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anotherhumaninthisworld · 3 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 · 1 month 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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sillymommy6969 · 4 days ago

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.𖥔 ݁ ݁˖ 𝕷IKE THAT ᝰ! D.A.

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ synopsis: you were dani’s favourite, you knew that. of all the girls and guys she had, she always came back to you. but lately, you’ve found yourself detaching from the fwb arrangement; staying out late more and dodging her calls, but she’s determined to have you back to her--'cause all those girls (they don’t) know what you need

warnings: angst, slight!nsfw, sexual content mentioned, toxic!dani, straight men (ew), eventual fluff, would turn into series

turntable now playing: like that - babymonster

“You’ve reached y/n’s cell! I can’t come to the phone right now, but please leave a message after the--” What the fuck. What the actual fuck. This was the fourth call you haven’t picked up tonight. Daniela wasn’t just growing impatient, she was livid.

You and Daniela met in college, your roommate, Lara always hung around this group of girls you would eventually befriend.

You met Sophia first, the ambitious go-getter with a type of energy you always struggled to keep up with. Then came Megan, who introduced you to the deep, relaxing world of Yacht rock. The two of you shared a deep love for tanning in the Hawaiian sun and loving alternative fashion.

Third was Yoonchae; she was quiet, a complimentary presence contrary to the chaotic energy the other three brought.

It was through Manon--whom was the smartest, and the most well-versed woman you knew--did you come to meet Daniela. You were trying to get French lessons from Manon, who was somewhat fluent in French (and 16 other languages), and you’d see her roommate loitering around the dorm.

And with knowing Daniela came succumbing to her charm.

Very charismatic, but had little heart for good intentions. You knew she had a deck of names just on her phone. You knew she could just phone up whomever she’d wanted, and they would come, but you didn’t care. It felt too good when you had her attention alone, when she wouldn’t care if her phone pinged when you were making out in her mustang at the top of the couple go-to of all LA’s trails.

“You’ve reached y/n’s cell! I can’t come to the phone right now, but--” Daniela chucked her phone into the passenger seat beside her, running a hand through her hair. Fifth time without an answer. You’ve never done this before.

She was making all kinds of reason as to why you’d go mia:

a) You could be mad at her. The last time the two of you were hanging out, alone, she did leave you in her room high and dry when she got a call from Caleb and his drinking buddies. She assured you she owed the guys a round of drinks for helping her cheat on her mid-term the week earlier, but you were not happy, and definitely worried about Manon coming home.

b) Maybe you’d found someone else. After weeks of playing this push and pull game with you, Daniela got really drunk one night and didn’t feel like arguing when you began scolding her for standing you up and didn’t even bother texting. She flat out told you, “move on then. nobody’s making you stay, so what’s stopping you?” It was harsh, but the two of you never spoke of that night. Maybe you finally listened to that advice.

c) You died. There were no other options. You had to be dead.

Daniela had never felt so out of control before. She prided herself in being able to string boys and girls along with just her pinkie finger. She never committed to anybody, she loved toying with her roster more than anything.

But every time she’d end things with her other flings, she’d come back to you without fail.

And she would praise you, whether she’d be making her mark on you or taking you out for some fancy meal she wouldn’t let you pay for, she’d make sure to make you feel special.

Until she found the next woman who wanted to make her the ultimate bi-curious experiment, or the group of frat guys who wanted to “just go out and party it up” with her alone.

You weren’t exactly bothered by it at first, you were thankful you got even that shred of her attention. But the more you fooled around, the more you worried for her when Manon would call you late to ask if you knew where she was; or when she’d abruptly leave a hang-out she asked for to go party. When you confided in Lara, the only person beyond the two of you who knew of the situation, she reminded you of the lineup you had waiting for you before Daniela came into your life.

You were young, beautiful, and full of life. Why get weighed down by somebody as careless and immature as Daniela?

