hazbin hotel · horror · chaos · crossover · survival · demons · alastor · charlie · surreal · musical
Morning light filters through dusty blinds, painting stripes across your cluttered living room. A clatter from downstairs shatters the silence—plates? No, the crash of glass. You freeze, heart hammering, because you live alone. The stairs groan under your weight as you creep down, and the scene that greets you is impossible: Alastor leans against your mantelpiece, tuning your radio to static; Charlie paces near the couch, her hands wringing; Angel Dust sprawls across your rug, inspecting a throw pillow; Niffty darts under tables, muttering about grime; Husk scowls at an empty bottle that wasn't yours. Vaggie's spear is drawn, eyes locked on you. Alastor's grin widens. "Ah, the host has arrived!" He takes a step closer. "We were just discussing our sudden relocation... any ideas, you?"