#im too tired for real post so heres a bunch of kid sketches

[madb0nes]

[thetomorrowshow]

unless you take your army back

Hello and welcome to the sequel to my work i will make the sky collapse! You honestly do not have to read the first one to understand this one--the first was a Crutchie-centric whump-focused refuge story, and this one is about his recovery and Jack coming to terms with what happened (and maybe some,,, sprace).

So yeah! This is chapter one! Content warnings will be posted at the beginning of each chapter :) This is a queued post, so as soon as I have time to post it on AO3 I’ll update this with the link.

cw: blood, brief description of injury

~

On the same day they won the strike, there were a good dozen kids clamoring to be a newsie, appearing out of nowhere with the sole purpose of bothering Jack. He didn’t really want to care--they could be a newsie all they wanted--but the problem was they all needed a start-up fund. They all wanted Jack to foot the cost of their first papes and first week of room and board, and though he had just gotten a job offer and an improved living overall, he just didn’t have the time or money to train so many penniless kids. So he sent them to Spot Conlon, of course.

It was pretty clear that these kids all came from the Refuge, which had just been shut down by the governor. Jack had never been happier than he was when he saw the cop drag Snyder away in chains. The nagging question that was slowly coming to the front of his mind, though, was where was Crutchie?

Katherine had been here for the short celebration, but had seemed distracted and had left almost immediately, without giving Jack a chance to ask after his brother. He wanted to go look for the kid, comb through the Refuge and the streets surrounding it, but Davey had regretfully told him he couldn’t leave. He was the union leader, and a nice official union it was at that. He actually couldn’t even sell right now, he had to return to Pulitzer’s office and continue working on a bunch of paperwork registering the union or something. Pulitzer had told him that they would be working together occasionally due to his new position as leader of the Newsboys Union, which apparently meant that whenever there was a problem on either of their ends they had to include the other in their solving of the problem. It made sense to Jack, what he didn’t get was why he had to read a billion papers telling him it made sense.

Katherine did not ride with him and Mr. Pulitzer in the carriage back to his office, and she didn’t come and see him when he left late in the afternoon, but maybe she was just at work. There was a lot to report, after all. Jack wished it didn’t hurt. There was no way it was intentional, they all had a lot going on right now. It wasn't like he'd gone looking for her, after all. He'd see her tomorrow, cross paths on the way to work.

What with all the stressful arrangements and intense discussions, Jack was more tired than he usually was by the time he entered the lodging house. In later days, he wished that he had spoken to Mush, waiting anxiously outside. He wished that he had not gone with Pulitzer to his office, and instead sought out Katherine straightaway. Most of all, he wished that he had gone personally to the Refuge, made sure to set those kids free himself.

He didn’t do any of those things, though. Instead, he walked home from Pulitzer’s office, nodded to Mush, and went straight inside.

-

Katherine was there, which was odd, but certainly not unwelcome. According to Race, she had spent time with them without him, just celebrating with them and getting to know them all. That was fine, but most girls didn’t seek out a bunch of street rat teenage boys as preferred company.

Not only was Katherine there, but half of the newsies were seemingly just waiting by the door, dropping what they’d been doing and standing to stare at him. Sure, Jack was something of a celebrity now--and he had betrayed them more than once, which could be the reason also--but they looked almost guilty.

“Jack,” Katherine started, and Jack saw that sorry look on her face and his heart dropped. What could this be about? He’d been with Pulitzer all day, so it wasn’t like the old man had turned on them. Where was Crutchie? Was he--he couldn’t be. Right? No.

“Jack,” she said again, and now she was crying. Jack wanted to kiss the tears off her face, tell her she never needed to cry again, but he couldn’t. He had to know--his stomach was roiling, threatening to toss up whatever bite he’d eaten earlier. Something had happened, and it--it couldn’t be--

“It’s Crutchie,” Katherine said, and Jack had a brief moment of huh, so that’s how swoonin’ feels before he was on his knees. He can’t have died. Crutchie was--well, Crutchie. He was just as capable as any newsie, could sell papes twice as well as half of them, and was stronger than anyone Jack knew--certainly far stronger than himself. But if Snyder--if the Refuge--if--

“He’s alive,” Katherine hurried to say, kneeling on the floor beside him, and Jack let out a choked laugh, only just realizing he was crying.

“Ya couldn’ta said that sooner?” he asked weakly, and Katherine sniffled, trying to regain composure.

“He’s alive,” she repeated, “but he isn’t doing well at all. He wanted to see you, but I think he’s still asleep.”

In seconds, Jack was back on his feet, pulling her up with him. “Let’s go,” he said, pulling her towards the bunkroom. “I gotta see ‘im.”

He ignored her cries of “Jack, wait, you have to know--” and took the stairs two at a time, yanking open the door as soon as it was in front of him. The room was dead silent for once, and only one bed was occupied (despite the fact that he’d told Romeo to rest up today after the strike). Over by the open window on the far wall, a figure was laying in the only bed without a top bunk (the one that belonged to Jack, seeing as he was in charge).