So you started hanging out with your friends more again. Lara and Manon would drag you out to the most exclusive nightclubs and bars around LA, some other nights Sophia and Yoonchae would bring you out on movie nights and have takeout and play games all night. On weekends, Megan would take you out on long drives along the coast of Californian beaches, spending hours working on your tan and basking in the sun until both of you had bikini lines along your chest.

Daniela was no longer a priority in your life, like you in hers.

“You’ve reached y/n’s cell! I can’t come to the phone right now, but please leave a message after the beep--” Sixth attempt in, she can’t bring herself to end the call anymore.

Daniela was definitely going through the five stages of grief; denial, anger--now, bargaining.

She thought hard, really hard about all the people you’ve been spending more time with lately. She knew you and the girls were together a lot, but she also remembered this new guy who often popped up on your phone recently; Jay.

Jay frequented the gym you worked out at, he had the sexiest smirk you had ever seen on a man.

Daniela knew. She had briefly tried flirting with Jay once. She was at lunch with some of the friends she knew through Heeseung and Kai, and Jay pretty much sat and looked pretty. He kept to himself and Daniela loved a challenge, so she tried hitting on him. Alas, he turned down her advances, and now she knew why--‘cuz he was dead set on you.

She knew you better than that. She knew you had to be doing this to piss her off; and god damn it, it’s working.

“Hello?” It took her a minute to actually register you had picked up--the seventh call, the seventh time she’d clicked on your name, the seventh time she told herself she was acting far too desperate for her own liking.

“Where the fuck have you been?” was the first thing that came out of her mouth, “I’ve been calling your call all night, I thought I was gonna come by tonight.”

She could hear a busy party on your other end of the line.

“Sorry, Sophia and I met up with some friends. What’s up?”

“Friends? Like who? What club are you at right now, I’ll pull up,” Daniela started her car, hearing her engine roar.

“I--Okay, wait, I’m sorry, Dani, can we talk later?” you apologized quickly. Daniela could hear the sound of a man’s voice faintly, and before she could protest, you ended the call.

“Come on, screenager, I thought we were unplugging tonight.” You follow your gaze, met with a tall, muscular build before you with two drinks in his hands. He’s staring at you, and when his eyes lock with yours, you feel a flash of something—interest.

You’re not sure why, but you felt hesitant. The thought of talking to someone new—someone not Daniela—felt foreign. But you shoved it aside, forcing yourself to smile as you shoved your phone back into your pocket, taking the drink.

“Sorry, just a concerned roommate,” you lied, trying to keep your voice steady. Why the hell does it feel this complicated?

“Lara, right?” he asks, “I share a lecture with her. She’s cool.”

You nod, conversing mindlessly. You exchange small talk for a few minutes, but your mind keeps drifting. There’s this nagging thought at the back of your mind—Daniela.

It doesn’t help that you saw she had tried to reach you six times before you picked up. She’d been calling, texting, and you—well, you just couldn’t deal with it. You were thankful for the loud music and strong stench of sweat and hormones, you could barely hear your own thoughts. Part of you was hoping she’d just get the hint and leave you alone for a while. You were trying to find your balance, trying to feel like you again, without the weight of whatever was happening between you two.

But now, as you laugh and talk with Jay, you can’t ignore the fact that you keep glancing away, his words tuning out.

It was then did you see a familiar head through the crowd of dancing people and drunk college students.

She’s here.

Daniela is standing by the entrance, her eyes scanning the crowd. You can’t see much more than the back of her head, but the way she holds herself, her golden curls, you know it’s her. Your stomach tightens.

"Everything okay?" Jay asked, noticing your distracted gaze.

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice flat, not realizing how much you’ve been affected by Daniela’s presence. You try to brush it off and focus back on Jay, but the sight of Daniela in the crowd feels like it’s pulling you in, tugging at you. Minutes later, you see her moving through the crowd, eyes trained on you like she’s found her target. There’s a flicker of annoyance in your chest. What does she want now? Why is she here?

