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illyrianbitch · 2 months

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One Summer

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: One beach house. One festival. One summer to fall in love.

Warnings: brief mentions of alcohol and recreational drugs (weed!), two friends with a past, a budding crush

Word Count: 4k

authors note: i’m excited to get this out hehe so pls ignore any mistakes/typos that i missed! 🫶🏻 happy end of summer!

Series Masterlist

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It took you a second to register your surroundings.

You knew the house was bound to be nice. After all, Rhysand’s family was loaded. You’d seen it in pictures from previous vacations, in the ones Mor had sent you over past summers when you’d gone back home. But even then, you still hadn't prepared yourself enough. The house wasn't only large and fancy. It was cozy– lived in. And it was absolutely beautiful.

There were little touches everywhere—- knick-knacks and seashells, photo frames, and soft rugs that felt like clouds under your feet. From somewhere deeper in the house, you heard Feyre and Rhys laughing. They had arrived a few hours earlier, settling in and preparing the house for the rest of you. At least, that’s what they told you all.

You and Mor had your suspicions that their reason for such an early arrival was more about having an empty house to mess around in before the rest of you came. You could still hear Mor’s conspiratorial whisper in your ear, teasing about how Feyre and Rhys probably took advantage of the quiet to enjoy some uninterrupted time together.

"They probably wanted to get all the best spots first," Mor had joked on the drive over, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. You laughed, agreeing silently that Rhysand and Feyre's early arrival was likely more for their own pleasure than out of any noble desire to prepare the house.

From outside, the crunch of gravel under tires announced the arrival of Azriel and Cassian. You heard the low rumble of their car engine idling before it was cut off, followed by the slam of car doors and the muffled sound of laughter.

“C’mon, let me show you your room,” Mor said, placing down a few of her bags and gesturing with her perfectly manicured hand.

You followed her up a set of stairs, taking in the walls lined with art and framed photos. Each frame was unique, from sleek, modern designs to ornate, vintage styles. The artwork ranged from abstract paintings to intricate sketches— and interspersed among the art were photographs capturing various moments. It was easy to spot the ones Mor was in, her blonde hair standing in stark contrast against the raven black of Rhysand and his sister and the dark brown of Azriel and Cassian.

You stopped at one in particular, a photo of Rhys, Cassian, Azriel and Mor standing around a small, circular wooden table. You laughed.

Mor turned around at the sound, a frown on her face as her gaze flickered between you and the gallery before you.

“Oh my god,” she said, quickly backtracking a few stairs down. “Do not look at that.”

But it was too late. You leaned forward to inspect the photo more. Rhysand had braces, Cassian was sporting a terrible haircut, Azriel looked too tall for his frame, and Mor was mid-laugh, a piece of pizza hanging onto the metal outline of her own braces. You let out another laugh, cooing out a sweet Aww at your best friend.

She huffed beside you. ”I’m going to kick you out of this house if you keep staring at it.”

You flashed her a grin. “Aw, c’mon. I love it.”

Mor only gave you a blank look in response. She stayed still, raising an eyebrow impatiently as you grinned, eyes flickering between her and your newfound favorite photo. You reached into your back pocket, fingers grasping the edge of your phone. You itched to have the photo in your camera roll, to be able to send it to Mor as a joke whenever she failed to return your texts.

She registered the movement quickly, letting out a small sound of surprise.

"Absolutely not!”

Mor grabbed your arm before you managed to take a proper picture, pulling you up the stairs behind her as you laughed.

“You realize I can just take a picture later?”

”I’m taking that damn thing down,” she grumbled, “You’re enjoying it too much.”

You let her drag you along, still chuckling as you absorbed the surroundings. The house truly was a perfect blend of comfort and luxury, with wide hallways adorned with art and mementos, and an abundance of windows that flooded the space with natural light. It felt clean– dreamlike, even.

Turning a corner, Mor stopped, opening the door with a large gesture. You stepped inside, eyes widening at the open space. Sunlight poured in from the large windows and a small sliding door framed the ocean view perfectly.

”Oh my god,” you breathed. A sense of peace washed through you.

“I knew you’d love it,” she said with a satisfied grin. “Wait for the best part.”

She walked over and gently slid open the small door, your vision quickly registering the balcony connected to your room. You stepped out, the fresh ocean air hitting you immediately—bringing with it the soothing sound of waves and the tangy scent of salt. The view was breathtaking: an endlessly stretching out horizon with water sparkling under the midday sun.

You closed your eyes, reveling in all of the senses. You could almost feel the stress of the past few weeks melt away, a tangible sense of release rolling through your limbs. You didn’t need to think about grad school applications now, didn’t have to worry about buffing up your resume.

When you opened your eyes, you turned to find Mor watching you with a satisfied, giddy expression. “It’s like a little slice of paradise.”

“More than a little,” you mused as you took in the view before you. “Does everyone have a balcony?”

”Nope,” she replied, “I preferred the nicest shower. But Rhys and I figured you’d want easy access to outside for the same reasons Azriel picked his room.”

She mimicked bringing something to her lips and taking a drag.

