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1ST CHAPTER OF "EVENING STAR MEETS MORNINGSTAR"!!!!

Aka my RadioApple x Princess and The Frog au

((Link for anyone who'd rather read on ao3-locked fic))

[This fic won't be following the movie ENTIRELY, just key plot points. So don't be confused if something happens very different here than in the OG source material.

Heads up that the characterization may not be the best. I JUST joined the Hellaverse fandom like 2-ish weeks ago. So don't raise any hopes!!!

And ALWAYS make sure to check my tags before reading!!!!]

(Edit 1/19/26: I am taking my time on this but either way a 2nd chapter will take a while to come out. Please stay tuned for future updates)

If the Evening Star in the sky wasn't so bright then maybe all the woes of his drab world wouldn't be so prominent in this moment.

Alastor fixes his gaze on the little glimmer of light, unperturbed by the wind breezing through his fresh set of clothes. A rich, red suit of all things, the outlandishly long coat tails flaring distastefully around the bend of his knees. He'll need to inform dear Mimzy later that this garb isn't to his particular liking, no matter how kind the gesture.

With the balcony rails directly sat in front of him Alastor is nearly tempted to rest on it like a lazy vagrant but shoos the thought away as soon as it arrives. It would do no good to slouch about on the home of his dear acquaintance, oh no. Maman raised him, first and foremost, to be a greatful gentleman for any host.

It would also be quite a shame if he thoughtlessly ruined the suit sleeves during a moment of innatention. Why, he'd never forgive himself for such an embrassing feat!

Thus he remains standing, arms folded behind his back primly whilst staring up at that accursed star.

Maman always used to praise the Lord and his light, clasping her hands reverently to give thanks. She never made him do such things, as he put his foot down quite young against any religious nonsence. The older woman did, however, encourage Alastor to look upon the sky and dare to dream. To dare ask for a guiding hand, one to keep him on the right road in life.

Alastor feels the stretch of his grin. It's not a joyous look, he knows.

He simply cannot recall the last time he foolishly adhered to his dear mother's teachings and sought out this night light.

How amusing he does so now after such a disastrous evening.

“Hm…”

The star—no clouds in sight to block it—twinkles down at him. Alastor conjures up a fond memory in familiarity of the moment.

A young lad, swaddled in cheap rags and a filthy layer of dirt. Sitting upon his mother's bony lap as they both gaze towards the sky, sun falling in the distance to give rise for the moon. The Morning Star is already prominent on the horizon.

“Shall we make a wish, boy?” The mother speaks in her soft, trembling tone. She holds her child close, cheek pressed to his dark curls.

“I'd love to, ma'am,” the young boy responds. He does so curtly, speaking as he's been taught. His mother pecks against the skin of his forehead proudly.

“‘Lright then, let's get right on to it. You go first, Alastor”

The boy nods, giving real thought to his wish even as he's aware it is inevitable to fall on the universe's deaf ears. He is set to pleasing his mother after all. There can be no disappointing her.

A moment passes serenly by and the lad finally puts the palms of his hands together. “I suppose, ma'am, that I wish this evening star, with it's light so grand shining down on the both of us, to-”

“Quack!”

Alastor blinks.

The memory slips from the forefront of his mind and he allows it, turning his head to face the squacking sound. And…well. There is, indeed, a cause.

Perched on the railing to his right lies a white duck. Upon close inspection Alastor can't seduce if the creature is a mere fledgling as it's size would suggest, or instead a grown fowel of genetic disposition.

Quite the unexpected sight!

“My, hello there,” he calls out to it, even waving some fingers as if the duck is some fellow guest privy to his company. “And what are you doing up here this fine evening, hm?” Alastor glances back up towards the star, pausing just long enough to be considering as he trails his gaze back down to the new arrival. “A lovely sight up here, I'm sure. But I do suppose the romanticism isn't lost on either of us.”

