#Alastor wrecks some fools shit

[felice-jaganshi]

My Fallen Apple

Chapter 13 (finale!)

It was a few more months before the wedding planning was done, and during that time, you got to know Alastor better. He wasn't really that bad except for when he felt the need to antagonize your fiancé. You and Zariah worked together to try and get the boys to act civil, with mild success. It seemed “teasing” was just one of Alastor's love languages. 

 

Finally though, it was the wedding day. Angel Dust, the spider demon you'd gotten to know recently, was doing your makeup.

“So, ready to become a queen?” He asked. 

“I don't know about ‘queen’… but I'm definitely ready to be his wife.” You look at yourself in the mirror and already the tears start to come.

“Hey! Hey! Nooo, nu uh! Hold off the waterworks till after the I Dos! At least let him see my hard work first!” He was grinning as he teased you.

 

Fizzarolli was holding your bouquet at the moment, making sure none of the flowers were wilted. He'd agreed to walk you down the aisle since your father wasn't an option. 

 

Zariah was going over some last minute things on the phone with Vaggie, who was with Charlie, who was with Him . Your soon-to-be husband. “Do you need me to come over there?... How do you usually get her to stop crying?... Just put Charlie on the phone then!” She was laughing, it seemed Charlie couldn't stop from crying over how happy she was to get to see her father get married.

You took a deep breath to steady yourself. Your dress was an off the shoulder a-line with tulle sleeves. Your veil hangs behind as you stand from your chair. It has star and sun patterns with feathers on the edges in silver and gold. You look like a radiant goddess.

______

 

You were in front of the door leading out of the hotel. Nifty and Razzle were behind you ready to go as flower girls, and Alastor poked his head in, “You sure you want to marry the fool? You know Lilith isn't going to like this when she eventually comes home.” He was trying to stir shit up for fun, since he'd already taken care of the paparazzi and all the other “trouble makers”. 

 

“I'm sure. And if she does show up, I'll kick her ass for hurting him! I'm ready.” You smile, “Thanks Al, I needed that.” 

He hummed, “Good, you better keep your word on kicking her ass. He's counting on you.” He then popped back out and got the wedding march started. It was a slow piano version of “stand by you”. The song you sang to him just before he proposed.

 

Fizzarolli took your arm. “Here we go, try not to cry until the vows, okay?” You nod, buzzing in excitement. The doors opened, and you began to walk.

You see him at the end of the makeshift aisle. He looks stunning and stunned. 

He's wearing a new white suit, one with what almost looks like a three tier skirt in the back. Like a combination wedding gown and suit. It's elegant and the back is open in a diamond pattern, showing the markings where his wings rest in his back. His hat is gone, replaced with a proper crown in its place. He doesn't look like himself really, far more serious than you've ever seen him… but the love in his eyes is the same as ever.

 

You begin to walk, Fizz keeping a hold on you to keep you from just running to him. When you get closer you can see tears in his eyes, and a tremble in his smile. Charlie stood beside him as his best man, and Asmodeus stood at the altar to act as your officiate. 

 

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to unite two souls in the firey, passionate bonds of Love and Marriage. And if anyone knows anything about love, it's the lord of Lust! Because while lust is fun for a while, love is the fuel that keeps that fire burning.” He looked at Fizz, sitting on your side of the aisle with a blush and a grin.

“Now, I'll stop my blubbering, and let you love birds say your vows, as I've been told our king has something special prepared.” Now everyone's attention was on Lucifer, as he took your hands.

 

“Becca, my sweet apple pie… before you literally fell into my life, I was a depressed wreck of a man. I couldn't bear to look at myself in the mirror. It was bad, real bad. Like, days without eating bad. I never thought I'd love again, or that I'd ever be able to face my daughter in such a state. And there you were, in my garden. Then you treated me so gently and with such kindness, I thought at first maybe I was finally being forgiven for my sins… then I realized you were too good for me, but you kept coming back and bringing out the best in me. Because to you, Charlie and I have reconnected. Because to you, the Sins and I are back to being family again. Because of you, my life is better than it has been in over one thousand years. And I promise, for as long as I exist, I will give you all the love I have in my heart. I'll cherish and adore you for all of eternity. I give you my heart, as bruised and battered as it is… please be gentle with it.” He smiled fondly at you.

 

The tears fall without your consent. “Luci… babe…” He reaches out to dry your tears. 

 

Ozzie smiled fondly, “Those were some beautiful words Luci. Now it's Becca's turn, you need a minute baby girl?”

You take Lucifer's hands that are holding your cheeks, and kiss the palm of each of them once. Then smile, “I'm good.”

 

“Lucifer… I know I wasn't meant to be in hell, but this has felt more like home than anywhere else in my life and afterlife. When we were alive, Zariah and I would joke about if we ended up in hell, I called dibs on marrying you. But now it's not a joke, but my greatest dream come true. I love you, more than any man I've ever loved. You've made me feel seen and appreciated and adored. You make me feel wanted and needed. And it's just as much what you don't do that makes me love you. You don't make me feel like your mother figure, and you don't make me feel exhausted from caring for you. I feel like your equal, and I feel energized lifting you up when you need it. Because you lift me up too. You'll never walk through hell alone, because I'm gonna stand by you every step of the way. I'll never leave you.”

Now it was his turn to cry, his eyes sparkling as rivers cascade down his cheeks.

 

“Alright baby! Now that's what I'm talking about!” Ozzie chuckled excitedly, “Becca, do you take Lucifer, the king of hell, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

 

“I do.” Your voice is full of certainty and confidence. 

 

“Lucifer, king of hell, lord of Pride. Do you take Becca to be your lawfully wedded wife and queen?”

 

“I do!” He's still sobbing as he says it, too excited to contain himself anymore.

 

“Then I pronounce you, Girlboss and Malewife! Haha, nah I'm playin’! I pronounce you Husband and Wife, now go on and kiss each other!” He smiled and Lucifer practically pounced at the opportunity to press his lips to yours.

 

The crowd was a combination of laughter and cheers, but you didn't care. You had a husband to smooch.

And to have and hold.

For the rest of eternity.

 

The End

______

(Bonus)

 

During the reception, the two of you sneak away while everyone's partying for some one on one time. Once alone on the hotel roof, Lucifer can't stop fidgeting…. 

“What's on your mind? Got something exciting planned for our wedding night you can't wait for?” You tease, sitting next to him.

 

“Hm? Oh, well, yeah, but… I also have something I wanted to run by you… so… you know normally once a human soul is dead, they can't have kids anymore? Well… I have the power to completely negate that rule. If I choose to. So… if you wanted… someday… maybe we could…” He looked at his hands as he fidgeted with his new ring. This one had your name engraved on the outside and inside.

 

“You… we could make Charlie a little sibling!” You realized what he was trying to say and tackled him! “Yes! Absolutely Luci! I'd love to! Let's… let's have a baby!”

 

The End (for real now)

[knightfire]

A holiday short in honor of the end of the season. This was originally meant for the Christmas RadioHusk server event but Al ran away with it on me and Husk never got to make an appearance.

Alastor’s Carol of the Bells

Holidays were a funny thing in Hell.

The word itself was even good for a laugh. “Holiday” had its root in "Holy Day" back in the world of Before.

However, mortal holidays were as much habit and well-loved routine as anything else in the land of eternal damnation: almost completely divorced of the meaning that they'd had in the sphere of the living. The vying origins, rewritten meanings and human cultural trappings of these events nearly dissolved for the majority of sinners, should they last even a decade in Hell.

Only the newlydeads and the most fanatical tried to keep their favored mortal traditions in lieu of le nouveau, and it was arguable which group was the most annoying about it.

Most sinners merely enjoyed the excuse to have an arbitrary, secular party. That the party would be a raucous event that would have little to no connection to the events they'd enjoyed back on Earth was of little matter. Hell had no seasons, there was no encroaching winter to denote the ending of each year of forever. It was something to do; something to occupy oneself with to keep the boredom that came with eternity at bay.

While Alastor was a traditionalist at heart, he did so hate boredom. This meant that over the decades he'd had to learn to adapt if he was to keep the eternal malaise at bay. It was his own personal compromise with the forward march of Time, as he explained to his beloved Husker.

Nowadays, he even celebrated more modern events like Arbor Day; and he did so with a fervor that left most of the sinners who happened upon his enthusiastic tree planting with a perpetual suspicious fear of cypress and magnolia. And wasn't that half the fun?

The holidays were supposed to be fun, after all. Even his sourpuss darling had to agree with that. Surely it was alright for Alastor to stir up a little entertainment as he ran some last-minute seasonal errands in the Abaddon Marketplace.

This year, their first holiday as a couple, was special. Special events merited special attention, and that meant giving his all to make certain it was a first worth remembering. This quasi-mystic marketplace, tucked at the far end of Perdition Boulevard, was bound to have precisely what Alastor needed.

Somehow, it always did. Magic was funny that way.

A sinner with an eager expression and a sloppily-painted hanging red kettle had taken the opportunity to claim a corner and beg outside of a rather rustic store that sold intriguing arcane ingredients for weaving enchantments. It was curious, considering that this was an area frequented by elder souls; ones who had little patience for foolery and less inclination to humor it.

The sinner himself was a rather stout bird-like creature with filthy, frayed plumage and two eyes- two being a noteworthy number because of the sloppily-constructed leather eyepatch covering a third one on his forehead. Alastor's large ears twitched backwards at the insistent clanging of the handbell the fellow was enthusiastically ringing as he begged offerings. The shoppers, busy on their end of the year rounds, sneered at the fellow and shuffled onward with mutters of time-pressed annoyance.

Alastor's neutral smile kicked up to a sharp-edged grin of bright amusement with a noise akin to an old radio tuning to a preferred broadcasting band. Goodness sakes, this was novel. How in the name of all that was damned was this supposed to work? Didn't this twitchy chap know that the only armies of Salvation that visited Hell came with magical holy metal? They were more about slaying than sleighing. This was a newlydead, undoubtedly- and a dimwitted one with a slappingly tone-deaf lack of foresight.

Husker wouldn't mind him being a little tardy, if he had a delightful tale to regale his beloved with. A self-styled bell-ringer promised a story that was sure to have the chimera groaning in exasperated amusement.

A few notes in a minor key hummed in the air as Alastor strolled toward his intended target.

Dun din-din dun.

It was not the typical brassy, nostalgic bit of swing that he preferred, but it was excellently ominous and seasonally sound. The thought compelled a bit of dancey improvisation into his step.

Tap tip-tip tap.

The majority of the sinners in these streets paid him little mind by habit. Here, he was just another patron of the peculiar shops. Even though obeying the unspoken rules about behavior that came with the district rankled, it was... nice to have a place to be merely shown polite acknowledgement instead of abject terror or being thrown into an unexpected blood feud.

The electric hum raised in volume, crackling with interference as Alastor stepped past a sinner with one of those confounded modern smart phones. The noise drew more attention as he walked toward his target, boasting a too-wide grin and a gaze full of amused bloodlust.

Yes, there were rules that made this tiny oasis of normalcy possible, and he'd abide them if he needed to. Broadcasting a genteel warning to the vicinity that he'd be taking on a bit of community service to clean up the problem making a racket on the corner was only polite. The crowd parted around him like a school of fish, and in only a few long strides he was standing before the avian menace.

A wide perimeter had opened up around the pair, and Alastor grinned all the broader for the benefit of his audience. A few of the passers-by paused, chuckling at the impending show. A few of the cannier ones could be seen covering their ears.

