Vile Mugman - Tumblr Posts

One Raised by One, The Other Raised By Another

Just a simple what-if fic.

What would happen if only one of the brothers was raised by Elder Kettle, and the other one was raised by the Devil?

A LOT of trauma, death, and horrible, heartbreaking angst; that's for sure.

-----------------------------------------------------------

I do advise against reading this if you're attached to ANY of these characters or are very sensitive

-------------------------------------------------------

Fire.

That's what Mugman knew his whole life. Nothing but hellfire and screams. He was used to it now. 

This was what his whole life was filled with. Just the demonic energy as it swirled around him every day, and the wails and screams from sinners being tortured as he strolled down the isles of Inkwell Hell. Sometimes that strong, painful energy was used to reprimand him when he didn't do something right or when he failed in his duties, sometimes those screams were his, ignored by those who heard them, some being too busy in their agony to care about his, and others, imps, were used to the sickening sound.

Multiple scars and wounds covered his body covered by his clothes from his lessons. It didn't hurt him, not anymore. He was used to it, been used to it for a long time now. He understood why he was punished. He wasn't doing something right, he failed in his job, he spoke when he wasn't spoken to, he wasn't fast enough, wasn't good enough. He didn't see it as something bad, just something necessary.

He stopped fighting back.

He took his reprimands silently, acceptingly.

Unfortunately even that wasn't good enough for the boss, who lived off of suffering and agony. The tyrant subjected him to more mental punishments when he didn't scream or whimper from physical wounds.

He did much better after that adjustment. He couldn't hold his mental wounds, couldn't feel them because they weren't physical, couldn't rub them with ointment and cover them up with bandages.

They were permanent .

And he hated them.

Hated how they kept him up at night, making dark circles form under his eyes, showing off his fatigue for those who even cared enough to see. Hated how he'd stop breathing at some random point and panic for no reason at all. Hated how he feared his own emotions, so much that he separated himself from them as much as he could.

They were nothing but promises of more pain and agony.

His expressions and voice were now dull, monotone for those around him. For those who even bothered to give him their time, not for simple chatter, but to point and whisper, to tease and laugh and mock at. After all, how odd it was to be a place full of imps and demons, and then have only one out-of-place cup living and working among them.

He hated his co-workers. He didn't have any friends, but he felt he didn't have the time for any anyway.

There was one who was nice to him, a small plump imp called 'Henchman'. Their chats never lasted for long though. And when the Mug was horribly and brutally tortured, the imp never stepped in once but gave him bandages and ointment creams with a happy smile, devoid of any empathy. His kindness and the topic of sympathy were never the same.

It wouldn't have mattered anyway though.

Any bond the mug had with anyone never lasted long. If he bonded with the prisoners, his mind would be plagued with their glares of hatred and betrayal when their time came to be tortured, or when he would torture them himself. He never bonded with the imps, they all thought he was strange and ugly, with the handle on the back of his head, or the fact that he was made out of fragile glass.

He couldn't blame them, he thought he was odd and ugly too.

He never saw any reason not to think so. He was a one-of-a-kind. Not in personality but in what he was.

A mug.

A mug who was devoid of any hope or happiness. A mug who was simply a child in horribly wrong hands. A mug who yearned for any kind of warmth or kindness. A mug who wanted, who craved any kind of care or love. A mug who was so broken that no amount of therapy could help him recover from his mental scars, which run so deep.

He was a mug who was nothing more than a person who needed help and wanted it badly, never thought he deserved it, keeping his mouth shut.

He needed an emotion other than dullness, border, or heart-pounding terror. He couldn't remember any time he truly ever smiled.

He needed a break.

So when a certain man with a die for a head went down to fetch him, and rather rudely I may add, all he found was nothing more than an empty room, the mug long gone.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Warmth and joy.

Mugman learned those two things in a certain, but oh-so-special moment in his life. He met someone, someone energetic, someone brash, someone adventurous, but also kind and warm. 

He found his first-ever friend.

He was a cup creature like him, only having red on his nose and clothes and straw. His eyes were big and cocky, but also held a sense of friendliness in their gaze. His voice was loud and scratchy, spewing out whatever nonsense he felt like spilling.

His name was 'Cuphead', and Mugman found joy.

When they first met, he seemed odd to the other cup coming out of the bushes. But strangely, the child seemed to have taken a liking to him in a matter of seconds. He introduced himself and prompted Mugman to do the same. They shook hands, Mugman's handshake being tense and nervous, his hands ice cold to the touch, the cup's being confident and carefree, his hands warm.

Mugman felt warmth for the first time.

They went on adventures together, whenever Mugman would sneak out of Hell. The first time he got caught, he was reprimanded once more, but this didn't deter him.

