This is one of my Side-blogs, I don't link my main. I prefer to keep this fandom separate from my main blog just because I've written SO much.
{Gen Info about me!}
I'm 21, I'm a fellow ace in the hole! (A what now?), I'm nonbinary, use the good old classic they/them combo.
This blog is Alastor centric, but also serves as just my place to repost Hazbin stuff, talk about hazbin stuff, etc.
You will find: Alastor Art, Alastor x reader content, General Hazbin reposts, and more! [My yapping, usually.]
FANFIC & MY A03: My Masterlists, A03, and Personal Hazbin Fic Recs.
TAA's Fanfic Master Post
TAA's A03
Fanfiction Recs
REQUESTS: Closed Indefinitely
I take requests.
Things you can request:
1. Doodles of Hazbin characters
2. Profile Pictures of Hazbin Characters/Hazbin OCS
3. Alastor x reader Oneshots/Drabbles: (I write for ALL genders throw em at me!!),
4. OC/Yume x Alastor requests (I write for Yumes/OCS as long as you realize that I'm not going to 100% always get your character.
5. Hazbin Canon Ships I write for:
Radio-static )
Huskerdust
Platonic Radio Trio (I love hijinks, request some hijinks!!).
Guidelines:
.1 NO SMUT.
.2 Be polite. This is the catch all "Don't be racist, homophobic, sexist, and every other form of hateful in my inbox or I'll block you" Blanket statement.
.3 I WRITE FOR ALL GENDERS!!! You!! Yes you, If you're a male reader I AM YOUR WRITER. I write all genders, get over here!!!, I want to write more male reader x Alastors. Same goes for the she's and the they's, making this super clear!!
Hazbin RP Blogs: I do a little casual Hazbin RP, my blogs are listed in this section. Check em out IF you like ocs or want to see more silly art.
Hazbin OCs RP Blogs: @cobweb-couture-co , @hellscommunitygarden
Niffty & Husk RP Blog: @radiohenchmanandwoman
Vox RP Blog: @trustuswithyoursocialmedia
Alastor RP Blog: @facemadeforradioonlymotherloves
Lucifer RP Blog: @greatestdivorcedanddepressed
Rosie RP Blog: @cameforarosestayedforthethorn
Vaggie & Charlie RP Blog: @hazbinadminandredemptiondesk
Lilith RP Blog: @greatestmentorovermonarchy
TAA's TAGS:
taa-yappin - My general nonsense posts.
spiritslateshow - anything posted after 12 am or before 7am in my time.
taa = Terrible Alastor Art, my art.
taam -Mutual interaction/reblog
hztaa - General reblog for Hazbin.
sillyspirit - silly posting
taarq- Request
mauveposting- I LOVE MAUVE <3
-Blog Banner, Pinned Post Banner, dividers, profile pic, etc were made by me!! (You can tell.)
it's a bad day at work so have some random headcanons -
alastor -
alastor has a discretionary fund to make husk go buy you new phones after he (alastor) shorts out your current one because you aren't paying attention to him. but he knows he'll never hear the end of it if he doesn't replace it so he makes husk do it
that stupid fruity cocktail that you mentioned you tried literally once? husk was required to learn how to make it in case you asked for it again
he finds a playlist of your music (and judges you), but makes sure you hear one of your favorite songs or a reference to it once a day
vox -
he may or may not have voxtek employees follow you around time to make sure you're safe. maybe. who's to say
he "hates" when you call him your little weatherman - but he definitely hasn't stopped telling you the forecast every day when you get up
lucifer -
you aren't allowed out of bed without at LEAST 45 minutes of snuggles and headkisses every day. you are constantly late because of this, even when you start allowing extra time in your routine
if you see one more duck shaped pancake, you might cry. it's so cute but oh my god, can you please have one meal that isn't duck shaped?
any fave -
you come back to the hotel one day to a giant stack of board games outside your room after mentioning that you played a lot of games with significant others. the only hint who its from is a stick it with a (duck/radio/tv) drawn on it
writing motivation has been slow lately my loves.... idk when I'm gonna have anything out next, but I do want to have SOMETHING out soon I feed bad when I leave you all for too long :(
Summary: It had begun as little more than an idea tossed between Heaven and Hell, born somewhere between Emily’s and Charlie’s relentless faith in redemption. With a new alliance struck and wayward souls finally being offered a chance at salvation, the little experiment took shape.
