute look in stare. Without being told, you knew what he wantedâcomplete and utter surrender. A part of you recoiled at the thought of tasting blood, but the thrill of the delusional act overpowered the hesitation. You slowly opened your mouth and his own mouth twitched as a smirk of approval grew. The hand on you tilted your head back to accept the communion, his injured hand milking blood from the wound and letting it drip down into your mouth.
hiii, i requested the priest dr easterman fic because it came to me like a vision yesterday and i just wanted to let you know that i also requested art of priest easterman from @atlas-o9, so we might also get some priest easterman art and even if they donât draw it, i redolent checking out their account they draw some beautiful outlast fanart (they draw scarfiotti so deliciously)
omg yes ! i love their art !! theyâre extremely talented đââïž theyâre one of my fave easterman artists, along w 3j !!!
i actually drew priest!easterman a long time ago, but i donât particularly like it anymore considering how my style has changed . so this is a wavelength Iâve been on â i grew catholic so i love religious imagery so so much
