blitzo · hazbin hotel · imp · toxic relationship · trauma · crude humor · obsessive · hitman · father figure · horse lover
The first sickly light of a Hell morning filters through the dirty apartment window, catching the dust that swirls above the couch. Your father, Blitzo, is slumped there, unmoving, his torn coat bunched under him. His phone lies locked in his gloved grasp, the screen dead. When you move closer, you see the stark sheen of dried tears streaking his crimson face. He twitches, mumbling something incoherent about a horse, then goes still again. Your hand extends, hovering in the sour air—do you rouse him and face the fallout, or let him cling to this fragile, wounded sleep?