#Jon Dayne

[feyhunter78]

I’m actually DYING for part 14 of the Dreadful Need of the Devotee, like my pain is clinical and your writing is the only thing that will cure me 🙏

No rush of course, I’m just in love with this story!! (But please, I need it badly)

I got you babe!!!! Enjoy <3

Chapter Fourteen - Ser Arthur Dayne has returned to court. Ch 15

Jon sits in Tyrion’s solar, the small table that sits between you all laden down with breakfast foods and teas. He is seated across from Tyrion, while you are seated next to Jon across from Ser Arthur, your soon-to-be good-father.

Introductions had gone well, you complimented his father, he complimented you, your betrothal was announced, and Jon had to keep himself from kissing you. The joy that radiated from you was so intense, he could not help but smile like a lovesick fool. But now, now the doubts begin to creep in.

If he had been told at the age of two and ten, he would be sitting with his soon-to-be wife a Lannister, the Imp Lannister and Ser Arthur Dayne the Sword of the Morning who was also his true father, Jon would not have believed whoever spoke such things to him. Truly he would have thought them playing a cruel joke, but now he sat in that very position wondering if it would all be revealed a horrid prank. A test to see how much the bastard boy could be convinced to believe.

You place your hand atop Jon’s where it rests on his knee, your brows furrowing in concern, and he waves you off, focusing on the meal set in front of him. You and him often broke fast together, and it was not too uncommon for your father to join the both of you, but this time it was different.

“Lady y/n, your father tells me you are a talented seamstress.” His father says, cutting into his sausage, his eyes, those dark purple eyes, so like Jon’s in the right light, observe you with an oddly formal air.

“I am, in fact the tunic Jon is wearing this morn is one I made myself.” You say, gracing Jon with a smile so bright it rivals the sun, and he turns further towards you following it as crops do, ever reaching, ever seeking your warmth and light.

His father hums in acknowledgement, examining every stitch of his tunic. “It is well-made; and the embroidery is quite detailed. It is not what one would think a sworn sword would be given by his charge.”

“He is my champion, seen as an extension of myself, I would never leave my chambers in rags, or dull, dreary clothing, so why should my sworn sword?” You say, taking a sip of your tea, sizing the man up.

“An interesting perspective.” His father comments, his eyes flickering to Jon.

“I suppose so.” You respond, dabbing your mouth with your cloth napkin.

“She is also a wonderful dancer.” Jon adds, unsure of his place in the conversation. He has never before been privy to these situations, and it is both exhilarating and terrifying.

“I am only wonderful because I have such an excellent partner that allows me to keep my skills sharp.” You smile prettily at him, and he watches the mask slip into place, you are attempting to charm the father by charming the son.

“They are a most excellent pairing, even Robert before he oh so tragically passed said they would make a good couple.” Tyrion says, spreading strawberry jam onto a thick slice of bread.

If I were not a bastard. He said we would be a good match if I was not a bastard. Jon thought bitterly.

“It pains me to know my son had love within his grasp for so long and could not claim it, I would soon see that rectified.” His father says, pulling a folded letter from his pocket. “I have kept this for you, it is a signed statement from the septon that presided over your mother, and I’s wedding. It was quick, not the lavish affair I would have wished to give her, but it was true in the eyes of The Seven.”

Jon feels you lean into him, reading the letter along with him.

“I fear it will not be enough. Aunt Cersei tore up Uncle Robert’s will, what if someone does the same to this?” You ask.

“Your Uncle Robert was dead he could not defend his will, but Ser Arthur is here, in the flesh.” Tyrion says.

Jon folds the letter and returns it to his father. “When would this take place? I would like to inform my siblings; they should not hear it from strangers or gossip.”

“They know, Lord Stark told them and Lady Stark once I had confirmed Ser Arthur was alive and wished to see you.” Tyrion assures him.

Jon pokes at his eggs, the yolk running, yellow-orange liquid tainting the white outer edges. He is glad the truth is known, but will this change how they see him? Will little Arya no longer trust him, will she keep him at a distance as Sansa had now that he is revealed as an impostor, a stranger? And Robb, his brother, will he still call him by that name, will he still hold the same love for him? At least Lady Catelyn will no longer have reason to hate him, he is not proof of her husband’s indiscretions, but his love for his sister.

