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sl-newsie · 1 year

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Chapter Four: Brooklyn (Spot Colon x Female Newsie)

I’d hoid of tha Brooklyn Bridge before, but I’d neva seen it.

But when I do, it takes my breath away.

After star’n in awe for 20 straight seconds I hear Boots call: “Hey, Becs! You’s com’n or not?”

I blink out and catch up. I think I like Brooklyn.

We walk for about ten minutes and come up to a dock. Multiple boys are jump’n off inta tha refreshing-look’n wadda beneath.

One of ‘em comes up and intimately gets in Jack��s face. “Go’n somewhere, Kelly?”

Jack ignores ‘em and pushes forward.

“Stay behind me Becs,” Jack cautions.

“Fine,” I say stiffly. And as soon as I say it, a big kid comes up and starts check’n me out.

I cross my arms. “Hey, pal, ya got a problem?”

“Only tha pain of tha heartthrob you’s giv’n me,” he swoons.

“Well, bite tha bullet! Take a hike!” I push past him.

Afta a few minutes of walk’n I think we’s neva gonna find this ‘Spot’ character until I hear:

“Well if it ain’t Jack be nimble, Jack be quick.”

I look up and see a boy, almost a man (a very nice-look'n man, surprisin’ly), sitt’n on top of some crates. He’s wear’n a checkered shirt, faded red suspendas, brown knickas, and a gray cap- tha guy from tha alley.

“So, Spot, you moved up in the woid. Got a river view and everything,” Jack comments. I try ta move so I can see bedda, but Jack keeps mov’n with me. Why won’t he let me see?!

‘Spot’ hops down and I see he’s hold’n a cane. He don’t look crippled ta me. Him and Jack do tha spit handshake and grin at each odda.

Then he notices me- and I can tell he recognizes me. I try not ta shrink away as his piercing blue eyes analyze me.

“Who’s the goil?” he asks.

“My liddle sista-”

“Hey, Jack, I can introduce myself! And I ain’t so liddle.” I turn ta Spot, too sure that Jack’s gonna tell me off lata. “Name’s Becs, Becs Kelly.” I spit in my hand and hold it out. Spot, surprised by tha gesture, shakes it.

“Take your hats off, boys. There’s a lady present,” Spot smirks.

Tha gathered crowd obliges, all tha while with their own snickers and smirks.

I snort. “No need- I’s may be a goil, but I ain’t no ‘lady’- you’s don’t see me walk’n around all decent-like, do ya?”

Tha leader grins. “Tha name’s Spot Colon, and I’s tha King of Brooklyn.” He states proudly, then turns to Boots. “How’s it hang’n?”

“Got some nice shooters for ya!”

Boots hands him a few smooth rocks. Spot then takes out a slingshot, loads it, and aims at a nearby bottle. “So Jackie boy, I’s been hear’n things from little boidies.” He shoots, caus’n the bottle ta shatter poifectly. “Things from Queens�� Harlem. They been chirp’n in my ear, tell’n me Jackie’s boys are plann’n on a strike.”

“Well, we are,” David says assurin’ly.

“Oh yeah? Yeah?” Spot gets up in David’s face, try’n to intimidate him. I tense up. He may be talla and stronga than me, but when someone tries ta mess with my family- that’s just someth’n I don’t stand for.

“Yeah, we’s are,” I step forward and speak up in a warning tone.

“Becca!” Jack hisses, try’n ta tug me away.

Spot looks me straight in tha eye. At foist I think he’s gonna soak me, but he just leers at me. “Tough goil, huh? You’s got spirit!”

“Ya have ta when you’s a newsie,” I bite back.

“All too true. So Jack, are all the odda boroughs pitch’n in?”

Jack lets go of my arm and relaxes a liddle. “They is wait’n for what Spot Colon is do’n.”

“That makes you’s the biggest gamble. And if ya join tha strike, we’ll be unstoppable,” I add hopefully.

“You just gotta join!” David backs me up.

Spot seems ta think it over, all tha while look’n to and away from me. I can tell I really gots him think’n, and that Jack is secretly internally grateful.

“You were right, Jack. Brains. And you’s certainly got brains in that pretty head of yours, doll.”

I squint. “I ain’t no doll.”

“Whatevea, beauty.” I scowl at tha nickname. “I got brains too. How do I know you’s won’t go run’n at tha first sign of trouble? How do I know you’s got guts?”

“‘Cause I’m tell’n ya,” Jack replies.

Even I know that ain’t gonna be good enough when Spot says: “That ain’t good enough Jackie boy. You gotta show me,” he smirks while twirling his cane.

“Whadda ya want us ta do? Take ova New York?!” I rage. Spot looks surprised.

“How old are you, beauty?”

I gape. “What’s that gotta do-?!”

“That ain’t your business, Spot.” Jack states clearly.

Spot nods. “Then get oudda here.”

I scowl. Jerk! I follow Jack and Boots towards tha bridge again, but then I hear:

“Come back anytime, toots.”

I stop and pivet, now fac’n a talla, bulky guy.

“What did you just say?” I ask sternly, a bit animated.

“I’s said: Come back anytime, toots. You got a hear’n problem?”

I tilt my head. “No, I hoid ya. I’s just giv’n ya a chance ta rephrase yer sentence-”

Bam!

I punch tha guy clean in tha nose. Blood starts dripp’n down his face and tha odda guys around us start laugh’n. Tha guy gives me a murderous glare.

“You bitch-!”

He lunges at me and grabs my arm, earn’n a well-deserved kick in tha crotch. Tha guys gasp, and then help tha guy sit down while givin’n me horrified looks.

“Call me that again, I’ll kick ya again. Touch me again, and you’ll be talk’n through a mouth with no teeth!” I growl before bein’n pulled away by Jack.

“Becca, what’re ya think’n!? Ya can’t just go around kick’n guys where the sun don’t shine!”

“I don’t kick just anybody. I kick jerks where tha sun don’t shine! He started it!”

“Well, I’s end’n it-”

“Kinda already did that myself-”

“I don’t care! Let’s go,” he says, annoyed.

I follow closely, but not before gett’n one last look at tha infamous ‘Brooklyn gang.’ Spot, still twirl’n his cane, gives me a curious look. I return it with narrowed, dar’n eyes and a frown. Why didn’t he mention… I guess it don’t madda. I still owe him, but I guess he don’t care that much.

I guess I like Brooklyn, but I’s ain’t sure if Brooklyn likes me.

When we get back ta tha lodg’n house, tha fellas immediately wanna know what happened.

“Becs soaked a guy!” Boots says, earn’n a glare from Jack.

“Really?”

“Why?”

“Did he cry?”

“Shut up!” I yell. “One at a time, please!”

“No, no one at a time! No questions!” Jack barks. This gets everyone outraged.

“Why? We should get ta know!” Race complains.

“It ain’t your business!” Jack storms off, leav’n tha fellas hang’n on my every move.

Mush leans in. “Did ya really soak a guy?”

I smile. “Yeah,” I whisper back. “He started it, though.”

“What’d he do?” Les asks.

“Called me ‘toots.’”

“Oh, he had it com’n!” Blink hollars.

“Yeah. Then he tried ta grab me…” I trail off fer dramatic effect.

“Uh-huh…” The fellas wait.

“...so I kicked him where tha sun don’t shine!”

A lodda tha fellas cringe, but laugh all tha same.

“Good job, Becs!”

“No one messes with our Beccy!”

“Nice save, Becca, but Jack is right- you’s need ta be more careful.” Crutchy comments.

“I hate ta say it, but he’s right.” Skittery agrees.

“Aw, c’mon guys! I can handle myself. I’s might not be tha strongest, but you’s all know how good I’s is at dodg’n- not ta mention hide’n!”

“It don’t madda- ya gotta be more careful,” Mush says. “So ya may owe Race and me that bet…”

“Foiget this- I’s go’n out now. Tell Jack not ta wait up.”

I turn ta leave, but Race grabs my arm. “Where?”

“Town square, maybe Medda’s.”

“Keep yer hair up-”

“Already on it!” I call as I dash out tha door and out inta tha cool night air.

I just wish they’s would just trust me more… I ain’t weak just ‘cause I’s a goil.

I sigh, then sit down on some crates in tha empty street and sing:

(Based off of (Just a) Simple Sponge from the SpongeBob Musical)

“Sure, I spend my days floating around.

Head in the clouds and my feet on the ground.

But there is more to me than just my name.

Give me a chance and I could change the game.

And maybe one day they’s all will say:

"You’s an independent newsie, it's your lucky day!"

That is what I've always wanted,

And I can finally say I've done it!”

I hop up and lean onta a lamppost.

“Let me have adventure!

Be a contender, and more!

'Cause I’m not a simple goil!

I wish they’d see I'm not just the goil next door!

No, I ain’t a simple goil!

There's gotta be a better way,

A way to save this dream I love.

But how can I stop their stubborn minds?

Am I just a simple goil?

No, I’m not a simple goil.

I take one last look up at tha sky, then rush into tha already-bustl’n theatre.

