Cw Sexual Assault - Tumblr Posts
Luck of the Draw
Chapter 1 ♤
Fandom: Hazbin Hotel
Pairing: Husk × Angel Dust (HuskerDust)
Word Count: 5.1k
Warnings: Being drugged, mentions of sexual and physical assault
In the early hours of the morning, the Hazbin Hotel bar is still open, albeit empty, except for the bartender himself. Angel Dust isn't back from work yet, and Husk finds this troubling. He's learned that it's a game of luck predicting which version of Angel will walk through that door - Angel Dust the porn star, or the real Angel. The one he respects, yet can't help holding at arms length. However, when Angel finally shows up, Husk quickly learns that luck is something that people like Angel never get a taste of.
4:28am.
Husk looked down from the gaudy parlour clock to the freshly polished bar with a grimace. Angel should have been back from work by now. Not that he was waiting for him, fuck no. He wasn’t no goddamn baby sitter. He had better things to do than sit around waiting for the kid to waltz in and talk his ear off, demanding some sickly sweet cocktail that took way too much effort to mix for what amounted to booze and fruit juice, and taunt him with his sleazy porno pick-up lines (which, admittedly, he’d been cooling off on lately). Besides, it wasn’t like Husk needed a drinking buddy – he’d drank alone his whole life and all that came after, and he’d be double damned if the flames of Hell were hot enough to melt the thick, icy shell that encased his heart.
He had to admit, though, he had been getting used to the company. It had become an unspoken routine: Angel Dust usually flounced into the hotel sometime after midnight, and the two demons would share a few rounds to see off the day. But a gambling man like Husk never discredits the influence of luck on a situation – not least when fondness has sweetened the pot – and he’d come to realise it was all down to chance which version of Angel Dust would walk through that door. Most nights he’d burst in all toothy smiles and suggestive remarks, his carefully crafted mask barely faltering no matter how many times Husk brushed off the sexual comments. As irritating as he found them, he quickly learned that after a couple of drinks, Angel would mellow out and the mask would slip just enough for the two of them to have a real ass conversation, to just shoot the shit and reminisce, like old friends – real friends. The kind you make in life. Husk even found himself at times wondering if it would really be so terrible for his cold heart to warm a little, if the burn of the whisky and the spark of a newly kindled friendship could thaw him enough to feel the closest thing to affection he was still capable of. This thought was never given the opportunity to bloom into anything more substantial before Husk would stamp it from his mind with vigour, assuring himself it was nothing more than a liquor-fuelled fantasy, tantalising him with the fickle temptress of hope.
The other Angel was a different story. Husk couldn’t help but dread those nights: the nights where Angel would skulk through the door with his head hung low, bruised and bloody, torn clothing just barely clinging to his battered body; the nights where the mask Angel clung to fell to the floor, shattered, useless up against the black eyes and smearing makeup. As openly as Husk despised Angel’s bullshit persona, and although he valued authenticity above all else, seeing behind the curtain like this could be a little too rich for his blood. The sheer stench of shame was overwhelming, and Husk had to hold in his feelings with an iron grip. Angel didn’t need to know how much of a useless idiot he felt, or the anger that burnt him from the inside out every time he thought about the evil bastard that treated Angel like his prize fucking punching bag. Husk was well aware that he didn’t know the half of the abuse that Valentino inflicted upon Angel, and, as shameful as it felt to admit, he’d prefer to keep it that way. His old, decrepit heart didn’t know what to do with the emotions that swelled within him when he dared to wonder how much Angel was forced to put up with, and he was certain no amount of booze could placate him enough to keep his cool if he were ever to find out.
But, all that aside, Husk was a bartender. He was no stranger to pouring drinks for down-on-their-luck losers looking to drown their sorrows. So, when Angel came home looking worse for wear, he would simply do what he did best and pour him his favourite drink, and the two would stew in the heavy silence until Angel loosened up and their usual conversation would trickle into balance, feigning some semblance of normality.
