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[heartpawp]

sin triangle - II

read it on ao3 here

You, in fact, do not have the pretties.

Upon checking your tattered pockets, the jewels have unmistakably fallen out. You really, really do need a bag for this kind of thing. You’re hoping it was just taken by Alastor, but upon further thought (Of which you do not often do), it feels gross to know the radio host can even do that without you batting an eye.

You’re being forced into redemption via theft debt. This day is just spectacular, especially in the way you’re pretty sure every bright light is indenting itself into your corneas. On the other hand.. They have locked the robber in with the money.

As soon as you finish pretending to know what the fuck is going on, you’re going to shoot up and sprint out of the lobby to scrounge the area. If you’re lucky, the hotel will get blown up, and a couple of those signs will fall off with it! Then you can– you can–

You’re plucked by the scruff of your neck by those nasty, thin claws before you know it. “Now, now,” Alastor croons, waiting for a response. Or anything. Literally anything at all, but you’re stunned in place with dilated eyes like a doe in front of blinding headlights.

“Oh, well, ah,” He only smiles wider, shrugging his shoulders and dropping you on the hardwood floor. “Run along now! I will.. arrange something for you to assist me with later.” With that, you run for the hills.

Your sputtering wings don’t do much for running (Much less your flying abilities you pretend to have), but you flap them anyway, sweeping the floorboards. Everyone is definitely staring, but you stopped caring as soon as that demon let you go.

Climbing up the stairs, you reach what feels to be an endless hall of doors. This is… really just not what you need right now at all . Well, the early bird gets the worm! Or, jewels and pretties and such!

You huff and puff, pulling on each handle to find an unlocked door, until finally you reach a hotel room covered in pink . Suuure, there’s insinuations around, but it’s probably just their guilty pleasure!

Back when you were alive, plenty of people roamed around with their dirty secrets on display! Not that most noticed, but you were pretty observant in the way people gave you those nasty looks– Guilty, indeed!

You could always tell on these kinds of things, ha! You’re so smart..

A few things in the room instinctively made your feathers puff out, but for the most part you found lots of new pretties! There was even a pretty pink hog covered in spots– he was so sweet!

Tossing the pig in your satchel, you jump up and sprint to the next room, peeking through the cracks of light in the doorframe. You spot a scarlet loveseat and a crackling fireplace, still blazing despite the absence of a keeper.

The second you step into the room, you're overwhelmed by the damp scent of a bayou. What in the everloving..

Before you can think on it further, a neon green light fills the room and you spin around to meet Alastor standing before you.

His expression is tense, but within a moment’s glance, he’s back to his usual self! Wow, he's really good at staying positive in these trying times!

The radio demon leans over you menacingly, and you swallow the frog in your throat, looking up at him with a guilty stare.

An amulet slips out of your bag, glittering with a loud clank to the floor.

Oh.

[heartpawp]

let the light in - you gotta run, run, run like your head's on fire

read it on ao3 here

The hotel looks like some sick freakshow’s fantasy.

It is below posh, in your humble opinion, with odd eye motifs all about– and this tacky wallpaper! Really, now? This is really Hell..

You cough into your sleeve, catching the girl’s attention. She looks much too excited for you to just be needing a mirror, but is constant in her pursuits. “Where are the restrooms, dear?” Her obliviousness sends you into a passive aggressive fit, your canines grinding in resentment. Noticing her blabbermouth start to speak again, you cut her off before she has the chance.

“Ah, what is ya’ name, Miss?..” She pipes up with a squeak, giggling nervously. “Oh! You can call me Charlie!” The.. Er, Charlie sends you a strained smile, holding up two thumbs-ups in your direction.

That’s an irritating show of progress, albeit annoying at the very least. Miss little Charlie stills in silence while you stare, expectant for an answer. “O–Over here, um..?” She’s also noticed her own lack of knowledge regarding you, twiddling her fingers and showing the way with open arms.

You flick out your nails, gazing over every discolored patch embellishing the sharp edges. “Irrelevant, but thank you for taking notice of your foolish ignorance.” The words line your lips like venom, leaving Charlie looking like a kicked puppy. After that show of clear uninterest in your character, there’s nothing you feel you have to sympathize with her about.

He would’ve taken your hand and led you away.

He wouldn’t have taken that.

Your heels tap on the tile as you shift your sorry focus to the dirty mirror, gazing into your own hollowed-out eyes. You look positively frigid, your eyes a solid pearly white– grey, dull skin– and a particularly unsettling set of extra teeth like a shark’s.

