the queen to my king

Day 2, Kings and Queens, for @jonsa-week

After the War for the Dawn, King Jon Snow returned to Winterfell and wed his cousin, Lady Sansa Stark. Together as King and Queen in the North, they ushered in an age of hope and healing for their people. Jon and Sansa ruled the North honorably for many years, and were beloved by their people. Songs of their courage through The Long Night and the fierce love they had for their people, and each other, rang through the hills and mountains of the North, remaining even centuries after their deaths.

CALLING ALL BIGBANG BLOGS!

My beautiful queen @divinaxcommedia and I created a baby. If you are a VIP that creates content of any kind (moodboards, edits, fanfic, scenarios, fake texts, etc) feel free to apply to join our network @vipnetwork 

This is our way of keeping the VIP community tight and to show our love for our guys! 

Originally posted by dont-no-why

Open letter to Nuria Tiburcio

Dear Nuria,

First of all, thank you for gracing us all with another shitty article in which you make it very clear that you have no idea about anything even though you claim to be an expert. 

If you cared at all and did a little research instead of just basing your articles on pictures and stuff you read on crappy forums (yes, Nuria, we all know you do that) you might have discovered a couple of things before getting down to write:

1. They were offered both sidra and mosto. In case you don’t know, mosto is simply grape juice although in this particular area it is very common to make mosto with apples instead (there is an insane amount of apples in Villaviciosa, most of Asturian sidra is made in the area). Mosto is significantly darker than sidra, specially in this case as it had just been made and was 100% natural.

2. When you drink sidra (or un culín de sidra), you throw away what remains in the glass after you have taken a sip. If you would have watched the videos, you would have noticed that while King Felipe throws away what remains in his glass (which, by the way, was way greener than the other stuff they drank), they only take a little sip from the second beverage they are offered and keep what is left. She is from Asturias and trust me, if that had been sidra she would have thrown it away because it is even considered impolite to not do it. Also, since mosto is very sweet you only take a small sip, not a big sip as one does with sidra.

So, yeah, there’s that.

I know that writing an article saying that Queen Letizia drank mosto wouldn’t get you that many hits but you can’t fool everyone, I’m sorry, Nuria. I’d like to think that you did not know about this because you’ve never been lucky enough to visit Asturias and have sidra in a decent llagar or chigre while eating God knows what Asturian delicious food. Anyway, now you know.

Love,

Someone who will expose you every single time you lie. ♥

Ok but I’ve been binge watching the Narnia movies again, after not having seen them for a long ass time, and now, being a little older and (hopefully) a little more mature than I was when I first saw them, I always feel physically sick when I see the Pevensies being children after The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe because they just aren’t anymore and I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like, to grow up as kings and queens, respected and important, and full of duty, only to go back to being 8 years old (in Lucy’s case).

They didn’t remember England, or the wardrobe, or their old lives, they were Narnians and they were pushed back, not only into a world that was bound to make them miserable, but also into bodies that couldn’t reflect what they’d been through.

Just imagine Peter, waking up in the morning, not remembering that he isn’t the Magnificent anymore, imagine him subconsciously reaching for something to trim his beard, only to remember that it isn’t there anymore, to expect old battle wounds to hurt until he realises that they can’t because he doesn’t have them.

Or Edmund, who left England a stubborn selfish little boy who only wanted his mummy back, and came back the Just, the redeemed traitor, the diplomat, the man, having to resort to being ten years old and probably not even allowed to peek at a newspaper because he’s just a child after all. He plays chess, incredibly well, he doesn’t mock his siblings anymore and all the friends he knew when he was still a boy are either irritated at his behaviour or too childish, too selfish for somebody who knows very well just what selfishness can do, who has a part of the White Witch in him, always.

Susan forgets, we all know that. She must’ve lain awake at night, remembering just what it felt like to cover pain and viciousness and gore with a smile and a blush, remembering being the Gentle, but never in war. She must’ve cried for all the lost years, for all that she learnt and that she can never forget, for all that she has accomplished, that will bring her nothing in this world that doesn’t feel like hers. So she sits down in front of a mirror, talks herself out of believing, telling herself that it wasn’t real, that it was just a dream, that this Narnia her siblings talk about is nothing but a game.
The truth is too terrifying, to devastating to face.

Lucy, little Lucy, who grew up under Mr Tumnus’ smiles and Aslan’s approving gaze, who was loved by all, who did learn how to rule, how to negotiate but who never forgot just what it means to be a queen of Narnia, this girl who matured into a woman, who had a woman’s mind and body and a queen’s grace, she who they called the Valiant, the lion’s daughter, she shrank into herself, into a child, younger than even her siblings. She remembers, clearest of them all, she is the only one who still knows Mr Tumnus’ face, still knows Aslan, but she is just a girl, a pretty little thing who will never be the queen she was, who will never be the woman she was because queenship forms a person in ways no schools can.