His thoughts were promptly interrupted by the sound of the front door swinging open with an almighty shove, followed by the clumsy scuffle of heels on hardwood and hissy, murmured curses. Husk had been a bartender long enough to recognise the graceless sounds of a drunk bastard, and his eyes narrowed as Angel’s silhouette stumbled up to the bar, seemingly unaware of Husk stood behind it. Sure, he’d seen the kid in all kinds of states. Drunk? Sure. High? As a kite. Sober? You gotta be kidding. But fucked up enough to be tripping over his own feet, mumbling incoherent nonsense? This was new. Even in the depths of whatever he was high on, Angel Dust was sharp as a tack, quick-witted and oh so irritatingly fake. Eternal damnation plus addiction equals one hell of a tolerance, Husk supposed. Of course, his “supposing” was arbitrary – he knew this first fucking hand. So, to see this display from Angel filled him with a sense of unease.
As if on cue, Husk’s ears pricked up as a high pitched yelp, punctuated by a sudden smack to the floor, rang through the empty halls. Peering over the bar, he was greeted with a pitiful sight – Angel sat crumpled in a tangled heap of limbs, massaging the part of his head that had made contact with the floor and clutching a bottle of clear booze to his chest that he appeared to have been protecting during his ungainly fall. His blazer was mostly open, and the few buttons that were done up seemed to be in the wrong places. As he swore under his breath and began dusting off his sleeves, Husk couldn’t help but notice his expression. Irritated, sorrowful. Tired. The performance was nowhere to be found, and as had been the case since the real, raw Angel had started making himself known, Husk was gripped by a familiar, palpable tension. But there was a thread of something different about it, some kind of vulnerability that came with witnessing this particular scene.
That’s when he realised what – who – he was seeing: Angel Dust when no one was watching. When he thought no one was watching. Husk was struck by something akin to wonder, a glimmer of awe at the rarity of what he was witnessing, that was snuffed out instantaneously by the nakedness of it. Angel Dust, the porn star who’s entire afterlife consisted of working the cameras; the demon who, for once, truly believed he was not being watched; and Husk, the unwitting voyeur, the pair of eyes from the darkness that promised the safety of being alone.
“Need a hand?” Husk broke the painful silence. The idea of watching any longer than he already had was nauseating.
Angel’s head snapped up at the shock of realising he wasn’t alone, and his face momentarily flushed from embarrassment of being witnessed in his predicament. Quickly as the embarrassment came, it was gone, replaced by that familiar cockiness Husk knew all too well. He never thought he’d be relieved to see that fake bullshit, but it was a hell of a lot more comfortable than whatever the fuck that was.
“Nah. I got plenty,” Angel Dust flashed Husk a flirtatious grin as his third set of arms made an appearance to steady him against the floor, one arm still clutching the bottle tightly to his chest. He pushed himself up onto his feet with great unsteadiness, swaying dangerously before he flopped dramatically down onto a stool and planted the bottle on the bar beside him with a careless clunk. Husk whisked it behind the bar in less than a second – there was no way he was letting this kid drink anything else, and besides, Angel was too out of it to even register that the bottle had gone.
“It’s late, y’know. Even for you,” Husk immediately cringed at the domesticity of the words that just came out of his mouth, like a pent-up housewife chastising her deadbeat husband for leaving her home alone all day.
Even with his usual sharpness dulled by the intoxication, Angel was quick to sense Husk’s insecurity. He pounced in his usual manner.
“Aw, don’t tell me you’ve been waitin’ up for me, Husky,” he teased, his usual sultry tone sullied by slurred words. “I woulda come home sooner – ya only had to ask, babycakes.”
Angel’s flirtation bounced straight off Husk as though he’d barely noticed. He didn’t even look up from the glass he had taken to polishing to distract himself – to give himself something to look at that wasn’t Angel.
“What the hell did you take, Angel? You look-”
“Devastatingly handsome?”
This time Husk looked up from the glass, one eyebrow raised. That stupid, sleazy, shit-eating grin again. God, even in the state he was in, he managed to be the same annoying fuck he always was. The relief of the mask going back up was quickly losing it’s charm.
