Well, fellow Hazbin Hotel fans, WE MADE IT. This week's The Week. We get our long-awaited season two! The first two episodes drop at midnight my time and I'm honestly trying to decide if I watch the moment they're available to me. (I'm a night owl and typically up at that time already ... but it is a work day and I'd like to go into the office on more than 6 hours sleep.) The alternatives are to wake an hour earlier (ha, NO) or to wait until after work (not gonna happen).

So I wanted to share a couple things before season two is released officially -- a sort of disclaimer, if you will.

This sequel I wrote was written IN FULL prior to the official release of anything regarding season two (including the release date).

With that in mind -- like other fans, I have my theories and headcanons. I was also (possibly?) spoiled a little by the leaks(?) late last year. For a number of reasons, I left all but one thing I saw out of this story. The one thing I kept is a completely insignificant thing to everyone but Grace, and that chapter won't be posted until well after the full second season has been released and (if it could be considered a spoiler at all) it won't spoil anyone for what's canon.

All of that now said, probably a lot of my headcanon (if not all of it) won't turn out to align with canon. I already have some plans as to how I will address that down the road in a third fic (should that actually materialize, which depends in part on how things go for the characters in season two).

TL;DR -- I try my damndest to stay true to canon but I don't have a crystal ball and I'm gonna be wrong. This is my interpretation of the characters, the setting, the timeline (likely to be one of my biggest obstacles based on one line from Hazbin Guarantee) and "future" events.

Still with me? Awesome possum!

This week is also the first multi-chapter release on my blog!

After you've watched the first two episodes of season two on Wednesday, don't forget to come back and visit me for chapter 8.

(It's spiiiiicyyyyy and has A Big Conversation!)

Chapter 6: Cashing in a Favor

Over the following weeks, Grace spent her days helping Charlie and Vaggie plan for the hotel’s anniversary party. She’d sneak away with Husk for an hour or so to learn new dance steps and perfect the ones they’d already learned. His temperament improved with each lesson so Grace suspected maybe he didn’t dislike this as much as he wanted to let on—regardless of who may or may not have reaped the benefits.

Each night, she’d make sure to return to Alastor’s room by whatever arbitrary time he’d set her curfew just to regain any semblance of control over her. She made a point of asking his forgiveness each night before bed, whether or not he’d accept the apology.

He hadn’t yet, but each time he said ‘it’s fine’ in response, it seemed a smidgen more genuine.

Perhaps someday in the next hundred years, it would be fine. Perhaps he’d even forgive her. Eventually.

Despite all the preparation, Grace still somehow felt ill-prepared when a dark and stormy October 28th came to Pentagram City.

The last thing she needed to do was put on the gown Charlie had whipped up for the occasion. There really wasn’t all that much to it and yet it was probably the most extravagant garment Grace ever had—in life or after.

It was a floor length, figure-hugging, bias-cut number in a sinfully soft cherry red fabric with shiny, faceted beads strategically placed across its steeply scooped neckline. And as low as the neckline went in front, the back was scandalously non-existent. In short, Grace would stun that night. Shame that her intended date may as well have been blind for all her appearance would matter to him.

After spending all day on her hair and makeup, Grace finally slipped on the dress—just in time for the knock on her bedroom door. She froze; she wasn’t ready to face Alastor. The way she felt at the moment, she’d never be ready to face her Overlord.

Thankfully, for once, logic prevailed: there’d been a knock on the door. Safe to assume it wasn’t her Overlord, so Grace went to answer it.

Angel Dust stood outside in a pink and white zoot suit, waiting just-barely-patiently for her. She gestured silently for him to enter.

He walked in with an exaggerated, appraising sweep of her body. “That’s the most skin I’ve seen on you since … last summer.”

Casual panic promptly welled in Grace’s exceedingly exposed chest. There had been an accusatory tone to his observation. A tone like he realized maybe she’d been covering herself up to hide scratches, bite marks, and bruises with the intention of saving Alastor’s already sadistic reputation with the other hotel residents.

