#but also rip rickon stark it shouldn’t have had to be this way :(

[winterreigned]

my sister in law is watching got for the first time and since we’re all away we watched battle of the bastards w her and now I’m feeling some type of way for the rest of the day

[ruffiorocks]

Sansa Stark is misunderstood

Since its come back round to the time GOT last season was on I'm seeing a lot of renewed posts and a lot of revived hate for Sansa Stark. But it's not even justifiable hate!

I just saw a Facebook post where some bloke who fyi stated he "believed in female equality" stated that everything that happened to Sansa (abuse wise) was entirely her own fault and he bet she wished she knew how to fight like Arya while she was with Ramsey! Holy shit!! I can't believe i actually read that and when the bloke was called out for victim shaming he scoffed and insisted he believed in female equality!

People hate on Sansa because she isn't Jon, or Arya or Robb. But here's the thing, Sansa is everything she was supposed to be! She was everything she was raised to be, it's actually Arya who is the odd one for the world this story is set in.

I'm re-reading the first book and it's explained in Arya's first POV chapter what Sansa is like and how Arya is expected to be the same. Arya's first chapter is her thinking about how she is the odd one out. How much of a Lady Sansa is, how the sisters are treated by their mother and Septa Mordane. Even Jon, who gifts her needle, speaks to her about how she should be doing her needle work, and how girls get coats of arms but not swords.

Sansa at the start is exactly what she should be and exactly how she was raised to be. She's still an 11 year old child at the start of the books, and in the show she's about 13. A little Lady who still believes in songs and noble, handsome princes and happy endings. Why is that? Because that is how she was raised. Arya rejects all this as she is the odd one out, but it's not lack of trying on her parents and her Septas part. Eddard is a bit more sympathetic to his children, he knows Bran shouldn't be climbing but knows he can't stop him, so just tells him to not let his mother see. He knows Arya should be acting like a lady , it's the whole reasons he takes her to Kings Landing, he even tells her she will be a Lady and have sons etc and Arya tells him that's not her. After discovering her with needle Ned gives in and gets her a sword master. He doesn't change anything with Sansa, because she is exactly what she is supposed to be, he seems a bit clueless with her because he buys her a doll.

Now, Sansa acts like she is in a song when she is with Joffrey because no one has bothered to tell her that life isn't like a song, she is still a child but being put in adult situations.."Winter is Coming" failed on Sansa, because she wasn't taught that life isn't a song like she should have been. She doesn't understand why her father wants to send her home and destroy her fairy tale with her Prince, so this 11 year old (don't remember her doing it in the show) runs to Cersei who panders to her and complains.

Sansa doesn't get away from the Red Keep because she is watched constantly, she is the Prince's betrothed. Arya only escapes with the help or Syrio, left alone Arya would have been f**ked as well. This doesn't make Arya better than Sansa.

Sansa does everything she can to she Ned's life, she is a child being manipulated by Cersei.

Later Sansa is abused both physically and verbally and humilated for all of the court to see. She's beaten by grown men taking orders from a little psychopath. She can't stand up to them even if she tried. Give her a sword and train her to use it she would still have been f**ked. Put a trained Arya in her place and Arya would be f**ked to, she may kill a few knights but she would still end up being killed.

People forget how Sansa survived! Partly because she knew she had to play a dutiful part and she did. You think Margery was good at controlling Joffrey? Sansa had her own way as well.

People often forget how Sansa saved Ser Dontos life by manipulating Joffrey into making him his fool.

Everyone forgets how she stood up to Joffrey when he said he would give her Robbs head and she said Robb may give her his! No fear of Joffrey at all!

The very same scene she goes to push the little prat off the ledge and is only stopped by Clegane.

Swap her with Arya and Arya would be dead or locked up by then. Joffrey already hated her because of Nymeria. Joff wasn't betrothed to her, Arya may have stood up to him and gone wild as Arya is known to do but she would soon be killed.

Sansa knew that being compliant with the odd defiance here and there was the way to survive. She learned that quickly! A lesson Arya would never have learned if she had remained in the Red Keep.

People cheer Arya for killing people and how she wanted to kill Joffrey, whilst forgetting that Sansa very nearly did!

Sansa also warned Margery and Olenna about what Joffrey was like. Risking a lot if that got out!

She was the one to calm the women during the Battle of the Black Water Bay while Cersei got drunk, all the time knowing exactly why Ser Illyane Payne was there with them.

Sansa was forcibly married to Tyrion, he treated her well whilst the whole time being told by his father to get her pregnant by any means necessary. At least she found common ground with Tyrion, making the most of her situation. Arya would have rebelled and probably killed or locked up eventually for being defiant.

Sansa was nearly raped in the streets of Kings Landing, she was essentially ordered to be raped by Tyrion on Tywins orders. She was stripped in front of the court by Ser Merys whilst being threatened by Joffrey and his cross bow. She was later taken to the Eryie by known creepy pervert Little Finger, used again as a marriage pawn for Robin Arryn, kissed by creepy Little Finger, attacked and nearly thrown through the moon door by her aunt Lysa. She lied to protect Little Finger because she was starting to learn to play the game.

She was betrayed by Little Finger and married to the insane Ramsey. Constantly brutely raped by him and locked up. But she survived! She even had the guts to stand up to him as well, making it clear he was bastard and no royal decree from another bastard was going to change that.

She manages to escape with Theon and make her way to Castle Black to Jon.

Throughout all this time and abuse Sansa has not cracked. She is not the naive little girl she was raised and expected to be. She has learned what the world is really like, something the Starks should have taught her from day one. The books and the show make a point of have the men say that the boys will soon be men and need to learn what the world is like but the girls? Nope!

Sansa has survived all her abuse, and she has watched and learned how to play the game. She convinces Jon to take back Winterfell, she brings the Knights of the Vale, remember Jon didn't even want to listen to her input. He didn't want to listen to what she of Ramsey. It may be seen as harsh but Sansa knew that Rickon was dead the moment he was in Ramseys clutches, Jon was very noble wanting to save him but there was no chance.

Sansa shows how much she has learned and who she has been made into, the person she has been hiding just waiting to come out when she sets Ramseys dogs on him and enjoys watching his demise. Sansa is often condemned for this while Arya is praised for being a little psycho that loves to kill and does often.

