Rest
Guess what? I've got more Jamil x reader for y'all.
You can also find this on ao3.
No warnings, just 866 words of kinda fluffy(?) caretaking stuff with gender-neutral reader.
At this point, you know Jamil’s schedule almost as well as he does. So, when you have the chance, you head to Scarabia’s kitchen, hoping to spend some time with Jamil while he and the other students prepare dinner.
However, when you enter, it takes you but a moment to notice Jamil’s uncharacteristic fumbling and the tired look in his eyes. The way Jamil’s chopping the vegetables has you worried about him cutting himself with that knife he’s usually so adept with, and it seems it’s only force of habit that’s keeping him on track.
You frown, and when your eyes meet Jamil’s, you can already see him put his guard up.
So he knows what state he is in, huh? And still, here he is.
It seems Jamil is reading your thoughts, all of him telling you drop it before any words are even said.
At least he still lets you lean in and give a quick kiss to his cheek in greeting.
“Hello love. Do you still have a lot on your agenda for today?” you ask, keeping your tone low for at least some semblance of privacy in the busy kitchen.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” is the response you get.
Of course.
It takes a little more pestering before Jamil actually answers your question. Your lips purse. That list is far too long to your liking.
You take a moment to think, juggling your own plans and to-do list against the urgency of the things Jamil mentioned.
“Will Kalim be eating from that?” you ask, pointing at the food Jamil is preparing.
“Yes.”
“Alright, I won’t be touching that one, then. I’ve gotta do a few things but I’ll be back when you’re done here.”
“Don’t,” Jamil says with a glare, clearly aware of what you’re thinking.
Yet even his disapproving look doesn’t have the usual weight behind it.
“Yes. I will,” you say firmly, even as your heart curls inwards with another bout of concern.
Really, when did he get so tired?
And how did you not notice it earlier?
You leave the kitchen before Jamil can protest further, hurrying through the dorm corridors to find Kalim.
Soon you have an enthusiastic – and concerned – supporter for your plans. You have Kalim point out a few reliable Scarabia students to help with a few of the most urgent matters Jamil mentioned – cleaning up the common areas, delivering some paperwork to Crowley, preparing some dorm-wide notices – while you see to Kalim getting his school supplies in order for the following day. You even recruit a couple of third years to help Kalim with his homework.
You’ll see to the rest tomorrow – after all, you do also have a boyfriend to look after.
Your conversation over dinner can hardly be called anything else than an argument – despite Kalim’s best attempts at acting as a moderating force between you two. It is very tempting to ask Kalim to tell Jamil to take the rest of the day off – it’s not like Jamil would be willing to openly disobey a direct order. Still, you really don’t need to remind Jamil of his position on top of everything else that you’re already doing more or less against his wishes.
Eventually, however, Jamil’s had a square meal, the most urgent things on his to-do list are being taken care of, and you’ve managed to drag him to his bed.
“I really wish you wouldn’t push yourself so hard,” you murmur, your arms wrapped tightly around Jamil. You’re telling yourself you really do just want to cuddle, to offer some respite to Jamil. Still, there might also be a part of you worried that if you were to let go, he’d just jump up and get back to working himself to the bone.
Yet, for all his protestations, just the fact that you’ve gotten Jamil to lay down with you speaks volumes of his current exhaustion.
“I can’t just leave my duties, albi. You know this.”
“Making yourself too indispensable, is what you’re doing,” you protest.
Oh, you know it’s not so simple. Not with his background, not with all the expectations and assumptions.
But sometimes you really wish it would be.
Jamil merely scoffs in response to your words.
Still, it is undeniable that he is slowly beginning to relax in your arms, slowly bringing his head closer to yours. His eyes are starting to flutter, too.
“I will still need to help Kalim with his homework, at the very least.”
You wonder who he is trying to convince more, you or himself.
“Amin and Khalil are helping him. They’re basically top of their classes, aren’t they? I’m sure they’ve got it.”
Still, Jamil frowns.
