#cherry bittybones

[vex-bittys]

Bittyswap (part 24)

My version of Bittyswap involves full-sized bittybones (and other monsters) living in the Underground and getting miniature humans as pets.

———-

"Psst. Psst!"

Ugh. How can such a short arrangement of letters be such an effective weapon against sleep? I cracked open a single eye though the childlike tone of the hissed voice pointed an obvious finger at the sleep disturbing culprit. Cherry. The sight of two very large red eyelights did not surprise me in the least. With a groan, I opened my other eye. Alas, fair slumber, we part ways too soon.

That tiny motion caused Cherry's round face to light up like one of those explosions that melts your retinas. Gosh I love this sweet, adorable skeleton. 

"Are you awake?" he whispered. I considered a sarcastic No, but Cherry's sensitive emotions happen to be the perfect deterrent against Vex snark. 

I nodded, crawling onto his hand so that we could relocate our conversation to somewhere less bedroom-y. I may have been awake, but Cap sprawled out across Brassberry’s bed, blissfully unaware of the early morning shenanigans of the two smallest housemates. I envied him… until he rolled into a teeny tiny puddle of human!bitty drool. I snorted with laughter as Cherry carried me down to the kitchen.

Not so long ago, I would have worried about becoming a crispy fried human, but now I only questioned Cherry’s wisdom when he informed me that I would be his assistant chef. The precious angel wanted to make breakfast for his exhausted brothers, and I didn't have the heart to tell him that I am an abysmal cook. I mean, I don’t eat, and the Temmies didn’t exactly provide us with culinary tools or cooking lessons.

I hoped Cherry knew what he was doing.

I hoped wrong.

We encountered our first problem while reading the recipe. “It says two cups of flour,” I told Cherry, who gathered the ingredients. He set the container of flour on the counter and opened a cupboard. I waited next to the bowl where we planned to mix our perfect pancake batter. At that point, I still thought we could handle a simple recipe. Ah, hubris.

“All of the cups are different sizes,” Cherry reported from halfway inside the cupboard. 

I considered this newest development. “As long as we use the same cup every time we measure, it should work,” I suggested with much more confidence than I truly felt. Cherry plunked a coffee mug down next to the flour before reading the next line of the recipe aloud with me.

We hit our second snag. 

“What’s a teaspoon?” Cherry asked me. I shrugged.

“Maybe we should get the spoons out and look at them. Maybe they’re labeled.” They were not labeled.

“None of these look like a T.”

We definitely could not handle a simple recipe, but we did not let that fact stop us. Ah, hubris (again). Cherry selected a spoon, citing that it would “do,” though what it would do, we had no idea. Surely not measure the proper amount of something. Pushing forward, we began scooping ingredients into our bowl with enough gusto to make up for our lackluster ability to measure. I leaned over the edge of the bowl to assess our work… and tipped the whole thing over onto myself in a puff of white powder. Thankfully we were still working with dry ingredients.

Unintimidated by this setback (hubris the third), we reassembled the dry ingredients. I stayed a few steps away from the treacherous bowl at all times now, opting instead to roll eggs to Cherry who broke them into the dry ingredients with only a few tiny shells getting mixed in. I considered it a victory, which we needed because adding the milk was a clear defeat. The mixing bowl overflowed, spilling milk- which Cherry nearly did cry over- all over the counter.

I rush to reassure Cherry. “Remember all of those MTT specials we watched?” He nodded, eyelights wavering with unshed tears. “That rectangle guy made huge messes, and all of his food turned out ok, didn’t it?” I mean, most of the food ended up being bombs anyway, but at least that’s what he intended to make. Cherry nodded again. Time to complete the ol’ Inspirational Speech: “Let’s grab a bigger bowl, add a little extra milk to cover what spilled, and get these pancakes… cakin’?”

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the pitter-patter of milk dripping from the edge of the counter onto the floor sounded like muted applause. Did I mention the hubris yet?

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[noctwa]

I have been enjoying the bittybones fanfictions. This is from @warriorstale001 from the "Bitties in Need..." series. When the Cherry bitty wants to approach the reader and still has some muffin on his face. Bittybones in need of a good home. You're providing it! - Chapter 1 - Warriorstale001 - Undertale (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23033941/chapters/55083148

[vex-bittys]

Bittyswap (part 25)

My version of Bittyswap involves full-sized bittybones (and other monsters) living in the Underground and getting miniature humans as pets.

