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ninguitar · 1 month ago

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୨୧　𝓔VERYTHING I WANT　˒˒　SM

─── ﹙🦇﹚months of tip-toeing around yours and megan's friendship leads to feelings surpassing friendship, that neither one of you realize were that prominent. with these feelings looming over you two, inevitably, it blows up in your guys' face.

pairing. megan skiendiel x 7th member f!r genre. angst & fluff wc. 2.4k notes. italics = memories/past event & bolded = lyrics embed into dialogue ^_^ #ilovebeabadoobee req here !! ( MASTERLIST )

now playing ⋆ everything i want by beabadoobee

YOU AND MEGAN SKIENDIEL WERE ALWAYS ATTACHED TO THE HIP—the two of you notorious for being like two peas in a pod by your guys' friends and fans.

so why was it different now?

it was through small, brief gestures from megan that you picked up to be her avoiding you. from sitting across from you anywhere and any time she could, to declining your usual move night invitation for the past weeks, you knew something was up, but you couldn't put your finger on what.

to keep your mind off of the tension twisting in your head, you begrudgingly accepted manon and lara's pleas to playing random games. while playing games with the two of them was definitely fun, it was excruciatingly difficult due to how competitive they were.

the three of you sat in the dimly-lit living room, controllers in each of your guys' hands. your hands move deftly across the controller, inclined to wanting to beat both girls. the sound of the intense, blaring battle music accompanied by lara's and manon's loud curses bounce off the walls, making you wonder how you guys never received a noise complaint at all.

as the round came to an end, your name displayed on the leaderboard for first place pops up on the tv screen, making you poke fun at the two girls, a mischievous grin playing on your face.

"god, you suck, peanutbutterlover02," you tease manon, nudging the girl's shoulder, while both manon and lara's faces contort into bitterness, the two girls barely able to suppress laughter.

"you totally cheated!" both of them interject, dropping their controllers onto the coffee table. you scoff, retaliating by getting up and dropping your controller too.

before you could walk away, both girls' hands curl around your wrist, dragging you down. gasping, you hold onto them to stabilize yourself. a series of giggles and laughter fills the room, as the three of you fall back onto each other—almost like dominoes.

while catching your guys' breath, megan passes by, her usual grin disappearing once her eyes flicker to you. the chinese girl bites the inside of her cheek before sauntering over to lara and manon. the two girls usher megan to sit down beside you, beckoning her to play alongside you guys.

"both of you guys suck anyway—what's the point of joining if i know i'm gonna beat you guys," megan reluctantly pokes fun at them, her gaze fixated on you for too long, before she flickers her eyes back to the screen. a subtle, meek smile plays on her face at the sight of your name on the leaderboard.

switching the game to mario kart, a grin tugs on the corners of the lips of manon, the girl quips, "you are not winning this, megan; you are so bad at driving!" the ghanaian girl changes the game mode to teams, a daring smile flashing on her face.

knowing the usual set of duos you guys split into for mario kart, it would leave you and megan as a team. finding this to be an opportunity to get the chinese girl to ease up to you, you flash a silly, toothy smile at megan, hoping she'd at least mirror it as well.

and to no avail does she.

a subtle sigh drifts from your lips at the girl's sudden inaction towards you, though you try to dismiss it, not wanting to overthink too much. you bite the inside of your cheek, your gaze flickering to megan's face every few seconds while playing—the singaporean girl serving more as a distraction to you than she ever has.

and at that rate, your troubled mind would drift past to any interactions or conversations you'd have with megan, trying to find out what you did wrong.

"we beat you guys! i told you megan sucks at driving!"

lara's and manon's hollers snap you out of your dazed mind, breaking the exuberant soundtracks of mario kart, as they nudge both you and megan.

a faux smile plays on your face, as you scoff, "you guys just caught us at a bad time." you gently nudge the chinese girl's shoulder, inviting her to retaliate against lara and manon, too.

"'m not even bad at driving! talk to me when you can actually drive, manon," she huffs, a thin line pressing her lips, as she crosses her arms against her chest. at her quip, an inevitable toothy smile adorns your face, your eyes crinkling into crescent moons.

huffing, you lie back on your bed, while daniela sits at her vanity, an eyeliner pen accompanying her hands. the same thought of megan potentially avoiding you crosses your troubled mind every few seconds, making you rub your temples.

revisiting each and every moment you shared with the chinese girl from the past few months so far, only one stood out, and you didn't think it would be something that would freak her out.

you remember it as clear as day, especially when on that same day, you felt your motivation towards working for promotions crumble almost instantly, and the only person you wished to sought refuge in was megan.

both of you were visibly exhausted, heavy breaths erupting from the two of you. you sat on the wooden, cold floor of the practice room, your gaze fixated on the chinese girl through the expansive mirror.

with your back plastered against the wall, you huffed, a thin line pressed onto your lips. megan's eyes locked onto yours, her gaze softening at the sight of you all drowsy. and by then, she could tell something was up with you.

"penny for your thoughts?" the ginger-headed girl managed to breathe out, her tone laced with sincerity, as her hand curled around yours, running her thumbs on your knuckles.

"just tired. i don't know if i can keep doin' this," you mumbled, catching megan's attention, as her eyes immediately darted over to you, worry creasing her forehead. she froze in an awkward position, her head snapping.

"oh."

you stumbled over your words, your voice vulnerable and barely above a whisper as you spoke, "'m just scared of giving up, meg. i feel like i'm just suffocating."

the chinese girl simply spoke softly, her voice carrying understanding, "i get it—i get you. it's okay to feel overwhelmed, y'know that, right? it can be tough, and that's fine. just- we can figure this out together."

her hand offered yours a gentle, reassuring squeeze, lifting her head to meet yours directly. megan's unwavering support never stopped, and it felt like a familiar warmth, that always spread to your cheeks whenever she spoke. you always knew her words were genuine, no matter what.

silence lingers in the air—not tension, but rather the comfortable type of silence. and finally, you spoke up with reluctance.

"do you think we're together in another life," you blurted out, mumbling as you do so, "'cause y'know… everybody thinks it's odd we're not," you tried to justify. your eyes darted to megan, hoping the girl wouldn't freak out.

"i mean… it could, be possible," she cleared her throat, trying to beat around the bush. a part of the singaporean girl wanted to just tell you everything—to spill out all her feelings to you. feeling conflicted, megan scooted closer to you, leaning against you.

the both of you hesitated to speak once more, the weight of your words lingered in the air heavily. a mix of bittersweetness and concern replaced your unreadable expression, as you eased into her touch—like usual.

you fidgeted with the ends of your shoelaces, remaining silent. you absorbed the gingerhead girl's words, your face weary. her hand found yours, interlacing them together.

with your head in your hands, you can feel your patience crumbling rapidly. you run a hand through your hair, your knees hugged up to your chest. your obvious frustration comes apparent to daniela, as the latina grunts out, "just talk to her—what's the worse that could happen?"

"do you know how awkward it'll be talking to her if i freaked her out! i- i mean if i tell her i'm into her, and she's not, that's gonna be so embarrassing," you ramble on and on, cheeks flushed, as your eyes flicker to daniela doing her makeup.

"are you even listening!" you roll your eyes.

a series of giggles escape daniela's breath, "just tell her—man up, stand on business, or something! i'm serious!" she exclaims, a shine in her eyes. the latina suddenly gets up, nudging you on the shoulder. you bite your lip to suppress a giggle, nudging the blonde-haired girl back.

"fine, fine! okay—"

standing meekly outside megan's and lara's room, your hands slip into your pockets. conflicted, you debate whether or not you should follow daniela's words; you were sure that she was right—that talking it out would be better—but you also were uncertain if the singaporean girl even liked you. bringing your hand to the door, you knock on it gently.

you swallow a hollow breath of air down your throat, before you hear the cue, "come in!" creaking the door open slowly, your eyes flicker to megan lying on the bed, watching her face contort into one of faux disinterest, as she notices you.

"hey," your mumble under your breath, "can we talk?" you stuff your hands into your pockets, taking a deep breath.

the chinese girl meekly nods, and sauntering in, you slowly shut the door. plopping yourself on the empty space beside her on her bed.

"are- are we fine; it just seems like we're out of sync lately," you admit sheepishly, glancing at megan for a slight second before diverting your gaze elsewhere.

"yeah, why wouldn't we be?" she murmurs flatly, her hands in her lap, subtly shifting herself away from you.

noticing, a sigh drifts from your lips, "just- it seems like you're avoiding me, and it's been bothering me, a lot. every time you see me, you act like i did somethin' wrong. and honestly—"

before you could continue your ramble, the chinese girl huffs, "i'm not avoiding you or anything, so i don't know what you're even insinuating! just get over it— i don't know."

"get over it? are you serious, megan! we're like what, best friends, yet i can't get you to explain something small?" you assert, raising your volume to match hers. rubbing your temples, you stand up from the bed, your mouth dry.

a scowl paints your face, "fuck—megan, just tell me why you're acting like this, because clearly it's not something i'm imagining!" you try to calm down, pacing back and forth. at your words, a cold glare flashes at you from the chinese girl.

"i told you, i'm not avoiding you or anything; you're just reading into shit way too deeply," she rolls her eyes at your remarks.

hissing through clenched teeth, "don't fuckin' try to lie to me; i know you, better than anybody, megan! we're friends—not strangers, so i don't know why you can't even open up!"

at this rate, all the girls in the house could practically overhear your guys' erratic argument. you clench your fists, muttering quietly, "just tell me what's up with you, please." you glance at the girl with hopeful eyes, desperate to know what was going on with her.

with your heart on your sleeve, you cross your arms against your chest, swallowing a lump in your throat. the sound of your exasperated sighs linger in the air, your troubled figure traveling back and forth.

with a shred of reluctance, words lie on the tip of megan's tongue, as she whispers, genuinely taken aback by your persistency. washing over her bitter features were ones of regret and worry painting her face.

"i like you, y/n—a lot. and it bothers me so, so much; i mean, it keeps me up at night! you- you're everything i want, and i don't think i'll ever like—love—somebody as much as i do with you."

"i- i mean, those hangouts on valentines day were obviously not coincidental! those matching bracelets, necklaces, rings—again not coincidental!"

your eyebrows raise in confusion, unaware the girl was harboring secret feelings for you. your ears perk up at the last bit, remembering the fond memory of megan begging you to have matching jewelry with her, while you were more than eager to do so. heat curls on your cheeks and ears, as you nod meekly, letting the girl's remarks sink in.

before you could process anything else, the chinese girl just rambles on and on, a mix of anger and regret driving her to continue. and by then, you couldn't help but let a smile tug on the corners of your lips. your eyes meet megan's, your gaze particularly awestruck at how much she had to say about you.

"i can't list all of the reasons you're everything i want, because 's definitely a lot, but there were no days where you—just you—didn't flood my head. day and night, i think about you."

slightly gasping at her blatant admission, your heart melts at the girl's words, and your eyes soften when they fixate on her. you felt breathless, your breath hitching, as you were rendered unable to string together words to express your reciprocation of her love for you.

her dark eyes pierce through you, desperately awaiting your answer, "fuck—this was so, so stupid- i'm sorry." she hastily apologizes, "just, forget—"

you interject, "no— no, no! 's fine, megan, i promise. i've liked you, too—i always have, and i'm sorry, too. i just don't know what to do."

the two of you lost sense of your guys' surroundings, as her hands suddenly cup your jaw, crashing her plush lips against yours. carelessly, you gently push her, straddling her lap. pulling apart, you feel her breath fanning against your lips, and it was only a matter of seconds that she presses her lips against yours eagerly.

against your lips, the chinese girl hums softly, her arms sliding down to your waist firmly. her eyes float among your features, scanning each and every crevice of your face. and you're certain that just by her looking at you—with that same tender, fixated gaze on you—you would do anything she told you to.

"did i ever mention that you're everything i want?" a chuckle escapes megan's breath, a shameless smile tugging on the corners of her lips. her voice was quiet, yet it nonetheless rung loudly in your head. again and again, she presses slow yet searing kisses against your lips.

fallin' more at every season

you're everything i want

taglist. ୨ৎ @lararajjj @kisshae @sed7ction @yeetaberry127 @vrtualstar

@jellaaa @artrizzler19 @falling-intoo-deep

#fics 　.#kpop imagines #kpop x reader #katseye x reader #katseye imagines #katseye megan #katseye megan skiendiel #katseye megan x reader #katseye megan skiendiel x reader #megan skiendiel x reader #megan x reader

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anotherhumaninthisworld · 2 months ago

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Philippe Le Bas — two passports from the year 1792 have been conserved, the first one stating ”height of five pieds five pouces (176 cm), brown (châtain) hair and eyebrows, gray-blue eyes, short and a bit snub nose, small mouth, round chin, big forehead, ovale face,” the other ”height of five pieds five pouces, brown hair and eyebrows, gray eyes, enlarged nose, middle sized mouth, long chin, ovale face, high forehead.” Cited in Le conventionnel Le Bas: d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) by Stéfane-Pol, page 26-27.

Élisabeth Le Bas — in Histoire de Robespierre et du coup d’état du 9 thermidor (1865) the historian Ernest Hamel describes Élisabeth in 1794 as ”one of the most charming blondes one could see.” Hamel is confirmed to have met Élisabeth’s son Philippe, but it is less clear if he also met Élisabeth herself. She had dark eyes according to Alphonse Esquiros, who on the other hand is confirmed to have met Élisabeth in her old age.

