alastor! hazbin hotel x female!reader (charlie and others)
Summary: Charlie tries to celebrate the 4th of July at the Hazbin Hotel, despite it being Hell and nothing ever going right. Angel Dust brings a homemade fireworks machine that immediately malfunctions and blasts Alastor with red, white, and blue confetti. The hotel erupts into chaos while Angel laughs, Charlie panics, Vaggie gets angry, and Husk stays unimpressed. Alastor remains calm but clearly dangerous, lightly threatening Angel while still smiling. He also shows subtle interest in you (the reader) even while covered in confetti, turning the disaster into something oddly controlled instead of fully destructive.
A/N- RAAHHHHH Happy 4th of July, let alone the 250th~ I am back and I hope y'all enjoy this Alastor fic .. I there it together real quickk soo:))
AGAIN SORRY FOR MISTAKES I THREW THIS TOGETHER
The hotel was never quiet. Hell was never quiet.
But on the 4th of July, because Charlie insisted that it was celebrated down there, it reached a whole new level of not quiet.
So Charlie Morningstar and Vaggie had somehow agreed against their better judgment to “a small, harmless celebration.” Which, in Hell, was already a lie waiting to happen. A banner was hung crookedly across the lobby reading “INDEPENDENCE DAY (DO NOT BLOW ANYTHING UP)” in glitter glue that was already peeling. Charlie was stepping down from the ladder, her hands on her hips, looking at it. Not perfect, but it would have to work.
Meanwhile, you stood near the front desk watching. You were always watching the chaos, at least trying to without being pulled into it. You usually always were though. You watched in amusement. The hotel needed someone like you. You were calm in a way that didn’t belong in a place like Hell, calm in not calm situations.
Standing across the room was Alastor, with his arms behind his back and his smile that never faltered. He was watching you instead of the decorations that were still being put up.
“You know,” he said smoothly, his voice crackling faintly like an old radio, “I find these human traditions utterly fascinating. Explosive, loud, and entirely lacking in self-preservation.”
“It’s patriotic,” Charlie Morningstar insisted brightly, clapping her hands together like this was going to end well.
“It’s dangerous,” Vaggie muttered immediately.
And that was when Angel Dust grinned like a man who absolutely should not be trusted with fireworks.
“Oh c’mon, it’ll be FINE,” Angel said, dragging a suspiciously large contraption into the center of the lobby. It was basically a cannon made of party supplies, duct tape, and what looked like regret. “It’s just a lil celebration device.”
Vaggie squinted. “Why does it have wires?”
“Decorative.”
“Why is it sparking?”
“Ambience.”
Alastor tilted his head slightly, still smiling. “Oh, this ought to be entertaining.”
That was never a good sign.
Charlie leaned in toward you and whispered, “He says that when he’s about to enjoy something or kill something.”
“Sometimes both,” Husk added.
You barely had time to react before Angel Dust proudly slammed a big red button on the contraption.
There was a pause.
A very suspicious pause.
Then
BOOM.
Except it wasn’t a normal explosion.
The device didn’t launch fireworks into the sky.
It launched an entire patriotic confetti vortex directly at Alastor.
Red, white, blue, glitter, streamers, paper eagles, tiny plastic hats, something that might have been a sparkly bald eagle screaming.
The entire lobby erupted into chaos as the confetti cannon malfunctioned like it had been personally offended by reality.
And Alastor?
He stood perfectly still.
Absolutely still.
Covered head to toe in patriotic nonsense.
A single streamer hung off one antler like it had claimed residency.
The room went silent.
Charlie’s eyes widened. “Oh no…”
Vaggie’s face said I told you so in at least five languages.
Husk slowly wiped a glass. “I am not getting paid enough for this.”
Angel Dust, on the other hand, stared for half a second, then lost it.
“OH MY GOD HE LOOKS LIKE A FIREWORK EXPLODED IN A CRAFT STORE”
He doubled over laughing, practically wheezing.
You tried so hard not to laugh. Really.
You covered your mouth, shoulders shaking slightly, eyes bright with disbelief as you looked at Alastor.
Because Alastor, terrifying, composed, ever smiling Alastor, was now glittering like a cursed parade float.
There was a beat. Then another.
Alastor slowly turned his head, and he still smiled.
But the air around him changed.
“Oh,” he said softly. “How delightful.”
A faint crackle echoed through the room like distant thunder on an old radio frequency.
The confetti on his coat twitched.
Charlie immediately stepped forward, hands up. “Okay, okay, we can fix this, it was an accident, Angel didn’t mean—”
“I absolutely meant it,” Angel said proudly.
“Angel”
Alastor raised a hand.
"Nonsense."
Alastor looked down at himself and plucked a paper flag from his sleeve like it would solve the problem. He examined it like it had personally insulted him, in which case it might as well have.
Then he slowly looked up again, his gaze landing directly on Angel Dust.
“Do you know what I find most fascinating about fireworks?” he said pleasantly.
Angel paused. “…uh oh.”
“They tend to go out with a bang.”
The lights flickered.
You stepped slightly forward without thinking, just a small movement, but enough.
Alastor’s eyes flicked to you immediately.
And something shifted.
The storm behind his smile softened, just slightly.
“Oh don’t worry,” he added lightly, his voice returning to its usual charming tone. “I wouldn’t dream of ruining the celebration.”
Angel blinked. “Wait, really?”
Alastor’s smile widened.
“Oh no. I simply said I wouldn’t ruin it.”
A pause.
…yet.
You were still standing there, trying not to laugh, when Alastor turned slightly toward you again.
Confetti still clung to him like the universe itself had decided to be annoying.
“You find this amusing, don’t you?” he asked smoothly.
Your eyes flicked over him once, then you very clearly failed not to smile.
“…maybe a little.”
A beat.
Then Alastor’s grin softened in a way nobody else ever seemed to see.
“Well,” he said lightly, brushing confetti off his sleeve with eerie precision, “I suppose even Hell deserves a bit of chaos on Independence Day.”