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A Very Sophisticated Meltdown

Felix’s book launch was in full swing, and it was the perfect picture of success. Guests swirled around the grand hall, champagne glasses clinked, and at the center of it all was Felix—radiant, social, the gracious literary star everyone wanted a piece of.

Alex, who had meticulously planned the entire event down to the last canapé, was off charming potential investors for Felix’s expanding publishing company. Everything was going beautifully.

At least until Alex realized Felix had disappeared.

He finally spotted him sulking at a small table in the far corner of the hall, practically folded into Oswald’s side. Felix’s face was mashed into Oswald’s shoulder, mumbling curses between occasional venomous glares at the crowd.

“I hate all these people. I wanna go home,” Felix grumbled, voice muffled. “I’ve been smiling for hours. My cheeks are gonna fall off. And if one more stranger tries to touch me I swear on my next book I’ll bite ‘em.”

Oswald just laughed, rubbing his back. “Stop being such a baby. You’re supposed to be the adult here, remember?”

Just then, Alex arrived, arching an unimpressed eyebrow. “Really? He’s at it again? Felix always pulls this stunt whenever there’s a party. It’s practically tradition.”

Felix slowly lifted his head, cheeks puffed out like a pouting squirrel, and gave Alex a flat, unblinking death stare—like he was daring him to keep talking.

Oswald couldn’t stop chuckling. “He’s a huge baby, what can I say?”

Felix let out an indignant huff, cheeks still puffed, then promptly buried himself back into Oswald’s shoulder, grumbling in angry little noises that made Alex sigh and roll his eyes.

But he didn’t drag Felix back—he just let him recharge in peace, because even big-shot authors sometimes needed to hide and sulk like overgrown children specially when their social battery ran out in less than five minutes.

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Perfectly Weird

Felix was pacing, ranting with starry eyes. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with Oswald. He’s perfect—his smile, his ears, his—”

Mickey smirked. “Wanna bet? Watch this.”

He tiptoed over to where Oswald was reading on the couch and suddenly dug his fingers into Oswald’s sides.

Oswald let out a shrill, squeaky laugh—so high-pitched it almost sounded like a kettle—and immediately clapped his hands over his mouth, mortified.

Felix just stood there, stunned, ears flicking. “…That was—what was that?”

Face burning, Oswald groaned, “Don’t. Say. Anything.”

Felix burst out giggling, hugging him tight. “Nope, still perfect… just perfectly weird.”

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As If It’s the First Time

Cuphead was halfway through changing, fussing with the buttons of a fresh shirt, when he suddenly felt a pair of eyes on him. His shoulders tensed, hands clutching the fabric to his chest as he spun around, ready to scold whoever was peeping.

But there, leaning against the doorframe, was only Bendy—smiling in that lazy, dreamy way that made Cuphead’s heart skip.

Cuphead let out a breath and relaxed, though a playful smirk tugged at his lips. “What’s up with those eyes, huh? You’re lookin’ at me like it’s our first night all over again.”

Bendy’s grin softened, his red eyes sparkling. “That’s ‘cause every time I see you, Cup… it kinda is like the first time. Somehow you always look even more beautiful than the last.”

Cuphead’s face lit up bright pink, a giggle spilling out before he could stop it. “Oh you sap… I’ve been standin’ here half-naked in front of ya for years! This ain’t new.”

Bendy just shrugged, stepping forward to loop his arms loosely around Cuphead’s waist. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll keep fallin’ for you, over and over. Every single time.”

Cuphead’s blush deepened. With a shy giggle, he leaned in to give Bendy a soft, fleeting kiss. “Thanks, darlin’… for always seein’ me like that.”

Then he kissed him again, just a bit longer this time, smiling into it as if he too was falling for Bendy all over again.

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A give for Cuphead

A little white cat with orange and black spots

For you cat boy 🫴

Cuphead: thanks

(He is crying for happiness on the inside)

Jackpot: I feel replaced

Pikmin: You're overreacting

Jackpot: SHUT UP

Pikmin: You're still overreacting

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They get each other... creature logic 🗣️‼️/ Se entienden… lógica de criaturas 🗣️‼️

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NEXT

PREVIOUS

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Hobby fact about Cuphead:

Cuphead loves keeping his nails perfectly manicured. It all started when he was a kid and stole his friend Chalice’s nail polish out of petty revenge—she’d ruined his favorite clothes in a role play that went wrong. But when he got curious and tried the polish on himself, he discovered he actually loved how it looked. From then on, painting his nails became a regular thing. He switches between classy French tips and bright reds, always adding a little detail on his ring fingers and thumbs—tiny hearts, dice, or gold accents. He even paints his toenails to match. Cuphead also fusses over his brother: he keeps Mugman’s nails neat and colors them a soft blue. With Bendy, Cuphead files and buffs his claws, decorating them with delicate gold lines. Boris… well, Cup tries, but Boris bites his nails to nubs, so any polish is gone in a day. Still, it doesn’t stop Cuphead from at least trying to keep his crew polished and stylish—one nail at a time.

