Kariha

You can request any crossover or prompts that are Cuphead or Cuphead Aus related though any works!

Anything from action, suspense, romance, ect. As long as you give me the general Idea then I can make it!

I already have some Fanfics here as listed below:

Celestial Isles

Anyone can find love in Hell

and I will update them when I can!

Thats all for Now!

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Pelagios Dreizack is a second year student at Night Raven Collage and was selected into Pomefiore, though some students might say that he's cold and distant, he isn't usually. Pelagios can be caring but only to anyone who make an effort to converse with him because they're intrested in befriending him instead of his status.

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IM BACK! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

I'm sorry for the hiatus as it was my school's end break soooooo

I might probably post more!

This is Zanka if he was found by Klein ( Praise the Fool ) instead of Enjin and Riyo, and Yes, this has a fic in the works.

The hum of the Wish Upon™ Main Tower’s central energy conduit vibrated through the polished floor, a low, constant thrum beneath the meeting table. Around its polished surface, the Stars have gathered. Mickey Mouse tapped a pen against the table, his brow furrowed.

“Alright, alright, let’s keep this moving,” Mickey’s voice carried an edge of impatience. He waved a hand toward Felix the Cat, whose whiskers drooped. “Felix the Cat, your report. And try to keep it short. I’ve got a thousand other things to deal with today.”

Felix cleared his throat, adjusting his spectacles. “Well, everyone, as you know, I've been researching the Ink Machine, It has been…. progressing.” He paused, glancing around the table. “We did find it, actually. The map, detailing the location of The Machine. It was in my care, secured in my bag.”

Mickey’s hand began to tap a rapid rhythm against the table. “Was? Was in your care? Last I checked, ‘was’ implies past tense. Do you still have the map, Felix?”

A nervous sweat beaded on Felix’s forehead. “N-Not exactly, Mickey. There was an… a-accident. The map, it seems, has been… stolen.”

A low murmur rippled through the room. Sonic the Hedgehog, a blur of blue energy, shifted in his seat, his quills bristling slightly. Mario, stout and red-capped, grunted, his arms crossed over his chest.

Mickey pushed himself away from the table, his chair scraping against the floor. He stood, hands planted on the table, his gaze drilling into Felix. “STOLEN!? Felix, you had one job! One damn job: keep that map safe! You, the head of Research, couldn’t even secure a piece of paper for a single day!?” His voice rose, echoing in the high-ceilinged room.

Felix recoiled, his tail twitching. “I assure you, Mickey, I followed all safety protocols. The Map was… safe with me!”

“Safe enough for someone to sneak past you and steal it, apparently,” Mickey shot back, his eyes narrowing. He swept his gaze across the other Stars, then settled back on Felix, a slow movement. “Since your… recklessness has gotten to the map lost, AGAIN, I’ve taken measures. I’ve brought in some… professionals to handle the retrieval back.”

Felix’s jaw dropped. “Professionals? Who? Who exactly did you hire, Mickey? My Department is perfectly capable of—”

Before Mickey could offer a reply, the heavy oak doors at the far end of the room swung inward. Mickey’s assistant, a small, harried-looking squirrel, stood framed in the doorway, a visible air of disdain clinging to him.

“Your guests are here, Mr. Mouse,” the squirrel announced, his voice tight with disapproval.

Mickey tutted, waving a dismissive hand. “Send them in, then. Don’t keep them waiting.”

THWACK!

The squirrel didn't even manage to turn fully before the doors burst open, slamming against the wall. Two figures stood silhouetted in the doorway, not the usual refined Toons expected at a Wish Upon™ meeting.

One, a porcelain cup, leaned against the doorframe, a wide, almost predatory grin splitting his face. His eyes, dark and gleaming, swept over the assembled Stars, lingering on each face. A shiver, not entirely of surprise, went through the room. Felix, for all his bluster, shifted slightly in his seat. The other, a taller, slender mug, stood beside him, arms crossed, a clear expression of disinterest etched on his ceramic features. He looked anywhere but at the room, his gaze fixed on some invisible point beyond the tower walls.

A thick silence descended, broken only by the fainter thrum of the employees down below. The cup, Cuphead, finally spoke, his voice low, smooth.

“Heya, Stars!” He greeted them with a bright smile. “Whats with the silence?”

Mugman, without uncrossing his arms, nudged Cuphead with his elbow. “Maybe they are just shocked, Cups. You know, given our reputation.” His voice, though quieter, held a dry wit.

Their quips, rather than easing the tension, shattered the silence into a cacophony of protests. Felix, his face flushed, slammed both hands down on the table, rattling the reports.

“YOU HIRED THEM!?” he yelled, his voice cracking as he pointed a trembling finger at the two porcelain figures. “These… these Criminals!? They’re supposed to retrieve the map? Who authorized this!?”

Cuphead, still leaning, offered a cheerful wave in Felix’s direction. Mugman, with a sigh, gave a small, awkward dip of his head.