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ambreiiigns · 1 year

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tell me about ghost?? :0

thank you SO much for asking 😭😭😭 sorry it took me a while to answer but i am finally home so Let's Go

so first off . ghost is. a band. but it's actually a front for a satanic church who's trying to spread their message thru rock music. as you do ! it's really silly actually you're not supposed to take them seriously :^) if you follow me for the wrestling think of danhausen they do the same concept :^)

church And band are lead by the pope officially but also this one girlboss queen named sister emperor is the one who actually kinda pulls the strings in the back. besides the pope a handful of liddle demons are summoned to help w the instruments. they're called nameless ghouls but they are divided by element (usually it seems that fire=main guitar, water=bass, air=keys, earth=drums, quintessence=rhythm guitar + some bonus occasional non-elemental ghouls who do Whatever) and somewhere around era 3?? started getting nicknames from the crowd

now. the papas.

this was revealed later in the timeline but Technically Chronologically the /ghost ptoject/ started in the ? 60s or 80s before being discarded for a while and the first papa from back then is someone we know now as papa emeritus 0 aka papa nihil. he's the father of all the following papas. he made the cursed mary on a cross song that's on tiktok these days. but also this is just lore and obviously ghost did Not exist back then irl

in reality the first frontman for ghost was papa emeritus i aka primo (which just means first in italian. this is the pattern for what seem to be the papas' proper first names) there's not much to know abt him as ghost was pretty unknown back then but to me! he seems like a nice old man! who was doing his job more seriously and normally than anyone else! i like him. he made the BANGER that is ritual i feel like everyone knows ritual right like. if you're into the genre even if you're not a big ghost fan we all know ritual don't we.

unfort primo didn't Spread The Word Of Satan far enough so he got booted off the role and got replaced 😔🤙🏻 by the nastiest slightly less old horny man you've ever seen. papa emeritus ii aka secondo he's maybe the coolest looking in some ways i feel like he might be the most iconic. every day he grows on me more and more. he's so fuckin bald. spoke full italian. liked to Party and Fuck. so much so that even tho he did pretty well w the band and the spreading the word and won gold for his album he completely gave up on doing his work as papa !!! he was having too much fun. no work all play. church not happy. booo so he also gets kicked out the band lol

he's replaced by 💜terzo💜 the man of my dreams papa emeritus iii thee icon thee legend thee blueprint for all that is to come. i love his guts. he's the youngest emeritus and everyone has big hopes for him and he delivers! wins a grammy! ghost is at an all time high thanks to his lead! he's doing everything right and perfectly and great :) maybe too great. i have a bit of a theory on what happens to him but what is factual is that this is when the ghouls gain Rights. he starts acknowledging the ghouls by name and it's sweet! his album meliora is like kinda smarter than the others. talks abt Doubts in a way. doubts in the church and what the point of it all is. how church makes you feel worthless and helpless without it. wonders if it's possible or worth it to try to break free. encourages you to take the leap out of heaven and even if now you have to build yourself back up from the ground at least you're free to be yourself. in short to me this is the closest to like real life laveyan satanism where you're your own god and ! the idea that i get is. that terzo was learning to find worth in the individuals (himself, his ghouls) outside of their role in the church and he was maybe on his way to rising above it. so what happens is terzo also gets removed from the band allegedly for becoming too self absorbed. which is bullshit! if anything he's the most selfless! but the THING about terzo is THE WAY that they remove him. before that everytime the papa changed they'd just hand their microphone to their brother during the show and that's it. but with terzo. they lichrally dragged him off the stage during a live show. which like. if they never did that to secondo who actually kinda deserved it there is NO WAY that terzo earned that kind of treatment. so this is just sus to me

anyway after they drag him away nihil walks in, introduces himself, says the party's Over and then we have a period of sede vacante where there's no one filling that role like nihil is Kinda doing it but not really and he's all out of kids so who's gonna be next papa!?!?!

i should say now. this band is very Fake and all about Lore in many ways it's like wrestling storylines. all the papas besides nihil are just The Same Guy in /realistic/ masks and it's all a big show. i forgot to mention this detail to emi last night and she got so confused 😭😭😭

so around this time ghost starts doing a little youtube series to show what's going on in the church in these confusing times and pretty much it's just. sister emperor tells nihil he's too old to do the job and since he doesn't have any more kids (🤔🤔🤔) she suggests they bring forward one of their best cardinals aka copia. nihil isn't feeling it mostly bc he doesn't like the idea of interrupting the bloodline but they come to the conclusion that this is the only way. so sister decides that. since they're interrupting the bloodline. they simply Need to kill primo secondo & terzo (😭😭😭😭) but it's so bullshit bc it's SO OBVIOUS that copia is sister and nihil's bastard secret son that no one seems to know about besides her so why would you do that 😭😭😭 to my old men 😭😭😭😭 ma'am pls that was so unnecessary 😭😭😭

anyway copia becomes front man and drops an album which doesn't do as well as terzo's 😌😌 but before they can doubt copia's place too much nihil fucking Dies so copia needs to be made papa Immediately. so he's papa emetitus iv now. whatever. he might have also figured out he's nihil and sister's kid around this time but it's unclear. regardless he gets plastic surgery w his mom. makes another album which is WEIRD! bc so far every papa has only made one (1) album before getting booted off! but i personally chuck this off to copia being cardinal for his first one and now that he made an album as papa he's not gonna last much longer. which is basically confirmed lol and i hate to say this but i can't wait for him to fuckin GO!!!!! I HOPE HE DIES!!! i cannot forgive him for replacing my man but also he's just sus he might have been more involved than he looks He Took A Picture With Terzo's Decapitated Head which. didn't happen to primo & secondo. they only decapitated terzo. doesn't it feel weird to you. doesn't it feel sus to you. doesn't it feel like adding insult to injury or whatever. why was he done so especially dirty. weird.

so copia's time is about to run out everyone's wondering who'll be next some say nihil (who's been sticking around as a proper ghost) might do it some say terzo's coming back from the DEAD i have no idea but i'm excited to learn! i've been casually listening to ghost since high school but all this lore always intimidated me so much so i'm soooo happy that i finally caved in. ghost fits me really well i think. it's really fun all their songs slap and fuck i cannot recommend them enough. i'm happy to be here for copia's downfall. i'm literally in love with you for asking even if you don't read this i'm thanking you from the bottom of my heart mwah 💜💜

#emi was the sweetest and let me infodump on her last night. still not enough for me #like i'm at a point where i could talk about this FOREVER i am never getting tired of talking abt this rn!!!!!!#ask #🥰🥰🥰🥰#<3

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tomiyeee · 2 years

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For the character bingo: Prompto from FFXV?

promple argentum???? liddle liddle sunshine boy promple argentmung?????? 🥺🥺🥺

i feel like most of these are pretty self explanatory and fans tend to be in general agreement over a lot of things about these characters so i wont elaborate as much

ffxv designs are super pretty, but prompto's has gotta be my favorite. i absolutely love his little plaid coat tail (the cloth physics does it wonders) and his boots (this post especially made me realize that bc it's just so recognizable even without him attached) 🥺

my gf is already basically prompto but cooler so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

the one thing i disagreed with some of the fandom on was how they portrayed prompto, especially when it came to promptis. i saw some fans treat them as like...typical yaoi seme/uke? like prompto being a shy innocent uwu bean while noctis is super smooth and sexy and dominant. it always made me uncomfortable to see bc it felt so ooc and anime-like. that's really the only grievance i can think of that i had with the fandom regarding any of these characters. and luckily it was rare depending on what circles u were in.

honestly i think all four of the boys work way better together than they do individually. greater than the sum of its parts n all that :) very nice that that's pretty much the main focus of the game 😊

#ask #ask game #thank u for sending ffxv my FAVORITE game ffxv 😭😭😭

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realhankmccoy · 2 years

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Bruce used to do little reductive parodies of me that are on the same level of Chicago Boi in both mind and spirit -- sort of meant to be devastating but actually missing the target and seeming curiously dull (I know this is both of their plan, but they also partly mean it -- think of a child with a toy, frustrated and banging it on the table because it's just a toy and they're ready for somebody to buy them a new one and this G.I. Joe only is posable in 6 ways and THATS ALL IT CAN DO man what a lame toy it prob belongs in the bucket with all the other toys its just a lame toy).

So, yes, I mean indeed almost every human is going to bore a child pretty fast. Think how fast adults bore most children, like the wah-wah voices from the Peanuts cartoons, and they just go on and on like that wah-wah-wah-wah-wah-wah. A child can't sustain more than a simple, brief parody of an adult.

It's usually typical of a Trump cuck you meet on Facebook too. It's all in the way they lash out that shows their simple nature and cuckedness. They have Trump's ability to sit there and come up with something that shows their own immaturity like Little Michael Liiddle Marco Little Ben Sassy Liddle Adam Shift

Bruce and Chicago both do this Little stuff and kind of put the and you're 'crying about the world' thing in there (this is a typical conservative response from cucks, who think we all should 'solve' every problem in the world by being 1/10th human -- feeling only John Wayne's feelings plus anger -- in order to become very very simple -- by relying on daddy's shelter and protection, as they've done -- this is why they've never solved problems in the world themselves, it's a sort of pantomime and a lie about the adult capabilities they lack). Unfortunately as power-oriented, marginally human, fundamentally conservative-at-heart cucks of Trump, they very much lack Trump's ability as a writer and composer, as mini-me Trump inside their brains has tinier hands. Trump's actually much more versatile and comic in his character portraits than they are. I'd hate to fail compared to Trump on writing -- but hey settle for less and not take on any adult responsibility is part of what mini-Trump did to em -- so they decided to stay with their marginally human control freak ways and let themselves down as writers.

If they can't come up with autopilot cartoon parodies with no real analytical insight as well as the Trump who cucked em and are going to continue to reproduce typical America in its cartoon ways -- ways that are anathema to somebody like me who does the opposite -- i would suggest (because i highly doubt they can transcend their programming at this point, everything they generate being much more of a Shrinky Dink than their heights in writing which died off years back) well they did that to themselves with thinking they'd treat the outside world with their shake n bake Shrinky Dink oven...

well i would suggest their cartoon zingers need some zing,

so if they're going to remain committed to the mini-Trump inside their head -- i can't help that their Trump is more blind than the Real Trump --

they need to start aspiring to write as well as He who Cucked 'Em. here's some sample material from Big Boss Donnie and at this point I guess if they're infected with the Trump virus until it passes out of society, I can only hope they write as well as Trump someday (doubt it):

Quid Pro Joe Joe Hiden Da Nang Dick Boot-Edge-Edge Coco Chow Al Frankenstein 48% Becky Pocahontas

i mean that's more authentically rollicking than plagiarising me on my rollicking 'golden retriever' and squirting in some ho hum lil bro banality. If Trump said my Golden Retriever bit on the right target from the stage it would have been his best line. If he would have said Lil Bro it would have fallen flat.

