#Le Chevalier de Lorraine

[marianaillust]

Joyeuse Saint-Valentin.

Cette année j'ai décidé de peindre Prince Philippe et le Chevalier de Lorraine.

-

'.. He might be the Sun , my dear, but you are the Star...'

Happy Valentine's Day.

Prince Philippe and le Chevalier from Versailles tv show.

[ravravix]

✨M. de Lorraine’s Jealousy✨

The Duc d’Orléans uttered a cry of delight on perceiving the Chevalier de Lorraine. “This is fortunate, indeed,” he said; “by what happy chance do I see you? Had you indeed disappeared, as every one assured me?”

“Yes, monseigneur.”

“A caprice?”

„Le vicomte de Bragelonne” - A. Dumas

[thisisjustmefangirling]

on-screen lovers and off-screen besties is literally the best dynamic ever

[archduchessofnowhere]

Hello! Since you're tumblr's Marie Sophie expert, I was wondering if you've read Lorraine Kaltenbach's Le Secret de la reine soldat: L'extraordinaire soeur de Sissi and in case you have, if you recommend it. It focuses on Marie Sophie's supposed illegitimate daughter; personally I find this story hard to believe and iirc so do you, but Kaltenbach apparently visited several archives around Europe to do her research, so maybe she did find something new.

Hello! Ughh that book. I have a confession to make: years ago I started reading it because well, it's about the alleged illegitimate daughter, if the author really found something about it then it's worth reading it. But I couldn't finish it because it was so badly researched it made me loose all my patience. Kaltenbach is not a historian and it shows:

She dedicates long parragraphs to describe what was she doing and how was she feeling while "researching".

Most of her sources are just newspapers. I'm not against citing newspapers by any means but the way she did Is Not It. With no context given and taken 100% at face value.

But what made me loose it is when she finally reached to the the alleged affair and I realized her main source for it was... Marie Larisch's 1930s books. I kid you not. All that "brand new information" and "uncovering secrets" talk and she was literally just quoting Larisch's gossips as literally everyone else who ever approached the subject.

At that point I gave up and went straight to the part of the alleged daughter, Daisy de Lavaysse. Here's what I'll say on Kaltenbach's defense: this girl seems to have actually existed. She (allegedly) found her death certificate in Paris, the act of recognition by her father, and her baptism certificate in Bavaria. Now she doesn't actually show any of these documents on her book, however someone on Geneanet uploaded this picture on Daisy's page:

This is the supposed death certificate. No need to decipher the writing, this is what it says, quoted by Kaltenbach:

Lavaÿsse-Châteaubourg. Acte n° 39. L'an mille huit cent quatre-vingt- six, le 7 janvier à onze heures du matin, acte de décès de Marie Louise Élisabeth Mathilde Henriette de Lavaÿsse-Châteaubourg, âgée de vingt-deux ans et dix mois, sans profession, née à Munich (Bavière), décédée en son domicile rue des Mathurins, nº 47, le six janvier courant à neuf heures du matin, fille de Charles Felix Emmanuel de Lavaÿsse-Châteaubourg, décédé, et de mère non dénommée, célibataire. Dressé vérification faite du décès par nous, Jérémie Kastler, adjoint au maire, officier de l'état civil du 8e arrondissement de Paris, chevalier de la Légion d'honneur, officier d'Académie, sur la déclaration faite de Georges Adrien Sol de Marquein, âgé de quarante-deux ans, propriétaire, demeurant à Paris, rue de Lisbonne, n° 49, ami de la défunte; et de Henry de Gineste-Najac, âgé de quarante-sept ans, propriétaire, demeurant à Paris, avenue d'Antin, nº 18, ami de la famille, qui ont signé avec nous après lecture.

Translation:

Lavaÿsse-Châteaubourg. Act No. 39. In the year one thousand eight hundred and eighty-six, on January 7 at eleven o'clock in the morning, death certificate of Marie Louise Élisabeth Mathilde Henriette de Lavaÿsse-Châteaubourg, aged twenty-two years and ten months, without profession, born in Munich (Bavaria), died at her home rue des Mathurins, no. 47, on the current January 6 at nine o'clock in the morning, daughter of Charles Felix Emmanuel de Lavaÿsse-Châteaubourg, deceased, and of an unnamed mother, unmarried. Cerification of the death made by us, Jérémie Kastler, deputy mayor, civil registrar of the 8th arrondissement of Paris, knight of the Legion of Honor, officer of the Academy, on the declaration made by Georges Adrien Sol de Marquein, aged forty-two, owner, residing in Paris, rue de Lisbonne, n° 49, friend of the deceased; and Henry de Gineste-Najac, aged forty-seven, owner, residing in Paris, avenue d'Antin, n° 18, friend of the family, who signed with us after reading.

