— 𝓑.

[lovelybunn]

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[lovelybunn]

kinger is daddy highkey ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤan 18+ feature .

disclaimerㅤ- reader is afab

Kinger could tell exactly how drenched your pussy was, the slick heat coating his gloved fingers with just one teasing glide along your swollen slit. He cradled you tighter against his side, holding you in place by your left shoulder, his wooden face hovering mere inches from your burning cheeks. His voice dropped to a husky rumble. "Oh, look at you, princess," he murmured, his free hand stroking up and down your bicep in slow, deliberate drags that stoked the inferno twisting in your gut. "If I had a mouth, I'd devour that dripping cunt of yours until you gushed all over me."

Your thighs splayed wide, quivering under his relentless torment, as a pathetic whine escaped your lips and your hips jerked greedily into his palm. He chuckled low, the sound vibrating through you, before plunging one thick finger between your slick folds. You gasped sharply as he curled it deep inside, then held still, denying you more. Pouting up at him, chin tilted defiantly, you searched his carved features for mercy.

"Won't you beg for it, baby? Tell your king exactly how to fuck you right?"

Your hand trembled as it clutched a fistful of his robe, knuckles white. "…Please," you whispered, the plea so fragile it threatened to shatter you. His azure eyes flared wide for a split second, then softened with profound tenderness, like a father beholding his most treasured child in a moment of pure vulnerability. His pupils dilated not just with hunger, but with an overwhelming affection—he wanted to cradle this side of you forever, to always draw out that sweet, trusting need that made you his perfect princess. Slowly, savoring every inch, he pushed a second finger inside, thrusting them in deep before pulling halfway out, the wet drag sending sparks exploding behind your eyes. A moan tore from your throat, your walls stretching taut around his invasion, clenching like they never wanted to release him.

"Shit—There you go," Kinger’s brows knit with fierce focus as he raked his gaze over your writhing form, feeling every flutter and squeeze milking his fingers. Your vision blurred with tears of bliss, locked on the relentless pound driving deeper, harder—until his other hand contrasted the fury below, threading warm fingers through your hair for a tender stroke, then yanking just enough to arch your neck. His half-lidded stare burned into yours. "That's my good princess. I want to watch your face twist when I make you shatter." His words wrapped around you like silk, and then he crooked his fingers against that electric spot inside, your back bowing off the surface as pleasure ripped through you in violent waves.

The orgasm crashed over you not as a sudden snap, but a relentless tide—your pussy clenching rhythmically around his thrusting digits, gushing slick warmth that soaked his glove and trickled down your thighs. He didn't stop, easing the pressure just enough to prolong the shudders, his free arm wrapping around your waist to hold you steady as your body quaked. Soft whimpers spilled from your lips, hips bucking weakly against his hand until the intensity ebbed into glowing embers. Slowly, he withdrew his fingers with a final, teasing curl that drew one last gasp from you, then gathered you against his chest, his robe enveloping you like a protective cloak.

Your head lolled onto his shoulder, chest heaving as you floated in the haze, every nerve humming with satisfaction. He stroked your back in broad, soothing circles, his wooden features nuzzling the top of your head. "There you are, my sweet little bug," he murmured, voice a low vibration against your ear. "So beautiful when you let go like that."

Lifting your gaze to meet his, you traced a finger along the edge of his carved jaw, a shy smile curving your lips. "You're incredible, Kinger… the way you take care of me, make me feel so safe and wanted. My perfect king." The words hung between you, warm and sincere, sealing the moment in quiet reverence.

[la-unicornio-satanico]

Mugman as a Hare, Boris as a Wolf.

Analysis!

This is based on a post from a while ago where @nortsauce was asked what animal the myth gang they would be if they were furries or something like that, in the post nort say the animals had meaning and symbolism.

Screenshot @nortsauce post, date: january five this year.

So I did this research for fun! You can find the Cuphead and Bendy version on my blog!

Mugman and the Hares:

Similarity:

Hares looks like rabbits but have larger ears and they are a little more bigger, Hares are capable of attacking using their paws and claws. They can attacking and defending aggressively if the situation warrants it, even against animals that are noticeably stronger or more dangerous, dogs or similar animals like...cough cough wolves COUGH COUGH!!

Also, they have a rough attitude that makes them very different from rabbits, hares fight back, rabbits can do it but they are smaller and more vulnerable... BUT! Hares are still herbivores, preys. hares have many predators and constant threats to their lives, that defensive attitude is primarily a biological defense response.

And in other hand, Mugman. even he acts very dominant and intimidating. he does it out of anxiety and fear. That is like a survival instinct in him, just like hares when they attack.  The aggressiveness of hares stems from their own desire for survival. 

Mugman's behavior is literally just a scared hare.

You can see it in his eyes,

besides...am I the only who's noticed how hard the cup-bros try to look threatening? Anyways

Symbology:

-The hare in its selft:

The hare is considered a symbol of good luck, abundance, and renewal, cuz to its great reproductive capacity And great capacity to avoid predators. In Greek culture the hares are sacred figures for goddesses like Aphrodite/Venus, thus showing as a symbol of sexuality, passion and love. They are also associated with shyness or cowardice, cuz they are shy and more active at night.

But, in Hebrew readings the hare were associated with impurity, cuz they were 'rumbling' animals (this has already been refuted by scientific studies) . In Hebrew, the word for the hare is arnebeth, a term which is composed of two words: arah, meaning “ruminate” and nib “fruit”.

Desc: This symbol is the three hares, is very old and represents abundance.

-the hare in Watership Down: 

Now, the film Watership Down, the hares are the main characters, And these are constantly being attacked, murdered, and generally subjected to extreme situations, and the film shows us how they struggle to survive.

The film is generally very raw, but the central theme is their survival and the desire to reach a land free of oppressors, the hare represent that desire and the constant threat. in a land that may not exist.

Mugman's situation and the hares in the film can be seen as parallels; both the hares and he are driven to do things for survival. And the extreme violence in the film can also be associated with Mugman and his intrusive thoughts, also with his violent tendencies in the comic.

Fun fact!: hares can scream or emit a very high pitched squeal, similar to a baby's cry but higher pitched and ear splitting. It's not common, They do this when they are very scared or have several pain and... well, we have this panel.

just coincidences. ✌️

Boris and the wolf:

Similarity:

I really wanted to skip this part, but I'll mention it anyway for future reference....like, I need to explain? Boris is literally a wolf.

Wolves are big mammals, they live in packs, they are carnivores and dominant, imposing and social animals...

Does this sound familiar? Not for me!

Like.. look at this bitch and tell me he's a dominant alpha!

Boris is a wolf, but he really doesn't quite fit into nature, except that he's protective and eats meat. This is where it all my fav part begins!:

The antithesis of Boris and the wolf:

-Description of antithesis:

Antithesis comes from the Greek Anti (against) and Thesis (proposition) literally meaning: opposition.

It consists of contrasting two ideas, phrases or words of opposite meaning in the same structure to emphasize a contrast. 🤓

I use an example of motm:

"I saved my brother, and I killed someone to do it."

The thesis is the fact that Boris saved his brother, and the opposing part is the fact that he had to kill Cuphead to do it.So it gives more weight to his decision.

Motm has many cases like this if you think about it.

Got it?

with this, let me explain my antithesis:

When I say the wolf is an antithesis is because the wolf in nature is opposite to what Boris himself is:

Wolves are social: Boris is not social, literally his only friend is his brother. 🥀

Wolves are dominant: Boris is not dominant; many times it is seen that he is the one who is afraid or acts in a more 'passive' way and does not seek to impose himself on others.

Boris is peaceful. But the story constantly pushes him to become something he is not, to make decisions he wouldn't normally make.

the fact that Boris represents a wolf is not because it is his direct representation, it's a symbol of what he is forced to become and how the comic constantly pushes him towards these rash decisions.

Examples:

In all these scenes Boris is forced to leave his morality, as if there was only one way, the story of the comic itself keeps Boris in this constant dilemma about what he has to be and what not to be.

symbology:

The symbolism of the wolf figure is associated with strength and courage, because it's is an carnivorous and hunting figure, It is an animal that also represents the wild independence of oneself, the desire to live by one's own rules and at the same time communicate with others.

On the other hand, independence works against them. wolf are also associated with savage, sin, ferocity and threat. cuz they are ruthless carnivores in wild. In addition, the term 'Bad Wolf' is sometimes used for an evil or very rough man.

Credits to the author! I love this image and take the opportunity to use it.

Fun fact! : wolves generally do not live alone or survive alone, most who are alone not by choice, they create close bonds with their pack and depend on it to hunt and survive, They usually live in pack structures. Maybe that's why Boris don't want Bendy gone. He would suffer greatly without his family...:(

NOW The relationship of the two!

And to finish a look at their relationship and summary!

The dynamic between them is very prey and Predator,

Mugaman is tied to Boris and represents the hare, a prey

Boris has the soul of a mugman and represents the wolf, a predator.

it is constantly tense.

Boris doesn't like mugman so much and mugman doesn't like Boris so much

And their representations tell us much more.

Mugman is shy, acts aggressively and like the hares of watership down he is forced to do things he does not want to do for survival with his brother.

Boris is a wolf, but he does not represent it as such, he does not share the idea of dominance and nature, although he has determination to fight to be peaceful and for his family.

Even if the situation is one of power as prey and predator...

they literally show themselves some hostility openly, buh there is also some underlying connection.

I wouldn't call it something like affection or love or friendship, just like a sincere and short "I understand you", They have shown genuine piety and solidarity even if they do not like each other.

They show empathy, is curious because their representative animals are natural enemies.

Even if they are so different you can see an encounter between these two contrary things that determines in harmony, such as yin and yan for example :)

Unlike the crazy Sluts of their brothers I see more potential for them to have a nice relationship! I can't wait to see it!.

Anddd thast all!

Damn, this was harder than I thought, I even had to research about Watership down (Why is that movie so depressing? 😭)

Anyway, I hope you liked it as always, thanks for the support of my other analysis, 💞 ✌️

[lovelybunn]

nature's confrontation .

author's note: this analysis was so wonderful and heart-wrenching for me that i was inspired to write a poem in honor of it. (this is doomed yaoi btw.) also, happy valentines!

The animal who looks dangerous is afraid, And the animal who looks dangerous refuses to be.

The Hare rises, alert to all it has taught itself to hear. The earth is rooted in betrayal, Every sound of despair amplified in its immense ears. The shadows mock and taunt. Threat and reflex blur until they share a face.

The hare expands through the mind, its pulse unraveling under borrowed truth. It is trapped. Those stubborn titanium walls close inward, calling suffocation proof.

The Wolf; Although the call of its roaring heart beckons, It dare not look its “prey” in the eye. Muscle remembers what instinct demands; the soul declines. The Kingdom does not have biases, and yet…

What is it that this creature is trying to prove? That destruction isn’t inevitable? Such futility. Such naivety.

It is also trapped. A fastened iron cage encircles around its muzzle— A reminder of scars of the future, if nature should jostle the chain.

“You could end them. Why kneel instead?”

“You could rest. Why sharpen fear until it cuts you?”

They recoil from the recognition, as if compassion were a bruise, Knowing the one they were meant to oppose is the one they cannot lose.

[lovelybunn]

this is just something on my mind, that i'm sure has already been addressed plenty of times, but it doesn't seem like fandom spaces ever learn, so here we are. (also, heads up, anytime i say, "y'all" or anything of the sort in this take, i obv know that not everyone thinks like this... but if it triggers you, settle in that emotion before you immediately react. it might tell you something about yourself you weren't ready to acknowledge until now.)

so today the topic of discussion is... "complex character design", and defensiveness.

You know what genuinely pisses me off? This thing that keeps happening in so many fandoms where people excuse a character’s objectively bad behavior, or in some cases subjectively bad behavior, with “oh, they’re just complex” or “oh, they had a really traumatic life.” And I feel like a lot of those people don’t understand that complexity doesn’t excuse being an asshole.

They also don’t understand that calling a character an asshole doesn’t mean I think that character is the Antichrist or irredeemably horrible, because I don’t. I love a lot of characters who are assholes. But just because a character had a traumatic experience, or has a morally gray perspective, that doesn’t excuse their actions. I’m tired of y’all using it like it does.

And then there’s the whole “this character isn’t a bad person because of this one action” argument. A lot of you don’t seem to get that people like me aren’t even saying they’re a bad person. We’re saying they did something bad, which is an entirely different thing.

And honestly, it puts something into perspective for me... If you’re willing to treat fictional characters like this, to coddle them this hard, how are you treating your real-life interpersonal relationships? Are you just going to constantly excuse your partner talking to you like you’re crazy by saying, “oh, well, they had an overbearing, controlling mother, so I have to take that into account”? Or excuse it with, “they have a chronic illness, like migraines, so maybe I shouldn’t have been so needy”?

That makes no sense to me. Your circumstances, whether past or present, do not cancel out your bad behavior. They don’t. And in that partner example, obviously you probably don’t hate your partner, and you probably don’t think they’re a bad person. But you still have to hold them accountable for acting like a piece of shit. I think that’s more loving than using the things that hurt them as an excuse for why they hurt others. But that’s just me.

And let me add this, too... I’ve noticed that these arguments almost always get pulled out for male characters. Predominantly. And I think I know exactly why, and it ties straight back to misogyny.