Sonic, his blue fur practically vibrating, leaned towards Jessica Rabbit, who sat poised and elegant, her crimson dress a splash of color. “Aren’t these two… on the most wanted list, Jess?” he whispered, though his voice carried across the room.

Jessica, her eyes narrowed, watched the brothers. “Indeed, Sonic. Very much so.” Her voice, usually sultry, was cold, laced with suspicion.

The room erupted. Bugs Bunny, twitching his nose, began to argue with Mario. Pomni, her colorful jester-like outfit seeming to dim in the sudden chaos, looked utterly bewildered. Dyle Timely, the health advisor, wrung his hands, murmuring about rising blood pressure.

Through the din, Cuphead and Mugman remained at the doorway, observing the unfolding pandemonium with matching smirks. A low snicker escaped Cuphead’s lips, quickly joined by Mugman’s quieter chuckle.

Suddenly, a sharp, resounding SMACK echoed through the room. Oswald the Lucky Rabbit (Mickey’s long-suffering director at this point), had slammed one of his long, flexible ears onto the table with surprising force. The noise instantly silenced the room, leaving only the rapid breathing of the agitated Toons.

Oswald, his perpetually tired eyes now blazing with a rare fury, slowly rose. “ENOUGH!” His voice, though not loud, carried the weight of exhaustion and authority. He looked at Mickey, then at the stunned faces around the table, and finally, at the two porcelain figures still lingering in the doorway.

Mickey, seizing the momentary, stood again, his gaze flicking between the brothers and the Stars. “He’s right,” he stated, his voice regaining its command. “Everyone, calm yourselves. We are on a job, a very important job, right now.” He subtly shifted his eyes to Cuphead and Mugman. “And these… individuals are here to discuss their role in that job. Nothing more.”

Mugman, finally detaching himself from the doorframe, stepped forward, his arms still crossed. “Mr. Mouse is right. We were approached by him for a job. A job we’ll be handsomely paid for, I might add.”

Cuphead, peering over his brother’s shoulder, winked at the assembled Stars. “Though we also have… other matters to discuss with Mr. Mouse. But having you all here works too, I guess.” He reached into his trench coat, his hand emerging with a single, pristine five of diamonds playing card, which he began to idly twirl between his fingers.

The Stars, though still radiating mistrust, grudgingly settled back into their seats, their eyes never leaving the brothers. Mugman approached the table, his walk surprisingly fluid.

“Before we get to the specifics of this job,” Mugman began, his gaze fixating on Mickey, “is it true that Wish Upon™ is considering collaborating with some citizens of the Inkwell Isles?”

The mention of the Inkwell Isles sent another ripple through the room. Oswald’s tired eyes widened slightly. Jessica Rabbit’s elegant eyebrows rose. Bugs Bunny stopped gnawing on his carrot.

Mickey, taken aback by the seemingly random question, blinked. “Well, yes, it’s… a possibility. If the Blot has spread rapidly before, it would be a good idea to contact the isolated Isles. To ensure their safety and offer aid.”

Cuphead and Mugman exchanged a quick glance. Then, Cuphead smoothly tossed the playing card across the table. It slid to a stop directly in front of Mickey.

“When you want to talk to an individual in the Isles,” Cuphead explained, his voice losing its playful edge, “just press the middle diamond on that card. It’ll open a sort of call. Though,” he added “I’d advise against it right now. They’re a bit… occupied.”

Mickey picked up the card, turning it over in his fingers, a wary expression on his face. He then cleared his throat, changing the subject back to the pressing matter. “Right. The job, then. Felix, you can provide the details of the map’s location and its thieves. Collectors, your objective is retrieval. Discretion is… optional, but efficiency is greatly advised.”

The conversation shifted, becoming a rapid-fire exchange of information. Felix, still ruffled, grudgingly described the map, the thieves and potential hiding places of them. The Kettle brothers listened, their expressions unreadable, occasionally interjecting with questions that cut through Felix’s words.

Mickey, satisfied the details were hammered out, pulled a photograph from his jacket pocket. It showed a blurry image of a small, impish demon and a tall, lanky wolf. “These two are your primary targets. They were spotted near the Ink n’ Paint just before the map went missing. Any other questions for our… guests?”

Sonic, unable to contain himself, shot up from his seat, his hand already halfway raised. “Were you guys really wanted when you were kids?”

Mario, with lightning speed that can compare to Sonic’s own speed, clamped a gloved hand over Sonic’s mouth, shoving him back down. A collective gasp, then a nervous titter, rippled through the Stars. Felix and Sheba exchanged wide-eyed glances, their gazes darting to the Kettle brothers, anticipating their reaction to such a sensitive question.

Cuphead and Mugman stood silent for a long moment, the air thick with unspoken tension. Then, Cuphead’s shoulders began to shake. A low rumble started in his chest, growing into a full-blown laugh that echoed off the walls. He clutched his side, wiping a tear from his eye.