“Well, well, WELL!” he exclaimed in his famously tinny stage voice, summoning his microphone staff and leaning onto the thing like a vaudeville stage showman. “This IS a surprise! A bell-ringer and his sweet silver bell! Taking up a collection, my good man?”

The bird-man startled at the sight of him, but nodded eagerly at the interest. “You betcha! It’s the holidays, Mr. Rudolph! The time for charity an’ goodwill!” The makeshift collection kettle was shoved in the Radio Demon’s direction. “But these hoity-toity types ain’t donated a cent!

Alastor suppressed a sneer at the reindeer games, and indulged the fool. A quick flick of his red eyes revealed that indeed, the only thing in the metal pot was a used gum wrapper. It might even have had a chewed piece of gum in it. Distasteful, but at least the perpetrator wasn't littering. “Well! That won’t do at all! What would Santa Claus say?”

“Yeah! It’s the holidays, for cryin’ out loud!” the chiseler agreed. “Folks should be ashamed!”

The soft tones humming beneath Alastor's crackling interference rose eagerly, swelling as Alastor stepped out into the middle of the street and twirled his staff like a cane. “You know, it seems to me that what you need is a bit more of an attention-getter to fill that pot! Nothing loosens the purse-strings of the populace like a show! Yes, I’d say that is the thing!”

Alastor’s shadow sprouted from the ground at his feet, along with a host of smaller spectral familiars. The entirety of them began to hum and chant along to the song Alastor was emitting. The ostinato sped into a louder, more frenzied repetition that made the shop windows vibrate in eager concert.

The poor fool with his handbell seemed to register far too late that there was an eager, expectant audience watching him and the red stranger in the street. Most of them had shielded their hearing against the growing, increasingly metallic racket that seemed to come from everywhere at once. The antlered form of Alastor was a glowing focal point, layering thick magics upon the wildly careening music that his shadows were making. The microphone staff and its single eye stared at the targeted sinner in glaring judgment.

The abused metal pot beside the bird demon shivered and shook, making metallic screeches in time with the now-booming clamor of the music that surrounded the hapless bird-demon. The sinner recoiled as the kettle stretched and warped, the opening of the vessel sprouting long, prehensile finger-like extensions. Combined with the messy red paint job, it looked nightmarishly like a disembodied mouth. It snapped, and all that was left of the unfortunate fellow was a handful of dirty feathers, an abandoned bell, and a crumpled ball of metal that rocked back and forth as if something was stuck inside of it.

Alastor nudged the thing, dismissing his shadows as the shoppers applauded the trick. "A chicken in every pot, indeed! Vote for Roosevelt, I say!" He turned with a flourish, scooping up the mass and dropping it neatly into a trash receptacle before dusting himself off and bowing. "Thank you for your kind attention, dear friends! This concludes our entertainment for the afternoon! On behalf of our sponsors, I wish you all a Joyeux Noël!"

As the shoppers returned to their errands, Alastor paused to consider the small silvery bell lying on the sidewalk. There was something utterly charming about the sound of one, he decided. Plucking the instrument up, he lightly tapped the clapper against the bowl, humming along with the bright ding dong-dong ding that it rang out for him. Satisfied, he turned to disappear into the ever-shifting crowd. He had shopping to do and a song in his heart. After all, Christmas was here, bringing good cheer.

Ding-dong.

Ding-dong.

[journalsofmasouflint]

The Mix Up

A/N: You can find this on Ao3 and the link in Twitter!

-- -- -- -- --

Angel sighs as he pets Nuggets, his cute little Nuggesy oinking and rolling onto his back for belly rubs. Being with his pig always brought a smile to his face. It was nice of Charlie to let him bring Nuggs to the hotel, Angel didn't think he could leave him alone in the studio. Cherri offered once to keep him at her place, but she has enough going on with the turf wars she constantly has with Sir Penis. She has such a hard time hiding the sexual tension between her and that snake!

“I mean seriously! Ya think those two would just fuck already!” Angel rants to Nuggs. “Cherri won’t stop rantin’ and ravin’ about the guy, complain’ how he keeps poking his nose in her territories. And then she goes braggin’ on how she wrecks his shit and how ‘cute he looks all pissed off’! I keep tellin’ her, ‘Sugartits! If ya like Sir Penis so much, just fuck him!’ And then she goes,” he clears his throat and mimics Cherri. “‘I can’t do that, Angie! It’ll fuck up our rhythm! I’ll fuck Penny when I wanna!’”

Nuggs oinks, wiggling his front legs. Angel picks him up and kisses his little snout with a giggle. “Okay, Mama’ll stop. Who wants a little snack?”

A passing glance at the calendar and Angel’s mismatch colored eyes sparkled with mischief. Today’s not just his birthday, but APRIL FOOL’S DAY! Oh, he’s going to have so much fun today!

“Snacks’ll have to wait, Mama’s got plans.”

Angel starts rooting through his drawers, trying to find his prank list. Yes, he has a prank list. Doesn't everyone? “Goddamn it! I know I put that fucker ‘round here somewhere!”

Nuggets catches a flying stocking, bringing it back to Mama as if this was a game. Angel giggles and throw the stocking with his bottom right hand, entertaining his piggy while he keeps looking for the list.

“Aha! Found it!” He smiles, the fanged grin full of mischief as he unrolls the piece of paper.

The colorful paper had everyone in the hotel on it! Names, doodles of them, and potential pranks to pull on them; the masterplan to end all April fool days leading up to this one day! Angel snickered to himself as he reads it over, his second pair of hands rubbing each other like a cartoon villain. His snickers became cackles, and those cackles became mad men laughs.

Niffty opens the spider demon’s room, carrying the new sheets in one hand. “Morning Miss Angel!”

Angel sits on the floor with Nuggets in his arms, fully dressed in his favorite off-the-shoulder crop top and skirt, and no sign of the prank list, looking absolutely innocent. “Morning Niffty!”

-- --

Angel was having a good birthday so far! He already pranked Vaggie by leaving his sex toy collection in a box on the register desk, labeled from Charlie. Somehow she knew it wasn't from her girlfriend. Prank Vaggie: CHECK!

Charlie was so easy! He saw her dusting off a portrait of Lucifer, her hot dad, and started an easy conversation about how her dad’s good looking. Then Angel spun a tale of how he was hired to do so many crazy sexual fantasies with Lucifer that were so extravagant that any pro pornstar would laugh their ass off. But not Charlie! She actually bought it! Oh it was so classic! Prank and traumatized Charlie: Check and check!

Angel decided to skip Niffty, she’s such a doll! He better get something extra special for Christmas.

Husky will be fun to prank! Angel went to his room and started writing a letter, making it into a gambling event at one of Hell’s famous casinos. Adding a few golden stickers as flair. Angel knows that casino, they’ll kick Husk out when they see the invite is fake! Prank Husk: In Motion.

After setting that envelope aside with some other envelopes, Angel started writing another to Smiles! This one will be his best one yet! He glued a small balloon full of creamer, covered the balloon with a cutout of a cock and cutting a little hole at the tip, and wrote CUM SHOT above the cutout; the plan is when Alastor opens the card, the balloon will pop and spray him in coffee creamer!

Nuggets starts oinking, holding his little leash in his mouth. Angel coos at his cuteness, picking him up and nuzzling noses. “Aww Nuggsy Wuggsy! Wanna go on our morning walkies? Mama’ll take ya out as soon as I give these letters out.”

Unknowingly, Angel got the letters mixed up. Too busy cooing over his pet pig. He grabbed a couple of letters on the other side of the prank letters.

-- -- Husk -- --

Husk yawns as he heads to the bar, not looking forward to working today. And judging by the loud screeching from Vaggie he heard earlier, Angel’s pulling tricks today. Goddamn it, he’s too old for this. How can some who’s been in Hell longer than him, act so childish? Hard to imagine Angel’s in his 30s, or so he’s heard from Charlie and Vaggie; so it’s only fair to call him a kid, since he is! At least, compare to Husk.

“Fuck I’m too old for that kid’s antics...” He grumbled to himself, taking a swig of liquor. 

Before he started to wipe down the counter, an envelope catches his eye. It has his name on it and...if that a lipstick mark?

-- -- Alastor -- --

Alastor fixes his waistcoat as he out of his radio station, making his way down the narrow stairs and back into the hallway to his room. It was considerately generous of Charlotte to provide him a space in the hotel for him to continue his radio show, very generous indeed. This tower offers ample space and fantastic acoustics, the addition of the swamp was more of a personal touch. The studio felt like New Orleans to Alastor, perhaps nostalgia is the emotion he felt when he created the bayou interior.

When he approached his room’s door, there was an envelope taped to it. Recognizing the handwriting as Angel’s, the Radio demon had half the mind to tear it up; not interested in what inappropriate comments the letter contains. But, curiosity killed the cat as the saying goes. So with a quick flick of his claws, the envelope fell apart and he opened the folded paper.

-- --

Angel hurries back to his room, giggling to himself as Nuggets follows after him, quite a few shopping bags in his arms and Nuggets’ leash in one hand still. No one was in the lobby to chase him, but he had to get back to his room. Pretty soon, Al and Husky will be on him as payback, and he’ll be here laughing his ass off! Oh this has been the best birthday ever! Earlier, Cherri invited him to this cafe he’s been wanting to go to lately and they had brunch; then they went shopping, and gave hell to the rude clerks. 

What a day! Angel sat back at his vanity table and picked up the two letters he wrote last night. He had quite the stack of them, written them all himself; Princess is always talking about how he should write more, saying it’ll help him express his feelings. Never shared them, but Angel felt better after writing a few. Then he started writing more letters he’ll never send, and instead would reread them at night. It was better than crying at night...

Only when he opened one letter, a spurt of cream splashed him in the face! Wait...He opened the other letter, and was met with a casino invite- the same one he made for Husk!

“AAAAAAAHHHH!!!!! Oh fuck!” Angel screamed, realizing what he just done. “I-If I have the prank letters, that means-”

-- -- Husk & Alastor -- --

Husk huffs when he sits next to Al, holding up his own letter. “You too, huh?”

“It appears so, yes.” Al adjusted his monocle, looking back down at the letter and Husker’s. They were relatively similar, both in wording and a common thread; Angel admired and secretly loves both of them.

‘Dear Husk,

I keep thinking about your wings, been thinking about them a lot. How they're the color of my favorite lipstick, how they have the aces on them like tattoos. And how they’re almost as big as you! Trying to overcompensate something?

I dream about touching them, you know? Wondering if they’re as soft as your fur, which looks as fucking fluffy as my tits. Just running my fingers through them, nothing sexual since I know Al ain’t into that shit and you might not be either, just playing with the feathers.

Will you let me, kitty cat?

Love, Angel’

‘Dear Al,

I actually did some research before this, unlike my other letters. I know, shocker huh?

I found a lot of jazz vinyls I collected, before having to stash it away so they don't get stolen or wrecked. Lot of them were from the 1930s! Figured you might like them, seems like the type of music you'd be into.

I normally listen to them when the hotel's empty, and would dance in my room. Might shock you but I know how to swing dance! Used to be something me and my sister did, for fun and with our Ma. Well, before she died of course.

Maybe we can dance sometime? You, me, and Husky. Having our own little swing party. I’ll even wear a flapper dress for you!

Love, Angel’

Alastor was rather impressed Angel did some research into the 1930s, seems the spider demon has some intellectual side he keeps hidden. The knowledge he has vinyls is also impressive, being there are hardly any still around unless you know where to look. Alastor himself has quite the intensive collection, and is now curious to see what Angel has; maybe they can compare vinyls.

