... @w4ylast - Tumblr Blog

an indepedent, private, & selective roleplay blog for waylon park from red barrels's outlast: whistleblower. heavily based on my own interpretation of the character. we are playing fast and loose with canon here baby. this blog contains heavily triggering material. this blog is plot only, meaning i won't interact without plotting. written by billy / seth / joe. (24. mexican. he + they)

exclusive with @outshur's portrayal of miles upshur.

#pinned post.#dni.

outshur

continued from here w/ @w4ylast

he knows that waylon's still kind of new here, but as far as miles can tell, he's not stupid.

"you know it doesn't make a difference whether you save them or not, right? they're still going to end up in another trial, and another, and another..." it's probably a waste of time telling him this. surely waylon knows the rules by now.

miles still believes there's a way to escape -- that he can find it, if he can just crack the code to whatever the truth is about this entity. but in the meantime, there's no point in jumping through these hoops, sticking his hands in clunky generators, if it's just going to start over again.

he watches waylon, as if this time, his shrewd gaze will reveal something new. it doesn't. "everyone here needs help. we're in a fucking torture simulation. but hey," he raises his hands in an innocent gesture, all casual, cigarette still balanced awkwardly in his right hand. "if you want to go ahead and speed up your own demise, who am i to stop you?" the basement, though? seriously?

w4ylast

waylon stares, blinks himself back into the conversation. the sort of nervousness that comes from being put on the spot. and that is the thing with waylon that he isn't made for the spot, he is in fact not made for it. he was made to lightly sit behind a desk typing away solving complex problems created by someone else not doing their job right enough. this. this is a whole different beast.

"it hurts." he struggles to get it out. but it gets out. "-whatever they do to you it hurts like as bad as the first time. so. maybe we can get out of here without hurting." he's playing the game, whenever he isn't it's way too quiet for waylon's comfort, static builds in his ears and he starts seeing. seeing things he would rather not. and the sounds of hurt, they make it worse. like it revs up that part in his head that....well that part of his head.

waylon isn't some action hero hunk. that's so clear, so evident. he seems determined then. upset, at miles, at the situation. at miles's reaction most out of everything. "-you could be the lookout. wouldn't hurt either if you. you know, helped too. since everyone needs it." it's not his fault, it definitely isn't his fault that they are both here, staring at a darkness of an unavoidable situation. waiting for the inevitable. he doesn't really wait for miles to respond, he just starts walking down, down, down. chills running up his spine.

#ic.#replies.#outshur.#v. dead by daylight.#i was feeling them so here you goooo

dscully1964-deactivated20250721

It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia S17E01

#musings.#wayland post asylum ........

outshur

he can hear the tightness in waylon's voice, the hurt in it, and it clamps down around whatever's left of miles' heart like a fucking vice. he'd been determined not to look at waylon, but he looks now, watches waylon avoid his gaze. he's concerned, and angry about being concerned. this whole fucking thing has gotten out of control. it was supposed to be simple. "don't beat yourself up, okay?" his mouth is on autopilot, caught somewhere between damage control and making everything worse. "it's not -- you're not annoying. do i need to spell out -- you're helpful, park. we both know it. it's got nothing to do with that. but, i mean honestly, what did you think was going to happen? we were going to take down a multinational corporation and then ride off into the sunset together? put some money down on a house in the suburbs, read the saturday morning paper together? please." some of what he's said doesn't sound that terrible. like a magic spell, like saying it out loud almost makes it sound possible. miles wants it, and he hates that he wants it.

he'd never been much of a people person. every connection he makes could be used against him one day by the right people, something he'd gotten wise about far before murkoff. miles sighs heavily.

"if we're lucky, this ends with you getting out alive and never having to think about me, or any of this shit, ever again. if we're really lucky, maybe i don't end up being dissected in a military prison somewhere. just -- can you try to be reasonable?"

w4ylast

miles talks about things like they are impossible. like both of them being here isn't a sign of impossibility being defied. life isn't like some stupid program, it does not only run what you tell it too. it is infinitely more complicated. but when miles is talking, the way he is talking waylon feels his ears burn. embarrasment digs itself up from deep, deep inside of him. like it's silly and childish to have even consider the possibility. he huffs, he's not looking at miles. ridiculous, isn't it equally absurd to have survived hell on earth?

"no, i really didn't know what i was thinking. huh." it's honestly like a bucket of ice cold water, anger and sadness turning into a burning mixture. "-silly me." it's sarcastic and really out of place for him, but he's angry. at miles for acting this way, at himself for letting himself get tangled up.

