#sirserpentine

[radioiaci]

@sirserpentine ⧐ The latest vision had struck suddenly and lasted for two whole minutes. A meagre amount of time in most people's means, but when incapable of seeing what is actually in front of you, and thus rendered incapable of moving or fending for yourself, Pentious was woefully reminded of a seizure or a hallucination. It had gotten easier over the months. More predictable, far less scary, and a whole lot more manageable as Pentious grew more accustomed to his new powers. But it was still a perfect excuse to act a bit more clingy once the sights through the eyes of his contracts melted away and he returned to the hotel and his very own viewpoint. So he now lay wrapped around his favourite Sinner like a ribbon, clinging against the oxytocin that Alastor's warm proximity and safety emitted. Not moving. Not by a bit. It hadn't been an uncomfortable vision. Pentious assumed it was not from a possible future, but either a contemporary look at one of his contractees' afterlives, or even a glimpse from the past. It had been the interior of a house, or a wooden log cabin. All rustic and worn but probably quite lovely in its heyday. A cotton curtain fluttered with the hellish breeze. Something rustled. Maybe papers. Maybe fire. The view drifted to a painting on the wall. A vase of flowers. Nothing severe. Nothing alarming. Pretty.

"...Al, do you ever wish we had some other place to be, when the hotel gets a bit too loud?" UNPROMPTED ASKS.

Contentment in proximity. While Alastor had no real insight to most of Pen's visions unless told, he remained nearby for the odd cases when the other might have seen something a bit disturbing or otherwise confusing. He was not always able to help parse their meaning, but at the very least he could provide a bit of back and forth speculation as to what the point and purpose of them were.

For now, he was laying comfortably, entangled with Pen's elongated form that wrapped around him, his head only lifting after a bleary moment of understanding what had been asked of him.

His jaws split in a wide, toothy yawn before he could answer, the light crackling accompaniment of his usual white noise joining his voice when he finally spoke.

"Well. I have the house over on the edge of the Doomsday District, but... I've not been back there in some significant amount of time," he mumbled. "It's not exactly warm and welcoming over there anymore." Not that it had ever been, but at least he'd been content for a while in it. Now, it only held old memories of his time with Vox - things that Alastor would have preferred to forget.

"Why? Growing tired of the rabble here already, are you?"

Alastor doubted that was the reason, but he would offer a sleepy joke all the same.

[radioiaci]

@sirserpentine ⧐ ✦ Do you enjoy the sweet biscuits I bake?! HONESTLY ANSWERED QUESTIONS.

Oh no.

"...I would... prefer it if... they were less sweet."

That's honest, isn't it?

[radioiaci]

@sirserpentine ⧐ [45.] pulling the blanket over both of you without being asked. THE STAGES OF INTIMACY

He has grown accustomed to certain things.

The sharing of space has always been touch-and-go with Alastor, severely protective of his own time in isolation to rest, reset, and think through the events of each day on his own. Even when his afterlife has weaved itself along with another, Alastor knows that he is an elusive creature from time to time. But with his attachment comes a realization that... perhaps he does not need quite as much alone time as he believes. Because there is an appeal in waking with another warm body pressed in close to him; in the mornings and afternoons spent sharing a meal and casual conversation; in the evenings that mostly occupy them both with egg-raising, in spite of Alastor's reluctance to fit into a role that he evidently does decently at.

He does not sleep alone as often. His patrols down the hotel's halls are often detoured to trail after Pentious in a curious tail to simply be part of what he is doing and where. The bayou now holds signs of warmth rather than its usual cold and ominous presence. It's not been an over night endeavor... but it is obvious that his routines have been permanently offered by the intertwining of them with another's, and it's rare that a day goes by without him seeing Pentious in some way, shape, or form.

Like how they rest, lazy and unhurried in Alastor's nest of a bed on one early evening where responsibilities seem less pressing and fervent. His nightmares are more infrequent now, having been left blessedly alone for longer and longer spans of time. Lanky limbs are wrapped lazily around Pen's tail which curls around him in kind, his eyes shut as he breathes steadily and listens to the other's voice as he reads aloud some book or other that Alastor is only half paying attention to the contents of. He drifts on the precipice of sleep, reluctant to have Pentious stop reading to him by allowing himself to give into it, even as he yawns and sets his head against scales. Comfortable and content.

