#I MISS PILOT!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amusingmusie · 4 months ago

Note

Hi, I really hope you're faring well. Just wanted to say that I love your writing and yours truly, and I thought about something.

In hell, Alastor is a lot more durable and unkillable, so I imagine that's a lot more of a headache for Nel. She's walking behind him, ready to bash his skull and all of a sudden his head does a 180 and she's like >:0.

Also demon Al's hygiene must be HORRIBLE. So she's probably going to have to chase him around the hotel with a toothbrush and soap to no evail because he's a slippery motherfucker now that he's a demon.

Thank you so much for writing this masterpiece, and have a wonderful day <3

Fresh As Hell

Content warning for the Hazbin cast being themselves.

You're running out of ideas.

This has gone on far too long. The smell of an old shoe here, a hint of halitosis there, even a whiff of swamp water wafting your way if you get too close: it's all evidence that you can't ignore any longer.

Alastor kind of fucking stinks.

Sure, you've told him since your human days that his swampass stench is overwhelming, but that was a dig to piss him off, not the actual truth (usually, as long as his mother pressured him to scrub his tail). Nowadays? Well, if the demonic stop sign admitted that he bathes in his bedroom's wetlands, you'd be less than shocked. Shit, you'd actually be relieved if that were the case, because then you could fill the bog with soap and perfume to mask whatever funk perpetually lives on Alastor's grey skin. It's never overwhelming enough to knock you out; it's maddening subtle, the musk of his hair and the bite to his breath.

Maybe you could survive the Great Stink of '24 if he didn't insist on being on top of you at all times. Every time you turn around, you're assaulted by crimson, static, and Alastor's personal brand of miasma that wafts off of him since he insists on being no less than three atoms away from you.

Sure, it's possible you've got beef with his aroma since back in the day, the shitter smelled like freshly cut wood with notes of amber and his teeth sparkled like diamonds. You've seen his hygiene at its peak, which is why you cannot cosign this rank tomfoolery. Unfortunately, all of your attempts to rally the idiots at this hotel to agree with you that this is an issue have ended in disaster, leaving you without any allies in this fight.

"I haven't really noticed much, and hey, here at the Happy Hotel, we're receptive to more, um, eccentric lifestyles! As long as Alastor is being a team player and helping out with our mission, there's no reason to make him uncomfortable by bringing up his personal choices!"

"I don't get close enough to that pendejo to catch a whiff of whatever you're talking about."

"I dunno, tootz, I like a man with a little musk to 'em."

"Fuck off and fuck you."

"I like man stink~"

You're very much on your own here. The war on Alastor's subpar hygiene will be fought by you and you alone, and you won't be deterred- you've had worse battles before.

When you're once again yanked into Alastor's side and exposed to a faceful of his armpit in the lobby for the upteenth time, you vow to take action against him, more for your sake than his.

Game on.

---

Your strategy calls for small, stealthy actions in the beginning.

Positioning yourself in plain sight at the hotel bar with two cups of coffee, you wait for your target to appear. It's the perfect scene: you, alone (save for the bar cat, but he's passed out with his head down on the counter), with coffee. Alastor can't resist this. Hardly more than three seconds pass before a rush of static and a chill wash over you. A gentle pop sounds off to your left, and then you're greeted by your least favorite radio host smelling stale as ever.

"Good morning, sweetheart!" he cries, purposely shouting too loudly into your ear. "You're looking especially horrid this morning. Did you happen to catch a glance of your reflection in the mirror before it cracked?"

"No, I was too busy imagining all the ways I could skin you alive before eleven."

"Well, it is eight already, so hop to it, you need all the time that you can get to brainstorm!"

As his invisible audience laughs alongside him, you flick a handful of mints into his unguarded coffee cup. The jackass is too busy chortling at his tired jokes to realize that you've done anything at all. Perfect. Holding back your smirk is a damn hard move when Alastor finally lifts his red mug to his full lips and swallows down a mouthful of minty coffee.

Success.

Until-

"Hm..." Alastor hums, blinking his red eyes plainly. Then he promptly turns, spits out a stream of dark liquid onto Husk's bowed head, and snatches up your cup of coffee. After sipping down your drink, he sighs contently. "There, much better! Ah, that was a juvenile play, dear. You're losing your touch."

The deer motherfucker teleports away while you're left with a pissed off cat and determination to win this war.

---

Next comes the idea to douse Alastor in whatever perfume oils you can find as a direct plan of attack. Instead of using your precious concoction that you paid out the ass for from Rosie's Emporium, you decide that these other assholes living around here could stand to help out for five seconds. You're not asking for their support- just their cologne.

Angel is the unlucky winner that you approach since whatever he wears is pungent enough that it has your eyes watering on a good day. The spider leans up against his doorway, legs in your face and fluff looming above your head as you make your case.

"Listen." You crane your head back and fix him with what you hope is an amicable stare. "I'll shoot straight with you. I need a favor."

"Oh?" he asks, raising a perfect brow and examining his gloved fingers. "I don't do girls, sorry not sorry."

"No," you grumble at him. "Not that kind of favor. I need to borrow your perfume- whatever shit you wear is strong enough to be smelled across the Pentagram. All I need is to borrow the bottle for five minutes and I'll have it back to you good as new."

