My Favorites… It Was From This Art That I Finally Fell In Love With This Couple, And Started Drawing

No more pouring for Alastor. xDDD We made a cool collab with wonderful artists! With Poleno and zuziluka!

I wanted to try something a little more daring on Rosie... I think this type of clothing would suit her very well

Let's imagine that a grandfather could ask his granddaughter to dance... (Not a romance, if that.)

Finally finished this art. And, in general, I can return to active work.

However… I must admit that the story associated with this art made me think that from now on I will only accept orders in certain social networks.

I will not engage in accusations, but, still, it was not very pleasant.

In general, this art was ordered from me in Bluesky. And, unfortunately, I noticed quite late that you can’t attach images in Bluesky PMs. Actually, I informed the customer about this. However, I got out of the situation, uploaded the sketch to Google Drive and sent it to the customer. As a result… I was ignored for almost a month.

Yes, the sketch was paid, which I have no complaints about. However, it is not very pleasant when you are simply ignored and not given any feedback.

Actually… I do not want to accuse the person of anything. Maybe I was misunderstood when I pointed out that images cannot be attached in private messages. Or they thought that I was trying to deceive them somehow, although I found a way out of the situation… So I will simply perceive all this as a small experience that simply exists, with reminders for the future.

Do not perceive this post as hate or anything else. Still, I try to look at it positively and think that, after all, it was more a matter of misunderstanding. However, the very fact of being ignored is unpleasant.

Unfortunately, artists also have such stories. And I just wanted to share a little. (The situation has now been resolved.)

The drawing was made in ASK. The question was to draw a character in the clothes of an artist. Now everyone will know that I dress in hoodies with holes. x)

I finished the art for my AU for the Hazbin Hotel. And maybe I'll start working on it properly. But who knows, as they say.

Brief explanation - this AU was written back in April-May 2024. So some details and things may not match the reality of the Hazbin Hotel canon and leaks. Please keep this in mind.

Anna Cliff is a character who was supposed to be Alastor's childhood friend and outlive him by 7 years.

So far, I don't know if it's worth covering this AU in a wide format, since there are moments in it that are at least quite cruel. Also, a small part needs to be rewritten, since I missed some details, if we talk about the actual state of affairs in New Orleans in the 20-30s. That's how things are.

Excerpt from the art (Many thanks to my friend for helping with the translation from Russian to English.)

Beneath the torrent of freezing rain, her eyes no longer held any expression. That one moment kept returning — the instant where life could be cleanly divided into before and after. That damn phone call from the police, and the hollow, skeletal conversation that followed. Yes… it all started there. It was nearly ten. The smell of a dinner gone cold lingered in the air. Anna glanced up at the wall clock, her irritation rising with each passing minute. Where was he? He had promised to come hours ago. Had it all been for nothing? Jumbled thoughts, tinged with unrest, were interrupted only by the maddening ticking of the clock — sharp, repetitive, strangely in sync with a growing sense of dread. It was getting harder to breathe. The tips of her fingers were going cold. Stop. She stood up so suddenly — as if to physically shake off the pressure — that the rickety chair toppled over, crashing to the floor, its fall drowned in the staccato rhythm of rain against the glass. “Shit…” The word left her lips too fast to even register. She exhaled sharply, crouched down with a faint pop in her knees, and fumbled to lift the fallen chair back into place. Her fingers trembled uncontrollably — numb, as if she'd just plunged her hands into a bucket of ice water. A bad sign. Still, she tried to push the thought aside, forcing herself to sit back down by the decaying frame of the window. The windowsill needed repainting — the paint had cracked, peeling in ugly splits… and somewhere in the corner, there was clearly mold. The smell always grew stronger when it rained. The shrill ring of the telephone made her flinch. Something inside screamed. Not just anxiety — a howling premonition, thick and brutal, turned her limbs to stone. For a split second her body refused to respond. But then Anna lunged forward, her shoes clicking sharply against the floor as she rushed toward the receiver. She lifted it — the metal frame rattled faintly in her hand — brought it to her ear, and said in a low voice: “…I’m listening.” “Is this Anna Cliff?” The voice was rough, male, laced with static and something colder. “Yes. And you are…?” “Commissioner Ernest Müller. May we speak with you?” And then… everything dissolved into fog. The conversation was brief. There wasn’t much to say. They simply told her that the dearest, most irreplaceable person in her life… was dead. Accidentally shot. Killed outright — like a wild animal — a bullet straight to the forehead somewhere deep in the woods. But Anna already knew. She knew the spot. Because for years now, she’d known his terrible secret. The one where the charming radio host became a nocturnal avenger — killing, hiding bodies, and carrying out silent justice. In those rare, quiet moments when they spoke about it, she had always voiced her concern. He would only laugh, half-joking, saying he didn’t believe in judgment — not in Hell, and certainly not in Heaven. How fitting. Just last week he’d turned 33. The age of Christ. And now — dead. Just like that. Tears blurred her vision. Her heart was pounding wildly, the rhythm spiraling out of control as the call ended. It had to be a mistake. A horrible joke. He’d walk through that door any moment now, grin sheepishly, and say it was all a lie. That he was fine. That it meant nothing. She looked at the door. Sniffled quietly. Nothing moved. Silence. Thick and suffocating, broken only by the rain. The truth sank in only when Anna saw his body. That pale, lifeless skin. That calm expression. That perfect, circular hole in his forehead. It hurt. God, it hurt. And then something else crept in. Slowly. Not the night — but the dark. Not sleep — but shadow. The kind that doesn’t cover the eyes, but devours the soul. As though inside you, there is a path of lit candles — and the darkness comes, and blows them out, one by one. Until there’s nothing left. It took nine days. From the moment of the call — to the moment it swallowed her whole. She whispered apologies to him in the night, hoping he could hear. Asked for forgiveness — for not stopping what

had bloomed within her, unnoticed. For letting that poisonous flower — a dark red lily — grow in the last corner of her soul where light still dared to flicker. And now it, too, had gone dark.

Well... I still love these two very much. Yes.

Once my partner and I were drawing children Charlie and Alastor. Actually the daughter that I came up with. X) I completely forgot about her, to be honest. Maybe I should draw Alastor and Rosie's baby the same way?

First of all I love your drawing and also odd question, do you write?

Thank you very much for the kind words!

And yes, I write, but not in English. My native language is Russian and because I use quite… Obsolete words in writing, it would be quite difficult for me to translate any full-fledged text into English.

But! I have a wonderful loved one who volunteered to help me with this if I really want to publish the texts somewhere. Most of them are written for me in a drawer or as part of the RP. :")

I sort of found it funny