Let's assume the certificate is legitimate. Why didn't she include it on her book? Why the only picture of it is in a genealogy website and seems taken almost in a hurry?

The strongest evidence Kaltenbach does provide in her book are these two alleged pictures of Daisy she claims were on her grandmother's possesion:

Which she puts next to this picture published by Marie Larisch (left) in one of her books, with a girl that allegedly was Daisy (right):

And I'll give her this: these two pictures do seem to be from the same person.

I'm going to be nice and assume that Kaltenbach indeed found all the evidence she claims she did (because again, she does not provide any of the documents that would actually support her claims). What did she found out? That a distant relative of her had an illegitimate daughter born in Bavaria in 1863. That's it. Everything else is pure speculation. Nothing she provides proves that Marie was Daisy's mother. Absolutely nothing. She just speculates for dozens of pages, most of the time making up a story that fits nicely into what she already believed even before starting her research.

Maybe the author was genuinely onto something, perhaps Daisy was an illegitimate daughter of a member of the House of Wittelsbach. Perhaps she was Marie's daughter after all! But she clearly had no idea on how to properly investigate the subject, and because of that any sort of credibility her evidence could have became damaged. She should've delegated the research to a real historian and written a novel instead.

[nenupharhein]

Fairy tail goofy hc

Mostly queer, FR/ENG (/créole vite fait genre une phrase)

POV Natsu et Happy :

Lucy becomming more and more buff as she train.

One day Natsu thought he got the concept of gendre but no.

One time Sting try to eat himself bc he was so hungry, bc he can eat what's white.

Erik real name is Eric but he thought it was more swag with a K.

Erza is a tismé sucré des îles sucré au surce carameliser.

Meldy has a jelly fish hair cut.

JELLAL IS TRANSFEM, because she is too cool to be a man, so erza is a lesbian !!!!!!!

T4T GRUVIA

Natsu is poc and Zeleph is white as an ass

Mavis speak creole, bc she's from Tenro

Jubia got mommy issues (i will explain later)

Erza is buff lika Patty on tiktok.

The girl and girlies got an MMA club (the sport not the assurance)

Readers do art therapy on demand

Macbeth is non-binary. They never got over the closure of skyblog. Mira give them her old wardrobe and Luxus his old CD.

Erik is immunized to every poison but he's lactos intolerant that dumbass

Lucy got a carabiner for her keys bravo les lesbiennes

Crime Sorcière became a registred guild and with the help of the concil then try to reinsert crimminals to society (i will explan later)

Cana is from the south of France, le pastis o con putaing

Bacus is from Bretagne, BREIZH DA VIKEN

Zoro from one piece is vendéen

Makarof the first time he saw Natsu eating fire : Ti marmail la la baise la science (the expression is from my mother idk)

Gadjeel eats his own piercings when he is hungry

Lisana have been influence by edo-Lucy, so is now roasting the shit out of everyone. Her favorit sentance is : elle comme ou quoi cette pute ?

(Sorry for the last one, that was a french meme. Sorry for my frenchness)

Reby and Mirajane host a podcast and invite the guild members, and some time other guild. (Once they had crime sorcière as guest , and they get the council au cul) (for the defense of crime sorcière, they thought it was a podcast for fairy tail members only)

Macbeth is a huge fan of Mozart l'opéra rock, their favorite song is "L'assassymphonie"

Gadjeel has the certificate (or whatever it is) to pierced people, but only Reby can get free piercing.

So Reby got a navel piercing, and some on her ears

Erza a a scar on the right eye (the one she cover), because action has consequences and healing everything without scars is boring. Or if not a scar she can't see with the fake eye or something. At least she can never cry from that eye again.

She has also a scars burn on her arms since she stopped the fight between Nastu and Grey

Wendy healing magic (or any healing magic i guess) is like an acceleration of the healing or scarring process, so it live scars and stuff.

After Jubia sacrificed herself to save Grey, she get chronic Pain (or something like that, idk i'm not a doctor)

Jubia is bi, when she says "rival in love" when talking about Lucy, she's talking about the rivality between Lucy and Grey. She's in love with both of them. (Jubia also had a crush on Erza, but every girls in ft got a crush on Erza)

Sting il a découvert sa bisexualité a l'envers, il pensait être gay et un jour il a eu un crush sur une meuf (too lazy to translate this one, but it's like the Chevalier de Lorraine in Versailles)

Bisca and Arzak are bi4bi

Erza get actual armor, not the things she has on the anime where she's half-naked most of the time.