Violet veins pop out of your neck like knotted spools of thread, and it makes you almost want to wring the blood out of your own face; see how lifeless you can really get. Really, it makes you sick to see. Is this what you truly were at your core?

Were you stuck an ugly widow? A hag, one the folk told stories about ruminating in her dusty house?

Only you would’ve known.

The house wasn’t dirty, no, not even after it wasn’t a home any longer. You spent hours needling in every crevice to appease your husband even after death, his demeaning attitude spending you days of fixing up the house, just in case that dusty shelf was the reason he was gone.

You can’t cash in any favors now, though, you’d thought as you looked in the mirror at your mangled form. Maybe the gods weren’t omnipotent, clearly not seeing your fruitless efforts in life pay off in death.

That was surely the reason for your mutilated body, no?

It couldn’t have been the flower, so ripe with its berries long gone– infecting your insides with a cruel, but succulent bite. At the very least, it could explain the radiant shade of your hair– but not at all the grey roots sprawling in.

It was for an hour you stayed in that restroom. By the time you came out, there was a madame sprawled out on the couch like a man– fluff poking out of her hot pink collar. As soon as the door clicked on its hinges, the woman swiveled around to meet your eyes, smirking and throwing her head back.

“Hey, lookie here, see this is somethin’ you’d see in the biz!” Heat rushes to your face, and though you want to crawl back into your sanctuary of mirrors, you don’t. What if he saw you now, hiding in the face of adversity. Which.. doesn’t often come in the form of a hooker and a bluenose eyeing you with red suits.

God, does everyone wear a red suit? It’s starting to wear you out, being so used to the occasional one from your darling husband– Paired with other tones to even the unsightly color out.

Not that you look particularly sightly at the moment, though seeing two red suits in a day is sure to be worse, yes?

The memory is still sore on your mind though, as you find yourself turning your head away to face a cherry-decorated wall. Picture frames fill the space, crowding your mind with different, more pleasant thoughts. Or, at least something to fill the space in between.

You’re sure in Hell that man is a force to be reckoned with. Acclaimed a great deal of power, at the very least. His ways of getting that power, exactly.. It wouldn’t be wrong to say you’ve seen his methods. Very benevolent with his words, but not so much with how much blood is spilt.

Benevolent with your heart.

[heartpawp]

me when i LIE

[heartpawp]

god fucking FORBID!!!!!!!!!!!!

[heartpawp]

the backspace key is broken and gets stuck i shant live like this no longer ! release the endorphins ! (i spelt release like realize five times in a whopping two minutes ! applaud my efforts)

[heartpawp]

i cannot keep getting away with these needless italics jesus christ it's like i'm writing spoken word poetry

[heartpawp]

thiiiinkin southern belle accent but the more i write it's starting to just sound like angel yappin

[heartpawp]

creative liberties getting too creative now hold awn

[heartpawp]

i'm also a fat LIAR in the notes do NOT trust me..........

sorry u are legit so rude in let the light in it's insane . coquette queen though!!!! the bows go crazy 😜

[heartpawp]

sorry u are legit so rude in let the light in it's insane . coquette queen though!!!! the bows go crazy 😜

[heartpawp]

let the light in - at your back door yelling 'cause i wanna come in

read it on ao3 here

You knew you would die painfully.

From the moment you gained conscience, the ill thoughts of death always trickled in the back of your mind like wild daisies in the middle of the sidewalk— It was fate, everyone knew it deep down.

Once you’re gone there’s no memory to preserve, especially once the Earth’s rotted by the Sun and tossed into galactic dust. We all know it.

That awful day when you met your husband changed your view. We’ll all go to Hell.

And we all know it.

Something sharp and spindly cuts into your neck as your vision starts to crawl out, your head spinning with nausea. You look around to see the blood moon next to a golden one, and a scarlet sky twinged with black clouds. How long have you been here, thorns resting in the crook of your neck, digging in with every toss and turn?

This is an unholy sanctuary.

He’s here.

Your first thought when you wake up sends you into an upright position, glancing to every side with a desperate fervor. To no avail, you do not hear or even see your husband anywhere around.

The screams around you from pleading sinners would’ve masked his gentle voice, anyhow. They should just take it like what they’ve deserved in this life. They fell down the wrong path, you chose this— every miserable sinner here should’ve been at your mercy.

Why are they so loud, knowing what they’ve done?

Why are you still thinking about your husband, so sure he’s still enamored with you?