To save her from being on the receiving end of assumptions that she was helpless and letting Alastor hurt her—or the embarrassment of having to admit how much it got her off that he did those things. And now, she realized with regret, this dress not only revealed a lot of skin but also the fact that he hadn’t touched her sexually in weeks. 

In her most unaffected voice, Grace replied, “What’s your point?”

Angel narrowed his eyes. All of them. The great many of them. The why-are-there-so-many-eyes? of them. “No point,” he said slowly. “But … you’re obviously worried about how you look.”

Grace dropped his gaze.

“Why, though? You’re stunning.”

Thunder rumbled quietly somewhere off in the distance.

She went into the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror. Factual observation of her appearance or not, Grace replied, “I’m worried about how much it's gonna hurt when he inevitably doesn't notice all this effort.”

With a little snort, Angel replied, “He may be asexual but he's not blind.”

Grace snorted right on back at him and adjusted one of the thin straps over her shoulder. ‘May’ be asexual. Totally and completely undoubtedly is asexual, but okay, Angel. “What if he doesn't like my party idea?”

“Oh, I bet he will. And if not? I get the feeling that in his eyes, you can do no wrong.”

She sighed. “I’ve been doing nothing but wrong lately.” Even when she actually tried to do things right, they were somehow wrong. I think Alastor may be starting to hate me.

Angel turned his back to the bathroom mirror and leaned against the countertop, gazing down at her. “Look on the bright side: he won't care if, down the line, you let yourself go.”

Grace closed her eyes and kept them closed for a while. After she’d calmed herself, she said, “That's not the silver lining you think it is.”

He playfully nudged her. “You still can’t classify your relationship, can you?”

Well, this topic is no better! As if sensing her thoughts, thunder rumbled again—a little louder than the last, and a little longer. “No.”

“And that frustrates you.”

Go and fuck off already, why don’t you? “Immensely.”

“And … you still refuse to talk to him about it?”

“Oh, I’ll talk to him about it … Over my double-dead body!” She heaved a sigh as deep as her gown was cut in the back. “We haven’t been able to have so much as a cordial conversation of pleasantries recently, and you think I’m about to broach a topic like this?”

“Whatever happened to ‘it’s just what I need?’”

“Do you want tears?” snapped Grace, her voice trembling. “Because that’s how you get tears! And they will ruin the makeup I took the better part of the day to do. And then I’ll cry about my ruined makeup. And my nose will get snotty and I’ll get the hiccups. Is that what you want, Angel? Is it?”

There was a long silence. 

For half a moment, Grace thought Angel Dust may have actually felt bad about the things he’d said.

“Is he uncut? Does he provide you adequate after-care? We can all tell he gets real rough with you.”

“Oh my fucking god!” She slapped both hands against her thighs in exasperation. “Angel! Would you stop?!”

“What are his kinks? Even if he’s ace, he’s gotta have kinks. Everyone has a kink! Any fetishes?”

Grace brushed by Angel on her way out of the bathroom; staring at herself in the mirror was doing her no good. She was beginning to silently criticize things she’d previously been at least satisfied with; for instance, the wings of her eyeliner were more like distant cousins than they were twins. “I know you think these questions are cute or funny, but trust me: they’re neither.”

He followed her out. “I’m just taking an interest in your interests! Besides: you hafta recognize how remarkable you are.”

“I assure you I’m nothing special,” she murmured, taking a few moments to put some small, glitzy hoops into her ears. “I really need more piercings. Not like what Kofax has, but … something between that and this.”

“No, seriously, think about it: In 124 years—give or take—you’re likely only the second woman ever to see that man’s cock. And the prior woman only saw it in cloth nappies when it still looked like a baby carrot.”

Grace whipped around to face him. “Angel. I swear! I will vomit on you. And then not only will my makeup have run and my nose will be snotty, but then I’ll smell rancid. And it won’t be just my most recent meal. It’ll be everything I’ve eaten since I died. Would you fucking drop this topic, already! I’m not going to tell you anything about Alastor! Ever! It’s my duty—and my honor—to keep that to myself!”