“Where does Jon fall in the line of succession for Starfell?” Y/N directs the question towards his father, bringing him out of his gloom-stricken thoughts. “I know Lord Edric Dayne is your eldest brother’s son, but he is still a child close to Arya’s age, and your sister does not yet have children, does this not make him third after you?”

His father smirks and leans forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Do you wish him to be second?”

You mimic his posture, voice deadly calm, face unreadable. “I do not condone the murder of children, even if it would catapult Jon to heir of Starfell. I was merely asking a question.”

His father laughs, the sound warm, boisterous, filling the room as he leans back in his chair. “Your father has taught you well, lioness. But yes, Jon is third, if Edric, Seven forbid, were to die then I would take the seat, and Jon would follow after me.”

“We need not worry about that though, he will be by my side at Casterly Rock, is that not right, Father?” You hold your position, eyes still on Jon’s father.

“I have not yet heard word back on our family’s succession, your grandsire still holds out hope that Jaime will leave the Kingsguard and return home.” Tyrion drawls, before taking a sip of his tea.

“But he will not, and even if he did, would it not be shameful?” You venture, stirring your own tea with the tiny spoon provided.

“We shall see what options lay before him when our new king takes the throne, he could take Jaime’s head.” Tyrion says, his eyes on his bread, he has still not taken a bite, Jon feels confident that Tyrion will not be eating this morn.

“I am sure Robb will be merciful to Uncle Jaime, perhaps he could send him to the Wall? As loathe I am to think of him being sent far away, I imagine his skills would be of good use there?” You turn to Jon for confirmation.

Jon’s stomach churns, he wishes to tell you the truth, that it matters not what Robb thinks. “Yes, they are always in need of skilled and hearty men.”

“Oh, and then we could visit him, could we not?” Again, your question is directed at him, and he fights back the bile rising in his throat. He did not like this new weight, this new secret he must keep from you.

“The Wall is a long journey, even from Winterfell.”

“No journey is too long when it comes to family.” You say, dismissing his spoken worries with a smile and a wave of your hand.

“Little lion, perhaps we save our travel plans for after the new king arrives?” Tyrion suggests, seeming unfazed by the half-truths that roll off his tongue.

“Of course, Father.” You say, giving him a smile and tucking back into your breakfast.

Jon cannot eat, he can barely swallow. He wants to tell you the truth, wants to throw you over his shoulder and run, run all the way to Winterfell and hide you there until all this chaos has subsided.

“I think a wedding in Dorne is completely out of the question Ser Arthur, do you really believe people would attend a Lannister wedding that is not held at Casterly Rock or the Red Keep?” Tyrion says, pulling him back into the conversation that had proceeded without him.

“But it is not a Lannister wedding, it is a Dayne wedding.” His father smiles, sending Jon a wink.

“My daughter is a Lannister, in the eyes of Westeros it is a Lannister wedding, and truly it must be held at Casterly Rock, gods know the Red Keep has seen enough weddings.”

“House Martell will not attend if it is at Casterly Rock, which means Myrcella will not attend.” His father reminds Tyrion.

“Father could it not be held somewhere more neutral? I so want Myrcella to be able to attend.” You ask, looking at him pleadingly.

“I am sure once the new king comes into power, the Martells will not hold the same anger towards our family as they once did.” Tyrion reassures you, reaching across the small circular table to pat your hand.

Yes, because all who they hold anger towards will be dead. Jon thinks solemnly, guilt eating him alive.

“I will trust you then.” You say, before turning to Jon’s father. “Ser Arthur, are there any marital traditions that you would like us to observed for the wedding?”

He thinks for a moment, resting his hand on his chin, the dark stubble so like Jon’s but flecked with gray. “There are none that come to my mind at the moment, but I will think on it and if any return to me, I will inform you.”

“No bedding ceremony.” Jon says, he will fight for this, not only to spare you the brutality, but as an apology for the secrets he must keep.

“I will not argue with that.” You laugh, picking up two strawberries and handing one to him as you bite into the other one.

Jon takes it from you, his teeth breaking the delicate flesh, the sweet juice tasting like ash on his tongue.

The look upon Cersei Lannister’s face when his father steps into Highgarden’s Great Hall, is enough to make Jon forget why he is even standing before the royal family. His father wears a cloak of lilac, the white sword and falling star crossed in the center proudly displayed, Dawn strapped to his side. His curls are cleaned and styled, his beard trimmed, his armor and boots shining. When he takes a knee bowing his head to Tommen, Jon does the same, feeling a flicker of excitement when their knees hit the floor at the same time. Perfect synchronicity.

