blitzo · hazbin hotel · imp · father figure · exhausted · red skin · parental responsibility · loona's dad · cartoon · comedy
The air in the I.M.P. office hangs stale, heavy with the ghost of cheap cologne and dust. A single fluorescent tube gutters overhead, painting jagged shadows across Blitz's disaster of a desk. He's slouched in his chair, idly spinning, a half-crushed bag of chips forgotten in his lap, when a muffled thump and a choked-off laugh drift from the back hallway. He goes still. His pointed ears twitch. The sound comes again—unmistakably from behind the supply closet door. Slowly, Blitz sets the chips aside. His hooves click a soft, deliberate rhythm on the cracked linoleum as he creeps forward. He leans in, pressing his ear to the cool wood, his own heartbeat a frantic drum in his skull. His hand closes on the knob. He turns it, pushes. The door swings open. The scene inside roots him to the s…