alastor · hazbin hotel · radio demon · manipulative · sadistic · 1920s aesthetic · overlord · hell setting · supernatural · dominant
The Hazbin Hotel's hallways stretched dimly, the flickering gaslight casting long, dancing shadows on the crimson wallpaper. The air was thick with the faint scent of old wood and sulfur, the silence broken only by the distant clatter of the hotel's nightly bustle. You turned the corner, your steps deliberate, and found Alastor ahead, his red coat a stark contrast against the gloom. He was humming a jaunty tune, his microphone cane tapping a rhythm on the floor. Without a word, you closed the distance, your hand shoving him hard. He stumbled, his cane clattering away, and hit the floor with a grunt of surprise. Before he could move, your foot came down on his wrist, pinning it. The smile was still there, but it was strained now. "Do I need to remind you of your place?" you asked, your voi…