"you have it all figured out don't you? made up your mind about it. we've done crazy insane shit, you've done frankly impossible shit-" it's like miles lit him up, presses a finger on his chest. "-and when it's about...about this and us and after suddenly we have to be reasonable. it's never been about luck, we're sure as shit not lucky, miles, it's about what you and me can pull off together. about the fact that i wouldn't let that happen to you. but yeah, okay let's be reasonable." he feels chuckles, like he can't believe him. like maybe waylon got it wrong. he seems to do that often.

#ic.#replies.#outshur.#well !#more of this #my tummy hurts from writing this

outshur

@w4ylast, cont.

routines are dangerous. miles had slipped up somewhere, gotten too comfortable in -- in whatever this is. burnt motel coffee and fighting over radio stations (he doesn't even like music that much anymore -- the walrider in him prefers the sound of static -- but he starts fights just to hear waylon get worked up about his favorite bands) and falling asleep to the even sounds of waylon breathing.

if waylon sounds nervous, miles isn't picking up on it. he feels like he's being held underwater at the idea of after, his mind struggling to re-orient itself. after everyone's gone.

it's a future he hasn't allowed himself to think about. what then, when he has no more acceptable targets to slake the walrider's lust for suffering? (if it is really the swarm's desire, and not, as he secretly fears in a place he'll never admit, his own.) and the swarm is the only thing keeping miles' body alive -- his heart beating, his lungs taking in air. will it decide it doesn't need to exist once murkoff is gone, leaving waylon to wake up one day in bed with a long-rotten corpse? christ, he'd hate that. and forget the walrider, what is miles meant to do? he's legally dead. he's more rage and hate and open wounds than he is human these days. that's not the kind of thing anyone should make a life with. maybe he'd lose control over his body's passenger, now that they don't have a common target anymore. maybe it will be miles waking up to waylon's corpse, instead.

he doesn't look at waylon. fishes around instead in his pockets before remembering he smoked his last cigarette earlier in the day. fuck. in his pockets, his hands clench into fists. bracing himself.

"whatever you want, park," he says, blunt. "shit, go take a nice long vacation. you could use a little sun, you're white as a sheet. i..." you'll what? "got some stuff to take care of." liar. "not like i need your dead weight slowing me down." he says it like it's a joke, kind of. but it's barbed, meant to hurt. it's for the best. rip the damn band-aid off.

w4ylast

the beat of silence feels eternal. and waylon curses himself for even opening his mouth. he'd thought things were different between them. miles isn't looking at him and it seems like he is ruminating something, waylon on the other hand can't seem to take his eyes off miles.

then, waylon misses the silence.

it's sort of the worst nightmare of anyone with panic and anxiety rushing through their veins come true, the worst thought, the bad impulse was right. as in: not like i need your dead weight slowing me down. and he doesn't even know where to start with that one, waylon sort of curls into himself, crossing his arms over his chest eyes looking at miles puzzled at first. he thought they grew past this, like sure waylon did not have a strange entity cohabitating in his body but. waylon had proved himself useful. dead weight. and he takes in a deep breath because he cannot afford to loose the lid right now. would prove miles right. in a way.

the second thing that hits like a train is the hurt. bleeds into his eyes, blood entering the pool. is that what waylon is to him? momentary? fleeting? how long has miles been waiting for them to be done, to part ways, to ditch waylon. he can't be rash, he can't afford to be careless with a mutlimillion corporation hunting him for sport, but waylon really can't stay here, it's like there's no air. suffocating. and there he goes feeling crazy again, seeing things where there aren't any. he just hallucinated the better part of these last few months. suddenly aware he hasn't said anything in a while.

"that's not funny." points out, like it's simple. just because waylon has hang ups and wears his goddamn feelings on his sleeves. he's not stupid. "-it's really not." he wants to leave, tend to his wounds. his throat feels tight. it's a sickening feeling. reminds him of-

"you know i thought we were past this whole bit. you pretending i don't help you that i annoy you or something and i having to feel like shit about it. but it's fine. amazing. glad we talked it out like adults, miles." miles is really unlucky, he got in that one motel room back when it all started where waylon had a gun aimed at him point blank too early. five minutes later. he wouldn't have to worry about waylon. he's getting in his head about it. waits if miles has anything to say. and he doesn't look at him. he can't. like if he looks he'll break.