The poor bird blinks at him thoughtlessly. No brain behind it's skull of plumage. The silly sight stretches the corners of Alastor's mouth even further.

Ah, how privy he is for some good entertainment.

“Yes, yes, a tasteless question on my part, forgive my rudeness,” he chimes out leaning over to speak more coquettishly. A little flare of charm never hurts the soul. “Would you liken to accompany me for the rest of tonight? Surely not for long, as I can assure you're a busy thing.”

The duck puts foward a webbed foot, bobbing its disproportionate head to and fro. The sight draws an amused sound of him, just as it's beak began to open.

“Oh I do hope you're not some wayward soul that had been imprudently cursed upon.” He tuts for show, teeth bared. “That would surely spoil any fun.”

“Jee, push me off the edge while you're at it. That's the first thing you spout to an animal?”

…

“…Pardon?”

Surely he's mishearing things. Imaging mindless chatter. A duck can not possibly have just-

“Crazy guy, aren't ya?” The duck says in perfectly human speech, not a quack to be heard. The critical judgment it passes over Alastor doesn't go unnoticed.

He spares the rude comment any backlash to more smartly back the hell away from the talking creature.

“Pardon?” Alastor repeats. He's simply lost. Uncomprehending.

The duck rolls its beedy red eyes, flaring its wings in such a way to mimic crossed arms. “Great, don't tell me I broke you? Kinda need some helping hands at the moment.”

Oh. Oh, this bird is genuinely speaking at him. Communicating.

“Ha…” He laughs out shortly, expression feeling stiff. “Well fuck.”

“Exactly, bucko.”

Alastor takes in a deep breath through his nose, very close it would seem to doing something outlandish. Especially one deserved for such a slur. But he reigns in whatever tad of unbecoming behavior his body holds. That settled, he then meets the eyes of the talking poultry.

“Beg you pardon but I'm afraid you'll have to indulge me for a moment,” he begins slowly. The visage of his smile feels tight on his face but that's hardly a problem. “I've conjured up some rather exhilarating questions that would be lovely to have answered.”

The duck appears rather unnerved by it however.

“Uh…” it gapes, rubbing a wing against its yellow bill awkwardly. “Aren't you gonna, say, panic?”

Alastor tilts his head. “Is there any reason to?”

“Well yeah, speaking bird here! Who wouldn't go a bit stir crazy right now?”

“Me it would seem.”

“Uh huh…Well great! That makes this part soooo much easier,” it quacks out in sudden glee, waddling its way closer to him. Any suspicions it holds visibly slip away.

Alastor remains stationary out of pure curiosity.

“My questions, if you please.”

The duck has the audacity to blink as if Alastor's words from just a mere moment ago were already forgotten. “Oh right. Eh, might as well I guess. Have at it, Red Guy! Ask away and I shall diiiiiiligently answer!” It sing-songs rather poorly.

‘Red Guy'? How insolent, Alastor sneers. It doesn't push off his ever-present smile but the action does garner a questioning look from the duck.

With a push to his glasses Alastor bends down, face to face from the creature. “My, my, an obnoxious one you are. Please, call me Alastor. My first ask would have to be why your presence of all places is located here, at the Hanigan family's extravagant masquerade-”

“Huh?”

“-New Orleans is quite big, enough space for a tiny thing such as yourself.” As he speaks Alastor motions towards the city view far off from the estate property. The rich, the poor, the blue-collar class, and the lovely bayou: all equally large portions that make up this grand patch of Earth.

His current companion squacks, bill flubbing about as it fails to work around human words while in shock. “You- wait- but hold on- that's not- why are you so weird?”

He narrows his eyes. “Hm?”

“Er-” the duck shrinks back, choking out a strained chortle, “it's just that you're asking a crazy question when there's definitely better ones. You know, like the classic ‘What are you?’ ‘Where did you come from?’ ‘How are you able to talk?’ ‘Can you do magic?’ All that jazz!”

