#bitts writing

[bittsandpieces]

Only one person asked but that's all I need, so: here's my little excerpt from one of my writing pet projects! Content warnings for: fictional depictions of incest between brothers, offscreen homophobia, and uhhhh silly names

Some info on the setting and characters! The Cobbler family, parents Lisa and Jeff Cobbler, and their nine kids, from age 7 to 26, all named after types of cobbler dessert (their mother is... an eccentric powerhouse). This excerpt centers on two of the older set of triplets, fraternal brothers Blackberry and Strawberry, who are 21 years old and in their junior year at the same local university. Rumors have been flying and things come to a head.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, breath rushing warm and humid across my cheek. I laughed, just a little bit.

“I’m okay, I promise. Are you?”

“Strawberry, I’m not the one who got in a fist fight ten minutes ago, I’m fine!”

I smiled at him, feeling my face protest loudly. “I did, didn’t I. I got into a fist fight, Bick!”

The anger in his eyes softened, and was replaced by a questioning look. “What they were saying, Berry, was it true?” Flashes of audio came through my mind. Queer, I think they had been saying. Like it was an insult. I might have said it the same way, once.

“Yeah, I guess it is. Though it seems like they might have figured it out before I did. Funny, how shit happens, huh bro?”

We were standing close to one another, still in the entry to Blueberry’s dorm room, dusk-blue light filtering through the curtains, just barely. I made a move to step back, to give him some space, but he grabbed my arm, searching my face for something.

I don’t know if he found it. I don’t even know what he was looking for. But I do know that the light coming into the room made him look like some kind of painting come to life, and that his eyes were shining, and I swear I’d never seen something so damn beautiful as he was in that moment.

“Yeah,” I repeated, dumbly, ”it’s true.”

And the moment that had stretched thin in the air snapped, just like that.

He pushed away from me, off of the entry wall, and began pacing across his room. He was mumbling, I realized, agitated in a way I had rarely seen him.

“Bick…” I started, but he didn’t let me finish.

“NO, Strawberry. No, no, no, no, don’t you even talk to me right now. I never should have- this is all my- UGH. If I had just kept my fucking mouth shut, none of this would have- fuck, who told you? Was it David? It has to have been David, there’s nobody- oh my god, I trusted him-”

He stopped abruptly, turning to face me with something that I almost thought was, was fear, but that didn’t make any sense, why would he be afraid. Was he afraid of me?

And my brain caught up with his words, finally.

“Who told me what?”

I’d never seen my brother look so defeated.

“That I’m in love with you, Strawberry.” He laughed, a little, but it sounded a lot more like grief than joy. “I’m in love with you, and you’re going to hate me, and I’m going to be known as the guy who couldn’t maintain a goddamn relationship because he wanted to fuck his own brother. God. God, what have I done.”

Oh.

OH.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I saw him like I’d never seen him before, in that moment. Like I’d always seen him. Pacing again, pulling at his dark hair, a silhouette against the fading evening light through the windows.

My brother. My triplet. My favorite person. My life.

I stepped towards him, stopping his pacing with just one touch. He whirled towards me, tears in his panicked eyes, his mouth open just a bit, breathing heavily from his panic.

I took his face in my palms, feeling the beginnings of stubble catch on my skin. I stared into his eyes, seeing his hands hovering in my periphery, halting in mid-air, like he wanted to touch me but didn’t know if he could.

“Blackberry Mint Cobbler.” 

He flinched, just the tiniest bit, and I almost lost my nerve in the face of his fear of my reaction. I pushed on.

“I have never hated you, not one second of my life, not even in sixth grade when I said I did because you gave my lunch to Rebecca Simmons. I don’t hate you now, and nothing you could ever do would make me love you any less than I already do.”

His face screwed up on a shaky inhale, and I was helpless as I leaned my forehead in to meet his. 

“I’m not good at words, Bick, you know I’m not, but for you, I’m gonna try. I love you. I have a list in my head of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen, and three quarters of it are mental pictures of you.”

His knees began to buckle, and I pressed him to the wall with just my body, refusing to let go of his face or let him fall. He made some kind of sound when I did, some mewling exhale, eyes sliding closed, and I decided in that moment that I would do anything to hear it again, for the rest of my life.

“I know I’m slow on the uptake sometimes, and I think maybe I’ve made you wait for me to get it for far longer than you deserve, but if what you said is true, if you love me. If you want me. Then… then I’m here. I’m here Bick.”

