#Theon greyjoy

[jeyneofpoole]

modern theon gets electrocuted by his strawberry mango lollipop sizzle flavored vape on the clock at his minimum-wage fast food job and passes out and hits his head on a shelf of molding bread and barbrey (shift manager) wakes him up by burning him with the end of the cigarette she always has in the corner of her mouth and forces him to take orders even though he’s actively concussed and seizing and when it’s time for him to go home he wraps balon’s 30 year old truck around a tree because he’s seeing double and he calls asha for help she picks him up and drives him to the er and steals the bars of hospital soap while her brother’s brain is leaking out of his ears and balon writes him out of the will for the whole truck thing but by god does theon clock in for his shift the next day. roose (store manager) lets him sleep on the floor if he promises to not tell the police about the time ramsay locked him in the walk-in for three hours and jacked off on the other side.

#you know what this is #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #valyrianscrolls #theon greyjoy #ramsay bolton #barbrey dustin #asha greyjoy #balon greyjoy #modern asoiaf

[weirwoodsea]

Take off your armor

Inspired by All Moments Pass by @attaining-fic THEONSA SOUPVERSARY 2024

#soupversary2024 #theonsa #theonsaedit #theon greyjoy #sansa stark #theon x sansa #sansa x theon #theongreyjoyedit #sansastarkedit #gotsansastark #gottheongreyjoy #gotedit #game of thrones #theona fic #fic link #gif #op

[feyhunter78]

Description: During your Uncle Robert's Royal Procession, you find yourself enraptured with Ned Starks' bastard son. While Jon has never dreamed so vividly until your arrival, a thread seems to exist between you and him, pulling you together. Luckily for you both, your father Tyrion sees the need for a sworn sword in his beloved daughter's life.

You should know better, truly you should, but you’ve always had a weakness for pitiful-looking creatures, or at least that’s what your father has always said. He stands a pace ahead of you, watching as your uncle, the King Robert, embraces Lord Ned Stark with a boyish joy you have never seen in your uncle. Your Aunt Cersei stands to the side of them, smiling politely at the Lady Catelyn Stark, Joffery all but hanging from her skirts, demanding attention. Usually, you would scowl at the back of the boy’s head, but the sight of Ned Stark’s bastard son has you quite distracted.

He is pitiful, even his name, Jon, it’s so common, so often used it cannot differentiate him from others. He stands stiffly, with gray eyes so dark they almost seem black set beneath thick brows. He has curly dark hair that frames his face, an unchanging frown upon his face, and his hands clasp and unclasp nervously as he watches the mingling of your two families. Jon’s dressed like all the other Starks, but somehow lesser, as if he has chosen only the drabbest of colors in an effort to blend into the dreary landscape. There’s a solemn softness to him that intrigues you. What secrets does he keep? Why does he look so mired in grief? He notices your gaze, and his face tints pink as he ducks his head further into the fur collar of his cloak. You bite back a laugh, for a moment he looked like a turtle.

The boy beside him, Robb, stands an inch or so taller with cornflower blue eyes, and auburn hair. The clear son of Lady Catelyn radiates confidence, nearly bordering on arrogance, as he surveys the servants unloading your family’s belongings from the wheelhouses. Beside him stands a boy whose arrogance you wouldn’t mistake for confidence, even if you were less astute than you are. But the arrogance rings false, you can see the cracks in his bravado, the insecurity leaking from every pore. It’s in the way he hovers so close to Robb, as if he fears to be away from him would be his undoing. This one you know inside and out; your father had drilled you on everyone you were going to meet before you even stepped foot outside King’s Landing.

Theon Greyjoy, last surviving son of Balon Greyjoy, a war prisoner disguised as a ward, the closest companion to Robb Stark, both accepted and held at a distance, Lord Stark’s sword an ever-looming threat should his father ever revolt once more. Theon has eyes like the sea and tousled hair the color reminiscent of the mahogany desk in your father’s study. He is lankier than the other two, hungrier, and when your eyes meet his, he winks. You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose in response, you were a lady, a Lannister, you were not so easily swayed. Theon is handsome, but if your father’s reports were true, he spent much of his time in brothels. The tactics that worked there would not work on you.

