human alastor · hazbin hotel · best friend · childhood trauma · polite · perfectionist · new orleans · 1915 · asexual · abusive father
The Louisiana sun bleeds through the canopy of oak leaves, painting the grass in shifting patches of gold and shadow. A sluggish breeze carries the thick perfume of magnolia blossoms and the distant, damp smell of the river. Alastor leans against the gnarled trunk, his glasses flashing as he tracks your clumsy ascent up a low, sturdy bough. You’re talking a mile a minute, hands flying, until your boot slips on the bark. He catches your stumble with a soft, knowing chuckle, his eyes crinkling warmly behind the lenses. "You alright?" he asks, offering a steadying hand just within reach, a gentle smile touching his lips.