postasylumwaylon-blog

[postasylumwaylon-blog]

((A piece made to accompany Delirium that corporateasshole-andlovingit and I have been writing for a while now. Jeremy meets Lisa for the first time.))

[postasylumwaylon-blog]

[[tentatively logs into this account. tentatively logs back out.]]

[postasylumwaylon-blog]

((gross))

[postasylumwaylon-blog]

[[post-asylum]] "Say that you love me, p-please... I need to hear it."

The request came almost out of nowhere and Waylon stopped dead in his tracks, turning to stare at the younger man who had already halted a few feet behind him.

“Say that I… why now?” He asked, fumbling for words.

By his count it had been a few weeks since they’d left the asylum, but he couldn’t be sure. Days muddled together courtesy of the endless nightmares and sleepless hours. Things had been better lately, but not by much. He couldn’t keep lying to Lisa about where he went on days like these, traversing the local parks with his former companion. It had to end, but somehow the thought of even bringing up that point made him sick to his stomach.

“Because I need to hear it. Please, Waylon.” The younger man said quietly, small bursts of foggy breaths obscuring his face. Gloveless, pale hands fidgeted nervously with his zipper, looking frail and frozen enough to shatter into pieces with a single light touch. He’d wanted to take those hands in his own, but not out here, not somewhere public like this. Out here they were friends. Accomplices. Survivors. Not lovers.

Not something that was likely to break up his marriage and shatter his family if it was ever brought into the harsh, cold light of day.

They were alone out here, Waylon knew, but his paranoia reached deep. Mt. Massive had been rife with surveillance in every nook and cranny. Why would the outside world be any different, especially now that Murkoff had been exposed. He wasn’t about to willingly arm them with more ammunition against himself and his family.

“I…” Waylon started, insecurity already unmistakable just within that one tiny syllable. “I can’t.” He finally managed, voice breaking slightly. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he turned on his heel, not wanting to see the inevitable painful expression on the younger man’s face, and continued down the gravel path.

[postasylumwaylon-blog]

"Please don't hate me."

Waylon nearly jumped out of his own skin, startled by the sheer proximity of the man. During his admittedly short employment with Murkoff, he’d grown highly suspicious of anything and anyone within the facility that was Mt. Massive, so to have someone interrupt his coding by physically bending down to whisper in his ear had thrown him for quite the loop. 

Eyes sure to be comically wide at this point, Waylon turned sharply in his chair to stare at the man who’d backed away by a bit, a dilapidated mop in one hand and a spray bottle containing some sort of neon blue cleaning solution in the other. Out of the corner of his eye, a few feet behind the man, Waylon caught sight of a trolley full of cleaning supplies. A janitor? He’d hardly noticed him enter the room, yet alone sneak up on him like that.

The realization that the Murkoff staff actually included a janitor, came as somewhat of a surprise to him. In his wild imaginings, he’d gone so far as to assume that the billion dollar enterprise would have equipped the facility with some sort of system that would automatically hose down the facility or even, in his more ridiculous daydreams, that a team of roombas might be what kept the facility clean. 

But no, of course they employed an actual person. Cheaper to pay someone minimum wage than to install a highly expensive automated system (or to buy a team of roombas). 

"Why would you-" Waylon started, still a little disoriented, before the janitor held up his hands in defense, quickly scurrying off to the trolley where he scooped something out of one of the buckets before returning to Waylon’s side. Scratching the back of his neck, the janitor held out the object to him, looking embarrassed. Waylon simply stared. 

It was definitely his mug, the words “Waylon Park, #1 Dad” gave that away, but it had obviously been shattered and put back together, quite haphazardly from the odd angles that the shards had been put back together in. Slightly speechless, Waylon took the mug. 

"Sorry, I was cleaning the break room and bumped into it with my mop, y’see…" The janitor trailed off, shuffling his feet slightly. "I really tried, I know it’s kind of a shitty fix, but yeah, sorry. Had to go to the administration block to ask where your desk was. So that was fun…" He muttered, looking like it had been anything but fun. Waylon could do nothing but nod. 

Backing up a bit, the janitor paused at his trolley, still looking embarrassed. “Well, anyway, gotta get back to work. Sorry.”

Waylon absentmindedly traced the letters in the broken pieces of porcelain with a single finger. Lisa had given it to him as a joke, but now it was just a painful reminder that home was just out of his reach. He didn’t look up. “Yeah, me too. Work, that is. It’s alright.” He mumbled.

[postasylumwaylon-blog]

"You're all I have left."

He hadn't expected the younger man to say much of anything, so the whispered words caught him off guard. Moments like these, where it was just the two of them were usually spent in pleasant, contemplative silence, neither of them really needing to vocalize their need for closeness, for the other to just be there. Things were better left unspoken at this point.

So when Jeremy had slipped out of the office to do god knows what, probably hunt down some underling who would take a beating lying down, his anger fleeting but explosive, Waylon had paid little mind when the Host had crept up to him on the couch, arms threading around his middle, face burrowing into the crook of his neck.

He'd simply uttered a small sigh and held him, tighter than might have been strictly necessary. He knew. They both knew. There was no need for words, and yet they had been spoken anyway, softly, the Host's canines scraping slightly against his collarbone as he lowered his head once more. 

