#listen i had to make it javid

[felt-squirrels]

David Jacobs would learn how to tie a toga and then wear it all day and then would convince Jack to wear one too because togas are cool actually so now they’re just two boyfriends sitting on the floor wearing togas

[ftm-megamind]

a little late in my timezone but. happy javid thursday . i haven't written anything newsies in so long

david can't sleep tonight.

not exactly because he can't fall asleep, or has trouble doing so, but more because of the fact that he's waiting on something. and he hates when someone's late. his eyelids are getting heavier and heavier by the minute, and he's had a very stressful day, both at school and after it, and really, why is jack always late even though he's the one who picks the meeting time?

before david can dwell on it too long, he hears two knocks on his window, a pause between them. he sits up, slowly, so as not to make the bed boards creak and wake his siblings. he slips out of bed, checks just in case if les hasn't decided to follow him again, and then slowly approaches the window.

he's greeted by jack, though they don't exchange a single word, only nodding to one another. not the time for pleasantries. jack steps aside, offering david a hand, and helps him up. david closes the window, shoving a little wooden block inbetween it and the windowsill, so as not to lock himself out.

the two boys quickly make their way up to the rooftop, and david looks around the entire time, admiring how lively new york is, livelier than other cities at night, certainly.

when they settle on the rooftop, on one of david's old, rugged blankets, jack takes out a little glass bottle out of his pant pocket. he unscrews it and offers a swig to david, who contemplates taking the offer. after some thought, though, he decides that it's better not to. after all, what if his parents decide to check in on him later and smell alcohol on him? that would not be good. jack decides against it, too--drinking alone isn't any fun. he does light a cigarette, though.

after a while of sitting in silence, both looking at the stars, jack finally speaks.

"say, dave," he begins, taking a long drag of his cigarette, "if you could go to any place on earth, where would you go?"

david ponders for a moment. "home, i think," he mutters, smiling to himself. "old home, i mean. poland. warsaw."

jack hums, his gaze fixed on david.

"well, what was it like? i'm tryna start a conversation here."

david is quiet for another second. "i don't remember much. i was still little when we left. warsaw was big, and i thought that no city could really get any bigger, so when i came to new york, i was a little overwhelmed," he shrugs. "other than that... it felt nice to use polish outside of home. i really miss visiting my grandparents. they had a little cottage at a small town nearby. we would go at least once a month and go foraging. grandma taught me and sarah a lot."

jack listens, not daring to interrupt. he is in awe of how there's so much wonder and sadness simultaneously in david's eyes and voice.

"that's about it, i guess. it's not like it was perfect," david admits, omitting details so as not to ruin the mood. "that's why we left, after all. papa figured it was safer here."

jack doesn't pry. judging from david's facial expression, it's better not to. maybe he'll tell him one day.

"anyway," david carries on, looking to his side, at jack, relaxing once again. "what about you?"

jack snorts. "c'mon, you know what i'm gonna say. it's far too obvious."

david snickers too, and shoves jack gently with his shoulder. "yeah, obviously it's santa fe, but say some more. like, what exactly you would wanna do there."

"y'know, typical cowboy stuff... i guess i'd find myself a gang and we'd find a nice hideout for ourselves, we'd shoot and rob the bad guys, run from the law... oh, i'd have a trusty horsey as well, 'course," jack lists off the top of his head, as if he's gone over the scenario a thousand times. which he most likely has.

david smiles at jack's boyish descriptions, and then takes a wager. "kinda sounds like you have all that. except for shooting and a horse, but that's still not that far off."

jack huffs loudly, nodding, a solemn smile on his face. "yeah." truth be told, he's been aware of this for a while now. he's kind of grown out of santa fe since the strike has ended, and he doesn't really mind it. not that he doesn't love fantasizing about it still, it's just more like a go-to daydream whenever he has trouble falling asleep. it's funny how long it took him to understand he doesn't need to run away to feel like he has a home. "yeah, i know. partly thanks to you, dave," he admits, shoving david back, far too embarrassed to actually look at him. seldom does he say such cheesy things.

"d'aww," david mocks, in reality his heart skipping a beat and sudden warmth spreading over his chest. "c'mere, you sappy cowboy," he ushers, wrapping his arms around jack and bringing him closer, holding him too tight to consider the embrace a friendly hug. thankfully, jack hugs back, enjoying the warmth and security of the embrace. yeah, this probably beats having a horse of your own and shooting people.

[we-are-inevitable]

i love your ghost davey stuff so can i request some soft javid but with like a sprinkle of tma eldritch bullshit (if you want to!) - @pigeonwit

“It’s hard.”

“Feeling real?”

“Being real.”

They’re sitting on the floor of Jack’s room now, lit by only the moonlight streaming through the open window and the soft, warm lamp on the corner of Jack’s messy desk. It’s nearly midnight now. Jack knows he should go to sleep, he does, but electricity is crackling under his skin, from the tips of his fingers to something hollow in his chest, and it’s difficult to sleep when David is around. He doesn’t want to stop talking to him, and David doesn’t want to leave.

Jack’s gaze flicks up to where David is sitting, slouched against the wall opposite of his bed. He can make him out, clear as day; the swoops of his umber curls, the freckles dotted across the expanse of pale cheeks, the buttons of his blue plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The haze in his eyes is different tonight, though.

A few beats of silence pass, until a faraway taxi honks its horn and New York fills the room again, urging Jack to speak. “You are real, though.”

“I don’t feel like I am. Like I should be,” David says, voice soft. Jack watches him, watches the way his fingertips brush together as he fiddles with the cap of the pen he always keeps in his back pocket. “I don’t think I was meant for this.”

“Meant for what?”

“I don’t know. This.”

Jack blows his hair out of his face, then shifts to bring himself closer to David, sitting in front of him. He observes him for a few moments, just like always, because when is Jack not observing David? When does he not notice the way his gaze shifts when he’s uncomfortable, the lack of eye contact, the way the corner of his mouth ticks down into a frown before he schools that perfectly practiced neutral expression on his face? When does he not see the fuzzy outline of his person, blending into the background like he’s not meant to be there?

Jack clears his throat. “I don’t think you gotta be meant for anything, Dave. I think you just gotta be.”

“I’ve never been allowed to just be,�� he whispers, and Jack swear he feels the temperature drop. Maybe it’s the breeze. Maybe it’s David. “I don’t— I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know anything anymore. It’s been so long since I’ve had to think about who I am, and now…”

“Now it feels different.”

“Yeah. Different.”

They fall into silence again. Jack doesn’t know what to say when David gets like this. He doesn’t know how to touch him- how to comfort without shock, how to feel without startling him into disappearance. With a nod of his head, though, after thirty seconds or so of listening to street conversations and tires on asphalt, Jack says, “Tell me how. How different.”

“It’s just,” David starts before cutting himself off with a shift of his body, gaze darting to the left again before training back on Jack’s knee. “It’s different. I don’t know how to describe it… Like I’m not me anymore. Like I’m my own shadow. I walk behind what I think I should be, and I can’t change my own movement, my own decisions. Everything changes, and I haunt.”

Jack nods again, slow, and takes in a breath. “Is it really a bad thing, though? Haunting?”

After a moment of contemplation, David slowly tilts his chin up, and Jack sees curiosity in those dull blue eyes, in the knick of his furrowed brow.

He doesn’t say anything. Jack continues.

“I think it’s sorta beautiful, in a way,” He says, leaning back against the bedpost behind his back. “I think… the negatives of haunting, the, y’know, feelin’ like you’re left behind part— that’s awful. It is. There’s no denyin’ that. But, I don’t know, there might be somethin’ good about livin’ in the past.”

“Like what?”

“Like… how you don’t gotta worry about what people think. Just what they remember. The future’s always gonna be a constant clean slate, then.” Jack pauses, and cocks his head. “And like, you don’t have to do, like I said, you just have to be, and that takes the pressure off. You don’t have to play by anyone else’s rules. You set your own pace, you make your own calls… You haunt. You deserve the chance to haunt, Davey.”

David darts away again, arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t really feel alive anymore. I forgot what it’s like.”

“That’s okay, too,” Jack murmurs. “We can bring you back to life, when you’re ready. You don’t gotta worry about that right now. Focus on gettin’ your feet back on the ground, okay? I can live enough for the both of us.”

If it means that David can breathe again, if it means David loses the weight of centuries on his shoulders, if he can leave behind the apparition he feels like he is— yeah. Jack can take care of everything else for a while. He can read the signs, he can listen for the knocks on the walls showing David is still here, David isn’t going anywhere. He can be real when David can’t.

After a moment, David looks up at him, alive as ever, and grins. That’s all Jack will ever need from him.

[triflesandparsnips]

(eta 10/10/23: Having just realized that this is now a very easy to google explainer, please also see the full end-of-game roundup here: "when something is definitely not a game, but most definitely a gift" or my related #definitely not a game tag. We now return you to your regularly scheduled nonsense, currently in progress.)

So... so.

So this just dropped.

And listen. LISTEN. For people who haven't been following this Our Flag Means Death-related alternate-reality-shenanigan fest, the following will make no sense to you-- or, wait, fuck it--

A Brief History of the Javid Denkins Alternate-Reality Game

(I didn't intend "overly long essays about in-depth fandom-related shenanigans" to be my brand, but by god I'm here now and I will make us all suffer through it.)

Reality (As We Know It)

Established and verified gay pirate showrunner David Jenkins is a regular shenanigineer on twitter: retweets fanart, retweets cosplays, calls fans sluts (endearment), has ongoing fight with medieval cats.

Back in 2022, David Jenkins implied heavily that he had joined tumblr, but did not cough up his account name.

This is the sum total of real and actual events and identities.

Through the Looking Glass

Fans started looking for David Jenkins's tumblr. What fans found is the tumblr of one Javid Denkins, who appeared to be new, had a variant of Jenkins's twitter icon, and seemed to be cheekily maintaining an incognito by steadfastly asserting that he is definitely not David Jenkins.