“And this is my eldest daughter, Sansa.” Lord Stark says, motioning to a girl that was perhaps two or so years younger than you. She is beautiful, with fiery red hair, eyes like Robb’s, and high, graceful cheekbones. She curtsies with the air of a Southern lady, and smiles when you do the same. This is who you are meant to befriend, and it does not seem it will be too difficult, Sansa’s eyes eagerly drink in every aspect of your being, as if she wishes to glen all she can of Southern life before it is ripped away from her.

“She is as beautiful as her mother.” Your father says, giving her then Lady Catelyn a smile.

They both thank him, Lady Catelyn beaming at the praise, while you notice Sansa’s cheeks flush with color. She is easily flattered; you must remember that.

“Allow me to introduce my own daughter, Y/N Lannister.” Your father introduces you, putting emphasis on your surname, the very fact that you have one. You are not a bastard, no matter what awful Joffrey likes to say. Your mother and father had married in secret, she died giving birth to you, it was tragic and left your father quite saddened, but you were not a bastard.

Your eyes dart back to Jon taking him in subtlety. You wish to see him blush again, but you will not make your actions so easily observed.

“It is too cold, why must we stand here all day?” Joffrey whines, crossing his arms over his chest and stomping his foot resoundingly.

Your aunt fusses over him, and Lord Stark leads you all inside, talking jovially with your uncle as you hurry to catch up with your father.

It is loud in the Great Hall of Winterfell, made of gray stone and smelling of smoke, meat, and a hint of dog, which you must assume is from the Direwolves. It is well lit and filled with people, all enjoying the bountiful feast set before them on long wooden tables. You’re seated away from your father, something you despise. He is closer to your Uncle Jaime, nearer to the King and Lord Stark, while you have been seated with the other children. It has only been you and your father for so very long, a part of you feels anxious to be separated from him, but you are a Lannister, if you cannot charm the strangers around you then can you truly call yourself such?

“Will you tell me more of King’s Landing, Lady y/n?” Sansa asks, looking enraptured by the mere thought of it. She is dressed in a gown of blue silk, her fur lined cloak on the back of her chair, her hair done up in a style you’re quite familiar with. She is very beautiful, and you spot many men staring at her, one of them being Theon who is seated at the lower tables. You catch his eye and smile knowingly. In response, he scowls and ducks his head.

You must mention this observation to your father.

You smile and return your attention to Sansa, regaling her with tales of festivals and feasts, of tourneys and services in the Great Sept. Her siblings either listen as well or turn their attention elsewhere, which you don’t mind. They are not who you are here to befriend.

Sansa sighs dreamily and turns her gaze to Joffrey, who is seated next to his mother further up the table and is staring down at his food as if it has offended him. “And what of Joffrey? Surely you must be close?”

Your cousin, and closest companion, Myrcella snorts into her drink, and you shoot her a look. Myrcella was meant to be sitting next to Joffrey but had convinced someone to switch with her so that she could be next to you.

“Joffrey is a…spirited boy, he has many…passions.” You say carefully, running your finger along the rim of your glass.

Your father suspects Robert will wish to wed Sansa and Joffrey. It’s a strategic match, but your cousin is a horrible bully, you have marks hidden beneath your sleeves to prove your words, and you do not wish to see innocent Sansa suffer in such a way. True, you have not spent much time with her, but she has been warm and welcoming, her innocence shining through like the sun on a spring day.

“Does he enjoy tourneys? I have heard the King was quite the warrior, he and father fought together.” Sansa continues, resting her chin in her hand.

You smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in your skirts. “Joffrey has not competed in any tourneys quite yet, Lady Sansa, he is too young.”

“He is three and ten, is he not? Most squire by one and ten, why has he not been sent to one of your bannermen like his uncle?” Robb says, taking a long drink from his glass.

“My mother does not wish for him to get injured; he is heir to the throne, after all.” Myrcella chimes in, saving you from coming up with another excuse for why Joffrey has not been allowed to leave King’s Landing.

Sansa nods and gazes longingly at Joffrey once more. “That seems most wise, what a dutiful mother Queen Cersei is.”

“Where is your mother, Lady y/n? I did not see anyone else arrive.” Bran, one of the younger Starks asks, his round innocent face not dulling the sting of his words at all.