You rolled your eyes but a laugh left your lips in spite of yourself. It took you a few seconds before her final words registered and your eyes trailed to the balcony beyond her shoulder, where another little door connected to the space.

Mor followed your movement.

”That’s Az’s room,” she clarified. “You share the balcony.”

”Oh,” you said. Mor gave you another smile. “Cool.”

She let out a small shriek of excitement, grabbing you in a quick hug. “God, I’m so excited for this summer. I get to tan, listen to some music, hang out with my favorite people and get pissed faced drunk.”

”All of your favorite things.”

Her grin grew on her red-painted lips. “Exactly.”

She paused, eyes widening as she dropped her hands from around you, taking a step back as she said, “We need to get drinks!”

Without another word she darted off, calling out for Feyre as she turned the corner and disappeared from your viewpoint.

Your gaze lingered on your open door for a moment before you turned around, walking closer to the edge of the patio. You leaned over the balcony, taking a deep, calm breath. The horizon stretched out before you, waves rolling in a rhythm that seemed to sync with your heartbeat.

You’d always loved the beach, loved the sense of peace that came with being near the ocean. Something about it felt so new— felt so refreshing and lively.

The sound of distant laughter filtered into your ear, and you easily recognized the boisterous cadence of Cassian’s voice. You followed the sound, glancing over towards the glass door of the adjacent room. Through the sliver of his room’s open curtains, you watched as Azriel dropped a bag on his bed, a small smile on his face at something said to him.

You angled your head further.

A nagging voice in the back of your mind reminded you that it might seem odd to be peering into someone else’s space, even if they were your friends. But, they were your friends, weren’t they? It wasn’t weird to be interested in what they were up to, especially when you were all sharing this space for the summer. So you pushed aside the fleeting feeling of unease, convincing yourself that you were simply being sociable and observant.

Azriel lifted his head. You blinked, quickly looking back to the view in front of you in an effort to avoid catching his gaze. You grimaced to yourself, a rush of heat flowing to your cheeks.

Smooth.

You shook your head, gently tapping the balcony railing as you turned around to head back into your room. You made sure to keep your gaze down, to fight the urge for your eyes to flicker towards Azriel’s door.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

All of the windows in the kitchen were open, filling the space with the fresh scent of ocean breeze. You gave Rhys and Feyre a quick greeting, walking towards one of the opened back doors. The urge to explore the beach and feel the sand beneath your feet pulled at you, calling to you like a siren to a sailor, but you stayed still. The drive here had been lengthy and, as a result, your deep-seated exhaustion weighed heavy on your limbs.

“Thinking of going and looking around?” Feyre asked, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Later, definitely. I’m feeling a bit too tired right now to be in the blazing sun.”

Feyre offered you a knowing nod. “Makes sense.”

The sound of footsteps drew your attention and you turned to see Azriel and Cassian entering the kitchen. The latter's eyes immediately found yours, a grin breaking out on his lips as he walked towards you in three long strides. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side.

”God, I missed you,” Cassian said. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the comment, knowing full well that you all had met up before making the drive to ensure that you had everything needed. But Cassian always had a flare for the dramatic. So, instead, you just gave him a small laugh and wrapped your arms around him in return.

He pointed to Azriel. “He’s such a bore, dude. He wouldn’t play any games on the road.”

Your gaze flickered over to Azriel. He rolled his eyes.

“Because your games involved me removing both hands from the wheel.”

Cassian shrugged, the movement redistributing the weight of his arm around your shoulders. “So?”

”So?” Azriel retorted. He opened his mouth to say more, but with a quick scan of Cassian’s face led him to closing his mouth and offering another eye roll. Azriel then turned his attention to you, holding your gaze as he offered you a smile.

”Hey, Y/n.”

His voice was much softer than a few seconds ago, a different tone than that he had used with Cassian.

You smiled back. “Hi, Az.”

You weren’t sure what to do next, torn between wanting to give him a small hug and the presence of Cassian’s arm around you. Az held your gaze for another moment before he walked past. You took in his figure, briefly noticing the change in his attire from this morning when you’d seen both him and Cassian. His long, black pants were now replaced by black shorts, instead. Before your stare could linger, Mor entered from the opened porch door, kicking off the sand-covered shoes she wore as she stepped into the house’s threshold.

”Oh great, you’re all here,” she said, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head. “Cass, are you ready to go?”

”Yup,” Cassian responded excitedly. He separated himself from you, casting a quick glance down at your form. “Wanna come?”

”Where are you guys going?”

Mor and Cassian answered simultaneously, “Liquor store.”

You raised an amused brow. “Have we become too fancy to just go to a grocery store?”

Mor shrugged. “I like my options.”

From across the kitchen, Rhys wrapped an arm around Feyre's torso, a cheeky grin on his face as he leaned forward to place his chin on her shoulder. “And yet, Mor, you always manage to return with a bottle of wine and a pack of white claws.”

Mor offered him a scowl. ”Shut it.”

”Actually,” Feyre hummed, “While you guys are out can you grab some groceries? I have a list. I can text it to you.”

Mor and Cassian exchanged a glance. “Sure, but it might take a while.”

Feyre arched an eyebrow. From beside her, Rhys rolled his eyes. “Why?”