I mean, just imagine how much dullness I'd avoid out of Chicago Boi and Bruce if they could write like He Who Formed American Society In His Image. It would be more Carnivalesque than anything they could muster, and that's their goal, to be Carnivalesque like the largest Big Top Show in America.

So, knowing they're not going to transcend their marginal human status, I'll just have to hope they catch up to Trump as writers so that they raise an eyebrow rather than making these petty boring digs

the search for the end to the Trump viruses' pandemic -- i've mostly given that up (I think it's too risky to push the experiment much further) and am going to wait it out. Bruce, Chicago Boi, Dad, Brother and others are far too easily caught up in the times to be able to stay Trump forever. Trump is not immortal. This will wane when the next mode of National Power rolls in and they unwittingly glom onto that without even realising they're infected. The virus will pass out of all of them at the same time. This is what's disconcerting about typical Americans.

Why am I immune to the virus and opposed to it? Because i wasn't so passive. That's why. I fought it kicking and screaming every inch of the way, especially from March 2016 to Nov 2016. I could see it coming. I saw what people WANTED. They did not know that they wanted to become Trump, but the virus did whisper in their ear that it was a means to an end. They didn't realise that once they flipped inside out like at the finale of the film The Fly (1986) sure they might be depressed at times and want to die but they can't just jump into the teleport pod and come back out the way they were. They don't have it in them, it's too much effort and effort has always been something they tried to get around. They couldn't reclaim their former selves even if they wanted to -- it's like when you make the wrong purchase and you have to rationalise in your head why it's actually going to fit well in the living room after all, even if you shove it up into the corner.

none of them realise they're caught up in the times and infected by the Trump virus -- the vision just isn't there. Which is too bad as i used to overtly credit Bruce and Chicago Boi for having vision and telling them that, but this was wishful thinking and they gave it up after the Trump virus cleared out their mind and killed a lot of brain cells -- they both found there was no 'power' they could whiff in taking the time to sort of tediously write about specific things, even to write about a 'great' film is still just a 'little' thing. Delusions of grandeur suit their mini-Trump better these days -- Bruce thinks he eliminates all Islam from India and saves the entire Hindu race with so much as the stroke of twenty keystrokes these days, that's how much mini-Trump has gotten in there. Chicago boy thinks he crystalizes whole people in his own Wonderwall, but of course it's just sort of vaguebooked sketches, like mini-Trump is doing the carnival with his tinier hands so that nobody gets the rollicking laughs that were intended except maybe the writer, who's self-satisfied with the strawman sketch mini-Trump did.

It's barely even writing anymore with the both of them. I don't see how either could call themselves writers at this point even though they think of themselves as that or list themselves as that. Mini-Trump has told them to lay off writing skills and focus on searching for simpler forms to dominate. they've been failing to dominate so they're still searching for ways to do it. this is why they both dominate less than ever, I suppose. Fellow cucks don't want the small cucks to look to at all -- they want big VIP cucks like DeSantis to look to. DeSantis is next in line to the Trump throne for sure.

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silvercrane14 · 2 years

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theo’s little outfit is so gay i love it

like look at the liddl man sitting in the dark drawing in his red boots cuffed jeans green turtleneck and big coat he’s literally so cute

No because Theo’s clothes are ALWAYS /SO/ big on him for like. No reason. He’s tiney. He’s babey. He’s an ‘overgrown shirt’ gay

#he cuffs his jeans guys it’s canon #crane answers #toad i love you #toad watches 86 #86 spoilers #86 eighty six spoilers #caps #tw caps

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the-perfunctorily · 4 years

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Who Killed Jon?

A meta post intended to (not very) seriously look at all the possible suspects in the Mutiny at Castle Black, and narrow it down to a few characters with motive, and means to be involved.

Wick Whittlestick slashed at his throat,[...]"For the Watch." Wick slashed at him again. [...] Then Bowen Marsh stood there before him, tears running down his cheeks. "For the Watch." He punched Jon in the belly. When he pulled his hand away, the dagger stayed where he had buried it. (ADWD, Jon XII)

We know for a fact that Bowen Marsh and Wick Whittlestick were part of the mutiny. But at least four people stab Jon, likely more. So, who were they?

This is intended mostly just as reference for myself as to who was where and when, and a fun game of clue, and mostly just speculation and headcanon to procrastinate on projects, and not really meant to be taken seriously (yes, I wrote 5000 words on a post that is not meant to be taken seriously. Such is life) I’m sure nothing I’ve put down is very revolutionary. We just like to have fun here.

This post also came into being because I think it’s very easy to imagine that it’s just Everyone that turns against Jon, which leads to a really bleak outlook for the Wall plot in TWOW. I’ve seen people worrying that Satin will be harmed by the other brothers, or that Val and Little Monster may be hurt, either by them or by Melisandre. These are all possibilities, but I don’t believe that it’s necessarily true that Jon has no allies left. So I wanted to eliminate as many people as I could. When I get right down to it, I can only come up with 9 people who have either circumstantial evidence to suggest their involvement, or motive I can scrape together. So I believe there could be a solid pro-Jon contingent still at the Wall post-assassination, and his friends and vulnerable people he was protecting might not be doomed.

The suspect list is near the end in bolded large font so if you want to skip the long and mostly unnecessary eliminations, just scroll to there to see who I actually think might have been involved.

For formatting and clarity reasons all lists will be bolded, and I’ll bold every name at the point that I either count them in or out of the suspect list.

First off, I’m going to assume that Bowen Marsh was the main force of will behind the mutiny, and base my assessment of who was involved on who would ally themselves with him and what I believe to be his motives. This might not be true. He might just have been a participant, but I think he has the means, and the motive to have orchestrated it, and don’t see any other candidates for mastermind, unless GRRM pulls a complete Asimov ‘Mule’ gambit, which I will get to in my final suspect list. I think Bowen Marsh did not want to kill Jon, but believed he had to, for the good of the watch. I believe his anti-wildling feelings and traditionalist values were a big part of why he did it, and I think he did it to preserve the way he believed the watch is supposed to and has always operated. So people who hate wildlings, people who hate Jon’s radical policies and would want a return to how it was during Mormont’s command and before, people who are close associates of Marsh’s, and people who have personal reasons to hate Jon are my main suspects.

Now. To get started, I have to ask. Who would want to kill Jon? Fortunately, several people have openly threatened, or implied that they want to kill him in the past! Unfortunately, they all have strong alibis.

Ser Alliser Thorne:

You'd best pray that it's a wildling blade that kills me, though. The ones the Others kill don't stay dead … and they remember. I'm coming back, Lord Snow (ADWD, Jon VI)

Alibi: is currently out ranging with Dywen, MIA beyond the Wall

Mance Rayder:

I could visit you as easily, my lord. Those guards at your door are a bad jape. A man who has climbed the Wall half a hundred times can climb in a window easy enough (ADWD, Melisandre)

Alibi: is currently trapped in Winterfell on a mission to rescue ‘Arya’, allegedly imprisoned in a cage

Stannis:

He only threatened to behead me twice. (ADWD, Jon I)

Alibi: Is snowbound in a crofter’s village about three days from Winterfell, and probably didn’t even really mean it.

Cotter Pyke:

“Lord Snow," said Cotter Pyke, "if you muck this up, I'm going to rip your liver out and eat it raw with onions." (ASOS, Jon XII)

Alibi: Is currently having a very bad time on a boat near hardhome, on Jon’s orders, also probably didn’t really mean it.

That leaves everyone at Castle Black at the time of the mutiny. This includes Selyse, her household and knights, Melisandre, Tormund and his ~50 wildlings, and all the sworn brothers and recruits of the Watch.

I’m going to discount anyone in Selyse’s camp, despite them being at Castle Black at the time of the attack, and even present at the event, because Jon is Stannis’ principal ally at the Wall, and much as Selyse might dislike him personally, I don’t think she would involve any of her knights or retainers in a plot to have him killed. Melisandre might have the ability to take control of Selyse’s knights because they are all fervent believers, but she likes Jon, and thinks he is an important ally, so I don’t think she would do anything to harm him either.

Similarly, I’m going to discount Tormund and any of the wildlings he brought from Oakenshield. The mutiny was motivated partly by anti-wildling sentiment, and disapproval of Jon’s welcoming of wildlings south of the Wall, so I don’t think that Bowen Marsh would ally himself with them. Furthermore, the mutiny takes place right after Jon has given a speech endearing himself to the wildlings, I don’t think they would suddenly turn against him after cheering and swearing to come with him to Winterfell. This includes Borroq, who, though he speaks derisively to Jon, and Ghost reacts aggressively towards him and his boar, I think means no ill will towards them. I actually think he will be instrumental in facilitating Jon’s resurrection. For what it’s worth, I think most of his smugness and rudeness toward Jon is because Jon is not acknowledging his own warging abilities, not because of personal animosity. And Ghost’s aggression is more due to his past experience with other skinchangers (namely Orell the eagle trying to break his neck and then later trying to rip Jon’s eye out) being averse, than any sense of ill-intent. A lot of stock is put in the direwolves’ intuition about who means their Starkling harm, but in reality I think it is more based on the kid’s personal feelings that they aren’t acknowledging. Grey Wind wants to hurt Tyrion in AGOT despite him being innocent of the attempt on Bran’s life, but shows no ill will towards Lothar Frey, one of the main architects of the Red Wedding. Jon is suspicious of Borroq, so Ghost is, that doesn’t necessarily mean that he is an enemy.

I’m also going to exclude guys who are not explicitly stated to have died or been sent elsewhere, but for some reason do not appear in the ADWD appendix or the wiki as being at Castle Black during ADWD. These are:

Bass: The Castle Black master of hounds, I’m assuming he went on the ranging and didn’t survive, since nobody seems to be keeping any hounds at Castle Black anymore.