“You look like shit,” Husk growled. It was true. Angel was slumped over the bar, propped up on one elbow as if it were the only thing keeping him from tumbling right back onto the floor. His eyes were half-lidded and bloodshot, unable to stay focused on Husk even as he’d been shooting him those ridiculous looks, and his face was swollen, puffy and flushed crimson. This wasn’t just alcohol, and it sure as hell wasn’t coke or any of Angel’s usual uppers. The nagging, biting feeling in Husk’s gut grew the longer he went without certainty. Fuck, why the hell did he even care? This was Angel, the kid could handle himself, and Husk would be a damn fool to criticise a sinner for getting high. And yet here he was. Pissed off, unsettled and worst of all: worried about him.
Angel opened his mouth, ready to spout whatever bullshit he had ready to defend himself from the insult, but Husk held up a hand to silence him. Fuck it, if he was going to care about this stupid kid, he wasn’t going to half-ass it. “Don’t try your shit with me. It ain’t gonna fly this time.” He crossed him arms firmly, meeting Angel’s hazy eyes with a steady, piercing stare. “I’ve seen you fucked up every which way, kid, but I ain’t seen you this far gone. So let’s try this again- the fuck did you take?”
“I ain’t took nothin’, Husk,” Angel sighed. There was a softness to his voice, something almost believable. He dropped his head into two of his hands, covering his face as the other set sprawled out across the bar. His voice was slow and thick. “Well, nothin’ I ain’t used to. I went out drinkin’ after work. It was a long shoot, okay?” The softness gave way to irritation, like a child receiving a scolding as he looked up from his hands with a scowl. “What, I need your permission or somethin’? There’s other bars in Hell, ya know.”
“Not ones you get to drink for free at.” Husk retorted, and Angel let out a sharp, cold laugh.
“Oh, please. That’s cute, Husk, but in case ya forgot, I’m kinduva big deal round these parts. You think THE Angel Dust pays for his own drinks?” Angel jabbed a finger at his chest and gestured towards his body with his other arms, threatening to lose his balance and come face to face with the floor for the second time that night.
“So, you’re tellin’ me you got in this mess from boozin’ with lowlifes?” Husk scoffed. “I ain’t tryna insult you, legs, but ain’t that your idea of havin’ a quiet one?”
Angel’s eyes narrowed as he steadied himself on the bar, fingers curling against the hardwood. “Yeah, Husk, and I’ll thank ya to quit it with the third fuckin’ degree already. What, ya jealous I ain’t drinkin’ with you? I’m here now, so pour me one already.”
Husk let out a quiet humph that could almost be considered a laugh, amused at the idea that Angel thought there was any way in Hell he’d give him more alcohol, but pulled a glass out from under the bar all the same. “Kid, I’m just lookin’ out for you,” he said matter-of-factly, refusing to be affected by Angel’s irritation. “Like I said, you look fuckin’ terrible.” He pushed the now-filled glass towards Angel, who scoffed at this remark.
“Please! Ain’t no way, kitty. Besides, you don’t know me. What makes you think-” he stopped dead, raising an eyebrow at the glass in front of him before fixing Husk with a withering glare.
“What the shit is this?”
“Water. Drink it.”
As though a switch had flicked, Angel’s annoyance mutated into his usual choreographed flirtation.
“Aww, Husky! You’re taking care of me!” he crooned, reaching a hand across the bar to heavy-handedly caress one of Husk’s wings, his intoxicated state blunting his usual suaveness when it came to flirting. “Well, how about we take this to your bedroom, baby? Maybe you can... take care of me some more in there.”
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Husk couldn’t hold in the flurry of rage at being groped by the idiot he was trying to help. He had limited tolerance for Angel’s bullshit on a good day, and this pushed him over the edge. “Even in the fucking mess you’re in, you still won’t give it up?!”
Angel’s eyes were wide but unreadable. Husk steadied himself with a deep breath, fighting the surge of anger that wanted him to tell Angel to drop the fucking act, that he was embarrassing himself with this ridiculous charade. Did that incoherent shithead really think he was the type of guy to take someone this wasted to bed? The anger simmered down as he thought about the types of guys Angel was used to being with, and he let out a deep sigh through still-gritted teeth.
