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velvetwyrms · 9 months

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Now for something completely different! I’ve been working on an AU called Guardians (page is still a WIP) for months now and I’m finally ready to share a story from it. Please heed the tags and enjoy!

Rating: General

Relationships: Hobie/Therapy

Characters: Hobie Brown, Original Animal Character, Pavitr Prabhakar (mentioned), Gwen Stacy (mentioned), Miles Morales (mentioned).

Wordcount: 1,430

TW: Starvation, Homelessness

Tags: Alternative title: ‘Author tears up over hedgehogs,’ Fluff, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Animal Companions AU, Platonic/Familial relationship, Hobie Brown backstory, Set 2 years before he becomes Spider-Punk, Hobie needs a hug (and gets a very spiny one), it’s a lovely story I promise, Character study.

Summary: Hobie nodded in approval, speaking around his third slice in under as many minutes, “fuck capitalism, feed hedgehogs.”

Ruthless

The smog-choked air was still so frosty this time of year. Once vaguely warm, the battered, grease-stained box she was curled up upon now did nothing to ease the painful shivers running from her goose-bumped skin, all the way to the very tips of her all-encasing, banded spines. Still, she was grateful. It wasn’t the height of winter anymore, they’d made it out alive and this was the first spot of good luck they’d had in a while.

Cold or otherwise, that’s the wonderful thing about pizza, you could eat it regardless— well, if you didn’t mind the pineapple. They’d both eaten far worse, or not at all. Besides, his tastes changed like the wind—

Her ears pricked sharply at the sound of a shoe sole scraping against potholed concrete, clunky and uneven. Her nose twitched fearfully. She should’ve pulled the box further into the shadows of the alley.

Pulse racing, she curled up tighter, spines splayed until the bootprints stopped abruptly, drowned out by the distant honking, shouting, screaming of East London on a Friday night.

Then the wind changed, and all at once her panic immediately soothed into relief.

‘Ruth? You there?”

The massive pizza box slid across the wet pavement with her scrabbling claws as she zoomed towards the end of their hiding spot; a nostalgic pull tugging at her tiny heartstrings as she snuffled at the air. “Over ‘ere! Took you long enough, where the bloody hell you been?” She could almost feel the responding eyeroll as the flickering, looming shadow at the alley’s maw rounded the corner and Hobie Brown stumbled in — joy bubbled and fizzed from her brightly glowing chest and into a resounding chirp — empty handed. Ah.

"Foodbank was sold out when I got there. ‘S fine though, we’ll— I’ll jus-“

“Nono, gimmie a sec,” she croaked and shuffled back the way she’d scurried. The sogginess of the ground nearly proved too strong for her teeth as it sucked on the cardboard, but she managed to drag it just far enough to cut her young charge’s dejection short. “Ta-da! We’ve got ourselves a chicken-dinner! The crowd goes wild, n’ we have full bellies.” Her words were muffled, but from the relieved laugh he’d barked out it was clear he’d understood the gist.

“Oh my days, Ruth you’ve outdone yourself! Also, you should know, you look ridiculous. Never thought I’d see a hedgehog carrying a takeaway box that big, come ‘ere,” the box was lifted effortlessly up into the sky before the boy slumped down next to her. Hobie opened the box with the reverence of a present he’d been counting down the days for, and wolfed down the first slice like a dying man. Well, that…that wasn’t exactly far off. “Where’d you even get this? It’s huge! Could last us two days easy.” Ruth sniffed the food eagerly, climbing up and using his thigh to balance her front paws on so that she could get a better look. Hobie then passed Ruth her single slice so she sat down next to him and set to nibbling away at it. She was rather proud of herself that she’d held out long enough for her charge to have the first piece. Taking care of him was, after all, her entire reason for existing in the very literal, physical, cosmic sense.

“Stole it from a Spaceship Pizza delivery bike while the driver was havin’ a natter. She saw but apparently thought it was funny enough to fight the good fight with her boss.”

Hobie nodded in approval, speaking around his third slice in under as many minutes, “good girl, she gets it. Fuck capitalism, feed hedgehogs.”

“Mm, found your new motto then.”

“‘Course.”