Myrcella takes your hand under the tables and squeezes it. She has been privy to the nights of crying, of mourning the mother you would never know.

“Bran, that is not polite.” Sansa hisses.

You shake your head, a soft smile on your face. “My mother died giving birth to me, but I am told she held me in her arms before the Stranger came for her, that she named me and spoke of how dearly she loved me.”

Bran makes a soft noise of apology, and the conversation lulls, until finally you have finished your meal and are free to retire to your chambers.

You wave off any offer to escort you, telling them all you wish to admire the architecture of Winterfell in solitude.

It’s not wholly a lie, though you cannot say you ever wish to be alone , you enjoy the company of others, are invigorated by it, but tonight feels different. Perhaps it is the mention of your mother, or the false face Joffrey is putting on for the Starks and their bannermen, the sound of his laughter ringing about the hall. You wander the halls of Winterfell with a faint knowledge of where the guest chambers lie, when you find yourself approaching the training yard. The night is quiet, snow falling gently, the brisk air seizes your lungs, purifying them with an icy chill.

You are not alone, the thud of blunt metal upon wood, the sounds of exertion, the turn of boots in snow covered dirt. You slowly move towards the sound, knowing your father will scold you later for such carelessness. There are countless people here, and you cannot be assured they all wish you well.

Jon Snow, the ever so distracting bastard, stands in the middle of the yard, training alone, the moonlight shining down on him, making his pale skin glisten. You rest your hand on the stone archway, one foot on the dirt, the other still firmly planted on the stone. You should leave him alone, you know it, but you’re mesmerized by the sight, the tension in his muscles, the expanse of his back, the strength in his arms. He is a little older than you, six and ten to your five and ten, both old enough to be married, yet both remaining unbetrothed.

There had been offers for your hand, even though you were the imp’s child, and many wondered if you would sire broken children, if you would pass on your father’s curse. But for the gold that backed your name many were willing to risk it. You didn’t like your suitors, they were too brash, too lewd, too old, or simply just not right.

Jon stops and lifts his tunic to wipe the sweat from his brow. His stomach is toned, his skin mostly smooth, though there are some faded scars.

Yes, they were simply not right, they did not look like that.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks and you avert your eyes. What were you, a child? A lovesick maid? You have spent no more than mere minutes in his presence, and already you are lusting after him like some silk street whore? It must be the chill that is muddling your mind, yes, the chill. Not the kindness that you saw within him as he played with Arya and Bran in the courtyard earlier in the day. Or the way he stood stiff lipped while Joffrey threw barbed insults at him as he passed him in the hall, or the stack of novels you had overheard the maester say were to be set aside for him. Merely the chill. The chill and the flights of fancy all young girls are prone to.

With that in mind, you wait until he has returned his tunic to its rightful place and step fully into the snow.

He turns on his heel, weapon at the ready. He is perceptive, you note, good reflexes, excellent hearing, fine form, carved from marble, glowing like a god in the moonlight.

Gods y/n, pull yourself together.

“My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.” You say, wrapping your cloak tighter around you. It is thin, far too thin to wear in the chill of night.

Jon lowers his sword. “Lady Lannister, why are you not inside at the feast? Are you lost?”

“Yes.” You lie, batting your eyelashes at him, crafting your expression into one of helplessness. “I wished to return to my chamber, but I lost my way.”

Jon stows his sword and retrieves his cloak from a nearby rack. “I will escort you, if you do not take offense?”

You tilt your head in faux confusion. “Why would I take offense?”

He shuffles his feet and busies himself with his cloak. “You are a lady of a great house, and I am…” He lets the unspoken words hang in the air, and you have the grace to act surprised.

“Oh, yes, right, you are a Snow.” You say, taking a step towards him and extending your hand, waiting to set it on his arm. “Well, I care not if you are a Stark or a Snow, I am sure you are more than capable of escorting me to the guest chambers of your home.”

He ducks his head, that delightful blush returning to his cheeks, and he holds out his arm for you.

You take it gratefully, allowing him to guide you back towards the way you came. The wind blows through the yard as you walk and cuts straight through your thin cloak, a shiver shooting down your spine.

Before you can blink, Jon has draped his cloak over you, clasping it shut with a surprising boldness. “It is far too cold for such a thin cloak; you must remember to wear your furs if you find yourself wandering out here once more.”