Angel’s expression went from mischievous to concerned.

A brief flicker of lights accompanied another roll of thunder.

“Oh, what now?” Grace groaned.

“I’m afraid you’re losing yourself to him.”

“I’m not!” Hard to lose yourself to someone who won’t say more than a few words at a time to you, nor make any eye-contact worth speaking of. “And if I was? Do I look in any way unhappy about it?”

Shit. I have been pretty miserable these last few weeks.

“Mmm,” Angel replied with a cocked eyebrow.

Okay, warranted. Painful, but warranted.

Smoothing down a few flyaways, she said thoughtfully, “Damn. I should’ve had Charlie make me a tiara or something.”

“Does it veer right or favor left?”

Grace decided in that moment that she’d rather face the music with Alastor downstairs than be subjected to any more genital-related interrogations. “Excuse me,” she told Angel, scarcely glancing back as she headed for her bedroom door. “I’m going downstairs.”

A peal of thunder rattled the walls and everything went dark.

When Grace opened her eyes again, she found herself standing at the base of the hotel staircase, tendrils of night wafting off her skin. She whirled around, expecting to find Alastor to be in her company; he was nowhere to be found. Her skin didn’t prickle with his proximity.

Her heart raced, mouth drying out in an instant.

I told Angel I was going downstairs. I blinked, and I’m here.

She’d had the most obnoxious feeling she’d been leeching Alastor’s powers bit by bit—nothing she did purposefully, nothing she wanted even if she could do the things Alastor did.

This little event seemed eerily reminiscent of when Alastor would magically whisk her from location to location.

Grace steadied herself against the banister of the staircase, her mildly dizzy gaze finding Charlie engrossed in conversation with Husker at his bar. Thankfully, neither seemed to notice Grace popping out from within a veil of darkness.

For what was meant to be a festive celebration, Charlie wore a big pout. The sconces on the walls flickered a few times as Grace, on unsteady legs, joined the Princess of Hell and Hell’s top bartender at his post. 

Thunder pealed outside and the lights flickered again. Judging by the thunder getting progressively louder, the storm was drawing closer.

“Grace!” Husk greeted her. “You look wonderful!”

She dipped a small, wobbly curtsey in greeting—at least as much of a curtsey as the form-fitting dress afforded her. “All credit goes to Charlie.”

A fleeting smile appeared on Charlie’s face. “It would just be a tube of fabric if not for what’s inside it.”

Grace blushed and looked away with some mumbled words of gratitude.

“I fear this weather’s gonna make it unlikely any of our invited guests will actually get here,” Charlie remarked with a heavy sigh. 

Husker gave her a reassuring pat on her forearm. “I think it’s just as well to keep it a cozy little soirée.”

The stained glass in the hotel’s front door illuminated with a brilliant flash of lightning and the electricity inside surged once more. “I dunno,” Grace said thoughtfully as she looked around. “This could be an interesting twist on tonight’s theme. Makes it a touch spooky just in time for Halloween.”

“Care for a drink?” Husk offered.

Both women nodded.

While Husk prepared the refreshments, Angel joined the group at the bar with Kofax on his arm.

Kofax’s take on the theme was fascinating: sable brown aviator boots, sage green breeches, silver bomber jacket with an off-kilter, matching silver cap. A sable brown cartridge belt filled with silver bullets hung low on her hips over everything else.

She looked a bit like an Art Deco styled rebel pilot from Star Wars.

Kofax must have noticed the quizzical look on Grace’s face. She made a grand flourish over her outfit. “It’s Dieselpunk!”

“Those are props, right?” Grace asked by way of greeting, gesturing to the bullets.

“There was no weapon-check at my hotel room door,” Kofax replied with a casual shrug. She then flashed a brilliant smile and saluted. “I’m prepared to protect this party from Al Capone and the Chicago Outfit.”

Angel turned to Kofax, wide-eyed. “Look at you with the witty mafia reference!”

“When I heard the theme of the party, I did my research,” Kofax said.