———-

Project Pancakes resumed with a larger bowl and what Cherry and I estimated was the correct amount of additional milk. Estimating ingredients may have been a mistake on our part, but thankfully, we made a lot of other mistakes too. Mistakes cancel each other out, right? Right?! Cherry and I actually consulted our recipe for our next steps, but I think the recipe book should have included some vocabulary worksheets because neither of us knew what a whisk looked like. Cherry solved our dilemma with some context clues, clever skeleton.

"It says to whisk the ingredients together, so it must be like stirring! We can use a spoon for that!" Cherry beamed proudly when I agreed with his reasoning. Besides, we'd already gathered every available spoon in our search for a teaspoon, so they were all lined up and ready to be whisks! Cherry even made a joke by putting spoons up to his face and calling them whisk-ers. After the tension of last night, it felt nice to laugh.

With his focus returning to the task at hand, Cherry's brow furrowed in concentration. The tip of his red tongue stuck out the side of his mouth, and he stirred those ingredients like the wind or whatever simile applies to stirring something in a vigorous and sort of messy way. I quickly curbed his enthusiasm for the sake of the battered batter. If we spilled again, we would have to start all over, and it had already been quite an ordeal to get this far.

"The recipe says not to over mix it," I reminded him. He lifted me up so that we could assess the pancake batter together. The batter still had some pockets of dry flour and obvious streaks of egg yolk that weren't incorporated into the mixture. We pondered this dilemma with the maximum amount of seriousness.

"How do we know if we mixed it enough?" Cherry’s voice held some well-deserved skepticism.

"It'll be fine once we start cooking it," I ventured with no real confidence. I'm no pancake whisperer. My knowledge of pancakes begins and ends at "flat, round, and edible."

Luckily for us (and we certainly needed it), Cherry knew which pan Brassberry used to make pancakes. The recipe recommended a non-stick pan, and the pan Cherry showed me didn't look like a stick at all. Success! Cherry also produced a flipper, the special utensil that Brassy used to flip the pancakes so they cooked evenly on both sides. I’m not entirely convinced that the utensil is called a flipper, but if we’re making up measurements, we can make up words for kitchen items too. We moved our supplies to the stove for the final, most crucial of steps, and ran into yet another problem.

The pancake recipe stated the batter should be cooked over medium heat, but the stove only had weird knobs and none of them said medium. There weren’t letters or words at all, only numbers. After inspecting the knobs and discussing our strategy, we managed to get a flame going. Behold kitchens, the one room in a house where we light things on fire, hopefully on purpose but sometimes also by accident! So far, our amount and placement of fire was intentional, so I considered it a win.

Within the next five minutes I learned that flour explodes if it gets too hot, that eggs scramble if they aren't mixed into a batter well enough, what "non-stick pan" means, and that you can still get food stuck to them if you are an inept human!bitty chef and an anxiety-ridden skeleton chef’s assistant. We'd barely managed to scrape our lesson in how not to cook out of the pan when it burst into flames. Is milk flammable?!

Smoke began to billow from the pan, and I couldn't tell if the deafening wails assaulting my ears were from Cherry or the smoke detector, though Cherry's hysterical tears suggested the former. Thankfully either the smoke or the noise summoned a knight in orange hoodie armor. Lil Bro just appeared in the kitchen seemingly from thin air. He turned the burner off and slid a lid over the pan to smother the flames. Crisis averted, he surveyed the kitchen. I can't imagine what he must have thought of us.

One human!bitty stood sheepishly on the counter covered in a fine patina of floor. Milk and flour spattered the countertop, cabinets, and floor. Utensils were scattered over every available surface, and Cherry was rocking back and forth on the floor with batter from the flour explosion on top of his skull. Only Lil Bro’s timely intervention prevented us from turning our intentional fire into an accidental one. Our win had devolved into a major L.

The single surviving pancake sat on a plate. It was not round. It was not flat. I doubted anyone would want to check if it was edible. We would definitely not be having pancakes for breakfast today.