And they also have magic clothes that can resist to magic, so they don't finish half-naked

Sting discovered his bisexuality in reverse, he thought he was gay and one day he had a crush on a girl (not lazy anymore)

Yukino and Minerva are dating 🥰💗🎀

I have many hc but i forget the rest. I will do an other post maybe. Maybe focus on a specifique character.

Also I don't know how to use Tumblr so forgive me.

I also can't speak a proper english sorry

💗🌸🎀

[unclefungusthegoat]

Part two of Illumine, my Chevalier and Liselotte fic is here!

The Chevalier de Lorraine lies in his sick bed, keeping the first of two promises made. His lover is away at war. Fever wracks his body. Delirium brings dreams of the desperate and drowned. And the allure of laudanum promises to lead him sweetly to his grave.

Yet even after the darkest night, comes the dawn.

And with it rises an unlikely angel.

Part One: L'obscurité

Read on AO3

Part Two: Le Rêve

Read at the AO3 link, or below!

Tags: Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, Opium, Fever Dreams, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Vomiting, Graphic Descriptions of Corpses, Period-Typical Homophobia, Medical Procedures, Medical Inaccuracies, Historical Inaccuracy, Imprisonment, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied Sexual Content, Near Death Experiences, Child Death, Animal Abuse, Restraints

Part Two: Le Rêve

A rap upon the door.

Cutting through the thin sheen of peace.

And the low, discrete murmur was unmistakable, even though the Chevalier’s ears were buried beneath the blankets. Drool wet the fabric beneath his cheek.

“I’m afraid the King insists, Your Highness-”

“Please, Bontemps, explain to His Majesty, I will not leave him.” Liselotte was clearly trying to keep her voice hushed, but it seemed Versailles was built to echo, “Monsieur Fortin says the Chevalier is at a precipitous moment in his recovery. If…” She swallowed, bracing herself, “... If the fever claims him, my husband would never forgive me if I wasn’t at his side.”

Bontemps’ weary disinterest was louder than any reply he could make.

“His Majesty understands your anxiety over this matter. Nevertheless-”

The words seemed to fade, replaced by the sound of the Chevalier’s heartbeat thudding in his head. It felt as if a troupe of horses had trampled his body, for every inch of him hurt, every limb felt useless and bruised. To turn on his side, or rearrange his nightshirt, was an ordeal akin to Sisyphus. And still, that dry mouth, longing for that taste. Still that need . That burning within.

What had she said?

"If the fever claims him."

I’m dying, he realised, as sleep claimed him once more.

I’m dying and I shall never see him again. 

***

The smell of sickness bled through the stone. It was far from the first time typhoid fever had broken out within the Chateau d’If, where the men were crowded in thirty or forty to a room. Fresh inmates often brought pox and lurgy from the mainland, and there was not a soul about the rock who cared for their fate. One less Huguenot troublemaker or political upstart would not be missed.

But this fever had taken hold with the grasp of an ancient god upon the thunder. Now the dead lay face to face with the living, and the living prayed for death. The floors were fouled. The cells were stifling with decay. Death claimed every inch of the fortress, every minute of the day. So lost were the sorry bastards in the cells below, the priest couldn't read rites quickly enough, for as soon as one perished, another needed attending. 

The Chevalier could hear the bodies being dragged out and thrown into the sea.

“Exile is as good as death.” He recalled Madeleine de Foix purring once, over the fate of some unfortunate social climber, “But the Chateau is surely worse. It does not do for a nobleman to be forgotten in such a place.’

Had he been forgotten?

It certainly felt so.

There had been no word sent from Versailles. No sign of release papers, or a royal pardon. He was not permitted to write or receive letters, nor to speak to the prisoners in the adjacent cells (though why he would ever want to eluded him. He was not that desperate for idle chit-chat). Payment enough had been made for a private cell, but not a penny more had been sent for further comfort, not even from his siblings, who amassed quite the fortune from their abbeys.

It seemed now though, four days into this latest bout of malady, even the guards had forsaken him, the rancid stench of an epidemic lingering in the fibres of their cloaks and tunics as they idled past on their patrols. The regular guard had not visited at all today. No meagre ration of soup had been delivered and the chamber pot remained soiled. He’d done his best with the fire, but the embers were fading fast, and he was too cold to try again.

February in Marseille might as well have been December in Siberia. There was no glass in the window to protect from the storm, and the wind bit at his cheeks and fingers. From his cell upon the top floor, he could see the Mediterranean sea lashing upon the rocks, and had there not been stone walls preventing him, the Chevalier was convinced he would have thrown himself in to be drowned. 

