RuffianBC

When I possess your soul, I'll say things And use you as my personal plaything The time will come, I'll dull your senses If you don't stop, this game is endless

After four years it's new view of "Labyrinth" and Zine work 👀

I was in the middle of something when my mind stuck in place and shouted at me "WE HAVE TO DO THIS AGAIN AND RIGHT NOW!"

Aaaand here it is ✨

/It's been seven years!!/

Finaly, my artwork from the Hazbin Hotel Zine. Yes I know it's been a while :)

@ravliksblog

"Darkness walks among us. You won't know when It will capture you." 

Black hole eyes won't gaze now Drawn in just the same You leave me frozen You leave me froze in time In your Everglow Come I’ll show every ghost in me Take my pain into you

Memories

Big thanks to RadioHusk Hell server

Illustration for https://archiveofourown.org/works/23645275/chapters/56752096 by @radioshowbiz

Alastor wasn't certain if it was Husker's apathetic appearance, his secrecy of actually caring for others well being, or he enjoyed the cat demon's presence

Husk wasn't sure if it had to do with Alastor's charismatic personality, his singing (or in general, his dazzling voice), or the sheer fact of his mysterious background

Either way, it just felt right

They weren't regretting it one bit

They both knew the feeling was too compelling to ignore any longer...

Choose the most expressive gaze ~

Summary:

He met the morning with an unpleasant nausea and headache, which at first he wanted to put down to a normal hangover, but the severe migraine that followed made him regret that his thoughts seemed to have learned to move quite physically. It is a hell of a punishment for an alcoholic to be unable to drink even a sip of beer.

Big thank for @jadeile-writes for help in editing the english translation. I'm awfully grateful to you!

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It was a shitty day. It all started with the fact that he simply couldn't drink. More precisely – almost couldn't. Since the morning, he had felt strangely weak and sick, and what about alcohol? He could not even eat a piece of bread. And then there was the fucking migraine, the hammering in his head and the ringing in the back of his ears. God... Satan? Someone! Give him the strength to last until the evening, to finish the day and lock himself in his room, away from all the turmoil of the hotel and its flighty inhabitants. By the way, about them. Today was supposed to have some kind of a celebration. Naturally, Husk hadn't bothered to pay attention to what the Princess had said with gusto a week ago, but watching her fuss since the beginning of the day, his mind had led him to this idea. Still, he didn't care, as long as it didn't involve him.

It was at this moment that he heard a loud "Husk!" that made him wince. Goddamnit. He put away the glass he had been polishing for the past half an hour, adjusted his hat, and turned to face the smiling Niffty, who had perched on one of the bar stools and was leaning against the counter. She looked casual enough, except for a few bright flowers woven into her hair. The cat demon breathed a sigh of relief, trying to put on a restrained smile. The cyclops was one of those he was willing to tolerate almost at any time.

"Hi! Charlie asked me to bring some nice bottles of champagne, will you help me?"

The bartender just nodded curtly, muttered "No problem" and disappeared into the back room. Quickly navigating between the shelves, even with a sore head, Husk fished out three bottles of stashed Pol Roger and returned to the waiting Niffty, setting the champagne on the counter in front of her with a quizzical arch of an eyebrow: "Can you handle it yourself, or...?" he tried to ask, but received an answer almost immediately.

"Of course!" enthusiastically came from the direction of the cyclops, after which the bottles instantly disappeared from the tabletop. However, she still paused before going back to her business and again looked at the winged cat, slightly narrowing her eye in the aftermath. He cursed under his breath; he must have seemed more fucked up than he'd originally thought.

"Are you all right?" There was a note of concern in her voice.

"Just a headache. And you know I'm not getting any younger here, Niff."

"Maybe you should take a break. I'll let Charlie know, she won't-" but at the same moment she was interrupted by a slightly raised clawed paw. Husk shook his head, continuing instead.

"No, thank you. It's the evening, my shift will be over soon, so there's no point in taking a break now. Besides, it's pretty quiet here today and I haven't been accosted by the red-assed bastard in a day, so I'm fine."