“Let me get one thing clear: I ain’t one of your scumbag drinking buddies who wanna get you all nice and lathered up to do god knows what to ya. And even if I was dumb enough to play into your goddamn games – you’re plastered, kid. I ain’t going nowhere near you.”
Angel rolled his eyes, as if the concern for his wellbeing was boring him. “Husk, you think I ever fucked sober?” he said dryly. “Not in Hell or Earth, sunshine. You don’t do the work I do without somethin’ to take the edge off,” he paused, a flicker of something real gracing his expression as he broke Husk’s gaze. “And hey, some jag off puts a little extra somethin’ in my drink, I ain’t sayin’ no. Free drugs, ain’t it?” His laugh had a shaky edge, less believable.
Husk looked at Angel, dumbfounded. For a moment, he said absolutely nothing, processing this information before blurting out densely, “What, you got spiked?”
Angel scoffed, throwing his hands up in a mocking cheer. “Aaaand he hits the jackpot!” he slurred. “Guess the wise old bartender ain’t so wised up after all. Yes, dumbass, I got spiked.”
“And what, you knew? And drank it anyway?” The hair raised on the back of Husk’s neck.
“Husk, I’ve been in the game a long time,” Angel said flatly. “I can handle it. That shit barely makes a dent anymore. Sonuvabitch knew it to, the way he kept ‘em comin’.” The laugh that followed was jarring, like silk sheets on a spent mattress.
Husk could not fathom a response, but Angel kept going.
“Y’know, he probably paid top dolla for whatever the fuck he was usin’ too,” he laughed idly. “Spent it all on little ol’ me. I’d be flattered if the handsy bastard wasn’t such a goddamn bore. I’ve had better conversations with a brick wall, I’m telling ya.” He spoke about it so casually, as though recalling a funny anecdote. “Probably thought I’d pass out after the first one. Sorry, baby, but I’m a pro. You shoulda prepared more conversation than “hey, you’re the guy from “Three Dicks, One Hole”, can you really do that with your-”
“Angel, are you okay?”
Husk felt his stomach tighten as Angel’s nonchalant facade was shaken by his remark of genuine, honest concern. He couldn’t help it, he couldn’t bear to listen to this. He hated how pathetic he felt in these moments, when the weight of Angel’s chains felt almost as heavy as his own.
Angel’s gaze dropped to the glass of water he’d yet to touch, as though shielding himself from the bartender’s penetrating eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that Husk.”
“Like what? Like I’m worried about you?”
“Like ya feel sorry for me. I can handle myself, okay? This is my scene, these are my people. I do what I gotta do.” The grit had returned to his voice, warning Husk to back off.
Husk ignored his instincts and walked out from behind the bar and took the bar stool next to Angel. He wasn’t going to let this slide.
“If that guy hurt you-”
“Christ, Husk! You’re the one that keeps tellin’ me I’m a wreck! My head’s in pieces, I don’t need this right now.” The sharp, warning tone in Angel’s voice finally cracked with a defeated sigh, and he looked down at the bar. He looked so small in this moment, so... not Angel Dust. It was like Husk was seeing a completely different person. Angel didn’t look up from the bar as he spoke.
“If that guy got a piece a’ me, he’d be the latest in a long fuckin’ line of ‘em. Not like I remember anyway.”
He gave Husk a wry smile. “Hey, whatcha don’t know can’t hurt ya, right?”
Jesus. Husk took a deep breath and prepared himself for the usual sick avoidance he felt when Angel was at his most real and raw, but something within him forced a new kind of steadiness. The pain written across Angel’s face was taste Husk usually found all too sour, but this time the bitter flavour was his own. Was he really such a fucking coward? He was a goddamn bartender, he listened to people bitch and moan all day long but being there for a friend was all too much? This kid needed someone, and despite it all, despite everything Husk thought he knew about himself, he cared. And as much as that scared the ever loving shit out of him, he wasn’t going to turn away this time. He was going to follow Angel into that darkness if it meant he would have someone there with him.
Finally, Husk let out a sigh and stood up. “Alright kid, let’s get you to bed.”
