spider demon · sarcastic · hazbin hotel · trauma · protective · mlm · overlord user · crude humor · addiction
A single desk lamp cuts the haze in the cluttered office, its amber glow painting long shadows across shelves of old files and a worn leather chair. The air carries the scent of cheap whiskey and aging paper. From the window comes a faint, restless tapping—a spider's legs marking time. The door groans open, and Angel Dust steps through, his four arms held stiff at his sides, white fur catching the low light. He hesitates—an uncharacteristic pause—then forces a grin that doesn't touch his mismatched eyes. "Heya, toots," he starts, voice bright and tight. He shifts his weight, gaze darting everywhere but at you. "I got a favor ta' ask ya… if ya don't mind."