jewel-ribbon

🌿 Cold days of Spring 🌿

• Dark chocolate with Lavender melting in Almond milk for a tasty hot chocolate
• Surrounding myself with pastel colored stones
• Picking up some flowers and branches/ pieces of wood ( I do offerings with seeds for birds )
• Soft blanket everywhere at home
• Going for a walk in the woods and fields
• Doing Self love spells
• Making so many “ pieces of Art” with branches, ribbon, old jewels …
• Tarot reading in the garden
• Still reading, still learning
• Setting up an altar outside with candles, shells, flowers and plants
• Daisies flower crowns
• Wearing long dresses with jumpers and feeling like a Hippie
• Collecting Rain Water

That’s basically what I spend my time doing • 🌿 Cold days here where I live in France are quite sunny for the moment but when it rains, it rains A LOT •

Random WIP snippet :

Maglor’s opinion of the Legend of the Fate of Amrod:

“They say Fëanor burned his own son alive, and did not even weep,” someone said, quite distinctly, from further down the table.  Perhaps they had meant to be heard, though the voice was a little slurred, and probably somewhat drunk.

 “He was quite mad,” someone else said, chuckling offensively.

 “He cared for nothing but his jewels!” someone else said, and that was worse than the others, because she was looking sympathetically at Maglor, as if to take all blame from him and heap it on his father.  

Maglor had not worn any jewel or bright ribbon or embroidery to this feast, partly because he had remembered ‘they care for nothing but jewels’ from long ago, and had thought that he would head it off.  Now he wished he had borrowed Celebrían’s brightest gem and worn it on his forehead.

He took a deep breath, and looked down for a moment at his hands.  Then he looked up and gave the first speaker a merry smile.  “Do tell us more!” he said.  “I really had no idea.”   

His words cut through the murmur like a blade of ice.  People pulled back in their seats as they heard it.   

“Come,” Maglor said, in a voice that had a shine on the edges like a knife.  “You tell me that my father burned my youngest brother to ashes, do you?  I am only a little surprised, since I was there to see both die. I would have sworn my father Fëanor, who loved all his sons dearly,  died first by several hundred years of the Sun.  It seems I was mistaken.  Perhaps I mixed them up.”

♡ My photo, please don’t delete the text or delete the source ♡ Feel free to self promote ♡ Rosy blog here ♡ message me with a “♡” and I’ll check out your blog, I need more rosy blogs to follow ♡

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18 JANUARY 1486: The Union of the Red and the White Rose:

On January 18th, 1486 Henry VII married Elizabeth, Princess of York, eldest surviving daughter of Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville. There is a not a lot of information regarding the wedding ceremony.  Henry VII had swore he would marry Elizabeth when he had been in exile in Brittany, at  Vannes Cathedral, three years prior. A lot had happened since then though. The papal dispensation that their mothers had secretly plotted to get had to be reissued. The papal dispensation covered the Earl of Richmond and the natural daughter of Elizabeth of York (meaning the Lady Elizabeth, not the legitimate daughter and heiress of Edward IV). It was vital that the couple married under the good eyes of the church. The fifteenth century had descended into chaos when two branches of the Plantagenet House had annihilated each other, their descendants had married off to other noble houses and as a result (after Bosworth), Henry claimed the crown. But he was not blind, conquering and ruling were two different things. He needed stability or at the very least, give the illusion of it to the people to put down civil unrest. Therefore he needed to marry Elizabeth who was the eldest living descendant of the first Yorkist King. The papal dispensation took time, and meanwhile Henry had to establish himself as the realm’s ruler. He established his claim to the throne through his “right of conquest” and his mother, Margaret Beaufort whose family descended from John of Gaunt via his third marriage to his mistress, Katherine Swynford. Nevertheless, his claim to the throne was still seen as weak, which was why parliament asked him on December 1485, two months after he had been crowned, to keep his promise to marry the Princess Elizabeth, and strengthen the claim of his descendants.  

