#bewitchedmuses

@bewitchedmuses [ logan ] doubled down 🂡 — !

It wasn't like Remy to be lurking instead of at his side and focusing his senses his partner smelled off. "You hiding from me, Death? Didn't mean to scare you last time. Lets kiss and make up." Logan offered as he came to investigate.

Slumber made the change easy, with Remy's consciousness at rest it didn't take much effort for Death to come forth. Regrettably, he found himself in Logan's arms as he usually did when he opened his eyes. He stayed where he was for a moment, staring out into the darkness of the quiet room, listening to the other man's even breathing. It was comfortable.

It was comfortable.

Was he flawed? The thought of such a thing being possible both horrified and disgusted him. He couldn't kill Logan and he couldn't convert him either. Every time they exchanged blows it usually resulted in him exhausting himself and retreating to his mental hole, humiliated and angry. Though perhaps this was what he had been taught all along, that the strong were meant to live and that the weak would be culled. Logan was clearly fit for survival.

Underneath that innate desire to kill, he felt something else too, something he was never able to satisfy. What use did such a function serve if it did not contribute to his purpose?

Death slipped out of the bed in silence, careful not to wake the other occupant. Leaving the room, he retreated to the balcony, eyes narrowing at the sudden assault of city lights and noise.

It would be so easy. So easy to just reach out, fill the polluted skies with poison and watch these lesser creatures perish en-masse. Watch them cripple on their streets, in their false towers, in their—

Logan's voice, followed by him appearing in the threshold had Death freeze in place. His hand was extended over the balcony edge with tendrils of poisonous gas wisping around his fingers, but the sight of the other mutant had him retracting the toxin, arm returning to his side.

"Scare me..? I'm unable to experience fear..." A lie, one he wouldn't make Logan wise to.

@bewitchedmuses [ logan ] doubled down 🂡 — ! "I didn't have a favorite color until I looked into your eyes."

@bewitchedmuses doubled down 🂡 — !

Someone @ Remy : "I like your top."

Logan: "I have a fucking name."

It should have been simple. THe decision should have already been made. Crowley had said his piece, Aziraphale had bungled that. Fingers press to lips still warm in remembrance of a kiss he had been afraid to reciprocate.

I FORGIVE YOU.

That's what he'd said. Deflection where he wanted to embrace and an earnest sense of duty would not allow him to. Why had Crowley told him this now? Why not years ago? Why make this decision such a finality? He can still see him walking away. Hesitating to go after him.

"Ready to go?" The Metatron's voice was a mockery of kindness, but such was Heaven and he could fix it. He could fix EVERYTHING. Didn't Crowley see that? His hand fell to clasp his other and he turned toward the other angel, dragging a smile into place. Heart hammering in his chest. No. No, this isn't right.

"Ah, yes." Another hesitation. He glanced around his bookshop once more. Was it just the books he was finding difficult to let go of?

"Muriel will keep an eye on the place." Another honeyed reassurance. Gentle urging that herded him into step behind the other as he nodded in agreement before following him out of the bookshop. Closing the door behind himself as he stepped out onto Whickber Street. The bustle of the street moving around him as he fell into step behind the Metatron.

It's a cross of a street and half a block to a corner to get to the elevator. Not a far distance at all when it came down to it. He could still see the front of his shop when he paused at the doors. And across the street, a big, black Bentley with a familiar, lanky figure leaning on the drivers' door.

The kiss came back to him in an instant and his heart lurched to a sudden halt as he looked at Crowley— really looked at him —for the first time in days. Somewhere in all the hullabaloo between Gabriel and Nina and Maggie, he had stopped looking at Crowley. Stopped talking to Crowley. Stopped listening to Crowley. For 6000 years they had been dancing around the notion of being on their own side. This time he wasn't avoiding the question. Crowley had asked outright and Aziraphale hadn't listened. Hadn't wanted to listen… Because it hurt— Didn't it? —Being given that choice.

"Aziraphale?" The Metatron said his name and he glanced at him for a second before returning to Crowley. His heart ached and tears welled up. Stinging his eyes and making his vision swim. Crowley became little more than a blurry smear of black across a bleeding, watercolor landscape and Aziraphale took in a jagged sob of a breath.

Everything felt possible.

It was the first day with a new troupe, truly on his own for the first time, without the familiar comfort of his best friend beside him. But far from loneliness, what Dustfinger felt was excitement.

He loved the Prince, but sometimes he wondered his the force of his personality held Dustfinger back from being seen apart from the large shadow that he and his bear cast.

Today was a day full of possibility. He could reinvent himself as whatever he pleased. He'd only briefly been introduced to Cloud-Dancer, who had seen his act and negotiated him a place with this band of players. Nobody would find it odd if he painted himself as more bold, more aloof, more mysterious, than he truly was. He could be anybody, and the choices were almost paralyzing.

Well, there was only one way to start.

"Morning."

He flashed a smile (much wider than normal) at the nearest Player, whose exposed muscles indicated the genre of his act.

"Dustfinger. I'm the new fire-dancer."

@bewitchedmuses [ logan ] doubled down 🂡 — ! "Is holding me not enough? Are you trying to get under my skin?"

"Non," Remy grins mischievously, all in his personal space like he always is. He sits between his legs, presses his back into Logan's chest and wedges his head underneath his chin.

"Neva is, I gotta kiss ya too, an' I'm sure I get unda ye skin plenty. Mais I like ya in me jus' fine." He laughs quietly at the last bit, tilting his head back to kiss his jaw.

"Hey Wolvie..." He trails off, gently scratching at the older mutant's beard, "Wanna do somet'in you like? Mebbe we could camp, spend a couple nights up in de mountains like? Since you like de outdoors."

"Would you even let me fucking say it, if I was sober?"

Besides, he's not even properly drunk yet. More mildly buzzed, considering that they've taken away all the good alcohol in the Tower and left him all the watered-down shit.

"The fuck do you care whether I'm sober or not anyway. If I keeled over from alcohol poisoning you'd probably laugh your ass off the entire time."

@bewitchedmuses [ logan ] doubled down 🂡 — !

Wolvie would claw out his own heart to give to Remy if it would make him happy. He can regenerate a new one.