Angie Cakes

Indie rp of Angel Dust from Hazbin Hotel. Mun is 20+, PROSHIP, and very tired. Interactions with other Angels, he tends to go by Angie. Please no minors, please no drama.

[got-dusted]

He was not happy, no sir, not at all. He went through this every year, and every year it just ended up with him being sore and exhausted and completely unsatisfied. Trying to appease the need on his own did jack shit, going to the boss usually ended up with his face through the mattress and him sore as fuck, what he needed was some sorta heat deterrent. Something that stopped this shit in its tracks. Achy, longing to be filled, overheating, it was god awful and he’s sick of it. What’s the opposite of heat? Cold. “I’m a genius.” He’s scribbling a note for Phisaya, Dusty, and Dove, so they won’t worry about him.  You’s guys, I’m taking a lil vacay. Don’t worry. Am safe. I’ll be back in about two months.

Love ya lots, Angie <3 And then he’s going to the Studios industrial kitchen and tucking himself into the most unused corner of the deep freezer. Ah, nice an’ cold. Just what the doc ordered. Can’t be in heat if your body’s frozen. Time to hibernate, boy.

[kiss-thiss-niss-archived]

"I had plenty a boyfriends, whatcha mean I din't have a boyfriend, Nissy? Hey, y'ain't....you look sorta guilty, Nissy... wha's wrong? Y'din't have nothin' to do with Vin's disappearance, didja? I went to meet 'im one day an' he wasn't at our usual spot. Then Pops shipped me off, an' I wound up down here three months later."

"I...."

[got-dusted]

“I...what ‘Los? All you’s had to say was nah you bein’ stupid. Y’din’t have nothin’ to do with it, didja?” 

[got-dusted]

What kind of “I love you” are you?

Love you!

It's the "I love you" we use every time we finish up a call with our mom, every time we want to offer our friends a bit of encouragement, the welcome home kiss on the cheek we give our lover every day. It's sending them pictures you know they'll laugh at, buying them strange little nothings that you know they'll like. It's having their bagel order memorized and setting their birthday as your password. Somehow, their name weaves its way into almost every funny story you share with others. It's brief, casual, it's a habit. We aren't even aware we do it. It says that love is cradled lightly in your heart, generously given, spilling out into the world unbeknownst to you, making up the web of delicate threads that hold us all together.

[akarii-memes]

Make my muse feel wanted

Sexually, romantically, endearingly, cherish them! Be as detailed as you like and warm their heart ❤️

[got-dusted]

phisaya​:

One of the demons blows a bubble with their gum and pops it loudly while twirling their hair. “Sure she is, and I’m a thousand-year old vampire loli. C’mon. She’d just be asking for trouble if she got herself drunk. We’re doing her a favor.”

They say this with such obvious sarcasm that even Phisaya, if she weren’t in the car, would pick up on. She only sees Angie storming up to the counter, and with a sigh, turns to her phone to bitch about it on Sinstagram. Lmao got carded at the liquor store, she types in the caption of her unamused selfie. Like they haven’t seen my videos online.

Meanwhile, the other demon pulls a shotgun out from their vest. “You think we don’t get that threat from every other customer? You’re just a washout, what’s the worst you can do?”

“I died when I was 19, dumbass. She’s 30, she can’t help that she’s small.” He huffs, reaching over the counter to try and grab at the shotgun, though he misses and just ends up faceplanting on the counter instead, “Y’know y’lucky I don’t wanna fight with y’all.”

[got-dusted]

phisaya​:

Phisaya opens the passenger side of the car and flings herself into the front seat, upset at having been treated like a kid by the staff. She knows that no one really cares how old you are when you’re buying alcohol. They’re just doing this to make fun of her.

The demons at the counter snicker and exchange a look when they see Angie. “Aw, she sent Mommy in to buy it for her,” one of them says to the other.

He’d watched her to make sure she got in safely, before he’s marching up to the counter, setting the bottle down and folding his arms over his chest, “Y’gots a problem? She’s more than old enough to get this damn bottle, an’ y’bein’ jackasses for no reason other than y’think it’s funny to fuck with people. Well, y’gonna ID me? Y’bein’ so thorough, right? Y’gots to ID me, right?”  He makes a show of feeling about his pockets, “Aw shucks. Seems I left my wallet at home. Wouldja look at that. Guess that means we’re gonna have to come up with a different solution! Two options buckos, 1) Y’let her buy the fuckin’ bottle because she’s older than me or 2) I shoot you both up, an’ we take as much booze as we can fit in m’car.”

[got-dusted]

"You gotta help me. I forgot my ID at home and I can't buy this bottle of rosé because they keep carding me." - Phisaya, very exasperated, but not realizing Angie died under the legal drinking age.