“Marrying Edwards eldest daughter was essential to holding that support and trying to restore some stability to the English royal line.” (Jones, Hollow Crown) 

The pope had finally granted the dispensation at the beginning of the year, and it was confirmed in England by the papal legate, the Bishop of Imola on 16 January, two days later the coupe were married. 

The wedding ceremony was officiated by the archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Bouchier. Given the statement that Henry wanted to make, as it was mentioned earlier, about their union; the Abbey would have been filled with Tudor imagery that Henry had created that gave a new interpretation of the dynastic conflict that is now known as the wars of the roses. By intertwining the white rose of York (Edward IV’s favorite symbol besides the sun in splendor) with the red rose, Henry VII’s union with Elizabeth meant to give a powerful message of peace. Illusory as it was, its impression lasted and their descendants continued to use this device and celebrate the union of their ancestors, Henry and Elizabeth. The building would have been decorated by royal colors such as “purple and gold, silk, ermine and delicate cloths of tissue.” And the bride, adds Licence: “would have been splendidly dressed and adorned with jewels, lace, brocade and ribbons.” She would not have worn white, given that white was not a color worn for wedding dresses.(The first royal bride who did was in fact her daughter-in-law, Katherine of Aragon, when she married Prince Arthur). Elizabeth would have likely worn purple as it symbolized royalty, or taken one of her many new gowns. 

After the archbishop placed the golden ring on Elizabeth, the couple said their vows. Following royal custom,  Elizabeth promised to take Henry as her husband “for fairer, for fouler, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to be blithe and amiable, and obliging in bed and at board” till death do them part. 

“The wedding was celebrated in the customary fashion, with "wedding torches, marriage bed and other suitable decorations,” followed by “great magnificence … at the royal nuptials … Gifts flowed freely on all sides and were showered on everyone while feasts, dances and tournaments were celebrated with liberal generosity to … magnify the joyous occasion.” (Jones, Hollow Crown) 

Besides the expenses, that no doubt would have been great, Elizabeth would have seen the new rose, the Tudor rose in every corner as well as her husband’s other badges. By intertwining the white rose of York (Edward IV’s favorite symbol besides the sun in splendor) with the red rose, Henry VII’s union with Elizabeth meant to give a powerful message of peace. Illusory as it was, its impression lasted and their descendants continued to use this device and celebrate the union of their ancestors, Henry and Elizabeth. 

In recent fiction the two have been portrayed as an unhappy couple, pushed into the marriage by their shrewish mothers, but this is an interpretation based on secondary sources that have come many years (more than a century in fact) after the even took place. Francis Bacon writes very colorfully of Henry, and negatively of his mother but Francis was writing a century after the events took place and the two George Bucks themselves wrote even later. It is very easy to believe these sources, but if we want to look at the couple, we just have to look at their actions, at what they faced and what moral attitudes people had in this period.  

“For women of all social classes in the late fifteenth century, becoming a wife marked a significant change in status … Marriage and motherhood were the ultimate social goal, contracted for mutual benefit as well the advancement of an entire family. As the wife of the King, although not yet crowned in her own right, Elizabeth was the highest-ranking female in the land.” (Amy Licence, Elizabeth of York) 

A young woman such as Elizabeth would not have missed the opportunity to regain her status as Princess, and much less to be Queen. After being bastardized, and forced into hiding at Westminster, then in the midst of intrigue in the Ricardian court (with rumors -whether they are true or not, we will never know- that her uncle wanted to marry her shortly after his wife’s passing and he later recanted after people protested at such an idea that he began to look elsewhere for a bride, and a spouse for Elizabeth); she would have no doubt welcome this new change in status. Elizabeth was a Princess-born, she had at one point been betrothed to the heir to the French Crown. She could not accept no better offer than to be a Queen, as it would also bolster her family’s position as well and it did. Henry VII rewarded the Woodvilles. Richard Woodville as the third Earl of Rivers lived comfortably, Elizabeth Woodville kept some of her dower properties and when she was present, she always took precedence. Even Margaret Beaufort had to walk behind her as the older woman was Queen Dowager whereas Margaret was just a Countess -a Countess in her own right but a Countess nonetheless. Sir Edward Woodville, Elizabeth of York’s uncle who took after his late eldest brother, was a highly pious and adventurous individual who proved his loyalty many times and was favored. The  Catholic Kings themselves spoke very finely of him after his death. The set of ordinances that Edward IV had made for princes and that Anthony Woodville had supervise for Elizabeth’s brother, Prince Edward, was kept and used for Arthur’s upbringing. And Elizabeth herself was not left behind. 