There was to be a lottery. One of Heaven’s own sent below to show Hell’s sinners exactly what awaited them should they choose redemption. You were the perfect human soul. A walking testament to everything salvation promised, delivered straight into the heart of the Hazbin Hotel.
Heaven had intended you to inspire sinners; however, they had not accounted for Alastor, nor for his ravenous hunger for things that were never meant to be his.
Notes: I’m back in this bitch, I’m back in this bitch 😈
Warnings: None for now but plan for this to be more porn vs. plot 🥱
The Lottery
Your POV
Your shoulders shook with silent sobs as your best friend (Elizabeth) tried, rather unsuccessfully, to comfort you.
“Honestly, you should be honored to have such a journey bestowed upon you! Obviously you’ve been divinely chosen to help others along their heavenly path. Why, I would give anything to be in a position to help souls find their way here.”
You managed another miserable little sniffle from where you sat upon the floor of your humble home, thoroughly devastated by the day’s proceedings.
It had begun much like any other day in Heaven. It had been perfect, of course. Absolutely, wonderfully perfect. Then came the announcement.
A lottery was to be held. Every saved soul in Heaven would have their name entered for the chance to accompany a small delegation below, part of some new arrangement between Heaven’s higher authorities and the Princess of Hell. The entire thing was apparently meant to encourage sinners toward redemption by allowing them to meet those who had already earned their place above. Living proof, so to speak, that whatever awaited them beyond salvation was worth the trouble of pursuing it.
You had heard about the redemption case, of course. Everyone in heaven had. That strange, snake like sinner had somehow managed it, though privately you still weren’t entirely certain what to make of the whole affair. Redemption after damnation seemed terribly backwards to you. It had always been your firm belief that one ended up precisely where one had earned the right to be, and you yourself had done things the proper way.
You had lived according to the Good Book. You had attended church, honored your parents, minded your manners and done your very best never to knowingly cause another soul harm. You had been charitable when you had little to give and kind even when kindness was not necessarily returned. Perhaps yours had been a simple life, lacking much in the way of excitement, but you had been perfectly content with that.
You had been meek. You had been good. Excitement of the sinful variety had never held much appeal for you anyway. In fact, you had been well on your way to living an exceptionally respectable life when that unfortunate business with the Spanish influenza had rather abruptly put an end to it. All at twenty five years old, no less. Darn.
And after more than a century of enjoying the eternal reward for a life so carefully lived, Heaven had apparently decided to reward your good behavior by sending you directly to Hell. You dissolved into fresh tears.
“Oh, darling.” Your friend sighed.
“I don’t want to go to Hell!” You managed.
The mere thought of descending into that fiery wasteland utterly abhorred you. You had done everything right. You had lived properly, died properly and spent more than a century enjoying the reward you had been promised for doing so. Why, then, were you now to be made a spectacle of it?
“But just think of all those you’ll be helping,” your friend added softly, wrapping her arms around your still shivering form. “Perhaps there is someone down there who needs to meet someone exactly like you.”
You sincerely doubted it. Your descent was scheduled for tomorrow morning whether you liked it or not, and you knew perfectly well that when the appointed hour arrived, you would be there. Refusing the will of Heaven seemed precisely the sort of transgression that might earn one a rather unfortunate reassessment of their eternal accommodations, and after more than a century above you had absolutely no intention of discovering whether salvation could be revoked.
Could one be cast into Hell after already ascending? You weren’t entirely certain. Perhaps it was better not to ask.