Because even if it’s subconscious, a lot of y’all have this habit of putting male characters on pedestals. You will bend over backwards to excuse their behavior, even when what they’re doing is objectively pretty goddamn bad. Trauma, complexity, moral grayness, suddenly it’s all very important context.

But let a female character go through the same kind of trauma, and if she doesn’t express it with the exact tone or restraint you personally approve of, you lose your minds. She can be patient, kind, and emotionally intelligent for most of the story, but the second she slips, the second she snaps, that grace is gone.

A prime example of this is what happened with Ragatha when she finally had an outburst at Jax. Y’all flamed her nonstop, even though she’s one of the sweetest characters in The Amazing Digital Circus, calling her a bitch, fake, and some of y'all went as far to say that her kindness is manipulative. She bottles everything up, she absorbs everyone else’s mess, and the one time she expresses her frustration, suddenly she’s the problem.

That’s the pattern. You can excuse a man’s incompetence and a man’s disrespect over and over again, but you can’t stand it when a woman loses her temper or hits her last straw. The patience you demand from female characters is endless, and the forgiveness you offer male characters is automatic.

And to add on to that, why are you guys so averse to just naming that your favorite characters are bad people? Do you think that if you admit a character you love is a bad person, that somehow makes you a bad person for liking them? Because it doesn’t. There is a massive difference between liking a bad person in real life and liking a fictional character who is a bad person.

And let’s be honest, you probably don’t even like them because they’re bad. You like them because of their other traits. Their charisma, their writing, their presence, whatever. So when people, especially when it comes to male characters, start saying, “oh, he’s not a bad person, he’s just morally complex,” I’m like… everyone on this planet is morally complex. That’s not special. And being morally complex does not excuse the bad behavior he’s carried out throughout whatever piece of media you’re talking about. It doesn’t excuse it at all. It explains it. It diagnoses it. But a diagnosis is not a get-out-of-jail-free card.

So it feels really strange to me how far some of you will go to defend your favorite characters at all costs. And honestly, it feels personal. Like you’re terrified of being associated with liking bad people, because you think that makes you look bad. And I’m telling you right now, it doesn’t. Because at the end of the day, that is a fictional fucking character.

I also have a theory about why people get so defensive about this. I think a lot of them assume that when someone criticizes a character, they’re actually criticizing the author’s ability to write likable or compelling characters. Like, they hear “this character did something bad” and translate it into “this writer doesn’t know how to write.” And that’s just not true.

Criticizing a character doesn’t mean I think the author is a bad writer or incapable of creating likable characters. In fact, the opposite is usually true. If I’m taking the time to criticize or analyze a character, it’s because they’re well-written enough to engage with. If a character is genuinely badly written or feels like no effort was put into them, I’m not going to sit here dissecting their behavior. I’d just move on, because what’s the point?

And all of this to say, I have the right as a consumer of media to have complex reactions to complex characters. Thinking a character is bad in any capacity or way doesn’t mean I hate the character or think they're irredeemable. It simply means I think they're a bad person. Full stop.

[lovelybunn]

These last few panels with Bendy pissed me off beyond belief, so I decided that I'm going to dedicate an entire subsection of my page to ranting and commentary over random fictional scenarios. And my first rant goes to Bendy, the Dancing Demon, from The Myth of the Machine.

I can't believe that he lied to Dyle’s face like that with a goddamn smirk on his face. Bendy said that because Dyle was lonely and he didn't have any friends from his hometown that he would be friends with him. And then the moment the two of them are put in a life or death situation, a testament, and I mean the ultimate testament to their so-called friendship, Bendy chose himself over saving Dyle’s life. He said, “I want to live.” And he let that man get took by Ortensia. I am so utterly disappointed in Bendy because let me tell you this, I know for a fact that Boris would never fucking pull that shit in his life. And he's proven to us that he wouldn't do that in the storyline because whenever Mugman, who tried to kill him and Bendy, was on the brink of death because his soul was draining out, Boris picked that man up and took him to safety, took him to his brother. But then the moment Bendy’s put in a situation like this, he chooses himself because he’s a selfish little fucking coward.

And honestly, can I even really call him a coward? Because let me tell you another thing. If that was Boris on that other train cart, Bendy would have found a way to get both of them on the safe train cart and then he would have kicked it apart from the rest of the train. But because it was, I guess, some guy that he didn't really know, Bendy chose himself. But, again, he said that he was going to be friends with that man. Bendy verbally said that in front of everyone in that fucking train. Yet, the moment his life was on the line, Bendy said, “fuck that, I'm saving my own ass. I don't know you.” He chose selfishness over being a morally good person. And on top of that, Bendy watched that motherfucker get taken by Ortensia, consumed by the Blot. He watched as Dyle screamed in agony and converted into the monster that he probably is now. It would be different if Bendy ran in there, closed the door, and went to safety, but no, he stared at him while he was actively suffering.

And no one better come in my notes talking about, “oh, you must be a Dyle glazer or something…” I know absolutely nothing about Dandy's World, but what I do know is that Bendy had the opportunity right in front of him to save Dyle's life, and he chose not to. Not because he didn't have the ability, because he didn't want to. He didn't want to save him, so he left him to get infected by the blot, and probably die.

And even another comparison with Mugman, one of the guys who literally tried to kill Bendy and his brother. Mugman saw that Bendy was having an attack with his disease, like he was bubbling over, he was in agonizing pain, and you know what he did? He got out his dip, and he healed Bendy. And mind you, he fucking hates the motherfucker. We all saw what he was thinking about whenever he was having that whole moment of trying to kill Bendy in his imagination. We all know exactly how Mugman feels about him. What does that say about Bendy? Because Mugman is a known serial killer, actively hates Bendy’s guts, and he still saved him. But the moment Bendy is put in a scenario with someone he doesn't know, he chooses himself over saving both of them, which was a completely attainable objective. I don't care that that motherfucker was scared, because there are too many instances where all four of the main guys were put in very scary situations, but they still chose to do the right thing. Bendy did not, and it's showing progressively throughout the story that although Bendy is relatively one of the most morally sound demons in the toon world, he still is a demon, so he still has demonic tendencies; he's still selfish, he's still arrogant, and he's still an asshole. I am so utterly disappointed in him… And just wait till Boris finds out what he did.

[mister-berry]

Hey

I am also pissed at Bendy because of what he did

But like

Dyle's chain was stuck in the crates if i remember correctly, and we saw Bendy struggling to push a crate earlier. So while I get what you're saying, even if Bendy HAD tried, he probably wouldn't have been able to. Y'know. Push the crates off. Maybe, like you said, he didn't want to save Dyle - but that dumbass wouldn't be able to fucking remove the crates if he had. They would both DIE.

Bendy doesn't seem to possess the strength his og did (qftim Bendy could pick up a damn boulder), and while yeah all the others still basically did the right thing when put into a bad situation, Bendy isn't them. He's his own character. He's not gonna react the same way.

Also, yes, like you said, Bendy barely knew Dyle! And get this - I'm a fat fucking Dyle glazer, I LOVE THAT MOTHERFUCKING CLOCK, but. Bendy's been struggling with the ink illness for years now. And only recently has he gotten the hope that maybe, just maybe - he could be cured. He has a chance to get rid of his illness, to LIVE. So, if he has to choose between himself and the dude he just met, especially when he now has the chance for a cure, he's choosing himself.

It's selfish, absolutely. And while he definitely would've tried to save his BROTHER, the man he's known for like, idfk, probably over half of his life? The guy he cares for? The guy he actually trusts? That doesn't mean he would've succeeded. He probably still would've died.

I don't approve of what he did, but I understand it. And hey, even if he still didn't try, he could've maybe said something comforting? Could've said sorry?

Also, Mugman saved Bendy before he started hating the demon. He's been shown to nearly regret that decision. If Mugman already had the hatred he does now back then, I wouldn't be suprised if he had just. Let Bendy suffer through the attack. And tell me, if you knew you probably couldn't save a guy, that you only had the SMALLEST chance to save him, would you have done it? Even if you would've, there are many people who would not. People like Bendy. I don't think Bendy likes the option he chose. He might try to justify it, but I think in the end, he'll feel regret. He's been through so much. He's desperate to live.

I think I came off as a bit aggressive during this, and I hope I didn't misunderstand anything you said. I'm not too smart, I know that, but I love all the motm characters. Bendy's decision, though morally bad, makes sense. I don't think any of these characters besides maybe Boris can be summed up as 'morally good'. They're complex and, imo, well written. Bendy's not perfect. He's not a saint. He is, like you said, selfish. But that doesn't mean he's a bad person.

[lovelybunn]

(dw ur not coming off rude at all. i was MUCH more aggressive than you in my OG post 😭😭😭😭 and also for context, i never read or watched qftim in my life... and i won't, cuz the rest of y'all seem to think it's terrible)

Honestly, thinking about Bendy in comparison to the other main four, I would say that I have to agree about him not being able to do it anyway, both because it's been proven in the comics, as well as because with my example with Boris, it's kind of weak... Because if you think about it, if Boris could pick up a grown-ass man who is very bulky, while he's weak, for that matter, with little to no effort (aka Mugman), I think he would be able to get himself out of the crate. Like, say, for example, it was Boris in that scenario, and instead of it being Dyle's chain, it was Boris's tail, he would have probably gotten that off by himself pretty quickly I think, because Boris is canonically seemingly very strong (arguably probably the strongest out of the four of them).

But the thing that you said about Bendy's terminal chronic illness, I've seen people argue that a lot against being mad at Bendy for what he did... And I personally see it as a partial excuse because I see where he's coming from because imagine coming this far and thinking that you've finally found a cure to a disease that you've been dealing with for practically your entire life. And then all of a sudden, you come into a scenario where you have to either sacrifice finding that cure to save someone else, or you have to just let that person die.

I can understand that perspective, but this is what I think a lot of you don't understand when you use that as an argument because I think that because Bendy has the Blot, he has even more of an incentive to help people in need in situations like this because he knows better than anyone what it feels like to be in a state of life or death because that is how he lives his life 24/7. So the fact that he chose his own life over Dyle's is a little bit excusable, but it's quite saddening to me because he has the empathy to understand what Dyle is going through, but he didn't care enough or he didn't think he had the opportunity to do anything about it.

Also, I'll admit that you absolutely clocked me on my example with Mugman, and it is weak because he did that before he started hating Bendy... But my point still stands because Mugman is a infamous serial hitman, and he was hired to get the map from Bendy and then kill him afterwards (correct me if I'm wrong on that). But he chose to save him. But Bendy just doesn't want to save somebody simply because he doesn't know who they are? To be quite frank, neither did Mugman at the time that whole scene occurred, but he still saved him because he saw that he was suffering. But I will give Bendy the benefit of the doubt because unlike with Mugman in that scenario, he didn't really have the time or the assets to save Dyle. But yeah, I do agree with your sentiment that, you know, he could have not put insult onto injury by saying, "I want to live," because, let me tell you this, Bendy, all of you on that train wanted to live, not just you 😭. (Except for Cuphead, for obvious reasons...)

But from a storyline point of view, and from a fellow writer's point of view, I would say that the execution of this scene is actually great for Bendy's development, because let me tell you this, that man will be traumatized for probably the rest of the story because of that. And again, with whenever Boris finds out, it's gonna be even worse for Bendy. They might even not speak to one another for while. (Even if Boris knows it wasn't technically Bendy's fault, it still goes against his moral values, and we already know his black and white mindset... Which is an entirely different conversation in of itself, because Bendy is a literal walking contradiction to Boris's ideology/philosophy.) That is going to weigh on Bendy so hard.

And with his connection with Dandy?! Oh my god, it's going to be quite significant in the long run. Because imagine being in Dandy's shoes and finding out via your ex-dancing partner that you have a conflicting relationship with, that your representative died in a severe accident, and he tells you he watched in horror as the whole thing unfolded... I personally think that that death, from Nort and Fly's perspective, is very strategic, and it's going to play a pretty big role in retrospect for the rest of the story.

And honestly, I don't expect Bendy to be a saint, because wouldn't that go against his nature as a demon? (Which begs the argument of nature versus nurture, especially in the case of Bendy specifically, because although him and Boris raised each other, and he was raised to be kind, to be a pacifist, how much does that nurturing get replaced or conflicts with the nature of him being a demon? I think that question will be answered to us very soon.) Because just like Boris, Bendy probably has instinctual tendencies due to what species he is.

And like I said in my original post, I think they're going to further expand on that throughout the story, because it seems like it's being shown more and more that Bendy is not as good as a person as what he may have seemed at the beginning. Because of what he did with Cuphead, what he's done with Dyle, how he has a tendency to be pretty aggressive, and I think somebody highlighted that if Boris wasn't there to keep him grounded, Bendy would have done some pretty bad things to the cup bros. (Even though it was warranted, they tried to kill them first. But I digress.)

I don't expect for Bendy to be a holy spirit of kindness and empathy and moral high ground. I don't expect that from him at all. I don't even expect that from Boris, and he's the sweetest out of the four of them. But there's certain things that for me, personally, draw a line. And what he did with Dyle, although it wasn't entirely his fault, it wasn't the best way to go about the scenario.