Husk blushes after rereading his letter, his wings puffing a bit. No one’s ever said something...romantic about his wings before. The idea of someone other than Al touching his wings, made the blush darken. Sure Angel’s cute, but why him? Why would he be attracted to an old cat like himself?

“My dear Husker,” Al brushes his hand through the fur of his lover. “I do believe we should give Angel a response, don't you agree?”

“Not a rejection...right?” He asked in an unsure tone. He had no clue what Alastor’s feelings were on the kid. For all he knew, Al hated him! He didn't want to see Angel get heartbroken.

“Only a fool would reject after receiving a rather heartfelt confession, such as this!” He wraps his arms around Husker, showing the rare bit of affection he only gives in private. “Though, I have a better idea than a letter. Romantic yes, but letters can be impersonal at certain moments.”

-- -- Angel -- --

Angel runs down the halls, looking for Alastor’s room. He really hopes neither of them read those letters! He’ll double die of embarrassment for sure! “Oh God! Oh God! Al! Husk! Please don't read the letters!” He said to himself, huffing heavily as he keeps running. Finally coming to the door he was looking for, Angel practically banged on the wood.

“Smiles! Open up!” He shouts, desperately hoping Al just tore the letter up instead of reading it. Maybe if he’s lucky, Husk threw his out! “Come on! Open the fucking door!”

The door swung open, causing Angel to stumble forward a bit- right into a furry chest. Husk catches him in time, grunting a bit from the height difference between them. Even without the heels, Legs is still taller than him. “Hey there, Bellissimo ragno,” he purrs in Italian, enjoying the blush that blooms on Angel’s face.

“B-Beautiful-” Angel starts to ask, before his lips are captured in a tender kiss. His eyes widen, feeling Husker’s soft lips against his own. His breath was stolen right out of his lungs as a result. He felt Al press against his back, resting his chin on the spider’s shoulder, more proof of their height differences but it didn't stop the radio demon from pressing a kiss to the bare shoulder before.

“Ma chérie, j ` attends avec impatience cette danse que tu as promise,” Al spoke so smoothly, his accent making the words more romantic.

“Is uh...I-is this a prank?” Angel asked with a shy tremble in his voice, blushing even darker. “Cuz ya f-forgot to say ‘April Fool’s’-”

“Actually, my darling,” Alastor cut him off, he and Husk smiling. “This is your birthday present.”

“Overheard Princess talking about it,” Husk licks a cheek, enjoying the flustered squeak he got from the kid. “Figured we give you our present before she throws some party or shit.”

Angel’s head was spinning. This is either a really amazing dream, or the greatest birthday of his dead life! Stuck between the two hotties he’s been crushing on, BOTH returning his feelings, and are offering amazing birthday sex?!

“I-I need a pinch,” Angel slurs a bit, the feelings getting to him too quickly. “Cuz this feels l-like a dream.”

Husk chuckles as he gives Angel another kiss while Alastor keeps his arms around the spider’s waist, peppering his shoulder and neck in gentle kisses. Sex can always wait, right now they just want to shower their spider in sweet love.

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Reunion

After avoiding the hell out of each other for a week, Alastor and Sir Pentious finally meet to discuss the whole “I found out you like me and yelled at you until you cried” thing.

It’s very emotional.

To all of you that read the chat log last week and screamed: read this one and scream some more.

Alastor

Inside Rosie's Emporium, Alastor is frantically preparing for Sir Pentious's arrival, as he has been for the last few hours—he's showered *twice*—all while singing the most obnoxiously perky show tunes he can think of. He is NOT going to be a simpering emotional wreck this time. He intends to get through this meeting without breaking character; or if he fails, he's at least going to put it off as long as possible.

Outside the emporium, meanwhile, the door's locked and a sign in the window says "*CLOSED*" with a second, handwritten sign underneath reading "*Except for appointments. - R.D.*"

Sir Pentious

The appointed time had arrived. Sir Pentious slipped out of a portal created by his beloved, though she did not follow. This was something he'd be doing on his own, as it was between him and Al. It was funny to think about, wasn't it? That months ago, Sir Pentious would have loved to meet the other over *bitter* circumstances, to feel the rush of adrenaline coursing through him at the chance to confront his enemy.

But this was unlike anything he'd ever faced before. So used to breaking down everything he could get his hands on, the serpent wasn't prepared for how emotionally exhausting it was to... try to put the pieces back together, good as new. He could fix most *any* machine, but this? This was *harrowing.*

While Alastor was adamant about not losing character, Penley found it nigh impossible to stop his hands from *shaking.* He slithered up to the door, took hold of the knocker, and made his presence known. Tok. Tok. Tok. His body shook like an earthquake, and he quickly used his right hand to still his left, both of his hands now behind his back. He attempted to look *dignified*, but the look of anxious *dread* on his and Hatty's faces was unmistakably present.

Valera's words repeat in his head. *You could fumble and fail a thousand times, but you're still trying and I still love you with all my hearts.* Yes... he was trying. All he could do was try.

Alastor

Right! There was the knock. Show time. Alastor had barely had enough time to find a seat to perch on near the front of the empty store before he was leaping back to his feet and swinging the door open. "*Hel—!"

He wasn't ready for the gut punch of seeing Sir Pentious's face again—especially seeing him looking so downright miserable. "...-lo."

*AHEM.* Switch stations. "Right on time, do come in!" He stepped aside, ushering Sir Pentious inside. "We have the place to ourselves, Rosie was kind enough to agree to take care of some business out on the town. Door in the back left, the one that says 'staff only'—I know I said not to expect food, but Rosie, it turns out, actually *does* know how to prepare tea, so I've got a table set in her parlor with a pot and a few little snacks—you know, in case we need to cover any awkward silences, haha!"

He sounded like himself. But he hadn't looked at Sir Pentious since that first moment, his gaze instead across the store at the door in the back he'd indicated.

Sir Pentious

.... Oh... *Oh.* Oh this felt,.. wrong. Sir Pentious kept his hands behind his back, the hand holding the other by the wrist squeezing it tight enough to cut off blood flow. Alastor talking in that usual way of his, but it just twisted and turned his stomach. "R--RIGHT. OF-- OF COURSE." he replied, slithering into the store, toward where the deerman had gestured.

His brain was already screaming for him to get out of there, this was awful! This was AWFUL. Get out get out get out GET OUT--No no, no. Don't do that. Don't make it worse than you already have. Stay here, you can do *at least that much.* His throat felt *itchy* and he wanted to *scratch* at it, but no! No he must try to look dignified! His face just barely manages to look only mildly concerned, but Hatty, Oh Hatty... Never before had there been a chapeau *so* stressed out--expression looking borderline *sick* and instead of sitting tall, it was crinkled and somewhat mangled in appearance. Sir Pentious hadn't done that, at least not *intentionally.*

Alastor

Alastor inwardly cringed at the way Sir Pentious stuttered. It wasn't like him. Alastor was still firmly avoiding eye contact, and that meant *all* eyes—but it was safe to say that on the inside he was making about the same face the hat was.

There, a modest little table in a charming little Edwardian parlor, set for tea as promised with a few pastries Alastor had managed to scare up that he thought were soft enough for Sir Pentious's tastes. "Sit where you'd like," Alastor said. "I mean—I know there's only two seats, hah—unless you want to sit on the divan over there or something—hard to reach the tea, though—well, you know what I mean!" A gesture at the table.

Sir Pentious

"... ACTUALLY, I DON'T. THINK I COULD SSSIT. RIGHT NOW..." If he sat down, then, he wouldn't be able to keep his hands behind his back, without looking like he was tied up or something. He *winces* at the sound of his own voice, and tilts his head, craning his neck uncomfortably...

"ALASSTOR." Oh, he felt sick. That letter from Alastor had been so *short*, and, now he wasn't really even looking at him at all. Just hearing the demon's voice after an entire week of *not...!* He took in a sharp, shaky breath.

Alastor

Alastor hesitated, then nodded sharply. "You're going to make me look like a bad host." He laughed nervously. "Not—well—not that anyone else is going to see, but..."

He flinched at the sound of his name. "Sir Pentious." He clasped his own shaking hands behind his back and straightened his posture.

Sir Pentious

Look at them--both standing in just the same way. Hands tightly clasped behind their backs, their postures straight, foolish old men attempting to appear dignified as their hearts sank and drowned. Sir Pentious had to say something, *had* to... do something... but his mind was running blank. He... looked, glanced-- toward Alastor, and his eyes settled on where he'd bitten before, wincing.

"... ..does it hurt?"     Oh, that's a pathetically quiet sound for a gentleman to make, shame on you, Sir.

Alastor

Stubbornly avoiding eye contact like he was, it did not occur to Alastor that Sir Pentious was talking about the bite. He made a garbled noise of surprise. "Uh, *well*—I mean—jumping right into it, aren't we?—it hurts about as much as you'd expect it to hurt a week after your best friend said he'll hate you if he sees your face again!" A strained laugh. "But enough about me! Here I am playing host and I'm letting my guest ask all the questions. On a scale from 1 to 10, how much pain are *you* in?"

Sir Pentious

He *flinches*, badly. His teeth *grit* as he grimaces from the strain of having to *restrain* himself, keep himself from having immediate reactions--bad ones. Don't make any stressed snake sounds, don't do anything WEIRD, don't DON'T *DON'T* make him hate you more. He's digging his talons into his hand so tight now that he can feel warmth run down his palm.

"W-... I--..!" He can't get anything out, again. Showing this side of him, he feels *shame* course through him once more. No, don't rely on the man you *bit to shreds* just for trying to help you. Just for loving you. What a **piece of** ***shit you are, Pentious.*** Deep, deep breath. Slow inhale, fill those powerful lungs of yours... and exhale. You're alright. You're alright.

"... AN ELEVEN, OR A TWELVE. I AM SSSSORRY.... YOU *DID* READ MY LETTER, CORRECT...?"

Alastor

He hates hearing Sir Pentious's stop and start, hates hearing his voice drop so soft. Hates that *eleven or twelve.*

"I—yes. Of course. The moment I got it. Several times." Alastor swallows hard. "There's really no call for a... Eleven's a bit... You really shouldn't have to go past a five. Six tops."

Sir Pentious

"I SHOULDN'T HAVE *HURT YOU,* IS WHAT I *SHOULDN'T* HAVE DONE. NEVER MIND THE IRRELEVANCIESSS OF *NUMBERSSSS.*" He turned his head to and fro, more exaggerated than necessary with that long neck of his--he refused to bring his hands out, even if it looked RIDICULOUS at this point to maintain such a stance.

Alastor

His immediate instinct was to try to excuse it, to say that maybe Sir Pentious shouldn't have, but on the other hand Alastor shouldn't have— But Alastor wasn't in the wrong, he reminded himself. He wasn't in the wrong to feel something he couldn't control, and he wasn't wrong to try to keep that to himself.

He was, perhaps, wrong to make friends in spite of all that—but he'd been invited to, hadn't he?

"No," he conceded, looking at his shoes. "You shouldn't have."

Sir Pentious

He wasn't sure if it was relief slipped down his throat, dragging a knife the entire way down. That's.... not what relief is supposed to feel like, right? It was probably guilt. Intense guilt--he was glad that Alastor wasn't making excuses for him or blaming himself, but oh, did he continue to feel shame. It wasn't going to go away. It wouldn't ever go away.

It was getting hard to keep his hands behind his back, and he smeared the blood between his palms.  "... A-AGREED... INDEED..." Usually so wordy, he was... failing. Failing to speak.... Say something *else*, you GODDAMN FOOL. "... I... LETTERSS CAN BE... SS-SO IM*PERSSSONAL*, YOU KNOW, BUT, I DID NOT WANT TO... *IMPOSE* AFTER THE MESSS I MADE OF THINGSSS...." He gestures to his head, then a few vague gesturing at... between them... and then immediately remembers his hands should be behind him, so back they go, flicking a bit of blood and immediately COVERING it with his tail. Nope.