Fans got weird about it, because that is the nature of fandom. I said something about it here, because I have Feelings about the Rules of Incognito and also about Not Being Weird About People Who Make the Content We Like. I put it as a reblog to the post, as per regular tumblring, no response requested/required because babes, if I'm going to be perceived, I want it to be organic. (ahem... FOOTNOTE 1)

I kept a cursory eye on things, because it can be Really Lonely to be a famous person who just wants to have a regular online experience, and if that's what whoever was on the other end wanted, then that's what they should get to have imo. Unlike a regular tumblr that I might reply to directly or engage with on a same-level kinda way, I let them set the rules of engagement because unless/until they came clean, they would always be Schrodinger's Showrunner to me, and therefore subject to my internal Don't Be Creepy ruleset.

My second Javid reblog was pretty much what I would do to any other newbie tumblr person (as they professed to be): adding on to a gag by referencing the "color of the sky" meme and also a seagull, for OFMD-related reasons (which fit within the ruleset, because Javid was actively connecting himself with OFMD type things). And Javid reblogged it, so hey, I was winning at tumblr interactions, a thing that is normal to want and possible to achieve.

Time passed. Javid dropped (what will be revealed to be the first of many) photo manipulations. (FOOTNOTE 2)

On the same day, Javid posted what looked like an accidental smashkey. I reblogged with a seagull, because again, established rules of engagement and me winning at tumblr interactions. He reblogged himself, though, with what looked like another smashkey, but was actually a goddamn Caesar cipher-- and started using the tag #definitely not a game.

From there, Javid started up a stream of fairly fun puzzles. I didn't keep up with it fully, but since it looked like Javid wanted people to interact, I interacted (while trying to ensure that other people could keep having fun too). He also started subtly changing his icon, his tumblr header, etc., expanding the bounds of the puzzle space, as it were. (And if you want a complete rundown of the puzzle history and the associated answers, this twitter thread is enormous and thorough, thank you @eefaevie.)

The seagull made an appearance every once in a while; I threw together various season 2 bingo cards in response to these potential spoilers; I spent my time largely keeping back so I could eat popcorn and Not Be Creepy. But... but.

The thing was, Javid's method of posting (in a "heeeere fishy fishy fishy" manner) seemed, to me, to be the actions of someone trying to play with the audience and/or provide enrichment for the enclosure. So after some thought and, again, remembering the loneliness of being a Creative Person but trying to be mindful that this person was still incognito and could be the actual dude, I started using the seagull to reblog extra content, links, whathaveyou, with the tag #enrichment can go in BOTH enclosures-- with the idea that, if Javid wanted to look, he had the option to do so-- and if he did, he'd be rewarded with, again, no demands on him or his attention, but just: some content. Some enrichment. Some fun. A "picking up what you're putting down" kind of vibe from one person to another, both of whom are, at the very least, interested in communicating with an audience.

To be clear: For me, at the end of the day, it had to be a choice. I needed to provide room for Javid to choose to enter the magic circle of my additional game play-- but I also wasn't going to hold my breath about it. This was Javid's space, with intentions and purposes I had no way of knowing (nor should I)-- I was just, metaphorically, bringing another set of dice and maybe some graph paper with an extra room drawn on it that he could easily enter if he wanted, to play in a space intended to complement his. He was putting in a shitton of labor for what was essentially just a gift; I wanted to show appreciation for that labor, while putting in some of my own to gift back.

So when the first round of puzzles ended, and a new one began, I linked the answers to one of his anagram puzzles inside some seagull gifs-- but I figured, why not add something extra? I used his pigpen cipher to dare him to use a book code next. To even see the dare he'd have to want to decode the gifs-- and if he ultimately didn't want to engage, no skin off my nose. (That's why there's a border around the magic circle with clear entrances and exits.) Either way, I was having a nice time.

The next puzzle type was a stereogram. (Neat.) The puzzle after that, though? I get tagged and informed that Javid has, in fact, posted a motherfucking book code. (FOOTNOTE 3)

Enter the Thunder Parasocial Dome

This is the point where I first have to be pulled down from the curtains by rational people who have only my best interests at heart.

(Having a whole Thesis Statement about why I was engaging with Schrodinger's Showrunner is one thing. Having possible evidence that my engagement was, like, actually engaged with is quite another.)

By sweet and loving friends and family I was reminded that:

Other people are, in fact, allowed to be clever about things too.

That all sorts of pre-planning may have gone into all this, and that therefore the timing was a coincidence.

That there are a limited number of easily accessible ciphers out there, so the code type could also be a coincidence.

And that either way I still have my important Don't Be Creepy code of ethics.

So. I took a deep breath. Cool. I was totally and absolutely cool about this.

...And in a totally normal manner I proceeded to lay an elaborate trap.

AHAHAHA JUST JOKING what I mean is: I replied to the tagged post, acknowledging that the sphere of potential puzzling had now expanded beyond tumblr. I used Javid's own fake-link trick to link to a seagull laugh. And in the tags I threw in a lot of potential internet-related alternate reality stuff.

But also, crucially... some more ideas for Javid to use. (FOOTNOTE 4) If he wanted them. If he was actually looking.

Since I was now playing In Earnest, I spent some time putting together a youtube channel, an alternate tumblr, a neocities account -- a whole new field of play, if Javid wanted to engage there. I pulled out the dusty memories of a Yuletide fic I wrote several years ago that used similar shenanigans to tell an interactive fiction story about Monty Python. (Hilariously enough, my first RPF.) I continued to play with all these new and fascinating toys.

A Strange Ship on the Horizon

What with one thing and another three years pass, a Javid puzzle eventually lead to an AO3 account-- which to me definitively opened Schrodinger's box: maybe this was a member of the production playing with fire, more likely it was a clever fan whose brain is fucking fascinating, but it most definitely was not David Jenkins.

But. Javid was still in incognito. And I still don't know if I had been perceived.

I read the fic the Javid account is writing (which is still a work in progress and pretty great ngl)-- it's a fandom AU, where Ed and Stede are fans of a gay pirate romcom called Blow the Man Down, featuring Sam Bellamy and Olivier Levasseur. The showrunner is named Javid, who doesn't have social media but gets cornered into agreeing to join twitter (rather than our universe's tumblr). And Ed decides, on a lark, to start a fake twitter account, tag it #definitelynotjaviddenkins... and then freak out because a large contingent of fandom shows up on his metaphorical doorstep saying HELLO, JAVID.

As if this weren't enough: beyond the fic itself, suddenly a whole multimedia alternate universe suddenly appeared, with multiple twitter and AO3 accounts beyond just Stede and Ed, forming an entire fucking fandom, Goncharov-style, around Blow the Man Down. It was and continues to be fucking wild. It's also amazing. And the porn is surprisingly approachable. (BUT SEE AGAIN FOOTNOTE 1)

Grappling Hooks Breaching the Parasocial Divide

The thing is, though. The thing. That is.

I have officially reached Level 2 Curtain Clawing.

As I read the fic and the accompanying universe, I started to. Notice things.

References to soap (but... but surely that's normal. Many people talk about soap, not just amateur history enthusiasts like myself).

References to obscure scents (LABDANUM. Someone referenced labda-motherfucking-num. But surely. Surely it is not an entirely unheard of thing; I am not the first person to discover it or the fact that it gets combed from goats jesus christ the goat thing I forgot about that--)

References to the drilled coin from the wreck of Sam Bellamy's ship, which appeared as a random bit of possible future lore for Javid in this bit of enrichment (but I put in lots of possible lore! I had a whole thing going about figureheads! Bad luck to kill a seabird! I had a whole thing for a while where I thought maybe the digraph code Javid was hinting at was actually a Playfair cipher! I have been wrong many times before and added lots of random possible narratives. SO SURELY THE COIN IS A COINCIDENCE).

References to... okay not really references, and I've never articulated it quite like this (though this is definitely my vibe), but references to the idea of these puzzles and enrichment being a conversation in and of themselves, held at a remove and existing entirely in call (Javid) and response (the audience).

Finally... I started to notice that Stede decodes/interprets Ed-as-Javid's puzzles in a long twitter thread (like... like the one linked above) but also... sends back puzzles. Like, well, me.

"But STILL," I screech from the top of the curtain rail. "This could ALL BE COINCIDENCE," I yowl as friends and family try to bat me down with a broom. Even, by god, today's drop... which uses a password-protected url shortener. The exact same one I used in an earlier enrichment. But! It's not like there are a lot of those! Maybe this was just the first one that cropped up for Javid, just as it was the first that cropped up for me! (BUT THEN AGAIN, MAY I REFER YOU BACK TO FOOTNOTE 4)

The fic is at chapter 14. There are, if AO3 is to be believed, 7 more chapters to go, plus who knows how much additional extra-universe material. There is so. much. here.

...And so many more opportunities to climb all the curtains.

“It's a great huge game of chess that's being played—all over the world—if this is the world at all, you know.”

So at this point... what, in fact, is happening?

I'm inside a Schrodinger's box whose sides are entirely composed of parasocial uncertainty.

Maybe Javid is here. (HELLO, JAVID.)

Maybe he isn't! (HELLO, THE MIRROR IN MY ENCLOSURE.)

Maybe I'm not actually being referenced at all, but the writer of that twitter thead, @eefaevie, is (HI EEFAEVIE WHAT'S UP HOW'S THE PARASOCIAL AIR IN YOUR ENCLOSURE DOIN')

I don't know. I can't know. Unless someone opens the box.

and my god, what if they never do?

tl;dr. This is the most enriching fun I've had in months, and if the magic circle is going to widen to include me, then friend, I intend to BRING MY A-GAME.

---

FOOTNOTES

1. During the course of that mini-essay, I say the following:

"If it's someone who is not the dude but just a tumblrite who managed to catch on really quick? Well goddamn, good for them, and also A+ Wink-Nudge acrobatics. Real dude can have a peaceful time reading critical analyses of Goncharov, Javid here can quietly start introducing strange lore and running gags and other fun-with-plausible-deniability shenanigans".

One day later Javid starts answering questions about characters with enigmatic season 2 spoilery things; a little less than ten days later, we get the first fake link (which, imo, is the real start of the game).