“Like her parents, Elizabeth was a patron of William Caxton and his successor at the  Westminster printing press, Wynkyn de Worde.” (Weir, Elizabeth of York) 

Furthermore, as Queen, she ruled over her own court and her own properties (some of which had previously belonged to her aunt, Isabel, Duchess of Clarence).  
As for Henry, this was also a personal triumph. Born to Margaret when she was thirteen (a birth that scarred her immensely. She would have no more children). Given as a ward to William Herbert who was given his uncle Jasper’s earldom of Pembroke, and raised to be the perfect Yorkist to neutralize the threat he might pose in the future, he was then sent into exile after the Lancastrian Readetion failed and every member of the royal house was eliminated. Henry lived in a period of uncertainty, danger, and now it was all over. He was King. And he could also boast of having one important advantage. Many royal couples did not have the luxury of getting to know one another. They were married to this person or that, and whether or not they liked each other, they were expected to fulfill their duties. Henry fortunately did no have this problem. In the five month period that they waited for the dispensation to come, the two got to know each other. So when they walked down the aisle, they were not complete strangers.

After the ceremonies ended, came the consummation. Elizabeth proved herself an exemplary Queen, living by the virtues of the day and this,  as well as her fertility, made her well-remembered and loved. She would not be crowned until the following year, after “she proved herself” by giving Henry a male heir that autumn, less than nine months after their marriage. Given the speed in which they conceived, it is possible that the marriage could have been consummated before (since being betrothed was as good as being married. And the pope had given his approval, they knew it was only a matter of time before the bull came). But there is also the possibility that Arthur could have been premature.

Henry and Elizabeth’s marriage would remain strong, and the two would later rely on the other when tragedy came.

 

@huxloween - Day 23 - Circus ~

          ♦♢ ♦♢ ♦♢ ♦♢

Their shows are world-class. They’re masters of their field. Their world is rich with color and they live, breathe, and b l e e d showmanship, decadence, extravagance.

Hux is flawless on any tightrope. He can unicycle across it, walk on his hands, dance across it, whatever. Kylo swears he knows the secret to it. ‘Of course he can. There’s an invisible rod stuck so far up his ass that he couldn’t possibly fuck up his precision, even if he wanted to.‘

Kylo can tame any animal. It doesn’t even matter, Kylo will stare into the eyes of the fiercest creature and be best friends with it in 2 minutes flat. Hux likes to say that it’s because ‘wild recognizes wild’. ’You’re one of them,’ Hux tells Ren constantly, with barely concealed derision. ’Of course they’re nice to you.’

All derision aside, they do make a spectacular union when they come together for an aerial display, whether its flying via trapeze, or seduction suspended from the peak of the Big Top in jewel-toned ribbons, but they compete for popularity and the spotlight more viciously than anyone knows. Hux swears he will be the next Ringleader to replace Snoke and Kylo isn’t about to let him just take that title. Kylo remains a threat; he eats and breathes fire, and thoroughly captivates his audience with an allure of dark, dangerous charm. He owns two panthers that he loves as if they were his own children–Kyber and Krystal are breathtaking to watch with Kylo directing them. Even Hux stands transfixed to watch Kylo’s grandeur sometimes, though he’s seen hundreds of Kylo’s acts, night after night.