You sigh. He really is not letting go, is he?
“Do you want me to go supervise?” you ask.
And leave you, unsaid yet hanging there right after your words.
“Don’t,” Jamil eventually says, the word barely more than a breath.
It seems he has accepted his fate.
You softly caress Jamil’s hair, listening to his softening breathing.
And when you wake up, wholly unaware of having been lulled to sleep in the first place, it’s to the lightest of touches from Jamil’s fingers.
Tagging @diodellet @twstgo @crystallizsch @jamilvapologist @jamilsimpno69 as per request
If you'd like to be tagged for any future works, let me know!
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Things that happened in Martyn & Cleo Double Life canon:
Cleo hoping to find her soulmate and start a life with them
Cleo dumping Martyn without giving him a chance to explain his side of the story, but hearing him out when he comes to her later
Martyn watching Cleo through his spyglass and telling the audience she seems safe and happy even though he thinks it's weird she's outside at night
Martyn, after he's had time to consider how he wants to play this, spinning a story about trying to be a provider for her and Cleo explaining that she wanted him, not things
Cleo not being remotely impressed by the "I was providing" sob story, lol
Martyn calling Cleo selfish for choosing to be with Scott because she's supposed to be HIS soulmate and he wants a partner
Cleo willing to forgive Martyn if he meets them halfway
Martyn refusing to meet them halfway because he doesn't think he did anything wrong
Martyn screaming about how Cleo's building bridges with Scott but "When will she think about mending our bridges???"
Martyn explaining to Cleo that he doesn't understand why his Session 1 actions bothered them
Martyn centering his character arc and roleplay on trying to win Cleo back without actually apologizing
Cleo giving Martyn a flower and stating that if he loses it, she'll be real cross with him
Cleo chasing Martyn out of her yard because he tried to put an HOA sign on her base and she wanted to make it clear that she wasn't associated with them and their hate for his base (even though she does think his heart base is strange)
Martyn attacking Cleo after she said attacking is a form of affection to her
Cleo setting boundaries with Martyn and explaining what he can do to get her back
Cleo sighing when Scar set her up on a date with Martyn, but taking the chance to talk to him instead of walking out
Cleo genuinely wanting Martyn in her alliance
Martyn and Cleo giggling constantly when they chat
Scar asking if Martyn wanted him to play a romantic music disc for him and Cleo (and Martyn getting excited and saying yes)
Martyn offering to take Cleo's armor and weapons to the deep dark so he can enchant them and bring them back while she stays safe
Cleo gifting Martyn diamonds, expecting nothing in return but not wanting him to die from lack of a good sword
Martyn and Cleo forming a secret alliance that allows Cleo to live with Scott while being on good terms with Martyn
Martyn expressing frustration that Cleo wants to keep this alliance secret because he wants them to be public allies; Cleo softly shushes him when people approach and might overhear
Martyn telling Cleo that she's putting out a lot of mixed signals because she keeps reeling him in and then pushing him away, claiming he is very confused about where he stands with her
Martyn teasing Cleo by punching her off a cliff and accidentally killing her and feeling so bad about it that he apologizes profusely despite roleplaying as someone who refused to apologize for Session 1
Martyn and Cleo immediately threatening Bdubs together when he said hi to them while they were hanging out, sdkfj
Martyn genuinely apologizing to Pearl for dumping her after Session 1
Martyn hiding under Cleo's bed while she defends him from an enderman attack
Cleo offering to let Martyn move into her house after Etho and Joel grief his base; Martyn saying he might take her up on that
Cleo and Martyn agreeing to move out and base together at Box
Cleo trusting Martyn with the location and resources of her red life base
Martyn rushing to Cleo's aid in the deep dark and trying to turn everyone against him instead
Cleo responding to Martyn's panicked shouts for her to eat by opening her inventory to get food (and drowning because she forgot she was in water)
Cleo hanging back and letting Martyn attack Scott while she does nothing to stop him from doing so, implying as much as she likes Scott, she won't kill Martyn (and herself) for him (and/or she trusted Scott to handle himself even though he ran away while Martyn was shooting at him)
Things that did not happen:
Cleo unwilling to forgive Martyn or consider being his friend and partner
Martyn and Cleo hating each other
Thank you for coming to my TED Talk
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Don't Go Blindly Into the Dark
Summary:
To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?
Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?
Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus
If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)
Content warnings for this chapter: ptsd, wounds, implied violence, implied child abuse
AO3 link
Chapter 22 - Wylan
Jesper was right - talking really was his superpower. If Wylan hadn’t eventually said:
“Jes, don’t you need to go to work?” he wasn’t sure he ever would’ve stopped.
He had encouraged Wylan to drink the tea he’d brought up for him, pressing the warm mug into his hands and guiding Wylan’s fingers to the handle as he chattered, but for the most part Wylan just sat feeling the heat of it between his palms. There were a couple of bread rolls lying on a plate across the room as well, but Jesper hadn’t mentioned them and Wylan wasn’t hungry. Jesper had paused briefly in the middle of a story Wylan wasn’t really listening to when he realised how much time must have passed, because the tea was cold. He was grateful for the sound of Jesper’s voice to occupy his mind even if he wasn’t really listening to what he said, it felt like an anchor keeping him in this room, in this moment. He almost regretted stopping him, but he didn’t want to be the reason Jesper was late or missed work.
“Oh, shoot, yeah,” Jesper laughed, “I can stay, if you want-”
“I’ll be okay,” Wylan breathed, trying to smile, “Really. Thank you, so much,”
“Of course, love,” Jesper stood up and leaned a little closer; Wylan felt himself tense, “You want a new drink?”
He was looking at the half empty mug, its steam long dissipated and its colour fading from the most welcoming sight.
“Oh- it’s alright, thanks,” Wylan let Jesper take the cold tea off him and set it back on the table, “Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay here?”
He didn’t know why he was risking asking - he didn’t have anywhere else to go. But he didn’t want to make Jesper feel like he had to take care of him.
“Of course,” he said, again, “Long as you want. I’ll run and find some dry clothes and then I’ll go,”
Wylan nodded, but even so when Jesper returned and knocked on the door again he felt himself flinch. His breathing grew sharp and one of his hands fumbled to his neck, as if he was still trying to pull Prior’s hands away from his throat. He knew it was just Jesper, he knew that, he knew that. But apparently that wasn’t going to stop his brain from going into overdrive.
“Wylan?”
He couldn’t answer. He couldn’t breathe.
“Wylan, are you okay?”
“Yeah - sorry,” his voice didn’t sound right, “I - sorry -”
“Don’t apologise. I can leave these here for you and you can just get them when you want, or-”
“Uh, no, it’s okay,” Wylan managed, flexing his fingers in and out of his fists, “You can come in. Sorry,”
“Do you know what don’t apologise means?” asked Jesper as the door opened, smiling at Wylan, “Here,”
He tossed a shirt and a pair of trousers, which landed sort of haphazardly on Wylan’s lap as he tried to catch them. He dropped the shirt.
“Sorry, probably should’ve thought that through,” Jesper picked it up and pressed it into Wylan’s hand, “But I think those should fit okay - and there’s a railing on the wall opposite the bed, you can hang your stuff on there to dry,”
Wylan nodded.
“Thank you,”
“Yeah of course - okay, I’ve gotta run or I’m gonna be late, are you sure you’re okay on your own?”
Wylan just nodded again.
He had been glad to sit with Jesper for a while, listening to whatever he’d been talking about without really taking it in, but he was glad to have a little time for himself as well.