Red Jack Crabb and Rusty Flowers: Were supposed to escort Janos Slynt to Greyguard. Presumably they were sent there after his execution.

Rudge: helps Donal Noye fix Longclaw in AGoT, but is not mentioned again, nor does he appear in any other appendix. Maybe he died on the ranging, or was sent to another tower. Maybe he died of personal problems.

Ser Wynton Stout: Ostensibly commanded Castle Black while Bowen marsh was away with the Garrison chasing raiders and then fighting on the bridge of skulls. He appears in the AFFC appendix but not in the ADWD one, I’m assuming he died of old age somewhere between books.

Also not included in the appendix are the two unnamed recruits that were part of Conwy’s first group of prisoners, a barber “a greybeard leaning on a staff” and a brigand “some grinning loon who must have fancied himself a warrior” (ACOK, Jon I). These guys might have died during the attack on Castle Black, might have sworn their vows at some point during ADWD, or might still be recruits with Hop-Robin and Jace. But they aren’t named so I’m not going to worry about them.

This leaves the men of the Watch who are stated, or implied to be at Castle Black at the time of the mutiny for our suspect list. Here they are in alphabetical order, according to both the wiki and the ADWD appendix.

Albett, Alf of Runnymudd, Arron, Bearded Ben, Black Bernarr, Septon Cellador, Clydas, Cugen (or Cuger), Dannel, Sweet Donnel Hill, Duncan “Big” Liddle, Elron, Emrick, Fulk the Flea, Garrett Greenspear, Geoff the Squirrel, Goady, Halder, Hareth “Horse”, Three-Finger Hobb, Hop-Robin, Jace, Jax, Jeren, Kegs, Leathers, Left Hand Lew, Luke of Longtown, Matthar, Mully, Othell Yarwyck, Owen the Oaf, Rory, Satin, Spare Boot, Tim Stone, Tim Tangletongue, Ty, Tom Barleycorn, and Ulmer of the Kingswood.

Obviously there are probably more men than this, I don’t think it’s ever actually said how many brothers are still at the castle at the end of ADWD, but it’s probably more than just 40. (though maybe not by much? it feels quite empty there and everyone expresses feeling outnumbered by wildings and Kings/Queens men) However, this is a post about who, of the people we know, killed Jon. There isn’t much of a point if it’s unnamed stewards #23 and #17.

Next, I’ll remove people I believe like Jon and wouldn’t hurt him, and have no reason to suspect. However, I wouldn’t put it past GRRM to make one or more of these guys a mutineer for the emotional toll it would take.

Albett, Matthar, and Jeren: All of them were recruits with Jon that he never clashed with directly, they were even friends. Matt had Septon Cellador light a candle for Ned when news came to Castle Black of his execution and he was one of the boys that went with Pyp and Grenn to bring Jon back when he rode off. (side note, I find it very funny that these guys are all just At The Castle while Jon is doing his ‘woe is me the lonely friendless commander’ bit. Dude, half of your graduating class is standing right there)

Arron and Emrick, Horse, Jace, and Hop-Robin: Recruits that came to the Wall either right before or while the great ranging was gone. They fought alongside Jon to defend the Wall, and trained under him briefly. Horse lived in mole’s town and only survived the attack because Jon warned the people there, and he decided to take the black after the battle. I would imagine that he thinks very highly of Jon. When they are made brothers, the twins accompany Horse (and Leathers and Jax, all followers of the old gods) to the wierwood grove to say their vows despite following the Seven. They are all close enough in age to Jon’s friends and would have had lots of time to get to know them during the ranging. None of them ever knew the Old Bear, so wouldn’t have any nostalgia about his tenure as LC. They seem like the best candidates for Jon loyalists to me.

Duncan “Big” Liddle: As the eldest son of Torren Liddle, he is Morgan “Middle” Liddle’s big brother. Morgan Liddle is among the northmen that join with Stannis’ army. He is the loudest shouter of the “Ned’s Girl” refrain, suggesting that his main reason for joining is because of him and his house’s strong feelings of loyalty to house Stark and Ned’s legacy. Also, Bran runs into a Liddle subject (or so he thinks) on the way to the Wall who expresses strong pro-Stark sentiments. I’m going to say that Big Liddle shares his family’s warm feelings toward the Starks, and would be loyal to Jon, him being ‘Ned’s Boy’.

Three-finger Hobb: Was always nice to Jon, even if he was exasperated about the wildlings and having to do a whole wedding feast. He seems an easygoing sort and not someone that could be manipulated into doing a mutiny. Also he was nice to Sam and gave him a salted ham for a nameday present, so I will not hear anything bad about the man. That said, he’s a long-time associate of Bowen Marsh, and being the chief cook, they would work very closely together, so it wouldn’t actually surprise me if he was involved.

Jax and Leathers: As former wildlings, I don’t think they would work with Bowen Marsh. It was Jon who facilitated their coming south and they took the black of their own free will. Also leathers was actively intervening in Wun Wun’s meltdown during the mutiny, so he had his hands full, and besides, he seemed like a good pal to Jon.

Owen the Oaf: He’s a nice boy and was happy to follow Jon’s orders, also Jon let him have Janos Slynt’s Boots.

Satin: If GRRM makes Satin complicit in the mutiny I’ll cry, so I simply won’t entertain the possibility.

I’ll also mention that in Jon VI, he sends out nine men on a ranging. I’ve taken out all the ones that are named: Dywen, Ser Alliser Thorne, Kedge Whiteye, and the three men who’s eyeless heads turn up just outside the gate, victims of the Weeper: Hairy Hal, Black Jack Bulwer, And Garth Greyfeather. This leaves three men that go unnamed. One in Dywen and Ser Alliser’s party, and two in Kedge’s. They are presumably experienced rangers. They might just be unnamed, unlisted watchmen, but they also might be some of the above brothers. Bearded Ben, Black Bernarr, Sweet Donnel Hill, Elron, Geoff, Goady, and Tim Stone are not mentioned after Jon sends out the ranging, so it might be any of them. I’m going to discount them all, because I don’t see any real motives there anyway, except Sweet Donnel and Goady, for reasons I’ll get to later.

Jon also sends an unknown number of guides with Stannis in Jon IV, and later with Tycho Nestoris in Jon IX. None of them are named, they might have been stewards or rangers, who knows, I’m not going to speculate.

Now, there are several Rangers here who could go one way or the other, so I’m not going to spend time on the ones that are at Castle Black during the mutiny but don’t have much of a motive. They might have, they might not have been part of the mutiny. But Since Bowen Marsh was in charge, I think that it was mostly made up of stewards. So I’m going to take Garrett Greenspear, Luke of Longtown, Rory, Tom Barleycorn, and Ulmer off the suspect list. (Also I like Ulmer, and think he’s cool, so there. Also what’s up with Tom Barleycorn. Have you guys ever heard the song John Barleycorn must die? Where a symbolic figure of the harvest named John Barleycorn is sacrificed to be resurrected in spring and keep people alive with sustenance and alcohol? Kind of sus when this guy named TOM Barleycorn is at the castle where a main character named Jon dies and is presumably going to be resurrected, and likely have a hand in ending the winter.)

Similarly, for the builders, Othell Yarwyck, as the first Builder, and frequent Naysayer of Jon’s, is a prime suspect. However, even if Othell was involved, which is a distinct possibility, I don’t think he would have ordered his men to also involve themselves. So I’m going to take Kegs and Spare Boot off the list, since I don’t see a motive for either of them, and they both seemed very enthusiastic about fighting alongside Jon during Mance’s assault.

And as for stewards. As the men directly under Bowen Marsh’s command, they are the most likely to be involved, So I’m just going to say that I have no real reason to think Ty, Cugen, Tim Tangletongue (who does not appear in the text but is in the appendix), or Dannel would turn on Jon, but they very well might have, and I wouldn’t be very surprised if they did. For the record, Dannel gave Alys Karstark a sausage from the kitchen when he and Ty found her, and that alone endears him to me enough to take him off the list, and Cugen is only ever mentioned here:

Sam will remain in training, with the likes of Rast and Cuger and these new boys who are coming up the Kingsroad. Gods only know what they'll be like (AGOT Jon V)

as a recruit that might hurt Sam if he did not graduate with Jon and the others, so perhaps he would be anti-Jon, as someone associated with Rast

All of this said, Chett’s prologue is pretty much a direct message from GRRM that even guys who Jon barely notices might hate him and wish him ill. Since we only see the Wall through Jon’s PoV, we are going to have the same blind spots he does. So any of these half mentioned, mostly forgotten guys might harbor some intense resentment, and have all the reason in the world to kill Jon. But for the purposes of this post, I am focusing on characters that I think make sense as being anti-Jon, and there’s no way to speculate on people with no evidence to suggest them.

So, finally, having eliminated everyone without motive or evidence, this leaves only the characters I actually have reason to suspect were involved. The suspect list is as follows:

Alf of Runnymudd, Septon Cellador, Clydas, Sweet Donnel Hill, Fulk the Flea, Goady, Left Hand Lew, Mully, and Othell Yarwyck.

I’ll go from least to most likely mutineers, listing reasons I suspect them, and reasons I think they might not have been involved.

9&8 : Mully and Fulk the Flea.

Evidence: Ghost acts aggressively towards them while they are guarding the armory the day of the Mutiny.

Fulk the Flea [said], "but your wolf's in no mood for company today.”

Mully agreed. "He tried to take a bite o' me, he did.” (ADWD, Jon XIII)

Alibi: Neither has any history of being anti-Jon that I can find, and personally, I like Mully because he is named after Mulligan the orange cat, here pictured with Parris

which I think is just too cute, so if either of them were involved I would prefer it were Fulk. I know that’s not a real reason but its my list and I make the rules. Anyway as I said before, Ghost being aggressive doesn’t necessarily mean guilt. At this point, Ghost is paranoid because Jon is paranoid, feeling people around him plotting against him. Fulk and Mully might just have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

7: Goady

Evidence: He was part of Jarman Buckwell’s scouting party on the Giant’s Stair, which spotted Jon among the wildlings. I imagine it would be very hard to shake the image of Jon as a wildling, even after he is elected Lord Commander. Especially if he then turns around and lets those same wildlings through the Wall.