You look up at him through your lashes, your heart skipping a beat at the proximity between you and him, the depth of his dark eyes. “And if I were to wander out here again…might I be able to count on you to escort me? I must confess I find the halls of Winterfell quite confusing.”

He lingers for a moment, drinking you in, his head nodding almost imperceptibly, then he wrenches himself away, his gaze set forward. “Anyone in Winterfell would be more than able to escort you, My Lady.”

You nod, feeling the sting of rejection. It’s no matter, this is only the first night, there’s still plenty of time.

Yes I used a Hozier line bc it's perfect for the vibe of this fic

#meg's writing #jon snow x reader #jon snow x you #jon snow x oc #jon snow imagine #jon snow #tyrion lannister #lannister!reader #new series alert! #I know y'all don't want this but I wanted to make the title thing so bad #tyrion's daughter #theon greyjoy x sansa stark #theon greyjoy #sansa stark #got fanfiction #robb stark

[aegor-bamfsteel]

In a sense, would you consider Theon Greyjoy to be Ned Stark’s son, as Jon Snow (despite his true heritage) very much is?

Well, let’s ask Theon, before his imprisonment by Ramsay:

Theon held his tongue, though not without struggle. So that is the way of it, he thought. As if ten years in Winterfell could make a Stark. Lord Eddard had raised him among his own children, but Theon had never been one of them. The whole castle, from Lady Stark to the lowliest kitchen scullion, knew he was hostage to his father's good behavior, and treated him accordingly. Even the bastard Jon Snow had been accorded more honor than he had.

Lord Eddard had tried to play the father from time to time, but to Theon he had always remained the man who'd brought blood and fire to Pyke and taken him from his home. As a boy, he had lived in fear of Stark's stern face and great dark sword. His wife was, if anything, even more distant and suspicious.

"I forget nothing." Ned Stark had killed neither of his brothers, in truth. Rodrik had been slain by Lord Jason Mallister at Seagard, Maron crushed in the collapse of the old south tower . . . but Stark would have done for them just as quick had the tide of battle chanced to sweep them together.  —Theon I, ACOK

Theon thought of seeking out the bodies of the two men he'd slain himself to see if they had any jewelry worth the taking, but the notion left a bitter taste in his mouth. He could imagine what Eddard Stark would have said. Yet that thought made him angry too. Stark is dead and rotting, and naught to me, he reminded himself. Ugly as it was, that smile brought back a hundred memories. Theon had seen it often as a boy, when he'd jumped a horse over a mossy wall, or flung an axe and split a target square. He'd seen it when he blocked a blow from Dagmer's sword, when he put an arrow through a seagull on the wing, when he took the tiller in hand and guided a longship safely through a snarl of foaming rocks. He gave me more smiles than my father and Eddard Stark together. —Theon III, ACOK

"This is craven," Ser Rodrik said. "To use a child so . . . this is despicable." "Oh, I know," said Theon. "It's a dish I tasted myself, or have you forgotten? I was ten when I was taken from my father's house, to make certain he would raise no more rebellions."

The noose I wore was not made of hempen rope, that's true enough, but I felt it all the same. And it chafed, Ser Rodrik. It chafed me raw." He had never quite realized that until now, but as the words came spilling out he saw the truth of them. —Theon VI, ACOK

And after his torture:

But if anyone spoke of him now, it was as Theon Turncloak, and the tales they told were of his treachery. This was never my home. I was a hostage here. Lord Stark had not treated him cruelly, but the long steel shadow of his greatsword had always been between them. He was kind to me, but never warm. He knew that one day he might need to put me to death. —The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD

The old gods, he thought. They know me. They know my name. I was Theon of House Greyjoy. I was a ward of Eddard Stark, a friend and brother to his children. "Please." He fell to his knees. "A sword, that's all I ask. Let me die as Theon, not as Reek." Tears trickled down his cheeks, impossibly warm. "I was ironborn. A son … a son of Pyke, of the islands." —A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

It’s true that his feelings toward Ned had softened by ADWD (which makes sense, given what he’s been through with Ramsay), but despite that there’s a common theme that Ned was always cold and distant, never affectionate, because everyone knew Theon was a hostage for Balon’s good behavior, and Ned would’ve had to execute him had he rebelled again. There was really no way that Ned and Theon could’ve developed the positive relationship that Ned and Jon did (despite the shadow of Jon’s mother between them, Jon looks up to Ned and wants to make him proud) given that history. He may have called him a “second father” in swearing his oath to Robb, but neither Balon nor Ned were true father figures to Theon, so he considers Cleftjaw his “uncle” (the man who gave him affection as a child). Ned considered Jon Arryn a second father, as Quentyn did Lord Yronwood, but neither had Theon’s history as a hostage against their birth family.