2. This is now only 24 days after my "strange lore and fun with plausible deniability" post.

3. My dare: January 26. Javid's book code: February 4.

4. My tags on the post wherein I acknowledge that the dare has, possibly, been taken up, read: #you know what's cool? besides how #enrichment can go in BOTH enclosures #is how much you can do with html #like sure sure we've all seen the embedded links #but I remember the days of hidden source code messages #websites with delayed redirects #passwords hidden on one site to open the locked contents of another #you know #~normal things~ #I'm certain none of this will become relevant #because this is #definitely not a game

[baura-bear]

HELLO POOKIE i read the t4t snippet + 80s au idea and i really love them both.. you're the only person that gets javid. also could i get. david dating oscar delancey

validation from you pookie always makes me beam thank you :')

ORDER UP!

“Took you long enough,” Oscar said with a smile, the words stung but the smile made it hard to decipher Oscar’s true intention.

“Sorry. I made myself a sandwich.” Davey held up the sandwich to prove his point and took a small bite out of it. 

Oscar raised one disapproving eyebrow. “Are you sure you need to be eating that?” he asked casually as he cracked open his beer. 

Davey finished chewing the small bite, staring down at the sandwich for a moment too long. He let out a huff of air and shook his head. “I probably shouldn’t, huh?” He set the sandwich down on his thigh and instead picked up his drink to sip on.

“Really man?” Spot asked Oscar, he looked mad but Spot had a perpetual resting bitch face so it was hard to tell.

Oscar looked offended that Spot had anything to say at all, “What?”

“It’s a peanut butter jelly, not the end of the world, just let him enjoy the sandwich.”

“Spot, it’s fine-” Davey tried to cut in.

“No, it’s not,” Oscar spat, “I don’t need you tutoring me on how to run my relationship, I’ve got it handled.”

“Tutoring?” Spot sounded aghast, “You were being a dick, I was standing up for my friend. Clearly if he wanted a sandwich then he’s probably hungry. I’ve got my own relationship to worry about.”

“Right cause you’re so good at keeping that faggy bitch under control.” Oscar rolled his eyes, pulling himself up out of the pool, grabbing Davey’s wrist as he stood up. “C’mon David,”

Crutchie and Race had stopped what they were doing and were watching everything unfold with wide eyes. Spot had stood up too, fuming at Oscar. 

“Oscar-” David tried but he was met with a glare as he dragged Davey over to where Jack was standing near the stack of towels. Oscar tried to grab one but Jack put a hand on his chest. 

“You need to leave,” he ordered.

“The fuck do you think I’m tyring to do?” he roughly pushed Jack’s hand off his chest. “Jesus Christ, what’s got everyone’s panties in a fucking twist?”

“I’m sorry Jack, we’re leaving. Listen, Oscar’s just had too much to drink. He probably won’t even remember this tomorrow.” Davey forced out a laugh, his words were slightly slurring into one another and Jack didn’t know how he felt about Davey leaving with this prick. He felt even worse knowing how hard Davey was trying to cover for Oscar, who was barely into his second drink, there was no way he was drunk. 

“Dave, you ain’t done nothing wrong, you can stay,” Jack insisted, “Oscar, you need to leave right now.”

“As if I’d leave you two alone together. I’ve seen you making eyes at each other all night.” Oscar pulled Davey over to where his clothes were laying on the ground. He snatched them up then started dragging Davey to the front yard. Davey only lived a few streets over, not a far walk at all, Jack half thought about following them but didn’t want to know what the repercussions would be for Davey.

WOAH that's longer than i thought it was whoops. also i love torturing davey and i love making oscar an asshole idc :3

[emmedoesntdomath]

hello new friend, thoughts about javid?

HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII (sorry, I have a lot of energy right now, and I don’t know why)

oh, do I have thoughts.

first of all, I love them. I don’t actually ship jack or davey with anyone else, which is pretty rare for me. I think with every version we get, they slowly move further and further towards canon. our current jack and davey- ryan and michael- are honestly doing the most for this ship, and I love them for it.

second of all; headcanons.

davey’s a morning person. not by nature, but at this point, it’s so natural for him to get up early in the mornings, because he’s a busy person, and when else is he going to get things done??? jack hates mornings with every fiber of his being, and will not get out of bed before 10 unless he absolutely has to.

they hooked up before they got together. you think they talked their shit through? them? really? no, no, no. they had a drunk one night thing that they refused to discuss for at least three years until one of them broke and they actually worked it out.

jack draws davey when he’s bored. it’s not really a conscious thing, but if he has a pencil in his hand, and he’s absentmindedly doodling, you could look down and- oh, look at that. it’s davey.

jack has a lot self-worth issues, and so he tends to think that everyone else sees him as useless. davey, who knows this, constantly asks his opinion on everything. jack, what about this shirt? jack, does this sound okay? jack, what do you think?

race gave davey the shovel talk. spot and sarah gave a more threatening, more ‘you make him shed a single tear, there will be no body to bury’ shovel talk to jack. les filmed it.

davey has a lot of anxiety (don’t we all), and worries a lot about safety. jack dutifully wears every helmet, seatbelt, mask, and health solution found on WebMD.

jack is a very touchy person, so he’s always holding davey in some way. like, if his fingers aren’t in contact with david jacobs, he has a problem.

they would be great parents together.

les calls jack his favorite brother.

crutchie calls davey his favorite brother. race is appropriately offended.

their first date (the real one, after the years of Not Talking About It) was at the bowery, in a secluded spot above the stage.

davey sleeps on the left, jack on the right, but somehow jack always manages to move from the right -> middle -> davey.

davey’s an english teacher, and he always comes home and reads his favorite essays to jack. jack is only half-listening, more interested in drawing davey.

they have a dog named mr. cuddles.

[eaglesnick]

THE MORAL ECONOMY (Part 1)

I was listening to the news on Saturday when a man trying to get football supporters to Wembley said he was having difficulties because of the rail strike. Luckily, he had managed to book some coaches but they had cost twice as much as normal because of increased demand due to the strike.

Nothing very unusual about that you might say but is it really acceptable to raise prices simply because of an increase in demand? Or is raising prices when no extra costs have been incurred by the seller pure greed?  None of us like the grotesque profits being made by energy suppliers using the excuse of war in Ukraine: it is blatant war profiteering. But is the act of doubling or trebling the price of a coach trip to Wembley because of a rail strike any different?

Milton Friedman, economic guru to Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Regan, argues that the business of business is to maximise profits for the shareholders. In his 1970 paper "The Social Responsibility of Business is to increase Profits” he argued that corporate managers should:

“conduct the business in accordance with [shareholders’] desires, which generally will be to make as much money as possible…"

Although the title of Friedman’s paper contains the phrase “social responsibility” he is quick to dismiss any notions of social justice. In the very first paragraph of his paper he argues that people who believe business has the social responsibility of "providing employment, eliminating discrimination, avoiding pollution" and other "social ends” are socialists and therefore the enemy. Businessmen who talk of anything other than maximising profits for their shareholders are described as:

“-preaching pure and unadulterated socialism. Businessmen who talk this way are unwitting puppets of the intellectual forces that have been undermining the basis of a free society these past decades.”

The Tory love affair with Milton Friedman’s economic views that started with Thatcher has never been stronger. The rise of the Tory right has seen a resurgence in neoliberalism as an ideology - the notion that free-markets and competition are the prime and natural organisers of society, wherein the “market” sorts society into a natural hierarchy of winners and losers and that any attempt to change this "natural order" is counter-productive.

Dominic Raab, Liz Truss and Savid Javid all seek to " implement the ideology in its most extreme form”, said the Guardian way back in 2019. We all know what happened to the economy during the short reign of Liz Truss, and we all know what happened to the right-wing bully Dominic Raab. But although these two extremists have been found out, the doctrine of maximising profit at all costs still has widespread support, not only amongst the Tory faithful but also within the Labour leadership.

Sadly, the Labour Party is no longer a socialist party, intent on redistributing wealth and looking after the welfare of ordinary working families. Instead it has once again become a slightly watered-down version of the Tory Party and neoliberal economics, where maximising profit, WHATEVER the cost, is the primary goal.

Am I exaggerating? I think not. We know that only yesterday Starmer was claiming to be Blair “on steroids”. We also know that Margaret Thatcher regarded Blair as her greatest legacy to the nation as he and his Labour government adopted the same doctrine of free market economics as she advocated. Make no mistake, Starmer is also prepared to put corporate and business profit before people. But don’t take my word for it.

Keir Starmer and Rachel Reeves have set about convincing firms that they are the party of profit, writes Cameron’s skills tsar and ex-CBI chief Paul Drechsler.” (Independent: 13/02/23)

When the ex-boss of the CBI,the UK’s largest employers organisation (now in its final death throws due to sexual scandal and harassment within its ranks) praises the leader of the Labour Party for his commitment to business and maximising profits you know something has gone seriously wrong. When one of David Cameron’s top aids tells Keir Starmer and Rachel Reeves that Labour is becoming THE party of business, then ordinary working people are in trouble.

The Labour Party may still exist, but it is in  name only.

[thetadispatcher]

Strasky had a guess as to why the baton was melted and jammed into Fourqurean's throat, Strohm had probably messed with the electrical output of the device to make it far more lethal and in doing so caused it to melt upon being used. Which would explain why it broke off and the rest of it was nowhere in sight.

"That could be it, but it's hard to say without at least asking one of them and I don't think either of them will be providing an answer any time soon." He wasn't sure if the WAU would even be able to give an answer, the way Ross spoke of it wasn't very useful for figuring out just all of what it was capable of. And Terry might not even remember his time as a Proxy to confirm if the WAU was guiding his destruction on Theta or if he did it of his own free will.

He shifted his attention to Rook took the orb from him, they both had a point as to why they should move on and from Strasky's count they were still missing a few people who were a part of the evacuation of Theta. "Alright, let's see what else is in this section." He nodded and started leading the way through the maze of hallways over run with structure gel growths.

He stopped when he spotted another person, this time they were on top of a large mound of the red gel with a WAU flower next to them. He paused to listen to the faint voice coming from them to help him figure out who it was. "Javid Goya, looks like we found him. Now we're just missing Matthew Frost, Nadine Masters, Marishika Daviau, and Chris Josic." One of which might be the Proxy Strohmeier had managed to dispose of during the initial attack, he couldn't be upset with him for killing one of the Proxies as none of them could have known that one day there would be hope to cure them. And at the time it was them or the Proxies, so it had to be done for the survival of the group.