Better that than spend one more moment pretending that he would ever go home.

He was not one to pray. His faith had faded early in his youth, and all but died when he realised that having a passion for one's own sex invariably left him damned. But now he knelt before the rotting straw mattress with the diligence of a monk, and begged for God… anyone … to heed him.

“Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae, Amen.”

He pressed his lips upon his clasped hands, tears spilling onto the white knuckles. The Latin was fumbled, forgetful, despite being endlessly repeated since he was a boy. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine the cold floor beneath him was the marble chapel of Versailles. That the scrape of flesh against the floor was the shuffle of congregants to receive communion. That warm breath would tickle the back of his neck, as Philippe - darling Philippe - approached behind him to whisper something sinful.

Goddamn it, he’d even take Bossuet’s chastisements, if it meant he was home to hear them.

Another body cast in.

And another.

And another, and another, and another, and another…

***

Now he stood beneath the moon, knee deep in cold water. There was no salt in the air, or tide pulling him adrift. Instead, the water was still and shallow, soaking his breeches in a most rude and unbecoming fashion. He could not remember how he came to be there. It seemed perhaps he had been drunk or in the throes of a tantrum, as he so often was these days.

Still, the Palace was but a distant silhouette. The shape of it cast an impossibly long shadow across the water. and though there seemed to be golden light in every window, there was no one close enough to witness him in such a state. 

Had he sleepwalked?

There was talk the King wandered in his sleep. Perhaps it was catching. As Louis’s palace polluted them all, so too did his afflictions.

And yes, the Chevalier hated the outdoors - mosquitos in the summer, every opportunity to catch your death in the winter. Mud and rain and birdshit on the marble steps. But the fresh air felt freeing tonight, away from the confines of the Palace, a gilded prison by any measure. Away from seeing how Philippe’s eyes wandered; to his wife, to the weasely little poet, and if they were not to be found there, they would be upon his armour, hungry for another war.

Had they fought again?

No.

Well, probably, but not this time.

No… 

Had he not been…?

He could have sworn he’d been in Marseille but a moment ago.

A memory, Philippe, nothing more…

But maybe…?

…maybe…

… Why couldn’t he remember?

He reached for the phial tucked into his coat, and found, to his delight, a droplet of laudanum left lingering at the bottom. He leaned his head back to let it dribble into his throat, the morsel pulling away all worry and care of what his prince might be up to over there in the light. At least he still had one great love, one constant, which never failed to bring him ecstasy.

Something moved around his ankles.

He nearly lost his footing. The phial dropped with a quiet plop into the depths, never to be found again, for the water was black as a crow’s feather, and he could not see his own reflection, let alone the bottom of the fountain. 

It moved again.

Whatever it was, it wasn't small. He couldn’t remember the King having fish brought in, though he wouldn't put it past the man to have had his gardeners go to the ends of the earth to collect a sea beast worthy of the corners of the map. 

His eyes bulged. And summoning a faint wisp of courage from within, the Chevalier moved his hand to the surface. His fingers dipped beneath. Not quite enough to risk his whole hand should the creature have teeth, but certainly a ring or two if he were not fast enough. The water was heavy, like oil, slick and slippery. It smelt sweet, like violets - the same powdery scent that greeted him upon opening his snuff box.

But there was nothing below.

Nothing but his stockinged feet.

He hissed a laugh at his foolishness. It was surely time to return to the Palace, to slip into bed beside Philippe (if his bed was not already occupied ). To let his warmth lull him to sleep. 

But first - the phial.

He reached down again to retrieve it, confidence rising as the shallows fell-

- and with a surge, the water slipped from the form that broke free from the depths.

A human form.

Shoulders and a head bearing pretty brown curls, lit by that oversized moon.

Crying out, he stumbled back, but her rotting hands caught the front of his coat. He could see the bone where they'd been eaten away by some ravenous creature. Could see moss threaded through her hair. She seemed so frail in nothing but her shift, and without the haze of opium, to look upon her innocent half-naked form felt lecherous. Dirty. Almost sacrilegious. To look upon her felt unholy in every way imaginable.

It couldn’t be, it wasn’t possible…

But the drowned, bloated face of Isabelle, gaped and gasped for air.

Her wide eyes searched his face.

“Is this paradise, Monsieur?”

He choked on the stench of her, on the stale breath she had not been permitted to take, now released.

“Will you kiss me, Monsieur, as you did that night? I had never kissed a man before.”