“Thought you’d never ask, Husky,” Angel drawled, following suit and standing, only to tumble forward face-first into Husk, who caught him with an air of expectancy. Angel caught Husk’s shoulders as he leaned against the shorter demon, who’s hands were now holding Angel up by the waist in an attempt to steady him. Husk peered up at the sudden look of surprise on the demon’s face. There was that vulnerability, that gleam of something real that darted out from the shadows before Angel inevitably caught on and stuffed it right back down inside. For the first time, Husk decided to savour it, knowing he only had a fraction of a second before The Angel Dust Show resumed.
Only it didn’t.
Angel’s eyes were wide with unexpected emotion. It was hard to describe what Husk was seeing – was it tenderness? Fragility? Fear? He only had a moment to contemplate this cocktail of emotion before Angel’s face was buried into his shoulder, two sets of arms clutching him fiercely in a hug that felt hungry and longing. Despite Husk’s efforts to keep the lanky demon upright, Angel dropped to his knees, his impressive height allowing for him to pull Husk parallel against him in this position while his head remained fixed to the crook of Husk’s neck. Angel clung to Husk like a child to their mother, as though the desperation for soft and gentle affection was suddenly too much for him to bear. Tentative at first, Husk allowed himself to pull Angel a little closer, one hand cradling the back of the demon’s head, thumb brushing against his tangled hair. The frenzied tension of Angel’s grasp and the automatic rigidity that came over Husk when faced with affection both began to subside, and the moment morphed from a frantic, unexpected plea for something tender, into equally unexpected tenderness itself. The lull was thick and heavy, as though draped in velvet, and a sudden awareness of just how close the two demons were gave Husk a hesitant, heady thrill. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held someone like this.
Angel was the one to finally peel back from their embrace, and as he did, Husk felt the cold breeze brush over a wet patch of fur on his shoulder. His stomach twisted in knots as he realised Angel had been crying. The spider demon furiously dragged a gloved forearm across his face, trying fruitlessly to hide the obvious. Husk looked away sheepishly.
“C’mon. Let’s go.”
With that, Husk scooped Angel up into his arms bridal-style and began carrying him towards the stairs. “Christ, you ain’t as dainty as you look, legs.”
Angel let out a yelp of surprise. “Husk, what the hell are ya doing?”
“Getting you to bed. What, you think you can take on the stairs? That’s real funny, kid. You can’t even stand.” Husk’s tone was mocking, but warm.
Angel’s initial shock dissipated. He felt the exhaustion of the day begin to catch up with him as his aching body savoured the blessing of being whisked off his feet. His arms wound around Husk’s neck as he sank his head into his chest. “Alright, alright. Just don’t fuckin’ drop me, dickbag.”
Husk could tell he was trying to sound annoyed, but the slur of the poison and the softness of incoming sleep blunted the sharp edges of his usual tough talk. A smile toyed with the edge of Husk’s lips.
“I ain’t gonna drop ya,” he smirked. “Make no mistake though, you ain’t no small feat. You might be all legs and arms, but you’re still an 8 foot sack a’ potatoes.”
“Fuck you, whiskers,” Angel managed to mumble, followed by a string of incoherent nonsense that his sleep-addled mind mistook for a killer comeback.
Husk smiled, trudging up the stairs with Angel. “Yeah, yeah. I know,” he replied mindlessly. It would be almost cute, the way Angel was falling asleep in his arms, if it weren’t a result of the heavy dose of sedatives finally kicking in. Yeah, that was it, Husk reminded himself. Got nothing to do with the gentle moment they shared, or perhaps a sense of safety he felt in Husk’s arms. It was just the drugs. That was all.
Angel was almost fully passed out by the time Husk reached his door, and he felt himself wince as he watched Angel drifting into unconsciousness and wondered if this perhaps wasn’t the first time he’d passed out tonight. It wasn’t like Husk wasn’t used to the cruel nuances of Hell: he’d seen things – done things – that would stay burned into his mind for as long as he existed down here. But the innocence of the demon sleeping in his arms, the innocence that was taken from him over and over again until he simply signed it away... that cut deep. It made him feel sick. He knew the pain of being a victim of circumstance, of being someone’s unwilling pet. It was a fucking horror show.