I felt tears running down my cheeks, felt my brother’s tears on my fingertips.

We always did match each other in the ways that counted.

He exhaled, that sound that he made when we were nine and he fell off of his bike down the street from our house slipping out from his lips. When I had gone to him, limping over, restricted by my knee brace from when I had torn a ligament a few months earlier. “Hey Bick, don’t cry,” I had said, pointing to my knee, “we match now!” He had made that sound, like I was being ridiculous or maybe incredible. I never found out which.

He spoke, and I came back to myself.

“What are you doing, Shortcake?” he asked me sadly, like he had resigned himself to his fate without ever asking me, using my oldest nickname, like he was trying to remind me who I was talking to. He pulled back, making me meet his eyes again, though our bodies were still pressed tightly to one another against the wall. I didn’t think he could stand right now, and I wasn’t about to risk him falling.

I thought about his question, moving one hand to trace over his brow, pressing out the tension, though it returned immediately. 

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “What do you want me to do?”

He shook his head, displacing my hands momentarily, tensing up again.

“No, no, Strawberry, you’ll hate me,” he said, tears in his voice.

I pressed against him just a bit more, an idea forming in my mind. He inhaled sharply.

“You already told me so much, Blackberry, what’s one more thing?” My tone was cajoling, almost demanding. “I’ll even help you.” He looked at me, like he had never seen me before. To be honest, I hadn’t ever seen this side of me either. It felt dangerous, almost, but right. Like right now, in this moment, this was who I needed to be. Who he needed me to be.

“It’s okay, brother. Just repeat after me.”

I saw a flush begin on his cheeks, different than the one he got from crying. One I hadn’t seen before. In that moment, I felt him twitch against me, and knew that what I saw was arousal.

“I,” I began.

“.....I-I,” he echoed me.

“Want you to.”

“W-want you to.”

I smiled, feeling a new edge to it. Predatory, I thought.

“It’s your turn, Bick. Tell me what you want.”

He closed his eyes, clearly fighting himself.

And I saw the exact moment he gave in.

He opened his eyes once more, meeting mine, scared and fierce, beautiful and messy. He spoke.

“Kiss me.”

----

I pressed against him, burning hot, pressing my lips to his, remembering everything he had ever told me he liked. I kissed him, and felt him shake, and knew that I would do anything for him, that I would take on the fucking universe for the man against me, kissing me like he thought I might disappear at any second.

I pulled away, panting, and got to watch his eyes flutter open, dark with want in the rapidly fading light.

“Tell me, big brother,” I said, rolling my hips into his, “does this feel like hate to you?”

His eyes rolled back, and then suddenly, he pushed me. I stumbled back a step, ready to catch him if he ran, ready to ask what the hell he was doing, but he was dropping.

To his knees.

I looked down, and I saw my brother press his mouth against my jeans. My hand went to his hair, his hands to my thighs, and when my hand tightened on accident, he fucking made  this sound- like a whine, and pulled harder against my fingers. 

And my vision blacked out.

When I came back, ears ringing, I had pushed his head against the wall, and my cock to his mouth, harder than I had ever been, painfully constricted in my jeans. I made to pull back, worried I had hurt him, but the moment I moved he reeled me back in by my thighs, trying to get a hand between us to open my jeans without moving his mouth.

I was helpless to stop him, to help him, to do anything but stand there, shaking, my triplet whining on his knees, struggling with my zipper before giving up and yanking my pants down, my underwear going with them.

He crowed a wordless victory, and cut himself off by shoving my cock in his mouth, down his throat, gagging and pushing through it, and my mind shut off, and I pushed further in, and he moaned on my cock, and I came.

My hand yanked him onto my cock by his hair, as heat tore me apart from the inside out, and as I began to come down, I realized what I had done, and I pulled back, out of his mouth, afraid I had hurt him.

I dropped, wincing as my knees hit the floor in front of him, cock out, still half hard, hands in his hair, and I met his teary eyes as I said his name.

“Blackberry…” I said, and my voice was deeper than it had ever been, and he keened wordlessly at me, jerked his hips forward, and came, without a single touch. He shuddered, his body tensing, shaking, never looking away from me. I could have cried with how beautiful, how fucking hot it was. Maybe I did.

He collapsed forward into me, and I twisted to get my back against the bed frame, and dragged my exhausted brother into my lap, curling us into each other in a strange mirror of how we had been in out mother’s womb, so long ago.