Brushing the troubling thought aside, you steadied yourself and turned instead toward the trunk that had been delivered by the Celestial Descent Committee earlier that afternoon. If you were truly being sent to Hell, then there was little use spending your final evening in Heaven sobbing upon the floor.
You would pack. The decision did little to stop the occasional tear from slipping down your cheek as you began carefully folding your belongings into the trunk. How exactly was one supposed to pack for Hell, anyway?
Did they even have toothpaste down there? You shivered again at the thought. Heaven had been frustratingly vague about the practicalities of your temporary accommodations at the hotel, and the possibility of spending several weeks conversing with foul breathed sinners was nearly enough to bring fresh tears to your eyes.
With a grimace, you tucked another bar of your beloved floral scented soap into the corner of your trunk for good measure.
There….Surely four would be enough. You lowered the lid with a deafening thud and stared miserably at the packed trunk.
You could not eat that evening. You could hardly sleep. Long after Elizabeth had finally abandoned you to your sulking, you lay beneath the covers staring at the ceiling, listening to the perfect silence of the heavenly night beyond your window.
It would only be a few weeks. Everyone had assured you of that. Just a few short weeks below, smiling pleasantly and speaking of the joys awaiting those who sought redemption, and then you would be returned safely to the eternity you had earned. It sounded perfectly reasonable when explained by the Celestial Descent Committee. It seemed noble, even.
However, that did very little to soothe you now. You had been assured repeatedly that no harm would come to you. There were agreements in place, protections established and apparently several rather powerful individuals at the hotel responsible for ensuring the safety of Heaven’s chosen representatives.
Still, you worried dreadfully over precisely what sort of sinners you might encounter. Murderers, perhaps? Thieves? Adulterers? You pulled the blankets a little higher beneath your quivering chin.
What dreadful men and women might be waiting for you within that ridiculous little hotel?
You had, however, been briefed on the establishment’s goal once your name had been drawn. The Princess of Hell herself operated it, apparently possessing the rather peculiar conviction that even the most wretched souls could become something better if only someone bothered to show them how.
It truly was a lovely sentiment. You simply wished Lady Luck had chosen someone else to prove it. The next morning came far too quickly.
You were stripped from your little haven of perfection before you had properly accepted that you were leaving it at all, escorted through gleaming halls toward a chamber you could only assume housed some heavenly means of transporting you to your dreadful destination. A portal, perhaps?. Some magnificent celestial doorway that would open directly into fire and brimstone and whatever other horrors awaited you below.
There were three of you going in total, though apparently Heaven had possessed enough sense not to send you all at once. You were the first, an unfortunate pioneer of sorts, and the remaining two would follow once you had either exhausted your explanatory abilities or those overseeing this ridiculous experiment decided your usefulness had run its course.
The waiting was gruesome. You stood idly near the center of the chamber, hands clasped tightly before you, while Sera watched from the sidelines with the faintest glimmer of displeasure upon her otherwise composed face. From what little you had gathered, she had not been particularly enthusiastic about the entire Heaven and Hell exchange program. Unfortunately for both of you, her objections had apparently been overruled rather quickly. At least someone here possessed some sense.
Emily, on the other hand, could scarcely contain herself. She grasped your hand between both of hers and spoke with such breathless excitement that you barely registered a word of it. Your body no longer felt entirely your own. You were merely occupying it, watching everything unfold from somewhere several feet behind yourself like some dreadful picture show you had been forced to sit through.
“Thank you, truly,” Emily said, squeezing your hand. “For your service to Hell and Heaven both. You will be greatly rewarded.”
Rewarded? The word finally managed to penetrate the strange fog clouding your thoughts. With what, exactly?
You wanted for nothing here. You had spent your afterlife surrounded by beauty, comfort and every small pleasure you could ever dream up. There was no hunger, no fear, no uncertainty. You had friends you adored, gardens you could wander without ever growing weary and a home so perfectly suited to you that you had never once wished for anything grander.