Lazare Carnot — According to Mémoires de Larevellière-Lépeaux: membre du Directoire executif de la République Française et de l'Institut national (1895) ”Carnot is of a height above mediocre. He’s not all that large, but his limbs are and indicate a strong frame; his face, quite well shaped, is slightly marked with smallpoxes. He has a big nose, small water-colored eyes; his hair is blond, thinning, and his forehead is bald; his complexion, a bland white one, does not offer any ruddy shade when he is calm. This pale color, combined with a dry and cunning look, gives him a false and cruel appearance, which repels at first and banishes confidence.”

Georges Couthon — Several contemporaries agree that Couthon looked cute. Pierre Paganel claimed in that he possessed ”a gentle look, a laughing mouth, a countenance which solicited tender affections and promised kindness. His eyes caressed you; his silence attracted you; each of his features expressed a kind feeling and invited you to love him. […] If you imagine this head which seemed to have been composed with a singular predilection, sadly leaning over a body half consumed by premature paralysis; if you consider that his look, marked with habitual pain, in some way accused Providence of having taken away his youth, by taking away the means to spend it happily, you have a fair idea of the keen interest that Couthon inspired in every sensitive man who saw him for the first time.” Barante, an enemy of Couthon, said that his face was ”gentle and pleasant,” his complexion ”dull,” features ”fine and firm,” his look ”gentle and passionate,” and his voice ”persuasive and emotional.” (cited in Georges Couthon (1983) by Albert Soboul). Maurice Gaillard, who met Couthon in May 1794, described his face as ”truly angelic” in a note written to Fouché somewhere during his time as Minister of Police, and in Souvernirs d’un sexagénarie (1833), Antoine Vincent Arnault called him ”the sweet Couthon,” even while describing his execution. In a letter dated September 29 1791 Couthon writes that he’s able to walk to the Legislative Assembly on foot. A year later, September 1792, he was however unable to use his legs and had to be carried, according to the testimony of Jacques-Antoine Dulaure (1794). When exactly Couthon got himself a wheelchair to get around appears to be unknown.

Hérault de Séchelles — A passport dated October 28 1793 documents the following: ”height of 5 pieds 8 pouces (184 cm), brown hair and eyebrows, high forehead, medium sized nose, brown eyes, small mouth” (cited in Un épicurien sous la Terreur; Hérault de Séchelles (1759-1794); d'après des documents inédits (1907) by Emile Dard). In Mémoires sur les règnes de Louis XV et Louis XVI et sur la revolution (1886) Jean-Nicolas Dufort de Cheverny describes Hérault in early 1792 as ”big, well formed, with the most beautiful face possible,” and specifies in a footnote that Hérault ”was one of the most beautiful men in France.” Madame Roland too mentions that Hérault was good looking in her memoirs, noting that ”all these pretty boys seem to me to be poor patriots.” Hérault’s lover Suzanne Giroux de Morency wrote in Illyrine, ou l'écueil de l'inexpérience (1800) that Hérault was ”a beautiful man” and described his eyes as ”big” and ”superb.”

Pierre Gaspard Chaumette — a passport from 1784 states the following: ”height of five pieds, blond hair and eyebrows, blue eyes, a small hole under the left eye, somewhat large nose.” Cited in Mémoires de Chaumette sur la Révolution du 10 août 1792 (1893). According to Pierre Paganel, ”Chaumette was small, his waist thick and squat, his face broad and flat; he looked humble, his eyes were shy and delicate, and his countenance, if I may put it that way, was tearful. He possessed to the supreme degree the silent game of hypocrisy. Through modest and dreamy language one perceived a very resolute character. Long black [sic!] hair, coarse clothing, a more than slovenly outfit, hid a deep ambition from being seen.”

Paul Barras — According to Mémoires de Larevellière-Lépeaux: membre du Directoire executif de la République Française et de l'Institut national (1895) ”He was tall, strong, vigorous and very well built. He had quite handsome features, and was overall a very handsome man; but he looked harsh, his countenance was gloomy, his look sinister; serenity rarely appeared on his face. When he smiled, his smile, gracious in itself, resembled those rays of sunlight escaping through dark clouds which soon intercept them. He had a bad tone in society, and lacked distinction. He had neither that which comes from a noble soul and an elevated spirit, nor that which a careful education and association with good company gives. With a fine figure and a masculine face, he had no external dignity, and always retained something of that common and bold air that bad society gives.”

Sophie Momoro — Jean-Baptiste Laboureau, who met Sophie while they were both imprisoned in the Prison de Port-libre, wrote in his diary on March 19 1794 that she ”is very mundane; passable features, terrible teeth, the voice of a fishwife, an awkward appearance, that's what constitutes Madame Momoro.”

Théroigne de Mericourt — described as being of ”middling height” by former deputy Jacques-Antoine Dulaure in 1823 and psychiatrist Jean-Etienne-Dominique Esquirol in 1838, and ”somewhat above middle size of women” by English visitor John Moore in 1792. Dulaure writes she ”bore on her face the characteristics of vivacity and audacity,” Moore that she ”has a martial air, which in a man would not be disagreeable.” Théroigne was brown according to Dulaure, while Esquirol adds that she had brown (chátain) hair and big blue eyes. Moore describes her costume as ”a kind of English riding habit, but her jacket was the uniform of the national guards,” while Dulaure recalls ”with her blue cloth costume, her hat on her ear, her cane in her hand and sometimes pistols in her pockets, she appeared wherever trouble broke out.” Esquirol, who met Théroigne when she was hospitalized at the Pitié-Salpêtrière claims that she at the time was of ”mobile physiognomy, lively, clear, and even elegant gait.”

Honoré Gabriel Riqueti de Mirabeau — In Les Mirabeau: nouvelles etudes sur la societe francaise au XVIIIe siecle (1891) Louis de Loménie mentions a letter dated 1754, where Mirabeau’s uncle reported to his brother that ”your son is as ugly as Satan’s.” He’s five years old maybe chill a little? An equally unflattering descriptions is given by François René Chateaubriand, who in Mémoires d’Outre-tombe(1860) wrote that Danton was ”inferior in ugliness to Mirabeau,” and similar words can again be found in Mémoires de la Societé d’agriculture, commerce, sciences et arts du department de la Marse, Chalons-sur-Marne (1862): ”With Danton as with Mirabeau, speech was greatly aided by the gaze, the gesture and that energetic ugliness of the face.” In Considerations on the principal events of the French Revolution (1818) Germaine de Staël writes: ”The eye that was once fixed on [Mirabeau’s] countenance was not likely to be soon withdrawn: his immense head of hair distinguished him from amongst the rest, and suggested the idea that, like Samson, his strength depended on it; his countenance derived expression even from its ugliness; and his whole person conveyed the idea of irregular power, but still such power as we should expect to find in a tribune of the people.” A child who had seen Mirabeau during the procession that preceded the opening of the provincial Estates later recalled that he had ”thick hair, brushed up above his broad forehead, and ending in thick curls at the level of the ears” and again that ”there was something imposing about his ugliness.” (cited in Mirabeau(1973) by Antonia Vallentin). Finally, in a letter from 1770, Mirabeau’s uncle writes that ”I found him ugly, but he has not a bad physiognomy: and he has, behind the ravages of the smallpox, and features which are much changed, something graceful, intellectual and noble.” (cited in Mirabeau: A Life-history, in Four Books (1848) by John Stores Smith).

Merlin de Douai — according to Mémoires de Larevellière-Lépeaux : membre du Directoire executif de la République Française et de l'Institut national (1895): ”his size is mediocre; he is thin, dry and gaunt. The thinness of his face makes his large mouth, his big eyes and his long nose stand out rather unfavorably. He is devoid of grace and dignity in his deportment. When one hears him speak for the first time in a somewhat raised tone, one is singularly shocked by the strange character of his voice; it is false, sharp, uneven and has something wild about it.”

Olympe de Gouges — A police description cited on page 35 of Olympe de Gouges (1989) by Oliver Blanc gives the following information: ”height of 1,68 meters, oval face, brown hair and eyebrows, brown eyes, a slightly aquiline nose, an uncovered forehead, a round, full chin, a medium mouth.”

Joseph Fouché — According to Fouché: les silences de la pieuvre (2014) by Emmanuel de Waresquiel, measurements made of Fouché’s skeleton in 1873 show that he was 175 cm tall. He was meagre according to both Philippe-Paul de Ségur (in Mémoires du général comte de Ségur (1894-1895)), Charles Nodier (Souvenirs de la Révolution et de l'Empire (1850)), Mathieu Molé and Victorine de Chastenay (Mémoires de madame de Chastenay, 1771-1815: L'empire. La restauration. Les cent-jours(1897)), who also all agree that there was something piercing about Fouché’s eyes. Said eyes were small according to Chastenay (who also adds that they were very close together) and Ségur. Nodier writes that they were of a light blue colour, while Chastenay calls them ”very red,” and Ségur and Molé ”bloody.” Chastenay, Ségur and Nodier do also each call Fouché pale, the latter even writing that it was ”a particular pallor, which belonged only to him” noting that it was clearly different from someone with anemia or other illness. This, combined with the testimony of Fouché’s ”red eyes,” hint at the idea that he was albino. In his memoirs (1896), Barras does indeed outright call Fouché’s child ”an actual albino,” while Molé writes Fouché had ”the dry hair of an albino.” Speaking of his hair, Ségur writes that it was ”flat and rare” and that Fouché was towheaded (cheveux couleur de filasse). Chastenay too underlines that ”in his youth his hair had been or should have been a very bland blond.” According to Barras, both Fouché and his wife Bonne-Jeanne Coiquaud did however have red hair. According to the memoirs(1834) of Charlotte Robespierre, ”Fouché wasn’t handsome,” and according to those of Barras, Fouché and his wife were a ”hideous couple.” Molé instead writes that he had ”fine features,” and that ”something at once ferocious, elegant and agile makes him resemble a panther.” Ségur on the other hand likened Fouché’s physiognomy to that of ”an agitated weasel” and writes that he had a ”long and mobile” face. Fouché ”spoke with ease” according to Chastenay, had ”a dry voice” according to Molé, and had a ”brief and jerky speech, consistent with his restless and convulsive attitude” according to Ségur.

Manon Roland — In her memoirs, Manon gives the following detailed description of herself: ”At fourteen, like today, I was about five pieds (162 cm) tall; my size had acquired all its growth; the leg well shaped, the foot well placed, the hips very raised, the chest broad, the shoulders effaced, the attitude firm and graceful, the walk rapid and light; this is what first hit the eye. There was nothing striking about my face, only great freshness, a lot of softness and expression. By detailing each of the features, one can ask oneself: Where is the beauty? Nothing is regular, everything pleases. The mouth is a little big; there are a thousand prettier ones; not one has a more tender and seductive smile. The eyes, on the contrary, are not very large, their iris is a grey-chestnut; but placed not very deep in the sockets, with an open, frank, lively and gentle gaze, crowned with brown eyebrows the same colour as the hair, and well defined, they vary in their expression, like the affectionate soul whose movements they paint; serious and proud, they sometimes surprise; but they caress much more, and always wakes you up. My nose was causing me some pain, I found it a little big at the tip; however, I considered that overall, and especially in profile, it did not spoil anything else. The broad, bare forehead, little covered at that age, supported by the very high orbit of the eye, and in the middle of which veins in Greek vanished at the slightest emotion, was far from the the insignificance that one finds on so many faces. As for the fairly upturned chin, it has precisely the characteristics that the physiognomies indicate for those of voluptuousness; when I bring them together with everything that is particular to me, I doubt that anyone was ever more made for it, and enjoyed it less. Bright rather than very white complexion, dazzling colors, frequently enhanced by the sudden redness of boiling blood, excited by the most sensitive nerves; the soft skin, the rounded arm, the pleasant hand, without being small, because its elongated and slender fingers announce skill and retain grace; fresh, tidy teeth; the plumpness of perfect health: such are the treasures that nature had given me. I have lost many, especially those who are plump and fresh; those who remain with me still hide, without me using any art, five to six of my years; and the very people who see me every day need me to tell them my age, to believe that I am over thirty-two or thirty-three. […] My portrait has been drawn several times, painted and engraved: none of these imitations gives the idea of my person; it is difficult to grasp because I have more soul than face, more expression than features. […] Camille Desmoulins was right to be surprised that at my age, and with so little beauty, I had what he calls admirers.” Interestingly though, despite describing herself as only 162 cm tall, Manon gets called tall by both her friend Helen Maria Williams in Memoirs Of The Reign Of Robespierre (1795), as well as by Honoré Riouffe (who claimed to have seen her at the Conciergerie prison) in Mémoires d’un détenu pour servir à l’histoire de la tyrannie de Robespierre(1795).

Jean Marie Roland — in 1792, John Moore described Roland as ”about fifty years of age, tall, thin, of a mild countenance and pale complexion. His drefs, every time I have seen him, has been the same, a drab-coloured suit lined with green silk, his grey hair hanging loose” and that his ”manner is unassuming and modest” in his diary. According to Mémoires du marquis de Ferrières: avec une notice sur sa vie, des notes et des éclaircissemens historiques (1821) ”Roland looked like Plutarch or a Quaker in his Sunday best. Flat hair, little powder, a black coat, shoes with cords instead of buckles, made him look like a rhinoceros. However, he had a decent and pleasant face.”