Alibi: He does not appear in the text of ADWD, only the appendix, and his only mention in the books at all is in the Storm of Swords Chett prologue, in Kedge Whiteye’s dialogue

“Harma the Dogshead has the van, the poxy bitch. Goady crept up on her camp and saw her” (ASOS, Prologue)

so who knows what he’s actually up to. He may very well be with Kedge Whiteye out ranging right now, since he’s an experienced scout, and they seem to be good buds. I just wanted to include him because he’s the only surviving member of Buckwell’s party that isn’t explicitly stated to be elsewhere.

6: Septon Cellador

Evidence: Vocally disapproving of most of Jon’s decisions, extremely homophobic towards Satin, Religiously intolerant towards followers of the old gods, and racist toward the wildlings, he is definitely a leader in the anti-Jon contingent. In fact, I don’t doubt at all that the had a hand in planning the mutiny.

Alibi: I don’t think he has the guts to actually stab anyone, and considering the mutiny took place at night, he was probably too drunk to stand, let alone participate.

5: Clydas

Evidence: Here is the Mule theory. (I don’t actually believe this, but it would be a wild curveball for GRRM to throw, and I wouldn’t put it past him) Clydas was the last person to handle the Pink Letter, being the one to give it to Jon. Clydas can read, and manages all the correspondences coming to, or going from Castle Black. This gives him ample opportunity to interfere with incoming mail. We know the letter may have been faked or at least tampered with, since the wax seal is only a smear by the time it comes into Jon’s possession. It’s entirely possible that Clydas was working with, or masterminding the mutineers to forge all or some part of the Pink Letter in order to incite Jon to forswear himself.

Here’s the thing. Clydas has been assisting Maester Aemon since before Jon Arrived at the Wall, he likely was aware of Jon’s hand in getting Sam into Chett’s position, he was privy to Jon’s chafing about being assigned to the stewards, and probably knew about Jon’s desertion attempt. Clydas helped Sam count the votes for Lord Commander, and who knows how much he figured out about the election rigging. He has never stated much of an opinion on any of it, and often plays the dim, forgettable assistant. However, what if he was smarter than he was letting on? What if his impression of Jon was that of a manipulative ambitious young man willing to cheat the system to get what he wants. What if he, knowing Jon, having observed him from the age of fourteen, and read every letter written by, to, or about him, and was likely also privy to many conversations between high officers (including his uncle) about him, knew exactly what Jon cared about, and what buttons to press that would make Jon instantly too angry to think straight, and decided to put that into action, and team up with (or even manipulate) Bowen Marsh, who had his own reasons to want Jon gone, and the command of enough men to get the job done.

Alibi: I don’t want him to be involved!! :(( He’s never been anything but kind to Jon, asking if he’s alright, seeing if he’s ok after the news about ‘Arya’, calling him Jon instead of my lord, almost fondly. I would be really sad if he was. Also, while he may have been involved in the planning and orchestration part, I don’t think he participated in the physical assassination attempt. He is frail and old with poor vision, and two hours and change before the mutiny, Jon has Mully and Satin escort him back up to his chamber in the maester’s keep because it is so icy. I don’t know if he could make it back down to the yard in the dark to do a stabbing in that time.

4: Sweet Donnel Hill

Evidence: He was part of the Chett’s planned mutiny at the Fist of the First Men, survived the Fight at the Fist, and made it to Craster’s keep. However at Craster’s he stayed loyal to the Watch, and was among those survivors to make it back to the Wall with Grenn and Dolorous Edd. This seems to me like a man that is fully willing to get rid of a Lord Commander if he disagrees with his leadership, but who remains loyal to the principles of the Watch. This is exactly what the spirit of the mutiny was, in my opinion, and puts him high on my list. Not to mention the fact that he is a steward, and thus under Marsh’s command.

Alibi: He is not mentioned after Jon III when he is one of the archers that shoots Rattleshirt disguised as Mance as he is burned alive, he may have been sent elsewhere by the time of the mutiny, or is simply not an active enough Jon disapprover to be noticed by him, which suggests his uninvolvement.

3: Othell Yarwyck

Evidence: As I stated before, Othell is a close associate of Bowen Marsh’s and among the chorus of naysayers that become constant fixtures in Jon’s ADWD chapters. He’s a traditionalist, and a better follower than a leader.

Othell Yarwyck was not a man of strong convictions (ASOS, Jon XIII)

I definitely think Bowen could sway him, they are on first name terms, have worked together for a while, and probably talk about what Jon is doing that they don’t like when he isn’t there. He is also present in the Shield Hall by Bowen when Jon reads the letter, and leaves with him when he storms out.

Alibi: The first inkling we get that Bowen is harboring malice towards Jon is that he refuses wine or food in Jon VIII. At that time, Othell happily takes a seat and a sausage. As the sort not to think too deeply on things,

Othell Yarwyck was as stolid and unimaginative as he was taciturn (ADWD. Jon V)

he might not second guess Jon’s orders beyond what Bowen tells him to, so he might not harbor the same anti-Jon sentiments. He’s not one to rock the boat, killing the lord commander is a big boat rocking. I believe he knew about the plot, and that Bowen would want him in on it, but IDK if he would be directly involved.

2: Left Hand Lew

I must admit I have no motive for him. But he’s standing right with Bowen and Wick Whittlestick in the shield hall,

Bowen had Wick Whittlestick, Left Hand Lew, and Alf of Runnymudd beside him] (ADWD Jon XIII)

and we have no other evidence for Wick until he physically tries to cut Jon’s throat (well besides that he is the keeper of the keys to the food stores, which would obviously be a position that worked VERY closely under Bowen Marsh), so I have to put him top of the list. He’s standing with the primary perpetrators just moments before the crime is committed. He was probably the third or fourth knife. I don’t have an alibi for him either.

1: Alf of Runnymudd

The same things can be said about Alf that have been said about Lew. He was standing with Bowen and Wick in the shield hall, he left with them when they stormed out. However. Unlike Lew or Wick, Alf has a definite motive.

In Melisandre’s chapter, we get some characterization for Alf. He is a builder, he took R’hllor for his god (of his own free will) and, most importantly, when it is revealed who was killed by the Weeper, he screams and breaks down crying to hear that Garth Greyfeather was one of them. He’s so distraught he has to be drugged and put to bed.

“Who is it?" asked Owen the Oaf. "Not Dywen, is it?"

"Nor Garth," said the queen's man she knew as Alf of Runnymudd, one of the first to exchange his seven false gods for the truth of R'hllor. "Garth's too clever for them wildlings."

"How many?" Mully asked.

"Three," Jon told them. "Black Jack, Hairy Hal, and Garth."

Alf of Runnymudd let out a howl loud enough to wake sleepers in the Shadow Tower.

"Put him to bed and get some mulled wine into him," Jon told Three-Finger Hobb. (ADWD, Melisandre)

@nobodysuspectsthebutterfly has written before about the possibility that Alf and Garth were in a gay relationship. I fully subscribe to this idea, and if you know me at all, you know I am a huge proponent of the Wall Husbands concept, and think there is probably a decent population of gay men on the Wall (my main choices for this being Benjen, Dolorous Edd, Big Liddle, and Waymar Royce [you may notice the pattern of them being sons of lords who joined of their own free will. It just makes sense to me that a lord’s son who for SOME reason didn’t want to have to get married to a woman would consider the option of joining an order of men that live together and never marry])

So my theory regarding Alf, is that he blames Jon for the death of Garth Greyfeather, his lover. Because Jon sent the ranging out knowing full well that few rangers are making it back alive, and here’s the clincher. Despite his many crimes, Jon is still willing to pardon the Weeper

“Surely the lord commander cannot mean to allow that ... that demon [The Weeper] through as well?” [said Bowen Marsh]

“Not gladly.” Jon had not forgotten the heads the Weeping Man had left him, with bloody holes where their eyes had been. Black Jack Bulwer, Hairy Hal, Garth Greyfeather. I cannot avenge them, but I will not forget their names. “But yes, my lord, him as well. We cannot pick and choose amongst the free folk, saying this one may pass, this one may not. Peace means peace for all. [...] When a man takes the black, his crimes are forgiven,” Jon reminded them. “If we want the free folk to fight beside us, we must pardon their past crimes as we would for our own.” (ADWD, Jon XI)

If news of that got to Alf, I easily imagine he would be fully on board with killing him, and might have gone and tried it himself even without Bowen Marsh’s prompting. All of this makes him my suspect #1 for third or fourth knife. I think his story is a tragedy and really really hope he gets some moments in TWOW and is not just killed off right away.

#whew anyway #I think of nothing but Nightswach day and night i hope this is clear #if i missed anybody please let me know #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #asoiaf meta #jon snow #night's watch

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jiminglobal · 3 years

Text

BTS Jimin's 'Korea It Boy' fashion in photo goes beyond stereotypes, shirt becomes sold out

BTS Jimin's unique/excellent fashion sense and powerful hairstyle have drawn attention from fashion people around the world. The shirt he wore sold out in all sizes.

On the 28th at midnight, BTS released "Butter" concept photos set to be released on July 9th.

With the album cover colors orange and yellow in the background, Jimin appeared with short, red hair like the intense sun. He transformed with red hair reminiscent of his hair during the promotions of "Dope," a B-side track of Hwa Yong Yeon Hwa Pt. 1 in 2015.

Jimin completed the ultimate photos with his ability to pull off fashion in a way that no one can, wearing a white round-neck cropped shirt with short sleeves, checkered skirt-shorts, and fur boots with a unique point.

