@deceivemyheart - Tumblr Blog

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

[ character. mun . ]

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

[ 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

“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!

askboxmemes

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

#interesting given it... happens..

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.

Afficher davantage

subiysu-chan

The cold weather didn’t bother Subyss that much, his opulent curls shielding him from the worst of it. With the abolition of torture, he was in deep financial trouble, and he has given himself the idea of proposing his services as a corrector to what ever noble at Versailles he could find. For he occasion, he had put on his only tricorn hat and decided to not wear any of his belts, all marked with Guillaume family symbols. He tried to at least partially hide his facial tattoos with some powder, which blended quite well into his sickly white skin, to no significant avail. And there would be nothing he could do with his thick gallow accent.

He knew his plan was silly, and yet, he had to try it. He was a hardened pariah, a madman and an ex-torturer. He wasn’t marked with infamy as Sanson, but still, he was far from seen as respectable. And yet…

He saw a blond man clad in satin, riding on his horse. Bending down and taking off his hat, he said: “Good mourning, fine sir.” trying as much as possible to cut down his vowels.

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.

Afficher davantage

subiysu-chan

Not recognizing the identity of who he was talking to, Subyss pulled away from the mare’s teeth. Now his best coat was ruined! A flush of fustration burned his cheeks, but he took deep breaths. He needed his fix. He needed it.

He then bowed. “Wonderful day, is it? By the way, do you know any well-bred youth in need of a firm, loving rod? I promise to make it cheap.” said the ex-torturer, casually. Subyss almost said “délicatesse”, but he managed to remind himself that “délicatesse” in the context of flogging was part of his cast’s jargon, not someone that a person of noble birth would even allow to get anywhere close to their children. He said this, having no idea to whom he talked. He thought he might be some lower courtier.

“I’ll even do a demonstration, if you want. I have my little birch rod in my pocket.”

(pockets at this time where rather large).

The brightness of the sun-light was hurting his eyes, and he so wanted to head back underground. The torturer hoped he would at least get some useful information out of it.

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?’’

#ic #well! does it?

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.

Keep reading

somnium-delicata-deactivated202

Having recently arrived at Versailles, Marie’s attendant was helping out with leading the horses to their respective stables, removing their saddles and holsters, when in his peripheral vision he saw what appeared to be a noble who was just finishing up his excursion. After leaving some instructions to one of the others, Andre went ahead, and only then when the autumn sun wasn’t blinding his vision did he immediately recognize the face before him.

“Your Majesty!” Andre exclaimed with a smile, pausing to bow before the King of France.

“I pray that your ride went well, Your Majesty?”

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.’’

#ic #andre! andre!!

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.

Afficher davantage

subiysu-chan

The cold weather didn’t bother Subyss that much, his opulent curls shielding him from the worst of it. With the abolition of torture, he was in deep financial trouble, and he has given himself the idea of proposing his services as a corrector to what ever noble at Versailles he could find. For he occasion, he had put on his only tricorn hat and decided to not wear any of his belts, all marked with Guillaume family symbols. He tried to at least partially hide his facial tattoos with some powder, which blended quite well into his sickly white skin, to no significant avail. And there would be nothing he could do with his thick gallow accent.

He knew his plan was silly, and yet, he had to try it. He was a hardened pariah, a madman and an ex-torturer. He wasn’t marked with infamy as Sanson, but still, he was far from seen as respectable. And yet…

He saw a blond man clad in satin, riding on his horse. Bending down and taking off his hat, he said: “Good mourning, fine sir.” trying as much as possible to cut down his vowels.

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.

#ic #:)

#ooc

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.

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

shouty-y

Thorns 🌹

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

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.

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.