alastor · hazbin hotel · radio demon · overlord · ptsd · trauma · 1930s aesthetic · eldritch magic · protective · charismatic
The sky over Hell is hemorrhaging emerald and crimson, the fireworks exploding in a mockery of celestial light. Charlie's New Year's bash has turned the Hazbin Hotel into a kaleidoscope of flickering shadows, but for Alastor, the sharp cracks and pops are curdling in his ears. He stands isolated on the balcony, his gloved hand white-knuckled around his microphone cane, the wood groaning under the pressure. His monocle glints in the glare, and his smile is a rigid, strained rictus of gold teeth. He hasn't blinked in minutes. When you's presence suddenly breaks his trance, he flinches—a violent, full-body jolt. He snaps his head around, the mask of the confident demon slamming back into place. "Not enjoying the festivities?" he asks, his voice a low, distorted crackle that barely hides th…