deceivemyheart

[deceivemyheart]

[ Hi everyone! Gonna work on RP replies tomorrow or tonight maybe, I’m a little under the weather the past days! Let me know if you want to muse anything, you can always DM me a plot! ]

#ooc

[deceivemyheart]

“To Marie, she feels no pain at the departure of another life, so why should she feel anything different for the man who was once the king of France? However, from what Marie had seen, Louis was too kind for his position.”

[ I think, to some extent, Louis Auguste agrees with Marie.

What's the difference between him and another man--- of course everyone is the centre of their own universe, so it's easier for him to think of his own son; what is the difference between Louis Charles and the crying, starving Parisian children in the streets? His dream is equality, for every mouth to be fed, for every death to carry the same grace and kindness, to give one courage to raise their heads high because you follow in the footsteps of Kings and Queens... When you have a dream, you have to love it. Even when you have no stomach for it anymore, and grief weights you down like your own flesh, and everything you've held burns like paper in your hands. ]

#ooc #maybe a little ic #thanks for asking!

[deceivemyheart]

My muse is dead. Tell me how yours is dealing with it.

#interesting given it... happens..

[deceivemyheart]

A redness peeks through the man’s blushed face; Louis Auguste can’t help but smile sympathetically, all too aware of the feeling. Nerves, anxiety, a certain instilled shyness… They were the tragedies of an aristocrat’s life!

The King opens his mouth, only to snap it closed almost immediately, much resembling a bubbling fish. ‘’Oh!’’ is all he brings out sheepishly. All his joy of being an Unknown, an Unrecognisable face drips out of him like a winebottle emptied at the mention of corporal punishment.

With the ease of a man born and raised in a gilded cage, he slides off his horse— faces off with Subyss on a more equal level. (Wasn’t that his dream, after all?)

‘’A birch rod?’’ A morbid curiosity paints his features.

The horse, too, tilts her head– eager to take another nibble of Subyss’ coat. Louis Auguste loops a finger in her halter to prevent further licking at the poor torturer. 

‘’I— Um,’’ he says, mulling over how to finish that phrase. Corporal punishment… He’s never been fond of it, but there’s been some times where even his own (adorable) little children have acted quite bratty. Still, to take a birch rod to them…

‘’Does that really possess…’’ A pause. The King Pauses. (Elegantly. Not awkwardly.)

‘’An educational merit, you think?’’

The weather is cold out, but the warmth of Heaven blazes forth in the form of a warm snout under Louis Auguste’s hand, bristling soft. The mare’s eyes are bright and soulful, batting thick lashes as she looks up at him; Louis Auguste’s fingers card through the warm mane, the soft of her neck. The holster around her head gleams in the light, clean. The stableboy stands there, saying nothing. There is a bruise flowering on his lower arm; barely covered by sweat and dust. ‘’Thank you,’’ he says to him, though he does not really know why. His breath comes out as fog.

Afficher davantage

#ic #well! does it?

[deceivemyheart]

Dark hair, a fine nose. Louis Auguste recognises the face, vaguely, picks it out of the ballroom of his mind filled with faces and masks and drinks and exotic fruits. Little clouds drift apart, sun trickling through. Sanson’s servant! Naturally, any servant of Sanson’s is a — well, a friend might be generous, but…

Louis Auguste offers him a smile filled with an exceptional social grace. (Isn’t that only to be expected? Who could be more graceful than His Grace, his Royal Highness, his Majesty, his Worshipfulness, his—)

‘’Good day,’’ Louis Auguste chimes, offering Andre the reins to the dark horse following meekly in his footsteps. 

‘’It was wonderful. Nature is always so exhilarating, is it not?’’  

As opposed to the stifling crowd of two faced people, always watching, always whispering, laughing behind your back. Louis Auguste is keenly aware, even now, of the guard watching his back.

‘’The cold dew is very fragile,’’ he says. Each word is like a coin to peasants and servants. The King has no problem with emptying his purse for Sanson's help. ‘’Not yet winter, but very romantic.’’

The weather is cold out, but the warmth of Heaven blazes forth in the form of a warm snout under Louis Auguste’s hand, bristling soft. The mare’s eyes are bright and soulful, batting thick lashes as she looks up at him; Louis Auguste’s fingers card through the warm mane, the soft of her neck. The holster around her head gleams in the light, clean. The stableboy stands there, saying nothing. There is a bruise flowering on his lower arm; barely covered by sweat and dust. ‘’Thank you,’’ he says to him, though he does not really know why. His breath comes out as fog.

Keep reading

#ic #andre! andre!!