He finally found someone who liked him, who didn't greet him with a glare or a look of disgust, but a joyful smile and a happy wave.

Mugman felt care.

When he visited Cuphead more and more, they became even closer. Almost like brothers. He eased up around the child and began to unwind. It felt more than nice. He wasn't reprimanded for having opinions, for showing what he felt.

He was called a lovely name: 'Mugsy'. Said with affection and care.

Mugman could almost sob with joy.

Then they met another, and Mugman was filled with euphoria at the implications of having two whole friends, who accepted him and truly liked him.

Mugman finally felt what it's like to be loved for the first time in his life.

He wished and prayed that it wasn't taken away from him. Prayed that the world was finally giving him mercy.

But nothing lasts forever.

He soon learned that the cup was very impulsive, an easy target for scammers or other people who could harm him. The other friend he had, Ms. Chalice, was a con artist, but he didn't have to worry about her harming them.

Mugman felt protectiveness. He wasn't going to let anything hurt his friend or his brother.

He wished he didn't let them see the horrible thing.

The dreadful casino.

--------------------------------------------------------

How did this go so wrong?

How...?

Why, why, why, why...?

It all happened when the cup foolishly believed his boss's promise of riches. They were tricked, he was going to kill him. 

Until the fiend proposed a different idea. Collect all of his runaway debtors and he might spare them. Mugman saw through the lie immediately, but given that hope spot, the cup and chalice agreed desperately. Mugman didn't say anything. As they were rudely kicked out, Mugman practically felt his boss's stare on his back, a stare tainted with nothing but mischief and sadism.

He didn't know why his boss didn't share his secret with the very two he kept it from. Unease spreading throughout his body, he was dragged along by the other two.

It took two days to get the task done, having received potions from the cup's elderly caretaker.

When they defeated the foolish King Dice, they approached the devil without fear. When they refused to hand the contracts over, the devil, that bastard, did something Mugman would never forgive him for.

He revealed everything that Mugman kept hidden.

When they heard about this, shock and disbelief formed on the other children's faces. They at first vehemently denied it, refusing to believe Mugman would be capable of even considering joining the awful dark side. But Mugman confirmed it all.

It was silent.

Then they asked why, heartbreak and betrayal in their gazes, but the mug didn't have an answer. He simply looked down at his shoes.

But the next thing they did surprised him. They accepted the truth. They accepted everything that Mugman kept from them. Said that he was their friend. Said he was their brother.

Mugman felt the sting of tears.

The boss said nothing, frustration was written all over his face. But then something seemed to chime in the being's head because a malicious and devilish smile overtook his features. He simply pointed his trident at Mugman and fired before any of them could stop it.

All Mugman felt was unbearable pain, nothing but agony. He heard the other two call out his name in worry, felt gentle hands on his back, and heard the deity's horrible laughter.

The next thing he knew, he tore through clothes.

He tore through glass and skin.

He heard their pained cries, and felt their hands against his mouth, begging him to stop. To try and remember.

But there wasn't anything Mugman could do but sob, tears dripping down his face, sizzling out on the hot stone floor. He was nothing but a puppet under the Devil's control.

He begged and pleaded and prayed for any chance of gaining control. Of stopping this. But nothing.

The chalice was the first to go. Her face was disfigured along with the rest of her body. Her skull shattered.

Then was the cup, his last cry forever haunting the mug's mind:

"Mugsy no!"

His chest was torn open, his face was littered with cracks, the last of life draining away, and tears streamed down his face. Even in his dying state, the cup's eyes still bore into Mugman, this time being nothing more than hollow empty nothingness, the kindness and warmth forever gone from the world.

When he was done, Mugman could do nothing.

He couldn't even sob anymore. He ran out of tears for once.

All he did was stare in silent disbelief.

The Devil simply laughed and laughed and laughed . He mocked the mug, threatened him, and taunted him about all he had lost.

What the deity didn't expect was the mug suddenly snapping and rabidly tearing into him like a deranged animal. His pitchfork kicked away, and he was too shocked and powerless to do anything else.

This time, the only screams and pleas for mercy, were from the very person who lived off it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mugman felt grief and despair.

The first people to show kindness and warmth to him were now gone. The only things that mattered to him were far away, all the way up there. In the place upstairs.

Where they belong.

They might have been reckless and greedy at times, but that wasn't their main defining trait. Wasn't his main defining trait. 

Brash, stubborn, clever, reckless, cheerful, adventurous, hopeful, relentlessly optimistic, friendly, warm: he wished he could witness those again. Wished he could roll his eyes or scold the cup when he did something stupid again, wish he could tap dance along with Ms. Chalice once more, wish he could feel their loving embrace in a group hug.