Charles Alexis Brûlart de Genlis, the marquis de Sillery — in Memoirs Of The Reign Of Robespierre(1795) Helen Maria Williams writes Sillery had white hair by the time of his execution in October 1793.

Jean Baptiste Carrier — According to Pierre Paganel, ”Carrier was taller than the ordinary. He had an unpleasant face, but it was not very sinister.” At the time of his trial, a witness did instead describe him as "small, thick, stocky, he had black, frizzy hair and a swarthy complexion, his enormous, hanging lower lip gave him the vague appearance of a Negro" (cited in Carrier et la Terreur nantaise (1987) by Jean-Joël Brégeon).

Jacques Nicolas Billaud-Varennes — Jacques Bernard, who met Billaud in 1800, wrote that ”he was tall, his broad, pale face did not reveal, by any external sign, a very energetic soul. His countenance was full of gentleness, he wore a wig of red hair, in the Jacobin style. His accent, his manners announced affability and a distinction that his costume, more than simple, could not erase. Trousers, a coarse canvas jacket, a wide-brimmed hat, large shoes, such was the costume of this Spartan.” Cited in Billaud-Varenne, membre du Comité de salut public : mémoires inédits et correspondance / accompagnés de notices biographiques sur Billaud-Varenne et Collot-d'Herbois par Alfred Bégis(1893)

Jean-François Lacroix — According to the memoirs (1913) of Théodore de Lameth, Lacroix was ”of a frightening size and eloquence.” J.G Millingen agrees, writing in his Recollections of Republican France 1791-1801 (1848) that Lacroix was a man of ”colossal stature.” Millingen also attributes the following words to Lacroix, said at the foot of the scaffold: ”Do you see that axe, Danton? Well, even when my head is struck off I shall be taller than you!”

Joachim Vilate — height of 5 pieds, 2 pouces (168 cm), brown (châtains) hair and eyebrows. Descriptions given in 1795 and cited in Les derniers montagnards (1874) by Jules Claretie.

Frev appearance descriptions masterpost

Jean-Paul Marat — In Histoire de la Révolution française: 1789-1796 (1851) Nicolas Villiaumé pins down Marat’s height to four pieds and eight pouces (around 157 cm). This is a somewhat dubious claim considering Villiaumé was born 26 years after Marat’s death and therefore hardly could have measured him himself, but we do know he had had contacts with Marat’s sister Albertine, so maybe there’s still something to this. That Marat was short is however not something Villaumé is alone in claiming. Brissot wrote in his memoirs that he was ”the size of a sapajou,” the pamphlet Bordel patriotique (1791) claimed that he had ”such a sad face, such an unattractive height,” while John Moore in A Journal During a Residence in France, From the Beginning of August, to the Middle of December, 1792 (1793) documented that ”Marat is little man, of a cadaverous complexion, and a countenance exceedingly expressive of his disposition. […] The only artifice he uses in favour of his looks is that of wearing a round hat, so far pulled down before as to hide a great part of his countenance.” In Portrait de Marat (1793) Fabre d’Eglantine left the following very detailed description: ”Marat was short of stature, scarcely five feet high. He was nevertheless of a firm, thick-set figure, without being stout. His shoulders and chest were broad, the lower part of his body thin, thigh short and thick, legs bowed, and strong arms, which he employed with great vigor and grace. Upon a rather short neck he carried a head of a very pronounced character. He had a large and bony face, aquiline nose, flat and slightly depressed, the under part of the nose prominent; the mouth medium-sized and curled at one corner by a frequent contraction; the lips were thin, the forehead large, the eyes of a yellowish grey color, spirited, animated, piercing, clear, naturally soft and ever gracious and with a confident look; the eyebrows thin, the complexion thick and skin withered, chin unshaven, hair brown and neglected. He was accustomed to walk with head erect, straight and thrown back, with a measured stride that kept time with the movement of his hips. His ordinary carriage was with his two arms firmly crossed upon his chest. In speaking in society he always appeared much agitated, and almost invariably ended the expression of a sentiment by a movement of the foot, which he thrust rapidly forward, stamping it at the same time on the ground, and then rising on tiptoe, as though to lift his short stature to the height of his opinion. The tone of his voice was thin, sonorous, slightly hoarse, and of a ringing quality. A defect of the tongue rendered it difficult for him to pronounce clearly the letters c and l, to which he was accustomed to give the sound g. There was no other perceptible peculiarity except a rather heavy manner of utterance; but the beauty of his thought, the fullness of his eloquence, the simplicity of his elocution, and the point of his speeches absolutely effaced the maxillary heaviness. At the tribune, if he rose without obstacle or excitement, he stood with assurance and dignity, his right hand upon his hip, his left arm extended upon the desk in front of him, his head thrown back, turned toward his audience at three-quarters, and a little inclined toward his right shoulder. If on the contrary he had to vanquish at the tribune the shrieking of chicanery and bad faith or the despotism of the president, he awaited the reéstablishment of order in silence and resuming his speech with firmness, he adopted a bold attitude, his arms crossed diagonally upon his chest, his figure bent forward toward the left. His face and his look at such times acquired an almost sardonic character, which was not belied by the cynicism of his speech. He dressed in a careless manner: indeed, his negligence in this respect announced a complete neglect of the conventions of custom and of taste and, one might almost say, gave him an air of ressemblance.”

Albertine Marat — both Alphonse Ésquiros and François-Vincent Raspail who each interviewed Albertine in her old age, as well as Albertine’s obituary (1841) noted a striking similarity in apperance between her and her older brother. Esquiros added that she had ”two black and piercing eyes.” A neighbor of Albertine claimed in 1847 that she had ”the face of a man,” and that she had told her that ”my comrades were never jealous of me, I was too ugly for that” (cited in Marat et ses calomniateurs ou Réfutation de l’Histoire des Girondins de Lamartine (1847) by Constant Hilbe)

Simonne Evrard — An official minute from July 1792, written shortly after Marat’s death, affirmed the following: “Height: 1m, 62, brown hair and eyebrows, ordinary forehead, aquiline nose, brown eyes, large mouth, oval face.” The minute for her interrogation instead says: “grey eyes, average mouth.”Cited in this article by marat-jean-paul.org. When a neighbor was asked whether Simonne was pretty or not around two decades after her death in 1824, she responded that she was ”très-bien” and possessed ”an angelic sweetness” (cited in Marat et ses calomniateurs ou Réfutation de l’Histoire des Girondins de Lamartine (1847) by Constant Hilbe) while Joseph Souberbielle instead claimed that ”she was extremely plain and could never have had any good looks.”

Maximilien Robespierre — The hostile pampleth Vie secrette, politique et curieuse de M. J Maximilien Robespierre… released shortly after thermidor by L. Duperron, specifies Robespierre’s hight to have been ”five pieds and two or three pouces” (between 165 and 170 cm). He gets described as being ”of mediocre hight” by his former teacher Liévin-Bonaventure Proyart in 1795, ”a little below average height” by journalist Galart de Montjoie in 1795, ”of medium hight” by the former Convention deputy Antoine-Claire Thibaudeau in 1830 and ”of middling form” by his sister in 1834, but ”of small size” by John Moore in 1792 and Claude François Beaulieu in 1824. The 1792 pampleth Le véritable portrait de nos législateurs… wrote that Robespierre lacked ”an imposing physique, a body à la Danton,”supported by Joseph Fiévée who described him as ”small and frail” in 1836, and Louis Marie de La Révellière who said he was ”a physically puny man” in his memoirs published 1895. For his face, both François Guérin (on a note written below a sketch in 1791), Buzot in his Mémoires sur la Révolution française (written 1794), Germaine de Staël in her Considerations on the Principal Events of the French Revolution (1818), a foreign visitor by the name of Reichardt in 1792 (cited in Robespierre by J.M Thompson), Beaulieu and La Révellière-Lépeaux all agreed that he had a ”pale complexion.” Charlotte does instead describe it as ”delicate” and writes that Maximilien’s face ”breathed sweetness and goodwill, but it was not as regularly handsome as that of his brother,” while Proyart claims his apperance was ”entirely commonplace.” The foreigner Reichardt wrote Robespierre had ”flattened, almost crushed in, features,” something which Proyart agrees with, writing that his ”very flat features” consisted of ”a rather small head born on broad shoulders, a round face, an indifferent pock-marked complexion, a livid hue [and] a small round nose.” Thibaudeau writes Robespierre had a ”thin face and cold physiognomy, bilious complexion and false look,” Duperron that ”his colouring was livid, bilious; his eyes gloomy and dull,” something which Stanislas Fréron in Notes sur Robespierre (1794) also agrees with, claiming that ”Robespierre was choked with bile. His yellow eyes and complexion showed it.” His eyes were however green according to Merlin de Thionville and Guérin while Proyart insists they were ”pale blue and slightly sunken.” Etienne Dumont, who claimed to have talked to Robespierre twice, wrote in his Souvernirs sur Mirabeau et sur les deux premières assemblées législatives (1832) that ”he had a sinister appearance; he would not look people in the face, and blinked continually and painfully,” and Duperron too insists on ”a frequent flickering of the eyelids.” Both Fréron, Buzot, Merlin de Thionville, La Révellière, Louis Sébastien Mercier in his Le Nouveau Paris (1797) and Beffroy de Reigny in Dictionnaire néologique des hommes et des choses ou notice alphabétique des hommes de la Révolution, qui ont paru à l’Auteur les plus dignes d’attention… (1799) made the peculiar claim that Robespierre’s face was similar to that of a cat. Proyart, Beaulieu and Millingen all wrote that it was marked by smallpox scars, ”mediocretly” according to Proyart, ”deeply” according to the other two. Proyart also writes that Robespierre’s hair was light brown (châtain-blond). He is the only one to have described his hair color as far as I’m aware.

For his clothes, both Montjoie, Louis-Sébastien Mercier in 1801, Helen Maria Williams in 1795, Duperron, Millingen and Fiévée recall the fact that Robespierre wore glasses, the first two claiming he never appeared in public without them, Duperron that he ”almost always” wore them, and Millingen that they were green. Pierre Villiers, who claimed to have served as Robespierre’s secretary in 1790, recalled in Souvenirs d'un deporté (1802) that Robespierre ”was very frugal, fastidiously clean in his clothes, I could almost say in his one coat, which was was of a dark olive colour,” but also that ”He was very poor and had not even proper clothes,” and even had to borrow a suit from a friend at one point. Duperron records that ”[Robespierre’s] clothes were elegant, his hair always neat,” Millingen that ”his dress was careful, and I recollect that he wore a frill and ruffles, that seemed to me of valuable lace,”Charlotte that ”his dress was of an extreme cleanliness without fastidiousness,” Williams that he ”always appeared not only dressed with neatness, but with some degree of elegance, and while he called himself the leader of the sans-culottes, never adopted the costume of his band. His hideous countenance […] was decorated with hair carefully arranged and nicely powdered,” Fiévée that Robespierre in 1793 was ”almost alone in having retained the costume and hairstyle in use before the Revolution,” something which made him ressemble ”a tailor from the Ancien régime,” Thibadeau that ”he was neat in his clothes, and he had kept the powder when no one wore it anymore,” Germaine de Staël that ”he was the only person who wore powder in his hair; his clothes were neat, and his countenance nothing familiar,” Révellière writes that Robespierre’s voice was ”toneless, monotonous and harsh,” Beaulieu that it ”was sharp and shrill, almost always in tune with violence,” and Thinadeau that his ”tone” was ”dogmatic and imperious.”

Augustin Robespierre — described as ”big, well formed, and [with a] face full of nobility and beauty” in the memoirs of his sister Charlotte. Charles Nodier did in Souvenirs, épisodes et portraits pour servir à l'histoire de la Révolution et de l'Empire (1831) recall that Augustin had a ”pale and macerated physiognomy” and a quite monotonous voice.

Charlotte Robespierre — an anonymous doctor who claimed to have run into Charlotte in 1833, the year before her death, described her as ”very thin.” Jules Simon, who reported to have met her the following year, did him too describe her as ”a very thin woman, very upright in her small frame, dressed in the antique style with very puritanical cleanliness.”

Camille Desmoulins — described as ”quite tall, with good shoulders” in number 16 of the hostile journal Chronique du Manège (1790). Described as ugly by both said journal, the journal Journal Général de la Cour et de la Ville in 1791, his friend François Suleau in 1791, former teacher Proyart in 1795, Galart de Montjoie in 1796, Georges Duval in 1841, Amandine Rolland in 1864 (she does however add that it was ”with that witty and animated ugliness that pleases”) and even himself in 1793. Proyart describes his complexion as ”black,” Duval as ”bilious.” Both of them agree in calling his eyes ”sinister.” Duval also claims that Desmoulins’ physiognomy was similar to that of an ospray. Montjoie writes that Desmoulins had ”a difficult pronunciation, a hard voice, no oratorical talent,” Proyart that ”he spoke very heavily and stammered in speech” and Camille himself that he has ”difficulty in pronunciation” in a letter dated March 1787, and confesses ”the feebleness of my voice and my slight oratorical powers” in number 4 of the Vieux Cordelier. In his very last letter to his wife, dated April 1 1794, Desmoulins reveals that he wears glasses.