Strasky carefully got onto the mass, reaching up to grab Goya's shoulder and shake him to see if the man would react to him. Goya slowly raised his head before opening his head partially, he scanned the area directly in front of him before his gaze shifted downwards to where Strasky was. "Who blew a hole in your head?" He asked as it was the first thing that caught his attention, which was fine with Strasky as at least the man wasn't aware of what he was stuck in immediately.

"The WAU, what else?" He answered with a laugh that earned him a small smile from Goya. "Good to know not even that ghastly machine can turn you bad, it's not something I can imagine happening." Goya responded as he tapped the lens of Strasky's robotic eye. "It picked a good model too." He said with a laugh which got one out of Strasky as well.

"Yeah, and you're still a giant dweeb." He said as he patted Goya's leg well smiling at the man. "Now, how about we get you down from there, huh?" He reached up to Goya with both arms as the man took a moment to take in exactly where he was before grabbing hold of Strasky's biceps.

Strasky grabbed onto Goya's as well before he started to pull the man free, digging his heels into the mass so he could get better leverage. Goya came free with a crack as the gel holding him in place was broken, the two fell with Goya landing on top of Strasky.

They were still a moment before Goya propped himself up on Strasky's chest and looked down at him. "You good?" He asked to which Strasky responded with a nod and affirmative hum. Goya nodded back then rolled off him so Strasky could stand back up and help him sit against the opposite wall as it was still clean of gel.

"It's good to see you, pal, come here." Goya pulled Strasky into a hug which he gladly returned as Goya patted his back. He let the other go as his arms slipped off of him, indicating he'd fallen back to sleep.

He stood up and stepped away from Goya, turning his head to look at Rook and Bishop. "Goya I knew could take reality better then Alice, in case you were wondering why I had more of a conversation with him then her." With Alice he didn't want her awake for too long as he knew she would start demanding to see Brandon, and become a lot less cooperative if she was allowed to awaken fully. Goya on the other hand just went along with things most of the time and would accept any situation he was in a lot easier.

"Looks like we have uncovered the greatest mystery so far." Bishop mused, eyeing the destroyed device. "Or perhaps that was part of the WAU's instructions and Terry was simply following instructions to attack the staff and ensure management stays around to oversee the comatose employees."

Rook reached to take the orb back, stuffing it away in one of her pockets. "I'm fine. Sitting won't patch me up anyway."

"Not to mention this is hardly the place we should remain in for longer than necessary. Even with the monsters successfully removed, the WAU has almost overrun this section entirely."

[mushiimune]

idk if ur taking writing requests but can you do a (canon era) javid fic where David has a nightmare and Jack has to calm him down (I've seen a ton of the reverse but i like this concept a bit better)

Ty!

I love that idea! Here's a little something– hope ya enjoy.

AO3

- - - - -

Jack was sleeping on the floor. He found that arrangement more agreeable than taking up part of David’s bed, crowded enough as it was with just one person sleeping in it. Not to mention that summer nights were long and hot. Being squashed together wouldn’t do either of them any favors in the heat that was settled over the city.

Suddenly David sat bolt upright in bed, startling Jack.

“Dave?” He said cautiously.

David blinked rapidly and looked down at him, before ducking away and rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes.

Alarmed, Jack pushed himself up, kneeling next to the mattress. “Hey, what’s the matter? You all right?”

“Yeah. Sorry. It was just a bad dream,” David said in a small voice. Jack couldn’t tell if he was being quiet because he didn’t want to wake up his sister, who was silent just beyond the curtain drawn through the center of the room, or because if he spoke any louder his voice would break. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Jack crossed his arms over the mattress and rested his chin on them.

“I wasn’t exactly sleepin’ anyway, Dave, so don’t worry about wakin’ me up.”

David’s eyes were slate gray in the moonlight, faintly coming through the curtains down by the foot of his bed. The unease fell off his face, confusion creeping in its place.

“You weren’t sleeping? Why?” Before Jack got a chance to answer, David kept talking. “Is the floor too uncomfortable?”

“The floor’s fine, Dave. I just ain’t all that tired. Anyway, this ain’t about me.”

David frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, it’s not about me, either, because I’m fine. It was just a stupid nightmare.”

In truth, Dave was shaken and his heart was still pounding in his ears. For whatever reason, listening to Jack’s voice was soothing the tremor in his hands.

“Sometimes, y’know… talkin’ about your dreams helps you forget ‘em sooner,” Jack said, trying to be helpful, and not just because of how curious he was about what lay unseen in David’s subconscious.

“Really?” David tucked his knees into his chest. “Where’d you hear that?”

“I didn’t hear it, I learned it. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, it was just a suggestion. We could always just try goin’ back to sleep.”

“You just said you weren’t sleeping,” David pointed out. “And I don’t plan on getting back to it anytime soon myself. Which puts us in the same boat, doesn’t it?”

Jack grinned. “I guess it does.”

Jack picked the pillow he’d been using off the floor and joined David on the bed, sitting with his back against the wall. David mirrored his position, pulling the quilt with him and covering both of them with it. The mattress was still warm where David had been laid out before.

“I don’t even remember what it was about,” David confessed while Jack made himself comfortable. “But for some reason I still feel like I do. My heart’s racing but there’s nothing to be scared about anymore.”

“Was I there?” Jack teased, bumping their shoulders together.

David chuckled. “I think you might have been, briefly.”

“Yeah?”

“And so was the rest of my family.”

Jack’s smile fell. He tried not to think too hard about how David just indirectly called him family. Maybe Jack was the one in the wrong for needing a reminder that David thought of him that way. Suddenly he felt light and dizzy, pursing his lips into a thin line to keep from making a face that would give him away.

“Somewhere down the line there was a boat involved. And a fire, and I guess… I don’t know. I wasn’t on the boat, but you were. It caught on fire.” David looked away, like he was recalling a real tragedy. “The story tells itself.”

Jack nodded sagely. He didn’t know whether to be interested that David was starting to think about him in his sleep, or worried that the thinking David was doing consisted of losing him in a boat fire.

“That sounds rough, Dave. But you don’t hafta worry about that happenin’ for real. I’d just jump in the water if my boat ever caught on fire, and I’d make sure your family would, too.”

“Jack… the suction of the boat sinking would drag you down, if the temperature of the water doesn’t get to you first.”

“Now the boat’s sinkin’? I thought it was on fire.”

“The fire would burn holes into the side.” David sighed. “This isn’t helping at all.”

Jack looped an arm around David’s neck. “Sorry, Dave. Maybe we should just talk about somethin’ else. Try not to think about that lousy boat anymore.”

“It’s not about the boat though, Jack. It’s more about who was on it.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m just sayin’ there ain’t much use in overthinkin’ it now when it weren’t real to begin with.”

David fidgeted. Jack figured he was most likely imagining the way David seemed to lean into him a little more.

“I guess… I guess you’re right. It’s just–” David paused, fishing for words that weren’t coming easily for once.

Jack took over, “Hard to tell apart what’s real and what ain’t.”

David blinked, a wordless gesture for him to elaborate.

“Sometimes it’s like that when you’re scared.” Jack stared darkly at the curtain opposite.

Putting a voice to old memories was something he had never done sober, and certainly not to David. But Dave was jumpy, wide-eyed and warm. Sparing him a glance he reminded Jack faintly of Les. And if it were Les under his arm right now instead of David, the least Jack could do was try and calm him down. But David wasn’t under the illusion that Jack was a martyr or a cowboy, so it was much harder to look him in the eye while he spoke.

“Dreams can feel like a whole lot more than just dreams. And they can be hard to get outta your system,” Jack continued. “But you gotta try and remember that this is what’s real. And – everything’s okay.”

Jack gave David’s shoulders a squeeze. David nodded and took an unsteady breath. He sat a little straighter when he exhaled.

“You’re right. Yeah,” David said with as much conviction as he could muster. “Everything’s okay.”

The tension had gone. Relieved, Jack gave a low whistle, still mindful of the time. “The Walkin’ Mouth just told me I’m right about somethin’.”

“Shut up,” David snickered. He leaned his head back against the wall and Jack’s shoulder, closing his eyes. “It’s a nice thing to be right about. You should be flattered.”

“Oh, believe me, I am.”

Neither of them said anything for a while. Which was fine by Jack, even though he was hoping to actually talk to David for a while, instead of having David fall asleep on him. Of course David was tired. Jack guessed he probably didn’t do a lot of intermittent panicking throughout the night like himself. He went to sleep at a reasonable hour and made his bed every morning so nobody else would have to do it for him.

“You’re a good guy, Davey,” Jack told him quietly. He didn’t know what possessed him to say it aloud. It just seemed like the right thing to do.

To that, David didn’t say anything. He didn’t even move. Jack leaned his head over David’s, letting his eyes fall shut as well.

[awesome-theater-nerd]

The betrayal

Hello again people! I’M BACK!! Now with more Javid angst, just because i like to make myself suffer :) Well, hope ya’ll enjoy it! 

Warnings: Angst, lot of angst. 

Word count: 499

If you guys would like, i could make some broadway imagines maybe?