But before you can process any of it, you feel her presence beside you—close enough that her perfume hits your nose. It’s familiar, warm, and immediately intoxicating.

You turn your head to meet her gaze, and for a moment, time slows. Daniela looks different tonight—darker, more intense.

“y/n,” she said, her voice low. “We need to talk.”

“Do you know her?” Jay asked, but you couldn’t look away.

You felt a shiver run down your spine. The club’s music thundered around you, but her words cut through it all. Jay noticed the shift, raising an eyebrow, but Daniela doesn’t even glance in his direction. It’s all about you now.

“I’m kinda busy,” you said, trying to sound unaffected, but your voice shook. You hated how weak you sound. Why the hell does she do this to you?

Daniela smirked, taking a step closer to you, her presence so overwhelming that you can’t breathe. Her eyes search your face, as if trying to read you. “No, you’re not. Come on.“

“Yo, she’s not comfortable, back up.” Jay held a hand up in front of Daniela, keeping her from stepping any closer. “Get lost, you can catch her later when you lose the attitude.”

“This doesn’t concern you, bird face.” Daniela held a hand up, “I want you

You want to pull away, to tell her to leave you alone. But there’s this pull between you two, this magnetic force you’ve never been able to escape, and for some stupid reason, you find yourself following her toward the edge of the dance floor, away from Jay and Sophia, away from the crowd.

“Dani, I—” you start, but she cuts you off, her hand suddenly grabbing yours, pulling you toward a quieter corner.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she says, her voice sharp, but there’s an edge of vulnerability beneath it. It catches you off guard, making your breath catch in your throat.

“No, I’ve just been around,” you say weakly, though you can tell it’s a poor excuse, “My phone was on silent.”

She doesn’t buy it. You can see the way her eyes darken. She takes another step closer, and this time, you can feel her body heat, the tension crackling in the air between you.

“I care about you,” Daniela says, the words coming out in a low, strained whisper. It’s so different from the way she normally talks to you—abrasive, defiant—but tonight, she’s softer, almost desperate. “I don’t care about the rules, the games. I just want you to come home with me.”

The words hit you like a ton of bricks. You blinked, trying to process them, but they’re already sinking in, wrapping around you, binding you to her. You’ve never heard Daniela speak like that before—not with this rawness, this vulnerable edge.

But you knew better than to give in that easily.

“I can’t just leave Sophia,” you scoffed, “And Jay, he’s been super nice to me--!”

Amidst the dance floor, away from any curious eyes, she grabbed your hips and begun grinding against you. Her front pressed flush against your back, her toned stomach grazing the small of your back. You felt your words catch in your throat, your brain frying the moment you felt her hands on you. It felt too familiar, too comforting for your liking.

“If I come close, baby, would you like that?” she whispered against your ear, you felt her lips smirk. Her fingers traced lines against your hot skin. “‘Cause all those boys, they don’t know what you need, but I… I know how to make sure you never leave.” Her voice had your knees bucking in the middle of the club. Jay and Sophia long forgotten as you focused on your hips moving in the same rhythm as this world class dancer’s.

You shook your head, unsure of what to say, but it’s too late.

Your heart stuttered in your chest. The reality of it hit you all at once—the unspoken truth of what you’ve been trying to deny for so long. You cared about her. You cared more than you were willing to admit, more than you’ve allowed yourself to feel. The thought of Jay, of anyone else, made your stomach churn.

And as you stand there, with Daniela’s hand gently gripping yours, her gaze locking onto yours with a desperate intensity, you realized you’d put up with her childish, immature tantrums if it meant you had her under your thumb like this.

You nodded, just a tiny movement, and Daniela’s expression softened immediately.

“Come home with me,” she whispered, the words almost reverent, like a plea. Can you imagine that? Having Daniela Avanzini beg for you.

You don’t say anything at first. You just let her take your hand, and for the first time, you allow yourself to follow her—heart pounding, but this time, not out of fear, but something else entirely. You liked it just like that.