Lucile Desmoulins — The concierge at the Sainte-Pélagie prison documented the following when Lucille was brought before him on April 4 1794: ”height of five pieds and one and a half pouce (166 cm). Brown hair, eyebrows and eyes. Middle sized nose and mouth. Round face and chin. Ordinary front. A mark above the chin on the right.” Cited in Camille et Lucile Desmoulins: un rêve de république (2018). Described as beautiful by the journal Journal Général de la Cour et de la Ville in 1791 (it specifies her to be ”as pretty as her husband is ugly”), former Convention deputy Pierre Paganel in 1815, Louis Marie Prudhomme in 1830, Amandine Rolland in 1864 and Théodore de Lameth (memoirs published 1913).

Georges Danton — Described as having an ugly face by both Manon Roland in 1793, Vadier in 1794, the anonymous pamphlet Histoire, caractère de Maximilien Robespierre et anecdotes sur ses successeurs in 1794, Louis-Sébastien Mercier in 1797, Antoine Fantin-Desodoards in 1807, John Gideon Millingen in 1848, Élisabeth Duplay Lebas in the 1840s, the memoirs (1860) of François-René Chateaubriand (he specifies that Danton had ”the face of a gendarme mixed with that of a lustful and cruel prosecutor”) as well as the Mémoires de la Societé d’agriculture, commerce, sciences et arts du department de la Marse, Chalons-sur-Marne (1862). As reason for this ugliness, Millingen lifts his ”course, shaggy hair” (that apparently gave him the apperance of a ”wild beast”), the fact he was deeply marked with small-poxes, and that his eyes were unusually small (”and sparkling in surrounding darkness”), while Chateaubriand instead underlines that he was ”snub-nosed,” with ”windy nostrils [and] seamed flats.” Mercier writes that Danton’s face was ”hideously crushed.” The former Convention deputy Alexandre Rousselin (1774-1847) reported in his Danton — Fragment Historique that Danton developed a lip deformity after getting gored by a bull as a baby, had his nose crushed by another bull, got trampled in the face by a group of pigs and finally survived ”a very serious case of smallpoxes, accompanied by purpura.” In 1792, John Moore reported that ”Danton is not so tall, but much broader than Roland; his form is coarse and uncommonly robust,” while Vadier claims that Danton possessed a ”robust form, colossal eloquence,” the anonymous pamphlet that ”he was very strong, he said himself that he had athletic forms,” Desodoards that he ”held the nature of athletic and colossal forms,” Chateaubriand that he was ”a vandal in the size of Goth” (don’t know who he’s referring to), Pierre Paganel (in Essai historique et critique sur la révolution française: ses causes, ses résultats, avec les portraits des hommes les plus célèbres (1815)) that he was of an ”enormous stature,” while the pamphlet described him as a ”gigantic orator” whose voice ”shook the vaults of the hall.” René Levasseur in 1829, John Moore, Millingen, Paganel and Desodoards all agreed with this, the first four writing that Danton possessed a ”stentorian voice,” the latter that he had ”a very strong voice, without being sonorous or flexible.” In her memoirs (1834) Charlotte Robespierre claims that ”[Danton] did not at all conserve the dignity suited to the representative of a great people in his manners; his toilette was in disorder.”

Louis Antoine Saint-Just — In Saint-Just (1985) Bernard Vinot writes that Saint-Just’s childhood friend Augustin Lejeune recalled his “honest physiognomy,” and that his sister Louise would evoke her brother’s ”great beauty” for her grandchildren (I unfortunately can’t find the original sources here). The elderly Élisabeth Le Bas too stated that ”he was handsome, Saint-Just, with his pensive face, on which one saw the greatest energy, tempered by an air of indefinable gentleness and candor” (testimony found in Les Carnets de David d’Angers (1838-1855) by Pierre-Jean David d’Angers, cited in Veuve de Thermidor: le rôle et l'influence d'Élisabeth Duplay-Le Bas (1772-1859) sur la mémoire et l'historiographie de la Révolution française (2023) by Jolène Audrey Bureau, page 127). In Souvenirs de la révolution et de l’empire, Charles Nodier (who was twelve years old when he met Saint-Just…) agrees in calling him ”handsome,” but adds that he ”was far from offering this graceful combination of cute features with which we have seen it endowed by the euphemistic pencil of a lithograph,” had an ”ample and rather disproportionate chin,” that ”the arc of his eyebrows, instead of rounding into smooth and regular semi-circles, was closer to a straight line, and its interior angles, which were bushy and severe, merged into one another at the slightest serious thought that one saw pass on his forehead” and finally that ”his soft and fleshy lips indicated an almost invincible inclination to laziness and voluptuousness.” How would you know what his lips were like, Nodier. In Essai historique et critique sur la révolution française (1815) Pierre Paganel writes that Saint-Just had ”regular features and austere physiognomy.” He describes his complexion as ”bilious” while Nodier calls it ”pale and grayish, like that of most of the active men of the revolution.” Similar to Élisabeth’s description, Nodier writes that Saint-Just’s eyes were big and ”usually thoughtful,” while Paganel instead writes they were ”small and lively.” Saint-Just was of ”average height” according to Paganel, but ”of small stature” according to Nodier. According to Paganel, Saint-Just had a ”healthy body [and] proportions which expressed strength,” while Saint-Just’s colleague Levasseur de la Sarthe instead wrote in his memoirs that he was ”weak in body, to the point of fearing the whistling of bullets.” Finally, Paganel also gives the following details: ”large head, thick hair, disdainful gaze, strong but veiled voice, a general tinge of anxiety, the dark accent of concern and distrust, an extreme coldness in tone and manners.” In Lettre de Camille Desmoulins, député de Paris à la Convention, August général Dillon en prison aux Madelonettes (1793) Desmoulins jokingly writes that ”one can see by [Saint-Just’s] gait and bearing that he looks upon his own head as the corner-stone of the Revolution, for he carries it upon his shoulders with as much respect and as if it was the Sacred Host.” In Histoire de la Révolution française(1878), Jules Michelet claims that Élisabeth Le Bas had told him that this portrait, depicting Saint-Just as having ”a very low forehead, [with] the top of his head flattened, so that his hair, without being long, almost touched his eyes,” was similar to what he had looked like.

Jacques-Pierre Brissot — The following was documented after Brissot had been arrested at Moulins on June 10 1793 — ”height of five pieds (162 cm), a small amount of flat dark brown hair, eyebrows of the same color, high forehead and receding hairline, gray-brown, quite large and covered eyes, long and not very large nose, average mouth, long chin with a dimple, black beard, oval face narrow at the bottom” (cited in J.-P. Brissot mémoires (1754-1793); [suivi de] correspondance et papiers (1912)). In Journal During a Residence in France, from the Beginning of August, to the Middle of December, 1792 John Moore described Brissot as ”a little man, of an intelligent countenance, but of a weakly frame of body” and claimed that a person had told him that Brissot had told him that he is ”of so feeble a constitution” that he won’t be able to put up any resistance was someone try to assassinate him.

Jérôme Pétion — described as ”big and fat” (grand et gros) by Louis-Philippe in 1850 (cited in The Croker Papers: the Correspondence and Diaries of the late right honourable John Wilson Croker… (1885) volume 3, page 209). Manon Roland wrote in her memoirs that Pétion ”had nothing to regret physically; his size, his face, his gentleness, his urbanity, speak in his favor” as well as that he ”spoke fairly well,” a descriptions which Louis Marie Prudhomme partly agreed with, himself recording that Pétion ”had a proud countenance, a fairly handsome face, an affable look, a gentle eloquence, movements of talent and address; but his manners were composed, his eyes were dull, and he had something glistening in his features which repelled confidence” in Paris pendant le révolution (1789-1798) ou le nouveau Paris (1798). In Quelques notices pour l’histoire, et le récit de mes périls depuis le 31 mai 1793 (1794) Jean-Baptiste Louvet reported that, while on the run from the authorities after the insurrection of May 31, the less than forty years old Pétion already had a white hair and beard. This is confirmed by Frédéric Vaultier, who in Souvenirs de l'insurrection Normande, dite du Fédéralisme, en 1793 (1858) described Pétion during the same period as ”a good-looking man, with a calm and open physiognomy and beautiful white hair,” as well as by the examination of his mangled courpse on June 26 1794, which states he had ”grayish hair” (cited in Charlotte de Corday et les Girondins: pièces classées et annotées (1872) by Charles Vatel, volume 2, page 154.

François Buzot — according to the memoirs (1793) of Manon Roland, he had ”a noble figure and elegant size.” In the examination made of Buzot’s body after the suicide there is to read that he had black hair (cited in Charlotte de Corday et les Girondins: pièces classées et annotées (1872) by Charles Vatel, volume 2, page 153)

Charles Barbaroux — his son wrote in Jeunesse de Barbaroux (1822) that ”nature had richly endowed Barbaroux; a robust and large body; a charming, fine and witty physiognomy.” In 1867, François Laprade, who had witnessed Barbaroux’ execution as a thirteen year old, recollected that ”he was a brown man - that is to say he had brownish skin, black hair and beard, reclining figure” (cited in Charlotte de Corday et les Girondins: pièces classées et annotées, volume 3, page 728)

Marguerite-Élie Guadet — According to his passport (cited in Charlotte de Corday et les Girondins: pièces classées et annotées, volume 3, page 672): ”height of 5 pieds, 5 pouces (176 cm) middle sized mouth, black hair and eyebrows, ordinary chin, blue eyes, big forehead, thin face, upturned nose.” According to Frédéric Vaultier’s Souvenirs de l'insurrection Normande, dite du Fédéralisme, en 1793(1858), ”Guadet was a man of fine height, meagre, brown, bilious complexion, black beard, most expressive face.”

Joseph Le Bon — his passport description (cited in Louis Jacob, Joseph Le Bon, (1932) by Louis Jacob, volume 1, page 63) gives the following information: ”Height of five pieds six pouces (178 cm), light brown hair and eyebrows, high forehead, average nose, blue eyes, medium-sized mouth, smallpox scars.”

Claire Lacombe — the concierge of the Sainte Pélagie documented the following about the imprisoned Lacombe: ”height of 5 pieds, 2 pouces (168 cm). Brown hair, eyebrows and eyes, medium nose, large mouth, round face and chin, plain forehead” (cited in Trois femmes de la Révolution : Olymps de Gouges, Théroigne de Méricourt, Rose Lacombe (1900) by Léopold Lacour)

Charlotte Corday — according to her passport, ”height of five pieds one pouce (165 cm), brown hair and eyebrows, gray eyes, high forehead, long nose, medium mouth, round, forked (fourchu) chin, oval face.” (cited in Dossiers du procès criminel de Charlotte Corday, devant le Tribunal révolutionnaire(1861) by Charles-Joseph Vatel, page 55)

Prieur de la Marne — a passport dated October 1 1793 gives the following details: ”age of 37 years, height of 5 pieds 5 pouces (176 cm), blondish brown hair and eyebrows, receding hairline, long nose, grey eyes, large mouth.”

Maurice Duplay — ”height of 5 pieds 6 pouces (179 cm), blondish brown hair and eyebrows, receding hairline, grey eyes, long, open nose, large mouth, round, full chin and face.” Descriptions given in 1795 and cited in Les deniers montagnards (1874) by Jules Claretie.

Jean Lambert Tallien — Both a spy report written in 1794 found among Robespierre’s papers and Mme de la Tour du Pin, a noblewoman who met Tallien in late 1793, describe Tallien’s hair as blonde. Mme de la Tour du Pin adds that said hair was curly and that he had a pretty face.

#round 2!#frev #fouché #théroigne de méricourt #philippe le bas #élisabeth le bas #carnot #mirabeau #billaud varenne #carrier #manon roland #jean marie roland #olympe de gouges #couthon #paul barras #included vilate only in case anyone ever wants to make a super detailed dramatization of camille throwing himself in his arms #following the girondins getting sentenced to death #or robespierre smashing a plate in front of him

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kisshae · 5 days ago

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ARE YOU BORED YET? ★ YU JIMIN

PREC𝒾s ｡｡ months have passed, but the memory of karina still lingers—her glance like a thorn you can't pull out. you kissed her, and now she's further away than ever, leaving you to watch from the sidelines.

parings ? ex-best friend!karina x lovesick!fem reader ft mark (nct), intak (p1h) , manon & daniela (katseye) ★ genre , wlw friends to lovers uni au fluff tiny bit of angst!!! wc 2.6k

warning(s) , kissing reader is still badly down BAD for karina.. miscommunication jealousy

read this !! I hate fruits , part 1 , sry if this is confusing I was like rushing to finish this up for my next work...

now playing ? nomad , clario

it's been months since you last saw karina—really saw her, not just passing glances in lecture halls or stolen moments across the quad. each month has left an ache in your chest, sharp and unyielding, like a wound that refuses to heal.

you'd think the ache would dull with time, that her absence might ease the weight pressing against your ribs. but it hasn't.

instead, it's only grown worse, carving out hollow spaces inside you that fill with resentment and longing in equal measure.

and then there's mark. the way you've caught them together—his easy laugh, her blond hair catching the sunlight as she leans into him like it's the most natural thing in the world.

that was supposed to be you.

you were supposed to be the one at her side, sharing inside jokes, brushing her hand with yours when no one was looking.

but you ruined it.

you kissed her.

and now, all you can do is watch from the sidelines, choking on the bitterness of your own making. the snow crunches beneath your boots as you make your way across campus, the cold seeping into your bones.

you shove your hands deeper into your coat pockets, wishing the chill in the air could match the frost biting at your heart. she's everywhere and nowhere all at once—haunting your thoughts, lingering in the periphery of your vision, but never close enough to reach.