Sansa sits by and says nothing when her birthright is ripped from her and Jon is declared King in the North, whilst she is left with Lady of Winterfell. She supports him, and she speaks her mind which is her right and he chastises her for questioning him in front of the Lords, her place is to discuss it in private. Even though she knows a lot more than he does when it came to the Northern Lords, or Cersei.

Sansa worries about the things others don't. She spent her time worrying about feeding her people, making sure their armour was warm enough, running Winterfell. This may seem boring to the viewers in comparison to Arya swapping faces and murdering all the Freys but this is why Sansa does! This is what makes Sansa strong!

Sansa understands politics, something that Jon, Arya and even Daenerys don't understand. Sansa knows how the North works, she knows how Cersei operates. She knows what the people of the North need, how the Northern Lords think. She sees the danger that Dany presents. She knows that will need her help but she doesn't trust her and doesn't want the Northern independence surrendered, something Jon did without consulting his people at all.

Sansa appropriately worries about feeding the amount of Dothraki and unsullied Dany brings with her. Boring to the viewers? Yes but a legit concern. She also worries about the Dragons and Dany petulantly tells Sansa dragons eat whatever they want. She couldn't have just answered the question properly? Maybe reassured Sansa they won't eat the Northerners, or their supplies?

Sansa is the only one after the battle for Winterfell that believes the soldiers need a break! Something they actually could have had, Cersei and the South could have waited a few days. They no longer than the dead to worry about, but Dany is impatient, caring only for what he believes is hers and not for the people. Jon even shuts Sansa down, suddenly he's stopped caring for the Northerners as well and wants to follow Dany like a loyal little dog.

Oh poor poor little Dany, no one loves her in the North. Maybe that's because the North don't trust foreign invaders. May be because she came to Winterfell after their king they had JUST elected gave it up to a foreign conqueror. Maybe because she came with three large Dragons and seemed to enjoy the fear they inspired. (Seriously go back and watch her arrive at Winterfell). Dany was so used to being worshipped like a Goddess, but that's not how things are done in the North. The Lords of Winterfell mingle with their men, celebrate together and don't worship their leaders like Gods. You can see her annoyance after the Battle for Winterfell. Oh no she lost people? Well suck it up buttercup so did everyone else. She didn't have anyone to celebrate with? Well maybe that's because Dany never made any friends! She had people that served her, even Jorah was a servant, Grey Worm, Missandi all servants not her friends. You can tell the difference with deference to her, the Northerners don't act like that, Jon and Sansa drink with the men like they are one of them. While Dany sits waiting to be pandered to.

Anyway, even Arya sees the issues with Dany! Sansa unites her family and out wits Little Finger of all people! She was once again biding her time waiting to strike. She knows how the game in played.

People praise Jon, Dany and Arya for fighting in the battle of Winterfell? Jon was a trained warrior, Arya was a trained assassin, Dany is pretty useless if she's Dragon less, e picked up a sword to fight with Jorah but didn't actually do much. Sansa is NOT a warrior, she did the best thing she could have done for everyone and stayed out of the way. She actually did have a knife and was ready to fight with Tyrion but it didn't come to that.

Sansa is one of the characters that changed the most, spoilt little girl wanting her fairy tale, to abused girl learning to survive, to abused woman still surving, to the Lady of Winterfell who understood politics and the game, to the Queen in the North who gained Northern independence.

But to blame her for all the bad stuff that happened to her? Blaming her for being raped because she couldn't hold a sword? People like that make me sick!

Sansa may not have been the most exciting character, but she learned how to play the game, she learned from her experiences, she cared about her people, she underwrite politics and saw the issues with Dany long before Jon did.

[ghostladyofwinterfell]

Phases of the Moon

A Jonsa Buffy The Vampire Slayer AU/inspiration

Summary: For some reason unbeknown to Sansa, the old gods had chosen her to be the next girl to have the power to stop the Wights and the Long Night. 

But they shouldn’t have. Not this Stark girl at least. 

No, Sansa just wanted to be on the cheer squad and get into a good college far from the North. This hadn’t come into the equation. 

But neither had Robb’s best friend Jon, whose absentee father had shown up out of blue just shy of his eighteenth birthday and taken off with him. Now he was back and changed. He had come back wrong. 

Chapter One: Changes

It shouldn't be Sansa. He had said that she was the chosen one, the man who was to be her watcher. She was the who would stand alone against the forces of darkness, to keep the long night at bay.

Yer right. They had clearly gotten it wrong somewhere. For she was not who anybody would have picked for this. She was the pampered princess, lips glossed, short skirt smoothed down and not a single curled hair out of place.

She certainly shouldn't be the only one in this generation that was for sure.  Mankind was doomed. 

She was not a fighter. If it had to have been a Stark girl, then it should have been Arya. She feels guilty about how many times she had prayed before going to bed, which was somewhere around three in the morning now, for wanting it to be Arya. 

Let it be her. Not this Stark. Let her be the chosen one and not me. You have it all wrong. 

Sansa was only just seventeen, graveyard patrols, musty books on white walkers, grass stained jeans and hidden scratch marks should not be her life right now.

But then again, Arya was only fourteen years old and Sansa felt the shame burn in her every time she sent a whispered prayer to the old gods in her mind. Let it be her.

Arya was a fighter though, she told herself to provide some comfort. Just looking at her Sansa could tell she was a down in the mud, claws out, snarl on her face, fight to her last breath kind of girl.

Not like her, whose first instinct when she was told she had the power now to kill this creature had wanted to run. She took one look at its vacant ice eyes, to its chomping teeth that kept trying to sink into the flesh of her arm, to its grasping hands that wanted to rip her skin open and had thought about throwing this watcher into its jaws so she could run.

Even now, after doing this for a whole moons turn she had still not taken to it. She felt the power in her, but it felt disjointed, she was not connected to it. Maybe it knew she wasn't worthy.

Davos Seathworth, her watcher, was a firm but gentle man. He reminded her of her father, he was a just man but he also a realist. He said he understood how she must be feeling, she scoff in reply, how in the seven hells could he.

Every time he spoke of her new found powers and that she should be grateful of this gift she wanted to hit him. That would be wrong though, he was quiet old, ten years younger and she might have been tempted. But she likes to picture it though, like now as he babbles on about the origins of the long night and the many mystical mumbo jumbo forces connecting the Wights together to act as one entity, she wanted to sock him in the face.

The way she saw it was that her being the chosen one wasn't a gift, it was an early death.