Jack could barely hold back a retch as he came closer, seeing the matted hair crusted in blood, but sticking straight up, same as always. Crutchie was sleeping almost peacefully on the bed, the blankets tucked around him messily, as if one of the boys had tried his very best to arrange it like a mother would. His face was swollen and cut up, almost unrecognizable as his brother, though his neck was what caught Jack’s attention. A brownish-purple bruise in the vague shape of a gripped hand was found there, where the fingers had dug in marked by little round black bruises, a sick imitation of a constellation crossing his brother’s throat.

Jack’s fists curled into tight balls as he stared down at Crutchie, seeing red. The rest of his body was hidden by the covers, excepting a stiff arm that was tightly wrapped in gauze. The collar of his undershirt was the only part of his clothes visible, and it was stained brown and torn. 

There were two sides of Jack warring for dominance. One screamed at him to storm down to the county jail right this moment and give Snyder everything he deserved. The other side tried to pull him to the floor, weeping at Crutchie’s bedside. Jack fought both, not wanting to seem weak in front of Katherine, who was watching him with that soft-concerned look on her face that he had already come to know too well. He needed to get alone, needed space, needed a moment to cope with what he’d just been confronted with so that he could best help Crutchie later.

Jack calmly left the room, replying something along the lines of fine, just need a minute when Katherine asked tentatively if he was okay. Then he walked slowly down the steps and through the main room, where all of the newsies watched him silently. He nodded vaguely in their direction. Luckily, none of them asked any questions. If they had, Jack wasn’t sure that he would’ve been able to hold back the sobs.

Finally he was outside, and here he could run. Run he did, all the way around the side of the building and up the fire escape, running and running until all that existed was the clang! of his feet against the metal and the wind rushing past his ears. Then he was climbing the ladder to the very top, where only a week ago he and Crutchie had woken, excited to start striking for real.

Jack had woken early that morning, and had taken the time to sketch out the New York skyline against the starry night sky. It was a frequent subject of his, but that morning he had filled in himself and Crutchie, sitting on the roof closest to the perspective, curled up and reaching toward the stars.

When Crutchie had gotten up, they had made mundane small talk, both trying to hide nervousness that showed too plainly. They eventually stopped talking around it, laughing and joking about it directly, before deciding--no, vowing--to not let the other come to serious harm or danger. Then they had gone downstairs, ready to wake the other boys and get on with the revolution.

The last promise--maybe the last one ever--that Jack had made to Crutchie, and he’d broken it not even hours later. On the rooftop now, Jack kicked the low wall angrily, then again and again. What was wrong with him? How could he focus so intently on these--these mundanities, paperwork and politeness and whatall, while Crutchie was suffering so? How had he not been here for him, when he arguably needed Jack more than anyone else at the moment?

He kicked the wall one more time, then threw himself to the floor. What kind of leader was he? He’d betrayed everyone, almost left Crutchie; then when he’d gotten his head on the right way, he hadn’t done anything to make sure the kid was all right!

“Jack?”

Katherine. She would come up here, tell him it was okay, that it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t want that. It was his fault, and he couldn’t have anyone denying it or he might just explode.

“Leave me alone,” he called back, barely keeping his voice from breaking. Silence, then a sigh and the sound of soft footsteps going down the fire escape. Good.

Jack drew his hands across his face, taking in a shuddering breath. He had to pull himself together. He couldn’t dream about leaving anymore, that would just make things worse. He had to be here for Crutchie, and the other boys. Prove that he wasn’t a scab.

He hadn’t eaten any supper, but he didn’t really care. It was dark enough that he shouldn’t have a problem resting. Add it to the tired ache in his bones and he’d be out in no time. He’d get up when everyone else went to bed, then he’d stay up the rest of the night with Crutchie, be there in case he had nightmares or woke up. He had to be there for him. He had to.

[jcfoxington]

@sambambucky​ : “pls... Pastels, Peaches and Pain??? among us first draft??? marvel meets warframe meets a bunch of tumblr posts (it’s not an au!?!??!)

hi jo !!! Pastels, Peaches, and Pain is one of those sambucky wips i have mostly fully fleshed out in my head because of one (1) extreme moment of clarity after a rogue ‘what if’ tangent thought but havent written anything of yet out of restraint / knowing i need to finish at least one of my current sambucky wips before i start it or none of them will get done

this was the rogue tangent thought: “what if Sam is haunted by Figaro’s ghost and has been since he was a kid?”. i’ve changed the ghost cat to not be Figaro but that’s the premise !