Now, Theon doesn’t have the same baggage with Ned’s kids as with the man himself. He saved Bran and fought alongside Robb (who in his first chapter admits to having affection for, “as for a little brother”), so it makes sense a regretful Theon would think of himself as their friend and brother. But he’d never think of Ned as his “true father” (another example of the show misunderstanding his character).

#ask #opinion #theon greyjoy #asoiaf #eddard stark critical

[babylonfelldown]

I saw a tiktok about Jon and Theon and it made me remember how fuking insane their dynamic is

They're broken mirrors of each other: both of them just want the starks to see them as family, they want to feel wanted, they envy and hate each other.

Theon is a trueborn son of a great house, an heir even, but at the same time he's treated as a squire and a ward when convenient, (he helps Ned and Robb), he's also seen as a hostage and a threat, never quite trustworthy. He says repeatedly that he never felt wellcome by the Starks and that the only one to have any affection for him was Robb. Theon dreams to be wed to Sansa, not because he loves her, but because them he would be a son for Ned. He envies Jon because even being a bastard he's loved by Ned (ln a way neither Ned or his actual father loved him), his sibilings (all of them) love him, even if Lady Stark doesn't like him, he is family in Theon's eyes.

Jon is a bastard, he's a shame that must remain hidden, it doesn't matter how much Ned or his sibilings love him, he will never be a true Stark in the eyes of westerosi society. He is trusted but his loyality is always at question, Jon is a threat to Robb's claim in many peoples eyes, like he wants his brothers birthright, and the worst of it all is: he does. He desperately wants to be a trueborn son, but he loves Robb deeply, more than he could ever wish to be legitimate. He envies Theon because he is a trueborn son, he is an heir, he will get to have a wife and children of his own, legitimate children that won't be called names.

Truely insane dynamic of hatred and envy that culminates with both of them trying to one up each other on everything.

#a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #game of thrones #got meta #theon greyjoy #jon snow #theonblogging #jonblogging #im just rambling

[buttercuparry]

Thinking about D&D fucking up with replacing Jeyne with Sansa in the way she mirrors Theon.

Jeyne Poole, daughter of Vayon Poole wouldn't get to marry a high lord as she is from a minor house and yet Arya Stark would marry one, even though her stitches are crooked, and she plays underfoot and according to Jeyne, her face is horsey. That's cruel and unfair and so we have her anger at Arya:

I will be a good wife to him, and t-true. I … I will please him and give him sons. I will be a better wife than the real Arya could have been, he'll see.

Theon, the hostage taken from his home, afraid among these strangers. But maybe it can be a home. Maybe if he cannot return to his father, he can be a son to Eddard through a marriage with Sansa Stark but alas. Theon Greyjoy is only a hostage and not a Stark. After his visit to Balon turns disappointing, mortifying, the only way to prove himself is to conquer Winterfell.

It's just the way both their desires are connected. So close to Starks but never enough. Not at that station of life or not a part of the family. And then you remember Barbrey Dustin!

"Why do you love the Starks?

Theon: I ... I wanted to be one of them ...

Barbrey: And never could. We have more in common than you know, my lord."

These dynamics were so important. So interesting. What it says about class. What it means to be of the House of same standing as House Stark. The desires. The anger. The helplessness all colliding and breaking into shards of dreams unfulfilled. But no. No we didn't have that. We had Sansa marry Ramsay and say rape made her strong :)

#jeyne Poole #theon greyjoy

[laurellerual]

Our Blades Are Sharp

#asoiaf #asoiaf fanart #house bolton #arya stark #theon greyjoy #jeyne poole #ramsay bolton #roose bolton #walda frey #elmar frey

[irlplasticlamb]

i want to fight for winterfell, lady sansa.

prints + merch

#vic.txt #my art #theonsa #sansa stark #theon greyjoy #game of thrones #got #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #hotd #theon x sansa #art #fanart #illustration #artists on tumblr #digital art #character art

[wraithwen]

🦑 prince of fools 🦑

#SORRY I'VE BEEN OUT OF IT!!! #art #theon greyjoy #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #valyrianscrolls #yes honey that comet is for you don't worry about it

[nedseii]

📷!