Fans reacted: "Red hair! He's trending worldwide again" "His ability to digest concepts is insane," "From boyish to manly all in a single photo," "Jimin's leg is two meters long," "Cropped top, shorts and red hair, this is summer," and "Please perform with the concept photo outfit."

Jimin's unique hashtag "#JIMIN" exceeded 1 million mentions despite the situation of not being able to trend on Twitter. Three keywords "PARK JIMIN," "JIMINS," "JIMIN RED HAIR" trended real-time worldwide with "PARK JIMIN" on the third spot.

He trended in about 40 countries, including the United States, United Kingdom, India, Italy and Singapore with more than 57 related trends and 17 keywords. He also topped Japan Twipple's Celebrity Chart.

In addition, Jimin drew interest from foreign celebrities and media. Entertainment journalist Nicholas Liddle cited Jimin's concept photo, saying, "EXCUSE TF OUT OF ME. JIMIN’S HAIR!! OMG," "Park Jimin. That’s all. Class is dismissed." "Park Jimin wearing a skirt and fuzzy boots. Taking time to stop gender stereotypes. we love our king." "whose bias is jimin? if he’s your bias, you have taste."

Fans' paid huge attention to the white round-neck cropped shirt worn by Jimin, who ranks no. 1 in individual brand reputation for 30 consecutive months, as all sizes sold out on the brand's website.

Sources: naver.me/FIgbpmSZ naver.me/xgahGtHe naver.me/55IdHEIc

naver.me/5aVlrlKn

#jimin #park jimin #bts jimin #bts #지민 #박지민 #방탄소년단지민 #방탄소년단 #jimin news #jimin fashion #jimin sold out #jimin concept photo #20210628

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volturri · 4 years

Text

twilight height headcanons

very heavily inspired by @bellaedythe on this post !! in fact the first few are the relatively the same

edward is 5'7. no doubts there

bella is 5'5 but likes to wear shoes with a bit of a platform so she's at least edwards height

rosalie is 5'8 but 6'0 when she wears heels which she loves to do and make fun of edward for being tiny

emmett is 6'2 him and rose love to stomp on people

jasper is 5'11 about average but was tall for his time. his cowboy boots add an inch or so

alice is still tiny but a little taller. shes 5'1 but Loves to tell people shes 5'3. shes got enough bde to compensate tho

carlisle is 5'9 i cant explain it but that's the ideal height for him in my head

esme is 5'2 small liddle happy baker mom

jacob is 6'3 he loves it bc he can protect ppl better and scare others off but also ppl are afraid :(

bonus!

charlie is 5'10 and renee is 5'7

#twilight headcanons #edward cullen #alice cullen #bella swan #jasper hale #new moon #twilight #charlie swan #renee dwyer #rosalie hale #carlisle cullen #emmett cullen #esme cullen #midnight sun #robert pattinson #kristen stewart #bella swan headcanon #alice cullen headcanons

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babiekeiji · 4 years

Note

akaashi reacting to his s/o who loves bees sm

akaashi keiji reacting to his s/o who loves bees

a/n: this is just self-indulgent at this point.

akaashi keiji isn’t at all phased when he found out his beau liked only one (1) insect: BEES

though he probably kept on wondering: why bees?????

long story short: they’re small and fuzzy and cute. and they are apparently the building block of the growth of so many plants (seed germination)!

(i am such a nerd. i am so sorry.)

yes. you fucking love bees. BEES GO HARD

he finds out because you guys are tending to your liddle garden

it was initially akaashi who wanted to grow a garden; inflation was making the prices of these mf onions to go up way too high for his liking

so the moment he told you he wanted a garden, you asked, “CAN WE PLANT FLOWERS?????”

(if you’re allergic of course akaashi would go “???? no. you’d die” but then you’d say “hehe that’s why i have you, my charming, strong, flower-planting boyfriend”)

Nevertheless, keiji does relent and tells you yes, we can plant flowers, but on a separate pot.

RREEEEEEEEEEEEE

ff to when you and keiji are finally shopping for seeds; and you seem to be jumping around, looking through numerous racks only to come out with two seed packets

“Only two flowers?” keiji asks, looking at his numerous seed packs.

“i don’t need a lot,” you reply, taking a bunch of pots and a water pot, “i only need these.”

they’re pansies and snapdragons, by the way. these flowers attract bees because they’re full of pollen

but akaashi doesn’t have to know that...

come the day of planting, it’s early morning and keiji has gone to work, prepping his soil for his vegetables

and youre out there

just mf taking out the grass

“mf what are you doing?” akaashi

“i’m trying to get some soil”

“you don’t get soil by doing that. c’mere, have this”

he fills your two big pots with soil, to which you run off to god knows where

he watches you take off with a confused smile on his face before he gets back to work

i’m just imagining keiji work with his hands and a straw hat and overalls and rain boots and his toned arms ... JESUS

ff a few weeks and some of keiji’s plants have started flowering

while yours are already in full bloom

“keiji! they’re so pretty!!” you exclaim as you water your plants.

“you don’t seem to excited?” akaashi

“i’m waiting for the bees.”

“....the.....the bees?”

“yes.”

“????? Why the bees?”

“Bees like these flowers. I like bees.”

Akaashi decides his s/o sure is weird, but he loves them all the same

And now that he knows his love likes bees, he makes sure to take extra good care of their flowers, making sure they’re deweeded a few times a week

One morning he decides to work on his garden while his s/o is on the porch, sleepy as fuck, blanket wrapped around them with a cup of hot chocolate in their hands, only there to keep him company

He decides to check in on their flowers

Lo and behold

THE BEE is in one of them, small, round and fuzzy, flying around their flowers

His s/o’s ears perk up to the sound of buzzing. “IS THAT—?”

He turns his head and nods.

They quickly run beside him and take a look, the bees starting to gather at their flowers.

They start to tear up.

“Why are you crying?” Keiji asks, confused. “I thought you liked bees”

“MF I DO THERE ARE SO MANY OF THEM”

He laughs and pulls them in for a hug

“Thank you for building a garden for my bees.”

“For you? Anything.”

A bee flies past them and they laugh

Bzz bzz 🐝

#haikyuu!! imagines #akaashi keiji #haikyuu x reader #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi keiji headcanons #haikyuu!! x reader headcanons #I FUCKING LOVE BEES #bees #anime #sports anime #self-insert #i love bees

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vincentmacmillan · 3 years

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Good luck and I hope you can play for a few more years in the Eastern Conference.

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The gladiator sandal is also a great alternative to normal flip flops or sandals and can be dressed up or down.. We followed Andrea's advice, staged our home with a wonderful stager, she immediately had us on all the prospective realtor websites and the photos duci alkalmi ruha of our home showed off the beauty that we so enjoyed. In 1888, a trust or holding company combined the nation's seven largest mills into the American Cereal Company using the Quaker Oats brand name. Under heavy CPU load (multithreaded Sunspider) we see a 28% increase in power consumption from the 45nm iPad 2,1 compared to the newer 2,4. The Thenns, giants, and the Hornfoot men, the cave-dwellers with their filed teeth, and the men of the western shore with their chariots of bone … all of them were doomed as well. "HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A HALF MILLION DOLLAR RV? IT'S NOT THE BEVERLY HILLBILLIES."He finishes the tour at a field envisioned for one of the most contentious aspects of the project: RV parking. 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theworstjedi · 3 years

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Backalley Medicine.

The heavy smell of blaster fire settled on the back of Friyr’s throat, making him cough. He was bleeding. He could smell the rusty smell under the sting of laser cauterized flesh.

He kicked the blaster he dropped away from the security officer’s prone body. He’d pistol whipped a good-sized concussion into her, but he didn’t want her to start blasting again when she came to.

Friyr’s fingers shook as he pulled a burner holo from inside his robes. The pads of his fingers fed him too many details about the way the cheap plas felt weird against his skin. The seams of where it had been melted togther bothered him at the best of times, but his mind was racing through sensory input at miles a minute, as though the fight was still happening. Unable to slow down.

“Sudas,” he mumbled as he punched in the frequency by muscle memory.

The buttons were stiff and slow, and the Jedi cursed again before he got the number right. It rang in a tinsly tone once before the holo flared to life. The light flare made Friyr’s head dance with pressure points.

“I need a doctor or something,” he said without wating for a greeting. “Some contact I was talkin’ to drank somethin’ spiked an’ attacked me. She needs to live.”

“Where are you?” the staticky figure asked.

“I need her to live-- uhhhh-- Sudas.” He pressed the inside of his wrist to his forehead. He knew it popped him out of frame, but the cool pressure relieved the tension building inside of his head. Kark sighted people.“--Where am I?” He exhaled. “Red-- Red Light. Red Light District. ‘M in the Howlin’ Gauntlet slums.”

“You’re in luck. There’s a clinic on Boonta and one-fifteenth.”

“That’s-- That’s cross the way. Thanks.”

“Force be with you, Knight Illust--”

Friyr punched the disconnect key.

____

Zentra’s body was heavy. She was slipping. His arms were insufficiently skinny and his chest was narrow. Illustratum was built for running from one moment to the next. He wizzed away before life’s teeth caught up at him. He wasn’t durable, and he was woefully aware of this as Zentra’s body weighed the Jedi to the empty street pavement. He stumbled forward blindly, darting into the street before his arms could fully fail and running across it with the recycled wind in his ears.

The metal-pave of the other side caught his sandal, a droid screamed behind him, and the world tipped. Friyr’s heart fell into his mouth as the moment slowed itself amidst the panic. His arm holding Zentra’s legs had stretched out as though to stop the ground rushing up. They both lurched to a stop mid motion as the Force’s arms caught them both midtumble and lowered them both down to the metal ground.

Cold. Scuffed. It did bad things to his skin that cold sweat didn’t allieviate, but Friyr didn’t linger. Had to move on. Had to move on. He was vaguely aware of being on his knees (haha) and unthinkingly was digging his hands into Zentra’s arm pits and dragging backward aimlessly. His need to keep moving quenched the terror of being blind and lost in a world so many used their eyes to navigate.