It's a losing game, he fears. The sleep presses in around him and in the last flickering flames of consciousness, he can sense the large, plush duvet being pulled up and over his prone form. It's warm, but nothing like the body that he is practically melted against, leaning his head into a hand that begins to brush through his slightly curled hair. Alastor's ears twitch as Pen seems to read his thoughts and carries on with reading in spite of his audience's quickly drifting attention span, and the radio demon cannot help but be appreciative that the other has grown so accustomed to his preferences that it is no chore to understand what he wants.

When he finally permits himself to rest, he is warm and comfortable, hidden away amid soft sheets, smooth scales, and the whisper of Pen's voice. The words do not quite reach him, though he knows he can hear the obvious soothe of affection within them -

Some clatter on the floor beneath his own shatters the illusion, his eyes opening with a sudden and stark understanding.

Lifting his head, he glances around his room, the blankets tossed haphazardly onto the floor, the dim bulbs of his fairy lights above his head crying to be replaced, and the cold, oppressive mist of the bayou beginning to creep heavily towards the empty expanse of his bed.

He is alone.

Pentious is no longer here, still trapped somewhere above, behind gates which Alastor cannot access.

His mind taunts him with that which he can no longer have.

As he sets his head back down, defeated, he thinks:

Perhaps the nightmares were better.

[radioiaci]

@sirserpentine ⧐ 10. What has been the most difficult thing you've had to learn to do? 11. Have you ever had a first impression of someone that turned out to be wrong? 12. What's one book you've read that you would say has greatly impacted your life? GET TO KNOW THE MUN

What has been the most difficult thing you've had to learn to do?

Unlearn a lot of my anxiety and fear as a kid. Granted, a lot of it has been with the help of medication - but I have to actively talk myself down from some cyclical thoughts that I know would have drowned me in my younger years. Things surrounding my health, about the weather, about driving, about how I look and feel in public, etc. So much of it has been continuous practice in the art of letting go of control - to submit to the fact that I can't change the outcome of every single thing in my life, so I should focus on what I can change or control. It's an every day practice to remind myself of that though, and sometimes I definitely struggle. (I'm still terrified of thunderstorms tbh, but trying so hard to overcome that.) But I'm doing a lot better now in my thirties after a lot of hard work and repetition.

Have you ever had a first impression of someone that turned out to be wrong?

Oh yeah. I tend to try to give most people the benefit of the doubt, but sometimes they end up showing their ass and I feel a bit silly for trusting that they could act like civil people. That does apply to the RPC too - I've engaged with individuals who were perfectly fine to my face, but then were going around acting a fool in discord servers or in DMs or whatever and I end up finding out secondhand. And then I've got to figure out if it's bad enough where I don't want to associate with them anymore. I consistently have to remind people that I am literally in my mid-thirties and do not have time or energy for RPC/fandom/Discord drama and nonsense. So I will gladly disengage with that sort of behavior.

What's one book you've read that you would say has greatly impacted your life?

I wanted to have a cooler answer to this but it's literally just Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton. 😭 Dude was a hyper-science-dork but his writing had a big impact on how I handle character dialogue and presence, and also I just love dinosaurs....

[hazbinned]

"Alastor. First, I deeply apologise for my inability to read your expression and social cues at present. Thus I cannot tell whether you are touch-averse or touch-accepting at present.

I wanted to ask; May I hold your hand while I decompress from scheduling my dentisssssst appointment?"

All right. Alastor scooted over, held his hand out.

"Tch. Your dentist appointment?" he trilled; half-snorted. "What'd they do to you?"

Hopefully Pentious still couldn't read him, but he doubted that. It was pretty clear that he thought this was funny.

[pcpuli]

@sirserpentine / mini starter call

Never on the creators side, and never on lucks side, nothing was ever a coincidence; always followed by intention to land exactly in the right place, with the right person. One could believe otherwise, but Vox knew the snake would never willingly cross paths, not with the man who demanded death as the last act of loyalty. Not that devotion went deep enough.

"MISSED ME?" Don't answer that.

"I see you changed up the look."

[angie-long-legs]

//I MISS @sirserpentine !!!!!!! 💔💔💔💔💔

[angie-long-legs]

//funnybunny and cunty bubble

@silksindicate @sirserpentine