“Oh, Sonic, you got balls for asking that!” Cuphead gasped between laughs, his voice hoarse. “Yeah, we were. Absolutely. Twelve years old, to be exact.”

Pomni, her voice a small squeak, hesitantly asked, “What… what did you do to get on the list?”

Cuphead shrugged, still grinning. Mugman, however, answered, his voice flat. “We were just on a job for the boss.” He made a swift, slicing motion across his own neck with his finger. “Got caught doing the deed.”

Felix, his mouth agape, blurted out, “What kind of toon tells a bunch of kids to… to kill?” His face was a mask of disturbed disbelief.

The brothers exchanged another look, this one tinged with something darker, more cynical. They both snorted, bitter smiles twisting their ceramic features.

“It’s a little different on the Isles, pal,” Cuphead said, his voice now devoid of humor. “Very different.”

Mickey, his gaze fixed on the playing card in his hand, looked up. “Is the person you want me to contact… free now?”

Mugman glanced out the massive, panoramic window that overlooked Toon Town. The sky outside was beginning to deepen into twilight hues. “It’s closing time there anyway,” he stated. “Yeah, they’re free.”

The brothers moved to an empty section of the table, standing side-by-side. Mickey, with a decisive nod, placed the playing card flat on the polished surface. Oswald, his hand surprisingly steady, reached out and pressed the middle diamond. He then slid the card across the table, stopping it precisely between Cuphead and Mugman.

From the pressed diamond, a shimmering, royal purple light erupted, coalescing into a three-dimensional holographic projection. A figure began to materialize, its form gradually solidifying. It was a toon with a perfectly cubic head, each side adorned with the pips of a die. He wore a sharp, royal purple suit, impeccably tailored, and a wide, confident smile.

The dice-headed toon seemed to be in the middle of scolding someone off-screen, a dismissive flick of his hand accompanying a low, grumbling voice. Then, his holographic eyes, sharp and knowing, landed on the assembled Stars. He paused, his smile widening, and waved off the unseen individual. He turned his full attention to the hologram.

“Well, well, well,” the toon’s voice, smooth as velvet but with an underlying gravel, filled the room. “What a surprise this is. I’m going to assume you’re the so-called ‘Stars’ of Toon Town, then?”

Oswald, momentarily flustered by the unexpected appearance, nodded. “Yes, that’s us. And you are…?”

The toon offered a theatrical bow, though his gaze never left the room. “My apologies for the lack of formal introduction.” Sheba, the Department of Research Advisor, shifted in her seat, a flicker of recognition in her eyes. She could tell, with chilling certainty, just how utterly fake that apology was. “I am King Dice, and before we get down to brass tacks, where are those two porcelain brats?”

The Stars exchanged confused glances. “Brats?” Pomni whispered.  They didn't have time to process the slight before Cuphead and Mugman, their stiff postures dissolving, erupted in loud complaints.

“Hey! We’re not brats!” Cuphead yelled, his face crinkling in mock offense. He reached out and spun the holographic card to face them.

King Dice’s image flickered, his smile now directed squarely at the brothers. “Ah, there you are. And yes, you absolutely are. Still brats, both of you. To both of us.”

“We’re not kids anymore!” Cuphead protested loudly, though the wide, playful grin spreading across his face betrayed his true amusement.

Mugman, ever the quieter one, nudged his brother. “He still is, but *I’m* not. Right?” He puffed out his chest slightly, a proud, almost smug smile on his mug.

King Dice chuckled, a deep sound. “Amusing, boys. Now, turn the hologram back around. We have company.”

Cuphead and Mugman exchanged pouting glances, then, with a sigh, obeyed, spinning the card back to face the assembled Stars. King Dice’s image solidified once more, his smile returning to its confident, professional curve. He leaned forward in the hologram, his gaze sweeping over the silent, expectant faces of the Toon Town Stars.

“Now,” King Dice purred, his voice a thread of menace and charm. “Shall we get down to business?”

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Do you want me to continue this?

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-Assuming that the one who hired the Brothers is the Devil

-Mickey does NOT know that The brothers are working with the devil, only knowing that they are citizens of the Inkwell Isles.

-Mickey hired the Collectors but doesn't know that they are already on a job to collect the map of the ink machine

-The Inkwell Isles are known to be the most isolated isles so much so that little information is known about it, though one thing is for sure and that is that its home to the most magic oriented toon of all time.

SOI Bendy x C.C Cuphead

I'm Back! and i've got for you some flirting and some Mugman cameos!

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The city’s neon pulse throbbed behind them, a kaleidoscope of electric blues and synthetic reds bleeding into the inky blackness of the alley. Cuphead’s hand remained clasped within the demon’s, a small anchor in the swirling chaos of his thoughts. His steps, usually brisk and full of cheer, now lagged, led more by Bendy’s gentle tug rather than his own. The anger still simmered, but a new, now familiar warmth bloomed in his chest, radiating from the point where their fingers intertwined.