"SS...SSSO I SSSENT THE LETTER, FIRSSSST. I WANTED YOU TO KNOW, ALASSSTOR, THAT I'M SSSO DEEPLY SSSORRY FOR THE WAY I ACTED, HOW I... *RE*ACTED TO YOUR WORDSSS. IT WAS OUTRIGHT FOOLISH AND NONSSSSENSSSICAL..."

Alastor

Alastor was sure he saw *something* drop down, but when he glanced over Sir Pentious had shifted his tail. Alastor glanced up at Sir Pentious—for the first time since opening the door—faintly worried, but he wasn't sure of what.

"They can be," he agreed, looking away again. "Very, *very* impersonal. Even if the words are all there, you can never quite tell if it was... crafted to be that way." He took a deep breath. "For what it's worth, I've been here *waiting* for you to impose—as soon as you could stand the sight of my face again." He huffed. "Bad joke. Sorry. Shouldn't have, not the time. Couldn't resist."

He wasn't ready to touch that apology quite yet. It felt like claws on his skin, although he wasn't sure why. Not clawing like some wild beast was cutting him up. More like some drowning creature was trying to scrabble up to safety.

Sir Pentious

The implication that he was just crafting them--just so, as if he was making it up! He... turned his face away, tongue hanging as he felt the stress wringing his chest. The length of time his tongue spends in his mouth is now shorter than the amount it's out! Another bout of harsh words-- he deserves much worse.

Maybe if Alastor could just. Cut him apart, it would feel better. He deserved that much, right? If someone had done what he did to Alastor.... to him? Why, they wouldn't be allowed to leave! He'd rip them apart!!!

... Tear them with his teeth. He makes a *sound*, a choked little whine, that he immediately slaps a hand over his mouth for. Shut *UP!* This isn't ABOUT YOU. You have to WORK HARDER, Pentious. You're NOT doing a good job, you're not even doing a SATISFACTORY job. He straightens himself up, more, but doesn't move his hand--his palm was warm, and he realizes what he just did. Ugh. Time to talk through the hand on his mouth.

"I DON'T HATE YOU-- I DON'T. I'M... SSSORRY." Sorry tasted disgusting in his mouth, like excuses. *Excuses.* "IT WAS... CRUEL. UNNECESSsssssARILY. EVERYTHING I SSSAID WAS.SS... I JUSSST... I NEEDED SSSSPACE TO THINK AND...." I'm too fucking honest for my own fucking good.

Alastor

Alastor immediately looked up when Sir Pentious covered his mouth. It took longer this time for him to drag his eyes away. God, that look on Sir Pentious's face.

And it was there because of Alastor. It made him feel sick.

"I know you're sorry," he said. "I'd... say I forgive you, but—hah—I *tried* to resent you and couldn't quite manage it, so I guess I don't need to forgive you. So instead I'll say I..."

*I accept your apology.* But he couldn't quite get the words out. Sir Pentious had insisted so often that he always wanted Alastor to give it to him straight, that now Alastor couldn't quite bring himself to do otherwise.

So instead he said, softer than he meant, "I *want* to accept." He cast a forlorn look at the table he'd set out. "Could we *please* sit? I feel ridiculous, standing next to a bunch of perfectly good chairs."

Sir Pentious

They both felt mutually sick, and Penny regarded the chairs like they were death traps. When he felt this stressed out, *sitting* was the last thing he wanted to do...    But who cares about what he wants? Didn't he do enough selfish things?

Pentious swallows down the sick tasting lump in his throat as he moves to, well, attempt to sit. Slip in, bend tail like *so*.... There. Sitting, like a real person!

And keeping his hand to his mouth because he knows if he pulls it away, he'll have blood on his face. Stupid.

"YOU... *WANT* TO, BUT, YOU CANNOT, I PRESUME?" Ahh. Acid.

Alastor

He sat, dropped his elbows on the table, laced his hands, and hunched his shoulders. "I don't *know* if I can," he said. "The thing is—Here's the thing—How do I know it's over? If my... If all this is so upsetting to you, then—well, you're acting quite the gentleman *now,* which I do appreciate, but how do I know..."

He couldn't quite get it out. He wasn't playing the right character to say these kinds of things. He swallowed hard and fiddled with his monocle. "How long until there's a repeat performance?"

Sir Pentious

... Oh no. Oh, God. This was the exact thing he was petrified of, he'd confessed to Valera countless times about how he's unable to predict his psychosis, how he's unable to stop when it starts, and how he can't promise they'll never happen again..

Valera always reassured him, but here he was being asked the very question that shook him so badly. He makes a pitiful stuttering sound, like a laugh meeting a sob, and he turns his head away, reaching for a tissue or something to wipe up the drying blood on his face.

"I-- I.. I can't. I can't prOMISSSE ANYTHING B, BECAUSE I DON'T. I DON'T *KNOW.* I... I. THESE... THESE MOMENTSSSS JUSSST HIT AND, and. AND IT'SSSS LIKE I'M DOING ANYTHING I CAN JUSSST TO *HOLD ON.*" How could they stay with this neurotic fool indeed? Look at how *unpredictable* he is. Not an ounce of reliability.

Alastor

His heart plummeted at the sound of the sob/laugh. Sir Pentious's answer didn't do anything to lift it back up—but the answer didn't push it any deeper, either.

Alastor leaned more heavily on the table, staring down at an empty teacup as he turned that over in his mind. "And I appreciate knowing that," he said. "But, I meant... If you explode at me over something different, okay, we'll deal with that then, but..."

He fell silent again. Dead air hummed loudly for a moment. "How much do you hate... *this?* Specifically? Are you going to be... courteously swallowing your distaste every time we interact, until it builds up and bursts out again? Is this going to irritate your mind every time you look at me?"

Sir Pentious

His eyes widen, and he *slammed* his hands down on the table, quite suddenly--harder than he'd intended, but too late.

"NO! NO, I-- IT *DOESN'T* IRRITATE ME, IT. I DON'T. I REALLY *DON'T CARE* ABOUT IT!! I HAVE *QUESTIONSSSSS*, CERTAINLY, BUT I'M NOT IRRITATED, AND, AND I DON'T HATE THE SSSSIGHT OF YOU."

Alastor

He sat bolt upright when Sir Pentious slammed his hands down—and then froze there, back rigid, staring at him. “Really?” he asked, quietly.

*I don’t care* was the best option he could have hoped for. (Second best option. *Best* option was “I thought it over and realized I feel the same—“ But second best was pretty good and much more realistic.) Apathy was far better than mere tolerance—tolerance would mean it was still a negative, but one Sir Pentious could put up with, as long as it didn’t become too much. Apathy meant it wasn’t even a negative—it was a neutral. It should have been a huge weight off Alastor’s shoulders.

But it wasn’t. The weight on his shoulders had claws and was digging in hard. “You’re *sure?* Because, you... certainly seemed irritated at the time.”

Sir Pentious

He winces when he startles the other, and his tongue flicks--more like hangs out--for longer. Stressed.

Sir Pentious slides his hand over his hood, looking away as his other hand drums against the table.

"THAT WASS. I. I DON'T. *KNOW* WHY I GOT SSSO UPSSSSET. I... *TRIED* TO SSSSTOP MYSSSSELF, BUT I COULDN'T WIN AGAINSSSST THE ACID MELTING MY MIND. IT, IT WAS UNCERTAINTY, PERHAPSSSS? FEAR... FEAR OF..." Losing this.  "CHANGE! AND... I DIDN'T WANT THINGSSSSS TO CHANGE, AND, I, DON'T LIKE IT WHEN THINGSSSS ARE HIDDEN FROM ME, SSSSO I... I PANICKED AND LASHED OUT, AS I AM WONT TO *DO*..."

He wants to take Alastor's hands, hold them in his and *ask* him to believe him. It sounded like a TERRIBLE answer, all things considered. What kind of answer was 'I don't know why I did that?' But it was the only one he could muster. Speculation about why he felt that way was the best he could do.

Alastor

It *was* a terrible answer. It was about as godawful an answer as Alastor could think of. But Sir Pentious was also a pretty terrible liar. If he said he didn’t know why he was upset—then he probably really, truly didn’t.

Which wasn’t much comfort. It meant they didn’t know for sure what set it off. But there were much worse answers he could have given.

“Well,” he sighed deeply, “I didn’t want things to change, either. Just one of many reasons why I didn’t say anything. At least we’re on the same page.” He paused a moment, then asked, “So, that’s... what a full-blown ‘acid blood’ incident is like, is it?”

Sir Pentious

He sighed as well, perhaps just as deeply, and began to play with a tea cup.

"YESSS. VALERA HASS EXPERIENCE WITH THEM, BUT I AM ASHAMED YOU HAD TO BE AS WELL. I CANNOT CONTROL THEM, A GREAT SHAME OF MINE. I FEEL LIKE RIPPING AND TEARING THROUGH MYSSSSELF IS THE ONLY WAY TO COOL THE BURNING, AND I EVEN LOSE THE ABILITY TO SSSPEAK, BUT THE *MADNESS* IS SSSTILL THERE..."

Alastor

He noted Sir Pentious playing with the cup, and lifted the tea pot an inch or so. Want some?

“You know, you mentioned the acid in your veins, the clawing at yourself, and the disconnected feeling—but I think you forgot to mention the part where you verbally assault whoever’s talking to you.” A rueful laugh. “See, that—that would have been a good one to know. Otherwise, it sounds an awful lot like you mean it.”

His stomach twisted. He was dancing on the edge of a question that had been plaguing him since he received Sir Pentious’s letter, so... “How much of it *did* you mean?” It would be all too easy if every word out of Sir Pentious’s mouth had simply been whatever, in that moment, he thought would hurt the most. He couldn’t shake the fear that *some* of it was sincere, just typically buried too deep for Sir Pentious to share.

Sir Pentious

He deserved that laugh. He deserved far worse than that, but it still made him *flinch* again. Had he neglected that part? Sir Pentious made a face, extremely uncomfortable, and his shoulders hunched as he dropped the tea cup back onto its saucer. No, no tea right now.

"I... I *didn't mean it.* I didn't mean any of it." What an easy answer, Penny! You *disease.* He rakes his claws over his hood, taking in another breath.

"I just. I grab anything I can to make it hurt. It'sssss shameful. I know, I know. I'm *ssssorry*. I wish I hadn't sssaid a thing."

Alastor

All right, no tea. Alastor poured himself a cup instead.

Then stared at it. Why did he do that, he doesn’t like tea.

So. Sir Pentious meant none of it. Not a word. Alastor nodded, finally feeling that heavy weight on his shoulders start to tug its claws out of his tense muscles.

It was difficult to believe—he wasn’t quite sure it wasn’t just what Sir Pentious himself wanted to believe. Some of the words—“*I let you* touch *me!” “How could I set limits?” “If you hadn’t* fucked things up *back then*”—it was hard to imagine they weren’t sincere when the accusations were true. But if Sir Pentious himself didn’t think they were...

“Okay.” He nodded. “That’s good. All good news, right? No big rifts here.” He offered an encouraging smile.

Sir Pentious

Questions muddled into lashing out... He shouldn't have screamed at him, he shouldn't have. He would much rather have asked questions, calmly! Like a proper gentleman. Like a *good friend.* But he wasn't a good friend.