Everyone has their reasons, you suppose, as you stand up and wobble on your new two feet. Looking down, you’re disgusted to see four grisly gloved claws, adorned with white silk and a few bows to match.

Not modest, but.. You’re sure in Hell there are lots of madames. They do the dirty work, but surely they don’t deserve to roam in the darkest of depths, no?

Caught up in your own needless thinking, you don’t notice a girl come hurtling down your way. You gasp breathlessly as she begins to talk. “Hi, oh my gosh, um..” She hasn’t even said anything you can grasp yet, but her mouth still somehow moves a million miles an hour. “So! I’m.. gathering residents for my spectacular redemption hotel! It’s called the Happy— Er.. Hazbin Hotel! I’m sure you’re scared, I saw you wake up just now and—!” You scoff, placing your hands on your hips and rolling your eyes. "No, thank you."

The blonde persists, tapping your shoulder as you turn to walk away. Frustration finally boils over, when will this lady be quiet? You swing your head to face hers, an unamused expression donning your face. “Didn’t ya hear me, ya chatta’ box?” You snarl, pushing her away.

You almost feel bad, especially with the way her puppy-dog eyes plead for you to join her little hotel. Too bad, so sad, though. You were here for a purpose, not to rise up to some unattainable goal like fucking going to heaven of all places. Really? You just got here and you’re already being phished by some random woman.

Not to mention the fact she’s dressed particularly modern, the tux an eyesore to your newly uncovered eyes. It reminds you of your husband— clad in his pinstriped suits. He was always such an innovator for his time, a supporter of the new age. This girl though.. No manners to be seen at all!

Your husband would have smacked her upside the head, you think! “No, I came here for a reason, and I’m not going to waste it on some charity case.” You barely hold back raising your voice; that would be improper manners for a lady, yes? Especially one who wasn’t sure about her husband’s love for her dwindling— Or having been there in the first place.

Even if he didn’t, you could still try. You hope.

Take on a new shape, a new form if he didn’t already recognize you— Try someone more delicate, prettier, fancier, more akin to his tastes..

What do you look like, minus the claws?

You could use a mirror.

[heartpawp]

call me if you get lost - I

not posting all chapters here since it's already finished, but thought i'd add the first!!! read the full 16 chapters on ao3 here

"You're insufferable."

Usually, you would've been more keen on your wording around men -- customers. Not this time around, though, as the man before you sneers with a reprehensible school girl giggle. His name is Alastor, as you'd come to know him, the (in)famous radio host of New Orleans! New Orleans' prized treasure and sanctity.

In your eyes? A hard-headed, outcast, fool. One very, very, unfortunate day, he called. And now you're stuck with this dolt.

You cross your arms in disdain. This was the third appointment of the week scheduled with him. There are two others. It's Wednesday. Doesn't he have something to do, his own popular radio show to host? Simply.. annoying. There was no other word to describe this situation, you thought, but then you realized there were. Nasty, annoying, annoying, insolent, crabby, maddening. It was like he wanted you to himself. There are a million other call girls, flappers, prostitutes.. whatever, to please his mindlessness. His apparent 'loneliness' he once dramatically declared he had.

"Are you done playing with your food yet?" You ask with a frown, groaning when his smile only widens. The ends of his golden eyes crinkle in satisfaction. Did he want a reaction for his insulting behavior? Well, he's about to damn get it!

He tilts his head to the side, acting all dollish and ditzy. Raising one brow, he starts his blabbering. Again. "Hm?" He jumps with a start, straightening back up. "Are you implying something with that retort of yours, my dear?" Of course. This f- "Why, I'd adore to eat that cute face of yours up," Grabbing your cheek with one hand and pinching it, he talks in that freakishly demeaning baby voice he does when he wants the total control he already has with his status, 'back'. "But I'm afraid I might get poisoned, my dear!" You grimace. Is he serious?

He already has you under his thumb, whether you like it or not. You both already know this- It's implied with your profession, and that stupid influential persona of his. He smiles. Terribly. Leaning in, so close your plush lips graze over his- and Alastor, your most excruciating client, swipes a bite with his sharp teeth to your lower lip. You play into his sick idea of a game, teasingly squinting your eyes, urging him to press harder.

Your bottom lip is surely losing color by now, but it quickly comes back when you feel a familiar copper taste linger on your tongue. Your lip starts to sting, and just when you think he's done, he slips his own tongue in your mouth. Grabbing your face with both his hands, Alastor pulls you closer than ever before. His saliva mixes with the burgundy-colored, smooth substance. It's fresh, new, and most importantly- exciting. Invigorating. It urges you for more.

