Here I go again, celebrating another birthday around sharing Hazbin Hotel fanfic! I am struggling on the drawing front so I'm taking a little break from fic illustrations (and nobody wept).

I finally broke down and ordered an Alastormeow plush as a birthday gift to myself... cussing under my breath the whole time. (I don't need it I don't need it I don't need it he's totally going to be my flight/travel companion on future adventures)

If I can sort my drawings out, I might return to this chapter at a later date -- I actually have a whole background done for it. Just can't get the characters to cooperate with it (nothing new there).

Chapter 5: Radio Play

The knob on Alastor’s bedroom door turned in Grace’s hand, much to her surprise. One of these days, he’d lock her out. Maybe permanently. It amazed her today wasn’t that day.

She assumed he kept her nearby for convenience. Just in case of emergency. But if he got angry enough, it was feasible they’d have a distant relationship like the one she saw between Husker and him. He could easily just ‘snap’ her to himself in a time of need.

Alastor wasn’t in one of the accent chairs before the fireplace.

Nor was he at his little wrought iron bistro table with its pair of little wrought iron bistro chairs at the border of his bayou.

Was this going to turn into another chase-through-the-swamp? Grace hoped not.

It was highly unlikely he’d have returned to his bed but she thought to look for him there, next.

She found him on the ground in his beautiful bayou, sitting against a tree trunk across from his bed. Just staring at it in silence with a smile that decidedly didn’t reach his eyes.

“Alastor,” Grace greeted him softly. “I … don’t know what to say.”

He didn’t glance at her or make so much as a peep.

“I’m so sorry.”

Still silence. Still, he stared at his bed; still, with that hollow smile.

“I thought you knew the mic was still on.”

His first word was a bitter, “Liar.”

She swallowed a growl. “Fine,” she spat. “I knew you were on the air but only after I finished you. And I knew you didn’t know.”

“So you let me find out like that.”

“I was too scared to tell you!”

“And your fear trumped my humiliation.”

“Hey! In my defense, I had no way of knowing Valentino heard it, or that he’d get the idea to recreate it. I never could have guessed Kofax would happen to catch Valentino’s recreation being aired and play it for … for the other hotel residents.” Grace dropped to her knees in front of him. His gaze immediately shifted somewhere off to her left. “I’m a truly shitty soul.”

Alastor’s expression hardened. Never in Grace’s life, nor in the years after, did she actually see someone emotionally locking another person out. Her heart crumbled. What little he’d ‘let her in’ slipped right between her fingers.

“The biggest insult of all is that you think any of this bothers me.”

Grace made a failed attempt at swallowing around the knot in her throat. And try as she might, she couldn’t keep herself from saying the first thing that came to mind: “And yet you accuse me of letting my fear trump your humiliation. And yet you fled the dining room. That’s the behavior of someone who isn’t bothered by any of this?”

His eyes widened, then narrowed. Then darkened. Then flashed. His ears whipped back, smile morphing into a scowl.

And then the rack of antlers appeared. He stood, easily dwarfing Grace who remained on her knees.

Shit!

She wondered if she made him so angry that his fury would outweigh the perks of keeping her around to the point he’d willingly nullify their contract just to be rid of her permanently—whether or not he added her screams to his broadcast.

Why didn’t that possibility terrify her? 

Because I feel so awful that it justifies deserving his torture? 

A psychological therapist would have a field day with her.

“Look, Grace: I can either be who I am or I can be whatever you’ve built me up to be in your head. But if you choose the latter, I refuse to let you blame me for hurting you. That’s on you. All you.”

Oddly calm in the moment, Grace replied, “Funny … I’d think you’d want to take credit for hurting me.”

He blinked, his eyes suddenly seeming to clear. He straightened.

“Alastor …” Grace whispered. “I didn’t know you were still on the air when temptation got the best of me. Honest! And I never meant to distract you to the point you forgot it, too. You were just … having such a great time. I could hear your laughter through the door and I wanted to be there with you for it. I wanted … I wanted to be part of that joy. That’s all.” Oh, holy shit. That’s true. All of it!

“It was unprofessional. A loss of self-control—professionally and personally. And … and if … I told you those things in a moment of altered consciousness … then everyone knows a weakness of mine that can be exploited.”

He sees me as a weakness. “I hate that you feel that way about me.”

“Do you understand, Grace?” Alastor met her gaze. “It puts you at risk.”

“That’s okay.” She chanced a smile at him. “I’ve still got my Scary Dog Privilege. Right?”

He was silent for a good, long time before he bent forward, grabbed her hands, and pulled her to her feet. “Right.”

“You don’t forgive me though, do you? Even though I apologized?” 

“Being your Scary Dog Privilege was part of our deal. Unconditional forgiveness for transgressions against me was not.” Alastor took a long breath and dropped her hands. “I’m going to go read.” Without looking back, he headed for the mundane portion of his bedroom.

“Alastor—”

He didn’t so much as slow.

Grace set her jaw. “No. No! You are not treating me this way! I apologized!”