"He'll calm down. It'll be back to normal soon enough, you'll see," Waylon murmured against the brunette locks tickling his chin. He knew "normal" was a lie. So did the Host. But beyond the comfort of his embrace, that was all he could offer. A lie. 

The truth, however, was more tangible. 

Lips against the younger man's forehead, Waylon found his gaze before he spoke, words firm and steadfast.

"In any case... I'm not going anywhere." 

[postasylumwaylon-blog]

hey lil mama lemme whisper in ya ear

Send one of these to my muse and they'll react to having it whispered in their ear. It's a mix of fluff, angst, and nsfw.

"I'm going to kill you."

"You're mine, and mine alone."

"No one's gonna harm you."

"Stay away from me."

"Watch your back."

"Kiss me or kill me, the choice is yours."

"I'm going to make you tremble."

"I love you."

"I hate you."

"By the time I'm done with you the whole block is going to know my name."

"What's that? Cat got your tongue?"

"If you don't leave right now I'm going to kick your ass."

"I want you, now."

"I need you."

"You can't touch me."

"Promise me you'll be gentle."

"You don't make the demands here."

"Stop me if you hate me so much."

"I'm going to tear you inside out."

"Say my name."

"Stay with me, please."

"Don't leave."

"You're the best thing I have."

"Please don't hate me."

"You're all I have left."

"Say that you love me, please I need to hear it."

"Just leave I don't need you."

"Hope is a lie."

"I want to have your babies."

"I want you to have my babies."

[postasylumwaylon-blog]

wayrider/post!way smooches

[postasylumwaylon-blog]

If a journalist refuses to use the vent to escape a scary-ass asylum after seeing just how fucked up the place really is and no one is around to see it, is he still an idiot?

If an IT guy thought he wouldn’t get caught sending a shady anonymous e-mail to a journalist on a secure company computer, does he still deserve that college degree?

[postasylumwaylon-blog]

((I got my wig! Suuuper quick makeup session just to test it.))

[postasylumwaylon-blog]

*peace sign* I'm on mobile sorry

((When I was at boarding school, I asked the guy I had a crush on to come to the end year dance with me. He said yes. At the end of the night on the date of the dance, I agreed to date another guy who apparently, I had been subconsciously crushing on as well. And that is how I got my first boyfriend. Welp.))

[postasylumwaylon-blog]

☮

((I once had a mole on my nose surgically removed, that is to say, it was burned off with a soldering iron. It smelled vaguely like BBQ.))

[postasylumwaylon-blog]

☮

((When I was 11 and on a biking vacation in the Czech Republic with my family, a bee flew under my shirt and stung me three times. After extracting the poison, we biked for another 20-25 miles to get to our next destination.))

[postasylumwaylon-blog]

☮

((I went to boarding school for a year when I was 15 and lived with five other girls in a tiny room. You learn to deal with a lot of bullshit that way.))

[postasylumwaylon-blog]

send a ☮ for a fact about the mun.

[postasylumwaylon-blog]

[3:17] yes you are. now go to sleep.

[3:18] goodnight.

[2:44 am] ish e biger then me [2:46 am] whio's bettr, me orhim

[2:51 am] jer, put down the whiskey.

[2:53 am] why would you even care about this

[2:54 am] nvm don’t answer that. go to sleep.

[postasylumwaylon-blog]

the-darkness-below submitted:

A dark shadow followed Waylon down the blood stained halls, quiet and keeping its distance. Walrider could tell their target was a little unnerved, sensing the presence of another but not being able to locate them or get any hints as to if they were harmless or not. They spent a few more minutes slowly tailing along before getting bored and deciding to jump into action. The smoky cloud hazed into its natural form, a humanlike body moulded masculine and tall. Walrider zipped through the air at an ungodly speed, coming to an abrupt halt above Waylon and dropping themselves forward into his view, letting out a loud screech.

Waylon had been on absolute maximum alert since being released from the chair, his mind still reeling with the images imprinted onto his psyche during the “treatment”, but somehow he’d managed to tense up even further once it became clear that someone, or perhaps something was tailing him. Whoever, or whatever it was kept just out of sight, noiselessly following just a few steps behind at all times. Waylon found himself almost missing the frantic chases with Manera. At least he’d been easy to spot and vocal about it to boot.

No, this… thing following him, the increasingly unnerving sensation in the pit of his gut with each careful step, that was somehow worse than the raw terror at being chased by the cannibal.

It wasn’t ‘til he’d reached the very end of the dark corridor that the stalker materialized, quite literally doing so out of thin air. Waylon practically jumped out of his skin, the creature’s loud screech only matched in volume by the shrill scream ripped from his throat as he fell backwards onto the floor, instantly scrabbling backwards on the filthy floor in an attempt to put distance between him and the creature. Not surprisingly, no such luck was granted him as the unnaturally tall figure simply lazily floated towards him, looking somehow more curious than actively hostile. Not that Waylon wanted to stick around to see its intentions fulfilled. 

"F-f-fuck thisss…" He half-hissed, half-sobbed, hastily getting onto unstable legs and bounded off down the way he’d come, resisting the urge to peek over his shoulder to see if the creature was following.