It urges you to come back again on Thursday.. and then Friday, or whenever he calls you for a quick power trip.

It's not always this smooth sailing, though.

Sometimes this.. man, will call in advance, but will be absent from his place of residence at the appointed time. It's, frankly, worrying. For you! Of course, as you're locked outside bordering on pushing daisies. Often he fails to show for a good half-hour, until he finally shows up. Sweat like dew on his pretty caramel skin, rushing to the doorstep you stand angrily at.

He should really consider adding a bench. Or you should raise your prices.

Or both. Who's to say?

You. You're to say.

Quickly, after huffing and puffing all the way here (Ugh), he unlocks the spruce door to his home, politely ushering you in. Of course, he acts like a gentleman, but only for the first thirty seconds of his presence being known.

And then it starts all over again.

With how much he occupies your work schedule, you may as well drop all offers from other people- also considering his odd possessiveness with you. 

Really, someone needs to put him in his place.

[heartpawp]

let the light in - PROLOGUE

read it on ao3 here

Your husband’s been out hunting for what feels like a million days.

The lines etching every wall in your home show it, clearly. For months, you painstakingly clawed out each retched scratch, but lost count after around two hundred. You checked it twice, wall and pen, aimlessly wandering around the ominous halls to find the empty spot for that day.

You never found it.

The house calls never stopped, ringing one after another from giggly teenagers, amateur investigators, and any other pathetic person bored enough to try. Eventually, you threw it out.

You hunt your own food, grow your own plants, and wait. All you do is wait. It drones on in your mind, pictures of him littering the wall like overflowing vines in an abandoned home.

House.

A house is not a home without warmth, the love you once had. You once supposed it was only a house without your husband– but you believe it’s always a home with his pictures in it. You kiss them once, twice, thrice, before bed. When you wake up, when you cook, when you clean, when you simply live.

God may take mercy on your wicked soul, but you’re not so sure your husband will. His warmth had only extended to you, and his poor mother.

You don’t want to think he’s died. You know that man is capable of pushing through anything, and he was an exceptional hunter. There’s no way he could’ve died. You would forgive him if he just came back, held you once more, even gave you one more pound of fresh venison to sear.

You would let him eat it, let him have it all, if he just stepped one foot in your doorframe. It’s not like you’re psycho, or anything, you’re just crazy in love. He would’ve laughed at that, the ritzy man!

He would’ve laughed, but at this moment, you still. You stand in place, running a hand through your greasy hair. You don’t remember the last time you washed it, and you don’t want to.

You can’t stand the silence.

The radio dial clicks with a red light, static creeping up as you slide the weary record into the player. You vowed never to touch it, at least subconsciously. You wouldn’t touch it until he came home.

He’ll never come back. You know it now, picking at your hangnails and tearing them off. You run to pick up the dried deadly nightshade he once gave you, holding them in a shaky grasp.

You eat his love in the form of purple petals.

It’s all you do, that day. You dance to his vinyls, throwing your hands up in the air and shrieking like a wendigo. You recall the foxtrot, the Charleston, every silly tango your husband taught you. You cry and cry until your tears have been drained, smashing into every intricately placed piece of your house. An itch plagues your throat, slows your breathing.

Suicide is a sin, it says it, you know it. It’s in the books as a gold standard of what not to do. Your husband must forgive you just this once, he must know your situation down there, yes? You dance until you can no longer hold up the weight of your own body. A paralysis overtakes your body, and you can’t seem to catch your breath as you fall to the ground with a thud.

How you love that man. It’s all you can think about as the blood sputters out of your mouth, it’s all you can think about when a vase rattles from the harsh impact, shattering fine glass in your open-eyed gaze to the ceiling.

It’s all you could ever hope to think about, as the plant’s water goes down your throat and chokes you. You cough, unable to move from your spot on the ground. The pretty pansies come down to clog up your dry mouth; and as with your so-called husband–

Whom you admired so fearlessly in your approach–

Through muffled sputters, you breathe out, "Don't save me, by God, don't."

You breathe your last breath in this lifetime.

[heartpawp]

sin triangle - I

read it on ao3 here

There’s nothing like finding the perfect thing. Which might as well be everything for you, little magpie.

While you were on one of your weekly walks, definitely not avoiding your blatant debt and lack of knowledge on what a loan was— you stumbled upon this fancy little hotel. It was one you had seen on TV, the flashy picture box straining your eyes but being completely irresistible to not do so. It had been rebuilt, you saw, the abrasive signs blazing in every direction.

