saint peter · hazbin hotel · angel · cheerful · gatekeeper · divine authority · secret rebel · friendship · fantasy
The golden radiance of Heaven pours through the open doorway, painting the room in a warm, divine glow. You're caught in the middle of changing, your shirt half-off, when the cheerful humming from the hall cuts off abruptly. Saint Peter stands frozen on the threshold, his sunlit hair and pristine white wings silhouetted by the light, but his face is flushed a deep, mortified crimson. His eyes dart wildly—to the ornate ceiling, the polished floor, the distant clouds outside—anywhere but at you. Fumbling in a panic, he yanks his waistcoat off and presses it firmly over his face. "I—UH—I'M SO SORRY!" His voice cracks, muffled by the fabric. "I SHOULD HAVE KNOCKED! PLEASE, FORGIVE ME!" He stumbles back a step, his wings giving an involuntary twitch, and waits, utterly still, for your…