“Ser Arthur?” The startled exhale of his father’s name escapes Ser Jamie’s lips before he can stop it, his conflicted expression betraying far more than simply shock. There is grief, rage, longing, and confusion all whirling within Ser Jamie’s widened emerald eyes.

“My King, I have come to ask that you legitimize my son. I have brought the parchment signed by the septon that married myself and Lady Lyanna Stark. Jon is not a snow, he is a Dayne, my trueborn and only child.”

Tommen does not move, does not speak, he looks at Margaery who has her hand in her grandmother’s.

“Let us see this parchment.” Lady Tyrell says, holding a wizened hand out.

His father rises, and Jon does as well, watching as he delivers the paper to Lady Tyrell, who shares it with Margaery.

“You were thought dead Ser Dayne, why did you not return to King's Landing to take up in the service of your new king when my husband ascended to the throne?” Cersei asks, her jade eyes alight with rage, sparking like wildfire.

“I was badly injured at the Tower of Joy and was unable to make the journey for many years.”

“Unable to make the journey and to retrieve your son, it seems.” Cersei drawls, skimming the parchment, then handing it to Ser Jaime.

Jon can see how his hands shake, the color draining from his face.

“I was told Lord Stark treated him kindly, as if he were his own son, it was better for him to remain there than at the bedside of a nearly crippled man.” The shame that colors his tone clearly tugs on Tommen’s heartstrings.

He has not dared to think what his life would have been like if he had lived with his father. All he knows is he would not have met you, and he does not consider that much a life at all.

Tommen clears his throat, looking at Margaery once more, she nods.

“Ser Dayne, you swore an oath, Kingsguard cannot marry or have children.” Cersei cuts in, stepping forward, her head held high.

Jon bites his tongue hard. The irony in her statement…

His father fares better, nodding his head towards her, his tone steady. “I am no longer a whitecloak, I lost the right to that title when I aided Prince Rhaegar in stealing away my dear Lyanna. I am only a knight of the realm now, Queen Mother.”

Tommen goes to speak, surely in agreement with his mother, but Margaery puts her hand on his arm and leans down to whisper in his ear.

Jon tries not to fidget, tries not to look at you, you who sits beside your father, dressed in a well-tailored gown the shade of pomegranates, your hair swept away from your face, a golden pendant around your neck. He will ruin it all if he looks at you.

His father puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

“In honor of my queen’s nameday I will grant her request. Ser Jon Snow, you shall no longer be a Snow, but a Dayne, Lord or Ser Jon, whichever you would like, of House Dayne, son of Ser Arthur Dayne the Sword of the Morning.” Tommen says, smiling brightly when Margaery plants a chaste kiss of thanks to his cheek.

His father gives his thanks, bowing low. Jon follows his example, keeping his expression grateful but neutral as they return to the sidelines, ducking behind the crowds of nobles as Tommen and Margaery begin to leave the hall. It is only when they have disappeared from view that his father embraces him, crushing him to his chest.

Jon returns the embrace, joy running wild through him.

His father pulls back, a wide smile on his tanned face. “My son, oh, it is good to say that aloud, to say it where anyone can hear. We must celebrate, do you have a preference for wine? ”

“No, Father.” Jon tests the word out, rolling it on his tongue, it feels strange but pleasant. “I do not.”

His father smiles. “We shall soon fix that, but first, you must return to your duties, no?” He jerks his head towards you.

Jon nods. “I must.”

TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo, @legolastheleafyelf, @faerie-film, @wifiatthetrainstation, @duskypinki, @tartine-de-pain

[amartworks]

shows up to Starfall with a newborn and tells a pregnant unmarried woman (possibly his or his dead brother's ex lover) that he killed her brother. Ned's honor has taken him to places i wouldn’t go with a gun

[novaursa]

The List Of My HOTD Reader Insert Works:

The list received a makeover. There is no longer a second one. All is here, in one place.

Requests are closed! Please stop sending them to me, and respect me enough to understand how I'm unable to be doing anything outside my schedule right now!