It was Azriel who responded to her question, “Because they’re probably planning to 'taste test' everything they buy. So then they'll be sitting there and waiting it out until they can drive again."

You glanced over at him, watching as a sly smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. The hazel of his eyes were bright now, more visible with the sunlight pouring through the windows. There was a glint of amusement in them as he met your gaze.

Morrigan let out a sound of mock offense. Cassian grinned. You laughed, giving him a playful swat with your hands. It only made his grin grow further.

”I can grab it, Feyre,” you said, “Cass and Mor can go on the alcohol run alone.”

She gave you a grateful smile, but a flicker of concern furrowed her brow. “Are you sure? It’s kinda a lot for one person.”

You frowned. “How many things are we buying?”

“I figured we should make as many meals to counterbalance the amount we’re spending on drinks.”

You clicked your tongue. “Smart.”

She tossed a glance over her shoulder, meeting the studying gaze of her boyfriend. “I can go with you.”

Rhysand instantly frowned and mumbled under his breath, but you failed to catch his words as Azriel’s voice chimed in behind you.

”I can go.”

He stood next to you and you looked up at him, meeting his eyes for a fleeting second. He smiled.

“And I can drive.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The list Feyre had given you was indeed a lot— and all over the place.

Az trailed after you, pushing the large shopping cart as you slowly scanned the shelves in front of you. The car ride with him had been quiet, but it was the type of quiet you often yearned for— the comfortable kind that made you feel at home. He'd opened your car door for you, a gesture so casual and natural that you hadn't fully registered it until you were sitting in his front seat, pulling your seatbelt on. For some reason, the act had yet to leave your mind.

"What do you need?"

Azriel' braced his forearms on the cart's handle, leaning forward as he waited for your answer. Your gaze fell to the silver chain that dangled from his neck, now freed from its usual place hidden underneath his shirt.

"Y/n?"

You blinked. "Yeah?"

Azriel's brows furrowed slightly and he straightened his posture, pushing the cart closer to you. "Feyre's list," he clarified, "What's on it?"

You let out a small oh of realization, offering Azriel your phone in order for him to read off Feyre's comprehensive list of groceries. You switched places, Azriel maneuvering around the cart to look around the store. Your phone looked so strange in his hand and you suddenly regretted offering it to him instead of forwarding the text. You grimaced to yourself, mentally praying that your parents didn't message you— that no strange, unpromising alert flashed across your screen as he held it. The feeling that now flushed your body was the same cold, unrealistic panic that you felt when you traveled— when you'd go through airports and suddenly stress yourself into thinking you'd accidentally packed a live firework or a bomb.

Azriel had made it across an aisle by the time you reeled your thoughts back in. You let yourself fall behind his steps, observing him as he walked along the various cereal boxes.

There was a time where you'd believed that you and Azriel could be more than friends— back in freshman year when you'd first met. It was an instant spark, something so electric even Mor had felt it, had spent weeks making jokes about your crush. And months later you'd found yourself in that room with Azriel, inches away from his face on halloween night, lips still tasting of the fruity drink Cassian had made for you.

But nothing happened— not then, not after.

Two years had passed since and so much had changed. Not only within your life, but with Azriel himself.

He looked different now. His hair was longer— still cropped enough at the sides to show that dangling dagger earring you'd always loved— but long enough on top where his curls were on full display. He'd grown those out in the past two years, had stopped cutting his hair too short for them to show. He was tanner now, too, his golden brown skin holding an even darker sun-kissed glow— but you attributed that to the summer sun rather than the years.

It all fit him so well.

Azriel turned to face you, two large boxes of cereal in either hand. You straightened yourself, fixing your posture as hastily as a child caught watching something they shouldn't have been. If Azriel noticed anything, he didn't make any indication, opting to ask you about which cereal the others would prefer.

You both managed to switch again, Az taking his place pushing the cart as you examined the various boxes on the shelves in front of you. There were only a few more things left on Feyre's list and it felt like an internal fight to find all the items before the grocery store's white light lured you to an eternal sleep— or a well needed nap.

"You excited?"

You looked over at Azriel, meeting his hazel eyes instantly. While his face seemed neutral, you could see the hint of enjoyment that danced in his eyes, a golden-hued green that made you smile instinctively. "Yeah," you said, "It'll be a fun summer.”

Azriel made a sound akin to an appreciative, agreeable hum. The aisles felt narrower the more you walked alongside him, feeling the ghost of his touch as you brushed against him with every step.

"And for the festival?" He asked.

Your smile grew larger at this.

The festival was actually one of the things you were most excited for this summer—aside from the general premise of being with everyone, of course. Summit Pulse was three days of live music, featuring over 80 artists across multiple stages. From indie bands to electronic DJs, Summit had been a dream of yours to attend since freshman year—the same time you'd first learned that Mor and Rhys had a beach house in the same city it was hosted.

"Very," you tossed him a glance before you pulled out three boxes of instant Mac n Cheese. "And I can imagine you are too."