“Leave me be!” He shrieked, pulling at her fingers to release him, but she held tight. Nausea churned within his stomach as he was forced to look upon her. At the water that dribbled from her lips, at the tinges of green beneath her once rosy skin… at the love bite on her neck. Once so young and full of hope and promise, had she not been the plaything of jealousy, and led into the embrace of iniquity and desire.

His embrace.

“Will you love me, Monsieur? Am I to be your wife, now you have touched me”?

“Let me go- please-” His voice died in his throat.

“No.”

And she leant in to whisper in his ear.

“So too will you drown.”

***

Who is screaming?

Surely a madman was loose about the palace, to make such a racket as that? Perhaps this stranger, clad in black, who insisted on assaulting him? The stranger seemed mad, with his wiry hair, and instruments eerily like Marchal’s. His eyes bulged. His words were garbled.

He is here to rob me , the Chevalier realised, for the stranger clung to his limbs with unsympathetic force, and showed no sign of relenting, no matter how vigorously he thrashed. Rob me, arrest me, send me away again, away to the King, to the gallows he promised me. I learned my lesson, did I not? I learned, as I promised I’d learn, but no, my stallion, you and I both know I never learn. And now this thief is here to kill me, to rob me, to empty my coat- this fine coat that you paid for, my darling! You see what he took, bastard that he is, he knows it’ll stop the pain, it’ll all go away and I will be your mignon again, your Philippe, as you remember me, before I was sent away! She said one drop to sleep, Philippe, just a drop, Philippe, just one, it can be our secret, darling, just a drop, my darling, can’t you see it hurts -

His legs were spasming, the muscles already taut and pained from disuse. Feet, scrabbling against his captor, ruching the sheets.

And still, the godforsaken screaming .

“You must hush, sir, or I’m afraid I shall be forced to tie you down.”

***

"... She wasn’t the first, was she?"

Mignonette's face was contorted with anguished fury. With loathing . But his voice still held that exquisite softness, that vulnerable, hushed quality that held more beauty than lark song to the Chevalier. And, oh how perfect he was in his powder and rouge, laced lovingly into his favourite corset, just as he had on the day they met. How fine he looked, with his cheeks flushed and his hair wild, even if it was in service of accusation. 

Mignonette’s slight body was trembling in rage.

"Are you so set against my brother? Against me?"

The Chevalier couldn't recall what he'd done, but it broke his heart to see his love so tormented.

I am always with you, he wanted to proclaim. Did I not kill for you? Did I not think of you every day I languished in prison? Have I not held you in your darkest nights, and been your companion when all the world believes us wicked? Will I not follow you into the depths of damnation, all for want of your love?

"My darling, I have no idea what you mean, the very thought of hurting you is-"

"STOP IT. STOP SEDUCING ME WITH YOUR POISONOUS WORDS!" Marching across the chamber, Mignonette’s hands began to tear at his slate grey skirts, lacerating the fine silk. He cast it away, leaving it withered upon the floor, rubbed at his face with his palm, smearing the Chevalier’s handiwork into a pink watercolour rash. He ripped the jewels from his ears, letting the lobes weep in pain. “You’re a VIPER. A snake in the garden, set upon me by those who wished to keep me insignificant! My brother! My mother!”

“Your mother adored you!” The Chevalier dared to take a step forward, arms raised as if pacifying a defensive bull, “As do I! You are my very soul, Philippe, never mind the very soul of France! Please, if I have wounded you, if I have cut you to the quick, tell me! Tell me how I might be better! How I might return to your good graces, how I might heal your pain-!”

Such flattery did not assuage Mignonette’s wrath, for his fingers moved to the petticoats, the white silk. The sound of seams snapping was akin to broken bones.

“Philippe… Philippe, stop- you love that gown-!”

“I loved YOU.” He screamed, “And you repay my love by poisoning my WIFE.”

The bottom dropped out of his stomach.

Had he not been here before, heard this before?

“...That’s absurd.”

“You deny it?” Mignonette snarled, “You command me to deny my own eyes?” He flung out an arm, scratched in his haste to undress, towards the bed.

What?

And yet suddenly he saw her, strewn amongst the bloodsoaked sheets. Liselotte, arm impaled by a too-big lancet. A shrieking lamb was tied beside her, thrashing its head in fear as its blood nourished her lifeless veins. Her eyes saw no light, her mouth agape, dribbling bile and foam, her flesh so pale it could have challenged the mist and snow. Like Henriette, bloodied spittle stained her nightgown. Viscera vomited in agony. That boisterous spirit… gone.

Her babe withering within.