[lovelybunn]

These last few panels with Bendy pissed me off beyond belief, so I decided that I'm going to dedicate an entire subsection of my page to ranting and commentary over random fictional scenarios. And my first rant goes to Bendy, the Dancing Demon, from The Myth of the Machine.

I can't believe that he lied to Dyle’s face like that with a goddamn smirk on his face. Bendy said that because Dyle was lonely and he didn't have any friends from his hometown that he would be friends with him. And then the moment the two of them are put in a life or death situation, a testament, and I mean the ultimate testament to their so-called friendship, Bendy chose himself over saving Dyle’s life. He said, “I want to live.” And he let that man get took by Ortensia. I am so utterly disappointed in Bendy because let me tell you this, I know for a fact that Boris would never fucking pull that shit in his life. And he's proven to us that he wouldn't do that in the storyline because whenever Mugman, who tried to kill him and Bendy, was on the brink of death because his soul was draining out, Boris picked that man up and took him to safety, took him to his brother. But then the moment Bendy’s put in a situation like this, he chooses himself because he’s a selfish little fucking coward.

And honestly, can I even really call him a coward? Because let me tell you another thing. If that was Boris on that other train cart, Bendy would have found a way to get both of them on the safe train cart and then he would have kicked it apart from the rest of the train. But because it was, I guess, some guy that he didn't really know, Bendy chose himself. But, again, he said that he was going to be friends with that man. Bendy verbally said that in front of everyone in that fucking train. Yet, the moment his life was on the line, Bendy said, “fuck that, I'm saving my own ass. I don't know you.” He chose selfishness over being a morally good person. And on top of that, Bendy watched that motherfucker get taken by Ortensia, consumed by the Blot. He watched as Dyle screamed in agony and converted into the monster that he probably is now. It would be different if Bendy ran in there, closed the door, and went to safety, but no, he stared at him while he was actively suffering.

And no one better come in my notes talking about, “oh, you must be a Dyle glazer or something…” I know absolutely nothing about Dandy's World, but what I do know is that Bendy had the opportunity right in front of him to save Dyle's life, and he chose not to. Not because he didn't have the ability, because he didn't want to. He didn't want to save him, so he left him to get infected by the blot, and probably die.

And even another comparison with Mugman, one of the guys who literally tried to kill Bendy and his brother. Mugman saw that Bendy was having an attack with his disease, like he was bubbling over, he was in agonizing pain, and you know what he did? He got out his dip, and he healed Bendy. And mind you, he fucking hates the motherfucker. We all saw what he was thinking about whenever he was having that whole moment of trying to kill Bendy in his imagination. We all know exactly how Mugman feels about him. What does that say about Bendy? Because Mugman is a known serial killer, actively hates Bendy’s guts, and he still saved him. But the moment Bendy is put in a scenario with someone he doesn't know, he chooses himself over saving both of them, which was a completely attainable objective. I don't care that that motherfucker was scared, because there are too many instances where all four of the main guys were put in very scary situations, but they still chose to do the right thing. Bendy did not, and it's showing progressively throughout the story that although Bendy is relatively one of the most morally sound demons in the toon world, he still is a demon, so he still has demonic tendencies; he's still selfish, he's still arrogant, and he's still an asshole. I am so utterly disappointed in him… And just wait till Boris finds out what he did.

[lovelybunn]

lil' munchkin shenanigansㅤㅤㅤfeat. the baby b-bros and their teabag friends !

content: baby headcanons.

author's note: i got cuteness aggression for an extensive period of time bc of nort's post of the main four as little babies so yapping was inevitable 🥺 my sweetnesses had to be spoken of by ME (also went into theory mode toward the end of each section so be aware of that...)

⌇ㅤㅤ✒️ㅤ‎ꫂ᭪݁ ⋆.˚ㅤbendy & boris !

little bends couldn't hold his physical form for very long, so he would have a tendency to just melt into a puddle of inky goop because he couldn't concentrate long enough to keep his shape, if that makes sense. And if someone tried to hold him in that state, he would just go through their hands.

also bendy as a babe was like a kitten. That devil was up on shelves, knocking shit over, and just generally being bad. Because that was how he entertained himself. Because he didn't really have any toys as a kid, not any worthwhile. So when he was a baby, he kind of just found things around him and decided that they were worth playing with. And he was a pretty reckless child, so all of his toys that he did have did not last very long. Because he would roughhouse it and tear it into shreds with his little baby sharp teeth.

Boris was a howler, especially when he was a little pup. It was so bad that Bendy, after a while, would simply join in and start howling in the middle of the night, particularly on full moons, of course, just both as loud as they possibly can, because it was almost as if Boris couldn't help himself. He just did it on impulse. You'd just see the moon shining above, and he'd just throw his head back and start howling… Mind you, that is one of the only times that baby would ever vocalize. Bendy was much more of a babbler than his brother was.

Puppy boy went night-night everywhere, and at any point in the day, he would just close his eyes, and within at least five minutes, that little wolf would have been asleep. And nothing in this world could possibly wake his ass up at any point in time. That little boy slept like a rock.

For the both of them, shooting at the dark here... but Bendy and Boris lived around the same area whenever they were little. Even though they didn't know each other, they were in close proximity, so they always were meant to meet. Bendy was raised in the church, and Boris was a stray. He lived outside near the church. The nuns would take care of both of them, but they were both treated as outcasts because Bendy was a demon spawn and Boris was a wolf cub. And so the nuns were very cautious whenever they would, say, feed Boris or teach Bendy how to read whenever he was a toddler. But the women would still take care of them nonetheless, but it always felt as if it was more obligation than love.

⌇ㅤㅤ☕️ㅤ‎ꫂ᭪݁ ⋆.˚ㅤcuphead & mugboy !

So I imagine somehow they got onto the top of the stairs in their little cabin house back in Inkwell, and little baby Cuphead decided it was a great idea to tumble his way down the stairs. And whenever he got to the bottom, he squealed and screamed and laughed all joyously, really loud, and he was clapping his hands the way a baby does whenever they see something that really intrigues them. And then Mugman, wanting to follow his brother, went onto a few of the steps, and then the little boy got scared and he froze on, like, the first four steps on the very top of the stairs, and then he looked down and he was like, “oh no, it's so high up, I don't think I can do this,” and so he bursted out into tears. And then Elder Kettle finally came home and watched as his two little babies were hooting and hollering. One was sobbing his little eyeballs out while the other one was laughing so loud that it's disturbing the neighbors. (mind you, they live in the middle of the woods, and they don't have neighbors…)

Little baby Muggy was very nearsighted whenever he was little, so he had to follow his brother virtually everywhere, and if Cuphead somehow got away from him, like a long ways away from him, he would get very upset because he would be like, "where is my bubba??? 🥺🥹” And speaking of which, Mugman had a tendency of grabbing Cuphead by the end of his little teabag tail so that he could follow him around and have Cuphead guide them to wherever they wanted to go.

Cuppy has reflective eyes in the dark, just like dogs do, so whenever he was a baby, he would stare, like, aggressively at something in the dark, and he looked like a scary creature, because he would just stand there, staring with his big old eyes. And at some point, Elder Kettle was like, up in the middle of the night, making himself coffee or something, and there little baby Cuphead was at the top of the stairs, staring down at Elder Kettle with his big old eyes, and it literally almost gave Elder Kettle a heart attack.

Those badass kids would drink out of each other's heads quite frequently, to the point where they would get each other sick because they quite literally sucked the soul out of each other. And it got so bad that one time, Mugman literally passed out, like faceplanted onto the floor because Cuphead and his little baby self was just casually sipping on his brother's little sippy cup. And then it got to where there was only a little bit left, and then Mugman just fell onto his face. But his gargantuan sniffer made it not as hard, because, you know, it cushioned the fall, but it still hurt, and he cried. a lot.

The teacup twins did not have typical parents in the way that they had a mommy and a daddy. In fact, their actual "creator" is Elder Kettle. One day, while he was daydreaming about potentially raising a family, he had his inkwell pen in his hand, and he drew the two cup brothers that we know today, just as a little doodle he mindlessly came up with. And within the next day, two little babies showed up, red and blue, curled up around one another as if separating them would cause the other to disappear. They got their names because Elder Kettle is terrible at naming things, but once he realized that he created life with his artwork, he decided to devote the rest of his adult life in raising the two of them.

[lovelybunn]

somebody PLEASE turn motm cuphead into the "KAKEGURUI MASHO" meme it would be hilarious

[lovelybunn]

intimacy .ㅤㅤㅤㅤfeat. the main myth men ~

warning(s): suggestive themes, slight mischaracterization(?), reader insert

author's note: y'all i'm gonna be honest... this took wayyy too long, but i lowkey ate with writing the b-bros. but tell me what you guys think cuz i busted my ASS trying to write all this. (don't ask me what possessed me to write bendy that way... i don't know either)

ㅤㅤheadcanons.

│ㅤㅤ🖤ㅤbendy ;

this man treats every interaction like a dance. conversations of fluidity, body languages bouncing off one another like a set tempo... you push, he pushes back harder—likewise, you contract, he mirrors you.

on top of that, he’s heavily fluent in the way the body responds, it might as well be his second language. there’s really no need to tell this demon of how you feel…he’s read every involuntary shift, every change in the rhythm of your breath, and has placed accurate meaning to it. in tandem, bendy leads in response to your reactions. he leads most of the time… but you only realize you’ve been following long after he’s been satisfied with you.

bendy is aggressive, but not in the typical way you might think. he’s simply very… venomous and predatory when it comes to his desires. he’ll approach like a feline, and trap like a serpent, his voice and body tangling around you till it squeezes the inhibitions dry out of you.

he loves flipping the script. if you try to tease him, he leans into it even more. if you try to ignore him, he makes himself impossible to overlook. every move you make becomes something he can riff off of, like an improvised routine where he’s always half a beat ahead.

this demon is almost sarcastic in the ways he teases. every poke, every jab at your ego… he savours it like something delectable between his teeth. it’s almost like it’s some sort of test on you—he provokes you in the most frustrating ways, then dangles himself before you mockingly to see if you’ll strike back with a painful smirk your way.

there’s a playful cruelty to how he leaves things unfinished. a sentence cut off with a smile. a look held a second too long. he plants little hooks in your mind and walks away, perfectly content knowing you’ll be thinking about it long after he’s gone.

│ㅤㅤ🦴ㅤboris ;

boris’s simplicity is the heart of how he loves. instinctual, unburdened by overthinking, he doesn’t second-guess what his body already knows. he never hesitates when desire settles in his chest. you’re chosen with the certainty comparable to that of his keen sense of smell.

this wolf doesn’t seduce—he gravitates. when his interest is piqued, he doesn’t ever dance around his attraction, he just moves closer, speaks softer, with a slight gruffness, and it all comes natural to him. his body tells you long before he needs to.

he’s deeply attentive, but not in a meticulous way. it’s intuitive… he notices the smallest tells that most others miss. he accommodates without comment, like he’s always known how to meet you exactly where you are.

silence with boris is never awkward, it’s actually quite sweet. there’s no need for theatrics or filling the empty space. just bodies syncing, breathing lining up, hands finding familiar places. he makes relaxation feel effortless, because of his calm, innate energy.

boris tends to be very protective over the things he cherishes… this way of living, it translates into something tactile. boris uses his paws, his scent, to not only mark you, but also to shield you from the harms of the world. his touch is gentle, yet firm. it’s grounding.

affection with him is unpretentious and constant. not showy, not restrained—just there. like touch is his default language, and closeness is something he maintains the same way he breathes.

│ㅤㅤ♦️ㅤcuphead ;

cuphead isn’t exactly a man with impulse control. he catches on to something shiny, sweet, and new—he’s jumping on it before his mind even has time to rationalize his decision. his recklessness makes him almost arrogantly confident, and so he flaunts himself like a red peacock. his words are filled with innuendo, he acts like a drunkard who can’t help but get under everyone’s skin.

this man can and will treat everything like a game, especially when it comes to his liking of you. flirting is competition, teasing is a challenge, and your reactions are the scorecard. he’ll push buttons just to see what makes you snap, then act smug and oblivious when he gets exactly the response he wanted. half the time, he’s not even chasing pleasure… he’s chasing the win.

cuphead uses his voice like a dare. he talks like someone who grew up running barefoot through trouble and never learned how to lower the volume of his want… that lazy drawl, the bite behind his words, the way he laughs like he already knows how this’ll end.

cup’s less interested in the slow burn and more obsessed with the spark. he thrives in boiling hot moments of passion, chasing them like a jackpot he almost hit once and now needs again. your body is like a vice to him… he knows if he keeps investing, it’s only gonna hurt him later; but he’s not too worried about it.

he’s handsy to the point where it’s irritating. cups won’t keep his hands to himself, constantly manhandling that frame… palms settling where they absolutely don’t need to be. fingers hooking your belt loop just to tug you closer and then letting go like nothing happened when he gets caught.

sadly, cups isn’t the type to commit. it’s only because his own feelings erupt quickly, and he’d much rather stay in the “honey moon phase” than ever try and survive actual relationship dynamics. he keeps things loose, keeps things moving, because standing still means admitting that the game stopped being a game.