"That's all because we are now organizing a festive dinner that will begin after the event with fireworks! By the way, be sure to come and see it, I’m already can't wait to start!"

The last words were already thrown on the run and, in a few moments, Niffty’s small figure vanished from the room, leaving the bartender once again in splendid isolation. Which he was still very happy about. And his head was glad of the silence.

* * *

Everything seemed to turn into a big, loud sound that made Husk twitch and open one eye. Apparently, it was the promised fireworks, and he had just managed to doze off. Eh, whatever. The cat demon settled his head more comfortably, slightly pushing aside an empty beer bottle that had somehow appeared on the counter, although he clearly remembered that he hadn’t touched alcohol today. Whatever once again. All his mind wanted to do now was sink back into sweet slumber. The noise outside began to sound like a distant, lulling hum, and the bartender didn't even hear the hotel's front door open.

A sudden tug on his shoulder. Husk's instincts kicked in immediately and he bristled, grabbing what was closest at hand – which was an empty bottle – and smashing it in an instant. He turned to the attacker and held him by the collar, putting the glass directly to his throat. Immediately, the sharp smell of alcohol hit his nose, making the cat's completely sober mind feel another wave of nausea, and he winced.

"Damn it, Husk, it's me! Easy."

Angel Dust appeared in front of him, raising one pair of hands in a soothing gesture, while the other slowly reached for the broken bottle to pull it away from his neck. Blinking a couple of times and finally realizing what was happening, the bartender growled and roughly pushed the negligent spider away from him, trying to relax again: "If you do that again, I'll definitely finish what I started. What the fuck were you thinking?"

Angel grunted pointedly, making a very displeased expression as he adjusted his suit and started to say something in response, when another volley of fireworks exploded over the roof of the establishment. Husk was deafened for a second, and then he felt pain coming from his right paw. When he looked down, he realized that he was still clutching the bottle, and a part of its glassy surface had already been stained with his blood. There was blood on the floor too, and it looked like he'd cut the pad of his paw. Another explosion occurred.

* * *

He turned at once at the scream. The guy who was a couple of meters away from him, had both of his legs torn off, and the other four were much less lucky than he is. His arm was grazed by a splinter, not seriously, but there was a lot of blood; it was worth making a bandage from improvised means. But first of all – to get out of the crossfire at all costs, they must get to the shelter. After assessing the condition of the rest of the squad, he ordered the survivors to keep directly behind him; they needed to get out of the open place as soon as possible, since here the enemy who had ambushed them had a clear advantage. The sound of machine-gun fire sent a chill down his spine.

* * *

Focus on that damned green spot. It was the only thought that Husk had time to pick up as he came to himself, and he repeated it over and over again. He stared at the bright green interior of the hotel until his eyes hurt, clutching the bar with both paws and trying to catch his breath. Not a fucking flashback. No, his day was already ruined, so there was this shitty "mind game". However, it was obvious that this was a fucking flashback and he urgently needed something to drink, preferably something stronger. Then he remembered Angel and turned his head in his supposed direction. The spider was gone, and so were everyone else, so the cat let out a sigh of relief. Less of a problem. Clumsily stepping over broken glass and bloodstains, the bartender took a couple of steps in the direction of the back room, closing the door behind him and casting a roving glance at the shelves of various bottles. Perhaps rum or vodka would help him in this situation. But as soon as the cat reached for one of those bottles, his mind reeled again, this time toppling him into a veritable abyss of screams of horror and pain, machine-gun fire, the whiteness of dead eyes and blood. Someone else's blood on the grass, on the ground, on his clothes and on his hands. An abyss of helpless despair.

He saw only images of something familiar, a cacophony of sounds mixed in his head with an inexplicable buzzing and ringing in his ears. He saw through drooping eyelids, he felt the heat from the fire, as if it burned through all his clothes, and the putrid smell soaked into his skin so thoroughly that it felt like the smell got right into it, and it came not from piles of corpses all around, this was Husk rotting alive.