And seeing that encouraging smile finally snapped the string trying to hold everything together. Sir Pentious put his face in his hands, and his shoulders shook, trying to keep himself *silent* as tears slipped down his wrists, some going into his sleeves, others dripping onto the table.

"I-- I'm sss-ssorry, my friend! I'm *trying*. I am, I *am.*" A harsh whisper, as quiet as he could speak.

Alastor

“N—!” Alastor automatically reached across the table, stopped with his hand halfway to Sir Pentious, and pulled it back to set on the table on his side of the tea pot. “I—come now, you’re doing just fine.” His claws dug into the tabletop. He wanted so much to take Sir Pentious’s hands. God, he couldn’t do that now.

So instead, he pulled out Sir Pentious’s freshly washed handkerchief and offered it to him.

Sir Pentious

His fists pressed against his eyes, and he grit his teeth, trying so hard to get a hold of himself. Stop crying, haven't you cried enough? You really are wrong in the head, Sir Pentious.

His hands finally pull down, and he takes deep, deep breaths, like he hasn't breathed in a while. It's okay, you're okay, you're okay.

The handkerchief--he remembers his teeth shredding Alastor's shoulder, and all he did was give him a *handkerchief* for it, and some awfully *short* words. How his chest ached now, and he felt *sick* and *vile.* Penny moved to take the handkerchief, hovered over it, then put his hand down on *top* of Alastor's, with the cloth serving as a barrier between.

"I don't... Undersssstand why you both put up with me. If I were treated as I treated you, I would have plotted REVENGE. I would have sssssought out the perpetrator, and put a BULLET in his BRAIN. I would have FED him his own INTEssssSTINAL TRACT! And yet, you're. Not doing that to me. And. I don't know why. I've. I'm not *good* at this, I've never had *friendssss* before."

Alastor

Alastor’s hand flinched when Sir Pentious’s settles on top of it, but then he freezes, not pulling back. The cloth was only a symbolic barrier at best—with both of them wearing gloves, he couldn’t even feel the handkerchief in between. It felt like any other time they’d touched. It was too much.

He held still anyway.

“I save the intestine-feeding for people who did it on purpose. And also for people I’m not quite so—“ *fond of,* he wanted to finish, but the word “fond” also felt like *too much,* implying things far larger than he wanted to say; “—don’t get along with so well.”

Sir Pentious

Slowly.... He pulls the handkerchief back, and his hand with it.

"*Got* along with. I *fucked* that one up." He brought the cloth to his eyes, dabbing away tears. "I CANNOT IMAGINE *WANTING* TO BE IN MY PRESENCE AFTER THAT SSSHITSHOW. YOU CONFIDED IN ME, AND I RIPPED YOU APART WITH THOSE SSSSAME WORDSSSS! WHAT A *SSSSNAKE* I AM." A bitter laugh, all the while he spoke his other hand is digging into the table, splintering it somewhat. Sorry Rosie.

Alastor

He held still long enough to be polite, then snatched his hand back like he’d touched a hot stove.

“To be fair, I wouldn’t really say I *confided*,” Alastor muttered, then cleared his throat and turned his volume back up. “You say ‘got along with’ like we’re not going to get along anymore! I’d say we’re getting along right now.”

Sir Pentious

"YOU CALL THISSSS GREAT?? I'VE NEVER BEEN MORE *TENSSSSSE.*" He shudders, clasping his hand together and rubbing his face up and down his forearms.

"I DON'T... *WANT* TO BE A *FOOL* AND *MISSSSSPEAK!* BUT I CAN'T... GET MY THOUGHTSSSSS OUT. WHEN IS IT A GOOD TIME? IS IT NOW? IF I'VE LEFT ANY *MESSAGE*, IT'SSSS LIKELY 'DON'T SAY ANYTHING OR THE INSANE SNAKE DEMON IS GOING TO YELL AT YOU, BITE YOU AND TELL YOU IT'S YOUR FAULT!'"

Alastor

Wryly, Alastor said, “Actually, the message I’m picking up is ‘if the snake demon yells at you and bites you, don’t take it personally because he probably didn’t mean it.’” He leaned halfway across the table, supporting himself with his elbows. “Listen to me. I’m not grading you on your eloquence. I’m the professional public speaker here, not you. You’ve apologized about three hundred times and you’ve issued a retraction for every thing you said, that’s what matters. Take a couple of deep breaths and shake out those shoulders, alright?”

Sir Pentious

With Alastor leaning across the table like that, Sir Pentious swallowed hard.... And did as he was told, closing all of his eyes so he could breathe in deeply, exhaling through his grit teeth. Repeating this a few more times, never knowing how much was enough as thoughts pooled and splattered across the sharp shoreline of his mind.

He was still tense, but, there was a reassurance than he wasn't on trial here. Speak, Sir Pentious.

"I... SSSOME OF THE THINGSSSS I SSSAID SHOULD HAVE BEEN WORDED AS *QUESTIONSSSSS* RATHER THAN WHAT I TURNED THEM INTO.... BECAUSE TRUTH BE TOLD, MY REASONSSS FOR TOUCHING YOU, FOR HOLDING YOU, WERE SOLELY PLATONIC. IN MY DAY, THISSS WAS MORE ACCEPTABLE BETWEEN MEN.... KNOWING NOW THAT YOU FELT MUCH MORE *ROMANTICALLY* INCLINED TOWARD ME, IT DOES *SHAKE* ME. NOT OUT OF... OUT OF *DISGUST*, BUT RATHER!" He sighs, rubbing his temples.  "I WASS JUSSST *HURTING* YOU DEEPER, WASN'T I? AND INVITING YOU FOR MOVIES WITH MY WIFE, IT. I. DIDN'T WANT TO *HURT* YOU LIKE THAT! I'M FRUSSSSTRATED, OF COURSE, BUT I'M NOT... *DISSSSGUSTED.*"

Alastor

Oh, here it was, the part Alastor had been dreading. His gaze dropped to his teacup. He made a very determined (and nearly successful) effort not to wince when Sir Pentious said “romantically.”

He was silent a moment after he listened to Sir Pentious speak; then clucked his tongue critically. “You must think I’m either dumb or deluded, if you think I need to be *told* that it was all platonic on your end.” He shook his head. “It was the same in my day. I didn’t start seeing it change until I’d been in Hell, oh... a couple of decades, maybe?” He’d liked the change, actually. He’d hated that people had previously thought that being pals with him a year or two gave them the right to touch him. In life he’d posed for pictures with others’ arms around his back and others’ legs crossing his legs, his shoulders and abdomen and smile held painfully stiff as he fought the urge to recoil. “What makes you think all that was hurting me?”

Touching, that that was Sir Pentious’s main concern. If it wasn’t just the one concern he thought was gentlemanly enough to share.

Sir Pentious

"I DON'T THINK *EITHER*, I AM JUST TRYING TO--" His hands close into fists and then open again, irritation on his face. Deep breath. Slow exhale. "I AM SSSIMPLY TRYING TO EXPLAIN MY THOUGHT PROCESSESSS. *PLEASE*, BE *PATIENT.*" He'd no right to ask, of course, but he was trying so hard.  He didn't like being touched either--at least, from people he didn't know well. And that was most of everyone. It was fine from his ex-wife, but that was different! That was *expected*, and even then, he still found himself flinching at times with her touch. Generally speaking, when it came to being touched or grabbed, Sir Pentious wanted nothing to do with it-- but! With Valera and Alastor, he found he missed it when it wasn't happening.

"YOU DIDN'T THINK IT CAME ACROSS AS... AS RUBBING IT IN YOUR FACE??? I DON'T KNOW. I WOULD THINK SSSO, IF I WERE IN YOUR SHOESSS... I THINK!" Of course, he wouldn't willingly spend time with someone he was crushing on if they were with their partner. That would be needless heart ache.

Alastor

All right, all right, patience. He nodded.

“Of course not! You can’t rub something in someone’s face without malice, can you? Malice and intent.”

Sir Pentious

His head tilts to the side, and he's back to rubbing his face against his forearms...

"WELL, IF IT *ISSSN'T* A PROBLEM... THEN I SSSUPPOSE I WILL TRY NOT TO OVERTHINK IT. I'VE... WELL I. I WOULD LIKE... TO HOLD YOUR HANDSS AGAIN, AND. MAYBE HANG OUT AGAIN... BUT. ONLY IF YOU'LL HAVE ME."

Alastor

The way that was phrased made something inside Alastor try to expand, and made something surrounding it try to shrivel up and contract. Every word prickled him more deeply than it should, every nerve ending was raw. Secrecy had been a well-padded shield, muffling all the impacts; he missed it.

He nodded. “Of course.” The words came out slightly static-strangled. He wanted to say more, but couldn’t think of anything else to add that didn’t sound like *too much,* that wouldn’t now be laden with double meanings he didn’t want them to have.

Sir Pentious

... Was that it? Sir Pentious looked to his friend, his eyes wide, pupils expanded more than usual, his brow creased with anxiety... and Hatty looked about the same. Just words alone now felt... impersonal. He wished he could feel proud and confident that things would be okay. Wishes that he could saunter out of this store and snap his fingers for a portal, adjust his bowtie with a sm--

The bowtie. He starts patting down his jacket, before reaching inside and... taking out the yellow-middled bowtie, placing it on the table. "DO.. DO YOU SSTILL WANT IT...? I'D LIKE YOU TO HAVE IT, I... HAVEN'T TAKEN OFF YOURSSS."

Alastor

He stared dismally at the bow tie. Yes, he wanted it. God, he wanted it. But just the *thought* of reaching for it made him nauseous with anxiety—he hated this feeling, it wasn’t like him, he shouldn’t be like this. He didn’t want it. He couldn’t touch it.

But Sir Pentious wanted Alastor to have it. He snatched it off the table—like ripping off a bandaid, it hurts less if you’re fast—and stuffed it in his pocket. “Thanks.” His throat was dry. He sipped from his cup.

Ugh. Tea.

Sir Pentious

The movement caused him to wince more, and ... Sir Pentious found that he'd hit his limit on eye contact. He couldn't do it anymore, all of his eyes looking in every direction *except* for Alastor's. There, it was. Done. Right? It was done now? Things were supposed to be ... better... right? Why didn't they feel better? Why did everything feel just as bad, maybe if not worse than before?

He'd like to be with his wife right about now, curled up around her, safe and secure. Sir Pentious cleared his throat, feeling just as uncomfortable as before--maybe he should have some tea. There was food made, right? It would be ever so rude to just... leave. Right. Don't leave. Don't be *that guy.* He reached for the tea pot, to pour himself some tea.

"... I, UM. .. I MISSED YOU, ALASSSTOR."

Alastor

The words felt like a sledgehammer on his ribs. He nodded. “Yeah.” Oh, very eloquent, Mr. Professional Public Speaker, do a little better than that. “I—missed you, too.” *Every minute, every second—it’s the only thing I’ve been able to think about for a week—I’ve hardly slept in days—a couple of Rosie’s pillows are stuffed with more tears than down, I’ve probably done more crying in the last week than in the last forty years combined—* Too much, too much, too much. But he needed to say more. “A lot.” Even that was too much.

Sir Pentious

.... He... puts his hand out, resting it on the table for Alastor, talons open and doing their best to appear non-threatening. He, too, couldn't take his mind off of Alastor! He'd *tried* but the man was his best friend. Every time he saw something funny, saw something that reminded him of that grinning deerman, well, it just made his chest *ache.* Even the thought of *drinking* put Sir Pentious' mind into an uneasy state.