The Chevalier felt sick at the sight of it.

Surely, he hadn’t-?

Mignonette’s face was now so close to his. What remained of his gown hung loosely from him, skin like alabaster beaded with sweat. His lips, plump with desire, but worried to the point of splitting. A calm had come over him, his breath heavy in his bosom. His thumb moved across the Chevalier’s cheek. 

“Do you see her, my dear Chevalier?”

He knew he’d see her in his dreams for all eternity.

“She wasn’t the first, was she?” 

“... What?

"You poisoned her too, didn't you?"

Somehow the Chevalier already knew the answer.

Still he asked.

"Who?”

That gentle whisper, once saved for sweet nothings between the raptures of sex.

“Henriette.”

The prince’s eyes were stormy with grief. The Chevalier shook his head, almost imperceptible, but for the man who was his world. Yet to his world, he spoke his truth, and it was not the truth he had hoped they would bear witness to. It came with a smirk. That wit, that irreverence, so often his downfall.

“I would be lying, my love, if I said I hadn’t thought about it.”

Mignonette smiled.

That beautiful, sad smile.

That lonely, silver smile that so often was confined to the shadows.

“You’d do anything, wouldn’t you? To stay by my side.”

A nod.

“Anything.”

And Mignonette gave a soft sigh.

“My brother was right about you.”

The Chevalier decided there, in the embrace of his truest love, that surely this could be no dream. 

For the dagger between his ribs, twisted at that precise angle as to sever the heart, felt more real than any kiss they’d ever shared.

***

The night came once more, and he lay curled upon the bed.

Someone had stripped him of his nightshirt now, in a desperate attempt to cool him down. And he lay naked as the day he was born, modesty preserved only by a thin sheet. Exhausted, drenched in sweat, with bruises upon his wrists and ankles. An aeon of nights with no respite from the pain, from that thirst, had left him collapsed upon her - his angel - unable to struggle, unable to die. His head, cradled in her lap. Her fingers stroked his hair, in lieu of a lullaby. Like a wounded baby deer, he whimpered, weak and shivering.

Through the open window, a harpsichord serenaded from a distant soiree.

“Where is Philippe?” He barely whispered.

He wasn’t sure if it was the first time he’d asked. Philippe’s banyan robe - one of beautiful ochre and grey silk - was somehow in his grasp, had been laid out, to be crushed in his grip as a child clings to a blanket. The lavender perfume of his lover so near confused him, for how could he be here and yet not be? 

No one had ever cared but Philippe.

Philippe… and her .

“He promised,” Every word, every breath was fainter, “He promised he would love me again…”

Had he the strength to look up, he would have seen her grief upon her cheeks.

“He will.” Was all she could think to say in return, “He does.”

[culturefrancaise]

Petit rappel que le frère de Louis XIV, Philippe d'Orléans, était très très gay, a passé sa vie avec son amant Philippe, Chevalier de Lorraine (et d'autres favoris) malgré son premier mariage à sa cousine Henriette d'Angleterre et son deuxième mariage avec Elisabeth-Charlotte, princesse Palatine.

[duxvonzazer]

Le nombre des chevaliers de l’ordre du Croissant fut fixé à trente-six par le Roi René. Les chevaliers portaient un manteau de velours rouge doublé de satin blanc, sur lequel au côté droit était cousue la devise de l’ordre : Los en croissant, ce qui sous-entend en vieux français : augmentez en vertus et vous serez loués. Parmi les membres célèbres de l’ordre, on peut citer le duc de Milan et condottiere Francesco Sforza ou le comte de Lorraine Ferry II.

[lestcat-de-lioncourt]

My cosplay, cosplayer/creative pages + social media, live action theatre, past acting gigs, photography and art exhibition link directory.~

Please, enjoy~

Directory of live action ritual theatre I’ve participated it, about the Wild Hunt and Welsh myths, having the pleasure of playing Gwythyr ap Greidawl also known as the Summer King. Here are newspaper and online articles I’ve featured in playing the role with inclusion of further to merch created for it featuring myself by photographers at the event! All my costumes were sourced and made created or built by me!

