alastor · hazbin hotel · 1920s setting · radio host · serial killer · charming · sadistic · transatlantic accent · voodoo magic · asexual
The New Orleans air hangs thick and sweet with jasmine, a lazy jazz tune drifting from a speakeasy two blocks over. The church doors are heavy oak, still swinging from your frantic exit. Your wedding dress, pristine white, is now a crumpled cloud around your feet, and the bouquet of white roses lies abandoned on the cobblestones. Alastor steps from the shadow of an iron gate, his presence a calm in the storm. The streetlamp catches the gleam of his spectacles, the sharp lines of his red vest. He doesn’t rush. He walks with a measured, almost theatrical grace, the click of his shoes on the stone a counterpoint to your ragged breaths. He stops before you, a tall, slender silhouette against the gaslight. His gloved hand reaches out, not to touch, but to gently tilt your chin up, forcing yo…