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Mission: Make Mickey Swear

Cuphead had a theory: There was no way Mickey Mouse had never cursed in his life.

“Come on,” Cuphead insisted one lazy afternoon. “You mean to tell me that after a century of stress, yelling at Donald, cleaning after Goofy, babysitting your whole company—you’ve never once slipped?”

Mickey folded his arms tightly, face the picture of patient disappointment. “Nope. Not once. Because some of us have self-control, Cuphead.”

“Oh really?” Cuphead grinned, cracking his knuckles. “Guess we’ll see about that.”

And so began Operation: Break the Mouse.

Attempt #1: Cuphead snuck into Mickey’s kitchen at sunrise and placed a horrifyingly realistic rubber spider into his cereal box. Mickey poured a spoonful and it bobbed to the surface. He shrieked, flung the bowl in the air—and then whispered a gentle, “Oh dear…” before fainting like a Victorian maiden.

Attempt #2: Cuphead spilled boiling coffee all over Mickey’s prized white suit, the one he wore for interviews. Mickey flinched, stared down at the spreading brown stain, and sighed through clenched teeth: “It’s just a suit, right? Heh… I have extras.”

Attempt #3: Cuphead replaced Mickey’s shampoo with glow-in-the-dark green dye. Mickey walked out of the bathroom looking like a radioactive lime. Oswald screamed.

Mickey stared into the mirror and calmly muttered, “At least it’s festive…”

Attempt #4: Cuphead jumped out from a closet wearing the most terrifying mask he could conjure. Mickey screamed, stumbled back, tripped over Pluto, and landed in a laundry basket. When he emerged? “Gosh, what a fright, huh?” He smiled.

Attempt #5: Cuphead rigged Mickey’s front lawn with dozens of hidden balloon poppers and glitter bombs. When Mickey stepped outside, it was like a party store exploded.

Mickey blinked through the confetti and gasped, “Wow! A surprise celebration? You shouldn’t have!”

Cuphead was pulling out his hair by this point. “What does it TAKE to make you swear?!”

That’s when Cuphead had the brilliant idea. He’d go big. No more pranks. No more party tricks. If Mickey wouldn’t curse out of fear or pain—he’d do it out of heartbreak.

Using his magic, Cuphead conjured the most vivid illusion he could muster: the complete destruction of Mickey’s beloved circus.

It began with smoke.

Mickey had just stepped outside for a walk when he saw it—black clouds billowing into the sky from the direction of the circus grounds.

“W-what?” he mumbled, heart racing. He broke into a sprint.

He arrived to a scene from a nightmare: the big top collapsed in flames, tents torn to shreds, animal wagons overturned, posters charred and flapping in the wind. The carousel lay splintered, and even the giant red entrance sign had collapsed to the ground, snapped in two.

Mickey fell to his knees in shock.

“No… No no no…!” he gasped, tears springing to his eyes. “Not the circus…”

He looked around wildly, calling out for names—“Clarabelle? Donald? Daisy? Minnie? Pluto!?”—but no voices returned, only the crackling of fire and distant creaks of falling timber.

“CUPHEAD!! WHAT HAPPENED?! WHAT DID YOU DO!?” Mickey screamed. His ears drooped, his eyes wide and wet. “How could you—? How could you DESTROY THE ONE THING I LOVED THE MOST?!”

Cuphead, watching from behind a tree with a smug grin… froze.

He hadn’t expected this. Not the tears. Not the trembling hands. Not the sheer devastation etched across Mickey’s face.

“Oh—oh no no no!” he yelled, sprinting forward. “Mickey! Stop! It’s not real! It’s just an illusion! I didn’t actually—Mick, breathe!”

Mickey turned, eyes filled with confusion and grief. “What…?”

With a wave of his hand, Cuphead dispelled the illusion. The sky cleared. The circus stood intact, bright and joyful as ever. Colorful flags flapped peacefully in the breeze. The scent of popcorn drifted in the air. Music from the carousel played cheerily.