You were sure of it. Your shared love of music was one of the things you and Azriel had bonded about originally. You still remembered the first time you'd hung out with him outside of your Intro the Philosophy class, sitting on the couch in the apartment he shared with Cassian and Rhysand. You'd spent most of the night looking at each other's music— analyzing your saved playlists and talking about the various concerts you'd been to.

Az's smile grew, a single dimple appearing on his cheeks as the corners of his eyes crinkled. "You'd be correct," he replied. A small pause followed before he said, "I think I just need to get the energy for it."

You laughed, stopping in place to turn around and look at him. "Me too," you admitted. The exhaustion from early had started to rear its ugly head again and your legs still ached with the long car ride. You let out a small tired sigh, running a hand along your face. Azriel's eyes traced the movement.

"I am really excited,” you said, “But god, I'm so exhausted. I'm glad we have a few days for me to mentally prep."

Az raised a brow. "I can imagine. You've had quite the semester."

You titled your head in response, brows falling into a subtle, confused furrow.

"Mor told me how hard you guys were working, that your professors weren’t very accommodating.”

You raised a single brow at his wording and the corners of Azriel’s lips twitched upwards. “Alright,” he added with an amused shake of his head. “She said your professors were assholes who needed to get laid.”

You let out a small snort at this, an unintended response that you would’ve felt embarrassed about had it been anyone but Azriel in front of you. His smile seemed to quirk up further.

"Mor was right. It was a rough semester to say the least.”

For more reasons than you'd been willing to let on. Yes, your coursework had gotten a lot more demanding, but it wasn't just schoolwork that tired you out. Mor and Feyre had already started their grad school applications, spending nights in the libraries making pros and cons lists for every school each of you were interested in. Their plan was to find places close enough to one another, to settle in one city and get a large apartment together. Your grad school applications had remained untouched— you had no schools in mind. No programs. No connections.

"I can also imagine your breakup didn't help with it all," Az said. His voice was quieter now, as if he was unsure of the words he was speaking. You held his gaze as he looked at you. "I'm sorry about that, by the way."

You shrugged. "I'm not."

It was the truth. Eris had been a great boyfriend, sure, but you weren't overtly heartbroken over the breakup. You’d met Eris in a Political Science class and despite your initial impression of him, he’d grown on you fast. He was a sweetheart at his core but you simply didn’t mesh as well as you once thought. The breakup was inevitable in the same way that it was amicable, mutual, and very much needed.

Something flickered across Azriel’s face and his gaze darkened. He straightened himself, his posture now emphasizing the height he held over you. "Why?" Azriel said, voice low. "Did he do something?"

His response made your mouth go dry for a fleeting second. Azriel and Eris always had a long-standing hatred for each other that you’d never truly understood. It traced back to some events that had transpired during their high school years, this you knew, but your knowledge stopped at that. Your relationship with Eris had definitely distanced you from your friends— Mor and Azriel to be specific, but now that things were finally beginning to feel normal again, you didn’t want to ruin it.

"No, no," you quickly clarified, offering him a reassuring smile. His shoulders seemed to relax at your answer and you swallowed as you took in his face again, gaze still entirely focused on you.

You cleared your throat before turning yourself around to examine the shelves once more with new interest. "He was a good boyfriend to me. But it wasn't going anywhere and I felt like he was distracting me from more important things."

Reaching up, you attempted to grab a box on the top shelf, recognizing it as the last of those granola bars that Mor used to hoard in her cupboard. The box remained out of reach with every stretch of your hand.

"So no more distractions for you?"

Before you could respond to his question, Azriel was behind you, leaning over you to effortlessly grab the box from the shelf. He wasn't touching you, his chest still a respectable distance away from your back, but you felt the warm presence of him on your skin all the same. Your stomach did a small flip and you found yourself releasing a breath you hadn't realized you'd sucked in.

Azriel offered the box to you. You looked up at him, gently grabbing it with pinkened cheeks. You chose your next words carefully.

"Only meaningful ones."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

summer is slowly coming to an end so i present to you.... the fluffiest lil summer romance i shall ever write!!!! this series is entirely planned out and its just #vibes. everyone thank @milswrites for pushing me to actually start this.

as usual, thank you for reading <3 and lmk if you'd like to be added to the tag list <3

one summer tag list 🫶🏻:

@velarisnightsky444

permanent tag list 🫶🏻:

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii

azriel tag list 🫶🏻:

@thisiskaylin @serrendiipty @acourtofsteelandthunder

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carpetsmoroccan · 2 years

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billielolly · 19 days

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Sims 3 Build - Brownstone Townhouse

This brownstone townhouse is perfect for a large sim family - with a nursery and all. 4 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms on a 30x20 lot.