#ic.#replies.#outshur.#well....#this made me sad hope you are happy miles

what do you mean, 'after'?

waylon had let himself get carried away, they’ve been on this little trip of theirs for far too long. and that's what it felt like, like a trip not like his new life. but kissing and sleeping and saving and protecting does something to one's brain. it. lights up a switch and waylon can't swim to turn it back down.

he giggles something nervously, like he knows he mistepped somewhere in the social interaction manual. but he clears his throat, and is honest when he says. "after we are done, miles, when there's no more murkoff left. and everyone's gone, or dead, or fired, or you get the idea. after that. we won't have to be on the run, not like this anyways. i was thinking about. like. what are we going to do then." we as in together, because that's what they are. they've made it this far. it doesn't dawn on him that miles may not have thought about this as much as he has. so brown eyes just linger on miles, trying to read his expression. trying to figure anything from there on out. hopeful, riding on the edge of crushing.

#ic.#ask reply.#outshur.#wow okay well #be careful miles #or else i will exterminate you like bug

outshur

miles doesn't even know how they got to this point. except maybe finding out that @w4ylast was sleeping with danny made him want to track the idiot down and shake him until he stopped being stupid. he hasn't done that, but he'd at least tried to explain to waylon what he should have already known: that he shouldn't be doing this, that danny is the worst kind of freak and once he latches onto you he doesn't let you go, that waylon is too good for this bullshit --

why do you even care, waylon had said, and miles had volleyed back with, "because i actually care about you!" like some kind of jackass in one of those hallmark movies that played at one in the morning when he couldn't sleep. back in the real world.

and then, quieter, "because you're too good for this place, waylon. you don't deserve any of this."

w4ylast

waylon has no control over anything anymore. not ever since he sent out those emails, he has been moved around kept and his mind isn't his own. he doesn't know where miles gets off, waylon isn't stupid, whatever started between him and danny is between him and danny and it's rich coming from miles, given that he. well he. he's seeing danny too.

the words hit waylon and he thinks he didn't hear him right. he stands there, silent. his head spins with it. i actually care about you. actually. miles cares. and. he cares. it's easy to add things up, to think of the world in logic, the natural results of the facts input process and output, this? this is a whole different beast.

"what?"

all the righteous fury sort of melts down, waylon was angry and he is so rarely upset like this but this confession drops on him like a fucking anvil and his heart is racing and he feels his hands are sweaty, and it's like this very much could send him into a spiral. it doesn't. instead. well.

he's all instinct, you're too good for this place he says, and you don't deserve this. and miles says it with such conviction that it warms his heart, calms the nerves, smooths over any lingering thought. no flashes of images behind his eyes, the ones that seemingly blossom in the worst moments were his mind slips, they do not appear, it's clear. he's grounded, touching cursed earth. he takes a step and then another, and then another. and he's a smart guy, but he isn't listening to his head when it is his heart doing what he feels is right. holds his cheeks as he kisses miles, just a press of the lips. a cliche of sorts, he's doing the math in his head just how obvious and predictable this might be. but he can't help it. like waylon needs to know if this is what miles means. if it's not then he can die of embarrasment and come right back. breaks the kiss only to check, dark eyes find miles's, suspended in time almost.

#ic.#replies.#outshur.#high key think this is where it was confirmed for waylon just how much miles is his type #like not only a dickhead but an a dick that cares about him fr #also this got out of hand sowwy

waylon marvel verse. (using the base canon i have for my bucky blog) but he's a former worker at SHIELD before it was revealed it was HYDRA, he sort of got loud about it when he found some of it out and was going to leak info regarding some shady shit he was sent to The Raft despite not having any powers.

anyways his boyfriend @outshur comes to the raft to get him out of there and in a complete accident forms and is bound to a symbiote and now they are both running away from everyone

#ooc.#verse drop.

She doesn't know what to think of Waylon, much less what to do with him. It feels selfish to allow him to continue on as he does, especially for her sake — but is there any other option? He's admirably, stupidly stubborn in his persistent kindness.

She thinks about Heather, her hair between her fingers, sharing a bed. And she thinks about Julie — a menace and yet, someone Violet has found herself caring very much about. How funny it is that her first chance to connect with others comes only in a new form of captivity. Her mother always did say God had a sense of humor.

Maybe she feels a little bad for yelling at him earlier. Had he shielded anyone else, she would have believed he'd done a noble thing — but it had been her. And she'd made her displeasure with that clearer than crystal.

Now, she settles in beside him. The silence is drawn out, stuffy like a Florida night. Apologies do not come easily. For all the self-worth she lacks, she seems to make up for it in ego.

It comes, though. Eventually. In two distinct halves. One — she leans into him. Her forehead bumps his shoulder, rests there for only a moment before retreating, the way a pet cat seeks forgiveness after it's been shouted at. After it's bitten.

The second half is harder.