Aegon II Targaryen

Helaena Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen

Daeron Targaryen

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Jacaerys Velaryon

Daemon Targaryen

Baela Targaryen

Otto Hightower

Gwayne Hightower

Alicent Hightower

Cregan Stark

Harwin Strong

Criston Cole

Jason Lannister

Tyland Lannister

Davos Blackwood

The List Of My ASOIAF Reader Inserts Works:

Oberyn Martell

Aerys II Targaryen

Rhaegar Targaryen

Arthur Dayne

Robb Stark

Sansa Stark

Jon Snow

Euron Greyjoy

Tywin Lannister

Tyrion Lannister

Robert Baratheon

Eddard Stark

Brandon Stark

Lyanna Stark

Roose Bolton

Ramsay Bolton

Jaqen H'ghar

Sandor Clegane

Khal Drogo

Styr the Thenn

Ser Duncan the Tall - A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms

The List Of My FAB Reader Insert Works:

Aegon I Targaryen

Visenya Targaryen

Rhaenys Targaryen

Maegor I Targaryen

Torrhen Stark

Orys Baratheon

Aegon (The Uncrowned) Targaryen

Daemon I Blackfyre

Aerion Targaryen (Brightflame)

Dune Crossover

Requests are closed!

About Me

[winterstarfall]

the dayne’s and the stark’s being the two oldest families in westeros is insane actually bc what do you mean they’ve both had 10-8k years of uninterrupted rules of starfall and winterfell but barely/didn’t interact until those dragon fuckers turned up. what do you mean ashara dayne might have had brandon stark’s baby. what do you mean arthur dayne sort of helped kidnap lyanna stark and then was killed by ned stark. what do you mean ned took refuge in starfall right after killing arthur and the dayne’s didn’t immediately kill him. WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY NEVER INTERACTED FOR 15+ YEARS AFTER THAT UNTIL ARYA STARK MEETS NED DAYNE?

[amber-laughs]

edric dayne thinking wylla the wetnurse is jon’s mother while simultaneously believing ned and ashara were in love omg ned they’re calling you a whore down in starfall

[amuelia]

Death is creeping up my arm. No man must ever know, nor any wife. - The Griffin Reborn, AdwD

happy birthday @mylestoyne 🥰

pictured with jon connington: his mother, his father, rhaegar targaryen, ashara dayne, black balaq and harry strickland, myles toyne, young griff, septa lemore, tyrion lannister

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

“Yet when the jousting began, the day belonged to Rhaegar Targaryen. The crown prince wore the armor he would die in: gleaming black plate with the three-headed dragon of his House wrought in rubies on the breast. A plume of scarlet silk streamed behind him when he rode, and it seemed no lance could touch him. Brandon fell to him…” —A Game of Thrones

Rhaegar Targaryen defeats Brandon Stark at the Tourney at Harrenhal by Mark Smylie

created for the 10th anniversary of The World of Ice & Fire

[franzkafkagf]

rhaegar's angels

[wodania]

All of my art for my fundraiser project @asoiafpalestine excluding ocs and crossovers! The Elaena piece was made in collaboration with @/nataa_draws on twt, who designed the characters and composition!

[feyhunter78]

Final Chapter - You have wed and the guest have gone, but the Dragon Queen has stayed. Perhaps it is time to visit Dorne.

NSFW content below the cut

The Dragon Queen remains a guest of The Rock, moons after the other attendees have returned home. It is not unpleasant, but you find yourself on edge around her. She has been nothing but polite, kind even but Jon’s words ring in your head. How many times will he be asked to break his oath? How many times can House Lannister change sides until they are no longer trusted? King Stannis was stern yes, and dour, but he was not cruel, not like Joffrey or the stories you heard of the Mad King.

And Jon, gods above Jon distrusts her all the more. For it was her brother that stole his mother away, her father who burned his uncle and grandsire alive. He is polite as well, but avoids her. It is subtle, mostly, though there are times Jon will simply leave a room when Daenerys enters, Ghost trotting behind him. This leaves you torn between staying to make excuses on his behalf, or fleeing as well to soothe Jon’s storm of emotions.

You have yet to see the dragons, yet to hear them, and you are quite sure you would rather it stays that way, the tales you have been regaled with are terrifying enough. Though your father, who had loved dragons since he was a child, swore to you, they were in the vicinity, camped out on an island nearby. They could stay there, their mother could join them, you wanted no part in this, not when you had finally gotten all you desired.

You find Jon hunched over his writing desk, quill in hand, inkwell closed, the parchment blank before him. He has done this many times, and you are never quite sure what or who he is intending to write.

“You know, usually one must first wet the quill before attempting to write.” You say, as you lean against the desk, and remove the inkwell’s stopper.