The silence between them as they ate was comfortable, well lived in, homey. Ruth was munching away at a chunky strip of cheap, processed ham when her beady eyes locked onto the dip of Hobie’s hollow cheek as he grinned, and all of a sudden they were seven years old again. The worry wrinkles, far too premature for someone who’s only just turned fifteen forming on his forehead, his sharp edges and his first, shiny, new nose piecing he’d convinced a friend to give him for free we’re gone. "Do you remember we used to eat this in school? You hated pineapple. You don’t now.”

“Nah, I don’t believe in consistency. You of all people should know that.” His bordered edges shifted and his skin turned from grey newspaper clippings about threats of anarchist uprisings to a happy, relatable, empathetic pink. “You haven’t changed a bit. Just a big ol’ hoglet.”

Ruth looked at him aghast, squeaking in disapproval, spines puffing in defiance. “You’re havin’ a tin-bath.” The stripes on her spines and the glowing patch on her chest turned from a happy, relatable, empathetic pink to the grainy grey of tv static.

“Oh no, you still look like a pup to me. Jus’ with more spines. Hey, remember when I tried to count ‘em all again last week? Think I got to 561 this time.”

Ruth huffed. She had waaaay more spines than that. “I could say the same thing, you had all the grace of a toddler the way you nicked your finger. Thought you’d be used to my spines after all this time. Guess I’ll just be free of your cuddles an’ keep warm on my lonesome.”

“Woah, hey now, I’m only playin.’”

"’Course,” Ruth snorted and licked BBQ sauce off of her nose, then sighed wistfully, “blimey, I miss moments like this more than anythin’"

Hobie’s crooked smile waned and seemed to wobble a bit. Seven years old and they’d already been kicked out of their second orphanage. School gave them hot food served with kind, pitying smiles. Their new placement did neither. "Yeah…Y’know, this is the only thing that's made the last three years bearable.”

“Pizza?”

Hobie’s laugh was small, humourless and tired, and Ruth felt a pang of something sharp in her chest that was anything but starvation.

“You. Company. Jus’ ‘avin someone who actually gives a damn about whether or not I live or die tomorrow. Can’t imagine what it’s like for those blokes n’ birds who ain’t got Guardians of their own anymore. Must be propper rough. I’ve heard that…sometimes, when it gets too hard, Guardians can just leave. Sever that bond from birth completely. It happened to ol’ loopy Louis on George Street, at least, that’s what he tells everyone. But I’ve seen others too, I’ve seen two different Guardians before just wandering around alone an’ feral. They looked so lost.”

Ruth suddenly felt sick. She couldn’t think of anything worse than loosing Hobie. She was supposed to take care of him. He was her best friend, her partner in crime, her reason to keep going through these first few years of surviving on the streets. He’d been through so much already for someone so young, he’s wise far beyond his barely 15 years and she wanted to cry. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

“I know, I’m jus’ really grateful. You’re a stellar Guardian, Ruth.”

“Well, I don’t know about that” Her voice cracked and she abandoned her half-eaten pizza crust to climb up onto his thigh again, pushing down a couple of times with her front paws to signal that she wanted up. Hobie put down his own 5th slice and picked Ruth up by the armpits to perch her on his sight shoulder. She had to grip onto his thin winter jacket to avoid falling off, but she managed, laying her spines down flat to avoid hurting him. She glanced down to their food through teary eyes, then the pins adorning the jacket’s leather collar, the cheap, patched, fraying jumper underneath and the crochet hook poking out of his top pocket where he kept the bands he was using to try out something new. He’d wanted wicks for a while.

“I do. No one else would go outta their way to steal a pizza three times their size for me.”

“No one worth knowing.” Ruth sniffed wetly, and Hobie, with carefully practiced ease tilted his head and rested his cheek on her back. “One day, you’ll meet people who will do anything for you, Hobie, jus’ like me. People who’d- who’d stop busses an,’ an’ planes and trains for you. They’ll shout your name whenever they see you, and talk about you all the time when you ain’t there, ‘cause they’ll love you millions. You jus’ haven’t met ‘em yet. I know it.

You’ll see.”