“He just doesn’t get it, you know?” Cuphead’s voice sliced through the quiet hum of the distant city. His eyes, usually sharp and filled with life, are fixed on the cracked pavement ahead, refusing to meet Bendy’s gaze. “Always on my case, always asking questions. Like I’m some kind of… incapable child who can’t make his own friends.”

Bendy’s thumb stroked the back of Cuphead’s hand, a silent comfort. A low growl rumbled in his chest, a sound of understanding, not anger. He kept his silence, allowing Cuphead to rant all he wanted, for him to untangle the knots of his frustration.

“And the hypocrisy! Oh, the absolute, unmitigated hypocrisy!” Cuphead’s grip tightened, his knuckles whitening. “He goes off with that professor, Gabriel, for his ‘research.’ Spends days, sometimes weeks, holed up in that library, looking into… I don’t even know what. And I’m supposed to just nod and smile, no questions asked? ‘It’s for knowledge, Cuphead,’ he says. ‘Important work.’ But I make a friend, I spend a few hours out, and suddenly it’s an interrogation!”

A huff of air escaped Cuphead’s nose, a frustrated snort. He yanked his hand free, gesticulating wildly. “He acts like I’m falling into some kind of trap. Like every single person who talks to me has some kind of ulterior motive. What, am I that much of a mark? Am I just walking around with a sign on my back that says ‘sucker’?”

Bendy stopped, turning to face Cuphead fully. His tail, usually a playful whip, now wrapped around his leg. His eyes, pools of liquid ink, softened, devoid of their usual mischievous glint.

“No one thinks you’re a mark, darlin’,” Bendy’s voice, a low purr, wrapped around Cuphead’s nerves. “They think you’re… precious. And sometimes, when someone’s precious, others get a little… overprotective.”

Cuphead scoffed, kicking at nothing. “Precious? I’m a grown-up! I can handle myself. I’ve faced tougher than a few nosy questions.”

“Oh, I have no doubt you have,” Bendy chuckled, a sound that vibrated through the alley. “But family, they see things differently. They see the little one they remember, not the sharp-witted waiter who charms the pants off anyone he chooses.”

Cuphead’s face flushed, a sudden, hot blush creeping up his neck. He averted his gaze, mumbling. “I don’t charm the pants of anyone….”

“Oh, you don’t?” Bendy leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Because I seem to recall a certain waiter who had me utterly captivated from the first moment we met. And I assure you, my dear, it wasn’t because of a lack of options.”

The blush deepened, spreading across Cuphead’s cheeks and the liquid in his head started bubbling and steaming . He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to appear nonchalant, but the heat in his face betrayed him. “That’s different. You’re… you.”

“And you are you,” Bendy countered, a soft smile playing on his lips. “And the ‘you’ is quite captivating, even when ‘you’ is ranting about your brother’s overzealous concern.”

Cuphead’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him, replaced by a weary resignation. “He just makes me feel like… like I’m not trusted enough. Like I’m not capable of having a normal day without me fucking something up.”

“No one should make you feel that way,” Bendy said, his voice now devoid of humor, to a low, serious tone. His hand reached out, gently cupping Cuphead’s face, tilting his head up until their eyes met. “You are more than good enough, Cuphead. You are extraordinary.”

The sincerity in Bendy’s gaze, the conviction in his words, hit Cuphead with the force similar to one of The Devil’s attacks. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly tight. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear that, to feel seen, truly seen, beyond the sarcastic quips and the troublemaker facade.

“I just… I don’t want to fight with him, again…” Cuphead whispered, the anger replaced by vulnerability. “He’s my brother. My only family left.”

“And family is important,” Bendy agrees, his thumb stroking Cuphead’s cheekbone. “But so is your own happiness. Your own choices.” His eyes flickered to the alley around them, the brick walls grungier, the air thicker with the scent of damp concrete, something distinctly… inky. “Speaking of choices, darlin’, we’re here.”

Cuphead blinked, pulling back slightly from Bendy’s touch. He glanced around, his surroundings slowly registering. The neon glow of the Devil’s Casino district had faded into something different, replaced by the muted, grimy hues of the Ink Syndicate Quarter. The cobblestone street beneath their feet felt different, rougher, and the air, once filled with the distant strains of jazz, now carried the faint thrumps of machinery and the occasional, sharp crack of a distant bottle breaking. He hadn’t even noticed the transition. The conversation, Bendy’s gentle presence, had completely absorbed him.

“Here?” Cuphead’s voice came out a little too high, a little too surprised. He looked at Bendy, then back at the shadowy alley, a sudden, awkward flush rising to his cheeks. “Oh. Right. I… I guess I wasn’t paying attention.” He coughed, trying to cover his embarrassment. “So, this is… your turf, huh? Less glitter, more grime.”