#daniela avanzini #daniela katseye #daniela avanzini x reader #daniela x reader #katseye #katseye imagines #katseye x reader

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puppykatz · 1 month ago

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pls write some fluff w dani and gn!reader

12:00AM ‹𝟹

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ; daniela avanzini x gn reader.

summary ‎::: you and dani have been in the talking stage for a couple weeks now, but new years might be the final push you two need.

warnings ‎::: reader gets a little overstimulated, but that's it !!

note... a week late for new years bc im a slow writer.. and the intro reads a tad rushed bc i had a rough time figuring out how to make the transition smooth :[ im very sorry!! (also i am in fact working on some other requests rn! ty guys sm for your patience ^.^)

dani smiled, greeting everyone excitedly whilst they cheered over her arrival. you stood behind her nervously, yours hands intertwined, giving a meek smile along with small waves to the few people who noticed and welcomed you in.

you were dani's plus one to a new years gathering, and to say you were anxious was an understatement; this was the first time you were meeting any of her friends in person. you'd talked to a few of them interchangeably a couple times, when they'd burst into her room while the two of you were calling or texting. you'd talked the most to manon, seeing as she's dani's roomate, and often entertained you whenever dani stepped away for a little during one of your calls.

it wasn't long before two of you were pulled away into watching an on-going uno match, as it was the crowd's current main focus.

eventually, that game ended, and a second one started—but unfortunately, you had been eliminated pretty early on, and since everyone else was busy continuing on with the game, you'd figured it'd be okay to step out onto the balcony for a few as it had gotten a little rowdy due to all the +2s.

what you didn't realize, was that dani had gotten eliminated as well, and noticed you leaving. she frowned, wondering if something happened that upset you. to not draw any attention to you or her, she stood up quietly, following you out onto the balcony.

“yn?” she called out, softly shutting the balcony door behind her. you greeted her, smiling sheepishly as she stood next to you. “are you alright?”

“yeah. it was just kind of.. loud.”

she inched closer to you, taking your hands in hers. “we can leave if you want.”

you shook your head profusely, “no, i'm okay. really.” you gave her hands a light squeeze as affirmation, your heart warming up at the fact that she seemed so genuinely concerned.

she opened her mouth to say something else, immediately being cut off by ruckus from within the house; everyone had paused the game and begun counting down. “it's 12:00 already?” she muttered, unconsiously fiddling with your hands.

as soon as the countdown got to one, your eyes were fixated on the sky, cheerfully watching all the different fireworks go off. dani, on the other hand, had her gaze fixated on you; admiring how pretty you looked with all the firework colors lighting up your face.

“can i kiss you?” her voice was barely over a whisper, as if it was a thought that wasn't meant to be said aloud.

you whipped your head to look at her, immediately being met with her gaze; the sweetest, love-filled doe eyes you'd ever seen staring back at you. she was a lot closer than you remembered, yet you were unsure if you had even heard her correctly.

“please?” hearing her plea made your stomach flip, and you couldn't help but nod giddily.

you couldn't even get a second nod in before her lips were on yours, her hand traveling up to caress your cheek while the other tugged you closer by the hem of your shirt. the kiss was slow, her lips moving against yours passionately, though delicately, as if she were afraid to hurt you or possibly scare you away.

she let go of your shirt, bringing her other hand up to hold your face fully. your knees wobbled, feeling her smile into the kiss. “already falling for me?”

you barely had the chance to respond before a knock on the balcony door startled you two apart.

“we're.. starting uno round three.. or are you guys too busy?” manon smiled innocently at the two of you, clearly planning all the different ways she'd tease dani about this later.

dani bashfully muttered a response, entwining your hands again and following manon back inside, bringing you along with her.

── 𖹭 ──

for the rest of the night, dani hovered around you; her hand never left yours and the smile on her face never faded once. the kiss had seemingly boosted her confidence, as she'd started openly using pet names for you. she'd also gotten a lot more touchy; currently, she had her arms wrapped around your waist, her chin resting on your shoulder while she hugged you from behind.

