LESSLUCK

You'll make it so big for all the world to see

Someday, they'll be talking about me

I gotta go so much bigger so everybody's proud of me

I know I gotta grow up sometime, but I don't think I'm ready yet

You know I've seen it before

I just don't care anymore

How could you break my heart?

All my life's led to this, and now I see what I've become

Won't turn back when I lack, sometimes it's hard just to believe

When we look back, what will we see?

Now it's been long enough to talk about it

But with my double vision, how was I supposed to see the way?

Haven't I given enough?

It's okay, we're the best of friends

You're on your own, kid, you always have been

My friends from home don't know what to say

You've got no reason to be afraid

Hold your light to the darkness in my head

My darling, the devil knows my name

The ghosts at the window echo all our quiet prayers

You don't know me, and I'll never be what you want me to be

You can't take me and throw me away

And how can the world want me to change? They're the ones that stay the same

Now you know me, and I'm not afraid

They can't break me, as long as I know who I am

You are my destroyer

You're okay, you're alright

I'll never, ever leave your side

I will stay, I will fight with you

I'll stay here through the darkest night

You're not a monster, just a human, and you made a few mistakes

You're not a demon, there's a reason you behaved in that way

I don't wanna know who I am 'cause heaven only knows what I'll find

Meet Remy Lennox.

A few years ago, Remy's high school sweetheart and wife of 4 years was killed when someone broke into their house while Remy was away. While she was struggling with her grief, she found someone else who was also lost... a demon who now inhabits her and is helping her exact her revenge.

Like this post for a Remy starter.

If you're a multi, please specify which muse (or at least give me a short list to choose from). If you'd like me to create a particular verse for her, so we can interact more easily, let me know!

1. is your muse able to keep a secret?

2. is your muse skilled at using technology?

3. how skilled is your muse at communication? 

4. who would your muse consider their best friend?

5. are there any fears your muse still holds from childhood? 

6. what is something that ticks your muse off, no matter what?

7. what clothes does your muse feel most comfortable in? why?

8. how many fights has your muse been a part of? how did they fare?

9. does your muse have any nervous habits? (biting lip, fidgeting, etc.)

10. how often does your muse find themselves daydreaming? what about?

11. how often does your muse cry? do they cry silently, privately, or out in the open?

12. what is a lesson your muse’s parent(s)/guardian taught them that they still hold onto?

13. is your muse proficient at any musical instruments? how long did it take them to learn?

14. does your muse prefer cooler or warmer weather? how does the heat/cold affect them?

15. does your muse know how to cook? what is the most complicated dish they’re able to make?

Despair is clawing at Wesley's throat, catching on all the things he can't and won't say, and he wishes more than anything that he were someone else. He watches as Ray tries to recover from the moment, eyeing his fidgeting hands with a queasy stomach; does he see it now, too? The wrongness that strings Wesley together? Would he take it all back if he could?

( When he squeezed his shoulder, could he feel the squelch of skin eaten by decay, stretched too thin over aching bones that never should've knitted themselves back together? Will the stench of rot linger after Wesley tucks himself away from sight, away from mind, praying that Ray won't see him for the monster that he is? Is he making it worse, making it more obvious, the more he tries to shy away from the light? If so, then why is Ray still standing here trying to help a lost cause? )

"No." The word is barely audible, but final in its message: there's nothing to be done for him. It's already too late. And if it were anyone else asking, Wesley might leave it at that — but this is Ray, the guy who took him in when he had nothing, who’s been by his side for years, who always tries to include him and make him smile. This is Ray, who probably has the biggest heart of anyone Wesley’s ever met, the only one who’d notice and care that something is wrong, and he’s asking what he can do to help.

After everything they've been through, Wesley owes him so much more than just a one-word response.

"It's just the time of year, that's all,” he finally admits. It’s about as much as he’s ever said about anything, but then again, some things are better left unknown. “Brings up bad memories, I guess." His shoulders lift in a stiff imitation of a shrug, trying to brush it off like it’s not eating him alive, like it might spare Ray the trouble if he just holds his tongue. "I'll be fine." He doesn’t have a choice in it.

Ray nods, his brow furrowed in worry he wouldn't be able to keep hidden if he tried. He doesn't know what kind of bad memories Wes has, exactly, although he's always had a feeling there are plenty hidden away somewhere. Ray doesn't consider his own problems to be so bad, but he does know how a feeling in the air or a certain smell or the sound of a voice too loud and sharp can drag things up, like something brought up to the bank of a river years after it fell into the water.

If Wes were somebody else, Ray might insist on going somewhere, having some fun, getting a drink, whatever. He knows that wouldn't work. Wes is different. That's part of why Ray likes him. They've had plenty of times on the road where it's just the two of them and they don't have to say anything or do anything. It's a kind of comfortable silence Ray doesn't have with anybody else.

The downside is that right now, silence wouldn't be all that comfortable. Maybe that's Ray's fault for making the wrong move, or maybe it's his fault for needing to fix it. Either way. That no has him unsettled.