[deceivemyheart]

The curious voice belongs to a man even more curious. Louis Auguste halts his horse. A single pull on the reins is enough, she is only trudging at a slow pace. (He hasn’t yet decided what he wants; only knows he wants to be anywhere but here, anyone but himself. Too embarrassed, too selfish, be useful your Highness, or stop wasting everyone’s time.) The man’s accent is thick. When Louis Auguste smiles at him, it’s bright like the sun glinting off the morning dew.

‘’Good morning,’’ the King of France and Navarre chimes, voice curling and dripping with royalty. His smile is earnest, a curiosity in his eyes. Could it be that perhaps this man was not aware… that he… certainly, that could not be it.

The horse noses up at the man; presses her soft snout into his clothes.

‘’Ah,’’ Louis Auguste breathes, pulling the reins taut again. ‘’Rosalie— Apologies. She does not bite, but—’’

She does nibble, softly, at the fabric of Subyss’ coat. Surely she has not mistaken him for Sanson, has she? A blush creeps up on the King’s face, boyish, too awkward for his age.

The weather is cold out, but the warmth of Heaven blazes forth in the form of a warm snout under Louis Auguste’s hand, bristling soft. The mare’s eyes are bright and soulful, batting thick lashes as she looks up at him; Louis Auguste’s fingers card through the warm mane, the soft of her neck. The holster around her head gleams in the light, clean. The stableboy stands there, saying nothing. There is a bruise flowering on his lower arm; barely covered by sweat and dust. ‘’Thank you,’’ he says to him, though he does not really know why. His breath comes out as fog.

Afficher davantage

#ic #:)

[deceivemyheart]

#ooc

[deceivemyheart]

independent rp blog for innocent rouge’s louis auguste xvi.

[ character. mun . ]

#innocent rouge #open rp #tumblr rp #good to be back!

[deceivemyheart]

The weather is cold out, but the warmth of Heaven blazes forth in the form of a warm snout under Louis Auguste’s hand, bristling soft. The mare’s eyes are bright and soulful, batting thick lashes as she looks up at him; Louis Auguste’s fingers card through the warm mane, the soft of her neck. The holster around her head gleams in the light, clean. The stableboy stands there, saying nothing. There is a bruise flowering on his lower arm; barely covered by sweat and dust. ‘’Thank you,’’ he says to him, though he does not really know why. His breath comes out as fog.

Hell, Louis Auguste thinks as he passes out of the stable and through the corridor beyond, leading his faithful horse to the crunch of cold grass. (It is not yet snow, but— he feels gloomy, and thinks of Hell.)

If Winter was to have a patron, was it not Lucifer? If Dante is to be believed, Hell was thick as ice, snowed over, cold and cold and cold. Louis Auguste believes it, anyhow. After all, the feeling of betrayal stings worse than fire, trickles eternal ice deep in one’s core.

The sun is overhead as Louis Auguste pauses outside the stable. The stable boy has followed in his footsteps, now listlessly sweeping the perfectly paved tiles with a broom in hand— and keeps passing glances his way. Sometimes, Louis Auguste glances back, and their eyes lock; the stable boy is red, either from the cold or from blushing something fierce. (Most likely the cold, he has no satin scarf to keep him warm.)

If the glances are not permitted, the guard resting against the stable doors gives no indication of it. Merely regards both of them, and sighs, so quiet only the fog indicates it. 

(He gets the sense that the guard does not like him very much.) 

#ic #open starter #come chat up! pat a horse! she's a very cute horse.

[deceivemyheart]

We need some action with Subyss.

[ yes of course! anything you want, we can rp! ^_^

i might be afk today because i slept poorly… frustrating when you want to write but can’t think clearly due to exhaustion.]

#ooc

[deceivemyheart]

Thorns 🌹

#so good to see them still drawing innocent art #it’s like returning an old friend’s warm embrace

[deceivemyheart]

hello! tonight, after work — unfortunately i am not royalty myself of course and have to perform for peanuts — i am going to look into roleplay blogs and partners!

i am looking forward to return to the scene!!!!!! i hope you are all doing great, of course. much love.

good morning! it is… november 2022, and i have so much to catch up on when it comes to innocent rouge!

but i’m glad to remember my password to this account! perhaps in the future i can draw some art and write some stories.

[deceivemyheart]

hi. will it ever end

[deceivemyheart]

good morning! it is… november 2022, and i have so much to catch up on when it comes to innocent rouge!

but i’m glad to remember my password to this account! perhaps in the future i can draw some art and write some stories.

#ooc

[deceivemyheart]

I made myself sad.

#innocent rouge

[deceivemyheart]

Fragments of a Foggy Dawn by Dmitry Medyancev

[deceivemyheart]

[ It’s my birthday!

Yay!

Also, if anyone wants to rp, tag me in a starter! ]

#ooc #^___^ im 22 now!