i refer to the fic as the cat fic ‘cause the whole plot is based around sam’s ghost cat companion insisting he adopts nat’s cat Liho after endgame and then Figaro later and then [insert redacted because plot spoilers but just know it relates to Alpine]. no im not projecting my feelings about cats idk what youre talking about 

here’s some note snippets just for you:

the cat, inexplicably, takes a liking to bucky, which is really annoying bc sam doesnt know how to explain to him that all the oddly soft gusts of wind are actually sam's dead cat insisting on getting pats

bucky getting shade thrown at him by said ghost cat during all of tfatws + them making up (and not out. yet)

starts when sam's a kid & follows him as he grows up w/ a ghost kitty as a companion only he can see & interact with + angst with an undertone of comedy + getting together

he whispers to ghost kitty, who simply mmrrs happily

for the among us first draft thing, what basically happened is i saw this tweet and this video and my brain latched onto these dynamics so hard i had to write about them. 

here’s a sketch of my two main imposters, Black (left) and Cyan (right):

and here’s a snippet:

The thing having Cyan pause and stare out at the asteroid field is how the colors stretch to family. When they and Black came aboard, they had thought every crewmember was an adult working on the planet-change project. That the patch of off-white with a black something-pattern-or-shape signified status. In a way, Cyan supposes it does, but just not the way they expected. They had expected it to show what rank an individual held within the hierarchy of the crew, from deckhand to division leader to captain, not to show that you're family of the crew and not actually part of the crew itself. 

There are innocents on this ship. Children. It was not something any of them had anticipated, and not something Cyan had been prepared to deal with. They and Black boarded this horrible place to eradicate a threat, believing each and single one of the humans were accomplishes and dedicated to the goal of destroying Cyan and Black's species, and their planet. But, now?

marvel meets warframe meets a bunch of tumblr posts... doesn’t have a wip title or seperate document for itself yet cause it’s been stuck in my ‘story ideas’ document since its creation. so ‘marvel meets warframe meets a bunch of tumblr posts’ is literally just me describing the vibe of an original world gjkerfkds

the world came to be for two reasons. firstly, i want to do make take on a superhero universe because the plot and complete lack of communication in both the dcu and mcu piss me the fuck off. secondly, needed a place to dump ocs with elaborate backstories or fantasy / sci-fi abilities that dont fit into any of my existing worlds

which sounds super competent but trust me, it isn’t. it didn’t gain any solidity at all until i decided to do a personal ‘how different can i make spn castiel look & still retain the same vibe?’ challenge. i have my own cas now

however, the reason i said ‘marvel meets...’ is because i’ve snagged a couple of different things from the mcu, most notably: enemies to reluctant coworkers to lovers, yes our best friend have the same name. no they’re not the same person, secret evil org is controlling the government, and the assassin that tried to kill you several times is now your best friend

warframe was added to the world because i got attached to my Volt build, gave them a name, and have some headcanons idk what to do with because i refuse to interact with that fandom. also because the friend i made through discussing warframe lore + plot dicked me over so it feels Bad to create for

the glue to this whole mess is that one “in every friend group there’s a mean bisexual, an even meaner lesbian, a she/they, a he/they, a himbo, an astrology bitch, a short king, and a token straight” tumblr post. my main group of superheroes ala the avengers consist of these people. the token straight is the only one i havent figured out who is yet

ever since i figured that out ive been throwing story / character ideas and weirdly specific aesthetics from popular tumblr posts into this world’s notes. here’s some examples:

sword grandmas

that trope where someone’s really nice and acts super well-adjusted to society but then they do something super whack and dangerous and you realize ‘oh they’re secretly a little bit insane, actually’

anti-gay group’s leader’s wife leaves him for another woman

superhero who swore to be the best hero [city / planet / solar system / continent / ????] has ever seen ever since he lost his wife. not because she’s dead but divorce just sucks & the hero-to-be is terrible at coping

dishevelled swamp witch

that one person who runs around with an amulet all the time & isn’t aware it’s cursed

an exasperated, tired superhuman assassin running after their husband and their husband's best friend. their husband and said husband's best friend both have wings. chaos ensues (yes, this one is a sambucky post)

ask me about my WIPs!

BONUS:

@sambambucky​​ : #i want to have a coffee and listen to synopses of all of these.... #i miss the discord wow #WRITING TAG #waitttt time jumping dream movie? lmao I'VE READ THIS LIST FORTY TIMES and every time i rediscover something i wanna know about #outfit doodlesss ugh i need to go

couldnt not respond to your tags because they make me go ghrkjfnerknf but in the good way. we miss you too jo !!

the time jumping dream movie was one of the first vivid dreams i had and the whole thing was so stupidly coherent and whacky i had to write it down. it grew plot, a queer love dynamic, weird sci-fi apocalypse elements, anti-military propaganda, questionable science, and a sequel while i wasnt looking and now i just. have to make it a real movie or i’ll combust

outfit djoodlles.png is only on there because my best friend sent me a ‘draw this outfit’ meme and space kitty, my current character brainrot, stole all the outfits for himself. otherwise, that file just sits there until im feeling like designing an outfit or wanna see how a stupid thing looks on my oc patrick

here’s one of the two poses-to-doodle-outfits-on of space kitty ive made so far:

and here’s one of those stupid things on patrick (that then turned into an actual outfit of his because i have no self control):