Jesper’s room could only be described as chaotic. The bed was unmade, the pillows in disarray and the duvet falling half onto the floor where the corner drooped into a pile of discarded clothes. The table where Wylan’s cold tea and the little bread rolls were sitting in wait was also decorated by several other used cups and plates, some stacked on top of each other and some shoved to one side to make space for the ones Jesper had brought up earlier. It wasn’t a big space but there was a window that peered onto the street below and, if Wylan’s sight hadn’t been blurry, would have given him the vaguest hint of the canal behind the next few buildings, with frayed curtains that had clearly faded from whatever colour they were once supposed to be. Other than the faded curtains Jesper’s room was actually very colourful, like it was impossible for him to own more than one item in the same shade. Wylan turned back from the window, fingers brushing the sill and spilling dust onto the floor. He brushed his hand down the leg of the trousers he’d just changed into, trying to get the remnants off himself, and then picked up his dripping clothes and pushed one of Jesper’s waistcoats to the end of the little railing so there was space to hang them over it.
The room was definitely chaotic, but that made it feel real. Lived in. Wylan’s room at home could have belonged to pretty much anyone if you didn’t know it was his, but this place looked like it actually belonged to someone. Or like someone actually belonged here.
It took him a few minutes to convince himself to open his satchel; he wasn’t sure why it felt like he couldn’t do it, but if he left it where it was the water would end up ruining Jesper’s already slightly dodgy floorboards and all of Wylan’s things would be ruined. He wondered what his father had done with the trunks that were supposedly being sent after him, and had to suddenly pinch his nose and swallow hard to try and keep from throwing up.
Everything in his satchel was soaked through. He had to wring his favourite jumper out over the window ledge before he put it onto the railing with everything else because the wool was holding so much water, and he was pretty sure the shape was all warped and ruined but he was trying to convince himself away from thinking about it. It was an incredibly stupid thing to be concerned about right now, but it was his favourite jumper and it was probably ruined and it was making him want to cry. And what about everything in his trunk? His clothes, his shoes, everything - even the sheet music he’d managed to keep hidden in his wardrobe for so long… all of it must be gone. He’d taken his flute out of his jacket pocket when he hung it over the railing, but now he didn’t really have anywhere else to put it except back into his sopping wet bag and that didn’t seem very practical. He stood in the centre of Jesper’s room, holding his almost definitely ruined flute, staring at his almost definitely ruined jumper, his hair still wet and the goosebumps on his arms still shivering beneath the too-long sleeves of his borrowed shirt. He hoped it was borrowed, anyway, though walking through this building had set him on a pretty certain path that this was probably stolen.
There were still loud noises chattering through from downstairs and the rooms either side of this one; conversations that were either mostly unintelligible or didn’t make sense to Wylan. There was a couple arguing in the room next door, sounding like they were on the verge of throwing things at each other, and a couple in the room above who were definitely doing something else. Wylan stared at the ceiling for a moment - it’s half six in the morning! - and then shook himself back to his senses. It was like he’d fallen into another world, some kind of mad mirror dimension of the city that he’d thought he knew, and he had no idea how to function here. He wished he’d drunk all of his tea; he wasn’t going to dare venturing anywhere else to get a new one. He settled for the water flask that he’d set on the floor when he took it out of his satchel, running his fingers along the newly acquired dents in the metal.
Jesper was only gone for about two hours. Wylan paced around the room, finished all the water in his flask, convinced himself to rip an edge of one of the bread rolls. He caught himself in the smudgy mirror and realised there were bruises growing on his throat. He pulled his collar up, as if that would be enough to hide them, and hoped that Jesper wouldn’t notice.
The sounds of the house were relentless and every single one of them was someone coming to find him, Prior or Miggson ready to finish the job. By the time Jesper returned, Wylan was sitting between the wall and the foot of the bed, with knees pulled to his chest, his flute clutched loosely between his fingers. The wood was warped. It was useless.
“Wylan?”
Wylan jumped. He hadn’t heard Jesper come in.
“Oh, is this the famous flute?” Jesper grinned as he sat down in front of Wylan, apparently not caring to question what he was doing sitting on the floor, “Do I get to hear you play?”
“It’s ruined,” Wylan mumbled, without looking up, still running his fingers over the misshapen wood.