"HA! You think I'm letting you make off with my smell-good for free? No no no, nobody gets to borrow what I wear, not even Cherri. It's custom! You're out of luck."

"You're here at the hotel to redeem yourself- part of redemption is being selfless."

"Actually, I'm at this shitshack so I don't have to pay rent, and redemption don't mean you get a spritz of my good shit. Go ask some other shmuck." Angel laughs in your face one final time, then spins around to shut his door.

"I'll owe you," you spit out. That has the fluffy demon pausing and you fear that you've either royally fucked up or royally succeeded.

"...Owe me what?"

"One favor equal to borrowing your perfume that doesn't involve me getting my ass kicked or double dead."

Angel grins delightedly, retreats into his den, then sticks one spindly arm out with his perfume sitting pretty in his palm.

"Have at it!"

And you do, with fear of Hell's #1 pornstar in your heart.

Alastor comes in to kick your legs under the table during dinner and you immediately whip out Angel's perfume to soak the son of a bastard down. There's an ear-ringing screech before Alastor pops away, leaving you with a table full of coughing, gassed-out hotel inhabitants that are very, very pissed off.

Once Vaggie is done chewing you out, Angel Dust leans over and whispers, "You still owe me for my draining my fucking reserves, dollface."

Fuck.

---

After weeks of attempted baths, desperate tooth-brushing sessions, dirty bribery, and numerous double-death threats, you've decided that you have no choice but to go completely nuclear. Clearly, your rotten plague of a deer demon is determined to resist all attempts to freshen him the fuck up, so you are prepared to pull the dirtiest trick in your book. Forget screaming or cussing; you'll have his ass eating out of the palm of your hand in no time with this.

"Hello, my rotten peach!"

Ahah, it's time- you're about to win this little game no problem. You take one look at Alastor in all his awful glory here in the parlor, steady your face into an uninterested expression, and then you. look. away.

Alastor stares.

"I said, hello, my rotten peach! My fetid fruit! My most crusty crop!" he announces slightly louder as if you didn't hear him.

Nothing. No reaction. You refuse to engage with someone that smells of fragrant toes and has gums darker than his coffee; you'll have him suffering from your silence if those are the dumbass choices he'd like to make.

Just barely concealing his panic at the sudden lack of your attention, Alastor clomps closer, then pokes at your side with his staff. The thing winces from the contact. You, on the other hand, are not weak and will not relent, so you continue to watch the parlor wall with great interest.

All according to plan.

Charlie passes by, humming a happy tune. When she spots you lounging on the couch with Alastor hovering over you, she smiles at the familiar sight, and offers a happy, "Good morning!"

"Morning, Princess," you greet her. Then you return to wall watching.

Alastor wilts.

You smile.

And you play the winning game.

For days, you refuse to acknowledge anything having to do with your favorite least favorite parasite. If he materializes in front of you when you're reading a novel? You don't even flinch. If you awake to him standing over your bed and staring with glowing eyes? Well, there's no need to do anything but roll over, that's just Tuesday. You hardly bat an eye when a black shadow warbles over your shoulder as you brush your teeth; no, you simply show it the brush and toothpaste for a proper tutorial on how to avoid ripe ass breath. You're enjoying the power you hold over Alastor, and you especially enjoy the way his stupid tufts flatten against his head when you deny him any attention for a whole week.

You believe that victory is yours.

---

As you trudge downstairs for another miserable day at the Asscrack Motel or whatever they're calling this place nowadays, you're overwhelmed by a new scent permeating throughout the lobby- freshly cut cedar, something slightly floral and musky, hints of amber, and immaculately washed manass.

Shit.

You know that smell. You know that smell very well. It can only mean one thing.

Then you spot him in all of his glory; Alastor is leaning his spindly body against the hotel bar with a freshly patched suit, styled hair slicked back across his head, and shining teeth. Oh God, he smells and looks like Heaven, and suddenly you decide that maybe you don't give two shits about that white speck in the sky when you've got this presented to you on a metaphorical platter.

With a little grunt, you move closer, appraising Alastor with an indifferent expression. His static is whirring sweetly in the background while he simpers down at you- yeah, he's proud and peacocking a bit, you can tell from the manner in which his lips curl and the way his chest puffs out. Goddammit...he knows that he's got you hooked like a fucking sucker.

"Yeeeeees?" he sings when you stare for a second too long. "Something on your dreadfully empty mind?"

"..." Hm. You could shoot him for being annoying, but he did do all of this dolling up for you.

Ugh. You hate him so much.

So you yank him down by his lapel so you can kiss him square on the mouth. For the first time in a long time, he tastes of mint and sunshine instead of rot and coffee, utterly intoxicating you in the worst of ways. You drag your lips against his and feel that they've been moisturized, and when he bites down on your tongue, there's no slippery plaque to offend your senses.

All of this effort just to get you to look his way.

Good.

Then you release him with a pop, flip him the bird, and walk off with your head held high.

Alastor just hums in satisfaction from his place at the bar, idly commenting, "I've still got it," to a very disgusted Husk and Vaggie who are doing their damndest to ignore the scene.

You'll call this one even.

(Loosely based on a very old conversation with @gemrocknerd).

#alastor x reader #an apology for chapter 33 #alastor hazbin hotel #a drabble!#I write everyone like the pilot days cuz I miss when they were mean #enemies and lovers and a secret third worse thing gulp

162 notes · View notes