“That’s nice, doll.”

She chased after him, catching up quickly but then struggling to keep stride beside him. “That was humiliating for me, too, y’know! None of what happened was intentional. For fuck’s sake, you’re the one good thing I have going for me down here. You’re gonna be pissed at me for the rest of eternity? Is that really how you want this—” Grace gestured between them for lack of any appropriate noun. “—to be?”

Alastor stopped abruptly at the threshold between bayou and bedroom. He swiveled on a heel toward her with an unnervingly sweet smile. “It’s fine, my dear.”

“So you’re accepting my apology?”

“Do I have to?”

Grace heaved a deep sigh. “No. I wouldn’t want you doing anything you don’t wanna do. So if this is how you wanna be—female ‘fine’ or actual fine—then you just go ahead and be that way. Don’t be happy on my account.” 

Well. 

That killed her a little bit to say.

She shoved past him to leave his room before he could catch her eyes shimmering with tears but he grabbed her wrist and yanked her back to him.

He said nothing, just holding her against his chest and staring in silence with an unreadable smile on his face. Unreadable, just like he was back when they first met.

All that progress for which she’d fought fang and claw: gone in a wink.

Finally, Alastor warned: “Wherever you think you’re going now, your curfew is 10 PM.” He snatched her face by the cheeks, pinching her aggressively as his eyes bored holes into her head. “Don’t be late, Grace.”

In the aftermath of a spectacularly failed attempt apologizing to Alastor, Grace felt like she’d run a marathon, climbed Everest, and completed an Organic Chemistry final all at the same time. 

She dragged herself through the hotel until she found where everyone was hanging out—in one of the smaller alcoves that had a TV set. With a heavy sigh, she flopped dramatically on the couch beside Angel Dust.

They all stared at her. Perhaps the dramatic entrance was not the one to make while she wasn’t interested in the excess attention.

Angel started, “Don’t take this the wrong way—”

“Then don’t say it,” Grace finished, her eyes narrowing on him.

He turned to face her, resting his upper right arm on the back of the couch and his right thigh on his couch cushion. “After the live show, it’s probably eating Valentino alive that he can’t get you into his studio. Sounds like you can handle a monster cock with the best of us.”

Grace bristled but otherwise didn’t acknowledge the perverted compliment.

Angel leaned in with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and whispered, “Does he really have a monster cock or were you exaggerating to swell his … ego?”

Grace pressed her hand to his face firmly and shoved him away.

“I’ll take that as a yes! Is it as thick as his thigh? Go down to his knee?” When she refused to respond: “Both?!”

Moments later, her phone buzzed. She knew better than to look and yet she did, anyway. It wasn’t as if her day had been going well and she could make it considerably worse.

Angel Dust burst out laughing.

“If you’re quite done sexually harassing Alastor by proxy, Angel …” Vaggie interjected, shooting eye darts at him.

He sobered under Vaggie’s glower.

“I wanted to talk to you all about the hotel’s upcoming anniversary. I think we oughtta throw a big party.”

“Aww! Vaggie!” Charlie squeaked. “How sweet! Do you have any ideas for it?”

Niffty bounced in her spot, waving a raised spindly arm excitedly. “We should do a themed party!”

“Oh, that could be fun,” Vaggie said thoughtfully. “It’s close enough to Halloween that we could do a costume ball.”

“Except,” Charlie said with a heavy sigh, “I worry that not everyone will want to participate in something like that. And it won’t be fun—or fair—that way.”

’Not everyone will want to participate in something like that,’ Grace thought. Read: Alastor, specifically.

“Aw, c’mon!” Angel Dust cried, smacking his thighs with all four arms in exasperation. “At some point, we’ve gotta stop letting Mr. Creepy-No-Fun keep us from enjoying ourselves!” 

“Y’know what?” Grace flashed Angel Dust a smug grin as she leaned back in her spot. “I think I have a rather elegant solution for this challenge.”

Grace took her dear sweet time in getting back to Alastor’s room that night, not especially eager to spend time alone with him just yet, wondering why, after all that from earlier in the day, he’d even wanted her back in his room. Her hand clutched the doorknob at 9:59 PM when her intrusive voice just had to make a most untimely reappearance for the first time in a long time:

Pfft! Be late. Be late just to see what happens.

It’s not like he’s sitting there, staring at a clock, waiting for you.

What does he care?

He was only doing that to assert his dominance over you after he’d totally lost it. He’s said so himself a number of times now: the only thing that motivates him to do anything is power and control.

Fuck him and the domineering horse his bored ass rode in on.

She opened the door to find Alastor looming at the threshold, his eyes flashing. “You’re late,” he seethed.

Grace smirked and replied flippantly, “That’s nice, doll.”

His shadows yanked her into the room and slammed the door shut. Alastor, himself, spun her around and smacked her ass between the words, “You! Were! Late!”

For a split second, Grace was stunned, the blood in her body unable to decide if it should rush to her higher or lower set of cheeks.