Bendy’s grin widened, a flash of white against his dark face. “Precisely. We prefer our charm a little more… authentic. Come on, darlin’. Moon Man’s bar awaits.” He extended a hand, palm up, an invitation.

Cuphead hesitated for a fraction of a second, then slid his hand into Bendy’s. The demon’s fingers wrapped around his, warm and strong. Bendy led him down a narrow, winding street, the sounds of their footsteps echoing faintly against the brick. A few more turns, and a splash of warm, amber light spilled onto the path from a half-open door. A faint, earthy aroma, a mix of stale beer drifted out.

Bendy pushed the door open, a small bell jingling softly above them. The interior of Moon Man’s bar was a comforting contrast to the grimy exterior. Dark wood paneling lined the walls, worn smooth by decades of leaning patrons. A long, polished bar dominated one side, its surface gleaming under the soft glow of suspended Edison bulbs. Behind it, an array of bottles, amber and emerald and ruby, caught the light, refracting it into tiny, dancing stars. The air, though still carrying that faint, earthy scent, was now infused with the comforting aroma of old leather and something sweet, like burnt sugar.

The bar was mostly empty, as Bendy had predicted. A lone figure, his face round and hair neatly pulled back into a low bun, wiped down a row of crystal glasses, his movements careful and deliberate. He had a gentle presence about him, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he worked.

“Moon Man, my dear friend!” Bendy’s voice boomed, a jovial sound that filled the quiet space. He tugged Cuphead closer, guiding him towards a pair of stools near the front of the bar. “Look what the wolf dragged in, eh?”

Moon Man looked up, his movements unhurried. A smile spread across his face, he set down the glass he was polishing, his gaze shifting from Bendy to Cuphead, a flicker of genuine curiosity in his eyes.

“Bendy. And I see you have a guest,” Moon Man’s voice was soft, calm and steady. He nodded a greeting, a slow, deliberate gesture. “Didn’t think you’d be back in my establishment so soon. Though I’d have more time to relax before you come back.” He cackles before looking at Cuphead. “And who might this be?”

Bendy wrapped an arm around Cuphead’s shoulders, pulling him into a side-hug. Cuphead stiffened for a moment, aware of the demon’s warmth, then relaxed, the faint blush returning.

“Moon Man, allow me to introduce the incomparable, the utterly captivating, Cuphead,” Bendy announced, a theatrical flourish in his tone. “Cuphead, this is Moon Man, the most patient bartender in all the city, someone who does not take shit from others, and a dear friend of mine.”

Moon Man’s smile deepened. He extended a hand across the bar, his fingers surprisingly cool and smooth. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Cuphead. Bendy talks about you too much by now.”

Cuphead's eyes widened. He shook Moon Man’s hand, the touch feeling strangely grounding. “He does?”

“Oh, yes,” Moon Man affirmed, his gaze twinkling. “Often. And with… immense enthusiasm.” He turned his attention back to Bendy, a playful glint in his eye. “So, you finally managed to lure your ‘darlin’ over to the right side of town, did you, Bendy? Took you long enough.”

Cuphead’s face, already flushed, turned a deep, alarming maroon. His jaw dropped, and he felt his brain just… stop. His Darlin’? Had Moon Man just called him… Bendy’s Darlin’? And Bendy just… let it happen? A wave of heat washed over him, a dizzying mix of embarrassment and something else, something akin to a thrill. He opened his mouth to protest, to stammer out some kind of denial, but no words came. His mind had truly blue-screened.

Bendy, oblivious to Cuphead’s internal meltdown, merely chuckled. “He’s a busy one, Moon. Takes a lot to tear him away from his work. But I assure you, it was worth the effort.” He patted Cuphead’s back, a gesture that jolted the cup back to a semblance of awareness.

Moon Man, sensing Cuphead’s sudden paralysis, shifted his focus. “Well, busy or not, you both look like you could use a drink. What can I get for you, gentlemen?”

Cuphead, still reeling from the “darlin’” comment, managed to stammer. “Uh… a… a Whiskey Old Fashioned, please.” He needed something strong, something to cut through the haze of mortification and unexpected warmth.

“And for me, my usual, Moon Man,” Bendy announced, settling onto his stool with a contented sigh. “A Sloe Gin Fizz. You know the drill.”

Moon Man nodded, his smile unwavering. “Coming right up.” He turned, his movements fluid and calm, disappearing through a swinging door at the back of the bar, presumably to fetch ingredients. Just before the door swung shut, his voice drifted back. “Make yourselves comfortable and enjoy the quiet. oh, and try not to cause too much trouble, you two.”

The door clicked shut, leaving Cuphead and Bendy in a sudden, comfortable silence. Cuphead took a deep, shaky breath, trying to regain his composure. The blush, though still present, had receded slightly. He risked a glance at Bendy, who was now idly tracing patterns on the polished bar top with a long, slender finger.