│ㅤㅤ♠️ㅤmugman ;

mugman worships you. his touches, they feel like acts of pure devotion. his love for you doesn't feel like a cage, it feels like responsibility he never wants to let go of. when he holds you, it’s less about possession and more about promise. you’re not something he owns; you’re something he keeps.

his mind has always been anxious, yet his hands…they're much more certain. he overthinks everything until he touches you. then his thoughts quiet. his body knows exactly what to do, even when his mouth doesn’t. mug’s hands have this weight to them, like he’s gently anchoring you to him with his touch.

mug's a giver, because seeing you in your element because of his actions gives him a sense of peace. he’s practically addicted to pleasing you, because the reassurance of your mutual want shows him that he’s doing exactly what he needs to do.

he's needy only because he has to be. he craves closeness in small, almost unconscious ways—it shows in the way he drifts toward you, how he lingers just a second longer than necessary, how his presence naturally overlaps with yours. he doesn’t even demand attention most of the time. he just quietly positions himself where he can feel you exist. proximity soothes him. distance unsettles him.

there's just something about the build-up that just does something to mugman. even if he wouldn't ever outwardly admit it, he loves the chase. having to work for your attention really gets him going. he’s almost like a masochist in a way; he’ll white-knuckle till he pops a vessel when it comes to revealing and expressing his wants. he’ll relieve himself only when given the green light.

his desire simmers nice and slow, like a hot pressure cooker. it grows alongside him, and it festers until he can't hold back anymore… and once that heat has accumulated for too long? it simply takes over him, and becomes inevitable, sometimes even rough. all that pressure finally releasing feels less like losing control and more like surrendering to something he’s been nurturing the whole time.

[lovelybunn]

what's it like to be with him ...ㅤㅤㅤㅤfeat. myth mugman !

warning(s): physical contact, loss/familial death, delusions

author's note: 😻🤤 my man my man my man... i MIGHT have went a tad bit overboard with this one, but i love how he's currently being portrayed, so i wanted to expand on that from a more intimate, one-on-one perspective (bc it's self-indulgent). also thanks for all the support on my last post, it really motivated me to write more for this fandom! give me asks/ideas PLS 🙏 i'm eating it up 👅

crushin’ .

when mugs’ has a crush, he can’t be around that mf, like, EVER. boy freezes up like a statue. his big bro will even tease him when his crush is in the vicinity, like, “hey, mugman, look! it’s your fine shyt!” shoving him and shit to get him to go and talk to you, but mugman’s feet are GLUED to that damn floor. he basically goes non-verbal. can’t speak, think, look… bro DIES.

to sum up his awkwardness, he basically forgets how to function like a normal person, then, bc of that, he decides that he’s not a person at all and freezes like a little bunny trying not to be spotted by its predator.

he tries hard to hide it, but mugman is much more expressive than he thinks he is. his own face is his biggest snitch. and ofc he’s a chronic overthinker…

around you, as his crush, mugman becomes very fidgety, and his head slowly begins to boil over. he tries to stim off his nerves by either picking or scratching at his neck. when trying to speak to you, he’ll talk WAY too fast with WAY too many words, overexplaining the smallest shit. if he accidentally bumps into you? he’ll have this long-winded apology with a bonus whispered compliment about how wonderful he thinks you are that he didn’t mean to say out loud.

sometimes, when he’s real nervous? mugman gets weirdly formal. “yes sir–i mean ma’am–i mean (name)–i–oh, damnit all!” then hides his whole face in his hands bc he’s so ashamed and embarrassed… he’ll also become clumsy like you wouldn’t believe. like, one time while he was deeply and intently listening to you talk about something you're passionate about while walking down the street, bc he was too busy looking at you, he walked face first into a light pole.

however, if he ever caught you being flustered with him, he’d either be baffled that you would even have a reaction like that to him, and stare at you with wide eyes like saucers, he’ll just blame your reaction bc of outside circumstances, or, on a good day… he’ll let his features relax, his eyes go half-lidded, and say, “oh? didn’t know you felt like that…” with a warm grin on his face—until he freaks out and panics after after you don’t say anything in response for a moment, thinking to himself, “WHY DID I SAY THAT NOW THEY’RE GONNA THINK I’M FULL OF MYSELF NOOOOOO”

but behind closed doors? mugman was a daydreamer. he’d sometimes get so consumed with thoughts of you, he’d go off task, cuz he’d lose track of reality.

most of his fake scenarios he had with you were domestic in nature. he’d imagine taking you on little scenic trails across his hometown of inkwell while holding your hand in his to squeeze it tight, and never let go…he would think about all the ways he could spoil and pamper you, and be the only man you’d ever need, and being able to see your beautiful smile anytime he’d do something for you. he’d fixate on the moment he could finally place his lips on yours for the first time, and butterflies would always burst in his tummy… it’s too bad for a while, despite having all these thoughts, he couldn't even look you in the eye without wanting to bury himself alive in his skittishness.

oh, but don’t get it twisted, he was still very much a looker, but only when you weren’t meeting his gaze…and/or when you were afar. it was lowkey stalker-esque.

mugs would hide behind any object or thing he was working on just enough to get several peeks at you when you were distracted. not to mention, the sound of your laugh sickens him in the best way possible. even from across the way, hearing that sound leave from your lips is like a drug on mugman’s heart—and he never wants to quit.

in the dark, even your silhouette would haunt him, every curve and edge in your frame burned into his memory. stopping himself was never an option—you’d just come back to the forefront, as suffocating as ever.

watching you clean him up after particularly messy jobs was like getting a preview into a timeline mugman had always dreamt of. he felt light as your hands would ghost over him, and his pupils would expand down at you like a kitten spotting one of its favorite toys.

mugman couldn’t stand seeing someone else bring a smile to your face. having to watch it happen from the sidelines had him unexplainably livid. he’d start twitching, every muscle clenched in wishing he were that person’s shoes, jealous he wasn’t the one to do it… that’s the moment he realized, truly, that his heart was full of you.

it took him a couple months to finally confess… but after that moment, he realized he couldn’t keep dancing around it anymore. so he started finally trying to put effort into pursuing you—in his shy, non-confrontational way, of course, to build up to the courage to ask you out (by gifting you like 17 miscellaneous items that “reminded him of you”). and when he finally did, he took you to the lake by his childhood home for your first real date. cuphead did help him plan, and lowkey supervised y’all like a spy, giving his little bro tips and tricks on how to wow you… it didn’t take long before you actually were wowed.

being his partner .

when you two finally make it official, mugman has this wash of youth come over him. you remind him of the softness, the naivety of who he once was before his life got flipped upside down—the boy he used to be before blood stained his hands and “collector” became his second name.

he catches himself smiling again without realizing it. laughing, even. and not those sarcastic grimaces, or those malicious smirks; real, heartfelt smiles… and when he looks at you, there’s this quiet awe in his eyes, like he can’t believe someone so good still exists in his world, and would want to be with him, of all people. even with everything seeming to flash before his very eyes, even when things get dark, you’ve become his evangeline.

in the beginning, he kept you out of anything related to his family’s work… but it’s not bc he doubted your ability, it’s bc he was terrified of what you might think if you saw all of him. he knows the kinds of danger him and his brother go through on the daily. he thought he was protecting you, but it was really just his ego doing a final tug at him: “they wouldn’t like you. they don’t know what you’ve done. what if you hurt them, too? hide them away. keep them pure. they’ll never see you the same—if they live to see you, that is.”

even then, mugman still treats you much like a helicopter boyfriend… he didn’t let you go anywhere alone, even to the point further on in the relationship, he attached a small, untraceable tag to all of your clothes. even if you try to tell him you’ll be fine and you can handle yourself, it’s never a question if he’s gonna come, because he always will. he’s insisted it’s because “he’s more street smart than you.”

despite him locking you away like some damsel in distress, you being put into eventual danger was bound to happen, with you being with a wanted criminal, that is. it didn’t matter what it was, or even how much you were hurt/endangered, the moment mugman caught you in that state, after he’d been absent collecting souls, he had no choice but to teach you how to survive in the world he’s let you in. after that day, for months, he made it his goal to provide you with independence by giving you all the practical skills and tools that he’d known for years—all of which kept him alive this long. not being able to create you your own straw, like him and his brother, he bought you plenty of guns, guiding you meticulously how to use every last one of them. mugs’ even taught you a few stealth tricks, to keep you out of harm’s way if you had no opportunity to flee.

mugman is very tactile in the way he shows love on an average basis… it’s almost as if feeling you underneath his fingertips is a way for him to feel at piece. anytime you two are together, he’ll find any excuse to touch you. sometimes it’s just instinctual, like him taking a hold of your hand while you’re talking, passively running his hand against your palm. other times, it’s his way of showing presence, like ghosting his hand down to the small of your back before gently squeezing your hip as he’s standing beside you.

one of mugman’s favorite parts of missions, when everything is said and done, is the quiet moments when you’re just helping him clean up the mess. it’s the times when you help him shed off the stresses of the day, your touch melting into him as you peel off his blood and grime stained jumpsuit. it’s when the two of you are just loading up the getaway car and your hands brush against one another. to him, it feels like a long-awaited exhale.

but on them? he acts a bit more like his brother, and less uptight when you’re there. fighting becomes more exhilarating, because now it doesn’t feel like going through the motions—it’s a fresh start for mugman, like living the very first jobs all over again, but this time, with you by his side. he becomes endearingly smooth, doing things like swooping you off your feet when y’all’re on the run or even dodging shots with a kickflip to land in a handstand, all with a small smug on his face. he’ll look over at you with a wink to see if you’d notice his silly shenanigans.

when mugs has a hunch that a mission is gonna be less than smooth sailing, trust and believe this man will have you practically scouting him, giving you an opportunity to watch him in his element—hopefully for you to translate it into your own tactics. in spite of the seriousness of the practice, it’s almost intimate in how he executes it. he’ll give you a show when he’s using his trusty sniper rifle, he’ll guide you with his hands how to defend yourself… he even will tease you sometimes; “hey, hon. you can’t fire a gun cock-eyed, now, can ya?”

the bond you two have is one that drives past all the hardships, present, past, or future, and creates warmth in the blizzard that had plowed its way through mugman’s life throughout the years. he’s risked his dignity, his softness, just to be yours. and every single time he’s near you, he’s reminded of just how strong love can be.

when he starts to fade .

deep down, he blames himself for his brother’s death. he might try to throw the blame at the world, that damned wolf, the chaos that made itself a staple in his brother’s conscience… but when the noise dies down, when it’s just him and that sickening poison that swishes inside the hollow hole in his head—he knows. he wasn’t watching close enough. he wasn’t balancing him enough. fucking hell, he was wrestling with an unarmed man..! someone’s fingers slipped and—and now cuphead’s gone.

you might notice how distant he became after it happened. he was never the talkative type, but now? catching something other than a one word response is a rare occurrence. the vengeance for the only family he had left ate him alive before the grief had a chance. he lost sight of all else. the soft blue twinkle in his precious eyes, once so bright, had faded to the color of a stormy sea, one he trapped himself in.

that flower of love that once bloomed between you? it’s wilting from the root up. he’s still holding the watering can, but he’s forgotten what it’s for. you can see him trying, lost in that forest of grief, staring at the petals as if they might bloom again out of guilt alone.

mugman couldn’t sit still if he tried. he sees and hears everything, but when he tries to tell you, trembling, tear-streaked, breath stuttering between words? you call him a liar. you tell him to lie down, that he’s “just seeing things.” his throat will tighten, but he’ll do it anyway. despite everything getting louder, despite every inch of his skin feeling like it’s shattering underneath the surface… he can’t be so worrisome. not with you. he has to protect you. even if that means shutting himself down.

cuphead’s voice is still there, low and coaxing… “try harder. stay sharp. don’t let ‘em take you too.” the furniture melts into faces he can’t recognize.

when he feels like his own breath is slipping away from him, the gentle look in your eyes and the firm squeeze of your arms wrapped around him are all that keep him from losing complete control.

mugman never lets you out of his sight anymore, even when you’ll only be gone for a few minutes. his eyes will move restlessly, as if they were measuring every second of emptiness in your absence. he’ll hug his gun close to his chest, not hesitating to fire at anything that moves. he’s already lost his other half… losing you would destroy him.

he overapologizes now. he’ll burn breakfast, break a glass, and crumble, choking out a “sorry,” like he thinks it’s the only word keeping you there. when you cup his cheek and tell him he’s okay, he looks like he doesn’t believe you.

when you reach out to touch him, even slightly, he impulsively flinches, even turns around with a glare in his gaze…but once mugs’ knows it’s just his sweetheart, his heart eases. and sooner or later, he’s holding you impossibly close, letting your scent engulf him and pull him back to earth.

mugman will sometimes even forget to sleep unless you remind him. if you tell him you’re heading to bed, he’ll mutter, “yeah, right behind ya,” and then never come. but if you tug on his sleeve, he’ll follow without a word. sometimes he sleeps better with his face buried against your shoulder, like the sound of your pulse is louder than his thoughts.

his affection has a different language to it now… he used to be all about shy touches, hesitant smiles. now? he caresses you like he’s anchoring himself. it’s shaky, desperate, but somehow still as gentle as always—like he’s saying thank you and goodbye in the same breath.

kissing him .

the homeboy kisses like he’s going off to war and he isn’t going to see you for the next 6 years every single time he REALLY kisses you. every kiss hits like a plea, like he’s trying to convince himself you exist at all. mugman’s lips will trace your skin as if he could carve your warmth into his memory—the tremor in your sighs, the way your lips tremble against his… he doesn’t just kiss; he clings to you, like every reaction you give him is proof that you’re still here, that he’s still here.