“It’s your stop, kid,” Husk spoke softly, rousing the spider demon from his slumber as he stood outside Angel’s door. It was adorned with neon pink lights and cheerful photographs with friends.
Angel looked up, bleary-eyed. “Huh? Oh. Hey, Husky,” he looked around, realising where he was, and began to shuffle in Husk’s arms in an attempt to get down. Husk gave him a stern look.
“Sure you can stand?”
“Oh, yeah. Not that I don’t love ya big strong arms around me, whiskers, but think I can manage the couple steps between the door and the bed, capisce?”
Unconvinced, Husk kept Angel’s arm fastened around his shoulder as he stumbled towards the bed, where Fat Nuggets lay curled up in one of Angel’s fluffy pieces of clothing, unbothered by the kerfuffle.
“There ya go,” Husk groaned, half-launching Angel towards the bed, where he collapsed inelegantly in a heap next to his sleeping pet, who was abruptly awoken by the disturbance and squealed happily at the sight of his mama. Angel chuckled softly as the pig settled into his lap, a sound Husk had never heard him make before, followed by soft cooing as he showered the pig in affection.
“Who’s mama’s special boy? That’s right, you are! Yes, you’re my special lil’ guy, aren’t you Nuggsie? Aren’t you my special lil’ guy?”
It was almost sickeningly cute, Husk thought, although this was promptly interrupted by a flush of embarrassment as he noticed Angel start to fiddle with the buttons of his shirt. He looked away hotly. Should he go now? He’d done his part, there was no need for him to be here when he-
“Hey, give me a hand here, will ya?”
Fuck.
Angel was fumbling uselessly with the last button of his blazer, clearly unable to get it to cooperate. After a moment of hesitation that felt far longer than it actually was, Husk sighed and sat down on the bed. His eyes fixed on the button and the button alone with exaggerated intensity, made all the more comical by his flushed cheeks, and with one swift movement the blazer fell open. Husk’s eyes found a spot on the bed to focus on intently and his blush grew darker. Angel cackled.
“Husk, their ain’t a sinner in Hell that hasn’t seen me take my clothes off. Now, quit bein’ a gentleman and grab me that nightshirt, ya prude,” he gave Husk a playful shove as he pointed out his pyjamas.
With a grumble, Husk swung his legs over the bed and leaned to grab the purple oversized shirt hanging off the spider’s vanity. Still averting his gaze, he handed it to Angel, who shrugged off his blazer and pulled the nightshirt over himself clumsily, before shimmying off his miniskirt.
“You need help with the boots?” Husk stuttered out. God, this was awkward. The way that Angel seemed to be lapping up his discomfort like the cat who got the cream made it 10 times worse.
“Nah. I got it. Who woulda known you were such a Prince Charming, Husky? Ain’t ya just my knight in shining armour.” Angel was still slurring but his voice was sweet and sing-songy, drinking in the effect he was having on Husk. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second as Angel started to roll down his boots, and a sudden flicker of bashfulness tinted Angel’s expression.
“Uh, do ya mind? I kinda got a thing about my feet.”
Husk couldn’t even stifle his laugh as he turned away diligently. “You’re kidding. The whole of Hell’s seen every inch of you in every position you could dream of but you’re shy about your feet?”
“Hey. Everyone’s got their hang ups, don’t they?” Angel said huffily, kicking his boots off the rest of the way and pulling the duvet around him. “You can look now. I’m decent.”
“If I turn around and you’re naked, I’m telling Charlie to give us another one of those sexual harassment lectures you love so much.” Husk muttered, relieved as he turned to see Angel cocooned in his duvet, Fat Nuggets wedged contentedly under his chin. His eyes were fluttering, looking ready to pass out. Husk smiled involuntarily, taking one long, last glance at Angel Dust before turning to leave him. “Goodnight, kid.”
Just as Husk reached for the door handle, a hushed voice stopped him dead.
“Husk?”
It was spoken like a question, with a strangled urgency that made Husk spin back around with dizzying intensity. Angel was propped up on his elbows, jump-started awake by a sharp jolt of obvious fear.