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handknottedrug · 10 months

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Tree of Life Handmade Abstract Area Rug 8X10 Feet

#Excited to share the latest addition to my #etsy shop: Tree of Life ABSTRACT RUG 6 X 9 Feet Handmade Rug High Quality Rug | Living Room Rug | Farmhouse Rug | Wool Rug | Unique Rug htt #bedroom #silk #area #contemporary #gray #abstract #red #rectangle #christmas #abstractrugs #artisanrugs #handmade rug #neutral oushak rug

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homeboundmonsters · 7 months

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I don't post a lot of analysis here but enjoy this mad scuffling of thoughts on the Tragedy of Javert as the Failed Lover

For me the moment Javert really loses it over Jean Valjean is not at the barricade but when Jean Valjean ‘dies’. In Toulon Jean Valjean belonged to the system, Javert’s eyes could watch him but they were not the only eyes that possessed Valjean with the intensity and scrutiny of the Law. In Montreuil-Sur-Mer Javert spends four years following him, stalking him. His eyes possess Valjean, he tries to offer him up to the law and is abandoned alone in his scrutiny and observation. Yes, Valjean belongs to the townspeople but not Really because they don’t see him like Javert sees him, they don’t have the intimacy of observation that Javert has. In his unaware and abstract way Javert is trying to understand Valjean, not intellectually but biologically: it is the broadness of his shoulders, the strength of his thighs, the gait he walks with; Javert seeks to understand the way his body speaks. For four years Javert is left alone in his desire and the intensity of his desire to penetrate Valjean’s secrets.

Then the rug is pulled out from under him. His understanding of why he consumes this man is ripped away and, all of a sudden, he has to reframe his understanding of why he feels this intensity of emotion, and desire for ‘knowing’, and he cannot understand it. Instead, he wants to run from it: he wants to be dismissed, to flee into mediocrity and the drudgery of agriculture. He can’t bear the burden of his guilt as a spy, but he has been more than a spy he has been a kind of peeping-Tom wanting to see inside of Madeleine and reveal him. This is an affront to Javert, not because he’s homophobic but because Madeleine is a superior: Madeleine is untouchable, a man of better class, better breeding. But mostly because Javert cannot understand his own feelings beyond the idea of them being an intrusion on the Better class of People that he has been determined to serve. He might as well as become aware of himself peeping into a bedroom window. He is a guard dog, he is not meant to experience what goes on in the house, his place is outside. Yet he has sought out the intimate knowledge of this man and in doing so has intruded beyond his status.

But worse for Javert is the world is turned on its axis again and he is proven right. He has NOT sought to go beyond his bounds, instead he has sniffed out a strange dog in the master’s parlour stealing the master’s meal. He is no longer troubled by the uncertainty of his years long passion. The world is set to right so he settles again into the comfort that his understanding of the world and his role in the world is correct. And then, after having Valjean for himself for four solid years, he gives him back to the prison system only… Javert is not there to observe him. Valjean is given over the scrutinising eyes of others and Javert satisfies himself with service to the Law.

So then, why is he so eager to believe that Valjean is still alive? Surely by all rights he should not care that Valjean is dead, Hugo emphasises that Javert shows little interest in the newspaper article. Well, the answer supplies itself when Javert thinks of Valjean is ‘his convict’. His pursuit of Valjean in Paris is defined by the fact that he does not try to share his suspicions, he does not try to share Valjean with anyone. Again and again he foils his own plans to catch the man. There is intimacy again between them, the kind of safe intimacy that comes without touching, only observing. Javert follows him to where he sleeps and secretes himself in a mirror room to Valjean’s: he is seeking again to have an intimate understanding of Valjean biologically; the way and shape in which he lives his life. He seeks evidence of the physical form, even though some part of himself knows it already his mind and eyes hunger for freedom from doubt. Is that not what Valjean always brings him: doubt? Uncertainty. Hunger, the pursuit of intimacy of understanding, the revealing of secrets and the concealed.

He is paralysed by Valjean’s disappearance at Petit-Picpus. He spends a week pacing outside searching for ways in. There is a physical barrier between him and Valjean, here he cannot observe him, here he cannot fabricate the intimacy that is brought on through observation. He is tormented by it. Why? Why does Valjean’s disappearance torment him in a way that the disappearance of Patron Minette? Javert meets Thernadier- a criminal on the run- in the sewers and is disinterested by him. Why because his mind is shaken by Valjean’s act of mercy? It is more than that. Valjean has breached the unspoken rule of their relationship again: there has been a crossing from observation into physicality and that is always destabilising for Javert. He feels safest when he is observing, that is why he is a spy. He likes to go unnoticed. Valjean brings him out into the open, not as a spy but as Javert the man. And for Javert, all these years he has felt that he understood Valjean, that he observed him and knew him as no one else did. That he had penetrated that man’s secrets, his mind, that he understood his desires and goals, and now he finds he knows nothing about him. All of that imagined intimacy is gone, torn from his hands by a man who tells him to shut up and leave already because he knows nothing.

In the carriage Javert battles with his passion, he desires physical intimacy with Valjean: seize and devour, which he can only understand within the framework of arresting him. And yet we know already that since Valjean has reappeared in Paris has been unable to share him, unwilling to give him away. To devour, to bring something into your body and make it a part of you, to process it until it becomes indistinguishable from yourself. These feelings are not new, the desire not to let Valjean go into the hands of others is not new, but for the first time Javert is wrestling with the idea that this means he must turn his back on his Mother and Father: The Law. It is the classic story of the Lover, the Lover must always leave his family to start his own with the object of his affection, but how can Javert do that when his Mother and Father, his ultimate authority, are the very outlining of society themselves? Besides that, he lacks the perceived intimacy that gave him confidence in their interactions before. How can he step out of the safety of his relationship with the Law into the unknown of this man who defies all understanding? Who blinds him, who IS the man who almost brought him to his knees in M-Sur-M? Love is terrifying, but love for someone completely unknowable? Love for someone whose very perspective of the world is so obscure to you that you feel blinded by a glimpse of it? For Javert love has always been self-sacrifice and service. He turned his back on his own people to become a prison guard, he served as a policeman suffering contempt and poverty; so, he loves Valjean how he understands love to be: he sacrifices himself. That at least makes sense to him when nothing else does.