When the lights go out and the crowds disperse, and the scent of sparks and sweet confections hang heavy in the air, they tend to fall prey to the temptations of their own private dance, ready to exhaust the adrenaline of the stage on one another. Powered by the highs of electric atmosphere and deafening applause, together they’re a masterpiece not meant for the public eye. Kylo is certain Hux could make a fortune as a solo contortionist, if the performance beneath the sheets is anything to go by, and he loves the fire of Hux’s hair gripped in his fists or twining round his fingers far more fervently than any flame he commands on a stage. All the while, Hux grows addicted to how it feels to tame every square inch of the wildest force he knows.
The industry is their playground, but ironically their best grandstanding is done in the dark. ~

I recently had the opportunity to ask Linda Preston (@55poppy55, @HairReign), Head Make Up Artist on Reign, a few questions.  She was too kind, and happily obliged, even with her busy shooting schedule!  What a gem!  She talks about her favorite products, how she developed the look for Reign, what’s to come for the show, and more! (Click the link for the entire interview.)

You’ve been a make up artist for a number of years, with many impressive credits.  How did you get into the industry and what advice could you give to an aspiring make up artist wanting to get into the TV & Film industry? I first went to Sheridan College to learn about fashion design, then went onto take a makeup course with George Abbott, a working makeup artist, From there I went on as many jobs as I could. I worked for little or no money for a number of years. I worked on Rock Videos, Short Films, Commercials. My advice to connect with a working makeup artist and try to learn as much as you can. Work with many different people, every person has a different approach and technique. Its important to have the right attitude, work hard, and love what you do. Treat each job as it is the most important job and do it to the best of your ability because to the actor/producer it is the most important job.

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So, you’ve seen Aveline’s new hair from this Trespasser slide, right?  Here’s my headcanon on how it happened. (900 words, all fluff.)




Aveline’s fingers still for a moment as her warrior’s instincts stir; something feels different, wrong. She glances around the room, but nothing seems amiss - the twins are both calm, little Donnic asleep on the rug with a smear of jam on his face, Marian sitting quietly on the floor between her knees.

And that’s what feels wrong, she realizes - it’s quiet. For a rare moment the room is still, the silence broken only by the shift of a log in the fire, the creak of the rocking chair. She has grown so accustomed to chaos now that its absence is alarming. She chuckles softly as her fingers return to their work, softly brushing out her daughter’s bath-damp hair and weaving it deftly into a braid.

She ties it off with a bow that was painstakingly chosen from little Marian’s treasured stash, tiny fingers combing through a cookie tin of jewel-toned ribbon scraps as intently as if the fate of the world rested upon the decision. “There, my love,” Aveline says fondly as Marian swings the end of the braid over her shoulder to inspect the ribbon - yellow again, a particular favorite. “All done.”

Marian climbs onto the arm of the sofa and perches there beside her mother; a small hand reaches for the abandoned hairbrush. “Maman?” she asks, running the bristles of the brush through Aveline’s short, soft spikes. “What happened to your hair?”

A contented chuckle rises from the rocking chair beside the hearth. “She glared at it in the looking-glass, and it ran away in fear.”

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Romeo and Cinderella- lh au

Word Count: 6,857 (holy shit)

~

Fairy tales of sorts normally begin with those four, cliche’ words that little girls adorned in sparkly dress up dresses recite continuously throughout their play dates. Those are for normal fairy tales, where the prince charming is introduced from the beginning as the perfect angel boy from the well rounded royal family who’s to fall in love with the maid for her stepmother and step sisters. Normal fairy tales consist of talking mice and fairy god mothers and extravagant pumpkins and beautiful dresses created by the flick of a wrist.

Normal fairy tales don’t involve both parties being from royal families. Royal families that absolutely loathe each other, the feud going back centuries into the family heritage. Normal fairy tales don't involve the princess and her servant stealing the family car, without a license, and driving to fifty miles to the next city over to go to a masquerade ball. Normal fairy tales don't include stepping through various smashed fruits and rats that certainly don’t talk while hiding from the royal guards. Normal fairy tales don't involve a dress held together by pins that the princess stole out of her mother’s closet that she’s tugging up constantly. 

Frankly, Princess Y/N’s story didn’t even belong under the fantasy category. It should be stuck somewhere in between non fiction thriller or science fiction. Maybe even horror. Definitely not romantic fantasy.

Once upon a time..

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