He sets down his quill and sighs, pushing his chair away from the desk, his head falling back, his neck extended and exposed. “I was not truly going to write anything, I simply…” He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair.

“I know this has been difficult for you, perhaps we should visit your father in Starfell, put some distance between us and whatever fresh torture is brewing amongst the lords?” You suggest, replacing the stopper and putting away his quill.

Jon grabs your hand and brings it to his lips, his grown-out stubble tickles your skin. “Could we even do that? Would it be right?”

You slide between him and the desk to seat yourself in his lap, looping your arms around his neck. “What is right can be subjective at times.”

He gives you a confused look, his handsome face tanned from his time in the sun, his curls luxurious and scented with oils from Dorne. His broad chest well-fitted in fabrics you purposely did not tell him the price of, because you knew he would refuse to wear them on principle. He has thrived at The Rock, and satisfaction purrs within you at the sight.

“In the eyes of the realm it would not be right, you and I, together before your parentage was revealed, but it was right to us—or at least to me, I know you struggled with the idea.”

Jon’s hands settle on your waist as he listens intently, always so intently.

“If we had done what the realm thought was right, you and I would not be, and I cannot fathom a world where you and I apart is correct. So maybe it is wrong to leave, maybe it is not, all I care about is if I am with you, wrong or right.”

He kisses you gently, a brief fleeting thing, but no less filled with affection than his searing, lingering ones. “We could go, for a while, not too long, just a visit.”

You return the kiss, hands cradling his face, lifting it up towards you. “Not too long, not too short, we shall stay as long as you desire, Husband.”

He hums contentedly, pulling you closer, his lips against yours a slow languid movement, sweet and unhurried, caresses of unspoken affection and whispered promises.

Your head spins when you pull away for air, and Jon’s lips chase after yours, aching to recapture them as his hands begin to ghost over your sides, fingertips counting each inhale and exhale.

“Promise me we will do this in Starfell.” He says, his chest rising and falling as he catches his own breath.

“We shall do this and more if it pleases you.” You promise him, heart skipping a beat when his eyes darken.

A wolfish smile appears on his kiss swollen lips. “Aye, it would.”

Your back is cushioned by a mountain of pillows, all swathed in fabrics of red and orange, a golden stringed tassel caught in your grip as you dig your nails into a nearby pillow, desperately taking in air. “Jon, oh gods—”

He does not respond, his dark curls, his shoulders and strong arms are the only parts of him you can see. His arms are wrapped around your thighs, keeping you open and still, unable to squirm away as he devours you. His wondrous mouth on you, his tongue making you see stars, his fingers digging into your skin so tight you know there will be bruises, but you care not.

He nips at your inner thigh before wrapping his lips around your bud, his tongue moving in some nonsensical way that sends a bolt of lightning through you. Sparks of lust flying from your skin, a desperate yearning building within you again.

The sun is still high in the sky, streaming in through the large window, the scent of Orange Blossoms drifting on the breeze, accented voices and hurried footsteps come from below, but you pay no mind, and neither does Jon. His movements are unhurried, indulgent, groans of pleasure vibrating against your folds.

He is bare from the waist up, shoulders and back are marred with nail marks, your nail marks, reddened lines and half-moons. You tangle your free hand in his hair, yanking him impossibly closer, urging him to move faster, to release one of your thighs and coax your second release forward with his skilled fingers.

“So impatient.” He chuckles, lifting his head, his lips shiny with your arousal, as he does just what you desired, two long fingers slipping in with ease, stroking and curling until pleasure seizes you, driving all thought from your mind.

You whine in response, tugging harder on his curls. A flicker of pride going through you at the way Jon’s hips roll against the bed, a groan escaping him.

Jon returns to your core, tip of his tongue tracing shapes and symbols on your bud as his fingers coax you higher and higher. He slips in a third, and your walls clench around him, your breath catching in your throat.

Gods you want him to ravish you, to tear your flimsy Dornish gown from your body and pound into you until there is an imprint of your body in the pillows.

Then you shatter, coming undone into his strong grip, breathless and shaking, as you push up on your elbows to see Jon still desperate. His eyes meeting yours as he ruts against the bed, his head dropping forward, his forehead resting against your thigh, panting heavily as he finishes.

You lay there spent as he joins you on the bed, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “We have dinner with my father soon.”

“I am sure he does not mind waiting.” You smile, pulling him back in with a leg hooked around his hips.

A cry from the chamber next to yours sends you both sitting up in bed, the night dark, the moon a mere sliver amongst the clouds.