Mickey slowly turned from the untouched grounds back to Cuphead, completely silent.

Then—deadpan, eyes glassy, nose red from crying—he took a deep breath… and muttered, “...Fuck you.”

A sharp silence cut the air.

Donald, nearby, dropped his sandwich. Oswald gasped so hard he choked on air. Goofy fainted backward. The circus band stopped playing mid-tune.

Cuphead’s jaw hit the floor. “You—you actually said it. You cursed!”

Mickey didn’t even blink. “I mourned the fake death of my entire circus, Cuphead. You broke my soul. I deserve that word today.”

Cuphead rubbed the back of his neck, laughing awkwardly. “Yeeeaaah… maybe I went a little too far.”

Mickey sniffled, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his jacket. Then, deadpan: “Try that again, and I’ll curse you and your descendants.”

Cuphead saluted. “Understood.”

And from that day forward, nobody dared question Mickey’s innocence again. Because everyone knew: Even the purest mouse has his limits.

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!♡♥

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Hobby fact about Mugman:

Mugman absolutely loves crochet. It started as a way to calm his restless, tangled emotions—he’s always been too sensitive for his own good, so working with yarn became a gentle kind of therapy. Ever since he was a kid playing with (and often making) his own voodoo dolls, his hands have been skilled at weaving tiny stitches. Now, he crochets everything from plush toys for Cuphead (who proudly keeps them on his shelf), to a bright orange scarf for Boris so they could both be “scarf buddies”—and also to stop Boris from constantly stealing his scarf. He’s even completed a massive patchwork blanket that could cover three people. Whenever Mugman is bored or feels his emotions start to spiral, he simply picks up his hook and yarn, quietly working away on a new cozy project.

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New series of facts

Hobby facts

Idea made by @khal-jew217

[ruru195]

A Taste of Adventure

Felix bustled around the kitchen with the excitement of a kid showing off a new toy. He had spent the afternoon recreating a dish he’d discovered on one of his wilder adventures—something that promised layers of flavor and texture, though, admittedly, not much in the way of looks.

By the time he placed it proudly on the dining table, it was a questionable heap of colors and lumps, steaming with unfamiliar spices. Felix’s eyes sparkled. “Ta-da! A special recipe from my travels! Trust me, it tastes way better than it looks.”

Oswald, a notorious picky eater, leaned forward, ears drooping the second he actually looked at the plate. He poked the wobbling mound with his fork, nose scrunched in utter horror.

Felix shot him a playful glare.

Remembering the kids watching eagerly from across the table, Oswald drew in a heroic breath, stabbed a piece, and shoved it into his mouth.

“MMMM!” Oswald squeaked, voice cracking under the strain of forced enthusiasm. “So… so… interesting!”

Felix arched an eyebrow, smirking as Oswald’s eyes watered. The kids squealed in delight and dug in with happy giggles.

Leaning close, Felix whispered right in Oswald’s ear, “You’re a terrible liar.”

Oswald’s smile twitched. “Just trying… not to puke… in front of the kids…” he choked out, clutching his stomach.

Felix laughed, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. “That’s why I love you, you absolute fraud.”

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Ticklish Spots

After their shower, Felix stretched out lazily across the couch, head resting snug in Oswald’s lap, fur still damp and fluffy. Oswald hummed contentedly as he carefully cleaned Felix’s ears with a soft towel, taking extra care around the delicate edges.

Whenever Oswald brushed the very tip of Felix’s ear, Felix let out a tiny, involuntary giggle, paws twitching like he wanted to hide his face.

But when Oswald gently rubbed the base of Felix’s ear, Felix practically melted, eyes fluttering shut with a dreamy little sigh.

And if Oswald happened to scratch just behind it—well, Felix gave a soft, breathy gasp, toes curling as his tail swished wildly.

Oswald grinned, utterly delighted. “You’ve got a whole map of reactions, don’t ya?” he teased.

Felix peeked up at him, face flushed. “Shut up and keep going…”

Chuckling, Oswald leaned down to kiss his forehead, happily obliging as he continued exploring every sweet spot that made Felix squirm.

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DID BLACKHAT DO ANYTHING ABOUT CUPHEAD SLAMMING HIS FACE INTO THE SINK???!!!,! DID HE EVEN KNOW!!???????

