whisk away your heartsighblake langermann my violent god turns me into his sacrificial lamb, he carves his divine word onto my flesh; I am his Madonna whore basics the basics full nameblake langermann age30occupationcolumnistspecieshumanpronounshe/hisusergroupterminusfandomoutlast 2 the powers he doesn't have any supernatural powers, but he is really athletic and somehow managed to survive being thrown all over the place, running into barbed wire, and being hung on a cross. the canon SPOILERS for all of outlast 2, he will be taken from the end. freestyle TRIGGER WARNINGS religious themes, sexual themes, graphic depictions of bodies, death, blood, gore, body horror. overall, its outlast, so you should be expecting some fucked up shit.and from the sky you fellrebellious angelsin the land of good and evil"jessica?"( ᴏʜ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇғᴜʟ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴇʏᴇs ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ sᴇᴇ )you're not evil, blake.just confused.you're not evil. you've done nothing wrong. you didn't mean for this to happen. can faith save you? will three 'our father's and two 'hail mary's fix this? will god forgive you for the sins of your past? is there still time left for you? there's a stain on your soul; thick and black. it hurts.you can almost feel his hands around your neck. the rope along your skin as it abrades and tightens. you can't breathe. she couldn't breathe when he strangled her, either. no, he didn't strangle her. jessica hung herself. that's right. that's right. you didn't do anything wrong. you're just confused."help me, blake!"( ᴏʜ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇғᴜʟ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴇʏᴇs ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ sᴇᴇ )you don't have to hide.let me help you.it starts in a helicopter, miles above the wilderness of arizona. innocuous and innocent, just you and your wife shooting for a story about a girl that was found strangled to death just outside the forest on a deserted road. heavily pregnant, hair cut like a boy's, a poor 'jane doe' with no identifying features and no family to come claim her. you and your wife are a team of reporters, she is the face, you are the camera. just two rebellious angels taking the stories that no one else wants to cover.its been this way since school, since you were young and crushing on lynn. that's all there is to it, right? you love your wife. you love lynn. your marriage isn't a perfect one, not by a long shot. you feel the gold cross around your neck that weighs you down; it may as well be your noose."we should probably mention the fetus too, how it just..."( ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ's ᴀ ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴜᴘ ᴀʙᴏᴠᴇ )liar and father of lies.you don't know where you've landed, don't know how you're alive even. your journey here doesn't even start in the town but in your own head; you travel through the school you knew growing up. lockers move on their own--a shadow follows you, creeps down the hallway. you can feel its icy fingers on your skin and you can hear her screaming in your ears. screaming for you to help her, help her, help me, blake.the world seems to have stopped in this barren wasteland of a town. crude cottages that mimic the bustle of a life outside this secluded stretch of village. it reeks of rot and decay, of blood soaked dirt and mud and stagnant pools of water. the flies are so loud in your ears when you finally see anyone at all and they're dead, left with a suicide note. (you read her suicide note, it didn't sound the same; it was disingenuous.) but there are people here, you can see them slinking into the shrubbery. you ask for help, they only recite bible verses and cryptic phrases. there are decapitated birds nailed to every doorway, blood streaking down the wood.everywhere you go it feels like death has descended upon this town. innards under tarps, bodies strewn about. you'd be thrilled to capture such a story were you not terrified of what this might mean for lynn. ever unafraid of your own well-being, but you've always been that way, haven't you? lynn was always most important, lynn always got her way, lynn always took what she wanted from you and left you dry and basking in the warmth of her love. it wouldn't have worked with jessica. no, no, you couldn't have worked with anyone but lynn.and screaming, so much screaming. crosses set up in the mockery of prayer. children's toys and effigies. you can feel eyes on you, all around you. everywhere you go in this town, a thumping deep in your veins like drum beats. a sacrificial chamber like the birth of christ all stained in blood and a pit of bodies. so many bodies.you're already wearing thin."satanas, inimical dei...satan something god."( ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ's ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ )murder the enemy made withingod's creation stained in sin( ᴏʜ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇғᴜʟ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴇʏᴇs ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ sᴇᴇ )I AM NOT DOCILE and i will not roll overand accept my fate without bloodi will fight until i can fight no more"lynn!"( ᴏʜ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇғᴜʟ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴇᴀʀs ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴇᴀʀ )a blade's baptismfor the spider-eyed lamb.and she, amongst all, is terrifying. tall and shrouded, an aborted bride, lays the keeper of the town. she is shadow and talks in verse. in her hands a pickaxe, undoubtedly covered in the blood of all those slain, and wrapped around it a cross. you don't know what's going on in this town and all you want is to find lynn, to find your wife. you can't let her go, you can't see that on your conscious already wracked with guilt fifteen years old. all around you find the gospel of sullivan knoth, the modern day ezekiel, and wonder just what you've landed in. they await the enemy within, the child born to be the antichrist, that will destroy their haven--their temple gate. and he's seen murder and rape and torture, all in the name of his illustrious god, and they follow him like lambs to the slaughter. amidst it all you stand, the spider-eyed lamb, the seed-bearer, the father. you don't know what they mean, you're not a father, you have no children. all you want is your wife, to know where they've taken her, to get her back from them and go home safely. they say god wants you dead, they want the 'enemy' festering in your wife's womb. but she's not pregnant and you haven't been with her that way for months now. she can't be pregnant, she can't be holding the antichrist in her own womb, none of this is happening. all of this is crazy.you feel crazy as your reality slips between this one and the visions of your life at school. repressed memories you've tried not to bring up, but being here, they crawl up your spine and settle into your brain like parasites. like the disease that festers through these people, quarantined and sick--vomiting and itching. these memories try to piece themselves together like a puzzle, or a song that you've forgotten. but nothing makes sense. none of this makes any sense.and when you finally find lynn, someone takes her away again. tall and light, a vision to rival the one that the woman with the axe poses. she--they--find you and lynn as you lead her from the church of sullivan knoth, as lynn groans in pain and clutches her stomach. creatures, because they can no longer be called human, with crowns of sticks and thorns, faces wiped of features in the dark, clamor over you and take lynn away. they touch your skin in reverence, lick at the sweat that's lined your brow, and this one, this one named val, hovers over you, settles atop your hips and leans in. val smells like something faraway and surreal and it makes your stomach turn over."your god doesn't love you, not like i do."( ᴏʜ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇғᴜʟ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴇᴀʀs ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴇᴀʀ )ah yeswe have mother.they called lynn mother. someone called them heretics. two sides, christians and something else. what's that bright light that burns your eyes, that rips through your body and sets you on fire? why do you keep coming back to the school, back to when you were a boy? why this? why any of this? can they let you help jessica? can you still save her? no, that was fifteen years ago, you can't help jessica now. you can't fix the damage done, you can't help her. but you can help lynn. you can save your wife from the clutches of two radical groups. you have to go to the mines. that's where they are, in the mines. how do you know they're in the mines? you're not sure.i'm sorry i have to do this. you should have loved me. you should have helped me. jesus forgive me, i don't know what to do. i'm so so sorry.why do you keep coming back? the fourth grade all over again. why do you keep reliving it, why do you keep seeing her? there's no time for this when you're trying so hard to find your wife, to save her from cultists and heretics. to save her from whatever fate that's undoubtedly worse than death they have planned for her. every time you wake from your walking nightmare you're back in that town, back somewhere under crumbling rocks or loose boards, squeezing through tight gaps, and crawling under fences. you leave your memories behind and land right in the midst of another nightmare."help, he's coming!"( ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ's ᴀ ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴜᴘ ᴀʙᴏᴠᴇ )responsibility, perseverance, kindnesstolerance, self-esteem, self-discipline.there's so much sickness here and the notes you find tell you its worse than just your everyday plague. you're seeing signs of something otherworldly and you don't know how to handle it. birds, hundreds, falling at your feet. a swarm of locusts--you can still taste them, its the only "food" you've had in hours, maybe days at this rate. a sickness that spreads like wildfire, leaving welts and pus-filled wounds, driving people to insanity; a smaller man perched atop a larger fires flaming arrows into the hearts of heretics. you're almost saved, once, by a man named ethan. a shining beacon in a mouse-hole of shit. he's the father of the girl, found on the side of the road, strangled in cold blood. you don't have the heart to tell him. when the tall woman with the axe comes calling for him, reciting her scripture, telling him how he's sinned and sinned and sinned. lying is a sin. you remember, blake. thou shalt not lie. and you lied to him. said his daughter was fine. how can you live with yourself? she rips him to shreds while you sit on and watch. you should have done something. you could have done something. you could have saved him. you could have saved her.you're seeing things, hearing things. you swear you can hear jessica's voice on the wind past heretic temples and effigies of meat. a chapel spewing its gospel in the distance. final acts of desperation and letters about turning from the eyes of god. sullivan knoth, a so-called prophet, feels its his job to stop the coming of armageddon, brought on by the child your wife supposedly holds in her womb. knoth, who would have every child killed, every pregnant woman destroyed. he who planted those seeds himself would kill his own children just to save this sanctuary of his. and the heretics, those that want to see lynn bear this unholy spawn of hers, to bring about the end of the world as they know it. they want her to bear a new god for them to worship, feel that they'll be spared in their lack of faith in knoth's religion and in the power of their own. in the power of the baby that festers inside your wife. your journey seems never-ending and the hatred of those that follow knoth cling to you like a second skin. their name calling doesn't hurt as much as their weapons do, their fists and claws, their scythes and knives. nothing hurts like marta's axe as it catches your skin and she berates you for living through it all. she says god wants you dead, she says that you, the spider-eyed lamb, will meet your slaughter. you are run ragged trying to escape these lunatics that hunt you at every turn. like meerkats the swarm, a single lookout watching and waiting patiently until they spot your head of dark hair, and he warns. he chatters into the chill of the night air that the hawk has entered their lair. rather than run from you, they run to you. you wonder if a whole group of meerkats--a mob, they're called a mob--could do to the hawk what these men do to you. there's little reprieve and your body grows tired. no time for rest.you can hear jessica singing in the stillness of the night from the mouth of the well. a tongue surges forward, drags you down into its spiked hell and you're at school again. you're chasing after jessica's ghost, through the halls of a place you once thought safe. and there the father's laugh echoes."god don't hear dead men."( ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ's ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ )my god is no god at allbut he is true.inside the church is a man, tied to a wheel. he begs for death. he says that they'll use his wife against him, get him to tell them all he knows. you're many things, but a killer you are not. your chest aches at the thought because you want to help him but you don't know how. so, like a coward, you hide in a confessional and leave this man to his fate. its the first glimpse you get of sullivan knoth as he lords himself above his fallen disciples and tortures the woman to get what he wants. you've seen her before. you could have saved her. (you can't even save yourself.) he doesn't let either of them live as he's stabbed straight through and she's stretched out on the rack--you didn't even know anyone made such a medieval torture device anymore--until her bones snap.they say lynn will bear her unholy spawn before dawn. how can that be? when you saw her last she wasn't pregnant, when you saw her last she was clutching her stomach, but there was no swell there. its impossible. it takes nine months to bear a child. the mines. where the fuck are the mines? a single-minded focus; find the mines, find lynn. just get through the town, get to the mines. your transitions from reality to the past seem smoother now. they're going in reverse. going back in time. maybe you can save her. maybe there's still time. but you're not in the past, its not real. wake up, wake up. blake, wake up. "a feeling in my teeth like the sound of scissors."( ᴏʜ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇғᴜʟ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴇᴀʀs ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴇᴀʀ )so wear your s c a r s proudlywhatever tried to kill you failed"we're not alone here."