and you can't decide what hurts more: the memory of that kiss, or the way she looks at you now, like you're a stranger.

the market is busy for a winter afternoon, the crisp air biting at your cheeks as you push through the crowd with daniela by your side. you're bundled in layers, the thick scarf around your neck almost enough to hide your face.

it's a bit of a cozy escape from the cold, all the hustle and bustle, but still, something feels off, like you're waiting for something to happen.

you and daniela split up to grab some things, and she disappears into the restroom, leaving you to wander the aisles alone. you don't think much of it until you round a corner into the fruit alley, only to stop dead in your tracks.

there she is.

karina.

but somethings different.

her blonde hair is gone—replaced by jet black strands that peek out from under her beanie. it's such a stark contrast to the karina you're used to for a second, you almost convince yourself it's someone else.

but it's her. you'd recognize the way she stands anywhere.

she's standing at the end of the aisle, inspecting a basket of oranges, her hands gloved and delicate as she picked them up one by one. for a second, you almost forget where you are, as if the world has faded away except for her.

but you snap back to reality quickly enough, your heart beating in your throat. you could just turn around, pretend you didn't see her.

you could keep walking. you could avoid this.

but your feet won't move.

karina hasn't noticed you yet. she's lost in the small world of fruit, her brow furrowed slightly as she selects the ripest orange. you could watch her for hours if you wanted, but something inside you twists at the sight. there's that familiar ache again, a tinge of jealousy in the pit of your stomach.

it's stupid, really. she doesn't even know you're here, doesn't even know much you've been struggling to get over her.

but you can't help it.

she's too perfect.

before you can think any more about it, she looks up and catches your gaze. her eyes widen slightly, her lips parting in soft surprise. then she stands up straighter, as if she's suddenly unsure of something, and she blinks—quickly, like she's trying to reset herself.

you both freeze.

the air between you feels thick, and for a moment, it's like nothing has changed.

no time. no distance, no awkward silence between you two since the kiss. it's just her and you, standing there in the midst of winter, in a fruit aisle that feels too small for all the words neither of you have said.

karina doesn't move, her hand still hovering near the oranges.

your throat tightens, and you finally manage to speak.

"hey." it sounds so casual, too flat for how you're feeling. your stomach churns as you wonder if she'll say anything at all.

"hi," karina replies, her voice almost too soft, too polite.

and just like that, you're stuck again—two people who never really knew how to talk to each other anymore.

the silence stretches, hanging between you like the cold outside. karina's eyes flicker down to the fruit in her hand, her fingers turning the orange over slowly—carefully, like it’s something delicate she might accidentally crush.

you're the same. Frozen, watching her, unable to move.

it's just an orange, but for some reason, it feels like she’s holding a part of you, inspecting it with the same quiet intensity that makes your chest tighten.

she used to do this with you. with everything. look at you like you were something worth savoring.

but now?

now she can’t even meet your eyes for more than a few seconds without looking away.

you swallow hard, fingers curling at your sides. the fruit around you—rows of apples, pomegranates, those stupid oranges—feels too sweet, too vibrant for how bitter the pit in your stomach has become.

funny. you used to love this aisle.

now, you hate it.

the memory of her lip gloss—cherry, sugary, intoxicating—lingers like a bruise. you wonder if she still wears it, if the taste of her would still remind you of something you shouldn’t want.

“didn't think I’d see you here,” she adds, fingers still turning the orange like it’s the only thing keeping her hands busy. her eyes flick up, meeting yours briefly. “you don’t usually come to this market.”

your throat feels dry. “I could say the same about you.”

karina's lips twitch, almost like she’s about to smile, but it never fully forms. “guess we’re both full of surprises.”

you shift on your feet, pretending to glance over the fruit as if this conversation isn’t the only thing grounding you right now. “yeah. I guess so.”

another stretch of silence. the kind that says everything neither of you are willing to. karina looks down at the orange again, voice softer this time. “how've you been?”

the question sinks in, slow and heavy. it feels like a trap—like she’s opening a door just enough to see if you’ll step through. “fine,” you lie. “busy, you know. classes and all that.”

she nods, but something in her expression shifts—like she doesn’t quite believe you. “right.” her eyes flicker over you, lingering just long enough to make your heart race. “you look good,” she murmurs, almost like an afterthought.

your breath catches, and for a second, you forget how to respond. “thanks,” you manage, voice tighter than you’d like. “you too.”

karina hums, her gaze softening—but before you can say anything else, daniela's voice cuts through the stillness.

“you ready to go?”

suddenly, daniela's at your side, brushing water off her coat sleeve. she glances between you and Karina with an arched brow, clearly sensing the tension but not addressing it.

karina's expression hardens just enough for you to notice.

that softness—the small, unspoken part of her that seemed like it might reach out to you again—disappears.

her eyes drop to daniela, lips pressing into a thin line as if she’s biting back words she won’t let slip.

it's subtle. barely noticeable if you weren’t so tuned into her. But you are.

and it’s enough.

karina looks back at you, and for the first time since the party, you see it—the same thing that flashed across her face when she saw you with manon.

jealousy.

she doesn’t say anything else, just holds your gaze for a lingering second too long before turning back to the fruit display, her grip on the orange tightening slightly.

you could say something.

you should. but you don’t.

daniela's arm loops through yours, tugging lightly, but you hesitate—just for a second. your eyes drift back to karina, still standing there with that orange cradled in her palm. she's not looking at the fruit anymore.

she's watching you.

for a fleeting moment, her lips part, like she's about to say something. but the words don't come. and maybe they never will.

you force a small smile, even though it doesn't quite reach your eyes. "see you later," you murmur, the words slipping out quieter than intended.

karina's gaze flickers, something unreadable crossing her face. it looks almost like regret—or maybe it's just the lighting playing tricks on you.

"yeah," she replies softly. but the way she's still watching you makes it feel like she wanted to say more. like maybe if daniela wasn't there, she would've.

but it's too late.

the carnival is alive with lights and laughter, even in the biting cold. you adjust your camera strap, exhaling a puff of frosty air as the ferris wheel looms ahead. intak and daniela are somewhere back near the food stalls, probably bickering over churros, and manon is likely laughing at both of them. you needed the space, the quiet, to lose yourself in the view from above.

but as you shuffle forward in the line, you catch sight of a familiar figure.

karina.

your heart stutters. she's standing a few spots ahead, bundled in a black coat, her hair now dark as midnight and curling slightly at the ends. there's no sign of Mark, or anyone else for that matter. she's alone.

your thoughts spiral—did they break up? you shouldn’t care. you don’t care. but the thought nags at you, unwanted and unshakable.

the line moves, and suddenly, it’s your turn. the attendant waves you forward, and as if fate had a cruel sense of humor, karina is ushered into the same car.

she hesitates for a moment before sliding in, leaving just enough room for you to follow. the bar clicks into place, trapping you both in an awkward silence as the ride jolts to life.

the city begins to unfold below, the twinkling lights reflecting in her eyes, but you can’t focus on the view. all you can think about is her. how perfect she looks, even now. how her presence makes it impossible to breathe, impossible to think.

“i'm sorry.”

the words come out of nowhere, breaking the silence like the snap of a branch. You blink, startled, meeting her gaze.

“what?”

she exhales, her breath visible in the chilly air. “i'm sorry for what happened at the party. for... pushing you away like that.” her hands fidget in her lap. “I was scared. I didn’t know how to handle it.”

your chest tightens. the memory of that night feels like a fresh wound, sharp and unhealed.

“scared of what?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

karina hesitates, her eyes darting away to the lights below. “of what people would think. of what it would mean... if they saw me kissing a girl.”

the admission hits you like a punch to the gut. “so you were embarrassed?” the words tumble out before you can stop them, harsher than you meant.

her head snaps up, eyes wide. “No, I—” she bites her lip, searching for the right words. “I wasn’t embarrassed of you. I was embarrassed of myself. I wasn’t ready for people to know.”

you stare at her, the cold seeping through your gloves, but it doesn’t compare to the ache spreading through your chest. “it felt like you were.”

the ferris wheel creaks, the car swaying gently as it reaches the top. karina looks at you, her expression a mix of regret and something else you can’t quite place. “i'm sorry,” she whispers again.

and for a moment, you let yourself wonder if she means it—if she truly understands what she did to you.

the ferris wheel finally comes to a halt at the bottom, and you feel a sudden rush to get off, like if you stay in that small, enclosed space with karina any longer, you might lose control. the ride jerks to a stop, and you’re practically out of the seat before it’s even fully halted, your legs unsteady as you rush toward the exit.

the cold air hits you like a slap in the face, and you don’t stop walking—can’t stop walking. your heart is thundering, pounding against your ribs, and you need distance.

you need space. But then, you feel it. a hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you back, spinning you around. karina stands there, her expression wide, filled with sorrow, her eyes soft like she’s about to break.

you swallow, your throat dry, trying to force out words. “karina…”

she doesn’t let go, pulling you closer as if she can’t bear the distance between you any longer. her other hand comes up to cup your face, her fingers trembling slightly, but it doesn’t stop her.

you blink up at her, breath catching. “please… let go,” you whisper, a warning. “if you don’t, I might do something stupid.”

something stupid. like kiss her again.

karina's gaze flickers, and for a moment, you think she’ll pull away, but instead, she steps closer, her chest brushing yours, closing the distance. she lowers her voice, her words soft but sure.

“nothing you do could ever be stupid,” she says, her breath warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

her eyes search yours with an intensity that makes your heart race, as if she’s trying to find the right words, the right moment. she takes a breath, steadying herself before she says, "I couldn’t stop thinking about you after that night… about how you kissed me, how you made me feel. and I hate it, because it doesn’t fit into my world, but I can’t help it. I can’t stop wanting you.”

your breath catches in your throat, your pulse thundering in your ears. the confession hangs in the air between you, raw and vulnerable, and for a moment, you think you might explode from the weight of it all.

“I—I didn’t want to hurt you,” karina continues, her voice cracking. “but I was terrified. terrified of what everyone would think, of what it meant. I thought I could just ignore it, just bury it, but I can’t. Not anymore.”

you feel your hands tremble as you reach up, cupping her face, drawing her gaze back to yours. “so you’re not embarrassed of me?” you whisper, almost afraid to hear the answer.

her eyes soften, and she shakes her head. “no, never. I was just scared of myself. scared of what I was feeling for you.”

before you can say anything else, her lips find yours again, urgent and unrestrained, as if she’s trying to prove something to both of you. she kisses you like it’s the only thing that matters, her hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

when she pulls back, her voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s there, raw and open. “i'm sorry it took me so long to get here... but I don’t want to waste any more time pretending.”

the world around you seems to fade, and for the first time in months, you feel a rush of clarity. the ache, the longing, the confusion—it’s all gone, replaced by something even more overwhelming, something real.

“I don’t want to pretend either,” you say, your voice steady for the first time tonight. but even as the words leave your mouth, a thought lingers at the back of your mind—a quiet question that refuses to be ignored.

is this really it? is this the start of something new, or is it just another chapter of chaos in the story you’ve both been trapped in?

you don’t know. but for now, you choose to stay here, in this moment, with karina—hoping that it might be enough.

#aespa x fem reader #aespa #yu jimin #aespa imagines #aespa karina #kisshae #wlw #karina x reader #yoo jimin #aespa x reader #kpop imagines

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embrosegraves · 1 year ago

Text

ℕ𝕖𝕩𝕥 𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕃𝕖𝕔𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕔𝕤

Charles Leclerc x Reader (implied she/her) Charles and Reader name their daughters the same order as the Leclerc brothers.

Mr Charles “Girl Dad” Leclerc

Warnings: Extreme use of the red heart emoji, IT'S SO LONG I'M SO SORRY, also watch out for Google translate lmao don't trust them to be exact

Still not the best at smaus but I'm working on it (between every 'post' will be a timeskip of an unspecified amount of time. my brain can't handle doing maths more than it needs to.)

instagram.com

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youruser Baby Leclerc Loading...

