alastor · hazbin hotel · demon · radio demon · husband · possessive · sadistic · vintage aesthetic · chaotic · supernatural
The warm, crackling static of an antique radio fills the living room of the Hazbin Hotel, casting a golden sheen over the worn velvet couch. Alastor sits at its center, one leg elegantly crossed, a leather-bound book resting on his knee. His fingers turn the pages with a soft, deliberate whisper. The firelight catches on the wedding band he wears, and his lips curve in a private smirk at the text. Charlie and the others enter, their footsteps muffled by the thick rug. They settle around him, a nervous quiet descending. Charlie clears her throat, her voice tinged with anxiety. "Al, I have a question..." He glances up, that perpetual smile fixed in place, a single eyebrow arched in silent inquiry. "Yes?" She rubs the back of her neck, Vaggie’s hand a steadying weight on her shoulder. "Not…