“babe, play that one.” dani perked up, using her head to point to a card in your hand.

“hold on. how is it fair that these two are teaming??” megan called out, pointing at you and dani, since you guys had decided to mix your cards and just play as one.

“leave them alone megan, you know dani will explode if she's away from yn for five minutes.” sophia remarked, nudging dani with her shoulder playfully.

dani's cheeks heated up and she hid her face in the crook of your neck, hugging you a little tighter.

you finally placed down a card, “okay, okay. lara, your turn.” unable to hold back your smile, you turned to dani, pressing a kiss to the side of her head before turning your attention back to the game.

#i LOVE spreading the clingy dani agenda #₊˚⊹☆ – 851 words #₊˚⊹☆ – divider creds; cafekitsune #daniela avanzini x reader #daniela x reader #dani x reader #daniela avanzini #katseye #katseye x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #x reader #kpop #katseye imagines #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #₊˚⊹☾ – works #₊˚⊹☾ – requests

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ninguitar · 3 months ago

Text

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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marie--soul · 2 months 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 · 1 month ago

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I think that Manon didn't really believe in Santa Claus at first. She knew perfectly well that her parents were the ones who gave her presents (and they themselves didn't hide it or deny it). There were never any traditions with letters to Santa in the Rounds family, and Manon is neutral about the symbol of the holiday itself. Although the fact that Mickey apparently believes in the existence of Santa confuses her a little.

Mickey and Pluto, I think, could try to create an atmosphere of a Christmas fairytale for Moony. Not to convince her of Santa's existence, but to make the holiday special. But, to tell the truth, it is important for the girl that Mickey and Pluto are simply next to her. Always.

And what about Santa Claus? I think Manon will become interested and try to calculate how Santa, if he exists, flies around the world in one night.

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

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hiraizyo · 1 month ago

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may i kiss your wounds?

synopsis — after unintentionally getting involved in a bar fight, you’re left with an angry sophia who had to deal with your injuries. nevertheless, she knew she couldn’t stay mad at you for long.

established relationship, slight violence, mentions of blood, semi fluff, mature language, angst (if you squint.)

now playing: party monster, the weeknd

a/n: this was a little idea i had while skimming through unfinished works, converting it into a sophia image. i hope you enjoy!

this wasn’t how you expected the night to go, sophia peering over at you with a scowl on her face. and it wasn’t like you wanted the fight to happen, it just… did.

you and sophia were having a good time for the most part. it had been an hour and a half since you arrived at the club, drinking and dancing along to the loud music with daniela and manon, when sophia left to go to the bar for another drink.

you continued conversing and having fun with the other two, and they managed to keep you entertained until you noticed your girlfriend had been gone longer than you expected.

“i’ll be right back.” you told the duo, manon nodding while daniela gave you a thumbs up, giggling. you chuckled as the blonde grabbed manon by the waist and swung their hips together to the beat of the song, and turned to walk away.

you weaved through the crowd of people, making your way to the bar with less difficulty than you expected considering the amount of people there were. quickly scanning the bar section, you spotted sophia leaning over at the counter, in a tight black dress that hugged her body in the best way possible.

you smiled to yourself as you admired her, she looked absolutely gorgeous, and she was all yours.

that smile soon turned sour at seeing a man beside her, round about her age. you weren’t sure how long he’d been standing there, but judging by the look on sophia’s face when he began to speak a few words to her, you guessed it could have been a couple minutes.

walking up to them and snaking an arm around her waist, you peered over at the man with distain.

“can i help you?”

sophia leaned into your body instantly, her chest being filled with relief at the thought of having you beside her.

“hi baby,” she whispered, and leaned up to place a kiss on you cheek. she hoped it would let the guy know she was taken, but to no avail.

the guy didn’t give you the satisfaction of acknowledging your presence. instead, he gave you a once over before looking back to sophia, and leaning on the counter, as if he was getting comfortable enough to continue his conversation with her.

what a jackass, you thought to yourself.