He was an idiot. If he had just left his flute in his bag, tucked it safely into its case, it probably wouldn’t have been quite so far beyond repair. It might have survived. But he’d wanted it in his jacket, he’d wanted to be able to feel it and know that it was there for what? He couldn’t even describe the nervousness he knew he would’ve felt in its absence. He had a vague memory of going travelling somewhere once, he didn’t remember where and he’d only been a small child, and checking his bag every few minutes as though all of his belongings might have vanished the moment he looked away. That one stuck out, other than all the other travels he had once been happily - even excitedly - welcomed on by his father, because by whatever age he was then he’d had his first flute and it was sitting in that bag, on the verge of disappearing every few seconds if he didn’t keep an eye on it. Keep it safe and close and in a strange way almost secret. So what? For some stupid sentimentality or foolish, entirely impractical and irrational fear, Wylan had destroyed his flute. He may as well have clung to it so tightly that his fingers snapped it in half, for all the infuriating irony was not lost on him, and he wanted to scream his frustration and his loss. But he just carried on sitting there, running his fingers over the ruined flute, grieving for something that had never been alive in the first place.
“Oh, Wy, I’m so sorry…” Jesper’s voice felt distant.
Wylan just shrugged.
“I shouldn’t care this much,” he whispered, “Not… not about this, of all things this is what’s…”
He couldn’t finish the thought; he just shook his head. The pain in his chest had only slightly released since crawling out of the canal hours ago, and he felt nerves rising as he wondered if Jesper could see his bruises. He had to hold himself back from fidgeting with his collar.
“Wylan, you’re allowed to be upset about-”
“Don’t,” he whispered.
He couldn’t talk about it. He shouldn’t have mentioned it. Jesper shuffled, but he didn’t say anything. Wylan felt his hand wanting to drift to his shirt collar again and tightened his grip on his flute. Trying harder to hide them was only going to draw Jesper’s attention to the bruises.
“That wasn’t a long shift,” he said, eventually, when the quiet - not silence, apparently there was never silence here - got too much.
“I just sorted out a deal with them,” said Jesper, smiling, “So you weren’t stuck here alone for ages,”
Wylan nodded.
“Where do you work?”
There was brief pause, before Jesper ventured:
“At a bar,”
He didn;t sound entirely convinced about his own statement, but who the hell was Wylan to call someone out for lying?
“I, erm…” Jesper hesitated, then began again talking so quickly it was like his own words - or perhaps his thoughts - were overlapping each other, “I know someone, who I think you should talk to. I mean - well, he wants to meet you so if you want to - tomorrow, you don’t have to like now, I mean…”
He trailed off for a moment, then said more succinctly:
“You can stay here tonight and I’ll get out of your way, but if you’re feeling okay tomorrow then there’s this guy I work with, Kaz - he’s my boss. He’d like to talk to you,”
Wylan leaned back, feeling tension run through his shoulders.
“Why?”
“He’s hoping you’ll make a deal with him - you don’t have to, okay, but if you just have a conversation with him he might be able to help you out,”
“Help me out?” asked Wylan, raising an eyebrow, “By making a deal? You sure you’re not talking about the devil, here?”
Jesper laughed.
“You might be more accurate in that than you want to be, Wylan,” he laughed again, “But he probably can help you, and you can probably help him. Look, if you just talk to him - and I can be there too, if you want me to - you don’t have to agree to anything. But he might be able to help you make some money, maybe even… I dunno, but he could get you a job, I’m sure,”
The actual practicality of everything hadn’t quite dawned on Wylan until now. He was alone - or almost alone, anyway - in the Barrel, his father had tried to have him killed and may very well believe him drowned, he had no money but a couple of very wet kruge notes, and no skills or methods of income whatsoever. He would have to find a job somewhere; would have to do something to survive. And Jesper had said he could stay here, but he could hardly do that forever could he? He needed money, he needed somewhere to live, he… he needed to at least survive this part, if he would have any hope of ever figuring out the next.
“Okay,” he murmured, eventually, “I’ll talk to him,”
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