#the outlast trials
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BOOM
i like that he gets knocked over
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It's not Angelina Barbi, but... Хd
#outlast#outlast trials#the outlast trials#doodle#sketch#outlast franco#franco barbi#il bambino#outlast coyle#leland coyle#officer coyle
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He's like a pathetic wet cat (I want him carnally)
#fanart#digital art#digital drawing#artist#outlast#outlast fanart#the outlast trials#hendrick joliet easterman#dr easterman#outlast trials
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Pony Coyle :)
Bald ass
#my art#outlast trials#the outlast trials#the outlast trials fanart#digital drawing#digital art#fanart#drawing#leland coyle#leland coyle fanart#red barrels#my little pony
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Could you possibly draw Coyle with a female s/o in a soft context ? maybe one is fixing the others wounds or holding face in hands or wtvr u have in mind !!
KEEP THOSE OUTLAST REQUEST GOING 🗣️🗣️🗣️
#outlast#outlast trials#the outlast trials#coyle#leland coyle fanart#leland coyle#sergeant coyle#officer coyle#request#sketch#he looks like a golden retriever....
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gonna post this coyle sketch real quick and repost everything from my tiktok tomorrow because i'm about to fall asleep
also have some random things
byee
#outlast#the outlast trials#outlast fanart#outlast fandom#red barrels#leland coyle#fanart#artwork#art#digital art#sketch
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Had a friend send this to me and I’m not really sure how I feel about it 😭
#outlast#outlast trials#horror games#the outlast trials#franco barbi#gif#discord friends#weird stuff#sillyposting
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The idea came to me in my sleep
#the outlast trials#outlast#franco barbi#il bambino#mother gooseberry#phylis futterman#leland coyle#fanart#queen never cry
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This is spectacular!!
sharing the mirror💋
Based on painting by Ernest Chiriacka
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I think his chest should have been bigger, but I couldn't realize it..
#doodle#outlast#outlast trials#the outlast trials#franco barbi#outlast franco#il bambino#outlast fanart#sketch
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Coylegg
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I love the way you write 👉🏻👈🏻 May I request some more Franco from you? Perhaps with a reader who is fascinated by him and follows him around only to panic when he spots her! (Totally not based on my behaviour ingame) Thank you! 🩷
Yes ofc 🫶 Sorry for the late reply. I’d kept making drafts for this ask and every-time I thought I was finished my brain was all like, ‘… yeah, that’s great. But what if we re-wrote it again? 🥴’
Anywho, hope you enjoy :P
.*✩Franco il Bambino Barbi/Reader ✩*.
Surviving in the Sinyala facility was no small feat, some took to their new living conditions more easily than others— like fish to water. You were not among those lucky few. If you were to continue the trend of using comparisons, you’d suppose you’re more akin to that of a sad little sardine. Flopping about awkwardly on the docks, waiting for somebody to grant you pity and mercifully nudge you back into the water.
Whereas others would brazenly leap into the fray, stun-rig ready at hand; you would creep around the perimeter of the trial-grounds. Scavenging and scouting, giving call-outs when able to. Never had you been a confrontational person, and if your teammates wanted to take a more combative stance, who were you to get in the way of that? You’d still support them, of course. Safely. From a distance.
It was during another such occasion, when you’d been helping chuck hearts at the Futterman targets. It wasn’t morbid once you got used to it, and as long as you didn’t think too long about the squishy organ in your hand— well. It was almost enough to not question where the hell a seemingly infinite amount of vital organs were coming from. Almost.
Creeping through the gloom of the faux diner to re-arm yourself with more hearts, you quickly scrambled under one of the booths with bated breath as the diner’s bell jingles cheerfully. Something, or someone, has followed you inside.
Through infrared goggles, you watch, transfixed, as the newest prime-asset, ex-mafiaso, Franco Barbi, stalks forward.
It was silly to admit even in the sanctity of your own mind, but you’ve always been a fan of those detective novellas. More specifically, their frightfully charismatic antagonists. You swore up and down, it was sheer happenstance that Franco unknowingly managed to check all of your boxes— and not the man himself.
You don’t think he can see you, at least you’d hoped so. The man’s eyesight is poor, and even poorer in the dark. You’ve used this against him more times than you could possibly count— and it was admittedly a little funny to watch the mobster huff and pout with you just a mere few feet away. One could even say he was almost… endearing like that.
Despite walking mostly blind, Franco moves with the confidence of someone who owns the joint— or more likely someone who knows nobody else could possibly lay a finger on him. That speculation is only exacerbated by the sight of his pinstripe suit. Neatly pressed— or as neat as one’s clothes can be in here. The desired look is heavily crippled by the generous smattering of ruddy spills staining the once pristine fabric. His shotgun, Lupara, hangs loosely from his hand like an afterthought. The way he carries it utterly flippant. As if it’s presence isn’t a herald of death, and just… is. Like a an extension of himself, a limb. There was no Franco ‘il Bambino’ Barbi without Lupara.