:P

The boys could hardly believe it: Jack Kelly, the fearless leader of Manhattan's newsboys, had betrayed them. This wasn't just a betrayal, it was abandonment. The worse part is that many of the newsies were abandoned by their parents. Before, Jack was with the newsies in the same situation, but now he was above, as if he was superior to them all. All for what? Escape the refuge? They were family! The younger ones even considered Jack as a father! But, that's not what Jack thought. As he walked out the gates and saw all his friends he didn't feel superior, he felt humiliated. He didn't want to, but he accepted Pullitzer's offer to protect them. It was never meant to rise to anything. He could say he was somebody, but deep down he was more of a penniless street rat. Now, what broke the boy's heart the most was having to tell Davey, his closest friend, that he had traded them for cash. The newsies were furious, Kid Blink not wanting to believe it, Mush thinking he was forgotten and even Spot Conlon was there, and oh boy, he was not happy at all. And he just stood there, listening to the newsies yell at him. Until Jack saw Davey approaching. "Oh, do you want to talk to him? Come, come.” Weasel said, mockery in his words. "So that's why you didn't run away last night?" "Yeah." Dave's face was shocked to say less. He couldn't believe Jack. Why would he lie? Didn't the nights they spent together meant something to him? Was he just a toy to him? "You're a liar. You lied about everything! You lied about who you are... I don't even know anymore if I fell in love with who you are or someone different..." He whispered the last part so only Jack could hear. "You didn't even tell me your real name!" "AND? What are you going to do about it, Dave?" "I do not understand!" "So let me explain: nobody puts me to sleep at night. It's just me. And I'm my only company, okay?" "You had me, Jack. You had the newsies. But, now I get it, you don't want any of us." "Dave—" "No. I'll leave you alone Jack. I have a strike to win." That was the moment when Jack's heart was crushed. His whole world was falling apart. He couldn't tell Dave about the deal he made with that rattlesnake. It was all for Davey's safety... And just like that, Dave left, leaving a sorry Jack behind. Francis Sullivan needed to understand that he couldn't hide who he was. Over the years he'd taken on the identity of Jack Kelly, the adventurous cowboy! Leaving behind Francis, the scared little boy who'd been through hell on the refuge. But he lost something much bigger than the newsies, he lost the only person who was something more to him, the smart, tall, and perfect to his eyes: David Jacobs.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

I wanted to not care, I wanted to not make any (more) posts about this, and normally, I normally am relatively good at avoiding this. I used to have a bad hate reading habit, but I’ve shed that habit pretty well in the last few years. I’ve always been a person who only looks at Twitter on rare, specific occasions. A few months ago I downloaded the Messenger app for my computer so I never have to look at my actual Facebook feed anymore. As a teenager/younger adult I used to be really bad about browsing subreddits and other websites for bigots just to get mad about what people say there, but in the last few years I cut way back on that. Not that I never do it anymore, but it’s rare.

I don’t know why I used to do so much of that. I mean, I sort of know why, there is information out there about why hate reading can be habit-forming, including a study that says the neurotransmitters involved in hate are activated in similar ways by love, making both similarly addictive, and proving the entire rom-com industry correct after all. But I can’t explain why I did so much hate reading in a way that makes logical sense, because, you know, logically good emotions are good and bad emotions are bad so why seek bad ones?

I’ve also just realized that there is an inverse correlation between how often I hate read websites, and how much I’ve formalized my listening to CBC news into a specific routine that I do almost every day and in the same way every week. Maybe my brain decided it was getting all the chemical hits of fear and anger that it needed from the actual fucking news. I don’t know.

Anyway. The point is that in the last few days, I’ve... well, to follow the terminology of hate reading being addictive, I’ve had a relapse. I went on Twitter to find comedians having funny takes and general schadenfreude about the collapse of the British government, and then I ran into a Nish Kumar controversy, and it made me so angry that I looked for more of it, and now I’ve completely fucked up my YouTube algorithm. I have GB News all over my recommended videos. YouTube thinks I’m a British racist.

Also, I am aware that the other bad thing about hate reading/watching/listening is that views translate to revenue for the people who made it, so in some tiny way GB News and several tabloids and Jim Davidson (yeah I watched a Jim Davidson video just to hate it) have financially benefitted from me this week, and that makes me even angrier.

I figured the worst thing I could do with this habit was feed it further, so I should at least avoid posting on here about my findings. But I have had a terrible day today (for reasons that have nothing to do with any of this), and I’ve decided to deal with that by coming to this website to say some shit that is incredibly obvious and that everyone here already agrees with and that no one needs me to say. I am going to defend Nish Kumar even though no one who has talked shit about him in the last few days has said anything in good faith and it only legitimizes their bad faith bullshit when people engage with their points.

For anyone who doesn’t know, the other day, Nish Kumar made what was, honestly, a pretty tame joke on Twitter. Maybe I’m just used to the less civilized climate of Tumblr, maybe it’s because I coach a team that has a lot of Arab and Middle Eastern people on it and they like to make crass jokes and sometimes race is part of those jokes, but I’m still having trouble wrapping my head around how even the most disingenuous and intentionally cynical reading of Nish’s joke can see it as remotely offensive. As far as jokes about white people go, it’s an absolute softball.

The joke was: “Balancing out the fact that I can't stand Javid or Sunak with the fact that I love to see a rich white man brought down by Asians”. Simple, amusing, plays on the way it’s annoying to be part of a minority group so you want to root for other people who are part of the same minority but sometimes they’re terrible people. Relatable – as a woman in a male-dominated sport, I want to support the few female coaches we have, but unfortunately, a lot of them are just as shitty as the male ones, and I find myself saying things like “balancing the importance of female solidarity with how much I hate that woman”. It’s a perfectly reasonable joke.

Hundreds of racists lost their minds. The Tweet is full of comments that suggest, with no irony whatsoever, that this is racist hate speech and needs to be taken down. Apparently a whole bunch of people reported him to Twitter for hate speech, including one actual journalist. A journalist from GB News, which I realize isn’t exactly a well respected news source, but it’s still the actual news, rather than just some guy with a Twitter account. And then they ran a segment on the actual news about the Nish Kumar Tweet and why it is racist against white people, and then tabloids reported on the fact that Nish Kumar made a Tweet that people think is racist. Several of the comments suggested it could be reported to the Met Police as inciting of racial hate. People made videos about it.

I got drawn into this so easily because I recently watched Nish Kumar’s stand-up show about the time he developed PTSD from exactly this sort of thing happening, and it makes me incredibly angry to see it playing out again. I realize it isn’t rare or special for Nish Kumar, or any outspoken person of colour in the public eye, to get racist abuse shot at them online. But this particular tempest in a teapot, the way one incident blew up until it was in the tabloids and on TV and people were weighing in via YouTube videos – that does not happen every day, and he is currently touring a show about how personally mentally damaging it is. It’s also a show about how he got into therapy and learned to process it, and he is clearly used to dealing with this (it doesn’t happen every day, but I’m sure it’s happened to Nish Kumar plenty of times besides the two I know about, those being the bread roll thing and this one), and he would be the first to say that rich famous person Nish Kumar is not the victim or racism or of Boris Johnson that we should spend our energy worrying about. But still, it is fucking upsetting. Upsetting enough to have me reading all the comments just to try to understand it and/or get whatever addictive thing people get out of reading bullshit written by terrible people. And then following some of those comments to videos that were based on them, and then clicking on related videos, and that is why YouTube now thinks I’m a British racist.

There were a number of common angles from which racists attacked the Tweet, and I won’t go into them all because I’m pretty deep into this hate reading relapse but I draw the line at too much direct quoting of racists’ reasoning. But one of the weirder approaches is how many people tried to fact check it. Like explaining in detail why he’s wrong because technically Rishi Sunak and Sajid Javid did not personally bring down Boris Johnson. Or Rishi Sunak and Sajid Javid were born in England so Nish is the real racist for calling them Asian. Which... oh, fuck off.

And now I come to the reason I felt compelled to write this post, because one specific criticism keeps coming up, and aside from the very very obvious reason why it’s bullshit, I happen to know another layer of explanation. People keep saying he was wrong to say those two Asians brought down a “rich white man”, because Sunak and Javid are richer than Boris Johnson. First of all, the obvious: he fucking knows that. He talks all the time about how Rishi Sunak in particular accumulated his wealth through corruption and should not be in charge of the country’s finances. Nish never said Sunak and Javid are great heroes of the working class; he said right there in the controversial Tweet that he hates them both. I saw a few comments that went as far as to say that not only are the Asian men in question rich (no shit), but Boris Johnson is not rich. Which, as a take, is operating on its own level of reality.

The obvious response is that Boris Johnson is in fact rich, so it’s true to say he is a rich white man who’s being taken down, and that remains true even if the people who took him down are also rich. Obviously. That is so fucking obvious that I have trouble believing anyone didn’t really understand it. Here’s the response to that criticism that goes slightly beyond the obvious: Nish Kumar didn’t just throw the word “rich” in there for fun; he used the term “rich white man” intentionally. I mean, I guess I can’t know exactly what he was thinking when he wrote that really quite tame joke on Twitter, but I know he generally uses the term “rich white men” intentionally, and I assume he did so here as well. That’s what’s in the audio clip at the top of this post. It’s from an album of a stand-up show he did in 2016. He explains that he used to say “white people” in his jokes, until he came to realize that makes him accidentally aim his jokes at people he doesn’t mean to, like poor people who happen to be white. So he started using the term “rich white men” whenever he would have previously just said “white people”.

Personally, as a white person who is not a rich white man, I’m absolutely fine with jokes about “white people”. I understand that they don’t mean every single white person in the world, just like Nish Kumar doesn’t hate every single rich white man in the world (of course he doesn’t, some his best friends are Ed Gamble). I don’t think it’s ever a problem when people joke about “white people” as a group. But I respect the way Nish thought about his language and started using something that better reflected what he specifically wanted to say. And I’m pretty sure that that is what he was doing in that Tweet, when he said he liked to see a “rich white man” get taken down, instead of just a “white person”. That little modification that was meant as a way to more clearly convey his message instead led to him getting even more wildly and willfully misinterpreted.

Okay, I’m done now. I’m still having a shit day, for reasons that have nothing to do with Nish Kumar or the racists who hate him (or even the non-racists who hate him, there are probably some of those who just legitimately don’t enjoy his comedy, but those are not the ones losing their minds over a Twitter joke), and I thought giving into my brain’s powerful desire to explain this to someone, the thing about “rich white man” being an intentionally used phrase, would help. It probably won’t, but it’s worth a shot.