@deepspacevivarium

"...Uh...sure. I'll getcha the bottle of rosé. Go on out to the car, I'll be right out." He's eyeing the bottle of wine, and then looking up at the couple of demons working the counter, "No worries."

[got-dusted]

a-hazbin-spider​:

A long shush is granted, and a little placebo kiss on the noggin is given in hopes to calm him. Poor Angie. He couldn’t let it up like that. That’s no good. Hm… he fishes around and cracks a small something or another looking much like a mini pillow. But- it’s cold. He slowly and carefully sets it in place.

“I know- das th’ thing about hittin’ ya head. It messes wit’ ya memory. Which is why I’d prolly f’get my head if someone lobbed it off.” He tried to joke, making sure Angie is sat still and comfortable now that they’re away from the street sweep.

“Ya did hit ya head. But I’m here t’make everything better. A’right?”

He settles a bit at the kiss to his head and then winces as that ice pack is settled against his aching head, “...m’kay... I din’t hit m’head... but I like you lookin’ after me an’ stuff.”

[got-dusted]

@a-hazbin-spider​ continuing from: x

Two… three… one… four… good answers so far with his fingers. He gently steadied Angie’s face in one set of hands and checked his eyes with the other.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Y’jus’ hit ya head pretty hard back d’ere. Just checkin’ ya still well n’ shit. Y’know how it is.” Or possibly not. Far as Clutter went: he was the most qualified (and bonafide) nurse. Still, to make it better, he stroked his fingers through Angie’s hair, and kept his testing soft and patient.

He looks dazed, his forehead scrunching up a bit as he tries to process Dove’s words, trying to figure out what’s happening, “I din’t. I din’t hit m’head...’m fine!” There’s a long drawn out hiss as those fingers stroke through his hair, combined with a wince, “Oooooooow! wha’th’fuck? I din’t hit my head...I’d know if I hit m’head. I din’t hit m’stupid head. Why’s it hurt?”

[got-dusted]

"Mom? I just heard you scream, you good?" - Phisaya (SORRY)

@deepspacevivarium

"Mmmm-ye-yeah-yepperonis!" He's not hissing and cringing and glaring up at Val still bent in his position, "'M fine! Uh, jus' jus' dropped somethin' on my my foot."

[got-dusted]

Valentino yanks the heart-shaped beads from Angie's ass with animalistic glee. He'd just ordered several boxes of these and has been using them with reckless abandon on anyone who will say 'yes'. He doesn't need to pull so hard!

@poisoncandyhearts

It wasn't exactly the best, but hey, what Daddy wanted Daddy got. So what if the tug was a bit violent? It wasn't the worst scenario he'd been in, not even close. The position wasn't great either, but hey, least he was able to bite the shit outta his own leg with how he's folded up, muffling the yowl that wants to escape at the violent yank. This was not what he had expected when he'd told Daddy that he'd try and do one last show, bent in half with his head between his legs, ass up in the air and those heart-shaped beads yoinked out like he's some pull and speak doll.

[got-dusted]

Attachment style quiz | Info on the types | More Info

Anxious/Preoccupied.

Anxious attachment style is a form of insecure attachment style marked by a deep fear of abandonment. Anxiously attached people tend to be very insecure about their relationships, often worrying that their partner will leave them and thus always hungry for validation. Anxious attachment is associated with "neediness" or clingy behavior, such as getting very anxious when your partner doesn't text back fast enough and constantly feeling like your partner doesn't care enough about you.

Anxious attachment is also known as anxious-preoccupied attachment, and it generally aligns with the anxious-ambivalent attachment style or anxious-resistant attachment style observed among children. Some 19% of adults have the anxious attachment type, according to Hazan and Shaver's research. These individuals are sensitive and attuned to their partners’ needs, but are often insecure and anxious about their own worth in a relationship. If the loved one rejects them or fails to respond to their needs, they might blame themselves or label themselves as not being worthy of love. Generally, adults with anxious attachment need constant reassurance that they are loved, worthy, and good enough. The strong fear of abandonment might often cause anxious adults to be intensely jealous or suspicious of their partners. This fear might also lead them to become desperate, clingy, and preoccupied with their relationships. Adults with an anxious attachment style are often afraid of or even incapable of being alone. They seek intimacy and closeness and are highly emotional and dependent on others. The presence of the loved one appears to be a remedy for their strong emotional needs.

[got-dusted]

Lice? There was lice goin’ round the studio? He wouldn’t get it right? He was retired, he was safe, just hole up in his room.

Wait. Why was he itching? This was bad, this was so bad. He couldn’t have lice, he was holed up in his room and there weren’t no way Phisaya gave it to him, and he was real careful not to share products with people.