What reward could possibly compensate for being tossed into Hell like some celestial missionary? Perhaps they would give you a larger house? You nearly frowned. You rather liked the one you already had….
Alastor POV
“Places, everyone, PLACES!”
Charlie practically howled the command across the lobby as she scrambled from one end of the hotel to the other, desperately attempting to organize her ragtag collection of sinners for a meeting no one but her seemed particularly interested in attending.
Cherri was still sulking over the grievous injustice of Sir Pentious not being selected for Heaven’s little exchange program, despite being reminded several times that sending him back down to spend several weeks in her company would rather defeat the purpose. She had also taken considerable offense to the suggestion that she might simply corrupt him all over again.
Alastor, meanwhile, remained comfortably removed from the commotion. Half concealed within the shadows near the edge of the lobby, he made no effort whatsoever to involve himself in the preparations. Helping would imply enthusiasm, and enthusiasm might suggest that he actually wished for this ridiculous little program to succeed. And that simply would never do.
After all, he had grown rather fond of watching Charlie gather up Hell’s most wayward souls and attempt to scrub the sin from them with trust exercises, heartfelt conversations and whatever other nonsense she had devised for the week. Their inevitable failures provided him with a reliable source of amusement, and Alastor saw no reason to meddle with this perfectly entertaining arrangement.
He inspected the tips of his talons absentmindedly. They were perfect already, of course. Unlike the sinners currently being herded into some semblance of respectability around the lobby.
No, Alastor did not care for the idea of Heaven meddling in his little shit show. He cared even less for the additional scrutiny that would undoubtedly accompany one of its precious “Winners” taking up residence beneath his roof. The whole arrangement struck him as terribly invasive. It was one thing to watch Charlie attempt to reform the damned. It was quite another to have Heaven send down one of its own success stories to demonstrate precisely what they were all supposed to aspire toward.
He supposed there might be some entertainment to be found in it. He also found himself wondering what sort of soul Heaven had selected.
Some unbearably virtuous little thing, undoubtedly. Perhaps a priest or nun? Someone who had spent their mortal life feeding the poor, nursing sickly children and never once entertaining an improper thought. Perhaps they would arrive draped in religious garbs with that irritating serenity the righteous always seemed to possess, prepared to speak endlessly of kindness and forgiveness while recoiling at every vulgarity uttered within earshot.
Perhaps a fine specimen of Hell such as Angel Dust could make them regret volunteering within the hour. Alastor’s signature grin widened slightly at the thought. Ah yes, maybe just perhaps this little arrangement could prove amusing after all.
After all, Heaven was not sending them an arch angel or a heaven born exterminator like Vaggi or Lute. They were sending them someone who had once been human.
Someone who had lived, suffered, sinned however slightly and still somehow managed to earn their place beyond those pearly gates. They were a shining example of everything Charlie insisted these miserable wretches might someday become.
What Alastor had not expected to endure, however, was the hunger….
Not anything of the ordinary sort. Not even the familiar appetite that occasionally stirred when some particularly unfortunate sinner wandered too close and reminded him that there were far more entertaining uses for flesh than simply leaving it attached to its owner.
No, this was something altogether more primal. The sensation struck him with such vicious immediacy that, for one peculiar moment, Alastor actually forgot to smile.
Heaven’s chosen soul materialized within the lobby in a wash of pale, celestial light, landing rather unceremoniously amid all those harsh reds and blacks with confusion written plainly across her lovely features. She looked almost painfully out of place. Seeming much too bright against a landscape that seemed determined to swallow anything remotely pure.
“Welcome! Welcome to, well… Hell.”
Charlie chuckled nervously before Lucifer stepped forward, bowing with all the ridiculous flourish Alastor had come to expect of him and extending one irritating little paw toward their guest.
The sweet creature hesitated before accepting it. She inclined her head politely, her expression soft despite the unmistakable apprehension hiding behind her eyes. Pretty enough, certainly, but Alastor had seen pretty things before. Pretty faces came to Hell by the thousands, and most became considerably less so once someone tore them apart.