She who was so full of life before and now she was just a shadow barely keeping it together. Nearly dying on weekly bases, flunking in school and seeing her friends was not something to celebrate and send thanks to the old gods for choosing her.

It was Friday, the last day of school before Christmas break and Davos was getting her prepared for a Wight hunt. For some reason once the dead were laid to rest in the dirt, they rose again to roam as mindless animals.

It was five-thirty and she was still at school in the library, she didn't even know this place existed until she had to report here to meet Davos. What a trainwreck her life was now.

Sansa had already managed to cram in a school day, a quick cheer practice on the field, all before she had head to the library and started her assignments set for the holidays.

The sun was just starting to set early now in fall just before six, when they were finishing their training session, she was about to duck out before she mentioned it.

"I need another weapon", she mumbled quietly hoping he wouldn't hear, but he did. He always did. His head shot around to her from where he was packing away exercise equipment and she cursed at him in her mind, for an old guy his hearing was exceptionally good.

And now five minutes later she was watching a currently red in the face Davos as he armed her with another dragon glass knife and kept repeating the importance of stowing away weapons safely and effectively. Its not her fault she had accidently misplaced her previous one somewhere, she was sure she would find it again.  

"Uh-huh, thanks D. Definitely gonna take on board all those things about taking care of things. Bye." She made a break for it as soon as the black dagger was in her palm.

Just as the door was swinging shut she heard him mumble under his breath. "Gods, the world is in trouble."

Her senses had kicked into overdrive when it all happened. Her enhanced slayer hearing had helped her eavesdrop on many gossiping groups.

Sometimes she wished she couldn't hear everything. Davos could say what he liked she snivelled to herself. He wasn't the one who risked his life.

At the end of the night she bet he climbed into his cosy bed and slept like a baby. He was safe, all he did was tell her which cemetery had any recent burials in the city and sent her on her way. He didn't have to try at not falling behind in school, or keeping up with studying and homework, staying committed to cheer practice and make time for friends and family. He just had to watch.

And then there was him. Somebody who had grown up beside her her whole life, but who she had kept at a distant. Robbs best friend. Aryas hero. Bran and Rickons idol.

He never used to mean anything to her, the lack of any kind of relationship compared to her other Stark siblings had been a constant in her, she guessed even that had changed to.  

Just like her position in the cheerleading team that Arya still scoffed at whenever she said she was going. They were going to drop her soon she was sure of it, she should have been taking over as captain in her senior year.

I mean sure her body had gotten stronger, she could now move it in ways she couldn't before, but she was distracted, turning up late and forgetting routines.  

But back to one of the other thorns in her side. Jon bloody snow.

All she knew was,  in the summer at the end of his senior year of high school, around about the same time this whole destiny crap had happened to her,  his absentee father had shown up out the blue.

Jon had disappeared with him the day before his eighteenth birthday and Robb had been devastated that all their summer plans were ruined. It was as he called it there last hurrah before they went off to college.

Robb was just being dramatic of course, because they were both going to Castle College together up North, that was not even a two hour drive from Winterfell.

Jon had started the semester late and he returned back to Winterfell with Robb a few days ago ready for Christmas, and he had come back changed.

He had gotten taller, had a dark and troubled glint in his eyes now, but the main thing that had caught her attention was the muscles that now wrapped around his body. The other night when she had seen him she had stared a little too hard at his arms and how his t-shirt stretched around them too tightly. And he was, in shock to Sansa as she didn't think it could be possible, even more brooding.

She often daydreamed about that physique and those that penetrating  stare being aimed at her in the middle of calculus class. It wasn't like she was needed to know any of this stuff anymore.  

Whenever he was in the house hanging around with Robb during  the past couple of days, the hairs on the back of her neck would rise and she knew he had walked into the room.

She should have know that it wasn't because she had finally noticed he was now hot and on her radar.

She had arrived home just in time for tea. Which as Stark tradition demands had to be eaten at the family dining table with no phones.

She felt like even in her home she was trying to play catch up, listening to all her siblings stories over their starter on how their days were and trying to give noises as her reply and ask appropriate questions at the end.

She feigned how excited she was at breaking up from school. She tried to pretend to be her old self, who had loved having lazy mornings and meeting friends for coffee and shopping as her only schedule. They would spend hours in the mall wandering aimlessly with not a care in the world.

Now she would have to play catch up on school work she was too tired to pay attention to in class, practice her cheer routines so she wouldn't be to far behind, train more with Davos who demanded more of her time now there was no school and still meet with friends for trips to the mall.

The air shifted when the door opened. Robb and Jon joining them for the main course after just getting back from a movie. At least Robb had thankfully dominated all the conversation to discuss the film, college, football and girls.

Her mind was either on her patrol tonight or how the stubble Jon had grown out suited that sharp jaw of his. She didn't know which thought worried her more.

They were getting to the end of their meal when she knew she had to make her excuses.

"Can I go over to Beth's tonight for a sleepover, so we can practice our new cheer routine?" She tried to make sure her voice was sugary sweet.

Arya laughs cruelly before butting in. Doesn't she know Sansa doesn't care for her opinion. "Its not the routine you all need help with, its the spelling. How hard is it to shout out names?"

That utter horse face, she seethed.

Robb and Jon both chuckle. She feels herself get embarrassed, her face heating up. She never used to be bothered with what Jon thought of her.

Her father, ever the mediator steps in. "You've been spending a lot of nights studying late or having sleepovers at friends lately, is everything okay".

That's funny, Sansa didn't think he even noticed. He of course had gone to several of her cheer performances, but she knew deep down he thought it was silly.

"I've always gone to sleepovers." And it was true. She was a social butterfly like her mother, people were drawn to her and she sometimes craved a crowd of people who hung on her every word. Or at least she used to.

"Not this many". Great her mum and dad were doing that back up thing again, were they ganged up on you.

Great, she was probably going to have to try to quietly sneak out. It was much easier to head straight out after dinner when the sun had set. Otherwise she would have to get her pyjamas on, get under the covers and snuggled down before her mother and father popped their head round the door to say goodnight.

She often nearly dozed off she was that comfy and tired. She often nearly started crying when she had to get of her silk pj's and back into clothes.

Her mother must take pity on her desperate expression and gives a curt agreement that she can go, but she is to be back in the morning early for family breakfast at 10.