“Yet none of those are what I've said,” Alastor quips.

“I'm aware.” Grumble after pitched grumble, any heated contention the small fowl wishes to share goes away in favor of answering Alastor's question. Finally. “Well, I figured I could find my wife or daughter here, high-class extravaganza an’ all. Buuuut today's not my cup of tea.”

Alastor takes in the information and stores it away. Be it now or later in the future, all knowledge lends a hand to those who wield it properly.

He taps his chin. “So you are indeed a transformed man.” He unbends the dip of his spine to pace leisurely along the balcony as he ruminates. The duck's eyes follow after in the same unintelligent fashion as it’s holder's choppy manner of speech. What an utter clodpate. “Who is, ah, wealthy?”

The duck puffs up, nodding. “You are correct my good pal! Crazy yet clever fella, Ol’-bud, good chap-”

“Alastor, sir.”

“Right, right.”

If this thing so happened to die right this moment there would be no one the wiser. Alastor dwells for a sweet second on this thought. He had paused by the balcony entrance, so lavish in carved images and little lights that it blends the door panels near seamlessly into the large frame.

But, he'd prefer his questions answered in full first.

“So, your wife and daughter,” he continues, “They're not present like you had hoped, am I correct?” The duck gives an affirming nod. “Be that as it may, I find myself unable to then understand why you would travel all the way up here.”

“Hey it's my first day in a new body, cut me some slack, guy.” Hopping about until it unceremoniously tumbles from the railing, the duck lands with a hard thuck! before standing once again to pad over. Alastor is reluctantly fascinated by it's jovial defiance of obstacles. “I saw you, alone, and it's better scary some random person than a whole party. I know from experience!”

He raises an eyebrow, assessing the other. Now whatever could THAT possibly be referring to? “I suspect that's not something to brag about, good fellow.”

The duck slaps a foot upon the marble below in a haughty manner. “Definitely not!” It speaks so loud and firm happy tones in great contrast to the meaning behind its own words.

Oh dear, it's no wonder this fool became an animal. He's far exceeded the requirements of holding the title ignoramus, and they're barely spoken! Alastor doesn’t know if he should he feel thrilled or pestered by such a painfully obvious characteristic as the conversation stretches on. He's never been privy to enjoying the company of clear-skinned buffoons, no matter their station.

“Got any more questions or may I say my piece now?” The duck questions by his feet.

“Hm…”

Alastor doesn't answer right away, preoccupied with opening the balcony doors, as well as considering the benefits of engaging with this cursed being. Said creature follows after him into the grand suite.

“I suppose you may,” he eventually says. While he's certainly resided inside these walls longer than his childhood home and current abode this room itself was never one he went within. It would have been improper should he have ever done so. Dear Mimzy won't mind—as she all but shoved him past the doors herself just an hour before—but rumors can start through anything. And many a maid is known to gossip.

Either way: the opportunity has presented itself, so Alastor takes a chance to better look around. The furnishing stood out to him earlier when arriving, but now what catches his fancy is the lining of books and vinyls against the wall opposite of the suite closet. He strides over to the shelves.

“Good, good, alrighty then,” the duck begins, “I, King Lucifer Magne Morningstar, would like to request your aid in returning me to myself!”

Alastor whips his head around, neck straining just to stare down wide-eyed at the small bird. There's no hint of a lie in its frame of figure; no waver to its words.

“I must not have heard you right, sir, do repeat yourself for me?”

The duck quacks in mocking. “Of course you're beside yourself now knowing the truth! Haha, yes, I am-”

“No my dear, I simply mean to correct the term you used.” Alastor makes his shoulders slump, smile easing, as he finally touches the lovely shelf properties. His nimble fingers trail over worn covers, as well as new, until they swiftly collect a particular one. “You referred to yourself as “King”, however the latest news I've been made up-to-date on clearly states that you're an heir presently.”

He's graciously rewarded with the sight of a royal moron fluffing up with a sputtering mouth.