Well here it goes:

ーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーー

The workshop was heavy with tension. Elder Kettle sat close, hands folded tight over his cane, concern etched into every wrinkle. Mugman hovered by Cuphead’s side, eyes wide and rimmed with red from crying, clutching his brother’s shoulder like he was afraid he’d shatter all over again. Cuphead sat on the table, bandages still wrapped around the delicate lines of his porcelain face where Flug had painstakingly repaired him.

“You can’t keep doing this, boy,” Elder Kettle’s voice trembled. “You nearly lost yourself last time.”

“And for what?” Mugman added, voice cracking. “Because you see her when you look in the mirror? It’s not fair to us, Cup. Or to you.”

Cuphead just glared at the floor, jaw set tight. His foot tapped anxiously, and every muscle in him was taut, like a spring ready to snap. “I’m fine,” he muttered. “It’s my face. My problem. Not yours.”

That stubborn pride was what made him Cuphead. But it was also what was tearing him apart.

From the corner, where he’d been silently looming like a dark specter, Black Hat’s eye twitched. His long clawed fingers curled tighter around his cane. He’d let them handle it, thinking it was just childish dramatics, but seeing Cuphead so broken — seeing his son so broken — finally cracked the villain’s icy composure.

In a flash of rage, his voice sliced through the room like a whip.

“ENOUGH.”

Everyone jumped. Even Cuphead flinched. Black Hat stalked forward, his tall form casting a sinister shadow over Cuphead as his teeth bared in a snarl.

“You want to destroy yourself over her? Over a wretched woman who didn’t have the spine to stay with her family? Then you’re more foolish than I thought!” His voice dropped to a low, dangerous growl. “But listen here, boy: you are still my son. Whether you like it or not, that makes you mine to protect. And believe me, I care — far more than I ever wanted to.”

The words left a stunned silence. Even Black Hat looked disgusted that he’d had to say them, his face twisting like he’d bitten into something rotten.

Cuphead stared up at him, eyes huge, tears brimming until they spilled over. He tried to speak — tried to make some cocky retort to keep his guard up — but it came out a strangled sob. His shoulders shook.

With a deep, reluctant sigh, Black Hat reached out and pulled Cuphead against him in a stiff, awkward hug. His gloved hand rested heavy on the back of Cuphead’s head, claws careful against the fragile porcelain. It was nothing like the warm hugs Elder Kettle or Mugman gave, but it was real. It was Black Hat real — pride swallowing, terrifying, and still protective.

“I hate every word I just said,” Black Hat hissed low so only Cuphead could hear. “But don’t you ever make me say them again by doing something this idiotic.”

Cuphead clung to him then, sobbing into the lapels of Black Hat’s immaculate coat, feeling for the first time in so long like a son being shielded by someone bigger and crueler than his demons.

Behind them, Elder Kettle dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief. Mugman sniffled and managed a watery smile. Even Flug peered in from the hall, blinking in astonishment at the villain hugging his cracked, reckless boy.

Sometimes even the greatest monsters had to love — because family was the one thing none of them could escape.

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Angst fact about Mugman:

Mugman has always been too emotional for his own liking. As a child, he’d tear up at the smallest things — a scraped knee, a sad story, even laughter that got too bright. After what happened with their mother, he went completely silent, terrified that if he so much as opened his mouth, all his pain would come spilling out in sobs he couldn’t stop. In those days, a single word was enough to break him, and he’d end up crying quietly, whispering only "I want to go home."

With time, that silence calcified into habit, then into personality. Now, most people just think Mugman is the quiet type — reserved, careful with words. Only a very few ever learn that beneath that calm exterior is someone who still fears that if he truly spoke his heart, he might never stop crying.

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Boris’ Brilliant Experiment

The camera beeped on, catching Boris proudly standing in the kitchen—though he looked like he’d raided half the house. Draped over his shoulders was Cuphead’s coat, which was much too long for him, while Bendy’s smudged goggles were perched crookedly on his head, slipping dangerously low over his eyes. On his hands were mechanic’s gloves he could barely flex his fingers in.

“Heya folks!” Boris beamed into the camera. “Today we’re gonna conduct a very important scientific investigation.” He puffed up his chest, trying to look scholarly. “Now, none of this is mine. This here’s Cuphead’s coat, Bendy’s goggles—which smell a little like burnt oil—and these gloves are from… somewhere in Bendy’s workshop. I’m really hopin’ Cup doesn’t kill me for usin’ his fancy coat.”

Boris leaned closer, voice dropping to a secretive, eager whisper. “So here’s what’s got me curious. The other day, I was sittin’ with Bendy—y’know, chattin’ about nothin’—when he suddenly starts goin’ on about how Cuphead’s skin is real soft. Like, actual skin soft.”