“More to the right, Jedi.”

Friyr’s shoulders relaxed as the grumbly layers of Zentra’s wan voice flushed into the air. He didn’t allow himself to stop, but he did pause as she stirred. Grunting to pick herself up witha few choice Huttese words.

“I hate to say it, but I’m glad they didn’t get you. Where-- where did they go?”

Instead of answering, Friyr lifted under her pits until the weight of her rose. She stumbled against him, grasping for purchase on his arms. His breath staggered for a second, but Friyr stayed steady.

“That might be a liddle bit better.”

She sagged against his shoulder groaning and cracking the pain in his chest open with a fresh mallet. But she was here, and something frantic inside of Friyr’s chest settled with a finality. The body he held, the Force murmured, was a corpse already. The Force lingered. Over her, like a buzzard and in other people who saw them.

People didn’t spare the two a second glance. And Friyr - who was used to wide berths normally - could feel the tension of their repulsion to death and violence pricking at him. They emptied several blocks. “We’re goin’ to the clinic on Boonta. Tell me where to go. You c’n pull my clothes in a certain direction if you can’t talk. It’ll be slow, but I’ll eventually figure you out.”

Her hair tickled his cheek as she nodded. “Okay, Jedi. You’re facing the right way.”

She walked, both of them clinging to each other the way they were clinging onto life. Zentra was slower than he was. For every two steps his heels scuffed into the metal, she took one and a half. They ambled, like a two headed akk. Their pulse was too slow. The lukewarm stale air around them was growing too cold. But Friyr was determined.

“Where are they?” she asked again.

“Where’re who?” Friyr asked as calmly as he could between clipped breaths.

“There were monsters, and I couldn’t see you anymore, and one of them-- lunged at me.”

Friyr winced as Zentra’s body shuddered. He wanted to tell her the monsters were dead. Sheilding her from the processing of her own horror the way one might shield a child. But Zentra was no child, and he needed her sharp.

“You had a bad trip,” Friyr said with a heavy heart. “The water bottles’re spiked with whatever made the other two shooters go crazy.”

Zentra let loose a string of profanities. “Aren’t you a Jedi? Can’t you feel that stuff?”

“I-- The Force didn’ tell me until you’d already-- I think this is how the Force meant to show me.”

“You’re so bad at your job, the Force needed me to-- Kark. You remember what happened to those other people? The drug bleeds them, Illustratum. It bleeds them.”

Friyr remembered. He nodded silently.

“And you’re just okay with that?”

Friyr responded shakily. “Me personal? I don’ know what ‘m okay with. I trust in the Force and--if she’s takin’ you back,” he sighed a hot dry breath. “then its your time, Zentra. Not a thing I c’n do to stop it. But I need to know what you know, we can stop other people from..."

There was only the scuff of their boots for a few precious seconds on the metal.

“We’re almost there,” Zentra said softly.

Her voice below his ear was meek and he could smell the traces of stim coating the air. Hospitals smelled clean, but there was nothing more pungent than the shacks that took in bodies on Nar Shaddaa. Friyr had to fight down bile to stop his stomach from rolling.

“Jedi?” she asked, turning Friyr’s thoughts from morbidity.

“Mmn.”

“If you end up in a story, make my part a good one. I took down two gangsters and a Hutt ‘fore I went down. Real blaze of glory stuff.”

Friyr laughed shakily. The sound escaping his lips dislodged something in his throat, making his face flush hot and his brain shut off in a doorway that smelled recklessly chemical. He scrubbed at his cheek with a sleeve to wipe away any tears, but his face was dry.

“Hey! We need help!” he shouted into the darkness. The rest of Nar Shaddaa soundlessly shouted the same words back through the Force

___

“Kark, you wanna scare everyone else in here more or what? Think you’re the only one who’s having a bad night?” the doctor had said, then had shoved his body into a bed and something up his arm.

And Zentra-- Zentra was somewhere to his right. This had been both a relief and a torment once the Force around her started to sound like death.

“You must be pretty jumped up, guy. The amount of pain killers you’re on should’ve put you under an hour ago,” she sounded like she was talking through a wall. The world was-- a radio out of tune.

“No, I feel ‘em,” Friyr responded delayed. “I just-- when did she die?”

“She’s stable,” the doctor who had told him to shut up when he came in, sounded tired now. “Remember? Your girlfriend’s stable, and you were shot in the chest four times. You need to save your strength worrying.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” She had been investigating the murders with him and would’ve hated any insinuation she and Friyr had known each other tangibly. “You’re a bad doctor,” Friyr mumbled.

The Force ate at the edge of his soundscape, pressing his broken cheek against the pillow.

“I’m a bad Jedi,” Friyr mumbled even more quietly.

“Why is everyone in the slums half-crazy before they get here?” the doctor muttered. “Even the Jedi’re loony.”

Somewhere in Friyr’s tired brain, he new she would’ve dismissed him had he not the robes and lightsabers to proove it... He was.... fading... to the hum of...... narcotics......... slugging through his veins. He could almost.................................... see them if he tried. But he...... could still hear...................................................................... Zentra’s song............................................................................................................ fading. Faster than he ..........................................................................................................did.

...........................................................................................................................

“What the fuck is going on?” The doctor sounded urgent.

............................................................. “Hemorraging? .......Impossible......she.. stable! She was just stable. I need twenty mils of..............”

Zentra sounded wet, and the air was rusty, like the inside of a body without the body smell. ....... Friyr’s brain at delay supplied that a ‘hemorrage’ was a lot of blood. ............... He bet Sahley could’ve told him.......................

“We can use her parts for someone else....”

...................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

Why were hospitals always cold when you woke up? Not that he was complaining. Air against his bare skin had always steadied him. Friyr couldn’t feel his fingers, but he could flex them. The short nails scraped into his palm jaggedly. Ah, well. There went his acrylics. They had cost a lot. Friyr idly wondered how much Zentra must’ve cost on the black market without stopping to think where he’d learned the knowledge that she was to be recycled.

The air smelled like every cheap cleaner in the world and like security agent insides. He should know, he used that brand and Zentra had died on his watch.

He bent his arm. Much like getting stiff doll limbs to marrionette, Friyr’s body responded jerkily. The needle in his arm was tight. Frankly, the mental numbness just meant the traumatic parts had passed; he could work again for a little before it caught back up to him.

He paused. Realizing for a second that he hadn’t been bare when he came in. His fingers came up to touch his chest. Instad of skin, gauze snagged at his finger pads in that skin-crawlingly rough texture. It took all of Friyr’s willpower not to yank them off. As if on response, his chest ached deeply. Sudas, he felt pulverized.

“At least the guys’ll find the scars hot when you get back out there.”

Friyr’s head snapped to the sound of a familiar Core Wolder voice to his left, and his chest ow.

"What’re you doin’ here?” the Jedi whimpered despite himself.

“Why’d you think HQ sent you here? I’m apparently an organ harvester lookin’ to make a clean run, Investigator Illustratum.”

Friyr frowned at the allusion to their mutual disingenuity and shushed.

“It’s fine, everyone’s gone. You and your contact were the last of the night. The doctor went to clear her head.... Who did that to you?”

Friyr tilted his head grimly to the right where--- Zentra had been and the smell of her citrus cleaner blood remained.

The undercover Republic plant whistled. “No kidding? Your contact ambushed you? We really need to vet these psychos properly. I thought she was just Cartel.”

“She... was.” Friyr puased, loathe to try and unpack how wrong the past-tense sounded. His tongue dragged agaisnt his dry lips instead. “She drank something that drove her up the wall--” Friyr tried to gesture with an arm, but they wouldn’t lift without a fresh nauseating roll of pain.

Ah. Reality. Welcome back.

A warm hand rested on his forearm. “Take it easy.”

Friyr shook his head without thinking. “I have work to do.” A fearful sweat popped into existence along the craig of his skinny shoulder bones. “I hate hospital beds. You know that. And--?” Friyr wore at the sheets beneath him with his broken nails. They were the kind of soft that only threadbare brought.

“And--?”

“There’s a guy who died from Howlin’ Gauntlet a little while back. Outside of territory. He was stabbed, but a sniper got him or somethin’.”

“Ah-- heard about that one. There was no holovid feed of it happening or something? All the cameras had been taken offline. It was probably just some gang killing, honestly. Everyone’s got a slicer these days. Probably some guys looking to digitally flex a little on the Gauntlet.”

Friyr shook his head at the expense of another nauseated roll. “I think-- I think it’s connected. Too much is goin’ on with that sector. I gotta rule it out myself.”

The other agent exhaled, and there was a few beats of silence before his clothing rustled. Friyr listened to the other man tap tap tap. A digital chime of confirmation. “I can get the body here for you to do your uhh-- thing. One of our guys’ll move it. Pretend it’s a part scrap or something.” Friyr winged at the phrasing. “Do you need help with it?”

“I don’ think I can stand by myself.”

“I’ll help you piss, then we can do your space magic. But first--” The agent began fiddling with something that pulled at the line in Friyr’s arm. The tugging sensation made him curl a lip. There was a pressurized hiss and the fiddling stopped.

“Goody!” Friyr rasped in a highly disaffected manner. Perhaps the first time in a while he hadn’t been enthused about another man talking about his dick. “Also uh-- start puttin’ recalls or warnings out about the bottled water or something.”

“Bottled water? Why?”

“It’s what she drank.”

“Force. Okay. I can tell field agents, but we can’t go public with this.”

“But--”

“None of that Jedi talk about morals,” the agent cut Friyr off. “If you expose the lead, the guy’ll know he’s been fingered. You should lay low for a while.”

The fight left Friyr’s body. His neck rolled back onto the pillow. His veins were warm and tingly. “I hate that,” was all he managed to say beneath the outrage stuck in his throat. Partially for the dead people he’d met this morning, for Zentra, and for every person on Nar Shaddaa looking for a way off of it. ... Partly because he realized that pressurized hiss had been the SIS agent dosing him with more pain meds.Then sleep collapsed onto his small abused body like a ton of bricks in that ramshackle slum clinic.