Upon smashing through a window you had previously thought to be an open balcony, you’ve come to find a year’s worth of shinies. Plucking a shard of glass out the flesh of your shoulder, you sift through tons of trinkets. Necklaces, pretty metallic blades, earrings, soda tabs..

In other words: A gold mine!

“Oh, oh! This is gorgeous.”

“Yes, yes, this is so shiny and beautiful and..”

You whisper under your breath with, frankly, inconsistent caution, eyeing a fancy little charm. “This too!” You look over at the rack below it, gasping in awe and swiping a fancy little copper broach encrusted with jewels. You flip it over, and on the back there’s an engraved date from a long time ago— the rust creeping up the sides. It’s dated to around the time you were alive, 1926. “So many pretties..” Looking behind you to check for intruders, you shriek. (Not minding the fact of the matter is that you are the detested intruder) You feel a hand reach around your back to rest on your shoulders. Spindly claws tap at your collarbone, too cold to be even remotely close to human.

“Oh, aren’t you just darling?” A devilish man asks close to your ear, and you can almost feel your knees buckle. It sounds awfully like.. Static. Um, but he’s complimenting you at least..? This is for sure just one of Alastor’s many sly ways of taunting you— but you pay the insinuations no mind. This one is too much a threat— and a tall glass of water —for you to not lean into his tricks. You’ve got to hold on to hope somehow, right? Ha..

Pushing away every single warning, bubbling thought in your mind, you slip your hands in your pockets and rock on your feet nervously. “Um, thank you, sir..?” Your voice cracks, and in a fit of embarrassment, you shoot your head down and clear your throat. Ugh, no.

This just won’t do.

Getting caught first thing in the morning is not what you were planning on doing today. And it clearly also wasn’t the case for this fellow. “Well, ta-ta! I’ve got to run!” You squeal, and attempt to slide out of the grandiose hotel. Your glossy wings expand, the greenish-turquoise plumage shining in the light coming through the windows. (Maybe you should do this sort of thing at night..) It was silly of you to even try and steal from the infamous Radio Demon, and at the very least; a guaranteed death sentence.

If you didn’t make it out now, there’s definitely no other side for you to enjoy. It wasn’t like you were going to be spared, much less magically appear in Heaven beyond your expiration date. All you are at this point is curdled milk, as so with every sinner to die and be sunk down to the depths of torture.

To your hellish luck, he lets you escape. By escape, he means let you fall into the claws of the hotel’s residents. They’re pests, but you’re sure you can kill a few to glide by easily. What you don’t expect is for those same residents to be even capable of pinning you down like a twisted game at the carnival.

You thrash in place, and barely hold off dry heaving as you see Alastor’s form descend from his Voodoo-esque shadows. You were dead. You were a right fool to think you could escape the worst overlord in hell— who did you think you were? To even dare to think he didn’t have this all figured out from the moment he spotted you dawdling near his possessions.

The demon’s voice drawls out evilly, a sinister tone itching you under your skin. “Filthy,” He sings. “Little,” You swallow your mucus, choking out a cough. “Thief.” It was a decent run, in the end. To be sad about it would be a waste— Huh?

Suddenly, party streamers litter the room with an annoyingly high-pitched squeak. For a second, you think you’re being suffocated, but the crêpe paper proves otherwise. It is scratchy on your skin, and a familiar face you know for a fact you’ve seen on the TV down at the shops appears in your blotchy vision. Opening and closing your mouth like a fish out of water, miss little “Charlie Morningstar!” yaps in your face without reason.

Maybe you’d rather die.

But at least you have the pretties!

[heartpawp]

“Is it okay if I draw fanart of your fanfic?👉🏼👈🏼”

My brother in Christ we shall have a spring wedding

[heartpawp]

hi queers

i know what you are. hiiii!!!!!!!!!!! i have come to spread my alastor propaganda to tumblr!! and ask for fic ideas via polls bc i am a writing FREAK rn!!!!!!! eatin that corpse up crazy style!!! my AO3 is @/heartpop andd i will cross post them here!!! and polls again!!! and asks please!!! thinking of opening up commissions in the far future if i gather enough patrons for my sick and twisted cult. i am angst freak y'all i need to HEAR my people's CRIES!!!! love u all unless i am currently screaming into the void that is ok. may post little notes abt the chapters n stuff <3 love u again