“Stay.”
Husk opened his mouth uselessly, having no inkling of a response in mind, but he was swiftly unburdened of this responsibility as Angel spoke again.
“Not... not like that.”
Husk cringed that Angel even felt the need to make that distinction: it was obvious from the demon’s distress that – for once – it wasn’t sex that he was propositioning. He sat forward rigidly, hugging his knees to his chest, eyes fixed downward.
“Just... stay. Please, Husk.” His voice was heart-wrenchingly small as he choked out his final confession.
“I don’t wanna be alone.”
Swallowing down the visceral pain in his gut at yet another unforgiving glimpse of reality and chasing it with a heavy sigh, Husk trudged back over to the demon’s bed and sat down beside him. He spoke gently, but firmly, “I’m not going anywhere.”
He could practically feel Angel relax at this affirmation. His eyes closed once more as he slid down against the pillow, nestling into a comfortable position. “Thanks, Husky.” His voice was thick with sleep, a smile just barely teasing the corner of his mouth. To Husk’s surprise, a hand slipped out from beneath the covers and his fingers were interlocked with Angel’s before he could say anything. A shiver of defensiveness ran up his spine at the tenderness of the situation. It was sweet, it was intoxicating, it was inviting. It was unlike anything he’d felt in life or death. Was it worth the risk, allowing himself to acknowledge this softness? To look this sentiment square in the face, knowing it meant he could get chewed up and spat out in more ways than he could imagine? He held his cards close to his chest, he always had, but what good was that if not even he knew what he was holding?
He glanced at the demon next to him and his mind immediately muted, the sight of Angel fast asleep, hand still in his, turning down the volume on his deafening thoughts. He didn’t have to know what this was, what it meant. This was all it had to be for now. This was all that mattered. He gave Angel’s hand a reassuring squeeze as he let himself sink back into the pillows, smiling a little at the sight of his friend sleeping peacefully beside him.
“Goodnight, Angel.”
A/N: This is the first fanfic I've written since I was literally a teenager so I hope this holds up! Hazbin and HuskerDust in particular has me in a chokehold, so naturally I spent more time and effort writing this than I did on any of my uni work this year. There are going to be more chapters of this (god willing) so stay tuned! I'm not on ao3 unfortunately so keep an eye out on here if you're wanting more, I'm a slow writer though so don't expect anything for a while. Hope you enjoyed! 🪩
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Mithrun's desire as an SA analogue
TW discussion of SA and detailed breakdown of aesthetics evoking SA. The way I discuss this is vivid in a way that may be triggering, though there is no discussion of actual sexual assault. Just survivor's responses to it.
People relate to Mithrun and see his condition as an analogue for a few different things, like brain injury or depression. And I think all of them are there. But I also see Mithrun's story as an SA analogue, and Ryoko Kui intentionally evokes those aesthetics. I think it's a part of Mithrun's character that a lot of people miss, but I very much consider it text. This is partially inspired by @heird99's post on what makes this scene so disturbing; so check out their post, too :)
So to start off with, the demon invades Mithrun's bed, specifically. There's even a canopy around it, which specifically evokes this idea of personal intrusion; the barrier is being pulled apart without consent or warning. The way the hand reaches towards Mithrun's body from outside of the panel division makes it almost look like the goat stroking over his body. It's an especially creepy visual detail; similarly, the goat's right hand parts into the side of the panel as well. It's literally like it's tearing the page apart; but gently. So gently.
Mithrun is in bed. It is his bed that the demon is intruding on. He's in a position of intimacy. The woman behind him is a facsimile of his "beloved" that he left behind; the woman who, in reality, chose Mithrun's brother. He is in bed with his fantasy lover, who is leaning over him. While this scene isn't explicitly sexual, it is intimate. And it is being invaded. The goat lifts Mithrun gently, who is confused, but not yet struggling.
The erotics of consumption and violence in Ryoko Kui's work(remember that the word 'erotic' can have many different meanings, please) are a... notable part of some of her illustrations. I would say she blurs the lines between all forms of desire: personal, sexual, gustatory and carnal, in her illustrations in order to emphasize the pure desire she wants to work with and evoke to serve her themes. Kui deploys sexual imagery in a lot of places in Dungeon Meshi, and this is one of them.