Alastor

His smile had remained impressively steadfast throughout the conversation, but when Sir Pentious offered his hand, it threatened to wilt, drooping at the corners. He couldn’t say no. Sir Pentious would think Alastor was rejecting *him.*

He slid one hand back to the edge of the table so that he could dig a sharp claw into his palm without Sir Pentious seeing, and with the other took Sir Pentious’s hand. His hand was trembling. There was nothing he could do about that now.

Sir Pentious

Well, you know. Alastor would be able to feel the way Penny's hand was trembling, too--he'd just about managed to get it under control, barely noticeable except in how it shook just below the surface. He couldn't disguise it anymore. He gave the other's hand a squeeze. "I'M... YOU MUSSST BE TIRED OF HEARING ME APOLOGIZE BY NOW, I MUSSST SSOUND LIKE A BROKEN RECORD. BUT I... DID YOU GET THE BITE LOOKED AT?"

Alastor

Well, great. At least they were in the same boat. Alastor’s hand was limp as Sir Pentious squeezed it.

“Yeah—yes. A couple of days after. I got one of the infernal demons to treat it. It’ll be fine.” His gaze was away from Sir Pentious, away from their hands, away from the table completely.

Sir Pentious

.... Actually. He wasn't that hungry after all. In fact, he felt sick, and it was getting worse. Probably... better to just. Leave after all. He... pulled his hand away, trying hard not to have a visceral reaction to the most awkward and ***stupid*** decision he'd made yet. Not very comforting at all are you, *snake.* Sir Pentious made to push his chair back, but... he stopped.

"... DO. WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO LEAVE, ALASSSTOR? GIVE, ERM. TIME. TO PROCESS? I'D RATHER NOT OUTSSSTAY MY WELCOME."

Alastor

He jerked his hand back the second it was free.

The *last* thing he wanted was for Sir Pentious to leave, but he couldn't possibly say that.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I'm sure this must be agony for you, putting up with all this. I'm sorry for the stupid..." He gestured at the teapot et al, then propped his chin in his hand to gaze forlornly down at the table. "I won't make you stay."

Sir Pentious

Frustration was bubbling, *agonizingly* below the surface. He couldn't take this much more, but he didn't want to *yell* at the man. That was what got him in all this trouble in the FIRST goddamn place. He stood up, or at least, stopped sitting down awkwardly on that chair, and placed both hands firmly upon the table, hood raised only somewhat.

"ALASSSSTOR. PLEASE.... *PLEASE* TALK TO ME. IT'SSS NOT... IT'S NOT *PUTTING UP* WITH, NOT IF IT'SSS YOU. DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I'M SAYING??? I WANT TO *TALK* TO YOU ABOUT THIS, I WANT TO COME TO SSSOME KIND OF UNDERSSSSTANDING, BUT... I *CAN'T* JUST DO IT ON MY OWN!"

Alastor

Alastor squeezed his eyes shut. He knew he was being insufferable—say something. "That's the thing. I'm happy to talk about anything else—but I don't want to talk about **IT.**" Hateful distortion emphasized the word. "I don't even like to *think* about it—I spend as much time as possible ignoring it. If there was any way for me to get rid of it, I *would.* Instead, I have to *deal* with it."

He forced his eyes open and looked up at Sir Pentious. "And now *you* have to deal with it. I hate that. I hate that you're *never* going to look at me again without *knowing.* I hate that I'll never be able to say anything again without my words being *filtered* through it!"

At some point in that speech he'd gotten to his feet. He shoved back his chair and started pacing irritably, chewing on one corner of his mouth to make sure his smile hadn't dropped.

Sir Pentious

When that distortion rung true, Sir Pentious knew that he was hearing something more honest. There was relief soaking at his brain, mixed with pins and needles. Hey, he could handle anger--frustration, irritation, the works! That was his bread and butter. The pacing, the rage. He knew it all well.

The serpent slithered out from the table, allowing himself a moment to stretch, at least somewhat--it wasn't of his arms or shoulders, it was mostly that he'd unconsciously coiled his tail so tightly he could barely feel it anymore. "SSSO *WHAT* IF I KNOW NOW! I ALREADY TOLD YOU I DON'T CARE, AND YOU TOLD *ME* THAT SSPENDING TIME WITH VALERA AND I WASN'T HURTING YOU, SSO I AM NO LONGER *AGITATED* ABOUT IT! I WANT TO SSSPEND TIME WITH YOU, I WANT TO RAISE *HELL* WITH YOU LIKE WE DISCUSSED! I WANT TO WATCH THOSE COWARDLY SSINNERSS RUN AND FLEE IN TERROR AT OUR COMBINED *MIGHT!*" His hands ball into fists as he digs his talons into his palms, "I WANT TO DO THOSE THINGSSS WITH YOU! WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT ME TO *SSSAY* ALASSSTOR?"

Alastor

"i don't kn—I want you to say—*nothing!* I want you to not know it! I want you to forget! *I want my secret back!*" He stopped pacing, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And I want... all that, too. Everything you said."

Sir Pentious

His mouth SHUTS, and. He stares at Alastor wide eyed. There's a look of hurt-- maybe he misunderstood the "I want you to say nothing", took it a bit too literally. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't just *unknow* something. His talons *flex*, feeling frustrated and helpless. Ineffectual. Useless.

Alastor

Sir Pentious had been quiet a moment too long. Alastor glanced over—oh. "No—sorry. I didn't mean *nothing* nothing. I don't want you to shut up. I like hearing you talk."

He flung up his hands in frustration. "There—you see? A week ago if I'd said that, it would be about *you*—'you're interesting, you're witty, you're a delight to listen to!' Now, when I say it, it... it just reflects on *me.*" He half sat on the edge of the table, shoulders slumping.

Sir Pentious

Penny thinks it over, rolling it around in his mind. He's making all kinds of thinking faces, the man's an open book of expression... all the while Hatty's keeping its eye on the deerman. "IT... DIDN'T SSSOUND BAD, TO ME.... NOT AT ALL."

Alastor

"Good." He crossed his arms tight and looked down at his feet. "But it felt rotten."

Sir Pentious

He felt a very sudden, and STRONG URGE to SHRUG his shoulders, but he *REFRAINED.* Not the time, not the time at all. What to do here? Usually, he could take Valera into his arms and hold her tight, and even before when Alastor had confided that realization of Hell wearing him down, he'd been able to just hold his hand and lie on the floor with him.

But here, well. He didn't know. So. He sat in his own coil and looked at the floor, too. "... WELL UM... I DON'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO. I CAN'T REALLY JUSSSST... UNLEARN SOMETHING LIKE THAT, BUT, I DON'T THINK YOU BELIEVE ME WHEN I TELL YOU THAT IT DOES NOT BOTHER ME. THAT IT IS NOT SOMETHING THAT UPSETSSS ME. MY OWN PARANOIA AND MADNESS IS WHAT HURTS ME MOST, IT UNDOES ME AND EVERYTHING I WORK FOR, AT ALL TIMESSS... AND... AND IF YOU CAN SSSTILL WANT TO BE MY FRIEND, DESSSPITE THE UNCERTAINTY OF MY NEXT *PUTRID* MENTAL COLLAPSE, THEN... I'D WISH YOU'D BELIEVE *ME* WHEN I TELL YOU THAT HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT ME WILL NOT CHANGE ANYTHING, UNLESS YOU WANT IT TO."

Alastor

He shook his head immediately. "No—of course not, no. I don't want anything to change." He took a deep, shaky breath in, slowly let it out. White noise. "I know you can't unlearn it. I just... *wish.*" But what were wishes worth? Especially in Hell? "I... do believe that it doesn't bother you. At least right now. But it bothers *me.*"

Sir Pentious

"... WERE YOU SSSIMPLY HOPING THAT I'D NEVER FIND OUT? THAT... DOESN'T SEEM VERY FAIR TO ME." He rubs his arm, like he had any right to demand fairness, especially in hell.

Alastor

He winced. That was true. "I wanted to wait for a better time. When we'd known each other longer, or I could spin it as a positive. Maybe after I'd met another who felt the same and the first you had to hear about it was that I could channel all that *off* of you and onto another." He scoffed. What were the odds of that?

Sir Pentious

... He rubs his arm a little harder, sliding his claws along the fabric. "... IT... *IS* A POSITIVE, ISSN'T IT? I MEAN, THE THINGSSS YOU SAID AT THE TIME... THEY WERE GOOD THINGSSS. *I'M* THE PROBLEM HERE, MY BRAIN IS ALL WRONG, AFTER ALL. YOU TOLD ME THAT YOU ADORE ME, AND I INTERPRETED IT AS--- AS AN ATTACK." A sad chuckle, and he stares harder into the floor.

Alastor

"Is it?" He glanced cautiously at Sir Pentious. "I've been on the receiving end more than once, and it's never felt like a positive."

He winced at the word *adore.* "I'm quite sure I never told you that. You keep talking like I *confessed* something to you. I *didn't.* You asked me. I'm fairly certain I didn't even *confirm* the accusation, did I? Just declined to deny it." He shook his head. "You already see me differently. You're started putting words in my mouth."

Sir Pentious

--His hood flares up, and he feels a red hot *flash* of embarrassment course through him. "MUST I *DIRECTLY QUOTE YOU*, OR SSSOMETHING? I CANNOT REMEMBER IT *WORD FOR WORD*, BUT I KNOW WHAT YOU TOLD ME, AT LEAST THE SSSENTIMENT!!" Oop. Too late. He was already feeling a bit of rejection from that last sentence, and because of it, found himself withdrawing from the situation. Too much in a short time, Sir Pentious was nothing without his flashes of anger. "FINE, I WILL NO LONGER *ATTEMPT* TO RECALL IT! AS FAR AS I AM CONCERNED, YOU SSEE *YOURSSSELF* DIFFERENTLY, AND I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO TELL YOU THISSS ENTIRE GODDAMNED TIME THAT I DO NOT SSEEE YOU IN A DIFFERENT LIGHT! BUT I THINK WE'VE HIT AN IMPASSSSSE." A deep breath, he's not sure he can calm down, so he's going to TURN AWAY and fold his arms tight against his chest.

Alastor

Alastor cringed. His claws dug into the underside of the table he was leaning on. He stared at Sir Pentious's back, momentarily silent as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry. Look at us, you were so worried about misspeaking, and I'm the one who's said everything wrong." Deep, shaky breath in. "I'm... having trouble *not* seeing how you see me as different now."

Sir Pentious

".... YES, I *KNOW* ABOUT YOUR SSSECRET NOW, BUT SO WHAT! I AM A SSSSTUBBORN OLD MAN, ALASSSTOR. AND I'M NOT WILLING TO GIVE YOU UP, OVER SSSOMETHING LIKE THAT. YOU'RE SSSTILL THE SAME MAN YOU'VE ALWAYSSS BEEN, THIS ISSN'T ANYTHING *NEW* TO YOU, SSSO WHY SHOULD IT BE, TO ME???" He takes another few moments before wincing, "... IT ALMOST FEELSSS LIKE... YOU *WANT* ME TO DESPISE YOU FOR IT."

Alastor

He listened hard, trying to somehow absorb the words, trying to force himself to believe them. Something about them still rang hollow. But he could keep trying.

"Of course I don't," he said immediately; then stopped, double-checked his thoughts more carefully, and finally said again, "No. I don't want that. I just think you *should.*"

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious turns around-- no... he ROUNDS on Alastor, slithering close *very* quickly. "YOU THINK I *SHOULD?!* WHY!?"

Alastor

"Because there's no second chances in Hell! I ruined what I had with one version of you, Hell isn't going to just—let me rummage through the parallel universes for another version of you that's more amenable to being friends! It feels like a trap. The only question is when is it going to be sprung?"