"I'm... sorry about that," The words sound like they are razor blades being squeezed out of her throat, pained but raw in their truth. "I didn't need to yell at you like that. You were just tryn'ta help... I'm just not the type that..."

Saying she doesn't deserve it feels fucking corny.

"You don't gotta look out for me that way is all."

waylon's the most miserable whenever they loose a trial.

dying is this thing he can never get used to. once he woke up he looked for no one, he needed something that wasn't here, not with him. his arms wrapped around himself, the small first moves with the heaviness of the air.

flashes of white. images that he can't quite make out unless he really thinks about it. and he doesn't want to. his eyes are tired, they're closed. the images cycle, there's no rhythm to them. they just pass. it's so white, static.

waylon doesn't notice violet until she sits down next to him. and he remembers. she was upset. she'd yell. and then. and then. another flash of white, shapes and things unknown to him. no sense to them. his breath is shaky and he composes himself. slightly. his head shifts slightly. meets her, she's close and he doesn't mind it. he turns to face her a little bit more.

"hey it's." okay? fine? alright? it's not, it's really not but he's listening in to her. her words, he recalls the piercing of his flesh. slicing, dicing. but it's what this goddamn place does. wrings out the worst out of you. and waylon isn't falling for that. "-listen. if it bothers you too much, it won't happen again. but if you let me. i'd like to look out for you. we all need that, especially here." waylon means it, he uncurls a bit from within himself. like talking is breaking him from the static. the loop. "-this place, this whole thing. it's a lot. we don't have to deal with it alone. you don't have to do it alone."

#ic.#ask reply.#v. dead by daylight.#antlurabbit

alright, alright. stop getting hysterical.

hysterical he says.

and waylon is taken out of his ramble for a second. the train of thought paused, on hold. brown eyes focus on miles. trying for his line of sight not to move with the strings of smoke that eminate out of him every now and then. blink and you miss it.

he smiles, it's sarcastic. he rubs his eyes instinctively. trying to wipe what isn't really there away. "no, no, i'm not...i'm not hysterical. i'm actually thinking about what you are saying to me." he runs a hand through his hair. he knows miles is crazy, it comes with the job to deal with it every now and then and that's fine.. how is he the only voice of reason now?

"-you want to just...bust the doors open on those headquarters and what? there's...security and people have phones, we can't just. you can't just. i'm not hysterical." he crosses his arms over his chest. leans back and stares off into the corner of their shitty motel room. the anxiety slowly brings out things in him he'd rather not think about. he would rather focus on how to add some sort of safety net into this.

#ic.#ask reply.#v. main #miles is going to kill this guy with his dumbass ideas #i need a tag for them

fellas is it cheating if you sleep with someone in the timeless torture dimension while being forcibly separated from your wife and you were on the edge of divorce and only avoided by having to fake your own death?

#ooc.#The jury is out

like this if you want memes from me

#ooc.

like this to plot !

#ooc.

i think waylon got cooked in the engine the perfect amount of time, in the sense that he developed the hallucinations and his mind is broken but IN MY READING there is a bit of him seeing things, as if it's a sixth sense. there is something more than just scientific going on and i quite enjoy that, the scientific led to the unknown.

#ooc.#thank you dru for waylon got cooked in the engine

if you weren't half dead, i would kick your ass.

blood loss does a real number on someone's brain.

waylon's brain, in particular, did not need anything more to be doing badly. everything feels too light, and yet the air in this place is heavy. they're in the middle of somewhere, nowhere, actually and all waylon can register is miles helping him, up, up, up. his head feels light, but his limbs feel heavy. sometimes dying in this place felt. well it felt like sleeping. he doesn't want to die. he holds onto miles, it feels a little bit pointless.

(when things get like this, he gets reminded then of all the times he's almost died. the ones the remember the most. he can feel it. his throat stings a little. the skin feels sore.)

"it usually doesn't...go this badly, so don't. don't kick my ass." waylon tries to joke, he can barely get it out. it's hard to play stealth when you get found fast, he kept the clown busy long enough, they're so close to momentary freedom. his bandages are bleeding through, he needs something stronger to heal him, his head is dizzy still with those purple fumes. this trial seems particularly endless, waylon isn't too keen on miles helping him. miles should be running, getting away. he tries not to wince. and he tugs on miles, just to get him to stop, for a bit, just slightly. they're not going to get anywhere in time. "i'm just slowing you down. we don't have anything to patch me up." he takes a breath. "-you can just. leave me here." and it's not even to be annoying. it's just to be practical. he's said it before. it's fine. it's fine. it's okay.