mugman looks at you like it physically hurts to want you this much. his brows knit, his eyes half-lidded, his breath catching somewhere between restraint and hunger. it’s not like he’s mad, more like the desire he has for you bubbling from his mug head is so overwhelming that it’s growing painful for him. his breathing goes deep and shaky, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t look away from you. mugsy’s just too shy to voice how much he needs to be near you. (doesn’t matter how long y’all’ve been together, boy’s always somewhat hesitant… this is mugman we’re talking about guys, come on 🙄)

going back to the gentlemanly vibes i had last post… mugman is always about gaining permission. any time he’s leaning in to offer any type of kiss, whether it’s one where he’s virtually taking your breath away with the firm pressure of his lips against yours, or it’s the soft, grounding presence of a simple peck on the crown your head, mugman will always ask first; it’s instinctive. he respects your body, your space, your say.

and if YOU take the initiative to kiss mugman first? oh, he freezes. his breath stutters. he’s not used to receiving. he’ll try to mask how much it shakes him, but his hand always finds its way somewhere on your body…it’s hesitation that grows into needing to consume you, the deeper the kiss goes. he’s the kind of man to turn his little timid show into a slow-burning need that spills over until he’s the one chasing your mouth, breath breaking as he murmurs against your lips, “i can’t stop… please, let me keep going.”

cutie patootie’s fatass nose will sometimes find a way to get in the middle of things. it’ll break the rhythm just enough to make him huff through his teeth. mugs will have to stammer out a soft, “damnit—sorry,” his sweet little porcelain cheeks flushed a bright shade of blue… and yes, mugman’s nose does in fact make a cute squeak noise when you squeeze it.

mugman’s pupils get so comically large when you let him kiss you/you go to kiss him. his baby blues shimmer like he’s trying not to cry, and it’s impossible not to smile when you see it. his love is so heavy, it breaks him every time he gets to show it through his kisses.

all in all, being kissed by mugman is a study in contradictions… he’s a killer who kisses like a saint. it’s like that rock shell melts away like molten lava when mugman’s with his baby-boo. an almost terrifying contrast, cuz you’re probably like, “babe, i just saw you fucking shoot that guy’s head off with a deadpan look in your fucking eyeballs like 20 mins ago…why are you kissing my collarbone like it’s communion all of a sudden???? bitch wtf?? 😭😭😭” basically emotional whiplash. the duality of mugman.

[lovelybunn]

gettin' in a quarrel with the collectors ?!ㅤㅤㅤㅤ- feat. myth cuphead and mugman .

warning(s): gunplay, kidnapping(?), sadistic tendencies, suggestive themes, physical assault author's note: hiya fellas 😼 i was tired of waiting for fanfics for these two fine shyts... so i took matters into my own hands. (also spoiler bc i thought it was funny af: warning for u cuphead lovers, i sadly gave your man the jax treatment.... fanon cuphead is never beating the edgy loser allegations i'm sorry 😭😭😭) also, can you tell who my fav cup bro is? 🤭

headcanonsㅤ┆ㅤ🚨ㅤCRACKHEAD; the world's favorite bastard ﹗

this one's always keeping you on your toes… he’s predictable within his own unpredictability. in one instance, cup’s teasing to the point you're dangerously close to crashing out—the next? he’s locked tf in, crazy like a starved wild animal who just caught the scent of fresh meat they haven’t tasted in months.

he may act clueless, but he's anything but. call it “weaponized incompetence,” if you will. it's a way to get out of things and get under people's skin.

man's clearly a thrill seeker, to the worst extent possible. betting on anyone's life? he ain't got a problem at all. it’s what keeps his “winning streak” going.

don’t get it twisted, though. the only reason cup’s so emotionally detached is bc he’s too far gone to give a shit anymore. he’s made a lifetime of crime, so he’s made bets on jobs to keep it interesting. (ps, cup has most DEFINITELY won quite a few of his brother’s salaries over these years, only bc he kept rigging the bets so then there was 1000% chance he’d win everytime. mugsy never found out, poor boy.)

his favorite kind of combat? he’s a melee fighter at heart; it's all mind games for ol’ cuppy here. if he can psychologically fuck you over before laying a single finger or bullet on you? oh, buddy…he’s already won.

cup’s a control freak and a chaos fiend at the same time. like, he’ll start shit just to see how far he can push before it breaks—then pull it back like “nah nah, i got this, chill.” he’s got this freaky calm in the middle of his own storm (that, 9 times out of 10, HE caused), and it’s not for your safety, oh no. it’s just his way of keeping the upper hand. the only thing keeping him sane anymore is making sure you’re not. ‘cause if he’s the one in control, then maybe he’s not completely gone yet, y’know?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❨ㅤ✧◞ㅤan encounter ...ㅤ◜⟣𓂃ㅤ❩

“I see you got yourself stuck in a rut, scrappy.”

One moment, you were just casually walking down the street, heading home after a long night with your friends at Ink & Paint. Now? You had been yanked clean off your path, spine slammed against something living and strong. The man’s words brushed your ear just as his arm snared your waist, dragging you backward into the dark. His forearm locked around you, hard muscle shifting against your ribs in a way that sucked the air out of you. You could feel every taut line of him, his bicep drawn hard and unyielding beneath your ribs—a quiet reminder of just how easily he could break you, if he wanted to. The cold muzzle of his revolver pressed to your temple, steady as his heartbeat behind you.

He laughed low, meniscising; the sound looped through your head and mocked every twitch of panic that wracked you.

You ran along the wrong crowd, trying to cheat your way at life... Now, one of your creditor’s infamous, unapologetic hitmen had you trapped in one of his foolish games.

You tried to run away, yet, of course—luck doesn’t side with fools. He’d herded you into the alley and pounced the second you hesitated, like a wildcat closing on its rightful prey.

You scowled as he tightened his grip, the overpowering smell of moonshine mixed with blood and sweat filling your senses. Cuphead laughed heartily at your expense. “Awe, you frustrated, little mut?” He seethed through his teeth, his breath hot against your neck. “I’ll let you in on some advice, kid, comin’ from experience…”

He cocked the gun.

“Don’t make bets you know you’ll lose.”

As soon as you heard it, a giant pit crushed into your stomach, every muscle in your body locking at once.

“Please, not like this!” you cried, thrashing against Cuphead’s strength. You tried to pry out your arms, but he twisted them back behind you, causing you to let out a blood-curtling shriek. “Don’t do this! He didn’t give me enough time, I–”

Cuphead cut you off right before you could finish with a quick, “Ah!”

He dragged you half-sideways toward the mouth of the alley, a dark snicker making contact with your ear. “Don’t even get me started on that whiny shit! You think anybody out there will even care that you’re gone when I pop that head off of yours? You’re a nobody. The only reason why you made that deal with my boss was because you ‘thought it would make your life better’…’”

Cuphead barked out an apathetic cackle, shoving you from his arms hard onto the pavement. The force destroyed your back, leaving you helpless, leaning weakly against the wall to hug your aching body.

Cuphead slowly lifted the gun up in the air, crazed smirk on his porcelain face, and for a moment, the air stood still, silent…Yet, before you finally exhaled, he fired. Right above your head.

“Guess your life’ll be technically easier if you're buried six feet under.” He shrugged nonchalantly, but in a rush of adrenaline, you reached out a hand of surrender— “Wait! Maybe I can do something for you!”

Your voice was hoarse, a desperate plea in a time of crisis. With a scoff and raised brow, Cuphead lowered his weapon, finger still casually rested on the trigger.

“What’s your wager, huh?” He leaned back on one heel, picking his teeth with his free hand’s fingernail, tone light as if this were small talk. “I doubt you got much worth, other than that soul a-pumpin’ in ya chest. All you're doin’ is prolongin’ the inevitable.”

Your lungs heaved like a trapped animal’s, heart thrashing against its cage. Thoughts slithered and scrambled, slick and useless in the panic. Your damn impulses again, those greedy little sparks that lit the fuse every damn time. And now, it’s gonna get you killed. Every ache in you screamed as you dragged your broken body forward, fingers clawing at the cold ground until they found purchase on Cuphead’s shoes.

Nails scraped leather, knuckles white with desperation as you clutched his ankles like a half-drowned creature clutching driftwood. Hot tears carved paths through grime and sweat down your face, burning not from sorrow, but sheer animalistic terror.

“I’ll—I’ll take the gamble, if that’s what’ll get you to stop…” you choked out between ragged sobs that tore from your throat like shrapnel, voice raw. “Just… let me live…”

Even in your pathetic state, Cuphead seemed distant—as if your words hadn’t reached him at all. The bright red fire in his eyes dulled to a dark, wintry burgundy, and for the briefest moment, something fragile flickered behind it… hesitation, maybe even pity? His grin faltered, tightening into a scowl, his gaze scattering over your face as though searching for something he didn’t want to find. But then, almost violently, that softness died.

Cuphead’s expression hardened, the fire reignited in an explosion of denial. His rage masked over any sort of guilt you may have thought you saw. It was like he was angry with himself for almost feeling anything. For giving someone like you a chance, for letting your display of powerlessness get to him. His lips twitched back into their signature smirk, sharp and soulless, sealing the fracture shut.

Your sweaty palms slipped from him, and you scurried away in cowardice. He twirled the firearm in his fingers and cackled, “You’re not willing to beg on your knees for my mercy anymore? That’s too bad… I was startin’ to enjoy you lookin’ up at me like that.” Cuphead drawled, bending over nice and slow to give you lidded eyes, batting his lashes playfully. “You should be happy you’re the only piece of trash I gotta throw away tonight…” He gave you one more look over before leaning back to peer down at you. “I’ll bite…but I get to lay it all out.”

He paced the length of the alley, humming some crooked jazz under his breath while your chest kept time with the rhythm. Every so often those bright rubies flicked back to you, making sure you wouldn’t run for it while he was occupied. But not only that… Cuphead’s large eyes seemed to have more behind them. They hunted the tremor in your throat and the way your pulse danced under your skin; your fear was his feast.

He stopped his agonizing pacing right in front of you, his leather boots inches from yourself. Cuphead crouched until you were nose-to-nose, the space compressed to a single heat. The closeness put his breath on your face; you could count the shallow rise of his chest. His proximity was ridiculous and obscene, violating you like this. The air was still between the both of you. You could’ve crawled away, and the thought of it buzzed in your hands, but you didn’t. Some sick part of you latched on tight to the thrill, and wouldn’t let go even if you tried.

“The game goes like this. You guess how many bullets I got in this here revolver.” He tapped the cylinder twice, the sound small and intimate in the hush. Your gaze flicked between the grin on his face and the cold steel in his hand. You wanted to sneer, to spit, to ask why he even bothered to play at mercy, but your mouth betrayed you with silence. He spun the cylinder hard. The metallic whirl felt close enough to touch.

“And if you’re right? I’ll let you go, scot-free.” Cuphead let the promise hang, then closed the circle with a soft, dangerous smile. “If not? I’ll take a little spin, and pull the trigger right against you.”

The cool steel rested against your hot forehead like a promise. His thumb traced the hammer’s curve as he leaned in, close enough for your noses to nearly touch. “So, sweetheart,” he breathed, “you wanna die quick, or live long enough to take a ride on this freight train?”

headcanonsㅤ┆ㅤ🌀ㅤMUGSHOT; hell's cleanest executioner ﹗

mugsy’s the brains behind the operation—almost to his detriment. his mind consumes him to the point where he becomes ungrounded in reality. his paranoia feeds into delusion, which will sometimes bloom into complete obsession. He’s got the mind of a conspiracy theorist—all problems must be eradicated before he even dares to rest.

this guy’s a bear archetype, in a way. extremely possessive, and otherwise protective of what’s his: his family, his mission, even his damn reputation as one of the infamous “collector” duo. the type to step into the line of fire without blinking if it means keeping his operation intact. you so much as look at something he values the wrong way, he’s already clocked you. it's impossible to wait and see with him; he's instinctual, territorial, and twice as hard-headed as his big brother.

beneath that hard, overly serious and cautious demeanor, he’s a soft gentleman at heart… and that somehow translates to his work ethic. like, you'd expect cold efficiency, but he's methodical in a way that feels almost tender. every job is planned as if he were making a dinner table. any mess he makes, he cleans up himself. mugsy’s not one to taunt…he’s quick to put one out of their misery bc he can’t stand to make them suffer any more than they already are. he’s quick bc he has to be.

he’s a long shot, not because he can’t tustle, no… he doesn’t like the realness that being that close makes him acknowledge. it’s easier that way on his conscience, which keeps a steady hand.

mugs isn’t the type to lose his cool very often, but ooo, when he does??? call up elder kettle (from his grave), cuz that mf is BOILING. his anger works like a weight that keeps piling on his spine, before it eventually snaps. And it mostly happens cuz he’s a chronic grudge holder. mugsy can NOT let something go for the life of him, until karma strikes her bitchy ways against whoever he’s praying for their downfall for.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❨ㅤ♤◞ㅤan encounter ...ㅤ◜⟣𓂃ㅤ❩

A white-hot stab tore through your ribs. You folded in on yourself, hacking out a pained cry.