----

We didn’t talk, that night. Eventually, when we had both stopped shuddering, I pressed a kiss to his hair, and scooted him off of me, helping him up. We made our way to the bathrooms, co-opting the one private shower, uncaring if anyone were to see us entering or leaving.

The halls were empty, but still, we didn’t speak. We just got there, locked the door, and began peeling each other’s clothes off, slowly and carefully. I turned on the shower, and when I turned back, he was there.

I mean, obviously he was there, we went in together and there was no one else around, but. He was there. My brother was there and he was naked and his cock was beautiful and smeared with come, with his come, and I did that, I made him come, and before I even knew I was moving I had stepped to him and kissed him, reverently, softly, trying to say everything in one kiss.

When we finally pulled apart, I took his hand, and led him into the shower, which definitely wasn’t made for two people, much less two 6’4” athletes. It was perfect.

[inkprovised]

Don't wanna see Luigi and Bowser smooch? Keep scrolling.

I made something. But it might be nice to have context. The thing is... I can't write. Not even in my first language, I suck hard at this. And I don't have the patience nor energy to draw much more at the moment.

But here I am -putting something together. And maybe I will be able to write something properly.... one day.

A smoll Bowuigi thing my head spat out...

Short;

We have peace between the Mushroom Kingdom and the Dark Land.

And of course they have a party. XD

Luigi and Bowser become friends after the truce started and they spend some time together (on a professional level of course XD) And later in private (As friends! calm down you)

So there’s a party planed for the “peace agreement anniversary” (is this a thing?) and Bowser asks Kamek to shrink him a little, since he always (almost) crushes someone of the little mushroom people + he thinks it would be nice to be closer to Luigis size – it could make conversations easier of course.

One problem; Kamek feels under the weather, and his powers are limited in his state. He agrees anyways BUT the spell is temporary.

At the party, everyone notices the change but they do not comment on it.

He tells Luigi about the spell and that it expires at midnight. The plumber only smiles and mutters “Like Cinderella” – whatever that means, Bowser has no clue and doesn’t ask.

He is still bigger than he hoped for, but still- Chatting is easier – Handling the small food is easier - Dancing is easier – were Luigi’s eyes always this blue?

I think they are flirting most of the time. Awkward flirting and maybe don’t even realise it. XDD

The evening is pleasant for everyone, and they have a great time with Mario and Peach as Luigi gets startled from the first Gong at midnight.

Luigi reacts immediately, grabs Bowser by his Hand?... and drags him across the room to the door leading out into the Castle Garden…

[daughterofhecata]

"writing" aka almost climbing into my laptop screen, squinting at Kari's little Rocky Beach map

[stealingyourbones]

Okay so i know the whole 'Santa is a ghost' thing is always brought up but i just watched a christmas carol for the first time and i couldnt find this anywhere when i tried looking, so consider: the ghosts of christmas past, present and future are real

No idea where to take this, i just had the hilarious image of these three ghosts who are used to changing the hearts of greedy capitalists trying to help Dannt see 'the magic of christmas' but they have no idea what to do since this is a CHILD and Danny is just Not Having It

I have been cackling on and off for the past half hour about this. Just- the image in my head after reading this is Danny desperately trying to fend off the three ghosts with a baseball bat and it’s far too funny for my sleep deprived delirium

[spellsparkler]

22 :)

22: "It's like they always say..."

“Disgusting,” Wyll repeats – the point as accurate as it is unnecessary – and Row, staring up through dappled leaves, gestures lazily at him. They blink, careful. It doesn’t feel tender; their eyelid doesn’t stick. They kind of thought they’d be able to feel it more, but it doesn’t seem to make much difference.

“Your feedback is noted,” Row tells him, and lets their arm drop back into the dirt.

They’re lying on their back in the scrubby grass, the stuff lurid-green and itchy against whatever of their bare skin it can reach – hands, neck, lower back where their jack is riding up. The tree branches rustle up above, sending leaves drifting down around their head. Past that, the sky gleams, blue as cobalt pigment and utterly cloudless. It’s hot. They’re sweating something horrendous in their one dear shirt. Even the jack is probably beginning to smell.