“Your… your usual, huh?” Cuphead finally managed, the words feeling clumsy on his tongue. “Sloe Gin Fizz. Sounds… old school.”

Bendy snorted, a low, amused sound. He turned his head, his eyes glinting. “Old school? Is that your way of saying I'm too old for ya, darlin’?”

Cuphead quickly shook his head. “No, no! Just… It's a classic. Most people, they go for the flashy stuff. The fancy named ones.”

“And what’s wrong with a classic?” Bendy challenged, a playful glint in his eyes. “Some things are timeless for a reason. They have a certain elegance, a certain… taste. Besides, it’s my regular here, Moon Man makes them perfectly.”

“Fair enough,” Cuphead conceded, a small smile finally touching his lips. “I guess I just figured you for more of a… new things kind of guy.”

“Oh, I have my moments with the recent things, believe me,” Bendy said, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest. “But a man needs balance, Cuphead. Keeps things interesting.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “Speaking of interesting things, tell me more about this professor of your brother’s. What kind of ‘research’ keeps him away for weeks?”

And just like that, the conversation flowed, easy and natural. Cuphead found himself talking, truly talking, about Mugman’s eccentricities, his boundless enthusiasm for obscure useless pursuits and his notes. Bendy listened, his attention unmoved, occasionally interjecting with a witty comment or a thoughtful question that demonstrated he wasn’t just hearing the words, but truly understanding the underlying frustrations.

He described the professor’s habit of speaking in complex old jargon, forcing Mugman to carry a small, dog-eared dictionary to translate. He even admitted, with a reluctant grin, that despite all things, he admired his brother’s passion.

Bendy, in turn, shared anecdotes about Moon Man, about his uncanny ability to read people, his quiet wisdom, and the surprisingly potent advice he offered over a perfectly mixed drink. He spoke of the bar’s history, of the types of people who frequented it, and the rules of the Ink Syndicate Quarter, all delivered with a casual charm that made the dangerous world outside feel almost cozy.

Their drinks arrived, Moon Man returning with a tray bearing a heavy, cut-glass tumbler for Cuphead, its contents a rich amber, garnished with an orange peel and a single, perfect cherry. For Bendy, a tall, slender glass held a vibrant, ruby-red liquid, effervescent and topped with a frothy white head, a lemon twist perched on the rim.

“Here we are,” Moon Man announced, placing them gently on the bar. “Enjoy.” He then retreated to the other end of the bar. (To let the lovers have their moment)

Cuphead took a sip of his Old Fashioned. The smooth burn of whiskey, sweet and smoky, spread through him, a comforting warmth. He leaned back, a sigh escaping him. “This is good. like really good.”

“Moon Man never disappoints,” Bendy agreed, taking a long, slow sip of his fizz, his eyes closing in contentment. “Perfection in a glass.”

The hours melted away, punctuated by the clink of glasses, the murmur of their voices, and the occasional, soft clatter from Moon Man. Cuphead found himself laughing more freely than he had in a long time, the tension in his shoulders easing with each passing moment. He told Bendy about his most outrageous casino patrons, the ones who tried to cheat, the ones who flirted shamelessly, the ones who lost their life savings, sometimes literally, with a desperate, hollow laugh. Bendy, in turn, recounted tales of the Ink Syndicate, of daring heists that went wrong in hilarious ways, of rival gang leaders, and the surprisingly interesting goings-on of the Ink Quarter .

Cuphead’s initial two Whiskey Old Fashioneds quickly turned into three, then four. The edges of the room began to soften, the lights to blur. His words, initially sharp and precise, grew a little slurred, his gestures a little grander. The anger at Mugman, which had been a burning ember, now felt like a distant memory, a faint wisp of smoke.

“He just… he doesn’t listen,” Cuphead slurred, gesturing emphatically with his fifth, or maybe sixth, glass. The ice clinked merrily as he waved it. “He thinks he always knows best. Always. ‘Oh, Cuphead, you should do this. Oh, Cuphead, you shouldn’t do that.’ As if we haven’t been taking care of ourselves since… since forever! Who helps him in his nightly outings, huh? Who made sure he ate something other than leftovers when he was holed up in the living room at night? ME! That’s who!”

Bendy, his own Sloe Gin Fizz barely touched, leaned forward, his chin propped on his hand, his eyes fixed on Cuphead. He hadn’t interrupted once, merely offering a soft hum of agreement, a subtle nod, a gentle, encouraging smile. His attention was a warm, unwavering spotlight, making Cuphead feel like every word, every slurred syllable, was the most profound truth ever uttered.

“And then he says… he says I don’t have any friends!” Cuphead’s voice rose, a wounded wail. He slammed his glass down, the liquid sloshing precariously close to the rim. “Me! The life of the party! The most charming waiter in the whole damn casino! Of course I have friends! I have… I have… you!” He pointed a wobbly finger at Bendy, his eyes, though a little unfocused, shining with a fierce, drunken loyalty. “You’re my friend, Bendy. RIGHT?!”