Don’t mind him, he’s fine, this is fine, he’s not going to do anything ridiculous. Definitely not going to grab the four jars of mayo out his fridge, and don’t mind the industrial grade red pallet wrap he’s got either. Look if coatin’ your head in mayo an’ putting a bag over it killed lice topside, clearly if he slathered himself in mayo and then wrapped himself in puncture resistant film, that’d kill hell lice.

[got-dusted]

What imaginary illness do you have?

Shedding

You are losing yourself, bit by bit. Your own skin is peeling away, moths forming out of it as you shed more of yourself. Your breaths birth hummingbirds and doves as they abate, your fears turning into savage things of teeth and claw. How much more of yourself will you have to grate away until you fit the mold you set yourself today? How much more will have to go tomorrow? How much longer until you've shed too much of yourself - until the pieces you left by the roadside are more than what little you have left? “No shit I’ve got sheddin’. What the hell you expect when it’s hotter than shit? You think I’m gonna keep my winter coat?”

stolen from: @smiledotdeer​

[got-dusted]

a-hazbin-spider​:

Angel isn’t believing it, he can’t. He can’t fucking do it. And he wildly spirals to the direction of the bathroom. He has to be able to do something. Anything.

Maybe even use that stupid book he got from a sale. Blood magicks or some shit.

Valentino, shockingly, continues to be ignored while he mutters out a stream of denial- ‘no’s uttered while his fur bristles in distress- while a growling- a chitter of concern rumbles in his chest. He scampers into the bathroom. Where’s sweet Angie? Where? He needs to protect.

Valentino just huffs and stomps off, still busy on his phone. The first thing that’s noticeable is the cracked open skin from a molt. The second is the blood trail that leads into the tub. If Valentino had been assisting with the molt, how long would it take for him to get impatient and take that frustration out? There’s a weak chitter in response to Angel’s call from the tub, sounding more like a death rattle than any intended answer. Angie’s crumpled form curled up and twitching in the bottom of the tub that he never uses, with how thick his fur is it’s nearly impossible to dry him if he gets wet, so he tended to take dust baths. He doesn’t look good, shed stuck to bits of him, and bloodied from where someone has tried to pull shed from him, and wow those lower arms look broken. His torso says he should be face up, but his face is down in the ceramic of the tub.

[got-dusted]

@a-hazbin-spider continued from: x

Clatter.

He can’t give two shits about his phone right now- he still picks it up, but there’s no bother to inspect it. No, not when…

Angel’s scrambling quick as he can, might as well be crawling like an animal, he’s sprinting fast as he physically could muster. And that text isn’t responded to, no, but he is calling the other’s line, and immediately making his way to where Angie resides.

Knocking is loud and immediate, and quickly turns to desperate scratching. A phone to his ear with a maniac ruckus being made at Angie’s door. Yeah sure. That’s not alarming.

He's left knocking at that door, the phone going to voicemail, there's oinking from the room, and what sounds like Angie's phone. But if he was dead, and surely if Mistah V knew he was dead, why would his phone and Nuggets still be in his room?

The door opens, and out steps Mistah V, wiping his hands on a towel, looking up from his phone and tipping his head, "You wanna claim his room or something, baby?"

[got-dusted]

a-hazbin-spider​:

Shit. How stupid of him- he might get in trouble but he actually actively ignored Valentino. Not a glance, he shoves past to look for Angie, scrambling onto his hands and knees, crawling over the expanse most ferally.

A sniff.

“A-Angie..? Angie?!”

Shit. He needs to find him. Eh. Hopefully with few Valentino issues as possible.

The room still smells of Angie, and there’s the smell of blood coming from the closed bathroom. Though Valentino looks mad as a hornet that he’s being ignored, snapping from the doorway without looking up from his phone, “Angel! Baby! He’s fuckin’ dead, ain’t comin’ back, so unless you wanna take his shifts, I suggest you either get what you came in here for, or get back to work.”

[got-dusted]

@a-hazbin-spider continued from: x

Clatter.

He can’t give two shits about his phone right now- he still picks it up, but there’s no bother to inspect it. No, not when…

Angel’s scrambling quick as he can, might as well be crawling like an animal, he’s sprinting fast as he physically could muster. And that text isn’t responded to, no, but he is calling the other’s line, and immediately making his way to where Angie resides.

Knocking is loud and immediate, and quickly turns to desperate scratching. A phone to his ear with a maniac ruckus being made at Angie’s door. Yeah sure. That’s not alarming.

He's left knocking at that door, the phone going to voicemail, there's oinking from the room, and what sounds like Angie's phone. But if he was dead, and surely if Mistah V knew he was dead, why would his phone and Nuggets still be in his room?

The door opens, and out steps Mistah V, wiping his hands on a towel, looking up from his phone and tipping his head, "You wanna claim his room or something, baby?"