But my point is, as rambling and incoherent as this has been, that Javert has loved Jean Valjean, and wanted to Love Jean Valjean for a long time and not known it. How can a person know Love when they have never experienced it? Not just romantic love, but familial, the love of friendship, the love of a pet. This man has been so abstracted from society by his birth and ethnicity that he never even understood to recognise love from the outsider’s view: he has never even looked on love as a concept. Why torment yourself with what you can’t have? But despite everything, Javert does love and he does love as someone should: self-sacrificingly, with constancy, with patience, with a desire to understand, with a desire to protect and preserve. Javert is the Failed Lover archetype, once upon a time he could have been Marius: watching and falling in love by glances, understanding, scaling walls to communicate and develop intimacy. But Javert, and Jean Valjean in turn, were always doomed to be on the outside, out in the cold.

#valvert #les mis #javert #valvert week #les miserable #lesmis #jean valjean #JVJ #I have many more thoughts

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lizzisimss · 1 year

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Black and White Apartment CC List:

CC used (list below) 920 Medina Studios in San Myshuno 1 bed, 1 bath $126,414

Brazenlotus - https://www.patreon.com/BrazenLotus

Laundry Made Essentials

charly pancakes - https://www.patreon.com/charlypancakes

The Lighthouse Collection merged

Chalk part 2

Miscellanea merged

Modish merged

Selection one merged

Soak merged

Felixandre – https://www.patreon.com/felixandre

Fayun

London interior

Shop the Look Season 1

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KERV

house of harlix - https://www.houseofharlix.com

Bafroom Merged

Baysic Bafroom Merged

Baysic Merged

Livin’Rum Merged

The Kitchen

Tiny twavellers merged

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Brownstone collection merged

Octave merged

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Spoons part 3

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Blockhouse

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Citrus Room

Karlstad

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2202 Magnolia Bathroom

Calliope bathroom

Eloise living

Stellan dining

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Poor Bunny

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Greasy Goods merged

Sleek slumber merged

Deligracy cottage living update merged

Deligracy delicato stuff pack

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Goth book

Lorens carpet

Ayumi

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Aphrodite set chill pills box

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Nora living

Daria bedroom

Dawn abstract

Herbalist kitchen

Simmify part 2

Sol kitchen

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Atwood Living merged

Futura merged

Hamptons retreat merged

Hinterlands bedroom

Hudson bathroom

Kitayama living

Ophelia bedroom suite

Phumo sectional

Vara office

Bowed

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Precious Promises

MCM

Oak House

The Office mini kit

Auntie Vera bathroom

Domaine Du Clos

Winter Garden

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Loloi contemporary rugs 2

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Oak & concrete kit merged

Artz

Forjasline

Home office

Hotel bedroom

Luxbath

Teen room

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Bonbon

Galileo

Julie

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Cassandra Bathroom

Eliza walk in closet

Lilith Chilling Areas

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Busy bee 2

Busy bee

JapanJuice

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2nd Wave Merged

Beam Parte2 v01 merged

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Cross merged

Ema dining room merged

Ind merged

Turn living merged

Wave merged

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Apartment therapy inspired stuff v2 merged

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ceramiccity · 4 months

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Modern Wire Chair in Chic Room

Love leather vs this little wire chair via atlas found - Minimalist living room with modern furniture, abstract art, and oriental rug. Follow Ceramic City on Tumblr Source: https://soudasouda.tumblr.com/post/750683935493816320/love-leather-vs-this-little-wire-chair-via-atlas

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therealrattlehead · 1 year

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Physical (You’re So): A Genji/Ramattra fan fiction

Summary: After a heated argument in the living room, Ramattra and Genji learn what they need to settle their differences once and for all

Rating: Explicit Content

WC: 8,000+, first 2198 words included in post, rest is available on ao3

A/N: Hello! Due to this being my first OW fic, it is a little out of character. However, I hope you still find joy in reading :]

Zenyatta’s house was nothing special to Genji. Maybe it was because he had spent the majority of his time there. The house was on a small piece of private land, not something that Zenyatta was very fond of, but was given as a sort of gift, though Zenyatta prefers not to disclose from whom. Genji’s best guest was the monastery, but he wasn’t even sure of that. The house itself was quite small, only having room for around three people, maybe four if someone was willing to share their room or sleep on the couch. The interior walls of the home were painted a golden yellow, though a few of the corners and other parts of the walls were chipped, revealing the white rock underneath them. Multiple decorations hung on almost every wall of the home: abstract paintings, maps, records, children’s drawings gifted to Zenyatta, anything that could go on the wall.