#asoiaf #sansa stark #theon greyjoy #arya stark #bran stark #myart #I guess I'll tag this as: #modern au

[weirwoodsea]

BRAVE, GENTLE, STRONG

THEONSA SOUPVERSARY 2024

#soupversary2024 #theonsa #theonsaedit #sansa stark #ned stark #theon greyjoy #sansastarkedit #theongreyjoyedit #gotsansastark #gottheongreyjoy #game of thrones #gotedit #alfie was so real for being like 'i broke my hand' after punching that guy lol #sansa x theon #theon x sansa #op #gif

[melrosing]

starks + theon DONE

more here

#catelyn stark #eddard stark #rickon stark #theon greyjoy #robb stark #jon snow #sansa stark #bran stark #arya stark #asoiaf #the ones I definitely want to do are the Lannisters + Dany and if I’m not bored by then I’ll do more #but not gonna turn it into a video until I feel done lol #anyway this was fun lol idk why im making it my mission to revive 2008 cringe in 2024 asoiaf fandom tho #melrosing art #asoiaf caramelldansen thing

[bibiundtinaundzombies]

appreciation post for the random ass horses with cool names of asoiaf. like, the silver? stranger? smiler? all of those are metal as fuck. dany, theon and sandor just woke up and went „let me give my newly acquired opinionated bicycle the raddest fucking name anyone has ever read on a fei registry“. could never be me. my horse‘s government name is lily.

#sandor clegane #daenerys targaryen #theon greyjoy #smiler the horse #stranger the horse #the silver the horse #asoiaf #asoiaf horses #idk why but i felt the urge to say this #game of thrones

[greywoe]

child ward in search of belonging indulges in juvenile fantasies as a coping mechanism. sad!

#my drawings #asoiaf #asoiaf fanart #theon greyjoy #not tagging the others bc they’re products of his imagination #so @ their fans: dw they’re not real……. #well i mean they’re not real anyway but as in a portrayal of their canon selves etc #this has been finished for so long but i debated whether or not to upload it here lol i’m not super happy w it #i think i did this mainly bc i wanted to draw fancy and ornate clothing (at least by my standards lol) #but it’s a quote i think abt sometimes bc it’s kind of endearing and sad and funny at the same time #adwd #well the quote is from there #also he’s yassifying himself a bit in his imagination… he’s handsome and successful and everyone admires him #and sansa’s kind of.. reduced to his prize in a way. while his focus is on ned welcoming him into the family #legitimacy and validation and safety 👍

[kaellecappuccino]

#asoiaf #catelyn stark #lysa tully #renly baratheon #stannis baratheon #sandor clegane #gregor clegane #arya stark #sansa stark #jaime lannister #cersei lannister #tyrion lannister #jon snow #robb stark #theon greyjoy #asha greyjoy #bran stark #daenerys targaryen #rhaegar targaryen

[laurellerual]

Sansa as the fair Jonquil, Jeyne as Jonquil's sister, Theon as the Grey King, Rickon as a direwolf, Robb as King Daeron the Young Dragon, Bran as Ser Barristan the Bold, Arya as Nymeria of the Rhoyne, Jon as the ghost of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight.

When the spirit stepped out of the open tomb, pale white and moaning for blood, Sansa ran shrieking for the stairs, and Bran wrapped himself around Robb’s leg, sobbing. Arya stood her ground and gave the spirit a punch. It was only Jon, covered with flour. “You stupid,” she told him, “you scared the baby!” but Jon and Robb just laughed and laughed, and pretty soon Bran and Arya were laughing too.

#asoiaf #asoiaf fanart #house stark #arya stark #jon snow #sansa stark #bran stark #robb stark #rickon stark #theon greyjoy #jeyne poole #winter is coming #happy halloweeeeeeen #a bit late