She happily nods in reply before dashing off upstairs to fill a bag with what she calls a slayer survival kit. Extra thick jumper and socks, drinks, snacks, magazines and her dagger.

Jon's gaze follows her from the room and she has to try really hard to keep her head focused on getting up the stairs.

She might have taken a little longer to climb the stairs so Jon could get a good look at her long longs, even if she was in a rush to hit two separate cemeteries tonight for the two different burial sites.

She sighs heavily for the sixth time this hour alone. She checks her phone again, 1 o'clock. 1 o'clock in the bloody morning and this stupid corpse hasn't risen up yet. The other body at the grave site nearer the centre of town had risen at 10 sharp.

Obviously some Wights were more concerned with time management than others.

"Hurry up." She says tartly down at the freshly planted grave as though she can command it to rise. Doesn't it know she has better things to do like sleep and dream of a certain boy.

She rises from her squatted position, shoving the magazine she had read from front to back thoroughly two time already back in her bag.

She begins her warm up again, stretching her muscles repeatedly every fifteen minutes to keep herself ready, to help her remain awake and to warm her frozen limbs back up.

Tonight sucked. She left home at seven, instead of heading out she could have suggested a film night and slyly made sure her seat on the sofa was next to Jon's.

Well it was no use pouting over now.

She felt a nervous thrum in her chest. That same sort of hair raising, stomach sinking feeling that was usually an alarm bell sounding from within. Danger. She reached in her bag for the dragon glass because this Wight was sure to rise now.

The light smattering of snow on the ground made everything in here eerily silent. 

As if it absorbed all the noise into it. It wasn't thick enough were it would crunch beneath her boots. Which is why she didn't hear the impact of foot falls behind her. 

It confused her at first, why was the ground coming up to meet her face, it clicked a second later when she felt its ice blocks for arms weighing her down. Its foul and cold breath gave a weird sensation in her ear, as though when it snarled, outpoured snowflakes right into the shell of it and into her head making it heavy.

She hit the floor hard, harder with its body on top of her and an exasperated sound falls from her lips as her weapon tumbles a few feet in front of her. Her arms were trapped. All she could do was try to buck its body off of her as it tried to attack at her neck.

She dislodged it enough that she could use the strength in her thighs to launch it away with her feet. She threw it hard enough to hear a crack as it landed up against a tombstone.

She turned around crawling towards her weapon, but the thing had righted itself and grabbed a hold of her ankle pulling her away.

She cries out as if the world is truly against her as a hand breaks through the soil of the grave and out into the world.

Two of them in one cemetery, she had only ever gone one on one before. She felt a slight betrayal, Davos had only said two would rise tonight but at different sites. She had already taken care of the first one across town.  

The other rose in the same amount of time it took for her to nearly grab at the dagger. They were freakishly fast for dead folk.

Kicking out her feet at the first so it couldn't grab hold of her leg again and pinning it up against the gravestone, leaves her a small chance to deal with the second as it launches itself at her.  She quickly finds purchase gripping a hold of its neck, her muscles begin to feel as though they are on fire at holding back the sheer strength the Wights posses.

But her other arm is free to grab her dagger. Which might be trickier than she first thought as it was still a little out of reach and she couldn't drag herself closer as the snow around them melts in the scuffle and makes the ground slippy.

She feels a tingle in her gut, a tell tale sign of alert for her and see's a shadow approaching them in her peripheral.

Oh gods, its another one. Three of them, I'll surely die.

All three would surround and pin her down, taking turns to bite chunks of her flesh.

Would she turn into one of these things after. Would her family have to go to the morgue to see her mangled, chewed up body. Gods, her family. Her mum, her dad.

Her heart pounded quickly but this thing approached slowly, crouching down just in front of her. What the hell.

Her heart is in her throat as she peels her eyes away from the monsters to stare into blue eyes. Not the ice blue of Wights but a deep, chocolate brown. Jon bloody Snows brown eyes, as they smirk down at her.

"Do you need some help sweet girl?"

Her eyebrows furrowed, was this a trick. Was Jon a bad guy all this time and she didn't know it. Her mind flashed to all the times he had come into a room and she had that feeling in her gut. She was sure it was a nervous flutter because of her huge crush.

She was so stupid. Her senses had been warning her this whole time and she was too distracted by him to realise.  

It was surprising how good he obviously was at hiding this dark part of himself, he was someone who Sansa thought could be read like a book.

But he made no move to kill her though. And she really didn't know how long she could keep these two at bay. Was he really waiting for her to give an answer.

"Erm. Yes... please?".

He smiled down at her, she was courteous even as she was trying to keep deaths jaws pried open to stop it from swallowing her.

He rises up, finally stepping out of the shadows and into the light of moon. He looked less scary bathed in the moons glow.

Maybe he just happened to be in the neighbourhood? Even though he was sleeping at her house and it was 1 o'clock in the morning.

She tried to read his face but it remained blank, she truly didn't know what he was going to do. She had spent years around this man and in this moment she felt like she didn't know him.

He used his foot to nudge the dagger closer to her free arm, she sent a quick prayer to the gods.

Before she could even look to grab it, Wight number two had slipped from her grasp.

She grabs the weapon and tackles it to the floor, as she goes to slam the dagger in its chest a body flies through the air beside her.

The Wight she has a hold of shrieks as it breaks down, as if it was entirely made of ice, she then turns to face the one beside her.

The one that's probably killed Jon. It was all her fault, she was sure if Arya was the slayer she could take on five whole Wights at once. She wanted to lay down at cry. He was dead.

Only, it was brown eyes not blue eyes she looked upon beside her.

"Oh- you're not dead". Well done Sansa, great deduction there. He probably already thinks you're some dumb cheerleader.

His lips quip up in a half smile, but before she can say anything to him again they both turn to the Wight that's screeching a  few graves away. It almost sounded as if it was in pain, and she reprimands herself for being sloppy in forgetting about the thing for even a second.

How did it even get a few gravestones over? She recalls it, a body being flung in the air. She thought it was Jon's though, what with the Wights inhuman strength.

"How did you throw it off that far?" She's swallows nervously, back to being worried about him.

He merely shrugs. She was sure he used to talk more than this, even if it was rarely to her.

She cautiously approaches the Wight, looking as though it was writhing on the ground. She brings her dagger up ready to embed it in its chest, it was grasping at a bite mark on its own neck, screeching out before it turned to ice flakes blowing in the wind.