Of course, this was just the standard living area. Zenyatta’s room itself was quite barren, containing nothing more than a nice twin bed and a dresser that held nothing but bolts, screws, and anything else he’d need to tune himself up. Next to the bed sat a worn-down armchair with a blanket draped across it. The room wasn’t entirely soulless as there were a few pictures of those Zenyatta would consider his closest friends hanging above his bed and sitting on his dresser. Above the door to his room hung a picture of Mondatta in an oval frame. A necklace of large beads framed the picture.

Genji’s room had a little more character to it. Unlike the rest of the house, it was painted in soft, apple green. He had a twin bed just like his Master, which was decorated with a specialized quilt that was gifted to him from Zenyatta. He had a dresser half filled with clothes, the other half filled with tools and other repair needs. On the wall opposite his bed was a sofa, decorated in pillows once again provided by Zenyatta. Between the bed and couch was a rug. He decorated his walls with posters and prints, most of them relating to some kind of media that he enjoyed, from games to movies to TV shows. Of course, just like Zenyatta, pictures of his friends hung along the walls as well.

There was a third bedroom in the house, but it was never one that Genji had taken an interest in. The room belonged to Ramattra, Zenyatta’s long-time compatriot and someone who Genji was not fond of. Ramattra was not as sociable and open as Zenyatta, especially when it came to Genji. He was quiet, closed off, and cold. Though Zenyatta had told Ramattra that living with him meant living with Genji as well, it was almost as if Ramattra had tried to brush aside Genji’s entire existence. Hell, he could hardly stand to sit in the same room as Genji. If Zenyatta wasn’t in the room with him, Ramattra would immediately get up and move rooms as soon as Genji entered. Genji was aware that Ramattra wasn’t fond of humans, and to an extent he didn’t care, but still, a little part of him felt confused. Genji wasn’t even fully human, so what was it about him that still made Ramattra dislike him? Was it because Genji was at one point fully human, so Ramattra would always see him as such? Or was it because he took Zenyatta’s attention away from him? Whatever the matter was, Genji wanted to get to the bottom of it. Even if he didn’t care, even if it didn’t affect him all that much, there was something about Ramattra that needed to be figured out.

June 20th, 2077

Kumpur, Nepal

11:34 pm

The trio were sitting in the living room. Zenyatta was laying down on the couch, an elbow propped on the armrest and a hand holding his chin. On his other hand was a book, some human classic written many years ago. One Genji and especially Ramattra would take no interest in. Genji was sitting on the floor, the plush rug underneath him cushioning his seat. He was watching TV, catching up on a rerun of some Pachimari show, a special episode made for the start of summer. Ramattra was busy tuning up his staff, a screwdriver digging into the orb that sat in its hold. However, it was becoming obvious that his attention was switching between his staff, the show, and Genji. Genji could feel his cold, unfeeling eyes on him, even if they were covered by the snowy white faceplate he wore. Genji ignored him though. Or well, he tried to. Genji wanted to glance at him, just to see if Ramattra’s attention was truly on him, but he wasn’t wearing his visor. Even the slightest glance to the side could catch the Ravager’s attention. He knew Ramattra had already seen him as nosy, proven by the many times he’s been caught eavesdropping on Ramattra and Zenyatta’s conversations. Though Zenyatta had seen it as enduring, all Ramattra would do was let out a disgruntled groan and walk off. Genji was not in the mood to have Ramattra scoff in his face today.

So, Genji locked his eyes on the screen, letting himself get droned into the happy, go-lucky music of the show and the cute, simple animation style. He didn’t even know what the plot was, but he acted like he did. He would do anything, act like he could understand anything if it just meant that he didn’t have to look at Ramattra. Unfortunately, he couldn’t ignore Ramattra. He couldn’t act like he didn’t notice the growing stares landing on his shoulders, the shadowy claws of Ramattra’s gaze wrapping themselves around his neck, trying their best to turn Genji’s head and make him look at Ramattra. He didn’t even know if Ramattra was looking at him, for all he knows Ramattra could have left the room by now. However, that didn’t seem to stop the phantom claws of Ramattra’s hands from trying to pull Genji’s head to the side.

Genji had no choice but to look…

And Ramattra was staring right at him.

“Are you enjoying your show, Genji?” Ramattra asked, his head tilting downward as if he were trying to make eye contact with Genji. Even with such a simple question, it was obvious that the next phrase to escape Ramattra’s synth was going to be judgemental.

“Hmm? I mean, yes. Yes, I am,” Genji nodded, a somewhat stern tone in his voice as he eyed Ramattra down. He wasn’t going to let the Ravager win this.

“It’s a bit of a silly show, don’t you think?” Ramattra asked, turning his attention back to his staff, though it was obvious he wasn’t going to return to working on it anytime soon. He had Genji’s attention, and God was he gonna use it.

“Well, it was the only thing on.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I looked there was nothing else.”

“Really? Did you look?”

“WHY DO YOU CARE YOU’RE NOT EVEN WATCHING!” Genji hadn’t expected himself to shout, and it was obvious in the way that Ramattra had paused and Zenyatta silently set his book down that neither of them had expected it either.