No….It was not her darling face that had unsettled him. It was her smell. Alastor went unnaturally still. Good GOD, she smelled sweet.
Not perfumed sweet, though there was something delicate lingering upon her skin, roses perhaps? However that floral scent was merely decoration atop something far more intoxicating. Something he had not smelled with such purity since his mortal life.
Hmm…life. His pupils narrowed as it struck him. Every sinner in Hell carried something of death upon them. Decay and sulphur. And it always carried into the taste. Blood long since spoiled and souls steeped in whatever corruption had dragged them beneath the earth in the first place. Alastor had grown so accustomed to it that he scarcely noticed anymore.
But this creature? Oh…she smelled alive. Well not truly, of course. She had died just as surely as the rest of them had. Yet Heaven had preserved something within its Winners that Hell apparently stripped from its damned. It was warm and clean and terribly reminiscent of living flesh. And as we all know, Alastor had once possessed a rather intimate familiarity with living flesh and blood.
His gaze snapped toward the delicate flutter of her throat….Ah yes…there it was. Her living pulse. Fluttering so quick, she was frightened and trying her damndest not to show it.
Ohhh yes, he remembered that lovely scent. Her eyes darted nervously across the lobby, taking in every unfamiliar face, every horn, fang and monstrous appendage awaiting her. With each new horror her heart seemed to beat a little faster, and Alastor could practically taste the sweet irony rush of it upon the air.
His tongue dragged slowly across his sharp golden fangs before sweeping along his tightly pressed lips. Heaven had apparently neglected to consider one very important detail when selecting its precious little ambassador.
They had sent something that smelled absolutely delicious to a hotel with a retired cannibal.
Summary: Alastor Hartfelt’s life was delightfully simple. Host his radio show. Tend to his garden. Commit the occasional murder for funsies. And most importantly avoid people. The arrival of a young widow in the neighboring cottage threatens all four. Oh dear.
Notes: And so we’ve reached another story ending 😭 I hope you’ve enjoyed reading as much as I have enjoyed writing this. I know I took a lot of liberties but I hope it was still fun to read :) I had no clue when I set out to write a very self indulgent Alastor/Reader fic it would be this one that got the most love on tumblr 🤣 glad to know I’m not the only nerdy romantic Alastor lover out there 😭
Series Masterlist
Epilogue
Straightening, Alastor dragged the back of his forearm across his brow, wiping away the sheen of sweat that had gathered beneath the Wyoming sun. Resting the axe against the chopping block, he glanced down with open irritation at the blisters that had split across his palms once more. He knew he ought to go inside and put on the leather gloves you had so lovingly made for him, but stubbornness had always been one of his greatest flaws. He had wholeheartedly convinced himself he could simply work through the pain. Unfortunately, the ever blooming blisters on his sensitive hands seemed determined to prove him wrong.
It had been six weeks…Six weeks since you and he, accompanied by that incorrigible cat of his of course, had packed what little truly mattered and crossed the country together. Wyoming had been everything the two of you needed. It was wild and untamed. Vast enough to swallow every single secret the two of you ran from, and far enough away that no curious soul would ever come looking for either of you.
He smiled despite himself, remembering the night you had finally entrusted him with the darkness that your own soul harbored. That confession had changed everything. Unburdening his sins beside yours had been the greatest gamble he had ever taken, and by some miracle it had been rewarded beyond anything he could have imagined. Rather than fearing you, he had fallen even more hopelessly in love. As it turned out, monsters were far less lonely when they found another who understood them.
Now you were Mrs. Alastor Hartfelt. Never, in all his years, had he imagined that name would stir something so fiercely possessive and impossibly tender within him. The two of you had married the very first day you arrived in Jasper, unwilling to waste another moment pretending fate had not already bound your wicked souls together.