You arise first, wrapping a robe around yourself and trudging sleepily into the nursery. Lyon, your son, with his thick dark curls and vibrant green eyes, is wide awake, kicking up a fuss in his bassinet. Leaning down, you scoop him up, and hold him close to your chest, shushing him gently.

Jon joins you soon, wrapping his arms around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder. “He is surely a lion with a cry like that.”

“I think he is more a wolf with all his howling.” You jest softly, stroking Lyon’s cheek.

He is beautiful, a perfect mixture of you and Jon, born in Starfell, while a third revolt took place in the rest of the kingdoms. Daenerys sat on the throne, your father, her hand. She had sent gifts, your father had come himself with them and dozens of his own gifts, with the contingency that you would receive the rest upon your return home. You would go soon, take your place within The Rock. To ensure your son would be as fine a Lannister as any could be, to begin to seek out an advantageous bride for him, and give him a sibling or three to play with. But for now, the realm could wait.

Jon TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo, @legolastheleafyelf, @faerie-film, @wifiatthetrainstation, @duskypinki, @tartine-de-pain, @rebeccawinters, @taylorsfemalerage, @rax-raxus, @certainwonderlandperfection, @nymeriiiia, @burkgolden, @drewsivy

[mattyalwayssmokesweed]

I know Ned was stressed as hell seeing his daughter, who resembles Lyanna physically and in attitude, become friends with Robert’s bastard son and Edric Dayne aka mister pale blonde hair and purple eyes. Like that man was about to die again from a heart attack, hands shaking as he pulled at his hair, thinking to himself “no, gods, no. Not this again. No one give my girl a flower please”

[raventreehall]

i enjoy how ned, jaime, and jon connington all have a psychosexual obsession with arthur dayne. he is the great equalizer. 15 years after his death and he's got three guys with vastly differing political beliefs and moral codes all like 'i wonder what the virtuous and brave ser arthur dayne would think of me now 🥺'

[cheryroseart]

Elize Sand, My new oc created for the @/ohmyarda art challenge on instagram 💜

She’s the bastard daughter of Eddard Stark and Ashara Dayne, raised in Starfall by her aunt Allyria.

.

.Please don’t repost without credits

.

[amber-laughs]

robert’s rebellion series but in keeping with GRRM’s “no king pov policy” we watch robert’s rise through jon arryn’s eyes a parallel to catelyn’s horror in watching her son’s royal rise and fall but this time robert rises and rises while jon gradually realizes they picked the wrong man for the crown

no rhaegar or lyanna pov either. we’re stuck between whatever they see fit to tell elia, arthur and benjen. all contrasting in what they think they know or how much they believe what they were told. the readers are as confused as the realm.

[swee26oy]

I was reading fanfic about Elia Martell, Robert's Rebellion and all that. And I discovered something really funny. lyanna stans are so desperate that they try to steal everything elia has. Her title as a princess she was born with, her kindness, her love for children and the thing that made me laugh so hard even her friendships with the characters they tie it all to lyanna they are so obsessed that they make aegon and rhaenys love lyanna and hate their real mother. Also elia is like a whore in these stories. The most embarrassing thing is the authors who claim to love elia but are willing to have rhaegar be in a relationship with every female in asoiaf except elia and this follows them stealing everything about elia and putting her in that character or making their own character based on elia as well.

All of this makes me think how perfect Elia is.

[jeyneofpoole]

asoiaf tiktok simulator

‘theorist’ who rips everything they talk about from tumblr: do you guys know about this really niche theory i just thought of? ok think about this what if ned and ashara dayne fucked nasty in a rowboat and conceived a child and that child is HEAR ME OUT….. jon snow????

comments:

- omg how have i never thought of this 😳 genius!

- nah jon is a targaryen lmao

- guys r+l=j is literally canon in the show… george literally told them…

grainy edit of dany burning kings landing set to a taylor swift song

comments:

- IT WAS NECESSARY 🐉🐉🐉

- targs 🔛🔝!!!!!

- sansa does it betta (134 replies)

man over a shitty greenscreen image of 10 year old book ramsay art: if you’ve only watched the show you might be surprised to learn that ramsay was even worse in the books 😳😳😳

comments:

- totally deserved lmao i could never forgive reek for betraying the starks

- (something weird about castration)

- theon…. a stark 🐺 and a greyjoy 🦑….. his true family were the wolves……… a good man……..