Why did it have a bite mark on its neck? How did it die without being killed by dragonglass? What was Jon doing here?

She held the pointy end of the dagger towards him. He knew something. Nobody who had just witnessed all this would be okay right now. He clearly knew Wights existed. He wasn't afraid. Sansa even thinks he just killed that one somehow.

She knew that there were other bad things in the world. Other monsters. And maybe he was one. How else could he have thrown that Wight so far.

Was she going to have to kill Robbs best friend?

"What. Are. You". There was no time for niceties, she had too many questions swirling around in her mind.

"I could ask you the same thing. What's Robbs little sister doing in a cemetery fighting monsters in the middle of the night". He takes a step closer to her then, she feels the heat coming off him in waves. Did he always run this hot? Was he sick?

He takes another step towards her approaching her as though she were a skittish doe. She wants to take one back because they're nearly touching, she feels the ghost of his touch brush her arms.

He's too close, he'll muddle her head up because all she know see's is him, all she hears is his heart beating fast, too fast. His scent floods all around her and she can only focus on him.

He puts a finger to her chin and tilts her head up to the sky.

He leans down and whispers in her ear, "Its almost a full moon".

Was that a fact or a warning. She didn't know, he was hard to understand. Boys were hard to understand at the best of times.

She stares at the moon, she never notices its phases, why would she ever need to bother. Looking at it now she could see it was almost there. On the cusp of being round and full.

She looks to him as he takes a step back, his pupils are wide as they gaze up at the sky.

He cuts down to her quick and sharp. The he grins. A wide one showing off pointed teeth that gleam in reflection of the light.

And she just knows again, that her whole world has shifted for a second time in her life, everything she knew would change once more.

[sansa-of-oldstones]

In The Chaos - Chapter 4

Finally finished another chapter of this modern au I refuse to abandon.

Chapter 1/ Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Also on Ao3 

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It’s weeks before Brandon Stark graces them with his presence. Jon had heard of him. Stark Technologies was responsible for a majority of the advancements Jon had seen in his lifetime, and Brandon Stark was its CEO. He’s famous for more than his name, and filthy stinking rich. From what Jon had heard, he’s also a bit of an asshole, and nothing like his brothers. He was anxious to meet this man no one seemed fond of.

He sat next to Sansa in the conference room the hospital had let them use. Robb glared at the clock on the wall from across the table.

“He should have been here ten minutes ago.” Sansa shared her brother’s disapproval.

“He’ll be here.” Benjen promised. Jon had heard Benjen on the phone with who he could only assume was Brandon. Benjen may be younger, but he wasn’t taking any of Brandon’s shit. “It was a long flight.”

“Don’t make excuses for him.” Robb warned. “We still like you.”

Brandon joined them shortly thereafter, wearing a suit that fit him perfectly, and sunglasses Jon knew to be expensive. Before his father was hired to be a part of Ned Stark’s guard, he’d worked for people like Brandon. The fancy clothes, and expensive accessories. Jon knew the type.

A young man not too much older than Jon and Robb stood beside Brandon. Probably the son of an employee, or someone Brandon owed a favor too, Jon decided. Brandon’s eyes landed on Jon while he was greeting Benjen.

“Good gods.” Brandon shook his head. “You didn’t look like Ned when you were little, but you sure as the seven hells do now.”

Jon stared at him awkwardly.

“Brandon, that isn’t your nephew.” Benjen sighed, turning him toward Robb. “This is your nephew.”

“Robb.” He gritted through his teeth, and introduced himself to his uncle.

“That makes a lot more sense.” Brandon nodded. “You must be Sansa. It’s lovely to finally meet you, my dear. I’m sorry it took so long.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” Sansa was as sweet as can be, remembering her manners, but Jon knew it was only courtesy.

“So, you’re the ward...” Brandon turned once again to Jon.

“Jon.” He corrected him. He would not be known as the ward.

“Benny, is there something you’re not telling me about Jon here?” Brandon wondered, making Jon uncomfortable.

“No.” Benjen shrugged, taking the paperwork from in front of Davos.

“So, it’s a coincidence that I feel like a grumpy, teenage Ned is sitting right in front of me?” Brandon asked. “It’s a bit unnerving.”

Perhaps it was guilt. Or grief. Grief can do strange things to the mind, Jon knew.

“Just sign the paperwork.” Benjen shoved the paperwork into Brandon’s chest.

“Am I allowed to read it first?” Brandon smirked. “Always read what you sign, children. Let that be my first lesson to you all.”

“Who’s your friend?” Benjen looked Brandon’s associate over.

“This is Theon Greyjoy.” Brandon answered, still reading. “He’s interning with me.”

“Greyjoy?” Benjen laughed. “How’d a Greyjoy end up interning with you?”

“I applied.” Theon was confident. Jon didn’t like his attitude. He didn’t appreciate the way he was speaking to Benjen. “What’s it to you?”

“Wanted off the Iron Islands, did ya?”

“Where are the others?” Brandon handed Davos the paperwork. “There are three other children?”

“They’re upstairs in the game room.” Davos told him, organizing the papers into a file. He looked tired, Jon thought. It was understandable. The younger Starks were giving them all a run for their money. Bran was miserable, and pissed off at the world. Robb was preoccupied looking out for Bran, and Arya and Rickon felt slighted. Rickon listened to Sansa most of the time, but Arya listened to no one. She was missing her parents, Robb, and Bran. She was acting out. She had taken to influencing Rickon. Jon woke up a few nights before to neither of them in their bed. He found them soaking wet in the lobby. They had snuck into the kitchen, and the pool. They got stranded downstairs without a key. They were lucky they didn’t drown, and Jon had words with the employee at the front desk who was supposed to lock the door to the kitchen and pool. He didn’t tell anyone else. Davos was getting grey hair, and Benjen already had enough to deal with. He knew Sansa would sleep even less. He was satisfied with Arya and Rickon promising to not leave the hotel room alone again.

The game room was a life saver, and a great source of motivation for a recovering Bran. It took a couple weeks, and a lot of patience, but he was now able to sit safely in a wheelchair. When they left to meet with Brandon, he was playing air hockey with Arya.

“How is young Brandon?” Brandon wondered, and Jon noticed Sansa discreetly roll her eyes. Jon could almost hear Bran insisting he was named after Bran The Builder, not their estranged uncle. “I’ve been worried.”