Taking a moment to wrap his handkerchief around the worst of the torn skin, his thoughts wandered back to you. Somewhere inside the little cabin, no doubt humming to yourself as you tidied, or perhaps out tending the small garden the two of you had only just begun to cultivate. Much like those fragile seedlings pushing through the earth, the two of you had taken root together. Slowly intertwining, growing around one another as naturally as the vines that had once climbed the cypress trees back home.
He missed the bayou. Lord, and he knew he always would. He knew you missed it too. Trading the swamps of Louisiana for the Wyoming mountains had never been born from desire, only necessity. Still, neither of you had mourned the decision for very long. Wherever you happened to be had become home to him, and he desperately hoped the same was true for you. At the end of the day, neither of you wanted much more from life than the simple privilege of waking beside the other.
His life had changed more in a matter of months than it had in the decades before. Marriage had never once figured into his plans, much less a family of his own. And yet somewhere between falling hopelessly in love with a charming widow and developing an unfortunate disregard for proper family planning methods, every conviction he had once held had simply blown away.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he lifted the hatchet once more and brought it down with a hearty swing. The blade buried itself cleanly into the dirt beside the chopping block, having missed the log entirely and only narrowly avoided his own boot. He ought to have been irritated with himself. Instead, he barked out a quiet laugh that echoed through the pines.
He hoped he was right. When you had quietly admitted your monthly was late, the news had unsettled him a little at first. He would have been lying to claim anything otherwise. But as he had held you close that evening, your head tucked beneath his chin, the tight fear within his chest had slowly given way to something else. It unfurled into something warm and exciting in an entirely different way. For the first time in his life, he found himself looking beyond the next hunt, beyond the next glass of whiskey, beyond the man he had always believed himself destined to remain.
He imagined a future here, tucked away beneath towering pines instead of moss draped oaks. A little one racing through wildflower fields instead of muddy bayous. A child who would never know the darkness that had lingered over his own youth or the ghosts he had carried with him out of New Orleans.
“Would a lonely lumberjack such as yourself be interested in some lunch?” your sweet voice called across the meadow, carrying to him much like music upon the mountain breeze.
Straightening at once, Alastor cast a guilty glance toward the pitiful little pile of logs he had only just managed to chop with questionable success. Thank goodness winter was still a long way off….by then he was certain he would learn to swing a hatchet with at least half the precision he employed when cutting a man’s throat.
“Always, cher,” he called back.
Making no attempt to brush the sawdust from his trousers or hide the makeshift bandages wrapped around his palms, he met you halfway. Before you could even set the basket down, he slipped an arm around your waist and gathered you against him, holding you to him in a most loving way.
Together you stood in comfortable silence, gazing out across the endless stretch of pine and meadow. It was different from the bayou in every conceivable way, yet if he softened his focus just enough, the wind whispering through the trees almost sounded like the cypress back home.
Perhaps everything truly would be all right. How grateful he was that he had left New Orleans behind.
For years he had carried the quiet certainty that the city would one day be the death of him. In those final weeks before leaving, the nightmares had only grown worse. Always the same one. Running through the woods, hounds at his heels, his lungs burning as they drew ever closer, only to awaken in a cold sweat with a splitting headache. Perhaps that had been the warning.
A man could only meddle with the occult for so long before something truly evil eventually reached back. His gaze drifted toward you, smiling as you unpacked the little lunch basket beneath the shade of the pines.
No…How grateful he was to have left all of that behind.
The rituals would account for nothing now. He had spent so many years searching for answers about the afterlife that he had nearly overlooked the life he already possessed. You…and now perhaps a child. A future he had never dared imagine for himself.
Whether monsters were doomed to remain monsters forever was something he might never know. Or perhaps, given enough love and enough distance from the darkness they had once embraced, they might become something else entirely.
A quiet smile tugged at Alastor’s lips. He rather hoped to spend the rest of his life finding out.
Tag list @milkissesx @error-buttercup @aurorab-0-realis @fantasyhopperhea @m3lodyxo @multidimensionalslut @a-midwinter-night-dream-86 @izkayfleks @jazztato @toasterpis @sassy-persona
