We Need To Talk…

I've been wanting to draw this for a long time... For me, this couple always seemed… The most romantic. But! I'm sure that Rosie is clearly leading in the dances x)

Custom version of Fallen Adam to order.

I still love both versions of this art…

In fact, it all turned out very funny. I didn't plan two versions initially. For some reason, I just started drawing Alastor's body without clothes x)

As a result, there are two versions of one art with completely different moods and I'm happy!

I haven't drawn on paper for a long time. I just slightly improved the color and light through the program. It turns out I still remember how to hold a regular pen.

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.

What do you think about Husk originally being thought of as russian? (Vivzie said it in a stream once, but we don't know if it's still canon!)

Oh, that’s an interesting question!

As you might understand, I myself am Russian. So I will answer from the perspective of someone who is Russian, knows about many stereotypes, and how amusing headcanons about characters who could theoretically be Russian can be.

For me, this headcanon about Hask is incredibly funny. Well, you know, he’s all grumpy, with an interesting accent and voice, always drinking, dissatisfied, but it’s in his conversations with Angel that he reveals himself as a deeper and somewhat sympathetic character. And, in fact, he would fit perfectly into this headcanon regarding the interplay between stereotypes and reality.

Many Russian people from my generation (the late '90s generation) are quite empathetic, soft, kind, and caring individuals. Yes, in Russia, it’s not customary to smile all the time (unless you are in a job that requires direct interaction with people, like in the food service industry), but know that if a Russian person smiles at you, in 90% of cases it will be genuinely sincere.

I can also say that I really like how Hask reacts to the events around him overall. If you pay attention to his expressions throughout the series, the headcanon that he could be Russian or have Russian roots takes on new colors. :DDDD

Overall, I really like this headcanon. It would be funny if Viv actually kept it in the future, but as practice with leaks has shown, not everything she initially said and planned remains canon...

It's always interesting to see the difference between the sketches and the finished piece of art... I just need to catch up and draw the commission debts. Just know that I have the best clients. Thank you so much for your patience.

I rarely talk about this in detail, but somewhere around April 2024 I had my own AU. And the funniest thing is that it wasn't even supposed to go into romance. But "glass"… In general, it was supposed to be a pretty sad story. True, there were several moments where, according to the original idea, this AU was supposed to work against the background of the main story. However… Considering the leaks of parts of the second season, I think I'll make it completely abstracted from the main plot. Because the holes in the plot and motivations now irritate me. :с

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. :")

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.)