Goopy “babyface” le grande, is a local darling on the isle 1, less than half of the farmfolks knows he is a nightly boxer champ at the ferry and only like a ¼ know of his very legitimate gravedigger before dawn job
he and cagney are kind of childhood friends, was he the one that got gooppy that exotic gravedigger job??? GEE WHO KNOWS!
Okay, I have D&D these next couple of days, but with Valentines Day coming up I’m gonna try my best to get some things cranked out for you lovely folks! I got a couple of requests on backlog, so I better get on those.
you mentioned a while back that you were gonna do a cuphead dnd campaign - how's that going?
Oh, jeez, hello! This ask actually reminded me that I had this blog whoops.
But it went well! It was a short little two-shot thing, so we didn’t do anything super over the top with it. We had to clear some ghosts out of the carnival. I played as Werner, and in the party we had Mugman, Cagney, and my datemate’s take on the Announcer! It was a ton of fun, maybe I’ll post some of the notable moments from it to get back into the swing of things.
I figured out some last names for some of cuphead bosses (mostly for the casino crew). Walter Decanter, Ronald (Ron) Bacardi, Martha (Marnie) Vesper, Mangosteen Cueman. Turns out vesper is Latin for evening and an for drink.
Oooh! I like ‘em! You’re giving love to the Tipsy Troupe like they deserve.
Though, for Mango... I like that last name, but I’ve been considering giving him the first name Maurice, and Mangosteen is just a nickname. Still a little iffy on it, though. I’ll keep you posted.
A belated Merry Christmas and an on-time Happy New Year to all of you! I had two requests in my inbox for Cagney, so I smushed them together to get this big thing. Hope you enjoy!
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Christmas came and went, filled with laughs and snow and cheers. The presents were good, the food was even better, and the time you spent with your friends was the best of all. Still, good things had to come to an end, and with New Year’s just around the corner, you had to kick your butt into gear and finally put away all the decorations you still had up. Because you didn’t want to do it on your own, you called up one of your friends for a bit of help.
Though, you realized that Cagney wasn’t being much of a help at all.
Even as you were bustling around, wrapping up ornaments in tissues and lugging boxes here and there, he’d pretty much spent the entire afternoon slumped in front of the window. He kept his pointed nose pressed against the glass, his breath obscuring the sight of the snow and barren trees in little puffs of fog.
“Why does Winter have to stick around so long?” Cagney grumbled, lifting a hand and tapping a finger against the window. “Does anybody even like it? All the plants die, it’s freezing cold, snow gets everywhere…”
You couldn’t argue with those points, but you still piped up with, “It gives you an excuse to stay inside, you get to wear sweaters all the time, and the holidays are nice.”
Cagney grumbled at your arguments, crossing his arms over his chest. It was more than obvious that he hated being cooped up. His garden was going to be a patch of snow-covered dirt until next Spring, and he hated it.
“Cags, come on,” you urged, stepping up and nudging at his shoulder with the corner of the box of tinsel you were carrying. “I invited you over to help me pack things up. I didn’t tell you to come over and complain.”
“Oh, is that what you asked me over for?” he asked in that almost too sugary-sweet tone of his, turning around and giving you that innocent look he damn-near perfected.
You weren’t having any of it. You bumped the edge of the box against his dumb face again and that made him break the act, sending you an annoyed look that was bordering on a pout. “Yes, it is,” you said firmly. “Now, come on, I need help taking down some decorations.” To emphasize your point, you nodded towards the tree. You managed to take down most of everything, but there were still a couple of ornaments and the star on top that you couldn’t quite reach.
“Oh, you only wanted me to help because I’m tall,” Cagney sighed, but he started to get up anyway. He probably did it just to prove his point, because he was definitely taller than you by at least a head and a half.
“I mean, that’s part of it,” you said with a laugh.
Cagney rolled his eyes in response, and with just a couple long strides, he was next to the tree. Stretching his arms over his head, he started hooking a couple of ornaments over the fingers of one hand so he didn’t have to keep reaching up for them, while the other grabbed at the base of the star on top. As he did, his sweater rose up on his torso, exposing just a little bit of skin of his belly where his pants ended.
It took every ounce of willpower to keep yourself from reaching out and poking his middle. The only thing keeping you from doing it was the box still in your hands.
“No wonder you’re so cold,” you pointed out. “You’re not even wearing any extra layers.”
“Look, long johns suck,” he answered immediately, not even bothering to look down at you.
You laughed at that, putting the box in your hands down on the nearby coffee table. “I’m gonna make some hot cocoa,” you said. “Make sure you wrap everything up before you put it away.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Cagney mumbled before you ducked your way into the kitchen.
Thankfully, you didn’t hear any sort of crashing of shattering as you got out your kettle and put it on the stove with plenty of water. Cagney didn’t say specifically that he wanted anything, but you might as well have enough for him anyway.
However, soon after you got the tin of cocoa powder out from the pantry, you did hear some soft clinking noises and the sound of footsteps coming your way. You immediately thought the worst, so you put the tin on the countertop and started making your way out of the kitchen.
Before you could get out, you were blocked in the archway by Cagney’s spindly frame, and he blinked down at you before gesturing over his shoulder. “You ran out of tissue out there.”
You looked up at him to give him an answer, but your mouth hung open before you could give a verbal response. Just hanging above his head on the archway was a little sprig of mistletoe you forgot to take down after Christmas.
Trying not to seem too obvious about it, you lifted your hand to cover your mouth as you cleared your throat. “Yeah, um… I’ll get some more, sorry.”
He raised a brow at you before glancing up himself. There was a moment of pause before that near devilish grin spread across his face and he leaned a little closer to you. “Did you mean to leave that up just for me?” he asked.
You gaped like a fish for a few moments. Oh, jeez. You didn’t expect this to turn this way. Still, you tried to play it off with a laugh, even as your cheeks turned rosy. “It’s not even Christmas any more, Cags.”
“So?” he asked, wrapping one of his arms around you, his large hand resting on the small of your back. “I mean, we don’t have to, but it is tradition and all…” he said, averting his gaze with a roll of his eyes.
Your heart was racing in your chest, and you fidgeted a little. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it before, but… “Well… It wouldn’t hurt, would it?” you said bashfully.
With that permission given to him, he leaned down, and you unconsciously got up onto his toes to help meet him. You almost expected him to be forceful about it, drop you into a dip, or something along those lines. But when you met his lips, he was gentle. It was almost as if he was just as nervous as you.
His lips were thin, warm, and maybe a little chapped. But he took his time, his thumb idly rubbing back and forth where it was still held against your spine. You ended up reaching your hands forward, grabbing gently at the sweater he was wearing, right where his suspenders would be if he was wearing his usual outfit.
There was a moment of quiet when you two pulled away, and you could see a faint flush on his cheeks as well. That moment of silence was broken when he started to grin a big, dopey grin, and you laughed in response to it.
“Can you take that down for me?” you asked, pointing to the mistletoe above your heads.
“Sure, sure,” he said with a sigh, reaching up and plucking it from where it was pinned in the drywall. Then, he looked down at you. “So, does that mean I won’t be getting any more of those?” he asked.
You hummed in response, rocking on your feet a little. “Finish putting away those things I told you to do and we’ll see,” you said teasingly.
“Oh, come on--!” he started to protest, but you made him cut off when you hopped up to peck a smooch onto his cheek before going off to tend to the whistling kettle on the stove. Cagney stood there for a few more moments before retreating into the living room again.
Oh, right. You never got him that extra tissue, did you?
2087
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