[ftm-megamind]

javid but imagine david trying to fix jack's schedule, even if a little

jack always goes to sleep late (night's the only time of day for him, as he said) for various reasons, sometimes he goes out to cause some ruckus, sometimes he simply stays up thinking, and as seen in the movie, he rather has trouble with getting up in the morning. now maybe he doesn't need as much sleep as other people, he's a newsboy after all, but still, he probably rarely feels well-rested and runs on one or two coffees daily to be more awake

david, on the other hand, i imagine, probably has a stricter bedtime. his parents always made sure to get him to bed by 8 pm when he was little, and eventually it extended to 10 pm, because school or just for the sake of getting a healthy amount of sleep in general. and david probably isn't some sort of golden child, of course he stays up late sometimes, reading his favorite book, or tagging along with jack, and he doesn't like waking up, but he still has the strict hours in his head. partly because he's just so used to them, partly because he knows his parents want him to sleep enough, and partly because he knows his sleep schedule is just healthy

and when these two clash. oh boy. jack, who never goes to sleep at the same time and is the biggest dick after waking up, and david, who's always asleep by 11 tops and awake by 7. david tries to talk some sense into jack's thick head, but jack of course doesn't listen, because he never had someone to straight up tell him "hey it's time for bed," and he laughs it off, mostly because he just finds it stupid. but then as time goes on, maybe when he watches as esther or mayer lull their children to bed at the same time each night, he realizes that by trying to force a reasonable bedtime for jack, david was just showing he cares, in a way. and it's hard for jack to get rid of the habit of staying up ridiculously long (i think he has this kind of thing that he's worried he'll waste his day if he doesn't squeeze as much out of it as possible, and considering he has to work during the day, he tries to make it up by staying up late), but he still tries for david, and it definitely makes david happy and relieved. not that jack ever had some big issues due to the amount of sleep he was getting, he was never the type to be exhausted during the day or something, but still. sleep is important obviously

but also, jack being a "bad influence" on david. in a way that when they sleep together and it's a day off, jack whines and complains whenever david tries to get up early, tugging him closer and locking him in a tight hug. and david eventually learns to give in, because jack is right--sleeping in isn't anything bad, especially when it means you get to cuddle some more with your sweetheart. and so david succeeded at making jack go to sleep earlier, and at the same time, jack succeeded at making david sleep a little longer if he feels like it. win-win situation for the sillies

[thefactsofthematter]

hi bestie <3 you said send in some requests, so i'm suggesting:

javid with, "it's not okay! you're not fine!"?

i hope you have a good day !!!

hi bestie <333 i had so much fun with this, i haven't done a short little fic in ages!! here's a 2.7k javid fic - a college au and a classic (emotional) hurt/comfort type deal, heavy on the comfort ;)

-

"Wanna come for dinner at my parents' house tonight?"

Davey is laying on Jack's couch after his last class of the day, since Jack's apartment is just off campus, and it's a ridiculously convenient place to go nap after a long day of school. He honestly spends more time here than at his own apartment that he shares with his sister, a short train ride away.

"I'd love to," Jack replies, his gaze still glued to his computer screen, "but I totally forgot I have an art history paper due at midnight, analyzing a painting, and I haven't started. It needs to be ten pages, and I don't even have an outline. I'm gonna sit here and write until my eyeballs fall out."

Davey laughs softly.

"That sucks. Do you at least have some research done?"

Jack turns to him with completely dead eyes.

"Not a single academic source."

Davey glances at the clock. Jack has seven hours to pull this off, which is doable, but... intense. It would've been a lot easier to spread it out over a few afternoons, and it'll be a painful squeeze to get ten comprehensible pages of writing done tonight. Jack can write decently fast, but his spelling and grammar are atrocious, so he'll have to factor in editing time too. Davey is not envious of these circumstances in the slightest.

"Shit. Good luck. That sounds awful, but I'm rooting for you. What's your prof's late assignment policy?"

Jack, entirely beaten down, leans forward to rest his forehead on his keyboard.

"He won't accept them past the due date without a good reason... which I don't have. I'm just an idiot and forgot to put it in my planner— thank god Romeo texted me today to ask if I was done."

Davey pushes himself up and walks over to where Jack is sitting at his little dining table, under the constantly-flickering fluorescent bulb. He wraps his arms around Jack's shoulders and kisses the back of his neck.

"You got this. I'll come back here after dinner and bring you leftovers, okay? My mom's gonna be sad you couldn't make it, so she'll totally pack up a plate for you."

"You don't have to come all the way here," Jack sighs. "Your place is closer to your parents, and this is out of your way— you have work in the morning anyways, so you should go home and go to bed. I'll be fine, I'll probably write faster alone anyways."

Davey kisses him again, this time leaning around to plant one on his cheek.

"If you're sure." Jack's plan is probably the smart move, since Davey's shifts at his stupid coffee shop job start ridiculously early, and coming here would mean staying up with Jack until he finishes, probably distracting him. "In that case, I'll see you tomorrow after work, and I'll bring the food then... keep me posted about the paper, text me when you finish. And make sure you eat something."

Jack turns back to look at him with a strained, stressed attempt at a smile.

"For sure. Go have a nice time with your family, and tell everyone I say hi."

-

"Aba, you're doing it wrong. You have to use your left arm."

It's getting late in the evening, dinner has been eaten, and Les is trying to coordinate the family to make a TikTok with him. It's not exactly going well.

"My left or your left?"

"It doesn't matter, we have the same left!"

Davey has thankfully been placed in the back row, both because he's tall and lanky, and because he's so uncoordinated that Mom used to make you wear one of those leash backpacks as a kid to keep you from wandering into traffic... which is true, but Davey isn't sure why Les even knows about that. He certainly wasn't around yet when that was the case, so he probably heard it from Sarah.

While Les tries once again to explain how this little dance is supposed to work, Davey's phone starts to buzz in his pocket. It's probably a spam call, but he's not particularly invested in the dance lesson so he pulls it out to check.

Incoming call: cowboy babyy 💖🤠

Davey frowns. Jack never calls him. It's always texts or voice memos, since he's got some kind of weird aversion to talking on the phone. If he's calling, it must be important.

"Hi babe," he says, pressing his phone to his ear and walking off to his old bedroom to get some quiet, while Les shouts at him in the background for not taking this seriously. "How's the homework going?"

Jack is quiet for a second too long as Davey toes the door shut.

"...Not great. I'm really frustrated." He pauses and sniffles a little, sounding almost like he's holding back tears. "I don't know why I called you while you're having a good time with your family, though. I shouldn't be bugging you."

"Hey," Davey breathes, "you're not bugging me at all, sweetheart. Is the paper not going well?"

"I just... I'm so bad at writing, and I don't know what I'm talking about, and I have no idea how I'm gonna get this done in time." His voice is shaking, and it's breaking Davey's heart a little. "I'm being dramatic, though. I just need to keep working on it."

Davey sits down on the edge of what's now a guest bed, his old outer space-themed comforter replaced with something more neutral.

"You're not dramatic, it's okay to be upset. Do you want me to come over and help?"

Jack's breath hitches softly, and it confirms that he's almost definitely crying.

"You don't have to, you're busy with your folks. I'm sorry for calling." He shudders a little as he must try to take a deep breath. "It's okay... I'm fine."

Davey sighs, almost exasperated with Jack's self-sacrificial sense of pride. He'll never ask for anything for himself, not wanting anyone to go out of their way for him, even when he seems to be having a panic attack of sorts.

"It's not okay; you're clearly not fine, Jackie," he replies. "We already ate, and I'm not busy. If you want me to come over, I'll be there... do you?"

Jack is quiet for a moment again, taking a deep, shaky breath.

"Yeah. I do."

Davey nods, though Jack can't see him.

"Okay. I want you to take a little break from writing until I get there, alright? Change into your pyjamas and have a glass of water. Try to relax a little."

"Okay... thanks Davey."

The call ends, and Davey rejoins his family while tucking his phone away in his pocket.

"I have to go." He kisses his mother on the head as he walks by. "Thanks for dinner, Ima."

"Is everything okay?" she asks, catching him gently by the elbow before he can get too far.

"Yeah..." he sighs. "Jack's just having a hard time with homework, I'm gonna go help him out."

His father ruffles his hair and gives him a quick hug.

"You're a good boy, David. Take him those leftovers— your mother's cooking can fix anything."

"For sure. I'll see you guys next weekend, and I'll try to bring Jack along then."

He waves goodbye to Sarah and Les, grabs the dish of food, and then sets off on a speed-walk to the nearest subway station.

-

Jack is sitting on the couch when he arrives, his knees pulled to his chest, looking very soft and cozy in pyjama pants and one of Davey's old hoodies from some baseball tournament. He's staring into space, and he hardly even moves to acknowledge Davey's presence when he walks in.

"Hey darling." Davey leaves the dish of food on the counter and crouches down in front of Jack to try and catch his eye-line. He carefully takes Jack's hands in his own. "Hanging in there?"

Jack finally looks at him and nods, but as he blinks, more tears slip out and roll down his cheeks.

"I'm only done two pages," he mumbles, practically whispering. "I don't know why it's so hard, but I just can't do it."

"Oh, Jackie..." Davey reaches up to wipe Jack's tears, cupping his face gently with both hands. "Hey, you still have three hours, right?" Jack nods. "That's lots of time. We're gonna figure this out... let's just sit here and calm down a little first. It's gonna be okay."

He climbs up onto the couch to pull Jack into a hug, and the moment he's settled, Jack wraps his arms around him and breaks, sobbing into his shoulder. Davey cards his fingers through his hair and rubs his back; he's never seen Jack this distraught, especially not over homework. There's a good chance the problem runs a lot deeper, and stressing over an assignment was simply the last straw.

"You're alright," Davey continues, since talking is what he does best, even in moments like this. Jack is shaking with the force of his tears, breathing so hard Davey worries he might hyperventilate. "Listen, it's just one assignment, my love... if you get a bad grade, or if we don't finish in time, we can deal with that. We'll hand in whatever we finish tonight, so at least you won't get a zero. Worst case scenario, you retake this class in the spring... even that doesn't sound so bad, does it? I know you could handle it, if that's what happens."

Jack nods a little, but his tears don't stop.

"I'm so tired of being stupid," he hiccups, after a long while. "I keep getting distracted, and I can't word things right, and I spell everything wrong, and- and maybe I should just drop out, because I'm clearly not meant to be doing this."