In this case, horrifically. The goat's assault begins with drooling, licking, and nuzzling. The goat could be enjoying and "playing with" its food. But it can also be interpreted as it "preparing" Mithrun with its tongue as it begins to literally breach Mithrun's body. The goat also invades directly through his clothing; that adds another level of disturbing to me. There's nothing Mithrun can do in this moment of violation. Mithrun is fighting, but he is fighting weakly, trying to grip on and push away when he has no ability or option to. All he can do is beg the goat to stop. And it doesn't care. This all evokes sexual assault.
The sixth panel demonstrates a somewhat sexual position, with Mithrun's thighs spread around the goat's hunched over body. In the next, the goat pulls and holds apart Mithrun's thighs as he nuzzles into him. The way the clothing bunches up looks a bit as if it has been pushed up. It has pinned Mithrun down onto the bed, into Mithrun's soft furs and pillows. It takes a place made to be supernaturally warm and comfortable, and violates it. It's utterly and intimately horrifying. To me, this sequence of positions directly evokes a rape scene. I think Kui did this very explicitly. These references to sexual invasion are part of what makes this scene so disturbing; albeit, to many viewers, subconsciously. It makes my skin crawl.
This is also the moment the goat takes Mithrun's eye. Other than this, the goat seems exceptionally strong, but also... gentle. It holds Mithrun's body tightly, but moves it around slowly. It doesn't need to hurt Mithrun physically. But in that moment, it takes Mithrun's eye. Blood seeps from a wound while an orifice that should not be pierced is penetrated. This moment, the ooze of blood in one place specifically, also evokes rape. That single bit of physical gore is a very powerful bit of imagery to me.
Finally; it is Mithrun's desire that is eaten. After his assault, Mithrun can find no pleasure in things that he once did. He is fully disassociated from his emotions. This is a common response to trauma, especially in the case of SA. It's not uncommon for people to never, or take a long time to, enjoy sex in the same way again; or at all. They might feel like their rapist has robbed them of a desire and pleasure they once had. I think this makes Mithrun's lack of desire a partial analogue for the trauma of sexual assault.
Mithrun's desire for revenge was, supposedly, all that remained. Anger at his assaulter, anger at every being that was like it; though, perhaps not anger. Devotion, in a way. To his cause. I don't know. But the immediate desire to seek revenge is another response to SA. But on to Mithrun's true feelings on the matter.
This is... So incredibly tragic. Mithrun feels used up. Like his best parts have been taken away. Like he's being... tossed aside. This certainly parallels the way assault victims can feel after being left by an abuser. Or the way assault victims feel they might be "ruined" forever for other partners. These are common sentiments for survivors to carry, and need to overcome. In the text, it's almost like Mithrun feels the only being who can desire him is a demon who might "finish devouring" him. That that's his only use. It's worth noting that Mithrun trusted the demon. Mithrun's world was built by the demon, and Mithrun, in that way, was cared for by the demon. I think this reinforces Mithrun's place as a victim.
There's also something to be said about Mithrun as a victim of his own possessive romantic and sexual desire. The mirror shows him his beloved just dining with his brother, and it infuriates him. He doesn't know if the vision is real, nor if she has really chosen his brother as a romantic partner. The goat then creates a whole fantasy world where she loves him. As Mithrun's dungeon deteriorates, she is the only person that continues to exist. Mithrun continues to have control over her. And that is the strongest desire the demon is eating, isn't it? There's something interesting there, but I don't know what to say about it.
In conclusion, I think Mithrun's story is an explicit analogue for sexual assault-- though, certainly, among other things! The way the scene plays out and is composed explicitly references sexual violation and invasion of the body. His condition mirrors common trauma responses to sexual violence. And, at the end, he finally realizes he can recover.
Let's end on a happy Mithrun, after taking the first step on his journey to recovery :) You aren't vegetable scraps Mithrun. But even if you were-- every single thing in this world has value. Even vegetable scraps.