Bendy’s smile softened, a genuine, tender curve of his lips. He reached out, his hand gently covering Cuphead’s where it rested on the bar. “Indeed, darlin’. Indeed I am.”

“He just doesn’t understand,” Cuphead continued, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He thinks… he thinks you’re going to hurt me. Can you believe that? *You*! You’re the nicest demon I know! And you’re so… so handsome!” He punctuated the last word with a loud, hiccuping sigh, his head lolling to the side.

Bendy’s chuckle was a low, rumbling sound, a quiet tremor against Cuphead’s hand. He squeezed gently. “Handsome, am I? Well, I do try to look my best for you, darling.”

“And your laugh!” Cuphead giggled, a surprisingly bright sound. “It’s like… like music. And your eyes, they’re so… inky. Like a deep, dark pool I could just… swim in. And your tail! It’s so cute! I bet it feels really soft.” He reached out a hesitant, wavering hand, as if to test the theory, but his aim was off, his fingers brushing Bendy’s cheek instead.

Bendy leaned into the touch, his eyes half-lidded, a warmth spreading through him. He allowed Cuphead’s fumbling fingers to explore for a moment, the soft cheeks of his face..

“And your… your hands,” Cuphead mumbled, his voice growing drowsy. “They’re so warm. And strong. I feel safe with you, Bendy. Really safe.” His head, heavy and full of whiskey-induced thoughts, slowly slumped forward, coming to rest against Bendy’s shoulder. A soft snore escaped him, punctuated by a faint, contented sigh.

Bendy froze, a slow smile spreading across his face. He carefully shifted, settling Cuphead’s head more comfortably against him, his arm wrapping around the smaller figure. The scent of whiskey and something uniquely Cuphead, a faint metallic tang mixed with a hint of sweet tea, filled his senses. He looked down at the sleeping form, a profound tenderness welling up in his chest. Precious, Moon Man had said. And he was, truly, utterly precious.

A soft cough broke the spell. Bendy looked up, his eyes meeting Moon Man’s across the dimly lit bar. Moon Man, who had been quietly wiping glasses, now pointed a gentle finger at the clock near the entrance. Its hands pointed to a quarter past midnight.

“Bendy,” Moon Man’s voice rumbled, soft but firm. “While I hate to interrupt… your time together, it’s nearing closing. And this man needs his rest.” He gestured to Cuphead. “Looks like your friend’ has had enough for one night.”

Bendy chuckled softly, a low, affectionate sound. He looked down at Cuphead, whose chest rose and fell in a steady, peaceful rhythm. “Yeah, Moon Man. He certainly has.” He carefully disengaged his arm, then, with a practiced ease, scooped Cuphead up into his arms. Cuphead was surprisingly light, a compact bundle of warm, whiskey-scented comfort. A soft "wheeeeeee" escaped Cuphead's lips, a sleepy, slurred giggle, before his head slumped back onto Bendy's shoulder, a contented sigh following.

Bendy grinned, a genuine, unburdened smile. “My darlin’ enjoys his flights, it seems.” He turned to Moon Man, already heading for the door. “Put it all on my tab. And thank you, as always.”

Moon Man merely nodded, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Sleep well, Bendy. And you too, Cuphead.” He watched as Bendy, cradling the sleeping cup, pushed open the bar door, the small bell jingling a final, soft chime into the quiet night.

The cool night air, sharp and bracing, was a welcome contrast to the warm, whiskey-laced atmosphere of the bar. Bendy cradled Cuphead close, his steps light and sure as he navigated the shadowed alleys. Cuphead’s head was heavy against his shoulder, his breath warm against Bendy’s neck. The demon found himself humming a soft, wordless tune, a melody of contentment.

He reached the main thoroughfare, a wider street that, even at this hour, saw the occasional taxi or delivery truck rumble by. He raised a hand, hailing a passing cab. The yellow vehicle screeched to a halt beside them, its headlights casting long, distorted shadows.

“To xxx-xxx-xxx, please,” Bendy instructed the driver, his voice smooth and authoritative, as he carefully maneuvered Cuphead and himself into the back seat. Cuphead stirred slightly, a soft moan escaping him, but remained lost in slumber.

The ride was short, punctuated by the rhythmic hum of the engine and the soft jostling of the cab. Bendy paid the driver, adding a generous tip, then once again lifted Cuphead into his arms. The cab sped away, leaving them standing on the quiet street in front of Cuphead’s apartment building.

Bendy gazed up at the building, a tall, unassuming structure of weathered brick. He knew which apartment was theirs, of course. He made it his business to know such things about his darlin’. He made his way to the main entrance, pushing open the heavy glass door, and began the climb up the stairs. Each step was careful, making sure not to jostle Cuphead too much. The building was silent, save for the soft creak of the stairs and the gentle rustle of Cuphead’s clothes against his own.