Ah, to test the limits of my own ire, Alastor thinks faintly, I truly should do it more often.

“Hold on that's not- Lilith do save me, why are you so rude?!” The duck hops around until it's—or rather he's—struggled onto the closest chair. “I'm basically a king, mind you, the title is just a bit estranged!”

“Are you using that word properly, sire?”

“Haha, fuck you.”

“So pleasant.”

The “King” snaps his beak, folding his wings. “On second thought I should find someone else to help me. Your face already grates on my nerves.”

Alastor flips through the book he's taken, pushing his glasses about until the dim lighting of the suite works properly with his eyesight. Responding as he reads the pale pages, he chuckles. “I'm unsure that would work in your favor. As it stands, I am only entertaining this madness because I have nothing else to occupy me. The guests below us however, I know will stir up chaos should you expose yourself to them.”

“Well I'm not sure I don't want to risk it.” The “King” fans his wing feathers over a near desk, stretching on his thin legs to reach a small ornament that's caught his fancy. “You sound like you want to hear me out one second then dismiss me the next! Ha, maybe when I'm human again I can get retribution! Haha!”

Alastor hums. “I suppose.”

“…You're kind of a dick, Red Guy.”

The book snaps shut. He sneers down at the cursed duck. “Alastor. And you've yet to give me any reason for lending my assistance, your majesty. I cannot even confirm if your words are true, much less something I should spend my time on.”

At his words the “King” wilts.

“Oh, yeeeeah, I guess that's true…Lilith wouldn't believe this hooey if she was in your shoes. I would probably laugh it off too.”

Somehow Alastor does not agree with the last sentence but refrains from engaging with the other fellow so intimately.

“Glad you see it as I do,” he says instead.

The “King” nods, downtrodden. He leaves the desk ornaments alone, looking up towards him. Alastor notices the other perk up significantly when he spots the book in his hands.

“That's it! The cure!”

Alastor gives the duck a disbelieving smile. “It is not.”

“It is!” The “King” beats his wings, hopping on the chair edge just to see the book cover. “The Frog Prince, I nearly forgot about this fairytale!”

Indeed, the literature pieces he can spot first glance are all fairytales and children's stories of some kind. And it would seem Mr. Morningstar here holds a similar train of thought as him. Which…is mildly upsetting.

This is a disaster in the making, Alastor notes. The clear shine in those red eyes is not something he trusts.

“Are you perchance considering to find a random lady and beg for a kiss?” He dares question in distaste. Unfortunately his company does not ease his troubles.

“Of course!” The cursed man manages to peck the book once before tumbling to the floor. He pops back up, unfettered. “Once it's done and over with I can compensate her and explain everything to my wife.”

“I'm sure that will go over quite well, sire.”

“Keep your disbelief to yourself, ol’ chap, I'll prove you wrong,” the “King” says in full confidence. “I'm living a fairytale that already has a ending written, so of course everything will be-”

“If I may so be allowed to share my thoughts, The Frog Prince doesn't suit your circumstances.” Alastor puts the book back in its place on the shelf. Perhaps his friend will lend him some vinyls if he prods just right.

“Huh?” The other speaks moronically.

He leans over the fowl even bending low so he settles to sit at the chair no longer being occupied. “As a King you must of studied up on foreign tales such as The White Duck? A Russian fable I find to be far more enjoyable than the current trending ones.”

The “King” squawks though it sounds less offended and instead rather amused. “That's what you would think but I know more than you!”

“Because you're living the curse currently?”

“Exactly!”

Alastor turns away, gaze catching on the oh-so bright star still glimmering out in the night. There's an inkling rising within him that suggests his unorthodox “wishes” turned out to be a curse. “Well no matter! I will not be helping you, sire.”

He hears the duck stop his hyper movements. “Pard- what? Ah, no, I don't need you anyway. I just need to find a princess…Wait.”

“Precisely.”