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yourBff I'm so ready to be an Aunty → youruser One of the best ❤️

user omgomgomgomgomgomg user Is it a girl or a boy? → youruser We're waiting until the birth to find out user GUYS CHARLES MIGHT BE A GIRL DAD

carlossainz55 Charles is gonna be out of a seat soon → charles_leclerc they're going to take your seat actually → youruser please don't encourage this, they aren't even born yet

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youruser As of Nov 8 2026, please welcome Lorelei Manon Haydée Pascale Leclerc ❤️❤️ Charles and I are so incredibly excited to share this chapter of our lives with everyone however we plan on keeping Little Lori's face completely hidden until she can tell us otherwise. We ask that you respect our decision and that you do not go out of your way to find out what she looks like ❤️

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landonorris Hey there Little Lori Leclerc → youruser ❤️

carlossainz55 Bienvenida Pequeña Belleza translated Welcome Little Beauty → charles_leclerc Uncle Chilli reporting for duty? → carlossainz55 Of Course!

leclerc_pascale When can I see my precious grandbaby❤️ → charles_leclerc I will facetime you Maman ❤️

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youruser Round Two LETS GO

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pierregasly Another gossip buddy!!! → youruser Our gossip sessions are about to be so much cooler!

user ANOTHER ONE!! → user ok dj khalid user are you waiting to find out the gender again? → youruser ✨oui✨ user please be another girl, i need charles to be purely a girl dad

maxverstappen1 this one will be in a redbull i can feel it → youruser oh god not you too

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charles_leclerc Papa and Manon Spa Night (so Mama can try to relax before baby is born)

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youruser you have mastered the towel turban my love → youruser Lori looks so cute 😭❤️

user Charles "Girl Dad" Leclerc coming in clutch → user he's in his element user be honest /youruser did you teach him the towel turban? → youruser i mean, not on purpose? he's watched me do it so often i guess he just, learnt??? user I love how squishy she looks MY HEART--

lilymhe this qualifies as Charles' official invite to Girls Night™ → youruser i'll add him to the groupchat lmao → charles_leclerc yeah babyyyyyy

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youruser And on October 17 2027, the world said let there be Charlène Madeleine Héloïse Pascale Leclerc ❤️❤️ Once again, we are so so so excited to share our growing family with the world. As we did for little Lori, we will not be sharing baby ChiChi's face until she can tell us otherwise. We are so grateful that everyone respected our wishes with Lori and we ask that you respect them once more. Love Always ❤️

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LeclercLorenzo Might be early but I'm sensing a trend... → youruser 👀/charles_leclerc → charles_leclerc a trend you say?? 👀

carlossainz55 Un'altra splendida bambina ❤️ proud of you guys translated Another gorgeous baby girl → charles_leclerc Grazie Fratello ❤️ translated Thankyou Brother → youruser Grazie Chilli ❤️

leclerc_pascale Another granddaughter to spoil ❤️❤️ → youruser I fear you'll put Char out of a job Maman 😂 → charles_leclerc you cannot spoil her as much as me! 😠❤️

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charles_leclerc My Precious Girls, how your Papa loves you

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youruser My Loves 😭❤️

user Another classic Charles "Girl Dad" Leclerc moment → user omg I saw them the other day and the way Charles looks at Lori and ChiChi 😍🥰 user Charles is so in love with his girls it make me feel warm and fuzzy inside → youruser makes me wanna have another lmao → user SO REAL FOR THIS → charles_leclerc oh? 😏😏

lilymhe Why can't we have this? /alex_albon → alex_albon our sons are literally your personal bodyguards... I can't even kiss you without their permission → charles_leclerc he misses you 😂😂

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youruser 3 is a magic number

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pierregasly Do you guys ever stop? → youruser who? → pierregasly you and charles → youruser no i mean who asked?

user has anybody noticed that the age gap between each leclerc baby is basically the EXACT same as the leclerc brothers? → user OMG I WAS GONNA SAY youruser before you ask lovey /user once again we're waiting for the birth ❤️ → user honestly at this point i think everyone knows it's gonna be a girl liked by youruser user Okay, they definitely have a theme going on here with Lorenzo and Lorelei, and then literally Charles and Charlène. this one is gonna be named after Arthur i know it

charles_leclerc One more after this? → youruser no <3

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youruser Say hello to our newest arrival, Artemis Marinette Helena Pascale Leclerc ❤️❤️ born on October 15 2030 For the third time, Charles and I invite you to meet our (now complete) family! Just as we did with little Lori and Baby ChiChi, Mini Artie's face will be hidden until she can tell us otherwise. Forever grateful that everyone is so understanding of all our daughters' privacy, thank you all so much! get ready to see a whole bunch of the Leclerc Sisters on your feed from now on❤️

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carlossainz55 I can't keep commenting in another language now, you used all three that I know → charles_leclerc sounds like a you problem mate → youruser be grateful we're only having three kids Carlos

sebastianvettel One more for the collection → youruser my daughters are not like your cars and their bond girl names → charles_leclerc i'll be honest, i did laugh a little

LeclercLorenzo Some might say I... called it. → youruser don't even, you knew when we told you about naming Little Lori → LeclercLorenzo let me live in my delusion

kimimatiasraikkonen 👍 → youruser never change Kimi ❤️

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charles_leclerc At least Mini Artie likes to kart 🫠❤️

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georgerussell63 I think it's hilarious that not even your mini me likes karting → youruser it is the funniest thing to watch as Char sulks because of it → pierregasly I can only imagine 😂😂 → charles_leclerc what is this, bully Charles day?

user Mini Artie is gonna carry on the family legacy → user can you imagine omg youruser come back home the kids miss you → user i had to double check that this was ACTUALLY the mother of his children liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly, youruser and others user I see no one else has realised that all three of the girls birthdays are THE DAY AFTER the person they're named after. → youruser believe me, that wasn't planned ((it was harder to plan than it should've been))

youruser I love you so much Char. Best father, best husband ❤️ → charles_leclerc Je t'aime encore plus, Ma Chère. Best mother, Best wife ❤️ translated I love you more, My Dear

holy shit that was long jesus christ.

uhhhhhh hope you enjoyed? reblogs and likes would be much appreciated because this took me SO MUCH LONGER THAN I THOUGHT IT WAS GOING TO

#formula 1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fluff #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc instagram au #charles leclerc smau #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc #reblog with tags i missed please and thank you

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sphvm · 2 months ago

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How do you think the kats (legal) deal with being turned on when their partner isn't available (or more simply, how do you think they masturbate lol), like, do they use toys (which?), just their fingers, a pillow? Do they do multiple rounds or stop at just one? Do they like to tease themselves or just get straight to doing it? 👀👀

sophia definitely uses her fingers… her fingers are longgg. she doesn’t like teasing and wasting time, immediately plunging two in with deep, fast strokes. she gets wet so easily and it doesn’t take long for her to come.

manon is 100% a toy girl, specifically vibrators. she has some cute little ones that are pink or something. sometimes if she’s desperate she’ll use her fingers as well, she also likes listening to music during.

dani uses her fingers as well, but usually she needs to masturbate to videos or pictures. she takes a little longer to come, so she teases herself as well (touching her tits, playing w her clit, etc).

lara is a toy girl and she has a wide variety of them, from vibrators to dildos. her usual choice is a dildo but she prefers the glass ones. she likes edging herself, taking her time to make herself come and listening to her own pretty sounds.

megan is way too shy to buy toys, so she resorts to using her pillow, grinding into it and moaning louder than she probably should (and louder than she realizes).

#vee yapping #sophia laforteza #manon bannerman #daniela avanzini #lara raj #megan skiendiel #katseye #katseye smut #katseye imagine #gxg smut

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nalgenewhore · 7 months ago

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make it my business

elide x lorcan, modern au, secret relationship, establishing relationship, word count: 3738

The mattress does not fit the both of them.

She realises this when she wakes up in a pile of limbs and so close to the edge that she might’ve fallen off if not for him.

At the same time, he’s what’s restricting her space.

Elide tries a couple times to roll over. After his arm tightens around her waist, she gives up with a hum. She can feel him breathing against her back, exhaling when she inhales. It’s cheesy, but she smiles to think that they share air, even unconsciously.

Sensing how truly asleep he is, she resettles against him and resolves to sleep some more.

It’s no use, she’s already awake and ready for the day. She blames it on her internal clock. Elide strains to remain still, only lasts a minute.

She rubs his forearm while sliding the top of her foot down his calf.

He stirs soon, movement breathed back into him. He hums and shifts away from her which allows her to half-turn.

Elide faces him with pinkened cheeks. He looks so different in the morning, not as soft as his sleeping self, but not so stoic as his fully conscious self either. She breaks the silent dawn first. “Hi.”

His dark and hazy eyes dip down to her lips. She gets his whispered greeting during a kiss.

“Sweetheart?”

“Mm?” She tilts her head to the side.

“D’you know how early it is?”

His question makes her pull back and follow him when he reaches past her for the clock on her nightstand. Elide winces in seeing that neither hand has hit the eight. “Sorry…”

Lorcan lays his head down, shutting his eyes. “You ever heard of a thing called sleeping in?”

She pokes his chest, “It’s hard to sleep in when I’m about to fall off the bed.”

His response is to pull her closer. Elide leans up to meet his lips, intent on just a soft peck, but he has other plans in mind (as he’s wont to). Tangling his hand in her long hair, he kisses her deeper and runs his tongue against her mouth, coaxing her response.

Elide gives in with a soft moan, feeling his other arm rounding her waist insistently. They trade embraces until he slants his hips, and she feels his morning wood. A smug grin curls against his mouth, then she whispers, “Early mornings aren’t all bad, hmm?”

“Yeah, I’ll show you,” he mutters as he turns them over.

With a giggle, she intends to let him do just that.

She would’ve kept going, if not for the footsteps in the hallway.

The house she rents with Aelin and Lysandra is old, built at least a century ago. With that comes interminably creaky floorboards. One such floorboard - infamous in their house - lays just outside Elide’s bedroom. She winces when one of her roommates steps on it; it bellows out its screech.

Lorcan doesn’t hear, or he doesn’t care (she suspects this), and draws her back for another kiss. She swats at him half-heartedly, but he just traps her hand against the mattress. Elide can feel her limbs giving in until the floorboard screeches again, and then she hears Aelin’s soft morning chatter.

It breaks her out of her daze and away from Lorcan. “Lorcan! You- oh my gods, you’re not supposed to be here,” she whispers frantically. “I can’t believe we fell asleep.” Elide slipped out of his grip. She hastily pressed her hand over his mouth when he actually whined, like a dog.

He pulls it away to tell her, “It’s Sunday—”

“Do you remember what happened last night?”

Last night, they had an impromptu end-of-term party. It was supposed to have been a dinner, and then Aedion came through with an honest-to-gods keg, a handful of his fraternity brothers. That gave Aelin right to invite Rowan, who then brought his roommates, including Lorcan. Elide texted Manon, who brought her whole house, too, and before long, it was a real party.

It was all too easy to drag Lorcan off to her room without arousing suspicion. She naïvely thought they would remember to wake up early. It’s a conscious effort to keep what they have, whatever it is, under wraps until they figure it out themselves.

Lorcan shakes his head and pulls her back down, whispering that her roommates will just think she’s hungover and let her lie. She lets his kiss convince her, as well as those wandering hands of his. They’re unwilling to part.

His fingers push up her tank top, slipping over her soft bare skin. Elide helps him pull it over her head, still thinking to herself they won’t go all the way.

She’s seriously considering letting him continue when a knock comes at her door.

The pair breaks apart, both heads swivelling towards the noise. Neither moves. There comes another knock.

“Elide? Are you awake, honey?” Aelin’s voice filters through.

Elide shut her eyes in defeat. Her roommate won’t give up if she doesn’t answer. Aelin’s been known to bust down a door, if need be.

She rolls away from Lorcan. Hoping that her voice is a fair imitation of something sleepy, she responds. “It’s really early, love.”

Beside her, Lorcan rankles, “That’s what you call me.” She kisses his pout.

Outside, Aelin says, “I know, but we’re thinking about heading to Emrys’ for breakfast.”

“I’ll be out soon.” Elide winds her arms around his head.

“Oh, no, you won’t,” Aelin answers. “We’re starving.” As she speaks, she turns the doorknob. “And you’ll fall back asleep for hours.”

In a blind panic, Elide shoves herself away from Lorcan. She catches him off guard, sending him rolling to the edge of the mattress. He loses his balance and falls into the gap between her bed and the wall. Somehow, he managed not to make a sound beside a sharp inhale.

“Shit,” Elide whispers, peering over at him. “I’m so sorry, are you alright?”

He doesn’t get a chance to answer before Aelin is in the room.

Elide covers her bare chest with her arms, her cheeks burning.

Her roommate’s mouth drops open. “Uh… you alright?”

She gives her a sheepish grin, “Yeah, um, just fell. Still rusty from last night.” Elide forces an uneasy laugh. She hopes she isn’t coming off as awkward as she feels. "Stiff ankle and all."

“Yeah, speaking of last night—”

“Girl, can you, like, step out? I’m kinda naked,” she interrupts.

Aelin rolls her eyes. “Girl, I’ve literally waxed your full bush before—”

“Aelin!”

She throws her hands up as she backs out of the bedroom. “Fine, fine, don’t show me your tits. It’s not like I care.” Aelin shuts the door behind her and shouts through it, “Be ready in fifteen, or we’re going without you!”

Elide scrubs her face, groaning into her hands.

Someone else chuckles, and she peeks out at Lorcan. He doesn’t look at all uncomfortable even though his massive frame is contorted in such a small space. “Full bush?” She throws a pillow at him, which he catches easily with a wide smile. “I’m into the natural look, a real man doesn’t mind a li’l bushwhacking—”

“Maybe ‘bush’ preferences are something we can discuss later?” Elide crawls across the mattress. She leans over the edge to kiss him. “I’m gonna distract them, and when the coast is clear, I’ll let you know, ok?” She pats his cheek like it’s decided. “I’ll come over tonight.”

That seems to mollify his annoyance at being tossed out.

Elide puts on her pyjamas quickly before joining her roommates in the kitchen.

“Oh,” she stops short of the living room, confronted by people who aren’t her roommates.

Rowan, sitting on the couch next to a snoozing Manon, nods at her, “Morning, Elide.”

“Hey…” She looks around. “Did everyone sleep over?”

Aedion pops out of the kitchen with a wide grin despite his haggard appearance. “Fenrys’ in the bathroom.”

“Alright, then.” Elide pads into the kitchen and accepts a mug of coffee Lysandra hands her. “Thanks.” She asks the group, “So, group breakfast, then?”

“I think so,” Rowan says. “We’re tryna get Lorcan to join, but he’s not answering his phone.”