“Have you?” Robb sassed, the sarcasm obvious.

“Robb...” Benjen attempted to intercede, but Robb was not having it.

“It’s been weeks.” Robb raged, clenching his fists. “He wasn’t scared out of his mind while Bran was having surgery. He wasn’t up all night with him after, terrified to lose him too. He hasn’t helped him with therapy. He wasn’t even here for his brother’s funeral. He hasn’t been here.”

He hadn’t visited the ruins of the library, searching for answers they wouldn’t find. He hadn’t had the nightmares. Noises probably didn’t send his heart racing. He hasn’t been traumatized. Jon understood Robb’s anger. It was weirdly comforting. Misery loves company.

“There were matters I needed to attend to.” Brandon offered. “I couldn’t just drop everything going on in my life.”

“Some of us didn’t have a choice.” Jon swore Robb snarled. “Uncle Benjen has responsibilities, and he’s been here. I had plans to go to The Vale, but I guess those went up in smoke with everything else. Bran had plans too. We all did.”

“That’s enough.” Benjen placed hand on Robb’s shoulder.

“It needed to be said.” Robb defended himself. “I won’t apologize.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“You can still go to The Vale.” Brandon sounded sincere.

“No, I can’t.”

“Why don’t we head upstairs.” Davos suggested, hoping to ease the tension. “You can meet the other children.”

They were still playing air hockey when Davos opened the door to the game room.

“That’s seven!” Bran cheered, bringing Rickon into a headlock. “We win!”

“You have Rickon cheating!” Arya whined. “It isn’t fair!”

“You didn’t have a problem with us being a team before we beat you.” Bran pushed the brakes of his wheelchair back so he could move. “Victory lap!”

He circled around the table with Rickon on his lap. Rickon laughed loudly in delight when Bran popped a wheelie. Jon smiled. He’d been working on that for days. It was nice to see them acting like kids again.

“I demand a rematch!” Arya pouted, and noticed their arrival. “Robb or Jon can be on my team!”

“I’m getting tired.” Bran stopped, and Rickon lowered himself off of his brother. “Sorry.”

“Liar.”

“Arya, leave him be.” Robb told her sternly. “Come meet Uncle Brandon.”

“He is lying.” Arya insisted, and shuffled over to them. “Hi.”

“You look just like your aunt.” Brandon smiled at her. Jon had never heard anything about the Starks having an aunt. Brandon tousled Bran’s hair while Rickon hid behind Benjen. “I know you’re all sick of the south. Home is almost ready. Some accommodations for Bran needed to be made.”

“It’s a long trip north.” Robb huffed protectively. “He still needs therapy three times a day.”

“There are perfectly capable therapists up there willing to work with him.”  

“I can go home?!”

“When will it be ready?” Arya was curious, and anxious to leave King’s Landing. She was happy, hopeful.

“I’ve been told a week, but I’m hoping sooner.”

Everyone but Sansa seemed excited. Jon understood it. Going home meant being surrounded by memories of those she lost. It was easier to escape in the hotel.

A few days later, they flew north on Brandon’s plane. Unlike Theon Greyjoy, Jon remained unimpressed. He had a plane, and it still took him this long to be with his nieces, nephews, and brother. It was clear the man had other priorities. Quite frankly, Jon was disgusted.

Everything that was theirs from the Prime Minister’s residence was packed up, and put in storage a couple days after the assassinations. It was waiting for them at Winterfell when they arrived, something that annoyed them all. They would have liked to pack their own belongings, but that wasn’t an option.

“Sansa!” Arya screamed, knowing Sansa’s room was closest to her own. Jon’s new room was down the hall. She was kneeling next to Arya, consoling her when Jon got there. “This is Mom’s! They put it in one of my boxes! This is why I wanted to pack!”

“They put one of Dad’s notebooks in mine.” Sansa soothed her. “I wanted to rip it apart.”

“I just want it to stop hurting!” Arya sobbed. “Get it out of my room!”

It felt like a very personal moment, and Jon felt like he should leave, but he doesn’t. He blinked, and his face was wet. Unless there was something that belonged to his father in his boxes, Jon had nothing of his parents. He barely even remembered his mother. He wasn’t even sure if the memories he has are real, or if he made them up to fill the void her absence left in his life. He’d give anything to have his mother’s necklace, or his father’s notebook.

Sansa held the velvet case, and looked at the necklace that upset Arya so much. “Maybe she wanted you to have it.”

“I don’t want it.” Arya wiped her face. “It’s hers.”

“I’ll hold on to it for you.”

“I don’t care.” Arya sighed. “As long as it’s out of my room.”

“Uncle Benjen brought some cookies from that bakery in Wintertown.” Sansa stood up. “I’m going to have some.”

“Are there lemon cake ones?” She had Arya’s interest. “I like those.”

“Gods, I hope so.”

“I read that you shouldn’t eat your feelings.” Arya worried, following her, and seeing Jon. “Jon? What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer. He wanted to tell Jon to answer that he’s fine, but Jon wasn’t listening. This had happened before. The therapists his father took him to when he was younger called it dissociation. His mind conveniently pretends he isn’t Jon when it sucks to be Jon. It’s kind of like when you’re little, and pretend you’re invisible. Did other kids play that game, he wondered, while Sansa and Arya tried to talk to Jon. It had been happening more since that day everything went to shit.

“Let’s go downstairs.”

“He’s crying.” Yes, Jon was leaking like a faucet, and there was no stopping it.

“Go downstairs.” Sansa urged, eyeing Jon. Arya does not go downstairs. He was aware of them looking at Jon blubbering like an idiot, but he simply had to wait it out.

“I’m okay.” He was Jon again. “Just tired.”

“You’re all a bunch of liars.” Arya shook her head. “I’m going to eat my feelings.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“That was not nothing.” Sansa stared at him. He didn’t blame her. “Are you back with us?”

“I check out sometimes when I get upset.”

“This has happened before?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Whatever you say.” Sansa grumbled, and brushed past him.

“I’m sorry.” Jon had no idea how to explain it. “I can’t help it.”

“I’m just missing when a bad day was a day it rained after I straightened my hair.”

“That is a bad day.” Jon followed her downstairs.

“I can’t tell if you’re teasing me.”

“I’m too tired to tease anyone.” Jon explained. Dissociating was exhausting. “I know what you mean, though. Rain is not a friend to this hair. It means I have to wear a hat or a hood.”