#atsv fanfiction #spiderverse fanfic #hobie brown #spider punk #cricket writes #atsv #across the spider verse #atsv spoilers #probably! even if it’s implied #character study

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fleshadept · 8 months

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one of my oldest memories is from when i was about five or six years old. my grandma was visiting that evening, so she was tucking me into bed. now, my parents raised us agnostic with a side of unitarian universalism, so i knew next to nothing about christianity, or that god fellow, or whatever. my grandparents never approved of this, convinced they were damning us kids to hell forever.

so when my grandma was tucking me in and she told me to repeat after her and say “i love you jesus,” i did.

but then she said: “there. and now you’ve let jesus into your heart.” and kissed me and left me to dream sweet child dreams probably of jesus saving my immortal soul or whatever.

except, i didn’t know who the fuck jesus was, and i did not understand metaphor. i certainly had not realized that by saying that, i had apparently invited a small man to take up residence in my heart. my child brain raced with panic: was he in there? what would he do? would i be able to feel him moving around? was he stuck forever now? that seemed mean to him, and felt like my grandma had played a trick on me.

so, sensibly, i decided my best bet to expel this tiny man who i had NOT wanted to move into my heart (aside from surgery, which i discounted as an option when i imagined asking my parents about it) was to do the reverse incantation: i fell asleep that night mumbling and mentally shouting I HATE YOU JESUS I HATE YOU JESUS I HATE YOU JESUS, hoping he would get the message and relocate somewhere that wanted him.

#cricket chirps #creative writing #kinda #since this is a real story #5k #10k

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lesbiancolumbo · 5 months

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As Indigenous woman filmmakers, we knew that our path through the industry would be narrow and that our film, Fancy Dance, would have a small window for success based on the abysmal record of representation for Indigenous folx in Hollywood. As such, we channeled our collective wills as granddaughters of Dust Bowl survivors, descendants of genocide and avowed followers of the indomitable Merata Mita to give this film the best shot possible. If there existed a “how to make a successful movie in Hollywood” checklist, we followed it to a tee. Step one: Create a compelling script (after her sister’s disappearance, a hustler kidnaps her niece from the child’s white grandparents and takes her to the state powwow in hopes of keeping what’s left of her family intact) – check. Step two: Find top-tier producing partners (Nina Yang Bongiovi, Tommy Oliver) – check. Step three: Cast amazing actors at the top of their field (soon-to-be Oscar nominee Lily Gladstone) – check. Step four: Premiere and screen at world-renowned festivals (Sundance, SXSW, BFI London) – check. Step five: Receive excellent reviews (THR called it “exceptional”) and festival prizes (Hamptons, L.A. Outfest, Mill Valley, NewFest, Sun Valley, Tacoma) – check. Step six: Get a distribution deal – …crickets.

#i am SOOOOO glad someone let erica write about this because it is the most fucked up thing i've seen ALL YEAR #one of the best films of the year and after all the KOTFM love (ugh) this gets CRICKETS? NOTHING? fuck y'all

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fred-the-dinosaur · 5 months

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ok, I started writing this in response to someone in particular but it felt unfair to single them out when the reason I was moved say something was because they were like the seventh person saying the same thing in a day.

To all the people like me, who had never heard of those YouTubers. Yeah, I get the vibe. I'd never heard of him either! Or any of the others. But so what ? Firstly, someone else you like is probably doing the same thing, and Secondly, on this scale? You probably HAVE HEARD of him. You just didn't know.

As turns out, I HAD heard of him.

I was so sure I hadn't. Lucky me for being so disconnected from the internet zeitgeist that I am insulated from its fallout! lol. Except I had read @vaspider 's post rejecting his spreading of Leibowitz's statements about 'boring people dying of aids', someone who at the time was struggling uphill against public opinion. Someone else I follow had a Hannibal video plagiarized last year by a big youtuber who turned out to also be him. My wife and I love watching verilybitchie, guess who also got a video ripped off by somerton?

And, like, you're right about how the fuck did people not take more issue with the 'nazis so hot' shit. But lots of people believed him, and spread it wide enough that you might have seen it. I am sure I've seen other, less explicitly awful takes of his crossing my dash, even passed them on, takes that were not even particularly horrifying, just misleading or untrue or stolen and taken out of context. Takes that are distorting the narrative of queer history on tumblr, beyond.

I'm not pointing fingers, just worried the impact of the video is getting lost. I wish someone who could write better and sound less grumpy doing it had written this instead. I just hadn't seen anyone else say exactly this yet. Specifically that, like me, you probably have heard of him, or more importantly his influence. Lots of other people you like got their stuff stolen by him.