“so, how about that drink, mh?” he questioned, voice low. the guy was looking straight passed you as if you were invisible.

even the sound of his voice made you angry, never mind the fact that he had the audacity to ask such a question, which made you tighten your hold on sophia’s waist.

“take a hint, pal. she doesn’t want the drink.” you told him sternly, your temper rising slightly.

“i’m sorry, and you are?” his titled to the side, eyes switching to you.

“her girlfriend.”

“wow,” he muttered, once again looking you over. his attention moved back over to sophia, who looked as if she was very much done with him. the corner of his mouth turned upwards slightly, “as anyone ever told you that you could do better?”

before you got a chance to say anything, sophia was telling him off. “are you saying that you are better?”

her eyebrow raised ever so slightly as she looked at him in annoyance. the guys hand twitched, and you could tell that what your girlfriend said clearly hurt his ego. it took everything in you not to smirk at his reaction, knowing it would only set him off further.

he craned his neck to the side, still relentless. “huh, figures you two are together. no one likes a bitch who can talk ba—”

before he could finish his sentence, you stepped up to him, feeling angry on sophia’s behalf.

“hey!” you leaned in close, peering down at him as he settled further into his seat. “you better watch your fucking mouth.”

his lips upturned into a smirk — the guy knew he was getting to you.

“or what?”

your eyes squinted, looking at him with disinterest. “oh no, i’m not doing this with you.”

your head shook as you took a couple steps back, the distance now significantly more. he wasn’t letting up though, setting his drink down on the counter.

sophia watched as his eyebrows furrowed together in half anger, half teasing. she could tell the guy was drunk based on his slurring words, and she wasn’t liking where this interaction was going.

“so that’s it? all bark and no bite?”

“you’re pathetic.”

that definitely hit a nerve in him.

before you could register it, the guys fist collided with your jaw, his knuckle hitting the corner of your mouth so hard you felt it tear open. it hurt, badly. sophia let out a startled gasp behind you, watching in horror at the scene that played out before her.

without thinking, you moved swiftly to punch him in the nose. your hand was tightened in a fist, unclenching after the blow to him. your heartbeat was rising fast, anger flooding through you veins.

he stumbled back, holding on to his nose and scrunched up his face in pain. his vision blurred foe a second. the guy groaned, tilting his head up and then looked at you with a threatening glare. before he could get in another hit, a tall bouncer came up behind in, dressed in black and pulled him away.

what was left behind was you, breathing deeply. the adrenaline was too much for the pain in your hand to register, but you were sure to feel it later. your jaw, however, stung in a dull ache.

sophia tentatively set a hand on your shoulder, a frown etched onto her face. it was mostly out of concern, but also out of displeasure.

“i think it’s time we leave.”

her voice cut through the ringing in your ears, pulse slowing down until it was at its normal pace. her ability to bring you back to reality was unlike anything you’d experienced, seeing and feeling much clearer again.

she let manon and daniela know you’d be going, and the ride home was filled with silence. you could tell she was upset, whether it was because of the guy or at you was a mystery.

“are you still mad?”

currently, sophia dabbed a wet cloth to your lip, wiping away the dried blood while you both sat on the couch in your home. you hissed at the feeling, the disinfectant on the cloth clearly having an effect on the wound.

your jaw was bruised slightly. it wasn’t much, but it was enough to remind you and sophia of how quickly the night events took a turn. a frozen ice pack was held to your knuckles, the skin of it also bruised and beginning to turn red, both from the coldness and the impact of your punch.

sophia didn’t reply, continuing to gently pat on the corner of your lip. her eyes were focused in on the spot where the blood had been wiped away, the wound still open slightly.

“baby?”

she sighed, setting the cloth down and began to pick at her nails.