The three stared at each other, silent yet tense.

“You dare raise your voice at me?” Ramattra asked, his voice quiet yet his tone stern and forceful. He set his staff carefully down on the ground. Zenyatta sat up but remained silent.

“I do not know what you expected me to do. You kept pressing me and I wanted you to stop,” Genji explained. He tried to remain calm, but the tremor in his voice vaguely hinted at the bubbling anger rising in his throat. His face started to feel red hot.

“So, you do that by yelling at me?” Ramattra egged on, leaning forward in his seat.

“I tried to stay calm,” Genji began to lean forward as well.

“Is that why your lip is quivering, little boy?” Ramattra teased. Genji hadn’t even noticed his lip trembling, but hearing it from Ramattra just made him pissed. He planted his hands on the carpet and sprang up. His hands balled into fists at his sides, his whole body shaking as he stared Ramattra down.

“Shut the fuck up! I know what you’re trying to do!” Genji barked, his face red and his temper beyond livid.

“And what on Earth is that?” Ramattra asked, standing up and crossing his arms. He began to walk toward Genji. Zenyatta stood up, taking a small step forward, just one more step away from being between the two.

“Ramattra…,” Zenyatta started, but Ramattra and Genji ignored him. They were too focused on each other.

“Don’t play stupid. You’re trying to make me look bad in front of Zenyatta. You wanted to make me angry, just to toy with me. If you want me out of the house just say it,” Genji snarled, taking another step closer to Ramattra.

“Tell me why the hell I’d care to do that?” Ramattra asked, his synth reaching lower, more gravelly tones. The display on his forehead flared a bright red and Genji was sure that if he was any closer, he’d be able to feel Ramattra’s cooling system pushing hot steam out of Ramattra’s body.

“I don’t know! It’s probably just because you can’t fucking deal with anyone else having his attention you big fucking Ravager baby-!” Before Genji could get any more words out of his mouth, a large, firm hand gripped the sides of Genji’s face, squeezing his mouth shut. He let out a harsh groan as he felt Ramattra’s hand squeeze his face.

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH, FILTHY HUMAN!”

“Experience tranquility!” Genji had never heard the monk become so panicked, even though his voice still had the same quiet, soothing tone. Before he could even blink, Zenyatta was between the two of them. Within another blink, Zenyatta had entered transcendence. The force of it shoved the two back. Ramattra stumbled back while Genji nearly fell back on the floor. Instead, he simply just hit the floor with his knees. He felt a wave of calmness wash over him, though his current hatred for Ramattra was still trying to boil through to his skin.

“Look at what you’ve brought into this house, brother! Look at the filthy and vile creature you’ve managed to drag in! I expected better from you, Zenyatta,” Ramattra growled, a large hand now pointing an accusatory finger at Genji. Zenyatta exited his transcendence. His arms extended outward, trying to create more space between the two of them.

“The only filthy fucking thing he dragged in was you,” Genji protested, pointing a finger back at Ramattra.

“Nothing I have dragged into this home is filthy. I brought the two of you here for a reason. Do not let me kick you out for a reason. Now, go to your rooms and do not speak to each other until the morning,” Zenyatta snapped. Genji had never heard the monk become so fed up, especially not when it had come to him. Zenyatta was usually calm, patient, and tranquil, seldom letting anyone or anything pound on his nerves. He knew it was the same with Ramattra, having listened in on many of their heated, late-night conversations, much to the two’s chagrin. Maybe it was just the weeks’ worth of silent conflict finally bubbling to the surface, but that didn’t stop shame from rolling over Genji. Even if it wasn’t obvious, Genji knew Ramattra felt shame as well.

Slowly, Zenyatta set down his arms, settling them to his sides, and once again the three were still and looking at each other. The moment felt like it was never going to end. The air fell stale and the room went silent. Genji just remembered the TV was playing, too drawn into the argument to even focus on it. It took what felt like another eternity for Ramattra to look at the two, scoff, and stomp to his room. The door slammed behind him.

“Are you alright?” Zenyatta held out a hand, offering to help Genji off of the ground. Genji grabbed his hand, slowly bringing himself up. Zenyatta held out another hand, helping to steady Genji as he settled himself.

“I’m fine, I just don’t understand what his problem is with me,” Genji muttered. He stood up fully, allowing Zenyatta to take his hands off him. Zenyatta reached towards the coffee table in the middle of the room, grabbed the remote off it, and shut the TV off. He then held Genji’s hands in his own hands.

“Do not focus on him, my student. He has been through a lot, he doesn’t yet understand the effect of his words. He is, as humans call it, of little empathy. Please, just go to your room and we will conclude this in the morning,” Zenyatta explained, rubbing over the smoothness of Genji’s knuckles with his thumbs. Even though his face plate was static, Genji could tell his eyes were trying to plead with him.

Genji could only nod, “Yes, sensei. Goodnight, sensei.”

“Goodnight, my Genji.”

A/N: Once again, you can find the full fic on Ao3 :]

#overwatch #overwatch fanfiction #fanfic #genji shimada #ramattra #ramji #smut #overwatch smut #ao3 writer #read on ao3 #ao3 link

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