They must’ve been devastated when they tumbled to the floor, short and small, and there’s a war they have no control over and Lucy is small, Edmund is skinny, so skinny and Peter and Susan have lost their glow and they’ve changed, they’ve changed so much. (The first time, somebody calls them by just their names, they feel invalidated and small. And offended. They’re kings and queens, they’ve earned their titles and now they have to sit in a dim room filled with children and listen to teachers, have to allow themselves to be insignificant and nothing more than what they were when Lucy first stepped into Narnia - frightened children in the middle of a war they wish was never there in the first place)

2

Queen Pony Head of the Pony Head Kingdom.

would pony head wear something like this?? i don’t know and i don’t even like pony head that much but i thought it’d be interesting to age her up since i never saw an aged up pony head

anonymous asked:

How did Star find out she was pregnant and or how did she tell Marco and how did he react

I’d imagine that they’d be thrilled, Anon!

10

The Kings and Queens of Winter (original)



Their father once said that in winter, they must protect one another, keep each other warm, share their strengths.  So they shared their strength, and their crown as well.



Brandon, King of Winter
↳ King Brandon was King Robb’s true heir, and Lord Eddard’s before him.  When the crown passed to him, it was he that bade his siblings share its responsibilities with him.  Though some of the lords bannermen of House Stark thought this meant that Bran–a cripple since the age of seven–was weak, they soon learned the strength of the decision.  A true king of winter, Brandon said, is one who prepares for winter, not just endures it.  And the best way to prepare for winter was to make sure that all needs were being met, and thus that each was given the full attention of a member of his house.  (It is also said that when there was strife in the North, King Brandon knew about it long before word officially reached Winterfell.  He was blessed by the Old Gods, it was said, with magical sight and hearing, and understood the language of brooks and trees.)

Arya, Queen of Justice
↳ Queen Arya took it upon herself to protect the smallfolk.  She had seen, she told her brothers and sister, their suffering and lived it during the War of the Five Kings, when Lannister and Stark warred in the riverlands.  She had seen what evil men could do when left unchecked and found such evil intolerable in the lands of her blood.  When justice was needed, it was Queen Arya who rode out from Winterfell.  Though songs are sung of Queen Arya’s justice, it was known that her mercy was far more powerful.  Justice, she had been known to say, was nothing without mercy–true mercy, the gift of mercy.  Though far more celebrated for lives she took in the name of her house, her justice was not merely the enforcement of the law but the weighing of it.  If she heard a man’s final words and thought he did not deserve to die, he did not die by her blade.  (Though there were songs sung of Arya’s justice and her mercy, the more celebrated songs are ones of magic.  The most creative of these songs are ones that say she wears the skin of a direwolf and heads a pack of thousands.  Such songs are songs, however, and should never be misconstrued for fact.)

Jon, King of Peace
↳ King Jon was not a Stark, though when the doom of the world was nigh, the lords of the North crowned him king.  He gave his crown to Brandon, Lord Eddard’s trueborn son, when the war ended, and King Brandon shared it with him in return, calling him brother though they shared neither father nor mother.  King Jon fought for the living, and fought for peace, and though he was known as the king in the north who led armies in battle, he knew success by how infrequently he was called upon to fight.  When Jon was home, the realm knew peace; when he rode forth, it would know peace again soon.  (There were whispers that King Jon could not be killed for he had no beating heart inside his body.  Any wound he took remained with him until the time of his passing.  Such tales, however, could not possibly be true for what man can live without a heart?  And while it is known that King Jon rode a dragon into battle at least once in defense of the North, that he had no heartbeat could not possibly be true.)

Sansa, Queen of Prosperity
↳ Queen Sansa learned coin from Lord Baelish, who helped her return to the North following a period of captivity in King’s Landing.  If Lord Baelish was one of the more clever masters of coin that the realm had ever seen, under his tutelage, Queen Sansa came to know the power of gold and markets–vital to the recovery of the North following a long war and a longer winter.  Queen Sansa knew when sternness was required, but the realm knew her to have a generous hand, and through her guidance the North came to know prosperity again.  Artisans flocked to Winterfell, for Queen Sansa dearly loved music, and bakers competed in making the best lemon cakes for her.  (Rumors plagued Queen Sansa for most of her days that Lord Baelish’s untimely demise–an illness that tore through him and slew him in his sleep–was wrought from poison she slipped into his glass of Arbor Gold.  Rumors of poison have followed Queen Sansa ever since the death of Joffrey Baratheon, and thus cannot be trusted to hold any merit at all.)

Rickon, King of Reaping
↳ King Rickon was the youngest of his siblings, and barely more than a babe when his parents died.  He lived his early days among the people, and in fear that Boltons or Greyjoys would find him and slay him in his sleep.  Though many believed that he had died at Theon Greyjoy’s hands when the Prince of Salt and Rock took Winterfell, it soon became known that Greyjoy had slain two farmer’s boys and passed them off for the young princes of Winterfell.  Though King Rickon was likely too young to remember such an event, he was known to mention it often in his work, for he turned himself to the reaping every autumn when the harvest moon rose, making sure that no farmer felt unable to tend to his fields, and that the North was prepared for the oncoming winter.  (As with his brothers and sisters, there are flights of fancy that have entered the realm of myth for King Rickon as well.  If Queen Arya headed a pack of a thousand wolves, it is said that King Rickon wore the skin of a great black wolf that would use his size and strength to protect the smallfolk from smaller packs who would set their eyes on livestock.  Such tales are merely tales, though, for no man can wear the skin of a wolf.)