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[vex-bittys]

How Trust is Earned: A Thank You Drabble

(This drabble is for @piethecreator for purchasing the Cherry amputee from otomecrazy. Thank you so much!)

Warning: Non-graphic bitty injury

Taking out the trash never used to be a chore you looked forward to, but things changed one night when a scrabbling noise interrupted you midway through cramming an overstuffed bag into the container. You glanced around, worried that an unfriendly skunk might be lurking nearby waiting to blast you with stink.

You hear the scrabble again, close to the ground, and a piece of escaped trash moves slightly. You lean in to investigate since the scrabbler is clearly far too small to be a skunk, and a small bitty darts out from under the trash and runs away. You watch the little bitty crouch in the shadow of some bushes, watching you suspiciously.

The tiny skeleton is dirty and clearly frightened. He must be scavenging trash for food, so you doubt he has an owner. You reach out a hand to him.

“It’s ok,” you tell him. “I won’t hurt you.” The bitty takes one look at your hand with his round red eyelights and scurries deeper into the bushes.

It breaks your heart to think of the bitty eating literal garbage, so you start taking food outside in the evenings. At first, you don’t even see the bitty, and though your food offerings disappear each night from where you place them under the bush, you can’t be sure that they weren’t simply eaten by the local wildlife.

You finally catch a glimpse of the bitty again, peering out at you from behind a low-hanging leaf. You set down the food you brought for him- a little square of cheese pizza- and back away. Keeping a wary eyelight on you, he zips out from his leafy shelter, grabs the snack, and quickly vanishes again.

The sighting is all of the encouragement that you need. You continue to place food out for the stray bitty, but now you wait until you see him take it to leave. He gets more daring as time passes and you make no move to grab or hurt him. You eventually start talking to him, which startles him at first, but he soon grows used to your voice.

For the short-term, you’re satisfied with the progress you’ve made, but you worry that the bitty won’t have adequate shelter when the cold weather sets in. You hope that you can convince him to come live with you before that happens, but you don’t want to push him since he is still extremely nervous around you.

Little by little, he allows you to come closer. You decide that today will be the day that you hold your hand out to him again. You’ve actually been practicing the motion to make sure that it is smooth and unhurried. You don’t want to scare the bitty away, after all. You’ll offer your hand at a respectful distance and invite him to approach you.

It’s a good plan, a great plan even, but like so many great plans, it is almost immediately derailed by unforeseen circumstances.

The second you step outside you hear a shriek of pain and terror. The sound is coming from an all-too-familiar bush, a bush that is shaking furiously as a large dog tries to infiltrate it. You charge at the dog, so concerned about your bitty friend that for a moment you forget to be afraid of the dog. The dog jumps when you yell at it, dropping something that it held between its alarmingly sharp teeth… the bitty!

Sobbing, you kneel down in the grass to inspect the damage. He’s alive; his wails of agony are proof of that. His bones though… his poor little bones are badly damaged. You don’t know what to do. You don’t want to hurt him worse and break his trust by picking him up, but he needs medical attention now. With a litany of whispered apologies, you make a pouch from the bottom of your shirt and scoop him into it. It’s the best you can do to avoid grabbing him outright.

Running like you’ve got the Olympic gold in your sights, you burst through the doors of the closest bitty center, calling for help. A bitty vet rushes to your side, guiding the precious cargo you carry to an examination table. The bitty vet frowns.

“I don’t think we can save his limbs,” she says sadly, “but your quick action has saved his life.”

She reaches for the bitty, but he squeals in fright and tries hopelessly to move away. You touch him then, for the very first time. You just rub your finger lightly along his skull. His terror ebbs. He relaxes into your touch.

As the bitty vet gets to work administering medicine and preparing for surgery, you murmur softly to the bitty. “It’s ok. I’ll take care of you.”

His only response is to snuggle harder against your hand.