“Does it happen a lot?”

“When I lived a tropical climate, yes.”

“I meant checking out.”

“Don’t worry about it.” They walked into the kitchen. They could see Arya on the front porch, eating her cookies.

“You were catatonic.” Sansa snapped. “Is it still catatonic if you’re crying?”

He was impressed she knew what catatonic meant.

“I’m fully aware of what’s going on.” Jon answered. “I’m Jon, but not. It’s like an out of body experience.”

“Does anyone know?”

“My Dad did.” Jon nodded. “He tried to help. He did.”

“Okay.” Sansa looked through the box on the table. “I won’t tell anyone, but I can’t guarantee Arya won’t.”

“It’s fine.” She passed the box to him. “They’re bound to notice anyway.”

“Does anything help?”

“Not really.” He knew he just had to wait it out until it was over. “Thank you, though.”

Rickon and Robb were out in the yard with Benjen. He wanted to tell Sansa how lucky Rickon is. He’d only had his father. He wanted to tell her how worried he is about her little brother. He didn’t want Rickon to be like him. He doesn’t tell her. She had enough to worry about.

-

Next chapter will be a couple of years later, so that is it for this time in their story. They’re all a mess, and I’m sorry. This has kind of taken on a life of its own. You can probably tell Jon has been a mess for a while. More on that later. I wanted to really focus on him, and his grief this chapter. Also, I wanted to show Arya and Sansa starting to become closer because I need that. Reminder that they will be happy, eventually. Slowburn happiness. Is that a thing? Note: Jon’s mother died when he was four, like Rickon. It was extremely traumatic for him, for reasons that will be discussed later. He sees a lot of himself in Rickon, and that’s why. I want to make it clear that he was very loved by his parents. It’s how he lost them that led to him being such a mess. 

[ladystarks]

bittersweet

birthday fic for @direwolfpupy, who asked for jonrya, similar to the OG outline for game of thrones where Arya and Lady Catelyn come to the wall and she falls in love with Jon.

The first time he notices the heat between them, they are surrounded by her mother, King Stannis and a half-dozen advisors and men of the watch. Arya has been at the Wall for nearly a fortnight, and Jon cannot pretend he’s not delighted in seeing his little sister after so many years apart, to feel her whole and intact in his arms. He and Arya have always been close, have been since he’d first peeked over the side of her crib to see a squirming mass with dark hair and grey eyes like his. But he’d never felt this before. Perhaps he’d been too young to understand, then. Perhaps he’d been this depraved all along and didn’t even know it.

He is seated next to her, that first time. Stannis and Lady Catelyn are hammering out details of the North’s fealty to him, and the word “marriage” has emerged for the first time. Arya’s jaw is clenched so hard that Jon has to wonder if her teeth hurt. But she says nothing.

“I am your rightful king,” Stannis says, voice cold. “Your daughter is the last living Stark not under the Lannister thumb. She will be married to a loyal bannerman of mine before we march on Winterfell.”

The indignant anger boiling in Jon’s chest is nearly enough to make him spill over. Arya is his sister. The last Stark he knows is alive. She should not have to be sold off to Stannis’s lords in exchange for return to Winterfell.

Arya seems to sense his anger, and under the table, her hand finds his. The voices fade away—Lady Catelyn’s cold stare, the king’s insistence, the bite of cold in the air. And the heat blooms.

That’s all it takes. The spark from that touch lit a fire in him, and he’s not yet been able to put it out.

She kept the sword.

Needle, they’d called it. Don’t tell Sansa! Jon can, if he closes his eyes, still see the delight in Arya’s eyes when he’d presented it to her, the sound of her laughter. She’s right here, he knows. If he opened the door to his solar at night, she’d be just down the corridor. He does not have to conjure up the image of his little sister because she is here. Still he does it. To remind himself of how she was. The child she was, not the young woman before him now, standing with her sword in hand and determination in her eyes. He must remember who they are.

“I’m fast,” she insists, twirling the sword nimbly between her fingers. “I won’t beat down a knight or a White Walker, but I’ve poked a man or two full of holes. Stuck them with the pointy end,” she says, a wry smile on her lips. “Father got me a dancing master from Braavos, back in King’s Landing. He taught me how to fight.”

“I thought you’d lose it.” Jon can see she’s practiced. Her stance is odd, and Jon would never twirl a blade as she does now, but there’s a balance to her movements, a deadly grace in the way she moves. The breeches Satin had given her are large and baggy over her legs—there were hardly many dresses laying around the Wall—but she moves unhindered by them. “Why have you waited so long to show me this?” Jon asks, his throat dry. He tries to clear it subtly, but Arya’s eyes are on his face, watching.

Without warning, Arya lunges forward, the sword flashing in the air. She brings it down a foot away from him, steps into a spin, and before Jon can blink, Needle’s thin blade rests on his shoulder, almost soft.

“My mother didn’t approve at first,” Arya says, towering over him in his seated position. Jon isn’t afraid, he can see the glimmer of playfulness in her eyes. He knows those eyes better than anyone else’s.

“Why not? Because ladies shouldn’t wield swords?”

Arya scoffs. “I don’t feel like a lady. Even here, your men look at me like a piece of meat, not the Lady of Winterfell.”

Jon wants to ask who’s looked at her, wants to go bloody a few of his black brothers so they never set eyes on his sister again.

You have no sister, he tries to tell himself. Not anymore. You’re a man of the Watch.

Arya steps back, sheathes the thin blade and sets it on Jon’s desk. “I’ll protect myself,” she tells him. “That’s why I’m showing you Needle now. I’ll protect myself if I need to.”

“Against your husband?” Jon asks, fighting to keep his voice neutral.

“Whoever Stannis picks,” Arya says forcefully. “I’ll marry if he makes me, but I will not be some docile lady. Winterfell belongs to me. To the Starks. Not some pompous Southron lord who’s kissed Stannis’s arse so many times he got stuck up there.”

Despite himself, Jon laughs through his shock.

“I wouldn’t ever imagine you’d go quietly,” he says, smiling up at her. “You’re too strong-willed for that, little sister.”