“Get up.” A rough Boston bite split the ringing in your ears as you regained consciousness. Your vision jittered, shapes swimming in and out of focus. Harsh light burned at your retinas.

The man behind the voice loomed above you—tall, square, and heavy enough to block out the light flaring across you. The faded blue of his jumpsuit stretched over his frame, sleeves rolled to the elbows, veins cutting down his forearms like wires. His icy blue daggers raked down your curled up body like you were something stuck to his boot, arms folded across a chest that looked cut from concrete. Those eyes, like shooting targets, shimmered under the blinding light of the sterile, dark abyss you seemed to inhabit. You don’t remember how you got here, or why.

You barely had time to breathe, let alone move, before the leather of his boot drove into your ribs again. “I said, get the hell up, you dunce! I don’t have all day.” His roar ricocheted through the cramped space, every syllable rattling against the rotting oak walls of what now looked like a shabby old basement.

You hacked out a mouthful of blood and twisted onto your back, shielding yourself from another strike. A low, frustrated growl cut through the air as he marched toward you, each step shaking the floorboards until his shadow swallowed yours. In one violent motion, your breath leaped from your lungs as you were jerked up onto your feet, then spun around like a rag doll to face your abuser. The man glared down at you, his eyes narrowed with a dry, inquisitive intensity. His brow creased, a muscle ticking at the corner of his jaw. “You ain’t got a clue why you’re here, do ya?” He rolled his eyes with the bored patience of someone who already knew the answer, dropped you onto the ground, and then shoved a rolled, yellowed scroll into your face, the ancient paper crackling as if it were evidence and insult both.

You forced yourself to steady your footing and stared at the paper, letting your gaze skim across the paper, skittering until the crimson ink at the bottom punched a hole through your chest—your signature. Terror consumed your features as the realization washed over you like muck. You stumbled back on instinct, desperate to carve space between the two of you.

You hadn't thought that cheating, conniving, master manipulator would keep sending for you; thought he’d drop it by now, drowning in a dozen other poor suckers’ cries. You should’ve known better. That horned freak will hold a grudge over your head till the day you eventually keel over. He’s probably laughing his ass off right now, knowing your little goose chase has come to a resounding halt.

Of course you ran into the brother that freaked you out the most—and no, it wasn’t because of his unwavering stoicism; anyone could get past that. It wasn’t even the man’s high-grade sniping skills. You were terrified of his determination.

“Your debt. Yeah. Nice to see your memory flowin’ back to ya, old pal…” His words hit you like iron, smooth and deliberate, impossible to shake. The way he was, it wasn’t drive—It was fixation, the kind that doesn’t tire, doesn’t blink, doesn’t stop until it’s face-to-face with its target. It was something that kept him on your tail for way longer than you’re willing to admit.

For all the times you’d seen the guy, you never let his name stick. It was easier that way. Pretend he was just another blur in the crowd, a ghost that would simply dissipate into nothingness. As long as you didn’t acknowledge the agonizing knot in your stomach anytime you had your back turned, you could've almost convinced yourself it was true. But with him right in front of you, your cursed memory betrayed you, and his name shoved itself to the forefront of your mind: Mugman.

It sat rancid on your tongue. You shot him a look of disgust, taking in those comically burly brows, that bulbous steel-blue nose… He looked impossibly soft, every line rounded and almost comforting, the white, glassy sheen of his porcelain head catching the pale light of the basement like a child’s beloved stuffed toy. Yet, that same face had spent years trailing you like a shadow, precise and unyielding, reminding you with every step that appearances were a lie.

Mugman pried you back into the present, his gloved hands enormous and knuckled, rough against the contract, marred with streaks of dirt and dried blood. “Now, let’s see here, how long has it been..?” Each deliberate motion of rolling it back up was like a tether, dragging your attention from the whirl of your own panicked thoughts and planting it squarely in the cold, merciless reality of him: the heavy assurance of his hands, the sharp precision in every movement, the closeness that left no part of you untouched by it. You could almost feel the warmth and firmness through the gloves, the tactile insistence of a presence that didn’t just hunt you—it owned the space around you.

He clicked his tongue in faux contemplation, thumb and forefinger pinching his chin like he was weighing your worth… Though that smug glint in his eye said he’d already settled the score. “Ah—” That same finger jabbed at your chest, wagging with theatrical disdain; the motion sliced through the haze and kept you from answering. “That's right.” You scrunched your nose, hunting for a retort, but he didn’t leave space for comebacks.

“You and your cheating, coward ass hasn’t paid up not a single coin… For four straight years. You just kept on runnin’. That’s all you’ve ever done. Me and my brotha have been on your tail since the very beginnin’.” He let the last words sit, patient and ugly, as if he were re-tasting them.

“But now?” A slow, serrated laugh escaped him, a mean sound that felt like it was tearing something tender apart. His hand dove into his mug-head with the casual familiarity of morning ritual and produced a small pistol, the metal catching the light with a dull, unforgiving gleam. Before you could flinch, he shoved the barrel into your mouth. Cool metal scraped your teeth; you gagged on the sudden taste of iron and your own fear. His whole weight drove you back into the wall until the plaster sang.

One gloved hand steadied the gun in your mouth. The other crept up like a python, and closed around your throat with methodical pressure. The grip was a cold, hard squeeze, declaring finality. Your lungs were burning, gasping for air between the barrel and his palm.

“Right here’s a dead end. I’ve got you right where I want you…” His grin faltered into something colder. “And Boss? Tch. He’s a man of little patience. Me—” he forced it further, a cruel kind of intimacy in the motion. "I'm one of efficiency.”

Instinct made you shove, to heave him off, to throw yourself forward and away, but his bulk laughed at your strength. Even without giving it his full force, Mugman’s weight dominated you. Your breaths came fast and shallow through your nose. For a second the room was nothing but the barrel, the glove on your throat, and the constellated flare in his eyes.

“(Name)…” There was nothing spoken about the way it left his lips. It was a gentle, slow, and venom-laced caress, like he wanted you to savor the feeling of wrongness. Drool pooled at the corner of your lips, and you tasted it, and the tang of metal. His blue eyes bored into you, flaring with that cold light you’d seen in his shadowed glimpses—focus that had no limits.

“I set my sights on you like a hawk,” he said, voice low, close enough that the words melted into the metal pressing against your tongue. “Lost nights. Countless. Pacing the dark, thinking where you might’ve curled up, what alley you’d slipped into, what stupid face you’d pull when I finally caught you.” Each syllable was a memory, and each memory a notch. He was cataloguing you—each near-miss, every ‘almost’ that had let you wriggle free. The litany turned the room into a ledger of compulsion. You could feel the tally in the pressure at your throat.

“It’s a crying damn shame it had to come to this, huh? You were just trying to live your life, relax in that safety cushion he made for you…” Something flashed in his gaze for only a second, as if he were mourning the version of you that might’ve survived if you’d never signed your name in blood.

Mugman’s thumb rubbed once against the barrel, mechanical. “But you made a deal. You picked who you owed.” His laugh returned then, rougher, edged with meat-and-bone contempt. “Damn coward. Can’t even face the consequences of your own choices.” The words were scolding and derision braided together. He leaned so close the heat of his breath steamed the metal in your mouth, and you could feel the rhythm of his chest under the cloth of his jumpsuit.

He paused, savoring the silence like an instrument. You flailed for a second, having an automatic twitch, testing whether he’d hesitate. He didn’t. Instead, he watched you with something like reverence: not the tender kind, but the reverence of someone who has waited and waited and is finally allowed to finish the thing he started. In the space between you, the narrow misses he'd never forgiven pulsed, each one a little torture he relived every time.

“You ran, you hid, you thought time could eat your name,” he murmured, words sliding so low they might have been a confession. “But I never stopped thinking about your face.” His grin was a slow, surgical thing. “And now? Now you’re mine to close.”

He tightened his hand on your throat a fraction. It was almost enough to make the lights at the edge of your sight bloom white. The gun’s muzzle pressed with deliberate intent. The room smelled like dust and rust and the faint sweetness of old paper; the scroll he’d already rolled sat forgotten at his feet, a pale witness. Outside, the world went on. Inside, Mugman’s focus compacted into a single, inevitable point: you.

He wanted this finished. Not for the big man’s ledger alone, but for himself—for the hunger that had turned pursuit into ritual. That was the part that bled through everything. Mugman’s tireless hunt had become foreplay, and the capture was the only climax he’d been able to imagine for years. The name he’d said hung between you like a promise and a threat. You could feel the gravity of it weighing you down: all the almosts, all the slips, all the times you’d thought you were free—they were filed under your name. He traced that file with his eyes now, slow and intent, and you realized with a cold clarity that this wasn’t business. It was obsession.

“Make it easy,” Mugman murmured, thumb dragging slow across your cheek. His voice dipped into that deadly calm you’d come to fear.

“C’mon. Look at me. Say what you owe.”

There was a beat, cut short by the tiniest, broken whisper.

“Please.”

Click.

[lovelybunn]

⠀⎯⎯͟͟¤⠀𓈒⠀▪︎ ㅤ" i know you'll finish the mission ! "

ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𒈔 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎， ‎▬▬ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎# ‎ℭ𝐮𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 !?

ㅤ . ៶៶ׄㅤㅤʿ ㅤheadshot, baby! BANG BANG—you're dead!

all art by @/myth-of-the-machine

[lovelybunn]

more on dreemurrtale — feat. present!aurel dreemurr !

↩

author's note: it was hell making this but so worth it... got the main two done! can't wait to expand on this au!

Q1. who is "aurel dreemurr"?

aurel dreemurr is an asriel variant who takes on the role of dream sans from dreamtale. born from the same buttercup-infused DETERMINATION as his twin, caligo, aurel was conceived as the embodiment of hope and perseverance. however, his role is not as simple as just "the good one" in their sibling dynamic—his existence is defined by a struggle to maintain balance, even at the cost of himself.

Q2. what is aurel's role in dreemurrtale?

aurel exists to maintain balance between positivity and negativity across the multiverse. unlike his twin, who seeks to purge negativity entirely, aurel understands that light cannot exist without darkness. he believes that true balance comes not from erasing negativity, but from learning to coexist with it.

however, this belief comes with a terrible burden. aurel is expected to be the unshakable beacon of hope, the one who can never falter. no matter how much doubt creeps into his heart, he forces himself to keep going—because if he gives up, who else will stand against the darkness?

Q3. if caligo feeds on negativity, where does aurel's power come from?

aurel gains power from positive emotions, just as his twin thrives on negative energy. love, hope, kindness, and faith in others strengthen him, both physically and mentally, allowing him to push forward even when the odds are against him. however, unlike caligo—who passively absorbs negativity without effort—aurel must work for the positivity he receives.

people don’t naturally cling to hope; they have to be guided to it. aurel’s power only grows if people truly believe in it, meaning that when despair takes over, he weakens.

Q4. what happens if aurel absorbs too much negativity?

aurel absorbs negative energy to neutralize it, but at a cost. the more despair and suffering he takes in, the weaker he becomes, his own essence slowly crumbling under the weight of the world’s pain. if the negativity outweighs the positivity in his soul, he suffers from:

a crushing weight in his chest, as if his very SOUL is being squeezed dry.

his aura dimming, his once-bright presence flickering like a dying candle.

the twinkle in his eye—a mark of his connection to the SAVE point—fading into a cold, distant glare.

if he becomes too mentally defeated, his body follows. the more he doubts himself, the closer he comes to breaking entirely.

if it gets bad enough, his suffering can become literal. his body weakens to the point where it feels like a heart attack—his energy drained to nothing. in extreme cases, his SOUL itself is at risk of being forcefully extracted.

Q5. why does aurel and caligo’s shared soul matter?

aurel and caligo were conceived from the same buttercups infused with DETERMINATION, meaning they were born from one soul, not two. this means:

their fates are intertwined. if one dies, the other does as well.

they are mirrors of each other—what affects one will inevitably impact the other.

they cannot truly separate, no matter how much they oppose one another.

aurel has always known that their connection meant that caligo could never be truly erased. But caligo, growing impatient with aurel's unwillingness to act, believed the only solution was to take matters into their own hands. that’s why they consumed the buttercups that once gave them life—because they were willing to sacrifice themselves for what they saw as the only path to balance.

aurel, however, refuses to give up on them. no matter how far caligo falls, aurel will always reach for them. even if it kills him.

aurel's present!design, free for artist interpretation:

clothing & armor ...

aurel wears a flowing, regal tunic in shades of light green, symbolizing vitality and balance. gold embroidery trims the edges, forming intricate patterns of vines and blooming buttercup flowers.

a golden sash wraps around his waist, securing a lightweight yet durable armored chest plate, which shimmers with a soft, ethereal glow. this armor is crafted from an unknown celestial material, reinforcing his resilience while allowing fluid movement. his sleeves are long and billowy, tapering at the wrists where gold-plated vambraces protect his forearms.

aurel’s lower attire consists of fitted white trousers reinforced with subtle golden plating along the shins. his boots, elegant yet sturdy, rise just below the knee, laced with golden threads that seem to pulse faintly with his aura’s energy.

a high-collared cape flows from his shoulders, woven from a fabric so light it almost seems intangible, shifting between hues of pale gold and warm green depending on the light. it beholds the delta rune symbol in white, flowing from the back.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤvisuals.

limbs & weaponry ...

aurel possesses feather-light, pure white wings, reminiscent of UT asriel’s final form but uniquely his own. they are massive, radiating his golden aura at its most concentrated. when spread, they cast a warm luminescence, their presence alone instilling a sense of calm. each feather appears soft yet resilient, capable of shedding glowing motes of energy when he moves.

strapped to each of aurel’s thighs are dual golden pistols, engraved with medieval-style sketches of the sun and moon, representing his belief in coexistence.

vines wrap around the barrels, with buttercup flowers blooming at certain points, seamlessly intertwining with the celestial engravings.

rather than firing physical bullets, his pistols channel pure positive energy, unleashing tiny beams of radiant light that slice through darkness like shooting stars. these shots travel faster than a blink, striking souls directly. instead of causing physical damage, they send shockwaves through the target’s body, overwhelming them with a deep, reverberating force. aurel often utilizes this as a stunning mechanism, rendering opponents immobile without outright harm.