"Baby..." Davey sighs, giving him a gentle kiss on the temple. "You're so intelligent, Jack. You're almost done your degree— after this term, you've only got one year left, and it's not like you do poorly in your classes, is it? Even when it's something hard for you, like writing, you always do well when you put in the work. What did you get on your sociology paper a couple weeks ago?"

"Ninety percent," Jack mumbles, muffled by the way he's speaking into Davey's shoulder. "But I spent so long on it, and you edited it for me. I'm gonna fail this one. I can't do it in one night, and I can't write papers without your help."

"Well, I'm here to help now, aren't I?" He rests his hand midway through brushing it through Jack's hair and scratches his scalp gently, which makes Jack shiver and laugh quietly through his tears. "Right? And you can write, darling— all I do is fix up the spelling and grammar for you. The ideas and words are all you, just like when you give presentations and knock it out of the park every time. I sure can't do that."

Jack finally looks up at him.

"Yes you can. You get nervous beforehand, but when you do a presentation, it's always really good."

Davey smiles at him, now that they're actually looking at each other.

"It's hard for me, though. Just like writing is for you— but with lots of effort, you're really good at it. See my point?"

Slowly, a small smile spreads across Jack's teary-eyed face, and he nods. Davey feels rather accomplished with this development.

"I guess so." He wipes at his eyes and sighs. "Sorry about this. I'm such a mess."

"No apologies. I don't blame you for getting overwhelmed— you're in a tough spot here." He pulls Jack in for a quick kiss, which they both smile into. "I brought you dinner. Go heat it up when you're ready; I'll look over what you've written so far and see if I can come up with some more ideas to add on. We're gonna work together on it, okay? What painting did you choose?"

"The Martyrdom of Saint Matthew by Caravaggio," Jack sighs, looking almost forlornly at his computer on the table. "I have a lot to say about it, and lots of good stuff in my notes, but I just can't put it into paragraphs and sentences that make sense."

Davey nods, watching Jack as he stands up to go put the leftovers from Davey's family in the microwave.

"Well, I don't know anything about paintings, but if you talk me through it, I can help you put the actual paper together." He pauses as an idea dawns on him. "I'm gonna email your professor and ask about an extension— it might be a shot in the dark, but we should at least try. The worst he can do is say no."

"Sure," Jack replies from the kitchen, his voice still shaky. "He's a total hardass, though. Fingers crossed for a miracle."

Davey sits at the table, opens up Jack's email, and starts a draft.

Hi Professor Diaz,

Apologies for the short notice, but I'm wondering if it would be possible to have an extension on the analysis assignment, even if it's just by a few hours. I unfortunately mixed up some due dates in my planner, and I thought I had an extra week for this assignment; I only realized the mistake today, so I'm currently scrambling to get it done in time.

Would it be at all possible to turn it in a few hours late, just to have a bit more time to finish it up? I would really appreciate any amount of time you're willing to give me.

Thank you in advance for your understanding, Jack Kelly

He shrugs, sends it, and sincerely hopes a little professionalism and a decent (if slightly fabricated to make Jack look less forgetful) excuse will go a long way.

-

It's quarter to eleven, the paper is now five-and-a-half pages long, and Jack isn't crying anymore. He's in the zone, talking aloud about the painting while Davey helps him get his vague ideas into concrete sentences, and they're on track to have at least seven or eight pages by the time midnight rolls around— it might not get full marks, but it'll be better than nothing.

Jack's computer dings with the sound of a new email while they're taking a two-minute break— something they've interspersed every half hour, since Jack's focus is best in shorter bouts. He's in the middle of walking laps around the apartment to get his energy out and annoy his downstairs neighbours, but he scrambles back to the computer at the noise.

"We got a reply!" he shouts.

Davey is over on the couch, and he watches Jack's face closely as he opens the email. So far, so good... and then he slumps down in his chair in a show of what could either be defeat or relief. Davey can't quite tell, so he jumps up to go read it for himself.

Sure. Email it by 11:59pm tomorrow.

Sent from my iPhone

"Yes!" Davey shouts, grabbing Jack by the shoulders. "I told you it was worth a shot!"

Jack laughs, and then reaches up to pull Davey down for a kiss.

"You're the best, Jacobs. A fucking lifesaver." He rubs at his eyes, and then pushes his computer away, across the table. "I'll deal with this tomorrow. Let's just go to bed— you still have to be up early."

Right. Davey has a dreaded Saturday morning opening shift tomorrow— they open at five, and he has to be there well in advance to get set up, so he's got no chance at getting more than a few hours of sleep. He's going to be dead on his feet in the morning, probably fuck up a few coffee orders, but it'll be worth it to have helped Jack through tonight.

Poor Jack seems completely exhausted— as anyone would be after crying so hard earlier— so collapsing into bed after washing up quickly is an utter relief. Davey, despite being tall and long-limbed, greatly enjoys being the little spoon and Jack is happy to indulge him, so they curl into the familiar position.

"Thank you for everything tonight," Jack whispers, practically into Davey's ear. "I love you so much."

Davey smiles as his eyes fall shut, and he kisses Jack's knuckles softly, where his arm is wrapped around him.

"Any time, darling. I love you too."

[we-are-inevitable]

Javey with one showing up drunk and in tears at the other's apartment after he'd gotten into some fight. Maybe with a black eye or busted lip or something? (Sorry if something like this has been asked before)

fight for you // javid

A/N: okay, so i kind of changed this but !! here we go !!!

Read On AO3!

Ten minutes.

Jack has been asleep for ten wonderful, blissful minutes when he hears a loud knock on the front door.

He rolls over to eye the alarm clock; 12:23 a.m. God damn it. This is what he gets for staying up late to work on a commission, he figures- procrastination got the best of him again, like always, and now he’s paying the price.

Jack groans. He rubs his eyes and sits up in bed, staring at the wall for a few moments, before heaving himself up out of bed. It’s a short walk to the front door, just down the hall away from his room- his apartment is small, but that’s alright. It’s good enough for him, and big enough for when he has company, and the rent isn’t outrageous and it’s relatively close to his job and his favorite coffee shop and he’s thinking of all of this to avoid absolutely murdering whoever decided to knock on his door in the middle of the night.

There’s another, more frantic knock as he approaches the door. Jack groans, then calls out, “I’m comin’! Give me a sec.” He takes his final three steps and rubs his face as the door swings open. “What’s goin’-- Davey?”

David gestures to Jack’s frame. “You’re shirtless.”

Jack gapes at him, eyes wide, before he reaches out to take David’s hand. “And you’re bleeding! What the fuck, Dave?” He asks loudly, then hurries to drag David inside. 

He looks like shit. His nose is bleeding, there’s a cut on his lip, he has a black eye, and his knuckles are bruised and rugged; he looks like Jack, not like… Davey. This isn’t a side of Davey that Jack has ever seen before, even after dating for five months. Even after being friends since high school.

“‘M fine,” David shrugs, but there are tears streaming down his cheeks. He isn’t… crying, but he's crying, and that's almost more concerning than anything else. Jack also notices that his words are just barely slurred, which is strange, since David cares about pronunciation like it's a law. “Went to the bar with Sarah 'nd Kath, and--"

“You're drunk?”

“Just a little,” David shrugs, though he won't meet Jack's eyes. “It's not a big deal, I--”

“You're hurt,'' Jack says quickly, guiding David down to sit on the couch. He turns around, but quickly glances back at David over his shoulder. "Stay there,” He warns, then hurries to the bathroom.

As Jack grabs the first aid kit under the sink, he sighs, mind racing with the possibilities of what happened. David has never been violent; even in high school, he was always the one to break up Jack’s fights, not start any of his own. In college, David had gotten into one fight, but he didn't even fight back… 

Jack almost doesn't want to know what pushed him to his limit.

He gulps as he walks back to the living room, taking a seat on the coffee table right in front of David. He opens the kit and rummages through it for a moment. “Care to explain what happened?” He asks, and opens a pack of alcohol cleansing wipes.

David shrugs again, but Jack sees now that he doesn't look as nonchalant as he did when he arrived; no, now he looks… worried. Upset. “I'm sorry,” David starts, which Jack decides isn't a good sign. “I jus' got into it with someone at the bar. It's really not a big deal, Jackie.”

“Okay, but, you never get into fights. This might sting, I'm sorry,” Jack murmurs as he gently cups David's jaw, wiping off the dried blood beneath his nose. “Did someone- Did someone jump you? Are the girls okay?”

“No, it wasn't-- They're fine,” David assures him, and winces as Jack's fingers brush against the cut on his lip. “They didn't get involved. It was me and Os- me and some guy,” He cuts himself off.

Jack pauses, then leans back as realization hits him like a freight train. “...Oscar Delancey.”

“He was talkin' shit,” David gives in, looking up at Jack. “I just-- I couldn't help it. No one should say that about you.”

This makes Jack look back up at David, and his eyes widen just slightly. “He was talking shit about me?" Jack asks, and rubs his forehead. Of course. Oscar and Morris never liked Jack, but taking that out on David… "Baby, you should have just let it go,” Jack frowns. “You shouldn't've--”

David shakes his head. “No, no- you don't get to say that, Jack. You- you've gotten into plenty of trouble standing up for me, so I just--”

“No, that's different,” Jack cuts in, raising a brow. “You don't deserve--”

“Oh, and you do?" David asks, defensive. "You deserve to get hurt standing up for me? He was talking shit about your parents, Jack. About Medda, and Daniel and Maria, and he was insulting your job, and I- I couldn't just let it happen, okay?” David glances away, rubbing his forehead. “I told him to shut the hell up, he told me to make him, I punched him in the face, Morris jumped me, and I kicked his ass. I'm fine, Jackie, I just… I don't know. I lost control for a second.”

Jack frowns as he listens, then gently cups David's cheek, running the pad of his thumb over the bruise. “You're so stupid,” He whispers, looking into his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” David murmurs, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Jack's lips, but he pulls back nearly immediately, wincing. "Forgot about the lip," He says with a huff, looking at Jack with a sheepish smile.

Jack runs his hand through David’s hair and grins, then stands and pulls him up. "C'mon, babe. Let's get you to bed. How much did you drink?”