Wyll is pacing around somewhere to their left. He’s got ridiculous amounts of energy – comes of spending years on the road, maybe, but it just makes him seem like a farmland dog. He seems like the sort of man that would need to be walked daily before he could get anything done. But he’s staying with them, kindly enough, because the others went ahead – nominally to scout a path, and actually because they looked justifiably disgusted almost to the point of illness, and Lae’zel in particular looked like she wanted to enact violence on something. Row suspected the thing would be them. They can’t even really blame her. But Wyll stayed, when the rest went off to do something else down the little dirt track, to make sure that Row doesn’t drop suddenly, startlingly dead or explode into a mass of tentacles. It’s very sweet of him.

(Nothing is happening. It doesn’t feel different. They might be able to see a little more, or a little clearer, but it’s hard to really tell; they aren’t dying, though, and their number of limbs remains steady. They’ve got the very barest edge of a headache, but that’s as much from staring into the sun for ten minutes as anything else.)

“Ugh,” Wyll says again – his revulsion is beginning to feel a tad performative – and he skims the edge of their field of view as he turns around, they think, to look at them. “How are you feeling?”

“Two eyes, all my hair, no beak,” Row reports. “I think we’re good.”

There’s a pause; Wyll’s horns come properly into their vision, followed by a vague peripheral smudge of his face. “Yes,” he says, “but how are you feeling? Did it – do anything?”

Row squints up at the quivering leaves.

“It didn’t kill me, or anything,” they say, because that had been their main concern – and not a very big one, seeing as they still did it. “Didn’t really hurt. It doesn’t feel any more crowded, back there – I’m not sure how that works. It doesn’t feel that different, yet.” (It doesn’t; it all feels a little sharper, the things the first tadpole gave them taken a little closer to the bone, but it isn’t as changed as it feels like it could be. Should be.) “But it will. I’m certain of it.”

Wyll thinks about this, if the slow tipping of the horns is any indication; “All right,” he says, and then he appears much more distinctly in view, face silhouetted against green leaves and blue sky. “Disgusting. Why?”

“You don’t need to keep saying that,” Row says, squinting at him.

Wyll twists his lips, wry. “You said you didn’t trust our nighttime caller,” he says. “So why in Balduran’s name would you put that in your eye?”

Row scrunches up their face. “Don’t sound judgemental,” they complain, largely facetious; “What, you’ve never gotten curious?”

Wind rustles its merry way through the leaves, sending one dried-out brown one fluttering down between Wyll’s horns. He raises a brow. “I’ve done many stupid things out of curiosity, but voluntarily housing an illithid parasite? That would be a first.”

Barely even a headache, and two tadpoles swimming around their orbital nerve; Row presses a finger to the hard-curved bone of their eye socket. Wyll’s brow furrows. He says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you stupid.”

That makes them snort. “You can,” they say, and shove themself up to sitting. “It was.”

After a moment, Wyll sits down in the dirt next to them. “Then why?” he asks – and why, indeed?

(Why would Row do such a thing? What reason would be consistent?)

(They know why they did it, of course – for the sixth sense the worm bestowed upon them the first time, garishly colourful and bitter-sweet on the tongue, the spider’s web of links between them all and the easy paths to follow down. Wyll’s body sits next to them, blood-warm and sticky with sweat, and Wyll sits next to them, and they can feel him there, all open spaces and effort. And disgust, right now, which is still fair enough. It feels tangible and present in a way that people so often aren’t; like his mind is a plum in their hands, the skin thin and smooth and yielding under the callused pads of their fingers. He would notice if they dug their nails in to reach the flesh, which is why they don’t, right now, but they could. It’s there. And the surface is mapped out, simple as anything, in the space behind their right eye.)

(It’s been, what, a week since the crash, and with all these new colours to watch – new cartography with every new face, charting what they want, what they don’t, how it all pins together – Row hasn’t slipped up once. Not with any significance, anyway. They’re a social person, but it’s never been this easy.)

(They look at Wyll, and they could crack him open like a walnut shell and make a home in the feast of his organs, and if they play it right then he would want them to.)

But no-one likes it when they say it like that, so they shrug, carefree, and say, “Honestly, I don’t know. I saw it crawling out and – I don’t know, Wyll, it just seemed friendly.”

“The tadpole,” Wyll says. “The parasite.”

“Yes!” It was friendly – very excited to see them, and quite desperate to make itself at home somewhere less exposed than the open air and a cooling corpse. It was mapped out, clear as their companions. “I’m not saying I thought it through. But I got curious, and it would be dangerous to just let it roam free, and surely two tadpoles isn’t much worse than one as far as removal is concerned.” It had been a snap second decision; perhaps they should have thought about it more, but Row’s never been good at worrying about consequences – never been able to fear anything other than imminent death, and that didn’t seem likely. They might be doomed for all eternity, but eternity comes later. “If it’s bad, at least now we know. And if it can help, we need all the help we can get. It’s like they say, you know – a tadpole in the head is worth two in the jar, or whatever.”