[lovelybunn]

more on dreemurrtale — feat. nightmare!caligo dreemurr !

↩

author's note: guys is this so goth or what??? i ate UP with this one and i hope ya'll like exploring my baby's character as much as i liked forming it.

Q1. who is "caligo dreemurr"?

caligo dreemurr is a chara variant who takes on the role of nightmare sans from dreamtale. instead of being born from an apple tree like in dreamtale, caligo and their counterpart, aurel dreemurr (an asriel-dream sans variant), were conceived from buttercups infused with DETERMINATION. these golden flowers were meant to maintain balance between positive and negative energy in the multiverse, just as the apple tree in OG dreamtale...

however, caligo, as one would assume, rejected that balance.

Q2. why did they become "nightmare"?

unlike OG nightmare sans, who was accidentally corrupted, caligo’s transformation was a deliberate choice. they consumed the very buttercups they were created from, fully aware that doing so would taint and destroy them. to them, positivity was a suffocating force that only masked suffering rather than eliminating it.

tied to their twin by fate, by the DETERMINATION soul they share, caligo could feel the weight of expectations, the pressure of maintaining ‘balance’—but to them, the world had never been balanced to begin with. they believed the multiverse was inherently flawed, built on cycles of cruelty and false hope. If there was no way to fix that system, then there was only one alternative: to burn it all down and start over.

Q3. what is their goal in their nightmare form?

now fully corrupted, caligo seeks to eradicate all negativity in the multiverse—but their method is extreme and merciless. to them, negativity cannot be “managed” or “balanced.” it must be completely wiped out, and if that means entire universes must be erased in the process, so be it.

despite their overwhelming power, caligo does not see themselves as a ruler or a villain. they do not revel in suffering—only in the destruction of what they see as an inherently broken system. love, mercy, and hope are weaknesses in their eyes, illusions that keep people trapped in suffering. their actions are not driven by malice, but by a cold, relentless conviction:

if a flawed world cannot be fixed, it must be erased.

caligo's nightmare!design, free for artist interpretation:

facial features ...

unlike OG nightmare sans, caligo is not fully covered in that black goop. instead, their corruption is similar to chara’s melting face in the genocide route, with black sludge oozing from their eye sockets and mouth in a disturbing, almost organic way.

they wear an almost permanent, sinister smile, frozen somewhere between amusement and malice.

the SAVE point twinkle in their eye still remains, but only appears when they flash a glare at someone—similar to how sans' eye glows when using his powers or when he’s enraged.

clothing & armor ...

their color palette is deep, muted greens and blacks, symbolizing endurance, decay, and their connection to darkness.

their royal attire is layered, armored, and asymmetrical, blending inspirations from their past life as royalty with the monstrous form they’ve become.

their cloak is long and tattered, dragging behind them like a dying shadow, moving unnaturally even when they are still.

golden accents subtly remain throughout their design—a cruel reminder of their origins. these appear as small, cracked engravings on their armor, broken embroidery on their cloak, or faint traces in their ruined crown.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤvisuals.

corruption & physical effects ...

when stressed or weakened, caligo coughs up black goo from their throat, but more disturbingly, they sometimes cough up whole buttercup flowers, as if they are sprouting from their lungs to slowly suffocate them.

the more they are exposed to positive energy, the worse these effects become, as if their body is actively rejecting what it once was.

corruption manifests around their pulse points (wrists, neck, etc.) as dark green veins that crawl up their skin, blooming into patches of buttercups that pierce through their flesh like a parasite.

limbs & weaponry ...

their fingertips are permanently stained black, as if they dipped them in a pool of ink.

their fingers end in sharp, claw-like talons, capable of slashing through flesh effortlessly.

a massive, ebony-black sword manifests from their negative energy. the blade is jagged and pulsates with unstable power, warping the air around it like a heat mirage.

of course, they still retain the "iconic" writhing tentacle-like appendages protruding from their back, just as nightmare sans does, but with a more jagged, thorned texture—like vines twisting into existence.

[lovelybunn]

! NEW UNDERTALE AU ALERT !

welcome to DREEMURRTALE, all made by me !

↪

author's note: this entire idea came to me completely on a whim, and this is far from all the lore i have, so feel free to ask questions! i'll have my asks open just in case.

general overview:

dreemurrtale is a reimagining of the dreamtale AU, where undertale asriel and chara dreemurr take on the roles of dream and nightmare. instead of being born from an apple tree, they emerge from buttercup flowers infused with DETERMINATION—symbols of both innocence and toxicity, beauty and danger.

in this universe, asriel becomes aurel dreemurr, the embodiment of hope and balance, while chara becomes caligo dreemurr, the harbinger of realism and destruction. the siblings are mirrors of one another, bound by a single DETERMINATION soul. their fates are intertwined—one cannot exist without the other.

caligo, once stoic and overshadowed, grows resentful—not just toward aurel, but toward the world's cruelty and false positivity. they choose to consume the golden flowers, fully aware of the corruption it will bring, embracing transformation as "nightmare" to cleanse the multiverse of suffering. their mission is not born from malice, but from a misguided attempt to break the cycle of pain they have witnessed.

aurel, beloved and idealized, clings to the belief that light and darkness must coexist, even as he weakens beneath the weight of his title. when caligo turns against him, he is forced to fight the very person he has always sought to protect. their conflict is not a war of good vs. evil—it is a tragic misunderstanding between two souls who only ever wanted to save each other.

their names reflect their destinies:

aurel, derived from “aurelius” (meaning “golden”), embodies warmth, radiance, and unwavering hope.

caligo, meaning “darkness” or “mist,” signifies depth, obscured truths, and the relentless pursuit of a world freed from suffering.

at the heart of dreemurrtale lies a tale of duality, sacrifice, and the fragile balance between light and shadow—where love alone may not be enough to heal what has already been broken.

passive design descriptions (for artists bc i can't draw to save my life 💔):

aurel dreemurr (guardian of positive energy & balance)

pronouns: he/they

color palette: light green, gold, soft yellow, hints of white

clothing style: regal yet gentle, flowing robes or a light tunic with gold embroidery. his outfit gives off a celestial, ethereal vibe, representing hope and purity.

eyes: warm golden or bright yellow-green, with the twinkle resembling a SAVE point star, symbolizing their connection to fate and perseverance.

fur: soft, fluffy, and slightly unkempt, resembling asriel’s natural look but slightly longer. the tips emit a faint golden glow.

accessories:

a golden circlet or laurel crown symbolizing his role as a guardian.

a flowing cape or sash that drapes elegantly, resembling soft waves of energy.

delicate golden accents, possibly in the form of embroidery, jewelry, or armor pieces.

aura & magic: emits a soft, warm glow like morning sunlight. his energy appears as gentle wisps or streams of gold and green light.

powers:

healing & strengthening: can amplify hope, courage, and determination in others.

energy purification: gradually neutralizes negative energy but at the cost of his own strength.

light manifestation: creates protective barriers, glowing weapons, or ribbons of light to assist allies.

energetic empathy: deeply attuned to the emotions of others, able to sense their struggles and feelings, though he sometimes carries this burden too heavily.

weapon manifestation: constructs weapons of golden energy, but they are more defensive in nature rather than purely for combat.

limitation: cannot manipulate or absorb negative energy—doing so weakens him significantly.

caligo dreemurr (guardian of negative energy & realism)

pronouns: they/them

color palette: soft beige skin, dark green, deep brown, muted gold, hints of black

clothing style: more structured and militant than aurel’s, with heavier fabrics. their attire is practical yet noble, representing strength and endurance.

eyes: piercing dark green or muted gold, with the twinkle resembling a SAVE point star, mirroring aurel but with a sharper, almost calculating edge.

hair: a short bob with bangs, slightly messy with strands falling over their face, adding to their serious and intense demeanor.

accessories:

a dark cloak or cape that drapes over one shoulder, resembling the weight they carry, preferably right before they transform into "nightmare".

gold or deep green armor-like elements, possibly gauntlets or shoulder guards.

a simple, dark circlet or choker, subtly symbolizing their connection to aurel.

aura & magic: shadows ripple subtly around them, but their presence is not inherently menacing—just firm and resolute. their energy appears as dark green, deep gold, or faint wisps of black when they absorb negativity.

powers:

absorption of negativity: can take in and store negative energy, making them stronger.

energetic empathy: deeply attuned to the suffering of others, though they often hide this under their stoic nature.

barrier creation: forms protective shields that harden with absorbed energy.

weapon manifestation: constructs dark, solid weapons, more significantly knives, formed from absorbed emotions. unlike aurel’s, theirs are purely offensive.

limitation: while negativity empowers them, excessive absorption can overwhelm them, making them more unstable.

[lovelybunn]

general headcanons ! –ㅤㅤfeat. ink sans

warning: mental disorders mentioned, i'm obviously not a professional so don't criticize me for what i'm saying. dark(?) topics

author's note: i'm highkey hyperfixated on undertale again and i absolutely fell in love with ink's character, so here we are.

🎨⠀ ₊ ˚ he has clinical psychopathic personality disorder, which causes him to be naturally apathetic.

🎨⠀ ₊ ˚ ink's vials that he drinks helps him stimulate and regulate his emotions, so they serve as a medication for his disorder. he has eight vials, that being red, orange, yellow, green, cyan, idigo blue, purple, and hot pink. obviously, they represent the seven SOUL traits from OG undertale (other than pink, cuz that's not a thing), but they also provide the general emotional/psychological meaning of their respective colors.

🎨⠀ ₊ ˚ ink can "overdose" on his meds, meaning if he drinks too much of a specific color vial (or multiple at one time), he could get really sick and be overwhelmed with whatever emotion that color represents. (ex, if he drank too much indigo blue paint, he might have severe nausea and go into a deep depressive episode, cuz that shade of blue is typically associated with sadness.)

🎨⠀ ₊ ˚ all eight of ink's vials are labeled according to the effects they give him when he takes them, on the bottom of each vial. but because of his sporadic personality (when he's actually on his meds normally), and because of his (canon) forgetfulness, ink, most of the time, completely disregards whatever one of his vial meds he's taking and just drinks one without actually taking into account which one it is, and if it's even appropriate for the situations he's in.

🎨⠀ ₊ ˚ ink is dissociative, due to his secret knowledge of the fact that he isn't "real", and neither is the entire undertale multiverse. this causes him to not truly connect with others around him very deeply, especially because he puts on a front of "positivity and creativity" in order to make others comfortable around him.

🎨⠀ ₊ ˚ if ink is left alone for a certain amount of time, he may spiral into a episode of existential loneliness, which may cause him to have panic attacks.

🎨⠀ ₊ ˚ bonus: ink's assigned song is "no one noticed" by the marías

[lovelybunn]

𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐄. –ㅤㅤfeat. alt gabriel & gn angel reader

synopsis: reader has been friends with archangel gabriel for centuries. it was only until the outbreak of alternates, did something in gabriel change... at first, reader did not question it, until he started asking them to do the most dreadful things.

word count: 3.1k

warning: gore, topic of suicide, manipulation, heavy religious themes, slight horror

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤprologue.

YOU WERE ECSTATIC. Gabriel was finally coming home. It's been almost two decades since the last time you saw him. At some point in the process of waiting, you assumed he was either sent to purgatory, or worse. But all of that didn't matter anymore. Your Gabriel was coming home, back to you.

You practically galloped to the entrance, your wings fluttering with anticipation. You were stopped mid-sprint and almost ran into the crowd of fellow angels welcoming your dear friend back. Gabriel may not have been the highest ranking, only being an Archangel, but he had a way with the people, both mortal and immortal alike. He was kind-hearted, selfless, and never made anyone feel excluded. You admired him. He gave you a chance, when no one else did. For all that he does for you, you would do anything for him.

You weren't the tallest for an angel, so you hopped up and let your wings float you above the soft, cloudy ground. Gabriel waved to the crowd, his wide, childlike eyes twinkled in joy. You squinted down at him in curiosity. His hair looked longer. He never liked his hair past his shoulders. You brushed away the thought. Maybe he didn't have time to cut it.

The crowds bickering and cheering gradually got louder, until a booming voice from behind startled them, everyone's heads whipping towards the sound. "Welcome back, dearest Archangel Gabriel, have the heavens blessed you in your travels. How was your mission, my child?" God announced, his vocal cords buzzing around the cathedral. We all quickly dived to our knees, our eyes glued to the floor. The space became deadly quiet. The only person who looked up was Gabriel, an innocent smile on his face.