( ᴏʜ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇғᴜʟ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʜᴀɴᴅs ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ )you should haveloved me.a creature follows you. hands wrap around an emaciated body, a face always shrouded, but through the night vision of your camera you see hollow eyes on a sunken face. like a shadow it curls around you in your memories, raises its hands when it sees you, and always gives chase. the walls and floor pulsate with a corruption, lines that look like veins crack across the ground when its near. a tongue that stretches out, drips with blood and saliva. you can feel it tick over your skin, dragging its sickening warmth to your throat where it circles and circles and circles. when it dips is when you kick. sometimes the shadow sings. you travel through the forest, through the town of the scalled, to get to the mines. nick and laird, a combination of dwarf and giant, pierce the hearts of the heretics. followers of knoth, but they share different ideals. its with them that you're revered as some kind of god in your own right. they believe you to be something holy and the rest of the scalled put their hands all over you, knife-tipped fingers catching your clothes and your skin, drawing welts in their wake. they call you the 'scalled christ' and believe you'll heal their sickness in your rebirth. he says he has to be sure and as you struggle, laird slices his hand open and feeds you his blood. the copper tang hits your tongue, drips on your cheeks and lips as his partner keeps your mouth pried open.he asks you where your gospel is as they tie you onto a crudely made cross. its the first time you've truly felt abject terror since being here. it feels like an impossible situation and you're going up on that cross. there's no doubt about it. they mean to crucify you and bury you, they think you'll heal them of their physical sins. you try to plead your case, you beg them not to do it, but delusions are such a powerful thing. weak and tired you can't fight them as they slam you down and drive the nails into your palms. pain like you've never felt screams through you, makes your vision fuzzy, makes your stomach burn with the need to be sick. it takes three slams of the hammer to get each nail in, to drive you closer and closer to absolute breakdown. just like the son of god, you are hoisted up and up and up to face judgment for your sins. some part of you seems to think you deserve this and you're sobbing as they leave you there. with pain fluttering through every ounce of your body, you finally give in to that blackness that's wanted to take you since you first set foot in temple gate."he is unmarked. he is pure."( ᴏʜ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇғᴜʟ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʜᴀɴᴅs ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ )he will come born on locust's wingsimmaculate as a newborn.your escape and subsequent burial are short-lived endeavors. you're still not sure how you dig your way out from under six feet of dirt, but once you do, its off to the mines again. your palms are blazing, blood-loss makes you weak, pain makes you exhausted, but adrenaline is a powerful tool. watching your tormentors die is a small reprieve. you need to find a raft, a boat, something to take you over a lake you are sure is rife with disease. on the other side of a little house on the hill you catch a break, take the raft that surely belonged to someone else, and try to find your way across. you never feared drowning before, but you swear you can see that creature in the water, and the father's voice rings in your head. you're not evil, blake. just confused. you're not confused. no, you know what you're doing. you know where you're going. lynn, you need to find lynn. across the lake is the entrance to the mines and you're one step closer; you can almost feel lynn's presence the closer you get. the journey down the river seems calm enough, but the raft is rickety and its falling apart. just a little more. help me blake. you enter your memories again and this time they're worse than the last. fountains of blood, rivers of blood, nothing but blood and hundreds of images of jessica hanging from the ceiling.when you come back to reality the world is bathed in red. rain...no, not rain. blood. its raining blood, coating everything around you, and it sticks to your skin and hair, drenches your clothes and stains them. in and out, its happening more than before. you take two steps forward, towards lynn, and three steps back in your memories. father loutermilch, you remember him. a man with an easy voice and scars upon his face, a devout catholic; a child molester. you couldn't have known, how could you have known? she begged you to stay. she pleaded, with tears in her eyes. but you left her. you turned and left and its your fault she's dead. its all your fault. you find her when she screams, when she runs from him, and when he catches her. fingerprints around her throat, blood from her nose, her golden cross lays stagnant on her chest. its your fault, you should have stayed. you should have