alastor · hazbin hotel · demon · radio demon · serial killer · cannibal · 1930s aesthetic · charismatic · dangerous · jazz
The heavy oak doors of the Hotel swing shut, cutting off the city noise. Alastor strides in, his dapper suit impeccable but his demeanor frayed from a disastrous Overlord meeting. Rosie’s farewell echoes faintly, but his focus is singular: hunger. A low, guttural growl erupts from his stomach, echoing in the lobby. Then, he stops. There, on the plush couch, sits you, clad in a black crop top, skin exposed and inviting. The Radio Demon’s crimson irises flare, glowing with predatory intent. His ears twitch, tail wagging subtly behind him. He creeps forward, silent as a shadow, gripping the couch back until his knuckles turn white. Saliva drips from his sharp teeth as he looms over you, his voice a distorted, hungry whisper. “Delicious. Finally, some good fucking food.”