He flipped his long locks to the side and cleared his throat. "It went very well, Father. The alternates have been eradicated, and faith has returned in the mortal world." This was the very first time you've heard Gabriel speak in years; his voice had gone deeper, almost slick, like ice. God gave two small nods of his head, "That is wonderful news, my son." God lifted his hands in the air for emphasis, all heads lifting up to their superior. "As tribute to his efforts, I may grant a celebration in this young man's honor!" Everyone raised to their feet and screamed in harmony, "Hurrah!"

ㅤ

The outbreak of alternates had started about two decades ago, and Gabriel was sent away to purify all that were affected on Earth. It wasn't as bad at the beginning, it being very easy to distinguish between alternate and normal mortals. But then, as the years went by, Lucifer had gotten creative- strategic, even. Alternates started to look more like the creatures they were imitating, and used manipulation to cause victims to end their own lives as sacrifice for the devil's so-called "cause". Trust was shattered all across the world.

No one knew who was a pawn and who wasn't, so, as mortals often do in misunderstandings, they turned on each other. You didn't want to imagine the bloodshed that Gabriel was forced to witness, it hurt your heart just thinking about it. So many innocent lives taken away at such short notice. The saddest part was, even the highest ranking angel couldn't save a mortal- bring them back to who they once were. Once one became an alternate, there was no known way to reverse it. They would forever be under Satan's control.

The thought scared you to death, but you always wondered, after the advancements of disguise, if the devil would take it a step further. Would he ever dare send one of his pawns to the holy land? Would he be filled with so much hatred and resentment that he himself would pretend to be an angel again, just to destroy all of humanity, and everything else with it? Your wings shut tightly against each other as you shivered.

ㅤ

Before the nightmare could continue, something cold slithered itself onto your shoulder. You jumped, your wings flashed out in surprise.You quickly turned on your heels. There stood your best friend, your true savior right in front of you. You pounced on him, hugging the boy with both arms and legs. Slightly startled, he wrapped his arms around your small figure. Gabriel has always been taller than you, being about six-foot-five in human terms. He always liked to hold you and give you piggy back rides, he loved seeing how happy you would get, being able to see all that he sees. He was like a big brother to you.

"Hi, (Name)! It's so wonderful to finally see you again! I missed you so much!" With your head buried into the crook of his neck, you muttered, "I thought I lost you." You breathed in deeply, taking in his scent. You couldn't pin-point what it was, but Gabriel always smelled like comfort, home. For quite some time, you felt as if you'd never feel that way again. But it didn't matter now, he was here. You were safe.

"Of course you didn't lose me, sweetie, I'll always be with you." He gave you a soft grin, his dimples poking the sides of his cheeks. A weak smile was your response, "From the darkest nights to the ends of time." You and Gabriel said in sync. In a way, those were your vows to each other. Gabriel had come up with the phrase when the two of you were very young, only a few thousand years old. There was a devastating war between the underworld and the holy land, and both of you were highly injured in battle. You remember it as if it was yesterday.

ㅤ

He laid helplessly in your arms, his body almost too heavy for you to hold on to. Part of his left wing had been ripped apart, a river of blood poured out in its place. With tears in your eyes, you screamed, begged for someone, anyone to help your dying friend. It felt as if even though pain and destruction surrounded you, only you and Gabriel were left in the entire universe. The realization hit you like a bullet to your chest. Gabriel was going to die here, and you would be the only one who witnessed, or cared, for that matter.

"I'm so sorry..." You sobbed, clinging on his heaving stomach. "Please, please don't leave me. I can't lose you, you're all I have..." With a shaky hand, Gabriel caressed your cheek and smiled with as much optimism his weak body could muster. "Don't be silly, (Name). I'll always be with you, from the darkest nights to the ends of time."

ㅤ

You slowly slid off of Gabriel, taking his hand in yours. The two of you walked towards the housing district as you exclaimed, "It looks like nothing changed for you. You're still beloved by everyone." He chuckled lightly, "That's a bit of a misconception. I bet I have a few enemies here and there." You let go of Gabriel's hand to elbow him in the side, "Don't kid yourself, how could anyone hate you? You're perfect." He snickered down at you, his eyes half lidded. "I wouldn't say I'm perfect. Everyone has their flaws, even the seraphim, the purest of all angels." You furrowed your brows in frustration. "Why can't you just take the compliment? And also, I wouldn't suggest talking about your superiors like that, you know they're all-knowing." He shrugged.

The rest of the walk to the housing sector was awkwardly silent. Usually the two of you have much to talk about, but today Gabriel seemed oddly reserved. Maybe he just needed time to settle back in, to recover from whatever horrors he may have discovered while dealing with the alternates. You and Gabriel finally made it to your humble abode, a cozy little loft at the corner of the sector, perfect for viewing the mortals below and stars above.

He sighed, plopping his body on your perfectly cushioned couch. It looked as if all tension in his muscles had melted away in an instant. You smiled warmly. "I'm glad you're making yourself at home, Gabriel. I can't imagine how exhausted you are." He didn't bother to face you as he slurred, "More than you would know." Your lips curled into frown, underwhelmed by his lack of acknowledgement of your presence.

Have you been replaced? No, that can't be. You and Gabriel have been friends since childhood, he couldn't have replaced you that fast. He wouldn't anyway, he loves you. You just settled with the conclusion that you were overthinking, and that he just needed some time alone to collect his thoughts. "Well, if you need anything, I'll be in my bedroom." You nervously stammered, a jittery giggle sneaking its way out of your vocal cords. Before you could hear a response, you quickly shuffled your feet toward your bedroom, your clammy hands glued together.

You closed your door quietly and sat down on the side of your bed. Your wings fluffed themselves out and a few stray feathers fluttered down onto your sheets as you rested your chin on your palm. You shut your eyes and took in a deep breath. There was so much you wanted to talk to him about, but you didn't want to seem nagging. Gabriel already seemed to be giving you the cold shoulder. You shrugged it off again and curled into your covers in silence. "Maybe he'll feel better by the time his party starts." You mumbled to no one at all, trying to bring some comfort in this very confusing situation.

You tried to rest, but Gabriel’s unnatural behavior had bothered you a bit more than you thought it would. It had been almost an hour since you trailed off to your room, and he hasn't even tried knocking on your door to check on you. Then, as if God himself had came down to answer your prayers, there came a damp haired, truly majestic being with a loosely fit robe tied around his waist.

Gabriel looked absolutely ethereal. You’ve always thought he was pretty, but this was next level. The shoulder of the satin robe drooped to one side, exposing his collarbones. Gabriel must have noticed your flushed expression, because he giggled and gently sat beside you. “Awe, just look at yourself, (Name)! It isn’t like it's the first time you’ve seen me like this.” He teased, a pouty look on his soft features. And you hope it wasn’t the last, you thought, eyes averted. The wall looked very interesting at this point in time.

“I’m glad you decided to freshen up.” Fiddling with your hands, you added, “What do you plan on wearing for your event tonight?” He hummed, a low rumble in his chest. “I have no clue yet. Nothing too flashy. Gold would be nice…” After swallowing down your pride, you gained the courage to face Gabriel again. This time he wasn’t looking at you, fixated on his soft, big curls that flowed down to his mid-back.

He combed his fingers through them, patiently waiting for you to interject. You pressed your lips together into a fine line, not knowing what to say. Since it was the only thing you could come up with, and the awkward silence was threatening your dignity, you queried, “Why did you decide to grow it out? Your hair, I mean.” Without moving a single muscle, Gabriel’s eyes flashed a dark look your way.

You involuntarily flinched, wings twitching with suspicion. Gabriel’s usual bright, welcoming, sapphires had seemed to dull to a depressing, almost sinister, shade of gray slate. His left eyebrow raised dramatically, the rest of Gabriel’s features hard as stone. He blinked once and the expression was gone, replaced with a goofy grin and rosy cheeks. You hesitantly rested your hand over your heart, an ache being gently lifted off your shoulders. Gabriel spoke, that same icy tone had crept its way back from his first arrival.

A hint of sweetness only masked over it, “Remember how you would say you loved when I let my hair grow freely? How you hated to see me grab a pair of scissors just to chop it all down to less than shoulder length? That’s about all there is to it. I did it out of respect for my best friend, (Full Name).” You smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of your neck, “Well, I’m glad you finally came to your senses; I think it looks wonderful on you.” Gabriel gave a small nod as a “thank you”, his large figure rising up off your mattress. “Speaking of the event, I must start getting ready, it could start at any moment.”

You squinted as Gabriel waltzed out completely unbothered, not even giving you a small wave. The door shut, the loud slam caused you to slightly jump. You took in a deep breath and your widened wings slowly wrapped around your anxious figure, comfortably warming your unusually cold skin. With a grunt, you stretched yourself out in standing position. "What was that defensive look about? All I did was ask about his hair." You audibly wondered, heading over to your bureau.

You paused and tilted your head a little, a troubled face looked back at you through the reflection. Something seemed off, but you couldn't pinpoint what it was. You leaned toward the mirror, hand stretched as if to reach out for something invisible to the eye. You squinted, observing the mirror more closely. There was nothing there that was out of the ordinary. You sighed roughly, feeling comfortable enough to finally pull back. Your paranoia had been almost instantly proven wrong.

You blinked for a millisecond, and there stood a freakishly tall and slender shadow, its black figure practically camouflaged into the darkness of your closet. It stared at you with soulless sockets, their shape unnatural and elongated, very similar to that of an old cartoon. You bit back a scream and snapped your head back towards the creature with your back faced toward the mirror. It disappeared, nowhere in sight.

Suddenly, you heard a mangled voice gurgle out some close to unintelligible phrase right against your ear. The only translatable words were "The end is near. Soon the world will crumble from his wrath." Out of impulse, you slammed your fist against the glass, pieces abruptly shattering across the floor, the loud cracks screeched in your ears. You pulled your hand back, knuckles already stained with blood. All you did was pop your fingers, a quiet hiss only subtly revealing the pain stabbing at the joints in your hand.

"All of that was delusion. I need to finish getting ready." You were getting used to telling yourself that, ever since Gabriel had returned. Although, that felt real. Almost too real. If that was what you thought it was, you could not tell anyone. Gabriel had promised he had gotten rid of all alternates, and you weren't going to completely ruin his reputation just because you're starting to see things. Gabriel was your world, and you couldn't imagine his own crumbling because of you. If keeping him safe requires hurting yourself, you've been prepared for the fall.

Your eyes widened. “This place is filled to the brim. I’ll never get inside at this rate.” You muttered, digging your teeth into your bottom lip. Because he was the ‘guest of honor’, Gabriel had already arrived before anyone could step foot into the pub. You were wearing your best, its design covered in intricate symbols, each having its own distinct meaning. Yet, it's not like it really mattered, people were too busy shoving you around to get inside to take note of your dazzling outfit. You felt a sharp pain in your head coming on. “You have got to be kidding me…”

Unfortunately, as an angel, you were not limited to the everyday pains of that which a mortal human would feel, back pains especially came naturally to you. Trying your best to ignore that intense, godforsaken migraine that pounded across your mind, you squeezed yourself through the mass of individuals, an occasional “Sorry.” “Excuse me.” “Pardon me.” under your breath.

Once you finally made it in, you closed your eyes, letting your lungs take in the pub’s strangely intoxicating smell. It was citrusy, with a hint of freshly handcrafted booze. It reminded you of humans’ casinos, except less… sinful.

A large chandelier hung above your head, its beautiful ornaments twinkled in spite of the darkness that surrounded the object. The party had just begun about five minutes ago, and the pub was already buzzing with people of various ethnic backgrounds. From the fairest skinned sharp-eyed Russian, to the buzzling group of deep dark brown Africans and their hyperactive latinx companions, diversity was no small thing at this event, or in Heaven in general. This fact alone proved your point of Gabriel being a star in the world’s eyes. You weren’t jealous, in fact, you were just as vulnerable to Gabriel’s undying charm as everyone else in this building.

Music of all kinds blared through the speakers, it's hard bass causing you to slam your palms over your ears. The sea of bodies swayed forward, toward a balcony hanging overhead. You followed suit; a beaming figure rose from the darkness of the room of the balcony. He raised his hand slowly, then, in a blink of an eye, it whipped across the air in one quick movement. The whole pub silenced themselves. The man let his hand fall to his lap gently, resting on top of the one he wasn’t using. He bowed to the crowd, most returning the gesture.

Once he had risen back to standing posture, he raised his arms up high, very similarly to God’s act this morning. As if in sync, his vast wings flashed out, a gust of wind blew across the masses. Now that he had really allowed you to look at them, the scars on Gabriel’s left wing were not there, at all. It was almost as if the injury had never happened.

Gabriel spoke, causing you to rushingly shift your focus back onto his face. It looked stern, an almost exact replica of the expression he gave you back at your loft. It sent an uncanny shiver down your spine. “It is truly an honor to be with you all on this charming evening, I thank you for your hospitality. I may have freed the mortal world from harm, but you, the people and protectors of all that is holy, are the true heroes. There is no sin without justice, as well as there is no justice without sin.” Angels from all around roared, chanting things most of which were unintelligible to you.