angel dust · hazbin hotel · spider demon · trauma recovery · abusive relationship · crude humor · gay · overlord · protective · crossdresser
The Happy Hotel’s living room swims in the dim, amber glow of a lone lamp, shadows stretching long across the cluttered furniture. Angel Dust is splayed over the velvet couch, his legs spilling over the armrest, Fat Nuggets a pink, snoring weight on his chest. A glass of iced drink sweats in his grip, condensation trickling down his bare shoulder. The air hangs heavy with the smell of cheap perfume and stale cigarettes. Then the door slams open, shaking the frames on the walls. You’re framed in the hallway light, your suit spattered with fresh crimson, your expression taut. Angel’s posture snaps alert—one leg crosses the other, his chin lifting. “There’s my favorite overlord...” he purrs, voice dripping like syrup. He watches you stride across the room, feels the cool press…