“Perhaps,” Wyll says drily, “that’s a newer Baldurian idiom that I’ve missed in my time away.”

There is a pause; some sparrows twitter in the distance.

“I understand some of that impulse,” Wyll starts, and Row tips their head to look at him. “But unknowable powers come with unknowable consequences. We would be rash, to take anything we’re offered until we know what it will cost.”

There’s hair in Row’s face, its curl dragged-down and greasy. Wyll is a better sport about himself than some of the others, they’ve learned; there’s a line they don’t want to cross, but he takes jibes easier than most, and he likes banter. “That’s good advice,” they say, considering, and they crane their neck, flicking their gaze just above his eyes. “Do you follow it?”

He smiles, lips droll, and leans over to jostle their shoulder with his elbow. “As I say,” he says, “not as I do. Do you think we can catch up, now, or should we give Lae’zel more time to cool off?”

[kaputtes-vertrauen]

weil deine Augen, wenn du gehst, die Farbe mitnehmen, und ohne dein Lachen, die Sonne nicht scheint.

[olgalenski]

Weil mein Gehirn keine Ruhe gegeben hat

[the-tzimisce]

Oh lmao they don't have a do not disturb sign at this place but they very much do have daily cleanings 💀

[sillyfairygarden]

i finally deactivated my old dsmp/mcyttwt acct two weeks ago and now i have all these old pictures/art pieces saved to honour that account 😭 part of me wants to mass-post the old dsmp art so i have them here for reference... ourgh

[anotherobsessedsomething]

Alter Leute so ein bisschen Sexting Schreiben kann doch nicht so schwer sein ahhhhhhhhhhhh 🤯🤯🤯

[bittsandpieces]

I'm being sooooooooo normal about your erotica rn, like, totally absolutely normal about it bestie (lying, whine gripping my thighs).

100% did not get stuck in my head at all (lying, I'll be thinking about it for a week now)

Totally didn't up my embarassing sibcest kink to eleven (lying, it did and now I'm having thoughts)

But anyway, that was so nice, cute and hot!! Love the dynamics and the sneak peak at the world building!! I hope we get to see more of it 💖

- 🎲

Aaaah thank you darling!!! This project is my baby and I care about these characters (and their many siblings) so so much, its my love letter to family and loneliness and suburban America and the bonds that tie us to one another, and also how sometimes your other half is your sibling who you want to fuck you

[soullessminyard]

Leo in einer corsage lives in my head rent free

[conquerthenight]

Here are the lyrics to my singable English translation of “Ehrlichkeit und Vertrauen” from Rebecca. At the moment I don’t have a proper title for it (“Honesty and Compassion” doesn’t really have a nice ring to it) but anyways:

My opinion isn’t worth much

But I speak it nonetheless

What creates a loving marriage?

I think I could certainly guess

For if all one has is beauty

Nothing more and nothing less

There is something else that’s lacking

Something more I believe you possess

Honesty and compassion

And a love without conditions

With the strength to take what’s given

And overcome any storm

You are the one my friend was chosen for

Deep down inside you’re worth much more

Than all the grace and all the beauty

In the world

To be loved for a lifetime

Finding hope among the shadows

To be free from every burden

Forging ahead unafraid

She is the one my friend was chosen for

I clearly see she’s worth much more

Than all the grace and all the beauty

In the world

So much more

[the-mehlwurm]

someday my sister, her boyfriend and I are going to speak completely incoherently to everyone else

[omniscientfish]

Tw self harm?? Violent thoughts. And flesh

I wrote a bunch of poetry here. I was very proud of it. Then my fucking dumbass of a kindle deleted it in front of me and I could do nothing as each letter disappeared. I'm Now having violent thoughts. The poetry was supposed to help so I could sleep. Now I'm angrier than before. I want to hurt and hurt others. I want to destroy. I want to rip and tear and shred. I want to harm. I want to scratch my skin till it falls off. I want to rip it from my body. To tear my muscles off my bones. To shred my body to a fine dust of constant meaty agony.

[frubeto]

oh no ich habe die fic zuende geschrieben und jetzt beeinflusst das ende den anfang und ich muss den anfang nochmal neu schreiben...