“Not so long ago, I’d have run away. It’s what I did when Robb told me I’d have to marry a Frey. I ran away, and I was only found hours later. After the Red Wedding was over, of course, and Robb was dead.” Arya chews at her lip before looking away. “Jon,” she starts, bravado gone. “I want to go home. I just—” she trails off. When she speaks again, her voice shakes, “Is it even home anymore? Was it Winterfell that made me feel so safe, or was it the people within? Old Nan, Hodor, Jory. Sansa. Bran and Rickon. Robb,” her voice cracks on their brother’s name. “Father. You. What if I go back to Winterfell and it’s cold, Jon? What if I’m not strong there?”

Jon finds her hand without meaning to. “You are a Stark,” he tells her. “You have the blood of the First Men, same as our father and his father and his father, all hard men of Winterfell, some even the Kings of Winter. The cold means nothing to a Stark, Arya. You are stronger in Winterfell. The whole of the North is stronger with a Stark within its walls.”

“But I won’t be a Stark, will I?” Arya whispers, clutching his fingers. “I’ll be a Florent or a Fossoway or whatever Stannis wishes for me to be. How will I keep Winterfell then?”

This is the closest Jon has allowed himself to be with Arya since that night. Jon has had some time to get used to the way she is now, after all their years apart, but perhaps that is the problem. He’s too used to this, the thing between them that has existed for years, before he even knew how to name it. Before he even knew it was wrong.

“Winterfell is yours,” Jon tells her firmly. “It belongs to the Starks. You will always be a Stark, no matter what Stannis’s god says.”

“He wants to burn down the weirwood,” she mumbles, her eyes shut. Her hand is cold in his, fingers gripping his tightly.

“I know,” Jon whispers.

“Jon,” Arya breathes, and her hand touches his face. “Oh, Jon. What do I do?”

“You marry,” Jon says, hating every word that comes out of his mouth. “And you march on Winterfell. You get our home back.”

“Our home,” she echoes, tracing her finger down his cheek. “I thought the Wall was your home now.”

Jon clenches his jaw. “It is,” he says. It always would be. Take no wives. Father no children. The next words come out in a rush of emotion, though Jon does not plan to say them. “A part of me is always with you. That is home, Arya.”

Arya’s eyes are unreadable when he looks up. “I thought about you every day,” she says, and her words rip him apart. He must send her away, now. Before this escalates, before he cannot stop himself. But Jon does not move. “Every day, when I was traveling to Robb’s army. I wished for wings so I could fly here, to you. I knew you would want me, even though I’ve done-I’ve done awful things. But you would still love me.”

“Always,” Jon says, before he can stop himself.

Arya’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, and her chest rises and falls rapidly.

“I have to leave you,” she tells him. “Soon. Stannis wants to march on Winterfell within the moon. I’ll be married before then.”

“I know,” Jon says, and his heart wrenches in two.

When Arya kisses him, it is with soft, unpracticed lips. The kiss is no more than a press of lips, skin against skin, until Jon exhales heavily and pulls Arya onto his lap.

“Gods,” Arya moans between kisses, her fingers splayed at his chest, “Jon, I could never—there was never anyone who’s ever made me feel…”

But she can’t finish. With a muffled groan, she arches against him, against his lips on her neck. He knows she can feel him, hard underneath her, and for a moment his cheeks burn. Arya is his sister.

“Arya,” he tries. “Arya, we can’t.”

Even as he says it, though, his fingers dig into the soft skin of her hips where her tunic—also borrowed—has ridden up. Arya moans against his temple, moving against him. He knows the frustration she feels. Ygritte would often move the same way against his body, except she knew how to satisfy this sort of frustration, would reach into Jon’s trousers and pull him inside her.

“You won’t let the first man I kiss be some fanatic for the Lord of Light, will you?” Arya pants, breath hot against his ear. “If I have to leave you forever, Jon, I don’t want to leave without feeling you. Without showing you how I feel.”

“I can—ngh—father no children,” Jon grits out, bucking up involuntarily. “I am a man of the Watch, Arya. I can’t—”

“We don’t have to have children,” Arya huffs. “Gods, Jon.”

For a moment, everything lightens between them. It’s the tone Arya used to use with Sansa, and ridiculously, Jon laughs.

“Alright,” he breathes. “May I?” His fingers play with the strings of her breeches.

“If you don’t,” Arya says, “I’ll run you through.”

Arya is warm and wet and slippery and perfect. She pants against Jon’s mouth when he slides his fingers over her cunt, starts to circle.

“I love you,” he tells her, when she starts to move against his hand. Gods, he wants to memorize everything about her. The little involuntary noise from her throat when he presses just so, the hitch in her breath, the shine of the fire off her skin.

“I love you,” she moans, hands clutching at his shoulders. “Jon—I—oh, I can’t—”

She comes with a shudder, then sags against him. Jon is still achingly hard, but he makes no move to fix that, simply holds her against him. He’s filled with doubt, but for now he sets that aside. There will be room for doubt later, once she’s left. Later, he will feel the full impact of what he’s done. Until then, he holds his sister to his chest and breathes her in.

[reallyawkwardbeck]

bleh •• rickon headcanon/theory

I typed this shit out and it didn’t show up when I posted this why am I a fucking flop anyway

this is a rickon headcanon; spoilers for the books and the show(?) also this post is a mess but what else is new•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

headcanon (theory?? idk there’s not much way for it to be proved or disproved anymore amiright what does it matter) that rickon had green dreams (before he died that is rip shoulda zigzagged kid) bc that winterfell scene when robb leaves and bran tells rickon that he’ll be back with their parents and he says “no, they won’t” (that’s more confusing when I don’t remember the actual dialogue since it’s been like half an hour since that part of the episode in my rewatch) very confidently

I mean he’s like 6 shouldn’t he be more naive and “yeA ROBBS THE COOLEST HES GONNA KICK ASS AND COME HOME”

unless

he saw what happens (dun dun duuuun)

also him and bran act a bit like they knew in the books I think when luwin was about to tell them ned died (that could just be picking up on the clues tho,, luwin was grim, there was a raven, he called them in to tell them something important, etc etc) (forgive me if that’s wrong,, it’s taken me ages to read the books bc I only read at school with my other obsessions and im on the fifth one)

there’s possibly similar bits but i don’t remember any right now

I mean all the starks (and jon) are wargs anyway what’s one kid with some greensight amiright

ignoring the three eyed raven’s whole speech about how rare wargs and green seers are tho

edit: "i came down to see father" "how many times have I told you, father's in king's landing with sansa and arya" "he's down here I saw him" if this is already confirmed canon im going to look like an idiot