Grace asked, “But what would Capone want with the Hazbin Hotel?”

“You never know. Maybe he wants redemption,” Angel Dust answered.

“Pfft. Unlikely,” said Grace.

“Fear that your Amaranth Avenger will add their screams to his radio show could make any soul want to get out of Hell.”

“Amaranth—” Grace groaned and rolled her eyes at the clever fox’s nickname.

“Anyway,” Kofax remarked, “they’re fake bullets. Like I have the funds to afford real ones.” She gasped when Husk set a pair of cups filled with pale yellow liquid garnished with mint sprigs in front of them.

“Are those what I think they are?” Kofax asked.

“Mint juleps? Gotta keep with tonight’s theme.” Husk grinned. “I take it you’d like some?”

“Is Hell filled with mafiosi, politicians, lawyers, and used car salesmen? You bet your sweet furry tail I want some!”

“Make it two more, please,” Angel told Husk. He patted Kofax atop her hat. “You even got the plural of mafioso correct!”

She grinned up at him. “I said I did my research!”

But instead of two or even three mint juleps, Husk set four more cups down on the bar.

Charlie’s gaze flickered over Grace’s shoulder and toward the staircase.

Grace turned to look as Alastor popped out of his signature writhing shadows at the base of the stairs.

He looked around at the hotel’s decor, his eyes widening. His wide eyes then fell on Grace, his pupils dilated.

She took a steadying breath. Moment of truth.

Grace hadn’t been this frightened of Alastor since the first time she encountered him. And the terror now was far worse than it was in that moment—or had ever been, since.

He approached the bar slowly, saying nothing to Grace. Instead, he just stared at her. 

In awe? Could this be awe? No, no. It’s confusion. It’s gotta be confusion. He looks utterly baffled.

Charlie, all grins, squeaked, “I’ll give you both a moment. Please excuse me.” When nobody else moved from the bar,  she shot them hard looks. “Please excuse us.”

When none of them followed her lead, she snapped, “Move!”

At that, they hustled away. Someone turned up the swing music that barely drowned out a crash of thunder.

Grace set her jaw, refusing to open dialogue.

At long last, he greeted her: “Hi.” 

What the fuck kind of greeting is that?!

Whoooaaaa, deja vu!

The scarlet specter of ‘hi’ — and refusal to accept apologies — infamy then reached out, running the pad of his thumb over one of her gown’s shoulder straps as his eyes shimmered. “That’s quite the fetching ensemble. You’re an absolute vision to behold.”

Grace swallowed hard, hesitantly wrapping her hand around his raised forearm and said just loud enough for him to hear her over the music, “Are you crying?”

Alastor put on his biggest smile ever, clearly overcompensating for crying—even if it was out of joy. “No!” he said, a little too vehemently. A tear then slipped from his eye, likely because Grace called attention to it.

She wiped it away under the guise of caressing his cheek. “I know. It’s just allergies. We did stir up a lot of dust while decorating.”

“Was this your idea, Little Fawn?”

Little Fawn. Now it was Grace’s turn to fend off tears. She never imagined how much she’d miss hearing that until he’d withheld it. Truth told, that had actually hurt worse than his withholding sex or what little affection he ever deigned she was worthy of receiving.

“I assure you, I had as much to do with this as I had to do with Vee Tower getting hacked.” She put on her most innocent smile.

“Did you do this for me?”

“The roaring 20s themed décor doesn’t give me away? Of course I did. Everything I do is for you, Alastor.” Part of our deal or not. And for better or worse.

“Grace …” Alastor arched an eyebrow. “I’m gonna make you pay for this later.”

That did nothing to slow her racing pulse. She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Don’t make threats you have no intention of keeping, Radio Demon.”

He took a long-legged step back, his gaze sweeping her frame with a smirk. “Nice rack.”

Grace gestured toward her horns. “Oh, what, these little old things?”

His smirk grew. “Yeah.”

Gooseflesh raced down her arms; his gaze had dipped downward so fast she assumed she imagined it.