And if you really have never met him or the consequences of his actions. then you've met someone else just like him.

I'd never 'heard' of him. So what?

#talking freds #hbomberguy #james somerton #i am not trying to single anyone out. in each event it makes sense to express that you never heard of him!#but given the scale of how everyone says they never did and it might silence the more important voicesnof those who were betrayed #i wanted to write this. it will likely not go far #probably good bc its a bit inconherent. i am a drawer not a writer #but there we go #also the reason i never realised he was the same guy is becuase i get his name confused with cricketer Ian Somerhalder #but whats that compared to the price of bread?

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aceredshirt13 · 4 months

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writing Holmes or Raffles fic versus writing Wodehouse fic

#red randomness #acd holmes #crime and cricket #jeeves and wooster #though this applies to nearly all Wodehouse not just Jeeves lmao #100 and up neat #I remember having to unlearn every time people told me ‘British people don’t actually talk that way!’ in order to write Wodehouse fic

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crickets-lovely-place · 2 years

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Antigone in the Spotlight (Again): Phantom Overcoats

AHHHH THE BEASTIE. This is for the podcast Wooden Overcoats, which is 17/10 recommend. It was supposed to be a cute little one-shot that I wrote and posted before the final season started airing this January.... it's currently sitting at 5,696 words and the final chapter is giving me HIVES.

But anyway this fic is up to S3 canon-compliant, it's a community theater production of Phantom of the Opera starring:

Antigone Funn—former recluse, letting go of her unrequited crush on golden boy Eric, newly confident, wanting to try hard things, and cajoled into participating because her friend Georgie is directing—Christine

Eric Chapman—town fave, finally realising he's in love with Antigone, lowkey in this production just to hang out with her, an awkward mess for ONCE in his life—the Phantom

Roger Noggins—legit thought he was going to die last year and held a funeral, maybe the most unintersting man you've ever met, is trying to branch out and form new hobbies—Raoul

And a whole host of other characters that are riotously funny and interesting individuals. Which is why this fic is taking so long. I just wanted Antigone and Eric to kiss and get together BUT the rest of the inhabitants of Piffling Vale keep demanding screen time.

I love them. Maybe I'll finish for Halloween this year.

#ask cricket #cricket writes #wooden overcoats #eric chapman #antigone funn #chaptigone #roger noggins

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cricket-approved · 5 months

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thinking of her again.

(splices of my writing + photos from twin peaks and fire walk with me)

thanks @emiliosandozsequence for heavily inspiring this poem with your reblogs lol

#twin peaks #laura palmer #*cricket noises*#words #web weaving #writing #spilled ink #fire walk with me #the owls are not what they seem #houses #poetry #when a house is both hungry and awake

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mllekurtz · 1 year

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i'm just. taking a break from work and thinking about the fact that it's been almost two years since the c2 finale and that campaign still has me in a chokehold. i still think about the wizards all the time, which shouldn't surprise anyone but it's still remarkable. just taking a little moment to be in my feelings about them on main, nothing to see here

#i know it's been crickets on my ao3 for a while but i am still alive #in fact i am going to share a snippet of the one shot i'm working on for wip wednesday if i can remember which day it is for long enough #things might be settling down for me maybe? i got my shit together enough last week to finally decide to go back to therapy #this is probably a subject for another post and not the tags of this one but i can't wait to feel like i'm living again #and not simply surviving #and while writing is an excellent coping mechanism i would also love to experience the joy of creation again #alright back to work with me #thanks for reading my ramblings if you made it this far #i sincerely wish you a lovely timezone

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fleshadept · 11 months

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posts lauding the writers strike by shitting on the stuff they’re… writing… make no sense to me. “i hope the gay pirate show gets canceled” oh do you? you want hbo to fire all the writers who are striking so they don’t come back and have an income from it? do you? the show that’s already in postproduction? and you want this because you support the writers? or do you just have some weird beef with shows that got too big on here so you feel the need to performatively put them down to feel cool and edgy and you’re using the writer’s strike as a thin excuse to do that

#ntm ofmd’s writing team is mostly queer and nonwhite but like no yeah hoping it gets canceled is so Pro Writer #cricket chirps

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keirawantstocry · 3 months

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Heyyyy it’s me, Fitpacbo. I didn’t want to send the ask from my main blog and tumblr is stupid and won’t let you send asks from secondary blogs so I’m anon today. However, I have a prompt for you, if you are willing to entertain my word vomit.