Longhorn and Blue Bonnets 

which of your muses is the pickiest eater?

do any of your muses have dietary allergies?

what is your process for creating a new muse?

how do your decide on an FC for a new muse?

which of your muses needs / wants a hug the most?

which of your muses has the most unique comfort food?

do any of your muses have issues remembering things?

do you ship any of your muses with some of your others?

which of your muses tends to be the group “mom friend”?

have any of your muses ever experienced sleep paralysis? 

which of your muses do you tend to have muse for the most?

which of your muses has the most unsteady sleep schedule?

which of your muses would you consider to be the best cook?

which of your muses second guesses themselves the most? why?

do any of your muses have trouble falling asleep / staying asleep?

which of your muses is most likely to walk into a sliding glass door?

which of your muses do you think would be good friends if they met?

which of your muses has had the weirdest dream? what was it about?

which of your muses has the funniest story from childhood? what is it?

which of your muses would you trust LEAST with the ability to teleport?

which of your muses tends to get attached to people / things the fastest?

which of your muses has / would have the most complicated coffee order?

which of your muses is most likely to believe in ghosts? which is the least?

which of your muses would be most likely to survive a zombie apocalypse? 

which of your muses has / would have the silliest ringtone? what would it be?

which of your muses would be labelled  “most likely to succeed” in a yearbook?

which of your muses has the best / most attuned gut instinct? do they listen to it?

feel free to combine multiple prompts or add  “ + reverse ”  to switch roles !   for reference, the one sending in the prompt is the one committing the action.

It's not exactly a surprise when Ray hugs him back, but Wesley startles anyway, muscles locking up as he holds the breath that's been knocked out of him. Still, he doesn't move away; he just keeps holding on, keeping Ray close and letting him squeeze, gladly holding the weight that's been so heavy on the other's shoulders. ( And maybe, for just a moment, he lets himself think about how nice it is, being hugged. He kind of gets why it would make Ray feel a little better. )

Maybe it'd be a little easier to breathe, though, if that vice on Wesley's heart would loosen. He can feel it every time he breathes, a persistent ache that only carves further when Ray says he doesn't mind being stuck with him — that he's the only one he could bear it with, like Wesley really matters. As if he's ever been anything more than a burden to everyone he meets.

But then, he's never really had a friend like Ray, either, has he?

His already uncertain grip loosens the moment he feels Ray starting to move, hands hovering awkwardly at his shoulders and hanging on, reluctant to cut this tether before the other man is ready. Usually, he'd get caught up in his head about it, but then Ray has to go and promise he won't drink — and Wesley feels an old kind of dread starting to creep up on him again, tired and heartbroken because he wishes more than anything that he could believe it.

He wishes this was the last time he'd be helping Ray up off the pavement, the last time he'd ever worry about his only friend overindulging, the last time he stayed up late making sure someone he loved was still breathing. He's glad to do it, and he'll insist until they're both blue in the face, but only because the alternative scares him too much to ever risk; maybe that means he's part of the problem. Maybe he isn't pushing hard enough. But he knows addiction, and he knows Ray, enough to hear what he's really saying.

Ray isn't swearing off his vices. Not for good, anyway, the way Wesley wishes he was; it's just for a little while, just until he gets his head on straight, until until until. There's always a reason. He looks so genuine when he says it, though, big wet eyes pleading with Wesley to believe him, and so damn sorry it's like he thinks he'll never be forgiven. In reality, Wesley was never going to hold it against him in the first place; he knows Ray's sorry, he knows he can't help it. He knows he's going to try and stay sober for a little while, and honestly, at this point Wesley will take what he can get.

If he goes out of his way to try and keep Ray on the straight and narrow for a bit, then he doubts the other man will be able to tell a difference. He's always trying to keep him safe anyway.

Chapped lips press in a thin line, not quite a smile but a weary acceptance, and Wesley carefully squeezes Ray's shoulder. It's not the same as when Ray does it, because Wesley's too worried about causing harm, but he hopes the poor mimicry is enough to provide some comfort.

"Yeah, I know," Wesley finally says, because he's never lied to Ray about anything. He doesn't see the point in pretending to be surprised now, even if it would probably be more polite to do so. "I shoulda kept a closer eye on you. I meant to; you weren't very steady. But I guess I screwed that up, huh?"

Part of Ray wishes he were somewhere else right now. Out at a bar with people who only care about him when he's fun, shouting and laughing and not talking about anything too serious. Maybe dancing to old songs with someone he just met. Maybe taking that stranger back to his hotel instead. Someone he wouldn't cry in front of. Someone who wouldn't care if he drank himself to death. Lord knows he'd spent plenty of nights just like that.

But there's another part of Ray who wishes he were right here where he is, but that version of him is sober. That version of him can be sober and still tell Wes all about how he's feeling about his son and his ex and... everything else, too, whatever everything else is. That version wouldn't make Wes worry so damn much.

Neither of those things he wants are what he has right now, though, and it makes him want to crawl out of his skin. He thinks maybe he should find a way to get Wes to leave, even though he really wants him to stay. As much as he trusts Wes and as much time as they spend together, he still doesn't like anybody seeing him like this.

He pulls Wes back in for another quick hug an a "It's not your fault." before pulling away. And then there's the difficult part.

"I know I overdo it sometimes..." Ray manages something like a smile, but even he knows it's not all that convincing. All he can think about is that last real conversation with Clint. Clint told him one day, he'd either stop caring more about being high than being with the people who love him or he'd die and never see any of them again. He'd told him he wasn't going to sit around and wait for that to happen, because he'd been through it already. I'm risking my sobriety every time I'm in the same room with you, he'd said, and