Fuck him and the domineering horse his bored ass rode in on? Heh. Okay, then. Y’know what? I think I’ll try doing exactly that! She glanced at him over her shoulder and grinned defiantly. “Keep that up, Radio Demon. You’re making it highly undesirable for me to do as you say.”

“You really want to continue defying me?” Alastor’s right hand roamed up along the side of her waist, around to her navel, grazing her breasts as he continued further up. He clamped his hand around her windpipe.

Why does this turn me on?! Grace bemoaned, rubbing her thighs together desperately for friction. He afforded her scarcely room enough to swallow the phlegm pooling at the back of her mouth.

“Don’t think I don’t realize you’re trying to manipulate me, Grace.” The grip on her neck loosened into a caress along her collarbone that melted her a little and weakened her knees further. 

“Is it working?” she whispered, trying hard to hide her optimism.

“You tell me.” Alastor pressed his frame against hers to illustrate his point—or the unfortunate lack thereof in his trousers.

Grace would not get laid that night.

Or—judging by the way Alastor scowled at her—probably ever again.

Even though sex had been taken off the table—more like flung from the table—Alastor insisted on spooning her in his bed.

And Grace spent the bulk of the night stewing. Stewing still about her recent interactions with him. Stewing about his frog story. She pretended to be asleep when he roused and remained that way until after he left his bed.

Only then did she fall asleep, which is how she stayed until late that evening.

Grace slipped from bed before Alastor returned from whatever it was he did to occupy his time without her. The hotel was quiet at that time of day. 

She found Husker busy rearranging the bottles behind his bar. 

“Hey,” she greeted him.

Without turning around, Husk replied, “So … how’s that soul-contract with the king of all sadists working out for you?”

“Swimmingly!” Grace lied.

Husk turned, raising a bushy red eyebrow at her. “Yeah, everything I’ve seen from you both lately just screams ‘swimmingly.’ Looks more like ‘drowningly,’ to me.”

Grace sat on the barstool nearest him, folding her arms on the bar top. “Don’t tell me he hasn’t laid off you after—” laying on me. She swallowed a wry chuckle. “—after I gave him my soul?”

“You mean after he took your soul? After he stole it? After he tricked you out of it?”

“Pfft, semantics.”

“I suppose … it’s been a little less objectionable lately? He hasn’t asked me for anything.”

“See? I did you a favor—”

“That I imagine was hardly worth the returns on your investment,” Husk finished for her. “And now, I suppose I owe you for two things.”

She leaned back in surprise and echoed, “‘Two things?’”

“Preoccupying Alastor most recently, and stopping him from tearing me to shreds after I scratched him.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Truth be told, she’d completely forgotten about that incident. That had been the first time she’d ever touched Alastor; little did she know where that would lead. “Actually … I think I’d like to call in one favor now.”

“Oh?” He didn’t cringe outwardly, so that was promising. He did, however, follow that with, “I’m happy to do it so long as it’s for you and not him.”

“It might seem like it’s for him on the surface but trust me, it’s not.”

Husk set a dark amber bottle on the bar between them. Without enthusiasm, he told her, “Do go on.”

“I … I’d like you to help me learn to dance.”

“If you want me to teach you steps from the 1920s or ’30s, forget it. I could teach you no better than you could teach me.”

“I’ve found videos on the internet. We could learn together! I just need a partner who won’t make me feel bad for … probably … stepping on his toes a number of times or for having virtually no rhythm of which to speak.”

“Note to self: get a pair of steel-toed boots,” Husk muttered. He glanced at Grace. “I’ve seen those spikes you call stilettos you like to wear on your hooves.”

Grace smiled.

“But you’ll need to explain to me how this is for you rather than for him.”

“I don’t expect to be an expert, or even good at it. I just … I want to at least know what the hell I’m doing. I’m so tired of embarrassing myself in front of everyone here and I know that if Al’s dancing with me—” which was a pretty generous assumption with the way things had been with him lately, “—we’ll be the focus of more attention than I would like for being someone who can’t dance for shit. And if, in the end, I can at least keep up with Al, I’ll consider that a huge W.”

Husk looked none too happy about the request. “Just to be absolutely clear about this arrangement: I want to do fuck all for that demon. It’s bad enough I feel like I have little choice but to help with the hotel’s anniversary party—which is catering much too much to him for my liking. So these lessons? They’re strictly for your benefit. Do we have a deal?”

She nodded. “Understood. We’ve got a deal.” She hopped down from the barstool.

“Grace—”

Husk’s tone gave her pause. She turned.

He lowered his voice and continued, “I just want you to know something: Don’t let Alastor get away with treating you like shit. Remember, he’s on a leash just like we’re on his.”

Grace blinked in surprise. “An Overlord can belong to someone else? Like a super-mega-ultra Overlord?”

Husker laughed but sobered quickly. “Yeah. Hell is … it’s shockingly similar to a pyramid scheme, only considerably less evil.”

Until next Sunday, deer friends!