"Well, a lot, but the whole 'getting punched in the face' thing kinda sobered me up,” David admits with a chuckle, and Jack shakes his head. David then wraps an arm around Jack's waist, following him into the bedroom. "I'm sorry for scaring you.”

"It's alright,” Jack shakes his head. "Just… just don't do it again," He squeezes David’s hand, and falls back on the bed. "Will cuddles make you feel better?"

David nods, and Jack watches as he rids himself of his clothes until he's in his boxers. David then climbs onto the bed, lying behind Jack and wrapping his arms around his waist. "Love you."

"Love you, too. Now, get some sleep."

"Mm. Gladly."

[livesincerely]

Here’s a concept:

Javid office/co-workers au. Davey is a Very Tired HR associate and Jack is the artist in the Graphic Design and Marketing department that keeps calling him through the inter-office phone line because he’s bored.

Jack gets in trouble for being on his personal cellphone during office hours—after so many of the same infraction, he gets a call from HR to emphasize the importance of following company policy. The HR person that makes the call is Davey.

Somehow, in this short conversation, Jack becomes a little obsessed with the guy from HR who’s voice makes Jack’s brain feel like it’s actually tuned in to the right frequency. So he calls Davey again, and they somehow end up chatting for, like, an hour right in the middle of the work day.

And then this happens several days in a row. Davey isn’t sure what to make of Mr. Kelly, who apparently is not at all upset about the verbal warning Davey had to give him and likes to just???? Call??? And talk??? And he’s so funny and charming and a little stupid in such an earnest and endearing way that talking to him quickly becomes one of the best parts of Davey’s day, but Davey just can’t figure out why Jack keeps wanting to him, of all people

It eventually comes out that the reason Jack keeps making personal calls on the clock is because he does his best artwork when he’s talking to someone while working. (Not sure how much this will be made explicit in-fic, but Jack’s got ADHD and he needs just enough of the right kind of background stimulus to focus on other tasks.) Unfortunately, the other artists in his department are the listen to music/podcasts/audiobooks or the ‘total silence to Focus’ types and don’t like to be bothered when they’re in The Zone, so whenever Jack gets frustrated and hits a block—which has been more and more often lately—he’s been calling up his friends/brother for as much conversation/distraction as they can stand.

“Kloppman wouldn’t have even filed the complaint if Weasel hadn’t’a insisted on it,” Jack says. “The fucking brown noser.”

“Well, have you considered informing Kloppman about your reasons?” Davey asks. “I mean, explicitly phrasing it as a accommodation that you need in order to do your best work? There’s a form you can fill out and file with us that would keep you from getting any more citations, no matter how often you’re on the phone. Well, as long as you can get a work request from your doctor.”

“Can I really do that?” Jack asks.

“Sure you can,” Davey says. “Here, I’m sending you a copy of the relevant section of the employee handbook and the paperwork you need. Just drop it off at HR whenever.”

“You’re an absolute godsend, aren’t you Jacobs?” Jack says. “Fuck, that would make things so much easier.”

“Just hand in those forms and you’ll have the company’s full permission to call your brother as much as you want,” Davey assures him.

“Spot’s gonna fucking hate me,” Jack says with what sounds like a delighted laugh. The sound of it sends a shiver down Davey’s spine, even as his heart pangs at the thought of not getting to hear it anymore.

“Happy to help,” Davey says. He takes a breath, then forces his usual levity into his voice. “Will that be all, Mr. Kelly?”

“That’ll be all, Mr. Jacobs,” Jack says. “And hey, David? Thanks.”

And Davey thinks that’ll be that. He regrets that he won’t get to spend an hour talking with Jack every day, then feels stupid for getting so hung up on someone he’s never even met—all he knows of Jack is his voice and that they work for the same company. But the next Monday, Jack calls right when he usually does.

“Spot told me he’d murder me dead if I called for anything less than a fully-fledged emergency,” Jack says cheerfully. “So it looks like you’re stuck with me.”

“You could call one of those friends I’ve heard so much about,” Davey volleys back, feeling lighter than he has all morning. “Unless this is your way of trying to tell me that you don’t have any friends.”

It’s nothing different than their usual banter, but when Jack speaks again, his voice sounds a little weird.

“If you don’t want me callin’ so much, I can dial it back,” Jack says. “I mean, even my own brother gets tired of the sound of my voice sometimes, so I can’t imagine how you feel after spending so much time humorin’ me these last few weeks—“

“No!” Davey blurts out. “No, that’s not what I— I don’t mind talking with you. I like talking to you,” he corrects.

“Yeah?” Jack asks, strangely hopeful.

“Yeah,” Davey answers with a smile Jack can’t see. “And besides, I wouldn’t want to be the reason your brother ‘murders you dead’,” he jokes.

A bark of laughter. “Yeah, how would you live with yourself,” Jack teases.

Lots of office shenanigans. I love the idea of Katherine being one of the workers in Davey’s office and just constantly teasing him about the mysterious artist upstairs that’s always calling him. Similarly, I’d have Charlie as one of the workers in Jack’s office, and every now and then Davey can hear his voice in the background of Jack’s side of the line—he can’t always make out the words, but it always makes Jack sputter and yell at him to go away.

And maybe cameos from the other newsies if I can think of places to sneak them in? Not sure yet, I’ll have to think about it some more.

I’d love for them to not actually meet until the absolute end of the fic, and by complete accident. Like, maybe there’s like an internet safety/email and interpersonal etiquette seminar that the HR department requires everyone to attend, and when Davey goes up to the podium and introduces himself as Mr. Jacobs from HR, he happens to notice a very handsome man sitting in the back straighten up in his seat, suddenly avidly attentive.

But most importantly, a Javid office romance/mutual pining/strangers to lovers where the whole fic takes place almost entirely over the phone. And also they call each other Mr. Kelly/Mr. Jacobs bc ever since I saw that text post I can’t stop thinking about it.

[5-jorjas-in-the-fence]

Field.

Modern au- Javid

Quick TW for swearing and angst :)

“We’re here.” Davey unloked his seatbelt and put the car in park, his confused partner stared at him from the passenger seat, slouched and tired.

“Davey listen, not sure what you’re scheming but... why are we here at 2 in the bloody morning?” Jack sniffled from the cold air that surrounded the car, and siged as Davey scrolled on his phone for a brief moment before putting it in his back pocket.

“Cmon. I promise ya, it’s going to be great.” He reassured. Jack unclipped his seatbelt and stepped out of the car into the night. Crickets sang around them in the still air and hundreds of stars illuminated the sky. When Jack bought his eyes back down to the ground, he saw a large field of overgrown dried grass at least up to his knees.

Davey stood at a fence post, denim jacket around his shoulders as he pulled an old broken gate aside.

“Davey Jacobs breaking into a property? Well well well aren’t you a bad boy?”

“Shut up.” He hesitantly replied as he closed the gate behind them. He had never broke into somewhere before, but considering that the paddock was empty, he didn’t see the harm of entering. In the distance a small farm house sat, but he knew they were safe.

Jack trudged behind his boyfriend, following reluctantly. “You going to murder me out here?”

“If you don’t shut up I will.” Davey playfully remarked.

Finally, he stopped in his tracks when they were at the centre of the field. He turned to face Jack, and stared at him with his hands in his pockets. Their breath danced infront of them in the cold. Jack looked at his shoes and kicked a bit of dirt. “So... why are we here?” He asked again.

“For this...” Davey took a deep breath and then just... screeched into the night. His scream evaporated in the air, it had no where to bounce off and get thrown back. It was gone.

“Wha- what are you doin? You ok?” Jack grew concerned and jumped at the loud remark, perhaps the loudest he’d ever seen Davey.

“A bit better now. Now it’s your turn.” Davey grinned back.

“Davey, I’m not going to randomly scream ok?”

“Trust me. What’s annoying you? What makes you mad? Think of everything Joe did to you. Think of your parents. Your sister. Think of everyone who’s ever done you wrong. Think of what you wish were different. And just- let it out.” Davey removed his hand from his pocket and reached to Jacks shoulder with reassuring eyes.

“Jeez fine... ahhh” he barely screamed.

“That’s it?” He raised an eyebrow. “No. You need this. I know you do. I’m going to give you some privacy cause I know there’s been a lot going on right now. I’ll be in the car... in the heater. So have fun.” Davey began to trudge back to the car before Jack could protest, soon he was alone in the paddock. No one but his thoughts to keep him company.

Making sure Davey was in the car and on his phone, he let everything catch up to him.

“FUCK!! Fucking damn it god damn shit you fucking dickhead! Why!? WHY!? Why the fuck did you have to...?? FUCK YOU!” He screamed into the void, letting himself go and stomp like a mad man. Eventually he just let the tears fall. “I COULD HAVE BEEN GONE! I COULD BE FUCKING AWAY FROM THIS SHIT AND WHERE AM I!? IM IN THE MIDDLE OF A FUCKING FIELD ALONE AND SOME FUCKING FAMILY HAS NO CLUE! Oh yeah... FAMILY! Something I won’t ever FUCKING KNOW!!!!” He kicked at the dirt, letting it ripple around him. Falling to his knees, he gripped the collar of his shirt.

Silence and the crickets. A deafening sound.

As he huffed into the mist, it was almost as if the stars replied back to him. He began to mumble to himself, think everything out loud. “You know what? You do folks like me dirty, don’t even give us a fucking chance. No, what do you give us? You give us no family. No home. No childhood. For fuck sake I shouldn’t have spent my childhood on the streets. Companionship? What happened to that, huh? I’ve lost my best friends, my brothers. My immediate family doesn’t even know I exist. I have no one...”

The wind changed, sending a shiver down his spine. Like clockwork his whole attitude shifted and tension was gone. Shaking with the cold, he breathed into the void. “I have Davey...” he let himself repeat the name over and over. Turning his head to the car, he saw Davey bopping his head lightly to some song and drum his fingers on the steering wheel. He watched as he rest his head on the car seat, a content smile on his face. A light smile etched itself onto his face.

When Jack returned to the car, he made sure his tears were gone, that Davey would never know what he was screaming about.

“Not so bad was it?” Davey interviewed.

“No. I guess not.”

He started the engine and they left the Field Of Therapy.