“i’m not mad. i just… i don’t know, i didn’t like seeing that happen.” the filipino rubbed her hands on her thighs, before getting up and walking into the kitchen.

you left the ice pack on the coffee table, following after her. “what was i supposed to do? did you even hear the way he talked about you?”

sophia leaned her lower back against the marble counter, arms wrapped around herself, looking as if she was trying to keep warm. you moved to stand opposite her, watching her carefully.

“that doesn’t mean things needed to get violent.” she told you, a frown set in place.

“okay, okay…” you looked at her regretfully, running a hand over your face. “i’m sorry.”

she looked to the side, biting on her bottom lip. you could tell various thoughts were taking over her mind. sophia has seen you take a few punches before, most of them being playful with your friends. not one like tonight, though.

tonight was a side of you she had never experienced.

the aftermath clearly took a toll on her. the silence in the car and both when you came home was deafening, and you hated it.

“soph,” you called out, voice barely above a whisper. “talk to me, tell me what’s wrong.”

she loosened her arms around her body, setting her left hand to rest beside her while her other wrapped around the back of her neck as she looked to the floor, rubbing it softly.

sophia’s voice was filled with concern, her eyes shining from the light of the kitchen once she gazed at you. “it wasn’t fun seeing you get hurt like that.”

“i’ve gotten hurt plenty of times!” you shrugged, not seeing the big deal. “i mean, i have a scar from last year when we went hiking and i tripped.”

sophia scoffed, pushing off the counter to stand upright. “yeah, but that was an accident. tonight could’ve ended a lot worse.”

“but it didn’t.”

“but it could’ve!”

her response was quick, voice raising ever so slightly. you squinted at her, gesturing with your hand as you spoke.

“y’know, you’re sounding really angry for someone who claims she’s not.” your hands rested on your hips, matching the level of her voice.

“because i’m not!” sophia yelled, “don’t you get it? i was scared for you!”

her words hung in the air, settling over the two of you like a blanket. it made you swallow down whatever enragement you had left in you. you sighed, realizing now that sophia wasn’t speaking out of being upset, but rather fear.

you slowly stepped towards her, until you were in her personal space and placed your hands on sophia’s torso. she looked at you, finally seeing the anxiety in her eyes. it was clear as day, and you mentally kicked yourself for not noticing it sooner.

your words were gentle, the both of you calming down from your little quarrel. “i’m sorry, alright? i’m sorry for how tonight went, and for getting hurt. and i’m sorry for not thinking about how you’d feel watching it all happen.”

your thumbs rubbed in circles against the material of the dress she was still wearing, trying to convey your feelings of regret. sophia looked at you for another moment, and you could see the forgiveness in them, before she rested her forehead against your chest and breathed in the smell of your cologne.

the filipino didn’t say anything else, but her arms wrapped around you and pulled you close, locking them against your back. you could tell by her actions that she no longer held any negative feelings, the issue been resolved.

you settled your chin atop her head while she turned to lay her cheek on you instead. “come on, let’s watch a few episodes of your comfort show and cuddle together. how does that sound?”

sophia laughed quietly, “you think cuddling fixes everything.”

“because it does.” you replied, tapping her torso with your fingers in a rhythm.

sophia rolled her eyes playfully, settling further into your warmth. she sighed deeply, relishing in the comfort of having you wrapped together, arms holding tightly onto one another’s bodies as if letting go would mean disappearing.

“okay,” she mumbled. “but let’s stay like this for a little bit longer.”

after hearing that, you placed a kiss on her head and moved to envelop her into your arms. they were now like hers, locked together around sophia’s back.

the night surely wasn’t how you wanted it to go, but having her so close against you, breathing together as one, was a perfect way to end it.

here y’all go!! i took a bit longer than expected but i hope you enjoyed <3

the votes have come back to make the fwb imagine an idol au sooo i’m lowk excited to write that ;) i decided i’d write it with daniela, since i have an idea manon x biker!reader 🙂‍↕️

#katseye #katseye imagines #sophia laforteza #gxg #x reader #sophia x reader #girlgroup

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