Sir Pentious

He looks hurt again, but quickly fights it back, moving CLOSER. "YOU DON'T *WANT* TO ME FRIENDSS, ISS THAT IT??? BECAUSE I DON'T THINK I SHOULD BE BLAMED FOR SSSOMETHING LIKE THAT-- I *LIKE* YOU, AND YOU HAVE YET TO ACTUALLY BETRAY *ME*, AND SSSSINCE I KNOW *YOU'RE NOT DUMB OR DELUDED*, YOU AREN'T GOING TO *DO THAT*, ALASSSTOR, SO--" He takes a breath, hands together, "GET THE *FUCK* OVER YOURSSSELF! I'M HERE BECAUSE I WANT TO FIX WHAT I'VE DONE, WHAT PART OF THAT FEELSSS LIKE A FUCKING TRAP!?"

Alastor

"*No,* that's not what I'm saying! Not you—!" He almost reached out, stopped, pulled his hand back. "Not you. I think *Hell* is setting the trap. For both of us. That's what Hell *does,* it *tortures* people. So here we are—waiting to find out what Hell's scheming for us. Why it allowed us to be friends. And I'm—afraid of finding out! I am." An edge of ferocity entered his voice: "But I'm *not* going to let go of you until Hell *makes* me."

Sir Pentious

This was the part where they'd HUG TIGHT like in the radio plays and movies. Hold tight for a few moments, laugh about it later. But! Holding was off limits--and Sir Pentious looked like a long noodle that didn't know what to do with himself, his tail slithering closer to Alastor, but stopping over and over until he was in this abysmal zig-zag pattern.

Alastor's last words get Sir Pentious' chest *aching*, and he GESTURES with his hands like *SO WHY ARE YOU FIGHTING ME ON THIS!?!*, but no words come out. He's just. SAT THERE, WITH HIS HANDS OUT, AND THE MOST *VAGGIE* LIKE DONE EXPRESSION....... and he FINALLY MANAGES to speak.

"ARE WE GOING TO HUG OR NOT!?"

Alastor

For a couple of seconds, Alastor waged an internal battle with himself.

It was a brutal battle. Hundreds died. Bodies littered the landscape as far as the eye could see. The soil in that region was permanently stained red from the sheer quantity of blood spilled. A battle to end all internal battles.

And then he darted across the space between them, pulled Sir Pentious into a rib-crushing hug, squeezed his eyes shut, and buried his face in Sir Pentious's shoulder.

Sir Pentious

He'd ALMOST expected Alastor to say *no* with the way he paused-- he was preparing for it, his hands slowly lowering, before he was quite SUDDENLY *CRASHED* INTO, letting out a YELP of surprise as he was pulled into the tightest hug he's received from Alastor *yet*-- and he didn't complain in the *least*, immediately throwing his arms around the deerman, his tail coiling around the both of these foolish old fools.

*THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT.* is what he'd wanted to say, but... best to keep it in his head.

Alastor

Being hugged back was like an electric shock, jolting his system, making his skin prickle, and it was almost painful but it was such a relief.

He kept his eyes squeezed shut—no crying, no crying. He managed to get out a garbled apology, but that was it.

Sir Pentious

A hand moves to Al's head, kind of petting the ears. "SHHH. HONESTLY, I THINK WE'RE BOTH SSSICK OF THAT WORD...."

Alastor

A choked laugh. "I never want to hear or make another apology." Oh, that was nice. He tilted his head into it. Guilt was seething deep in his gut—*what gave him the right to something so nice?*—but for now he could swallow it down.

Sir Pentious

Penny *smiled*, after what felt like FOREVER without a grin. He put his chin on Alastor's head, settling into his coil with the other demon.

"THERE MUST BE ANOTHER WAY OF EXPRESSING SSSSUCH THINGSSSS. MAYBE WE OUGHT TO SSSSAY IT IN FRENCH! MY TEXTBOOK FRENCH AND YOUR BASSSTARD FRENCH, NYA HA HA!"

Alastor

"You can't call it that, I'm an actual bastard." He prodded Sir Pentious's back with one sharp claw. "Anyway, my French comes from an unbroken lineage of native French speakers. *You've* got the bastard French."

It felt far too soon for banter—but it was so much easier than ripping open his veins an inch at a time and spilling one drop of blood after another as he tried to figure out how much he needed to sacrifice before they could be *normal* again.

Sir Pentious

SNORT. "A LONG, *PROUD* LINEAGE! YOU'RE RIGHT, MY FAMILY IS ENGLISH AND AMERICAN! NOT A *HINT* OF FRENCH, I *SSSTOLE* MY WAY IN!" He beams.

Maybe it was too soon, maybe he was feeling lightheaded from the rush of emotions... But he had his buddy in his arms again. There wasn't awkward silence, it felt... *doable* again.

"I'VE MISSED YOU, SSO, SSO MUCH. IT'SSSS ONLY BEEN A *WEEK* AND YET... TORMENT."

Alastor

A lump threatened to form in his throat again. No, he was determined not to cry, he wouldn't.

"I—haven't been able to—think about anything else." *It felt like too much.* Sir Pentious said he didn't see Alastor differently—and Alastor didn't want to test how true those words were, but if he didn't take a leap of faith, he wouldn't be able to move at all. "I haven't even had an appetite; Rosie's nearly had to force-feed me."

Sir Pentious

Ohh God. His heart broke at that. He continues to pet those ears, rocking back and forth with Alastor in his arms.

"MM... I DIDN'T HAVE MUCH APPETITE EITHER. ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT WASS WRITING THE LETTER.... HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO USE MY *FANGSSSS* SSSINCE.... THEY JUST MAKE ME FEEL *SSSICK.*"

Alastor

Almost like dancing. He forced his muscles to relax so he could sway freely with Sir Pentious.

He swallowed down the urge to apologize for Sir Pentious’s fangs. “Is that why the letter ended up so...” Find a neutral way to put it. “... Effusive?”

Sir Pentious

Penny's breath shakes, and he gives a little laugh, rubbing at his eye.

"W-WELL.... I WANTED TO MAKE SURE YOU *KNEW*... AND.. I WASN'T *SURE* IF YOU EVER WANTED TO... *SSSSEE* MY FACE AGAIN..."

Alastor

“*Of course I did.* I told you where to find me and everything, didn’t I? How could I *not* want to?”

Sir Pentious

He sinks a little lower, silently gesturing to his own head.... Then awkwardly (though delicately) touching where he'd *bit*....

"Becaussse."

Alastor

There was a faint crinkle of a fresh bandage beneath Alastor’s clothing. “You bit me the first time we met, you didn’t hear me complain about that.”

He opened his eyes as a realization hit him. “Hold on. Let me—let me summarize this. Since our last meeting, you’ve been afraid that I wouldn’t want anything else to do with you—now that I know more about the things going on inside your head that you wish you could get rid of. And I’ve said it doesn’t make a difference to me, and you’ve got to take that on faith, but you, you can’t imagine how it could possibly be true. Is that a fair summary of your last week?”

Sir Pentious

Without mention of all the crying, yes. Sir Pentious nods his head, still not speaking much in case he starts blubbering.

Sniff. He rubs at his eye again.

Alastor

Alastor started laughing. A wheezy, pathetic, *relieved* laugh.

“Good *gracious,* look at the two of us.” He pulled back so he could make eye contact with Sir Pentious, eyes watery and smile shaky. “A *whole week* we’ve been avoiding each other, when we were both terrified of the *exact same thing!*”

Sir Pentious

Penny's eyes get bigger, and he leans back a little so he can make that eye contact--he was so much bigger after all.

"THE... *SSSAME* THING?"

Alastor

Alastor let out an amused huff. "I mean—isn't it?"

Sir Pentious

"... I... WELL, YES! I SSSSUPPOSE IT IS...." He attempts a smile, but boy, it's so much more wiggly this time.

... A little laugh.... "IT... ISSSS REALLY SSSSIMILAR, ACTUALLY..."

Alastor

“Hah! You see?” His grin widened, finally squeezing the first tears out of the corners of his eyes. “We really are a couple of old fools, aren’t we?”

Sir Pentious

Another little laugh, and his eyes squeeze shut, a *big* sniff as he tries to keep smiling but. He's getting into big blobby tears. You'd think after a week of this, he'd be too dehydrated.

"we-- we really are!"

Alastor

He lifted his heels and flung an arm around Sir Pentious’s neck to pull him down close enough to butt their foreheads together. “We’re going to be fine. Right?” he asked. “We’ll get over ourselves, and—and get along just *terrifically.* We’ll be fine.”

Sir Pentious

*Bonk*--it rattles his dehydrated brain somewhat, but his arms come around the deerman tighter. Big intakes of breath, he's trying to get ahold of himself... Being able to touch *really* makes a difference for him.

"WE'LL BE FINE, YESSSS... WE'LL BE FINE."

Alastor

“*Good.*” Now he was crying, too. Clearly he returned the hanky too soon. He dropped his face back to Sir Pentious’s shoulder.

Sir Pentious

Two old men, hugging tightly to one another and *crying.* Rosie, don't come in.

Alastor

She’d better not. Alastor planned on holding Sir Pentious either until he was told to get off or one of them fainted from dehydration.

Sir Pentious

After a while of hugging... Sir Pentious felt that maybe! It was time to go home to his wife. He'd love to stay, but actually, he wouldn't--he was *tired* and *sore* and *exhausted*............ he had his best friend again and would love to hang out properly! When he wasn't a mess. He began to uncoil... "ALASSSTOR, I SHOULD BE GOING, YOU KNOW... I'M VERY TIRED..."

Alastor

He clung tighter when Sir Pentious started to loosen—not yet, he hadn’t had enough yet—but reluctantly let go when Sir Pentious said he needed to leave.

He wanted to offer to let Sir Pentious rest here, if he was tired—but no, not appropriate. Absolutely not appropriate. Anyway, Alastor wasn’t much better; he was developing an impressive headache, himself. He wasn’t sure if it was from sleep deprivation or from crying his eyes out on Sir Pentious’s shoulder—

If *Alastor* had a dehydration headache, then Sir Pentious had to be even worse off, didn’t he? “Hold on,” he said firmly. He poured a cup from that long-neglected teapot and held it out to Sir Pentious. “You’ve been leaking like a faucet since you got here. I’m not letting you leave like this, you’ll shrivel up like a worm on the sidewalk. Drink.”

Sir Pentious

!! Oh... He takes the cup, somewhat less *hot* now.... but the care that Alastor showed him was most definitely *felt.* Sir Pentious nods his head, smiling as he drinks the tea down... ohhh. That felt good. Actually. He offers the cup forward...... A little bashfully. ... More please.

Alastor

Alastor just chugged his whole cup like he was taking a shot and was in the process of refilling it when Sir Pentious asked for more. “Another round for everyone, eh?” He refilled Sir Pentious’s cup, then held up his own. “Cheers.”

Sir Pentious

Penny smiles, into a toothy grin--and he snorts. "ALASSSTOR... DO YOU EVEN *LIKE* TEA?"

Alastor

“Hate it! But I’ve only got myself to blame, I’m the bad planner who only supplied us with tea, aren’t I?” He tossed back his second cup. Bleh.

But Sir Pentious was smiling again. Alastor hardly tasted the leaf juice.

Sir Pentious

COLD leaf juice. He cackles... A high pitched giggling. Down the hatch!