[vex-bittys]

Hello lovely! For your drabble event I was wondering could you write some cute interactions between Shackle and Puppy? Or perhaps Kitten meeting Cherrbear? Either one would be fine! I love fluff and just my lamias bitties are so very important to me and they brought me to you 💜

First Impressions

The little Coral lamia bitty with the silver fangs couldn’t believe his luck. He’d finally found an owner, someone who appreciated his unique look instead of giving him a pitying look and moving on to adopt a normal Coral. He vibrated with nervous energy as you brought him into your room to introduce him to your other bittybones.

Cherrbear, your Cherry bitty, ran to greet you as soon as you came through the door, babbling excitedly about his day. Kitten, as you decided to name the new Coral bitty, glared at the Cherry bitty. How dare that pipsqueak try to steal away all of your attention! Kitten slithered down your arm, ready to confront Cherrbear.

The first angry hiss had barely escaped from Kitten’s silver-fanged mouth before the Cherry bitty burst into tears and fled. Kitten blinked. He wanted to chastise Cherrbear and assert his place in the home, not terrify him and make him cry. To make matters worse, you scolded him for being a bully! Not only did Kitten feel extremely guilty, he was now the bitty non grata in the home!

Kitten had to set things right before you decided to return him! With his mind made up, Kitten quickly slithered off in hot pursuit of Cherrbear, following the frantic pitter-patter of tiny running feet and the sound of sobs and sniffles. Every time Kitten rounded a corner and got the Cherry bitty in his sights, the little guy would squeak in fright and run away even faster!

A few twists and turns later, Kitten managed to corner Cherrbear underneath a dresser. Every time Cherrbear tried to dart past him, Kitten blocked the way. The Coral just needed the Cherry bitty to calm down and listen, but Cherrbear was hysterical. Kitten growled in frustration, and shoved Cherrbear against the wall, pinning him, intending to hold him still so he would have to listen to Kitten’s explanation of his behavior. Instead, Cherrbear screamed, a high-pitched and deafening shriek.

A Beta Gaster bitty appeared, responding to Cherrbear’s cries for help. He quickly separated the two bittybones, and Cherrbear darted behind him to hide, pointing a tiny accusing finger at Kitten.

“B-bully!” he stammered, clinging to the Beta Gaster’s legs.

“Am not!” protested Kitten. Everyone would hate him now. Kitten wilted, and he felt the unwelcome sensation of tears pricking at his own sockets. It just wasn’t fair! He wasn’t a bully! He just didn’t want to be forgotten and neglected because of other needy bitties! He never meant to scare Cherrbear at all!

Lord, the Beta Gaster bitty, patted Cherrbear’s little skull comfortingly. The Cherry bitty’s tears dried up, and Lord turned his attention to the Coral bitty. Lord saw the Coral’s pout and his struggle to hold back his tears, and he knew that this tsundere little Coral bitty would become one of his personal darlings.

“Come along,” ordered Lord, speaking to both the Cherry bitty and the lamia. “I’ve prepared new outfits for both of you, and they need to be fitted.” Kitten pretended to ignore Lord, but Cherrbear slipped his little hand into Lord’s and followed the much larger bitty to his nest. Kitten slithered aimlessly back and forth, somehow ending up at Lord’s nest anyway.

Soon Lord had both of his darlings dressed in cute handmade outfits with plenty of ribbons to make each of them feel adorable and special. Kitten grumbled during the entire fitting, but Lord noticed him running his little hands along the edges of the soft fabric and glancing at himself in the mirror.

Cherrbear rushed off to show you his new clothes, but Kitten lingered, enjoying the pampering that Lord gave him. Blushing, he uttered a quickly hissed thanks to Lord who smiled a knowing smile. Like the Cherry bitty, this Coral lamia bitty would need Lord’s careful handling to flourish, and the Beta Gaster had no problems giving it to him.

You called out to Kitten, telling him that you wanted to see his new clothes too. Kitten slithered out of Lord’s nest, eager to receive your compliments though he acted like they didn’t matter to him. You didn’t sound angry, and you picked him up along with Cherrbear for cuddles.

Maybe life here wouldn’t be so bad with other bitties like Lord around to pamper him.

An unexpected hug of apology from Cherrbear only sweetened the prospect. Kitten made sure not to hiss or pull away. He didn’t want a repeat of their earlier encounter.

In fact, his arms somehow found themselves wrapping around the Cherry bitty and hugging him back.

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