Finally, he reached the correct floor, the number etched onto the polished brass plate beside the door. He shifted Cuphead slightly in his arms, freeing a hand, and knocked gently. Once. Twice.

A moment of silence, then the sound of shuffling feet from within. The door creaked open, revealing a figure silhouetted against the dim light of the apartment. It was Mugman, his usually neat shirt rumpled and his eyes, though sharp, held a weary, disheveled look. He appeared to have been roused from sleep, his hair is amess.

“Look, I’m not in the mood for this, Barbara,” Mugman began, his voice flat, edged with irritation. “Whatever fight you think we’re having, you can wait until morning to ask again. I’ve had a long day, and honestly, your dramatics can be a little much sometimes…” His voice trailed off, his eyes widening, the last vestiges of sleep quickly vanishing as he registered the sight before him.

A five-foot-two demon, clad in a sharp black suit, stood on his doorstep. And in that demon’s arms, bridal style, was his brother, Cuphead, utterly unconscious, his head lolling against the demon’s shoulder, a faint, contented smile on his lips.

Mugman’s jaw dropped. His eyes, usually a calm, steady blue, now flared with alarm. His entire body stiffened, every muscle tensing.

“Who… the fuck are you?!” Mugman’s voice, initially a shocked whisper, quickly escalated into a loud, incredulous shout that echoed in the quiet hallway. “And why are you holding my brother?!”

Bendy offered a smile, a wide, dazzling display of white teeth that was so obviously, painstakingly fake, Mugman was pretty sure it could rival King Dice’s most practiced customer service grin. It didn't reach his eyes, which remained a dark, unreadable depth.

“Ah, Mugman, I presume?” Bendy’s voice was smooth, unruffled, a stark contrast to Mugman’s near-hysteria. “A pleasure to finally meet you. I am Bendy Drew. And I was merely escorting my darlin’ home. He had a rather… spirited evening.” As he spoke, his eyes subtly flickered down to Cuphead’s face, a soft, almost imperceptible caress in his gaze, a possessive tenderness that Mugman, despite his shock, did not miss.

Mugman’s eye began to twitch. The fake smile, the casual possessiveness in Bendy’s tone, the way his eyes lingered on Cuphead’s sleeping face – it all coalesced into a pool of suspicion and protective fury. He stared at the demon, his mind trying to process this conundrum. This bastard Was the “friend”? The one Cuphead had been so secretive about? The one they had argued about?

Without another word, Mugman lunged forward, his movements surprisingly swift. He snatched Cuphead from Bendy’s arms, a furious grunt escaping him as he struggled with his brother’s dead weight. Cuphead, disturbed by the sudden movement, mumbled something incoherent, his face scrunching up in confusion, before settling back into a deep sleep against Mugman’s chest.

“He probably wants his own bed,” Mugman stated, his voice flat, devoid of any warmth, his eyes narrowed. “Instead of your… probably tired arms now.” He clutched Cuphead tightly, as if afraid Bendy would try to repossess him.

Then, without waiting for a reply, Mugman took a step back, pulling Cuphead fully into the apartment. His gaze, cold and unwavering, met Bendy’s for one last, defiant second. Then, with a decisive click, he slammed the door shut in Bendy’s face, the sound echoing with finality in the silent hallway.

Bendy stood there for a moment, the faint scent of whiskey and Cuphead still clinging to the empty space in his arms. He blinked, a flicker of surprise in his inky eyes. Then, a slow, low chuckle rumbled in his chest, growing in intensity until it became a full, unrestrained cackle. He threw his head back, the sound echoing down the deserted hallway, a dark, delighted symphony.

“Oh, my darlin’s brother has claws, does he?” Bendy whispered to himself, a wide, predatory grin spreading across his face. He turned, beginning his descent down the stairs, the sound of his laughter fading into a soft, satisfied hum. “Well, then. Two can certainly play that game, Mugs. We can certainly play.”

<-Previous

Mugman

🔷18 Yr. old

🔷Twin of Cuphead

🔷Waiter at the Devil's Casino

🔷Intelligent

🔷Calm

🔷Overprotective (his brother doesn't know)Does NOT like Bendy one bit.

Boris Wolf Drew

◾25 Yr. Old

◾Adopted Older brother of Bendy

◾Right Hand Man of the Ink Gang

◾Kind (sometimes)

◾Protective

TWO FACTS

1. Mugman has, in fact, sucker punched a patron once because they mocked and disrespected his brother. The other staff had to pull him off when blood started to spill out of the patron, and they still haven't told Cuphead what happened.

Cuphead is 4'8 while Bendy is 5'7 :P

Bendystraw AU HEADCANNONS!

[Cuphead]

1. Cuphead is a very expressive Singer! (He will do exaggerated motions and move all around!)

2. He does have a high tolerance, it's just that he overdoes it a LOT.