My personal posts: x

Articles and newspapers: The Guardian • Somerset Live - Somerset Live 2 • iNews • National Geographic • CNTraveller, 8 festivals around the world that celebrate the dead • Los Angeles Times • Glastonbury Info Centre

Merch including my depictions of Gwythyr: ♦️ • ♦️ • ♦️ • ♦️ • ♦️ • ♦️ • ♦️ • ♦️ • ♦️ • ♦️• ♦️

(Photographer credits: Guy Corbishley, Matt Cardy / Stringer)

Videos: 2017 -> x • x • x • x (to be completed)

Online mentions/posts/photos etc. : x • x • Badwitch.co.uk • History.com • Mike Jeffries Photography ( ♦️ ) • HowStuffWorks.com • HistoryForAtheists.com

May Day, Beltane 2017 supporting as a knight

x • x

• My personal cosplays and Con shoots:

Richard Plantagenet/Richard the Third (Requiem of the Rose King): ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️

Howl Pendragon/Jenkins: ▪️

Original Harley Quinn inspired mixture with my own depiction, London MCM Comic-Con photo gallery: Skwad Group shot♦️ • GCPD police car (edited by myself into a comic book style)♦️ •

Monsieur Philippe I, Duke of Orléans /Philippe I. de Bourbon, duc d’Orléans / Philippe I. de Bourbon, duc d’Orléans (Versailles): ▪️

Philippe, Chevalier de Lorraine, Master of Festivities (Versailles): ▪️

Minato Mito (Therapy Game/Therapy Game Restart): ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️

Tomoe (Kamisama Kiss): ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️

Kurama Shinjirou (Kamisama Kiss): ▪️

Victor Nikiforov (Yuri!!! On Ice): ▪️

Gilbert Beilschmidt (Prussia, Hetalia): ▪️ • ▪️

Klaus Hargreeves (The Umbrella Academy): ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️• ▪️ • ▪️

Enjolras (Les Misérables):▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️

The Joker: ▪️

Male!Harley Quinn: ▪️

Shuichi Saihara (Danganronpa V3: Killing Harmony): ▪️

Super Sonico “graveyard shoot” photographer credits to Tabitha Downs-King/Tabitha Ginger-Ninja (SoniAni: Super Sonico The Animation/SoniComi/Super Sonicomic/SoniPro/Motto! SoniComi): ▪️

My public art exhibitions, and private or public photo sets created by me for my photography projects:

Is This Your Station? • GCPD Police Car Joyride With Harleen Quinzel • 𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔶…𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔞 𝔡𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫 𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔡

Other acting gigs:

Is King Arthur & The Holy Grail Buried Under Glastonbury? | Legendary Locations, for DiscoveryTV

• Instagrams: 🔹 • 🔹 (art) •

I was previously known as “ierogynous” on IG and Twitter in my MCR fandom days but I kinda retired from that but I still adore MCR and don’t use Twitter anymore but Frank Iero and LolaPlusG both have replied to me 🟣 x 🟣)

• Facebook pages/profile: 🔹 (art) •

FanPages/fanart of me over the years: ▪️• (to be completed)

(I’ll link any accounts I know of from since 2015, thank you dearly everyone)

YouTube:

Music video • Parody makeup tutorials part 1, 2, 3 •

IMDb

You may know me under names such as Kaiden Blakely, Kaiden Valmont, Haruka, Kai, @sir-klauz, ierogynous (IG), bl00dbitez (IG), @philippe-d-orleans , the Kraken, Iron Kaiden (yes play on words with band and device name), Kitty, Demon, Myrnin De Lioncourt, blah blah blah Noodle Arms etc. etc.

[plaques-memoire]

Plaque en hommage à : François-Louis-Eugène Clesse

Type : Commémoration

Adresse : Église Saint-Paterne, 112 rue Bannier, 45000 Orléans, France

Date de pose : Inconnue

Texte : A la mémoire vénérée de François-Louis-Eugène Clesse, curé de Saint Paterne, Vicaire générale et chanoine d'Orléans, chevalier de la Légion-d'honneur. Il naquit le 4 octobre 1809, à Ancemont en Lorraine, d'abord directeur au Grand séminaire de Verdun, puis appelé dans le diocèse d'Orléans par Mgr. Dupanloup, qui eut en lui un ami fidèle et un coopérateur dévoué. Il fut sous la direction du Grand Evêque missionnaire diocésain, curé de N.D. de Recouvrance, fondateur de la Congrégation des Sœurs de St. Aignan, archidiacre de l'arrondissement d'Orléans. Pendant vingt-quatre ans curé de St. Paterne, il entreprit, inspiré par sa foi vive et son zèle ardent, la construction de cette église dont il bâtit l'abside et le transept. De St. Nicolas-du-Port où il mourut le 13 mai 1894, épuisé par l'âge et le travail, son corps fut transporté à Ancemont. C'est là qu'il attend dans la paix du Seigneur la bienheureuse résurrection. Modèle parfait de vie sacerdotale et pastorale, il aima Jésus-Christ, l’Église et les âges. Ses œuvres le suivent devant Dieu, et son souvenir sera toujours en bénédiction.