He rubbed Grace’s goosebumps gently and she cringed inwardly; he’d noticed them.

Of course he’d noticed them. Would it embarrass her? Then he’d sure as shit know all about it.

“Why do you do such kind things for me, Little Fawn?” Alastor asked her quietly.

“Because I—” love you. The words dried up on her tongue. “Because it makes me feel good to make you happy.”

There was another brilliant flash of lightning outside, followed immediately by a thunderclap that made the walls tremble.

The hotel’s lights flickered once more before giving up the ghost and the sinners in attendance let out a collective gasp followed by hearty laughter.

It reminded Grace of the summer monsoons she’d weathered with her classmates in nursing school.

And in the darkness, there was the unexpected soft press of lips to hers. 

Alastor drew her close, cradling the nape of her neck in a stunningly gentle way that made her legs want to give out on her. She pressed her hand to his chest, feeling his heart seemingly thump in response to her touch.

The lights kicked right back on but Alastor didn’t release her from his embrace.

There was a louder collective gasp from the group than there had been for the power outage.

Alastor broke their kiss at the noise, his whole face darker than his jacket.

Grace bit back a smile and told him quietly, “Oh, it’s not like they didn’t know we do this.” Although in retrospect, had any of them ever witnessed it firsthand? Hot mic moment aside, he’d been fairly discreet about their public displays of affection.

Whatever. He’s adorable having been caught red-handed. Red-faced. Red-everything’d.

Only then did Grace realize Alastor still held her tenderly. That was probably more surprising to everyone than actually catching them in a lip-lock.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a few of the others staring—Angel Dust gaping, Husk frowning and with his arms crossed over his chest, and Charlie looking as if she was walking on air. Grace could practically see the hearts leaping off her body.

Kofax looked like she’d just won every lottery that had ever been played.

Niffty’s face was alight and Lucifer—because of course Lucifer arrived regardless of inclement weather—well, he looked more disgusted than Husk did, which was a truly impressive amount of disgust. Epic disgust. In the disgust Olympics, he’d have won the gold medal. His disgust was a level of disgust against which all future disgust would be measured.

The music finally kicked back on following the brief blackout.

Grace cleared her throat and thought to distract Alastor as he pulled back. Unfortunately, the only thought that came to mind was, “Do you ever think of eating me?”

His cheeks remained impressively red. “Probably as often as you think of sex.”

“So … All the time, then?”

“It's a constant battle to think of anything else. You have no idea the level of restraint I exercise in not just devouring you every time I have even the tiniest taste of your skin.”

Grace laughed nervously; it was impossible to tell if he was joking.

Despite several pairs of eyes—and one singleton—still watching, Alastor kissed her softly again. On the mouth.

So very unlike him, especially recently.

She trembled in his embrace, fending off a full, Victorian-style dramatic swoon.

“You can't truly still feel like that when I kiss you.”

There’s no way he’ll fall for this. “Try me, Radio Demon.”

To her surprise, he kissed her softly again.

Grace grinned. “Haha! I tricked you into doing that!”

His eyes narrowed on her. “Joke's on you; this ‘joke,’ as you once called me, was going to do that, anyway.”

Her cheeks darkening, Grace replied, “You’re such a liar.”

“Am I, though?”

She struggled to swallow, her breath hitching. This was a trick. All this demon did was deal tricks. Grace didn’t know how or why, but she just knew he was feeding her the richest bullshit. Unfortunately, she loved the taste of his. She loved everything about him.

In her silence, Alastor took her hand and asked, “Care to dance? It’s been a while since we last did that.”

“I’d love to.” Here goes nothing!

They were the first to start dancing in the area Vaggie and Lucifer had cleared out for an improvised dance floor. And it was not even a couple measures into the music before Alastor observed, “You’ve gotten better at this since last time.”

Grace’s already hot cheeks heated up further. It was entirely unfair how easily Alastor made her blush. 

“Have you been practicing without me?”

She scoffed. “Of course not!”

He didn’t miss a step, nor a beat, spinning her around and yanking her against his chest. “Lies.”

Ohshit.