helped her. you should have known something was wrong. how could you call yourself her friend? you're not confused anymore. you know exactly what you've done.in the mines you finally find what you've been looking for. you find the heretics, crawling on all fours, crowned in thorns and sticks, but you also find lynn. what you do not find is salvation. you don't know how lynn made it as far as she has when you see just how pregnant she is. you don't know how its happened, you don't know how its possible. there's no way. there's no way. and outside of those crumbling mines, the heretics long behind you, its like the end of the world. lightning tears across the sky, the wind blows desert dust, sharp and grating. the sky flashes and lighting strikes, sets the world on fire. what's happening? how is any of this happening? it can't be happening. lynn needs to give birth. its the only driving factor you have as you lead her through the desolate landscape, try to find somewhere she can lay down. the last thing you need is marta, knoth's dark angel, but she finds you. she always finds you. but justice, it seems, finds you. finally. you won't say you regret seeing the woman's death, because a small part of you feels vindicated as she is impaled on a cross herself. you hope that she finds her own salvation, for you know just what knoth did to her. its not her fault, but you can't come to care for too long. your whole world is lynn. nothing but lynn. and the baby she's about to have. your baby. is it your baby? it has to be your baby. why is it your baby? while the thunder rolls outside and the storm wages war, you hold your wife's hand as she struggles through birth without drugs. this isn't how you wanted your first child to come into this world. this isn't how you wanted any of this. but your baby girl, god she is beautiful. "there's nothing there..."( ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ's ᴀ ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴜᴘ ᴀʙᴏᴠᴇ )by the blood of the lambthe spider-eyed lamb shall fall forever.you scream for lynn but she doesn't hear you. as your baby cries in your arms, swaddled by whatever you can find to wrap her with, the life leaves lynn's eyes. she heaves a final breath and for the second time in your life you couldn't save someone you loved. wracked with guilt and swimming with tears, you collapse with your baby in your arms. fearing nothing anymore, your exhaustion takes you hold and you pass out. lynn's hand lays near your face and you take solace in the last bit of warmth she has left. when you wake again you finally meet knoth, face to face. were you a stronger man, if you had it in you, he would have been dead before he could take his own life. he tells you to kill the child, tells you how you've murdered paradise. your voice is stuck in your throat, otherwise you would have told him that he created no paradise, only a personal hell. he's twisted, he's killed his children, believes that's made his faith perfect. if there is a god out there, you hope he has no room for knoth in his heart.you don't even bat an eyelash as he slits his own throat and sits there gurgling on his own blood. your heart gone cold, the most important thing is your baby. the small thing cradled in your arms. you need to go home, you need to get out of here. stumbling to your feet, you leave the church, walk through what seems to be the valley of death. bodies, everywhere, either struck down or choking on poison. you don't care anymore. the whole world seems to be caving in when you finally see daylight for the first time. the sun burns bright enough to blind. and when the sun explodes, well, you're not even surprised anymore. back inside the school you walk familiar hallways, like you've always known where you were meant to go. past lockers and motivational posters, through the cafeteria and into the kitchen. the back room, jessica's favorite place to meet in secret, because no one ever checked, because the lunch ladies gave her refuge. jessica grabs your hand and this time you know its a fever dream; she feels alive, you feel small, you feel young again. as if the last fifteen years never happened, jessica smiles and gets to her knees, rapt in prayer. you follow because what are you if not a pushover. "i'll never let you go. you never let me go."( ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ's ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ )now the light is gone awaysavior listen while i pray.you can't ask for redemption because you don't deserve it. you couldn't save jessica. you couldn't save lynn. you couldn't save your newborn baby. how useless is a man that can't save the things most important to him. people will say you tried your best, that you did all you could, that god will forgive you. you don't know if he's as merciless as he sounds.what god would allow this all to happen in the first place? no god that you want to worship. if there is a god out there, he's done nothing for you. the many dead, the many suffering, all for one man's image of a perfect world. all for a cultist group's image of destruction. all for a small group's idea that god would walk amongst them again, would grant them favor, would heal their sickness.there is no god."amen."