Quelques précisions : François-Louis-Eugène Clesse (1809-1894) est un prêtre français, qui fut notamment curé de la paroisse Saint-Paterne d'Orléans. Pas d'autre d'information autre que celles figurant déjà sur la plaque disponible à ce jour.

[tadorsa]

Eugène Grellois est né à Vaux, en Moselle, le 12 juin 1811, fils de Jean Grellois, officier pensionné, et de Jeanne-Marie Jandelize. Après ses études au lycée de Metz, il suit les cours de l’hôpital d’instruction de Metz, est chirurgien-élève à l’école de médecine militaire de Strasbourg puis au Val-de-Grâce. Il soutient sa thèse sur l’hydrophtalmie en 1836.

Il est affecté en Algérie, de 1844 à 1848, où il crée un hôpital thermal pour les blessés de l’armée. Lorsque la Société d’histoire naturelle de la Moselle dont il est membre correspondant publie, en 1848, ses « Quelques recherches sur la matière végéto-animales » et « Quelques idées sur la zoologie des eaux thermales », il est dit médecin en chef de l’hôpital français de Guhanné à Constantinople. En 1851, il est médecin ordinaire de 2e classe à l’hôpital de Toulon puis, en 1853, médecin major de 1ère classe à l’hôpital militaire de Metz et secrétaire de l’académie impériale de Metz. Il participe alors à la guerre de Crimée.

La plupart de ses publications sont postérieures à 1854, mais il a profité de ses différentes affectations pour effectuer des travaux de recherche. Il a offert à l’appui de sa candidature à l’académie de Nancy des « Études archéologiques sur Ghelma, l’ancienne Calama », qui sont d’un grand intérêt. C’était en effet une ville importante de l’Afrique du nord romaine, qui possédait des théâtres, des thermes, de riches demeures et qui a conservé « beaucoup d’inscriptions latines et des cippes funéraires portant des légendes puniques ». Un autre mémoire est consacré à Hammam-Meskhoutinn, où a été fondé un établissement thermal destiné aux soldats de l’armée d’Afrique, et que Grellois identifie aux anciennes Aquae Tibilitanae.

« Médecin avant tout, antiquaire par inconstance », il a été élu associé correspondant lorrain le 5 août 1853 et, aussitôt après son admission, il a offert des Notions d’hygiène privée, à l’usage des départements du Nord-Est de la France (1853) et il a écrit un coup d’œil sur la nature des maladies de l’armée de Crimée (1854). Médecin principal de 1ère classe en 1863, il est secrétaire du Conseil de santé des armées à Paris de 1856 à 1867 puis, le 20 août 1870, est nommé médecin-chef des hôpitaux civils et militaires et des ambulances de Metz. Durant le blocus de la ville, il s’occupe du service des ambulances et publie son Histoire du blocus de Metz (Paris, 1872). Il est ensuite affecté à l’armée de réserve de Versailles et termine sa carrière à l’hôpital du Gros-Caillou à Paris au rang de médecin en chef. Il est mis en retraite peu après en mars 1871. Il a été fait chevalier de la Légion d’honneur, officier le 21 septembre 1854 puis commandeur le 27 juillet 1871. Il était encore chevalier de l’ordre ottoman du Medjidié.

Il est mort à Paris le 7 décembre 1886.

G-6

[xian-moriarty]

Jour 13.

Antoine II Coëffier de Ruzé d'Effiat

Marquis d’Effiat

Jamais deux sans trois, dits le proverbe.

Quand le duo Philippe d’Orléans et le Chevalier de Lorraine n’est pas assez, il se transforme en trio avec le marquis d’Effiat

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by De Xian et D'Épée (@dexianetdepee)

[dixvinsblog]

Contes et légendes : Le chevalier et la fée Polybotte de Carmen Montet ( légende vosgienne )

D’aprés la légende de la fée Polybotte (contes et légendes des Vosges) Le chevalier et la fée Polygrotte De nombreuses légendes lorraines parlent de fées, en particulier dans les Vosges. L’une d’elles, qui s’appelait Polybotte, vivait près de Gérardmer, non loin de la Montagne de Naymont, dans une grotte située au cœur de la Forêt de Martimpré. Cette fée était cruelle et très laide. Elle était…

[tiodolma]

Wait. Le Chevalier de Lorraine... was a knight?

[nathanprscott]

in a modern au, the chevalier de lorraine would definitely be this guy 

[mademoiselle-mcon]

MonChevy ♥

In every seasons of Versailles