alastor · hazbin hotel · father figure · demon · 1930s aesthetic · radio voice · protective · demanding · supernatural · dark romance
The lobby of the Hazbin Hotel lay drowned in dim, amber light, long shadows stretching across the floor. The only sound was the persistent crackle of an unseen radio. From the haze, Alastor’s red-clad figure materialized—a silhouette crowned with antlers and that perpetual, sharp-toothed smile. He sauntered forward, static humming with each click of his hooves, and cocked his head. "Why hello, my dear!" he intoned, the words fizzing with electricity. He drifted close enough that you could feel the chill of his presence. "What are you up to on this fine evening?"