Alastor stretches his arms above his head with a wicked grin, listening to the new quacks of horror and despair.

After all, there's no princess around New Orleans to cure his majesty. There is only a missing wife and daughter, of which the “King” has yet to find.

And if this imbecile can see past his shortcomings and view things as I do then he'll realize going back to curse giver is his only option, Alastor thinks.

“-Nononononono ahoho this is not good, not at ALL! Should I keep looking? Try to- no, that won't help for shit. Horsefeathers, they were all right weren't they? Lilith is going to- oh but Charlie, my poor baby girl-”

The ramblings go on and on, flowing through Alastor's ears like a loving symphony. He's can afford to hone his sadistic tendencies for times such as this. It keeps him level-headed.

But it is annoying to some degree, and at that he doesn't withhold a scoff. More babbling ensues.

“-yet even this guy doesn't want to aid me- not that he seems like a generous person but- Ugh, shiiiiiit shit shit shit shitty shitty shit shit!-”

“Pardon me, but it's extremely difficult to think with your noise.”

The duck's head snaps up, eyes wide and—oh come off it, watery as he registers his words. Then he's back to inhuman catterwalling.

“Swuch a- such a mean piece of- of shit! I jwust- jwust- Ha! I jwust want'a get home and yer’ so apathetic-”

Oh dear, he's being quite noisy…

“My good sir-” he tries to say, only for a sock to hit his nose. The “King” glares up at him.

“I don't want to hear nothin’ from you, just some bluenose who's useless in helping people.”

Alastor's teeth click together sharply. He inhales, matching the cursed man's scathing look with one of his own. “That was not necessary. I merely gave you my opinion and you chose to throw away crocodile tears as if you're a child.”

The “King” flaps his wings and suddenly he's in Alastor's face, flabbing his bill close enough to be a threat.

“Calling me a child when you're a prick with the scheming face of a loony?”

Alastor fires back head on, quickly adjusting to the level field of vision. “I was minding my own business, then a duck claiming to once be a royal fellow pestered me. Aren't you the petty one for not receiving what you want?”

“A cry for help to much for you?”

“A cry indeed with all of that unsightly blubbering.”

“It's a healthy outlet and I don't think you can say anything about being ‘unsightly’.”

This little bitch.

Alastor—forehead having at some point during their little spat pressed firmly against the other's—reaches a hand to his side out of habit. It's only by chance that his hand catches the rod of a fancy cane, sniveling up in a second to bonk the duck.

Only-

The action does not drive the “King” away as intended.

No, it's only some seconds later, body low to the floor with fabric draping inelegantly over it, twinges of unfamiliar soreness fired through racing nerves, that Alastor understands his attack pushed the duck closer.

Too close.

He stares at his hands—his hooves. The speck of ashy-brown skin visible. Certainly not with all of the fur trailing from the hooves into the depths of his clothes.

Across from Alastor the duck is laughing in hysterics, sounding on the verge of a meltdown.

When the cane…had hit the King…it had- they had-

“AT LEAST I KNOW KISSING A STRANGED DOESN'T WORK!”

A deer. He had really been cursed into a small, thin buck all from an accident brush of lips against bill.

Alastor feels the corners of his mouth sting. Blood likely dots at the corners from how stretched his deeply pissed grin turned. He watches the other cursed occupant go through his third tirade of the hour before glaring towards the balcony windows.

Officially, he now truly does loathe the Morning Star and its deceptive allure.

Hello readers!!! Hope you enjoyed 😁

Here's some word definitions:

“Buck”- In past terms it used to be an insult/slur towards dark-skinned individuals

Clodpate - Informal term for a stupid, foolish person or blockhead

Bluenose - An excessively puritanical person, a prude

PLEASE LEAVE COMMENTS!!! THEY KEEP ME MOTIVATED!!! And I will need as much as possible for this fic since Im working on many other fics at the same time. Plus its just nice to know how I've done so far in the fandom.