I apologise that this post is later than normal, I had to go to the hospital so I haven’t had a chance to make this post until now.
Favourite Movie/TV Show
Everything I have seen Toby in has been great to watch but here is my favourite movie that he has been in and my favourite TV show.
The reason I love this movie is because it is a true story (and I love true movies). It is also a crazy story and has the biggest plot twist at the end, I won’t spoil it just incase anyone hasn’t seen it, but if you haven’t it is definitely worth watching.
I would just like to give a massive round of applause to Jamie Blackley (Mark) and Toby Regbo (John) for their performances in this film, they both definitely deserved the awards for ‘Best Performance in a British Feature Film‘ at the Edinburgh International Film Festival.
TV Show: Reign
This has to be one of my all time favourite shows (even though it is causing me so much pain to watch at the moment). Toby’s outstanding, incredible performances in all 37 episodes that he has been in so far just make the show that much better and he is a pleasure to watch. He is the perfect Francis, but i swear that boy can do anything, he is so clever at getting us to feel different emotions along with Francis, when Francis is in pain we feel it too and when he is happy we are ecstatic, not everyone can do this, he is extremely talented.
Ok I KNOW you said you're not into frary fics but I am at a point in my life where I need Frary having "a castle full of little royals" please indulge me friend
There is a curly blond lock of hair twisting around James’ eye.
He ignores it as he moves around the room, chasing Anne with delight. The little girl is still toddling on the chubby little tree trunk legs that her brother had outgrown more than a year ago. But James likes to chase her anyways, choosing to lift her up in his arms when he catches her. Anne squeals as he picks her up, happily waving her limbs in the air as her tiny eyes widen with excitement.
Watching the two of them is Mary’s favorite part of the day; through meetings with their people, enormously large meals, and the sheer amount of time it takes to change for each of these individual events. Sometimes, she’ll let little Anne come into her dressing chamber before dinner and watch as Mary’s many maids and ladies apply her makeup, do her hair, and lace her up into her corset. The little girl sits on the bed, or on Mary’s lap, and will touch her hair or clothes or jewels.
Normally, royals choose to love their children fro afar, as Mary’s mother had done. But there are so many bitter feelings between the two of them, and Mary cannot fathom having that relationship with her daughter— their daughter. One day, Anne will have to marry for political purposes. Not yet, though. Now her only duty is to be the precious girl that she is.
The playroom is warm even in the chill of the winter, flames shadowing pleasantly against the stone of the wall. Regardless of propriety, Mary cannot help herself. She sinks onto the plush red rug, her skirts fanning around her as she opens her arms for her children. James stops tugging on Anne’s hair and rushes over to his mother, hurtling himself into her embrace. Anne takes her time to toddle over to the two of them, a slight crease appearing between her brow as she tries to memorize her mother’s jewelry with her curious fingers, so shiny and perfect and pretty. Anne is too young for such pretty things, but Mary doesn’t mind letting her touch them.
It might be spoiling Anne a little too much, though, because Anne is currently tugging at the long necklace which dips almost to Mary’s navel, and Mary cannot remember being nearly this fixated with sparkly things when she was a little girl.
“Gentle,” Mary says soothingly, carrying a delicate hand over the tiny hand of her daughter. “Gentle, Annie.”
“Well, if it isn’t the two most beautiful girls in this castle,” comes Francis’ voice, and Mary looks up to see him standing in the doorway, a tired smile on his face. Her eyes automatically flciker down to his hands. If they’re wringing together, he’s anxious. If he’s folded them into each other, he’s thinking or calculating something. If his hands are gripping his sword until the knuckles are white, he’s trying to curb his anger. Now, his hands are behind his back, swinging slightly as his fingers fold around his knuckles. This is good, Mary knows. He’s tired, yes, but also playful. Relaxed. She beams at him, rising from the floor to approach him in the doorway, where he reaches out for her, wrapping an arm around her waist to bring her in for a kiss, first to her lips, then to her temple.
“How’s business?” Mary asks teasingly, and Francis emits a short laugh, raising his eyes to the ceiling.
“Oh, well, you know,” he says. “Crimes of passion, back stabbing, betrayal. The usual.”
“Of course,” Mary agrees, laughing. “Nothing ever changes at French court.”