The endless succession of images in his mind was interrupted by a sharp splash of something terribly cold right in his face. He took a reflexive breath, coughed and opened his eyes, trying to focus on something and realized that there was too much red.

"Breathe."

This was said almost in the face of the winged cat, who now looked more like a hunted animal, trying to regain his breath and running his eyes around the room. Finally, he stopped at the most distinct object directly in front of him and grunted hoarsely. Sounded like Italian. Sounded like another expletive. He regained more of his consciousness with every moment, and with every moment the bartender's face grew more haggard. He blinked again, finally coming to his senses, realizing where he was and that he was probably up to his ears in shit again.

"Alastor."

The tight grin on the face in front of him wavered slightly, and then its owner handed Husk a towel. He was about to take it, but abruptly stopped, hiding his right paw, which of course didn’t escape the attention of the Radio Demon. Without further ado, Alastor intercepted the bloody limb, and naturally the evil hiss directly in his face didn’t stop him in any way. Quickly figuring out what was wrong, Alastor took the towel back, wrapped it around the cat's cut palm and looked at him from under his brows, which caused another portion of the cat's defensive aggression to be unleashed: "I wouldn't have figured it out without you, maldito hijo de puta."

"Have you been drinking today?"

However, this question Husk hadn't expected.

"No. I've been fucked up since this morning and now it's just getting worse."

A snap of the fingers. A glass and a bottle of good whiskey materialized on the table next to them. After that, the deer demon got up from the couch and left the main room, and only now the bartender noticed that the man's coat was thrown over the back of a chair in the corner, and they were in the Radio Demon's room. Now it was clear why his first thought had been red.

Based on the noise coming from the room next to him, Alastor was washing his hands. The winged cat interrupted the thoughts of blood, and then leaned over the back of the couch and picked up the bottle, opened it, and immediately tipped it down, taking several large gulps. He naturally ignored the glass. The returning radio host watched the scene for a few moments, and then teleported back to his seat, causing Husk to almost choke on the last mouthful.

"Will you ever stop doing that?"

The deer demon didn't answer him again, just took the whiskey from his clawed paw and pulled him into a familiar side-hug, and the bartender, as luck would have it, was too weak to resist.

"My dear Husker. The only one who can take proper care of your condition is you. However! I hasten to say that sometimes you force me to take extreme measures." Alastor seemed to be speaking without his usual fervor, or else the cat demon was too tired to notice. He had already partially relaxed on the red shoulder, yielding to light scratching, but the last words made him twitch nevertheless and nudge the other in the side. The same man continued as if nothing had happened: "I've already told Charlie that you won't be at the bar for the next four days, and you'll have to spend that time here."

The hell I will - Husk wanted to protest, but his relaxed mind gave out something unintelligible. The radio host could care, but in his own way. Most of the time, the bartender wasn’t happy with the methods that the deer demon was employing, but he had to put up with it. If it wasn't intentional sadistic violence, the winged cat didn't care. Or he did, depending on the situation.

He closed his eyes, pushing the rest of his thoughts from his mind, and listened to Alastor's still-speaking voice with half an ear. The last thing he heard was a phrase that Husk agreed with one hundred percent: "And no more fireworks."

The drawing is inspired by a scene from the TV series based on the novel the “Master and Margarita”

Illustration for https://archiveofourown.org/works/22765594/chapters/54399886#workskin

He’d dreamt of the fields, large and devoid of life, nothing but rotting grass filling the expanses. A void in the chasm of his mind. Yet he still felt something watching. Something with sharp claws that tip-tapped with every step. An open mouth and dripping saliva and cutting fangs. Only a dream.

But in Hell, what is the difference between dream and reality? It could shift in an instant, waking up to find that same something at the foot of his bed. It’s the feeling of something that could be. That if he were to be caught, then there might be no waking moment.

Tired. He breathes in the smell of dying chlorophyll, decaying corpses of budding sprouts. He is still being watched. Be careful of those golden eyes. As beautiful as a sunset, as indulgent as sauvignon blanc.

So far this is the largest work in terms of terms of all my drawings

I'm not dead! I'm just still working with zine project////