Vaggie and Charlie were now dancing. Husk and Angel Dust followed suit soon after. And following what looked to be a brief internal debate, Lucifer took a thrilled Niffty out for a spin, as well.

“Who did you dance with?” Alastor pressed.

Grace struggled to put any space between them but he wasn’t allowing it. “What’s the point in asking when you know I’ll lie?”

His eyes darkened. Why they darkened, she could only speculate. Why it mattered to him was anybody’s guess.

“I just … I wanted to be able to keep up with you … and to not be an embarrassment to either of us.”

“Next time, Grace, ask me,” he snapped.

“Jesus! Fuck! Okay!” 

He dipped her—aggressively, somehow.

When she came back up, Grace found herself in a couple sets of arms—Angel Dust’s.

“Oh! Well, hello there!” She grinned as Angel swept her as far from Alastor as he could quickly get her. “That was supremely ballsy of you, Angel! I didn’t know you had a double-death wish!”

He dismissed her observation without so much as a blink. “Do you even realize how loving that looked to the rest of us?”

“What’re you even referring to?”

“That kiss in the dark? The way he held you?”

Grace scoffed.

“I’d swear I could see stars in his eyes as he gazed at you.”

“For fuck’s sake!” She tittered. “You’re out of your damn mind. You saw no such thing!”

“Okay, first, stop gaslighting me, Grace. Second: that demon is down bad. How could you miss the expression on his face? We all saw it!”

“He always smiles. That was no different than normal. Angel, you’ve really gotta s—”

Grace was back in Alastor’s arms before she could even finish her sentence.

She was now probably redder than Alastor was when everyone caught him kissing her. It was oddly humiliating to be passed around as if she were tuberculosis in the old west.

“Alastor,” Grace said, dropping her voice as the music slowed. “Please … won’t you please forgive me?”

Though he continued to smile as always, he set his jaw. His gaze scanned the room, then fell back on her. “I must confess … you’re making it challenging for me to do anything but forgive you.” Alastor pulled her closer yet, his hand settling on her back where it was exposed just above that daringly low cut. On her skin and within inches of her ass.

That could not have been a neutral position for him to rest his hand; that placement was deliberate. He wanted to touch her there. On her skin. Just above her ass.

Grace gazed up at him, whispering after a lengthy silence, “I can think of little else right now but how much I want to draw my tongue along your jaw.”

His eyes popped open, his smile widening.

In the grand tradition of Grace mistruths, that wasn’t entirely honest, either. Her thoughts had been bouncing between licking his jaw and his threat-promise: ‘Grace … I’m gonna make you pay for this later.’

Those were the most enthralling words that had ever been spoken in the history of time and space.

And at her words, Alastor quickly took a giant step away from her, shaking his head violently as if to jostle some unwelcome thought loose. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Oh—I—” She wanted to keep dancing but knew better than to decline this offer. “I’ll come with?”

He bristled visibly but didn’t argue.

Husk, ever vigilant and on-duty, tailed them to the bar.

Charlie didn’t miss a beat and followed.

Alastor leaned against the bar as Charlie stepped up beside him.

Casting a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, Alastor remarked, “You do know I’d have dressed up for whatever theme you’d have chosen, Charlie.”

The Princess of Hell smiled at him. “I wouldn’t have guessed as much but that makes me happier than you’ll ever know. Anyway, I thought it was a very sweet gesture your—” Charlie faltered as her gaze slid to Grace.

Ha! I’m not alone in being unable to classify whatever this is I have with Al, if it’s anything, which it totally isn’t. Ha-ha, ha! So there. 

“—Grace did for you.” Charlie’s smile went forced through her awkward search for the appropriate term.

Alastor spared a glance at Grace. “I thought so, too. Shame she refuses to take credit for it.”

Chapter 8: A Pentagram City 'Thank You'

See you on Wednesday, deer friends!

And in the meantime, won't you join me on Bluesky? I'm posting fresh Alastor drawings daily over there (and will probably want to chat about the new season with anyone and everyone who will engage).