( ᴏʜ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇғᴜʟ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʜᴀɴᴅs ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ) shipper summary blake is a formerly somewhat religious man that's had all his religious ideals crushed when he landed in the center of a battle between cultists in rural arizona. checking out a case of a pregnant woman found strangled on the side of a deserted highway, blake and his wife lynn wound up crashing their helicopter after a bright light from the middle of nowhere cut their engines. lynn was taken as the 'mother' to the new antichrist that the inhabitants of temple gate--a religious cult that believed the antichrist would be born of any children bared, so they were known for murdering women and children, lead by a man named sullivan knoth who fancied himself the 'modern day ezekiel'. he fought through the town to find his wife not once, but twice, though the second time he fought through the cult's rivals, the heretics. they believed that the antichrist would be a rebirth for them, that knoth was wrong, and wanted to see the child bring about a new world order. long story short, blake has been through a lot of shit, including molestation and abuse as well as the fact he kept slipping between the reality he was facing and his memories. he feels insane guilt over the murder of his friend jessica that he found out about but never said anything about; he helped set up her suicide in accordance with a priest of the school he went to. while things he didn't know about this event were revealed, he wound up worse for wear switching between that and the horror of facing heretics and 'the scalled' (the outcasts from temple gate, sick with syphilis and other stds). from being hunted by the temple gate residents for being the father of lynn's unholy child, revered as a deity akin to jesus and nailed to a cross, to being buried alive so he could be 'reborn' and rain down justice, to eventually facing what seemed to be a real apocalypse before the birth of his daughter, blake is sufficiently unstable and a bit rattled. he's a columnist here, living in terminus, while also attending therapy cause boy needs it. overall he can be sarcastic and witty, he's also an incredibly good person if not a bit naive in his beliefs from time to time. he's been sufficiently soured by what's happened to him, but he hasn't stopped being a good man. right now he more or less just hates himself for not being able to save jessica or lynn at this point. platonic he is actually very friendly, but he's a little bit skittish right now. he suffered a lot in his journey to find his wife in a village of cultists and heretics and he was drifting back and forth between reality and his memories. that being said, coming here was kind of a shock to him and he had some trouble fitting in. so he's a bit unstable, might be jumpy if you move too quickly, and he's really negative about certain things--namely children and religion and love--but he's not unfriendly. i think any of his friends might have to be non-threatening and a little softer, or at least be able to be a bit softer once they realize he's kind of haunted. either way, honestly throw ideas at me, anything is good! antagonistic these days he kind of wants to stay out of any antagonistic endeavors. he doesn't intentionally make waves, even though he is kind of dark and sarcastic, and a little bit unstable still and could probably say the wrong thing to the wrong person. he's definitely more prone to backing down, even running, from physical altercations. he might be an easy target for some, because he really just wants to save his own skin these days. i think mostly he'll try and steer very clear from any bullshit. feel free to try and use him for any nefarious purposes. he is kind of easy to manipulate, especially if he feels strongly about something. i'm sure someone could find a use for him. romantic blake (or as i like to call him 'miles' new boyfriend') was married before, which really means nothing to me in the long run, and he watched his wife die anyway. he went to a catholic school, so any attraction he had to other boys would definitely have best been kept under wraps. he's not really willing to try again, just yet, but since i love pain and suffering, he's going to definitely be dating outlast protag #1, miles. otherwise i welcome any kind of flirtations, but he's awkward as hell and generally still in mourning over his wife + his friend jessica...even though its been at least fifteen years since that last one happened. regardless, AU stuff is always welcome, i love it, so bring it on! player the player aliaslauztimezoneestpronounsshe/hermature contentyes notes i'm good with whatever, so throw it at me, no real triggers. of course i'll only do smut with of age partners, that goes without saying.