"YOU KNOW, I HAVEN'T EVEN BEEN ABLE TO *DRINK* ANYTHING BOOZY SINCE THISSSS ALL HAPPENED." A little bit of a sniff, "NOT THAT *ALCOHOL* REMINDSSS ME OF YOU, BUT RATHER... THE *COMRADESHIP* OF THE EVENT DOES...."

Alastor

“*Hah.* I haven’t been able to risk it.” A grimace. “When I’m drinking in a bad mood, it’s to skip over as much time as possible. I didn’t want to risk you coming over to be told that I was going to be unconscious for the next four days.”

Sir Pentious

"AH..." He nods his head and.... slithers around to put an arm around his friend's shoulders, nuzzling his cheek. Too much? DEAL! WITH IT!!!

Alastor

The cup is DOWN on the table and Alastor’s arms are AROUND Sir Pentious again and that’s THAT. There was no such thing as too much. He’d been snake deprived for half a century and after just a few scant months of getting a regular dosage of snake he’d suddenly plummeted into withdrawal by being forced to go cold turkey again. He was taking everything he was offered.

Sir Pentious

Prrrr...... You get terrible, horrible Cobra sounds. He's going to.... plant a kiss! To Alastor's forehead. It's such a kind, gentle gesture. A gesture of "I trust you and care about you." It didn't have to be romantic, it was friendly. Only three people have been bestowed Penley forehead kisses. Be elevated in status of the SOUL!

Alastor

He inhaled sharply with a quiet record scratch sound, eyes wide with shock. His forehead blazed around the kiss.

He'd been kissed there before, once, decades ago, so near the scar of the shot that killed him—just as gently, by nearly identical lips. For a moment, Alastor couldn't breathe.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious couldn't see his reaction, as he put his chin on Alastor's head, mindful of the antlers. Prrrr... He's going to lie down with him, tail coiling again. OH NO! Too bad looks like he's going to get a nap in anyway. Or at least just... lie here for a while.

Alastor

Alastor was fine with that, his legs sort of felt like jelly anyway. He slid down to the floor with Sir Pentious, leaning against him the whole way down.

Before he lay down completely, Alastor took one of Sir Pentious's hands and gave him a return kiss, just as lightly, on his knuckles. Like a layman offering reverence to a bishop, like a subject demonstrating fealty to his king. It could be a platonic gesture. It definitely *wasn't,* but it could be.

Sir Pentious

*Prrrr.* His tail slithers around underneath the both of them. A very comfortable, squishy mattress. He means only to rest his eyes... He can *finally* relax after all of this tenseness.

Alastor

And Alastor got a *purr.* Not discomfort, not defensiveness. Sir Pentious didn't recoil from him. His dead heart soared.

Quick rest, nap, thousand-year coma—Alastor was game for anything. His eyes slid shut as he relaxed on Sir Pentious's coils.

It was good to be home again.

[ambiidexter]

On Peter’s magical abilities

This isn’t really a headcanon, mostly canon facts with a bit of my conclusions, but it’s essential for my portrayal, so I’ll put this one into the headcanon category. Here comes a long-ass essay on Peter Pettigrew’s magical and intellectual abilities, accompanied by every single objection I’ve ever witnessed during the years of being in Harry Potter fandom.

There is a lot of misconceptions about Peter Pettigrew that very few people are willing to dispel, because he’s just such a hated character, right?

The two Big Ones TM are: Peter’s reasons for betrayal (that will be covered in my next “essay”) and Peter’s magical skills. He is widely considered to be one of the weakest wizards in the whole Harry Potter series, if not THE weakest one. I hereby proclaim it bullshit. More under the cut.

1)  First thing’s first, Peter was one of the three youngest Animagi ever. At the age of 15 he pulled off a feat that not many adult wizards were able to do. Along with the registered Animagi and Rita Skeeter, there were 11 known Animagi in the 20th century total.

“But he needed help from James and Sirius, and was the last one to become an Animagus.”

McGonagall needed tutoring from Dumbledore to become an Animagus. Not from 15-year-old students, she got help from the most powerful wizard alive. Anyone here has enough balls to call McGonagall a weak witch? Yeah, didn’t think so.

Next, Peter being the last one. Before you embark on a serious enterprise, you study the materials and plan the steps. It was common knowledge that the process of becoming an Animagus was extremely dangerous. It could result in agony, it could result in irreversible mutilation or even death. If there is one thing that everyone remembers about Peter, it’s how easily scared he was.  Knowing all this, he ought to have lagged and postponed it as much as possible, until enough peer pressure had built up to finally make him go for it. Furthermore, the standard time for performing the tasks necessary for the first transformation is one month. No matter how talented or skilled you are, it’s one month of carrying a mandrake leaf in your mouth and repeating the incantation at every dawn and dusk. As soon as that term comes to an end, you have to wait for the first electric storm. Electric storms aren’t known for being exactly punctual. They depend on a million things. Taking into account that Peter did all that shit not at the same time with James and Sirius, he could’ve waited for his electric storm for ages, after James and Sirius had already completed the ritual.

“But in the flashback he couldn’t list the traits of a werewolf despite having spent a lot of time next to one, and he tried to crib his friends’ test answers. How talentless does one have to be for that?”

To be quite frank, I really hate when Peter gets compared to Neville, but remember Neville? It was very clear that Neville had anxiety. He’d forget things, lose his rememberall, make a fool of himself in front of the teachers and was overall clumsy. Then, in a critical situation, he showed himself as a talented wizard, and the fandom welcomed that change. Neville overcame his anxiety once he grew up and learned to deal with his inner demons, and voila, turned out he actually had talent in him, it just hadn’t surfaced before! Yes, the reason for Neville’s anxiety gets named and the reason for Peter’s doesn’t (which is food for thought in another headcanon), but does it really matter if they clearly had the same problem, and that’s what serves as the main reason for comparison of these characters? Anxious people tend to do much better once they are out of school, and here we move on to the next topic.

2) Peter was a member of the Order of the Phoenix.

“But the Marauders always had him in tow, so of course they made him join.”

The Order of the Phoenix was a near-military organization, its members fought in a war. It wasn’t a “participation award” kind of club. They couldn’t afford accepting inept wizards to make them feel better. They needed members who knew how to put up a fight, skilled, powerful members. Dumbledore was the head of the organization for fuck’s sake, and he was a better judge of people’s abilities than, say, Sirius.

3) When confronted by Black in the street, Peter neutralized Sirius faster than Sirius could neutralize him, framed Sirius for treason and mass murder, faked his own death and escaped. He came up with all of this in mere seconds, under immense pressure. This plan was so good it had worked for 13 years.

With his wand behind his back, Peter wrecked a square and turned 12 people into mince with a single spell, Confringo. Now, this is a dueling spell, normally used in dueling competitions. Not real life fights where wizards might aim to kill each other. There are several mentions of using Confringo in life-or-death battles, and the most known are: Harry destroying the flying motorcycle's side-car during the Battle of the Seven Potters and Hermione Granger trying to kill Nagini. A side-car is not a big deal, and Nagini lived on to the final chapters of the book. Evidence suggests that Confringo doesn’t normally have effects as devastating as when it was used by Peter. One spell, 12 victims and huge collateral damage.

“But he just said the incantation and pointed a wand, that’s easy.”

If that’s easy, why does most of the plot of Harry Potter books revolve around young wizards sweating away for seven years to learn to control and apply their powers when casting spells? Why aren’t they simply given lists of spells to memorize and graduate in a year? Why do inexperienced wizards end up accidentally killing themselves with the destructive magic they fail to control? See Crabbe burning himself to death with Fiendfyre. Why are other wizards in the story considered to be powerful for just shouting spells and pointing wands?

“But McGonagall said Peter was hopeless at dueling, and wasn’t in the rest of Marauders’ league talent-wise. And Sirius called Peter a talentless pathetic thing.”

First, see (1). Second, a character’s bias does not equal narrative truth. Rowling’s books are essentially detective stories that follow the laws of the genre. McGonagall’s and Rosmerta’s words (that fat little boy who worshipped James and Sirius) were supposed to lead us away from any assumptions about Peter other than him being a harmless, logical victim of Black’s crime. So that in the end we get shocked. The Ministry sent DEMENTORS and Hit Wizard Squads (equivalent of muggle S.W.A.T.)  after Sirius. All of this because they thought that Sirius had done what Pettigrew had actually done. We get this picture of Sirius as a terrifying dark wizard, but as soon as the culprit turns out to be Peter, he’s suddenly weak? But the killer seemed so nice and people told stories about him saving puppies! But Peter seemed so weak and people told stories about him being academically unsuccessful!

The Prisoner of Azkaban, chapter 10:

Fudge: “Nobody but trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance against Black once he was cornered. I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered all those people. I — I will never forget it. I still dream about it sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had cracked the sewer below. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming.”

Now replace “Black” with “Pettigrew”.

3)  Peter is able to cast Avada Kedavra (with a wand that wasn’t his own, which makes it harder to perform magic AND he didn’t even win the wand’s allegiance).

What does it prove, other than Peter being a filthy murderer once again?

The Goblet of Fire , chapter 14:

Crouch Jr as Alastor Moody:“Avada Kedavra’s a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it — you could all get your wands out now and point them at me and say the words, and I doubt I’d get so much as a nosebleed.”

Crouch was insane, his words aren’t reliable.

Despite being a crazy Death Eater, Crouch Jr shares the title of the most effective DADA professor in Harry Potter history, along with Remus Lupin. I also doubt his mental issues prevented him from adequately estimating the features of Avada Kedavra.

4) Peter overpowered a Ministry employee Bertha Jorkins, helped Crouch overpower Moody who was known as the greatest auror of his time, and brewed the very first Polyjuice potion for Crouch.

“Voldemort calls Peter stupid and inept all the time and praises Crouch. Crouch must’ve overpowered Moody alone, and Peter was just a bonus.”

Voldemort is notoriously sadistic. He enjoys causing pain in all forms, mental and physical. He relishes people’s pain. He is also one of the best Legilimens users out there. Having such a rich history with Peter, Voldemort knows his every weak spot, every single one. Not only does he use Cruciatus on Peter liberally, he prods the old wounds, namely inferiority complex. And still, even Voldemort can’t refrain from admitting that Peter tends to have “moments of brilliance”. Peter was the one who found Voldemort when everyone else (the allegedly way more powerful and intelligent Death Eaters) had failed. Peter was the one who conjured a rudimentary body for Voldemort, and brought him back fully with the use of ancient magic even Voldemort doubted would work.

“Big deal, throwing a bone, a drop of blood, and a hand into a potion.”

Big deal, being good at potions? Ask the people who had Snape for teacher. Once again, Voldemort himself deemed the task to be complicated.  Anyone here wants to question Voldemort’s competence in magic? Magic is about inherent ability first and foremost, not the set of steps to complete. Otherwise there would be no such things as muggles and squibs.

“Peter just followed Voldemort’s instructions for that potion.”

And all wizards in the story followed instructions of their teachers at some point. Are they all weak? Peter (or anybody, really) clearly had no reason to be interested in THAT potion until he found Voldemort in his incorporeal state, so why would he learn how to make it beforehand? Harry had Snape’s textbook to help him excel at potions in his sixth year, but does that nullify his power overall? Also, everyone forgets that Peter DID graduate Hogwarts. That requires passing N.E.W.T. levels.

5) Other things: Peter took part in creating the incredibly intricate Marauder’s map. He can cast non-verbal spells (N.E.W.T.-level advanced Transfiguration spell Incarcerous on Harry, stunning Ron and Crookshanks (with another wizard’s wand), levitation of Harry), which are also considered advanced magic that requires outstanding abilities.

Peter Pettigrew is a lot of things, but a weak wizard he isn’t.