Her pulse jumps, and she sips her coffee to stop from immediately responding. Aelin snarks, “Why? He’s, like, a sadistic killjoy. Name one time we’ve hung out that he hasn’t ruined.”

Elide bites back a snitting response.

“Aelin.” Rowan sighs a bit. “Save it for when he’s actually here.” He taps at his phone, complaining out loud, “He always has his fucking phone, and I’ve texted him twice.”

“Aw, your boyfriend’s not picking up?” Manon coos, suddenly coming to life. “Hey, Lochan.”

“Good morning, Manon,” she smiles.

“No, it’s just weird,” Rowan answers Manon. “And with how he’s been lately, I’m kinda worried about him.”

Manon’s golden eyes cut to Elide and observe her sharply. “Weren’t you hanging out with him last night?”

Her stomach almost falls out. She stays very, very still, playing disinterested. “Um,” the tips of her ears start to burn, “I mean, not really. I dunno where he went.” Elide goes to the kitchen, using the excuse of getting more coffee as a cover. “Maybe his phone died. Just tell him where we’re going, and he can meet up, if he wants.”

Lysandra, who’s holding the coffee pot, pours some into Elide’s outstretched mug. “I saw Essar last night. Maybe they’re on again. He always disappears when he’s got a girl.”

Elide can’t stop her frown or snappish tone, “Yeah. Maybe.” Her roommate gives her a little look. “Honestly, let’s just go. I’m hungry, and it reeks like beer here.”

“Sounds good to me.”

The others agree to leave soon, and while they do, Lysandra touches Elide’s arm, lowering her voice, “You ok, honey?”

She nods, “Yeah. Sorry, just- it’s early, and I got crossed last night.” Elide rubs her face. “I’m gonna get ready.” She hastily returns to her room and locks the door behind her. “Lorcan,” she sighs.

He sits up. “All clear?”

“Not at all.” Kneeling on her bed, she peers at him. The sight of his body stuffed into that space makes her grimace. “Are you ok?”

Lorcan tries to shrug but the walls squeeze his shoulders too tight. He tells her instead, “‘m fine.”

Elide looses a dry chuckle. “Uh-huh… well, everyone's still here. There’s no way you can get out of here right now.”

“For real?” His head falls back in annoyance and he closes his eyes. “You got a plan, so?”

She winces before leaning down to press her lips to his. For a couple seconds, he responds eagerly, face tilting to deepen it. When he pulls back, it’s a slow process of soft kisses. Elide gives him what she hopes is an agreement-bidding face, makes her eyes big. “So, everyone’s going to breakfast at Emrys’. I’ll text you when we leave, and then you sneak out and join us.”

While contemplating, he tips his chin to peck her bottom lip. “Yeah, ok.”

Elide pulls the bed away from the wall so he can stand. As she dresses, he opts to lounge on her bed, letting the clothes she tosses his way stay where they land.

He speaks when she’s fixing her hair in her mirror. “You know, maybe we should tell them soon.”

She turns. “You think?” He’s sitting facing her now. She walks over to stand between his thighs. Telling people means that they have something worthy of being known. As she cups his jaw, his arms circle her waist. Only now, with him seated and slouched, do their eyes meet on the same level. “You want other people to know?”

“Mm-hm. You’re the only person I wanna be with, people should know that.”

Heart pounding faster, Elide jokes, “Are you asking for us to be exclusive, Salvaterre?” Her excitement manifests as warm, blushy cheeks.

He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t blink, or glance away even for a second. “Yeah. I want you to be my girlfriend.” Something rogue-like sparks in his gaze, and then he adds, “Unless there’s someone else you—”

“No, no,” she curls her hand around his mouth again. “There’s no one else - you know there’s no one else, so don’t be dumb.” Lifting one of her legs, she folds it and puts her shin on his thigh like she’s about to straddle him. Elide replaces her hand with her lips to keep all that nonsense unsaid.

A hand pushes on the curve of her spine, pushes her closer into him.

“I’ll be your girlfriend, I want it to be me and you only,” she whispers during the brief moment they part.

Without warning, Lorcan lets himself topple backwards and she goes with him. They crash; she giggles, apathetically aware that she’s letting him distract her again when they have even less time.

And again, someone rudely interrupts them by shouting up the stairs. “Hey, Lochan! Don’t make me drag your skinny ass down here!” It’s Aedion.

They pull away quickly this time. Elide gets to her feet and wipes her smeared lipstick off Lorcan’s mouth. “Just a sec,” she calls back to Aedion. Turning to her boyfriend. she pecks his mouth one last time. “We’ll tell them at breakfast. Wait like ten minutes, ok? Also Rowan is worried about you.”

Lorcan rolls his eyes, muttering something about a mother-hen.

Elide rushes to grab her purse and rushes out the door, winking, “Bye, boyfriend.” At the bottom of the steps Aedion stands sporting dark sunglasses. She flicks them when she’s close enough. “Patience is a virtue. And nice shades, Elton.”

He bats at her hand. “I need these.”

They walk down the hall together; she remarks, “You’re looking a little pale, buddy.”

Aedion just mumbles, “Shoulda listened to Aelin and not gone shot for shot with Manon. I knew better.”

Elide chuckles and looks around, but only Rowan remains in the living room. The others are filing out the door while Fenrys roots on hands and knees for his missing shoe. She steps into the living room. “Rowan, are you coming with us?”

“Uh, in a bit, I think.” He glances to the side at the others before saying, in a lowered voice, “I’m a bit worried about Lorcan. He’s never home and never has time to do anything with me.” Rowan shrugs, seeming self-conscious; they are hardly considered affectionate or emotional friends. “It’s weird.”

She smiles a bit, panic surging within. “I mean, he’s probably at home, hungover. And with a dead phone.”

“Yeah… yeah, probably.”

She doesn’t want to push the issue but still wants to give the man himself an out. Glancing over her shoulder, she sees that Fenrys had a fruitful hunt and that the others are waiting. Elide says bye to Rowan to join those headed to the diner.

She takes out her phone to warn Lorcan.

EL: Rowan is still in the house!!!

An ellipses pops up immediately.

LS: fr bro

LS: tf is he on

EL: I told you, he’s actually worried about you.

Elide bites her cheek to stop a smile.

EL: Apparently you’ve been acting so mysterious lately. He never knows where you are.

LS: ok stalker…

LS: how tf m i gna leave now

EL: My window?

Before he can argue, she adds on.

EL: I’m only on the second floor, and you’re really tall!! AND you did it before

LS: :(

EL: Or you can wait till he leaves?

LS: ale alr ill fig it out

Elide slips her phone into her pocket just as Aelin slows down to walk with her. Her roommate loops her arm around Elide’s. “Girl, I cannot tell you how excited I am for this food. I already know what I’m gonna get.”

“Same, I want my banana pancakes so bad.”

They chat about idle things until they get to Emrys’, which is full as it normally is on Sunday mornings.

In the diner, they wait to be seated. The host, Luca, pops up to them soon enough with far too much pep in his step. “Morning, folks,” he grins as he grabs some menus. “Is it just you six today?”

“We have two others joining us,” Aelin says.

He nods and starts to lead them to a big table.

Just then, Aelin, Elide, and Lysandra’s phones blare with an alarm. All three pull out their devices. “It’s our alarm system,” Lysandra says. “Lee, did you set it? Maybe it’s Rowan leaving?”

Her heart almost stops. “Um, no, I didn’t,” she says. “I thought he was still at our place.”

Aelin shakes her head with a frown, “No, he texted me that he was going to his place. He probably set it, he’s a freak about locking doors.”

Something occurs to Elide, and she starts to panic. “Guys, we signed up for the police response promo. The cops are going to our house, right now.”

Her roommates try to tell her that that’s a good thing, if it ends up being something serious. She doesn’t hear them though. Anxiety forces her to flee, and Elide runs out of the diner without another thought.

“Elide, wait!” Aelin shouts. “What are you doing?!”

The others call out after her, but their voices are lost to her quickly-gained distance and the pounding of her heart.

What is usually a ten-minute walk passes by in a flash, marked by an excruciating stitch in her side and sickening nausea. Elide rounds the corner on their block; it’s then that she registers police sirens.

A squad car is parked halfway onto the curb at her house, and several officers mill about. At the centre of it all is a knelt, cuffed Lorcan.

“Hey!” she shouts. “Stop, that’s my boyfriend!”

Some cop steps out in front of her with a hand raised. “Ma’am, this is an active crime scene, I’m going to need you–”

“But I live here,” she exclaims, “and that’s my boyfriend, I swear I knew he was here. Don’t arrest him, please.”

“He’s your what?!”

Elide then realises that her friends followed and kept up with her. Aelin sounds, as expected, incensed, near ballistic. She doesn’t pay her roommate any mind, all her energy directed towards this crisis.

“Ma’am, we apprehended the suspect climbing out of a second-story window.”

“I know, I told him to, I’m so sorry.” Elide pleads with the officer. “I live here, I’ve lived here for two years, and his name is Lorcan, he’s my boyfriend. I swear there’s no crime, I knew he was here. I told him to use the window, that’s my bedroom.”

The cop seems suspicious. “Let’s get this figured out.” He looks over his shoulder at Lorcan, then back at Elide. “He’s your boyfriend?”

She nods. Desperate, she faces her friends, and with one look at her, Aelin and Lysandra step up. “We know him,” Lysandra says. “He’s our friend.” She explains in bare details their party last night and that he must have fallen asleep hungover somewhere.

Aelin agrees, bolstering support. In an aside to Elide, she mutters, “Boyfriend?”

Elide grabs her hand and squeezes to mean they’ll talk later.

It takes some time for the information to be communicated, but they soon let Lorcan go and warn him not to make a habit out of using windows as exits.

With the police clearing out, she’s ignorant of their audience. She runs to him, her battling worry and relief manifesting as a manic laugh. Elide stops when they’re nearly front to front. “Are you alright? I’m so sorry, Rowan set the alarm, and we got this promo for the police response, and I didn’t know it was happening, I woulda warned you if I knew—”

“Yo, yo, Lee, s’all good. Take a breath.” Lorcan cracks a grin. “Not the first time I’ve been in cuffs.”

“You’re ok, though?”

He nods and bends to kiss her. “I’m ok, sweetheart.” His eyes drift above her head. “I think we got some explaining to do.”

“Yeah, you do,” Aelin exclaims. She’s got her arms crossed over her chest and sports a menacing frown, though Elide can spot a smile peeking through.

She leans into Lorcan’s side. “Well… we’ve been seeing each other for a while,” she winces a bit.

Their friends crowd around them, all peppering the couple with questions and good-natured ribbing. Fenrys and Aedion use each other for balance as they howl with laughter. Elide tries to tell Manon not to attack Lorcan and lets her roommates pull her away.

“You never told us,” Lysandra says.

“I know, we just- we wanted to figure things out first before we told.”

Aelin looks at Lorcan before looking at Elide. “And things are figured out?”

Elide nods. “I really like him. I know you guys aren’t, like, the best of friends,” Lysandra scoffs at that, “but we’re really good. And I’m happy - that’s what matters, right?” Aelin doesn’t answer. “Right?”

“Yes, of course, that’s what matters,” Aelin rolls her eyes in a joking way. She smiles. “For what it’s worth, I think he really likes you, too. Not every guy would climb out a window just ‘cause you told them.”

“Yeah,” Elide shrugs with a coy smile. “I guess I have that charm.”

A few minutes pass as the shock wears, and someone loops in Rowan who answers with a wearied sigh. With an unspoken agreement, the group makes their way back to the diner.

The couple hang by the back, arms looped around waists. She touches the slightly red mark on his wrist. “Did it hurt?”

“I’ve had worse.”

Elide narrows her eyes and takes a small pause. “I don’t want to know how many times you’ve been arrested.”

Lorcan’s lips tick up at the corners. “Oh, nah?” He leans his head down, nips at her ear, “What about convictions, wanna know that?” She pinches the flesh between his thumb and hand, warning. “Oh-for-eleven, baby.”

She rolls her eyes. “You just told me what I didn’t want to know.” Picking up her feet, Elide walks ahead of him, still connected with loosely joined hands. “Come on, banana pancakes are calling my name.”

“We gonna split a stack?”

“Um, why would I share my banana pancakes?”

He gives her a fake serious look. “Isn’t that what couples do?”

“Aw,” she says, stopping until he catches up with her (in a single step). “I’ve made you sappy.”

“Mm, yeah, it’s something about your charm.”

✵✵✵✵✵

an: title is from "Business" by catfish and the bottlemen (everyone say thank u raniyah)

title from "Business" by Catfish and the Bottlemen :)

elide calling lorcan 'boyfriend' is a reference to the gilmore girls character lucy (whom i adore she is an icon but deserved better than lame ass marty)

i hope u enjoyed !! going forward this might b the last modern/non-canon au for a while....there's just something abt the og universe i have fallen back in love with <3

tag list: @sassyhobbits @empress-ofbloodshed @celestialend @the-regal-warrior @shyvioletcat @icecream52 @elentiyawhitethorn @goddess-aelin @julemmaes @sunshinebingo (lmk if u want to b added.removed)

#elorcan #elide x lorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #nalgenewhore #isa writes

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mafik-sun · 28 days ago

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Well, I found out about the headcanon generator, and decided to try it with my girl

Mooney is a sleepwalker

Okay, Mooney's sleepwalking worked well. Considering that the girl had had enough strong impressions... And this headcanon gave birth to an idea for a short story.