So we’ve all seen the fics where Tubbo is sleep deprived, blah blah blah, we love to see them. BUT. There’s a severe lack of fics where Fit is the one who refuses to sleep. Maybe, just maybe, he needs to be the one who’s being taken care of by his two lovely boyfriends for once

fitpacbo I love u and ofc I will entertain ur word vomit ans ur so right! that man needs babied by his two lovely bfs!

Exhaustion sunk into every single bone in Fit's body. He couldn't remember the last time he slept. Every night he sat awake for every minute staring down at Ramón's sleeping form. He had to make sure his boy was safe. Even if that meant he sacrificed. He would sacrifice everything for Ramón if it guaranteed his safety.

Pac and Tubbo were starting to notice how dark the circles under his eyes were. Fit noticed the looks they gave each other when he stumbled over something he shouldn't have stumbled over.

And there was Phil. Fit blinked in surprise. “Oh hey Phil!”

Chayanne ran over, his typical yellow duckie floating around his waist. The children started to bounce around and smack each other lightly.

“Chayanne was wondering if Ramón could come over today for a play date.”

If Fit was any less tired he would have noticed the glint in Phil's eyes. But he was exhausted so he just sighed and tried not to let his eyes drift shut. “Yeah, we'd love to come over.”

“OI!” came a yell right after and then there was Pac and Tubbo. “Fitchie, we need your help.”

Fit stared despondently at them. “I have to watch Ramón.”

“Don't worry about it, mate,” Phil chirped. “Chayanne wants him over anyway so I can just watch Ramón for you.”

Fit hesitated. But ultimately he trusted Phil so he agreed. He let Pac and Tubbo each take one of his hands and drag him off to Tubchunk. There he was immediately confused about the pile of blankets in the middle of the factory floor.

“What?” He said before he was being pulled down by the two of them into the pile, their limbs holding him down. They were both a lot stronger then they looked so with the both of them they could hold him down easily.

“Did you guys trick me into coming here to sleep?” He asked.

They both shushed him.

“Bedtime, king,” Tubbo said softly.

“Boa noite!” Pac chimed in. Then Pac reached across Fit's chest to wind his fingers in Tubbo's hair who relaxed into the touch. It was nice seeing them both so soft with each other, Fit did have to admit that. Their eyes, different colors, but equally as wide and content.

He could feel the exhaustion reaching his brain, feeling himself start to drift. Before he could utter a syllable, sleep drug him down.

Fit woke up with the sun shining through the factory window. Tubbo was spread across his chest on his belly, face tucked against Fit's shoulder while Pac stood above them with a wide grin.

“Bom dia, Fitch. I made you some breakfast.” Sure enough there in his hands was a giant bowl of oatmeal and a plate of avocado toast. “Wake Tubbo up.”

Fit reached down to gently shake Tubbo's shoulder. Tubbo woke with a start, his hair messy and his eyes bleary. “What's happenin?”

“Breakfast!” Pac proclaimed setting himself down beside them. Tubbo slowly peeled himself off of Fit to allow him to sit up.

Fit had to admit the food was delicious. “This is amazing, Pac,” he praised and Tubbo murmured something that was probably meant to be agreement.

Pac's face began to flush. “Aw thanks Fitch. It's no big deal.”

“Really though,” Fit continued. “Thank you guys for this.”

“Obrigado,” Pac said with a soft smile.

Tubbo fell down against Fit's shoulder with a quiet yawn. “Bedtime,” he murmured and despite it all Fit found himself still incredibly bone tired. He let Tubbo's body weight push him back down once again and wrapped his arms around the man as Tubbo threaded their legs together.

Pac gathered up their plates and bowl. “You two okay here by yourselves?”

Fit nodded. “Yeah I think we're both just gonna sleep a bit more.”

“Okay,” Pac said leaning down to press a kiss to Fit's forehead and another one to the crown of Tubbo's head. "Sleep well you two."

#poly morning crew #morning crew more like sleepy crew am i right #dead silence and crickets #my writing #fanfiction #q!tubbo #q!fit #q!pac #fitpacbo #qsmp #q!philza #ramon the egg #chayanne the egg

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