The man’s eyes seem to glow through the lens of your goggles, pupils reflective and giving a ghostly-look as he surveys the area. Lopsided grin growing, crooked teeth bared as he takes in the overturned chairs.
“ ‘S a real cozy joint,” he muttered, his voice a pleasant rasp. His tone was casual, but there was an edge hiding beneath it, a simmering promise of violence. “Real nice place for a late-night chat, don’t’cha think, Sweetness?”
His wing-tipped shoes crunched on broken glass as he sauntered further in, his gaze sweeping across the room. His grin widened, baring crooked teeth in a lopsided sneer. “You’s cozy in here, Sweets?” he called, his voice deceptively teasing, almost familiar.
You fought the pounding in your chest, the desperate thrum of adrenaline urging you to run, move, do something. The only thing stopping you was a heavy dose of self-preservation. Realistically, he’d hear you before you could take two steps, and you’d end up a gorey, painted smear on the business-end of Lupara. Not only that, but another part of you was morbidly fascinated.
So, like any other sane person in your shoes, you lay still. Crouched low to tiled floor, and watched.
Franco paused near the counter, his engorged head tilting again as though he were listening. His breath rasped in the silence, heavy and uneven. Then he chuckled, a low, guttural sound that made your stomach churn with unease. He reached out, dragging Lupara’s sawed barrel along a nearby table, the sharp scrape setting your teeth on edge. A wordless threat meant to rattle you, and holy-hell does it get the job done.
“You’re not playin’ fair, doll,” he drawls, voice taking on a mockingly hurt tone. Nasally in pitch, wobbly, as if he’s about to cry. “I thought we’s had somethin’ special.”
Abruptly, he fired without warning.
The booth beside you splinters in a deafening blast, plates clattering and metal screeching. The reverberation rings around in your skull, causing you to jolt in surprise— for a moment believing you’d been shot. In your panic, your cranium thuds against the underside of the table. Pain throbs through your skull, causing you to whip your hands clasped over your mouth, stifling the reflexive cry that threatened to escape. Above, the countertop rattles with your movement, betraying your presence.
Franco stills.
For a horrifying moment, you thought he’d heard you. Through the lens of the goggles, you watch him crouch low, one hand reaching out to grope blindly under the ruined booth. His fingers curled, grasping at empty air.
“C���mere mommy,” he mutters darkly. But when his hand fails to find you, he sorely swears under his breath. He then rises back up onto his feet, kicking at the splintered wood like a frustrated child denied dessert.
“Fuckin’ slut, givin’ me the slip.” he roars, spittle dribbling down his lip. The man’s stocky shoulders quake, panting heavily in enraged exertion. For a moment, you think he’s about to double down, rip apart every booth in a mad-rage until he found you. However, in the next moment, he’s taking a deep, stuttering breath. Already back to his smarmy collected calm in the next exhale.
With a disgruntled sigh, he straightens himself out. Wiping his mouth, gloved hand then reaching to fuss with what little hair he has left. When he’s ensured it was coiffed presentably back into place, he slung Lupara over his shoulder, meandering back the way he came.
As the bell jingled again, signaling his exit, your shoulders sagged in relief. The once palpable tension in the air melts, leaving you a trembling, boneless puddle. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Somehow, you’d slipped by him again. But you knew this definitely wouldn’t be the last.
#the outlast trials#outlast#outlast trials#franco il bambino barbi#franco barbi#franco barbi x reader#fanfic
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me if the next prime asset (or any new enemy rlly) isn't a woman
#outlast#outlast trials#the outlast trials#please redbarrels there is a severe lack of women enemies#i wish the pitcher had a female varient
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AHHHH, HELLO, HIII. I stumbled upon u by accident, but I already really like ur drawings! <3 Can I ask u to draw Coyle who is sad after the end of the trial when the player leaves? I'M ALWAYS SO DAMMMN SAD TO LEAVE A TRIALS AND I'D LIKE TO BELIEVE HE'S SAD TOO! ><
Hes left there looking like a wet dog
#leland coyle#Coyle#officer coyle#sergeant coyle#outlast trials#outlast#the outlast trials#fanart#my art#request
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[another repost from my tiktok]
the evil baby-man!!
#outlast#franco barbi#the outlast trials#outlast fanart#outlast fandom#red barrels#artwork#chibi#art
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WHY DOES IT GO FROM NORMAL TO UNHINGED TO BACK TO NORMAL?? LMAO
Outlast Trials Characters and what I would feed them
Leland Coyle
Mother Gooseberry
Dr. Futterman
Franco Barbi
Danny the Big Grunt
Dr. Easterman
The Pitcher
The Pusher
Night Hunter
Clyde Perry
Amelia Collier
YOUR Reagent
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