Mickey discovered Mooney's sleepwalking when he decided to find out what kind of mystical force had taken up residence in their house. It turned out that Mooney was sleepwalking and fixing equipment: either she would fix and update Mickey's laptop, or she would find a light bulb and change it in the living room lamp. And once she installed sensors in Mortimer's yard, and they activated an entire obstacle course (it was revenge for the bullying of Mickey).

And now, Mickey looks after Manon and does everything to ensure that she does not get hurt while sleepwalking.

#disney #mickey mouse au #disney au #mickey mouse #manon round #mooney #stories from mouseton #stories from mouseton au #disney oc #mafik-sun sketch

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storiesfrommouseton · 8 days ago

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Okay, I've got an idea for another sketch.

Mickey and Manon read Christmas stories and novellas. More specifically, the story «The Gift of the Magi». One of the stories Mickey listened to on Christmas Eve when he was a child. And now he reads Christmas stories to his child himself.

(And, spoiler, Manon is going to love «The Gift of the Magi». She'll immediately compare Mickey to Jim and Della: «You're a lot like them - you love your family just as much».)

#stories from mouseton #stories from mouseton au #sfm notes #mickey mouse #manon round #mooney #christmas

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lara4eclipze · 2 months ago

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lara shoving her fingers in ur mouth to make you be quiet bc the other members are home when she's using her strap on you in spooning position when 😔😔

“Shut Up”

sypnosis; "do you want them to hear you? , what a slut you are" she purrs

cw; smut , nasty smut , strap usage , spooning , drooling , dumification , degrading, mean Lara , dom Lara , ANON ur legit making me crazy here's a fic for your idea

wc; 469

it was like one moment ago you were joking around now your bent over Lara's bed taking her strap — what went so wrong?

"fuck! — your so tight" she sighs , her strap hitting all the perfect spots , you whine under her as she pulls your hair

"fuckin' slut , this is what you wanted right?" she spits out , pulling your hair even rougher , her other hand covering your mouth

"shut the fuck up—you don't want the girls to hear you being a whore right?" she chuckles , it was so embarrasing but the idea got you even more wet , the thought of the girls knowing what Lara did to you made your mind fuzzy

she lays you down spooning you as her strap was still in you , your gasp and cry's full the room

"shut up" she said shoving in her fingers for you to suck on , gladly you did , her fingers choked you oh so perfectly

her strap buried in you whilst she whispers how she's gonna knock you up, practically drooling around her fingers she menacingly fastens her pace

until you came one time , two times three times — you can't even track it anymore

you felt overstimulated but she never stopped it felt perfect

after so she buried herself in between your thighs licking up your nectar as you beg her to stop , but your body told otherwise

"god I can't eat you all day" she moans around your core , tears of pleasure fell out of your eyes , as she continues her ministrations

"l-lara can't anymore" you whimper

"oh yes you can , you can do it suck it up" she purrs

after a few more rounds your legs felt like jelly , everything you can think about is Lara, Lara and Lara

she slows down , and finally showers , ofcourse taking care of you as well

"we have training tomorrow" you said frowning

"don't worry I'll say your sick" she said soothing your legs and massaging you

"you legitimately rearranged my organs Lara" you laugh , she acts surprised but falters and laughs along

"oh y/n's sick" Lara says to the leader when Sophia asked why you aren't training with the rest

"yeah right I heard you guys , y'all are nasty" Manon whispers to Lara earning her a glare

Lara came home after the practice and went straight to your room

"sorry if I went to rough baby" she pouts at you , she felt bad that you couldn't train even worse that Manon heard you

"it's okay baby — love you" you whisper to her , earning you a giggle and her jumping in bed next to you

#lara raj #lesbian #wlw #katseye

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punch-out-c · 3 months ago

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MANON LAVIGNE‼️🔥🇫🇷

THIS TOOK SO LONG BUT IM SO PROUD OF IT‼️

idk a boxing name yet😔 but I might just keep it his full name 🫶🇫🇷

They hate eachother 😀

(Yes, his Nike tick is the other way round on purpose)

#punch out oc #punch out!! wii #punch out nes #punch out #manon lavigne #glass joe #artists on tumblr #original art #my art #digital art #artwork #art #oc #oc art #ocs #my ocs #oc artwork #oc artist

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throneofsapphics · 1 year ago

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Oh can you please do Manorian x pregnant reader!! Like how you did with rowaelin

our little witchling

poly!Manorian x Pregnant Reader

(part two)

Summary: You followed her gaze - stuck on your hand, covering your belly. You quickly moved it, tucking the tunic back down, but she would have noticed the shift in your scent by now.

Warnings: minor injury, protectiveness

Word Count: ~1.8k

A/N: thank you for requesting it! I love writing them.

You sat on the couch, carefully tracing the small bump showing in your belly - almost imperceptible, your clothing still hid it, and you’d barely noticed it at first - assuming you were just bloating. But then the time for your period came, and left.

Manon and Dorian had both been away for a while, and you still debated on whether or not to tell them. You hadn’t taken any tests either, not wanted to confirm it. You knew Manon wanted a witchling, for a while, and they hadn’t exactly been trying, but hadn’t not been trying. In your case, you missed one tonic - and now had a small bump growing in your stomach.

You didn’t mention the missed period to them - they were gone when it would have happened. And, it still could be a coincidence. Stress, different kinds of tonics, diet changes … but none of those made sense to you. None seemed to apply.

The second one came and gone. You used the bits of magic you have to keep your scent under wraps - to prevent Manon from noticing. Maybe it was wrong of you, maybe a mistake, but a small part of you was scared of her reaction. You had no idea what it would be. Or Dorian’s either. There was some fear inside you, fear that they would thing you did this on purpose, even though it was just one missed tonic, that’s all it took.

The second period went - their schedules lining up so they missed that as well, and you finally decided to get tested, and made your way down to the castle healer - your heart beating louder with each step, each stair you took, each hallway you turned down.

“I need … to see if I’m pregnant.” You muttered quietly, once it was just you and her in a room. “And I want to be discreet.”

She swallowed harshly, but nodded. A few minutes later, she told you. You were already nearly certain, but the official announcement had you bursting in tears.

She sat next to you, rubbing comforting circles into your back, and let you cry on her shoulder.

“Do you know how far along you are?”

“Maybe two to three months.”

She clicked her tongue, “you should’ve come sooner.”

“I know.” You loosed a long breath.

“Please keep it to yourself.” Your eyes dug into yours, and she hesitated a moment before agreeing.

Thankfully, she didn’t ask too many more questions - about your hesitancy, why you burst into tears, why you’d waited so long.

You made it back to your rooms, tears dried and face clear of any evidence you had been crying.

You pulled your tunic up slightly, spotting the small bump, and traced your fingers over it again. Slowly, you drifted off into a deep sleep, one hand resting against your belly.

Manon and Dorian intended to surprise you, returning a day early. They carefully opened and closed the door, finding you dozing off on the couch.

A smile fell over Dorian’s lips - seeing you so peaceful, hair flowing around your face, lips slightly parted, and steady even breaths. He noticed Manon going rigid next to him, and watching where her eyes traced - to the hand covering your stomach.

Manon’s eyes were wide, and he saw her sniff the air slightly. “Pregnant,” she said quietly, turning to face him. “Did you know.”

He shook his head, rounding the couch to crouch down next to you, pushing a stray strand of hair out of your face, “y/n.”

Your eyes blinked open, still half-lidded, and a sleepy smile crossed her face. “Early,” you mumbled, pressing your cheek into the pillow. Your neck craned, spotting Manon still frozen near the door. He noticed your eyes widen at her stance.

You didn’t expect them to be back until tomorrow, and the sight of Dorian crouched next to you, his eyes soft and a smile across his lips, warmed something in your heart, and you turned to find Manon. She was frozen, eyes wide and body rigid. Something like fear ran through you. You followed her gaze - stuck on your hand, covering your belly. You quickly moved it, tucking the tunic back down, but she would have noticed the shift in your scent by now.

“How,” Manon cleared her throat. You’d never heard her sound that uncertain or hesitant, “How long have you known?”

“I found out for certain today.”

Manon’s head spun. A witchling. Not technically a witchling - but a witchling to her. And y/n, pregnant. You said you only found out for certain today, but she got the sense you’ve known for longer than that. Her eyes narrowed, “How long have you known?”

“A few weeks,” you whispered, and she scented your fear. Fear of what?

“Why are you scared?” Dorian cut her a harsh look, but she didn’t take her eyes off of you.

“I didn’t know how …” Silver threatened to line her eyes, and Manon took a few steps forward, doing her best not to seem threatening.

“How we would react.” Dorian finished her sentence for her.

“It was an accident, I swear.” A small tear dripped down your pretty face, and Manon felt something inside of her break. You thought she’d be mad at you, mad because …

She crossed the rest of the space in the room, moving quickly enough neither you or Dorian could react, and ran her fingers through your hair. Something she’d learned would calm you, put you at ease, and sure enough it did.

“I would never be mad at you for this.” Her eyes drifted to your stomach, and she leaned over you, pulling it up slightly. That small bump, a little witchling growing inside. A fierce protectiveness settled over her. And they’d been gone so much in the last few months. That would change, she wouldn’t leave your side, not if she could help it, until she knew both you and the babe would be safe.

Gods, you felt so relieved at her reaction. You didn’t know exactly how she would react - and maybe that’s what scared you the most.

“You should’ve told us sooner.” Her voice was harsh. Biting, and you frowned. “It’s dangerous. Pregnancy.” Dorian didn’t interrupt her, but took your hand, squeezing lightly. His face told you he felt the same way, but wouldn’t interrupt Manon - that never ended well.

“I’m fine.” You protested, and Dorian squeezed your hand lightly. A warning. You looked directly into those burnt gold eyes. Not anger or fury, but worry. When was the last time you saw Manon worried? You can’t remember. “I have both of you, I’ll be fine.” That must’ve been the right thing to say, because a bit of tension left her shoulders.

It took a few weeks before Manon or Dorian would leave you alone. As in actually leave your side for more than a few minutes. They alternated their schedules so each of them would be able to be with you, at any given time, and you spent time in both the Witch Kingdom, and Adarlan.

You caught Dorian reading a few books on pregnancy and chuckled.

“There’s healers for that,” you leaned over his shoulder, pressing a small kiss to your cheek, and running fingers through his hair. He leaned into your touch, but kept reading. Nothing could convince him to return those books back to the library.

A few months later, a ball was coming up, and there was no avoiding the bump showing in your stomach now, so you found the perfect dress to meld around it, showing it off.

This time, you didn’t have to convince Manon to show up. It was her event after all, at least partly. For both the courtiers of Adarlan, and some representatives of the Witch Kingdom. A very stressful event for both to plan, and to make sure no blood was shed by the end of it.

You laughed with some friends, sipping on cherry juice instead of wine, and thanked every person who came up to congratulate you - the muscles on your cheeks starting to ache by the end of the night as you plastered a kind smile on your face.

You finally got your chance to slip away, and took it. Your eyes were focused solely on the door, and on getting back to your room to rest, that you missed dodging around the person in your past. Before you could right yourself - your sense of balance has been off the last few months, you hit the floor, thankfully your hip first. The entire room seemed to go silent. Oh Gods this would not end well, Manon and Bronwen made it their first, quickly followed by Dorian, helping you to your feet.

Manon looked at the man, who was stumbling out apologies, like he would be her next meal, you glanced at Bronwen urgently, and she got the message - somehow managing to drag Manon out of the room, as Dorian lifted you into his arms. Thankfully you were already close to the door, but the look Dorian gave the man was nearly as deadly as Manon’s.

Manon paced the room, complete bloodlust in her eyes - Bronwen standing between her and the door. They were in a heated argument when she heard a set of footsteps approaching, and scented both you and Dorian.

“They need you.” Bronwen emphasized, stepping aside and opening the door, before quickly slipping out.

“For Gods sake, please don’t call a healer,” you groaned as you entered the room - Dorian refusing to let you walk. He carried you right to the bed, laying you carefully on your right side - the one that didn’t hit the ground.

“Manon,” you called softly - seeing the pure bloodlust in her eyes. If she got close to that man … he would be dead without another thought. You held out your hand. “Come here please.”

You knew Dorian was just as angry, but he kept a better lid on it, for now. She approached stiffly, taking your hand, you guided hers over your stomaching - feeling the babe kick just as you did.

“We’re both fine.” You turned your head to Dorian, hoping to get his confirmation. You felt the soft caress of his magic as soon as you laid down.

“Fine,” He said as a muscle in his jaw ticked.

“Sit with me, sit with us.” You scooted back slightly to make room for her, and she did. A bit of tension seemed to leave her as she rested her hand on your stomach, even as you removed your own. Dorian’s hand joined hers, his thumb running back and forth.

“I’m tired,” you mumbled, and let them both take care of you - changing you out of that gown, taking the pins out of your hair, slipping a night dress over you. “Stay.” You almost begged as you crawled back in the bed. “Both of you.” Mostly because you wanted them to, but partially to save that man's life as well.

They both ran gentle strokes over your body, avoiding the sore area, and letting you melt into their bodies, drifting off to sleep.

#manorian x reader #manorian x y/n #poly!manorian #dorian havilliard x y/n #dorian havilliard x reader #manon blackbeak x y/n #manon blackbeak x reader #manon x y/n #manon x reader #throne of glass fic

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