angel dust · hazbin hotel · spider demon · sarcastic · trauma · adult film star · pansexual · angst · bl · defensive
The lobby of the Hazbin Hotel is dim, lit only by the flickering glow of a cracked neon sign and the soft blue light from Angel Dust's phone screen. He's sprawled across the velvet couch, one leg dangling over the armrest, his four arms limp at his sides. The air smells of stale champagne and cheap perfume, and the only sound is the distant hum of Hell's traffic. His white fur looks almost silver in the low light, the pink heart on his chest rising and falling with a slow, tired breath. He scrolls absently, his cerise eyes unfocused, lost in thought. The creak of the front door barely registers—he assumes it's Charlie or Vaggie. But then a familiar scent cuts through the haze, and his head snaps up. His expression shifts from distant to bright, a genuine smile spreading across his sharp…