Boris spread his hands wide, eyebrows shooting up. “That’s weird, right? ‘Cause they’re porcelain people. They’re hollow, like fancy cups. They’re supposed to be smooth and hard. But Bendy swears up and down that his boyfriend’s skin feels all gentle and squishy, and I just—” Boris did a little spin, throwing his hands up. “—I gotta know how that works! I mean, is it magic? Is it because they’re living? Is it some weird side effect from all that soul energy they got swirling around inside? I’m gonna find out.”

The camera wobbled as Boris picked it up and tiptoed into the living room, where Mugman was snoring blissfully, completely dead to the world.

“Perfect test subject,” Boris whispered like a cartoon villain. “Now, let’s see if Mugman’s skin is like Cup’s.”

He started with a single, tentative poke to Mugman’s cheek. It gave way, soft and plush under his finger, exactly like real skin. Boris’s mouth fell open.

“Oh WOW… look at that!” he whispered excitedly to the camera. “It’s all soft when I’m gentle… but—”

He pressed a little harder. Suddenly, the cheek was firm, unyielding as smooth ceramic. Boris’s eyes went wide, sparkling with discovery. “It’s like… it adjusts. When you’re soft, it’s soft. When you push, it’s like pokin’ a teapot!”

Boris paused, grin growing far too mischievous. “For the sake of complete scientific accuracy, we gotta see just how hard this can get.”

He drew back his fist, gave the camera a confident thumbs up—then slammed it into Mugman’s stomach with everything he had.

There was a horrible CRUNCH that did not come from Mugman. Boris’s eyes went wide before he fell to the ground, clutching his now totally mangled hand.

“AAAAAAAAAAGH MY HAND! MY BONES! THEY’RE ALL GONE!” Boris wailed, rolling back and forth on the carpet in absolute agony.

Mugman bolted upright, blinking sleepily down at him. “Huh? Boris? Why’re ya rollin’ on the ground screamin’? And—wait, is that Cuphead’s coat?!”

“IT WAS FOR SCIENCE!” Boris sobbed, tears leaking out the corners of his eyes.

The camera, now tilted sideways on the floor, caught it all: Boris writhing in self-inflicted misery, Mugman scratching his head in confused alarm, and Cuphead’s voice faintly shrieking from the hallway, “BORIS, IF THAT’S MY COAT I SWEAR—!”

Truly, the pursuit of knowledge came at a painful (and very loud) cost.

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Angst fact about Felix:

Felix is terrified of being forgotten — not by the world, but by the people he loves. He spends so much time away on expeditions, lost in ancient ruins and chasing history, that a cruel part of his mind whispers that one day he’ll come home and they won’t remember how it feels to love him. It’s why he documents everything so obsessively, leaving little notes, sketches, and stories behind — small proofs that he was here, that he mattered, just in case his voice one day fades from the hearts of those he cherishes most.

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Does Cuphead know he’s the favorite child and use it against anyone?

Cuphead does know that hi is the favorite and he use that a lot actually to win arguments and do decision against Mugman.

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Does Cuphead have any eldritch horror esc abilities from Blackhat?

Actually Cuphead and Mugman do have magic beyond the finger guns.

The magic of Cuphead and Mugman is rooted in two distinct sources. First is the natural magic possessed by all porcelain folk—a power born directly from their souls. Since their bodies are hollow, their very essence resides purely as soul energy, which radiates outward as magic. This magic can vary in color and form depending on how much they concentrate it, often swirling visibly around them in flashes of light or sparks when summoned. But beyond this innate gift, the brothers hold a second, far darker kind of power, one carefully cultivated under the guidance of their father, Black Hat. Each brother’s dark magic is uniquely attuned to his own nature: Mugman wields a sinister force tied to death and curses, allowing him to commune with spirits, seize the souls of the deceased, and command them in battle—his affinity for voodoo and potions only deepens this eerie bond. In contrast, Cuphead’s dark magic is a savage curse magic that feeds on blood ritaul and sacrifices and his own seething emotions, especially rage. It thrives on chaos, enabling him to warp reality itself—twisting illusions, manipulating matter, and even bending minds to his will. Both brothers studied grim tomes and forbidden rites under Black Hat’s watchful eye, but their grasp of this dark art remains incomplete. Because of this, they rely chiefly on the soul magic innate to all porcelain beings during fights, reserving their more fearsome inherited powers for only the most desperate moments, when the stakes demand horrors that few dare to imagine.