Wished he could hear that special, affectionate word once more.

But it was too late. They were gone. He had nobody to cry to. No arms to hold him in a warm embrace.

He was as alone as he began.

Mugman felt rage.

Towards the person, he had locked up tight. The person he went down to give his dose of sadism to. The sadism, he never truly felt satisfied with. He lost all his happiness, now he was simply drained.

Mugman felt hatred.

He blamed himself for it all. If he had done nothing if he had simply continued to watch the world from outside. If he had simply continued to not be a part of the world, things would have turned out so much differently. They would have been alive and happy.

So for their sake, he continued to live. For them. He did the things they wanted to do. Watch the new Dirk Dangerous movie at the theatre, go on as many rides as possible at several amusement parks, eat a stomach-aching pile of sweets, explored Inkwell Isles, and so much more. Such simple, mundane things.

Such special cherishes.

It was oh-so-achingly beautiful.

The Devil's minions feared and hated him, but he didn't care. Couldn't care less. This wasn't for their sake anyways. They weren't as obedient when he first ruled, but when he snuffed out a traitor, that stupid dice, in vile and awful ways, they started to conform to him.

He could practically smell their fear. And he both gagged and relished at the implications it brought.

He kept a distant and aloof demeanor toward his minions. Made sure not to falter or reveal his true feelings of nothingness and emotion-numbing pain.

So when they would hear him sobbing himself to sleep every night, every night, they did their best not to acknowledge or speak about it. It was best for their safety.

When they saw him hitting himself on the head out of frustration and anger, with enough force to form cracks and bruises, they minded their own business. When they heard him mourn over the two children's graves, they turned their gaze.

They didn't see a powerful and respectful leader, they merely saw a broken, emotionally unstable, psychologically exhausted, and mentally fragile child who looked ready to snap at any given time. They did their best not to push him to that point. But they lost sight of whether it was out of pity or fear.

But if they hated it, they couldn't do anything to help themselves, they were only minions after all.

So they did nothing and accepted the new Devil. The new ruler of all hell, broken and already defeated.

----------------------------------------

I am not sorry >:)

Muahahahahahahhaha!!!

Ask Vile & Evil!

Ask Vile & Evil is a new ask blog I would like to create! I’m not the BEST artist out there so this will be kinda trash. Also if the pictures are kinda blurry don’t ask I don’t know why they’re like that-

You are free to ask them questions since this is an ask blog. You can also ask questions to other characters but this is mainly about these two!

Not a whole lot about it yet lol, sorry.

For Vile and Evil: how do you guys get along with the Devil and K. Dice?

Are they the same cocky bastards, or maybe they act different towards you two?

They don’t seem to like each other. .

(Guys I’m sorry the words don’t make sense, but you know what I mean 😪)

And so, for the Devil: is it true that you treat Evil better then Vile?

(I lost my notebook, sorry)

It is true the Devil does treat Evil better, but only by a little bit. He lies and says he doesn’t but he really does prefer him over his brother. Nobody knows why, not even the brothers. But Cuphead doesn’t care, as long as he’s favored over his brother, whom he hates, he’s fine with it

Some more drop on the bros I guess until I get motivation to draw more of The Little Devil

I'm bout to try and color this wish me luck 🫡 (also vile design)

Some practice animation, since it’s been a while.

Reblogs > Likes

Just a little comic dub I threw together!

@partyintheunderworld 🎨

Cuphead: @/FallenOne2505

Mugman: @/Daniexists6

(Also both in Twitter)

Mortals lose their old selves over time if they stay too long in hell. They are consumed by their guilt, desires and self-hatred until there is nothing left but a vile demon.

cuphead dump bc its my current hyperfixation n i havent posted 😋😋

☕️ Silly menaces 😈

♠️Devil’s hitmen♦️ [Bad End]

[Inspired by Casino Cups au ]

(The ask was for my main blog @pja-party , but I want to answer here.)

*Please don't repost or trace my art.

I know in the original, Evil Cuphead is a purple color, but I like to see him in dark red/wine red.

The Bad End guys are having a great time- /j

Bad End Maple's name is Molasses-

Ask The Bad End AU!

Since Maple's (and the blog's) birthday is coming soon, I wanted to do a tiny event-type thing.

This was originally gonna start in October, but I wanted to give y'all a small look of it!-

You all have from today (May 10th) to May 12th (Sunday, Maple's birthday) to ask Molasses (Bad End Maple) and everyone else questions!-

Now, even though this is short, this will be returning in October up until Halloween!-

Have fun!- :DDD

The cup is heading