#Friyr Illustratum

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foremansfactory · 3 years

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LOOK AT HIS LIDDLE BOOT FEET IM GOING TO DIE

#kc calls

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ccshowme · 4 years

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Rep. Liddle Adam Schiff , high Chancellor of the Trump impeachment effort, might be getting away with murder. The impeachment circus that has engulfed D.C. has overshadowed the House Intelligence Committee chair’s egregious abuse of power. He executed a secret subpoenas adventure of phone records of prominent Republicans. He got their phone records and published them in the committee’s 300-page impeachment report. Now, the report is a work of fiction. Schiff is a liar, and nothing from House Democrats on this whole fiasco should be believed. This isn’t about the Constitution, or the framers, or the rule of law. It’s not about upholding the integrity of our institutions; Democrats have already perverted those with their deep state antics against this administration. It’s about the Democratic Party’s inability to grasp that it lost the 2016 election. Democrats wanted to boot Trump since day one of his presidency. The ironic twist is that their impeachment fetish could very well be what secures him a second term. This is not popular in swing states. No one cares. And the liberal media has been so wrong, so stupid, and so corrupt in their coverage of this White House, even Democrats in these states cannot believe what they hear.

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jitolibido · 7 years

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Asha I Battle of Ice (entire chapter)

For convenience, I just post the whole thing here so it’s easier to read.

The following is a speculative fan fiction based on the facts established by The King’s Prize chapter in A Dance with Dragons, the Sacrifice chapter in A Dance with Dragons, and Theon I preview chapter in The Winds of Winter. The Night Lamp theory was initially created by BryndenBFish on reddit I believe. Also there’s Asha fragment, a paragraph decoded from an enhanced image of GRRM’s computer. I wrote this fan fic, and ahhhh... follow me on instagram @truestannis

The day was cold, and the white winds bit harder as Asha inhaled. Ser Justin Massey, the freckled knight of summer, had left with the banker Nestoris and Ned Stark’s daughter. She did not desire him, a southron knight who wore a pretty blonde beard could hardly be her Lord husband in the days to come, were she to live. And yet, she thought of him. The other queen’s men, Farring and Suggs, thirsted for her blood like a pack of jackals. The knights of the greenlands would pray to their queer god of fire, but the North was of the old, and the old gods were more punishing and severe than R’hllor could ever be. Doomed, she thought, doomed men on a death march.

The ice lakes at the crofters’ village were caked with snow. When Asha walked outside along the camps, the snow seeped into her boots. The hill tribes, the southron knights, and the Glovers had been working day and night felling the trees. Catapults, she thought. Why would Stannis want siege weapons when the enemy were to meet him in an open field?

The king walked out of the tower. She had last seen him when she was pleading for her brother’s life, or a quick death, rather. “Your Grace. My brother—“

“He will live, for now. I have better use for him, because he knows the layout of Winterfell. Which walls are the strongest, and which gates the weakest. It’s not me you need to worry about, Lady kraken, it’s these northmen. Norrey and Wull would not hesitate for an instant to bloody their axes with Theon’s head.”

The queen’s men escorted their prisoner outside. Arnolf Karstark was accused of conspiring with Lord Bolton to turn on Stannis’s rearguard once the battle began. The queen’s men prepared a pyre for Lord Karstark on the weirwood island. Next to the pyre was a chopping block. The Wulls, the Flints, and the Norreys gathered around the king and his men.

“Lord Arnolf Karstark, you have been charged with treason and the conspiring with the enemy. I, Stannis Baratheon, the one true King of Westeros, sentence you to die. You are a northman. I do not wish to tamper with your old gods or your tradition in front of the brave men who stand beside me. Confess, and I shall grant you the swift death with my sword. Lie, and you will meet a warmer end. Choose wisely, Ser Clayton Suggs has much and less patience than I.”

“Aye, I confess. What of it! Lord Bolton has seven thousand strong. You will starve, and freeze, pretender. The Frey host alone is like to shatter what’s left of you and yours without breaking a sweat!” The old man spat onto the snow. He turned to the Wull, “Hugo fucking Wull. You support some southron fool now? Much is the pity! You are dead men! Do you hear me? Dead! Dead will be your false king, and dead your sons. Be cursed!” The old man coughed and grinned.

“Very well then,” the king pulled his magical sword from the scabbard. It was bright, and red, and orange. The light was as blinding as the sun.

The old man quivered before the sword and squinted his eyes. His cracked lips nonetheless widened into a hideous grin, “All hail King Tomm—” The old man’s head came falling before he could finish his words. Thirty yards away, amidst the cold winds, Asha could still hear the king’s teeth grinding as the name Tommen was mentioned. Baseborn abominations, he’d liked to call the children of Cersei Lannister. The king would not risk the allegiance of the northmen, so even a treasonous schemer such as Arnolf met his end in the ways of the weirwood. Arnolf’s sons, Cregan and Arthor, as well as Arnolf’s grandsons were still kept in the cells, except the one who’d lost his arm. Stannis had need for Karstark’s strength, four hundred spears, two score archers, and a dozen mounted lances.

“Eddard Karstark, step forward,” the king commanded. A boy, no more than twelve, walked forth to Stannis. The clansmen and the knights made way for the boy who bore the wolf’s name. The lad was of neither Rickard’s nor Arnolf’s line. The Tallhart next to Asha told her that the boy was kin to the Hornwoods and the Manderlys. Harrion, the rightful heir to Karhold, was Lord Walder’s prisoner still. Stannis needed not an heir to Karhold, but a man who could command the Karstark forces in the battles to come. Boys have been conquerors before. Mayhaps little Ned will surprise us yet.

The boy knelt before the king dutifully as he swore his allegiance. The queen’s men, once again, began singing the only song they knew, “One realm! One god! One king! One realm! One god! One king!” The clansmen sneered at that.

Morgan Liddle rode back to the islet with a group of scouts. He climbed off his palfrey and walked towards the king. Ser Godry soon followed.

“Your Grace, the Freys will be upon us soon. Mostly mounted knights, followed by the baggage train,” the Middle Liddle brushed the snow from his warhelm. “The Manderlys are yet to be seen.”

“The turncloak told the truth, it would seem.” Stannis smiled at that. “Lord Wull, give the order, we will march forth to give them battle. Get the men in formation now. It’s time.”

“Men!” The Big Bucket Wull walked forth to his men. The clans gathered and began forming the van. He brushed the ice off his long, thick beard with one hand, and raised his huge battle axe with another. “We’ve been through many battles, aye, and this is like to be our last. I remember the days when I dreamt of glory, listening to the songs and tales of great heroes and their greater deeds. The first battle is like fucking for the first time. You are afraid, so afraid that you may foul your breeches. We all shit ourselves. There’s hardly shame in that. We are marching towards almost certain death. We may never return again to embrace our wives, or cradle our babes as they draw breath for the first time. And yet we must fight, and we must die, for the Ned, his house, and all he’s done for us. Let the Freys know the wroth of the old gods. Let them scream as our axes bite deep into their skulls. Let them know that winter is here, and the North remembers!”

“The North remembers!” The clansmen chanted in unison. The king’s knights joined as well. “The North remembers! The North remembers! The North remembers!”

The king gathered his knights, as Ser Richard Horpe, his second-in-command, gathered whatever horses they hadn’t eaten.

“Fifty horses we have left, sire. Adding to the dozen from the Karstarks, two and sixty.” The knight said grimly.

“The mountain clans will ride forth with whatever few garrons they have. The snows will halter even the finest breeds. It’s spears and shields we need to face Ser Stupid. The night falls early this time of year. Use it to your advantage. Attack their train and gather whatever loot you can gain. Ride back when you see the men from White Harbor or the Bastard. You are far too few to engage them as yet.”

“Your Grace,” Asha walked towards the king. “Free me from these chains and put an axe in my hand.”

“You are in no position to make demands.” Ser Richard intejected

“The kraken’s daughter has no lack for courage, it would seem. The banker ransomed your lot from Lady Glover, it would seem only fit that I put you under her men’s command. Ser Richard, bring Lady Asha to Ned Woods and unchain her. Give her a bow and an axe. Keep her close to the Liddles as well. The Liddles know their lands. Let them guide the sixty horses you have. Tristifer Botley and his men, we need more bows. Go, now.”

Asha climbed onto Ser Richard’s horse and they rode to gather the queen’s men, the ironmen, the Liddles, and a dozen Glovers. I am the daughter of the Lord Reaper of Pyke, and yet here I have no ships, no seas. Only an axe and bow. I am fighting alongside the men who want me dead. I am sure to die here, but I’m no craven. I will die with a war cry and blood on my face and hands. Asha thought as she looked on the lay of the land.

Asha squinted her eyes as she turned her head to the north. The enemy emerged from the snows. The leader of the enemy wore silvered plate and mail, inlaid with details of lapis lazuli. The crest of his warhelm was tall, fashioned in the shape of the Twin Towers of House Frey.

Before him rode three banner bearers, One bore the stag and lion standard of King Tommen, another the Twin Towers of House Frey. The third brandished a bloody head impaled upon the point of a tall spear. An old man’s head, white-bearded and one eyed. The spear was made from a pale wood, almost white. Its upper shaft was dark and red with blood. Crowfood Umber, Asha knew. The old northman had fought to his death, it seemed. Perhaps the foe had thought the sight of severed head would strike fear into Stannis’s men. They rushed together as Hugo Wull raised his shield wall. The Karstark men remained at the longhall. The Karstarks are meant to defend against Manderly’s knights, Asha thought. The twin lakes provided the king with some advantage, it would seem. One narrow passage. Stannis does not wish to be ambushed again as he was at the Blackwater. He has no lack for caution. Robert was always the bold one. Ser Justin once told her that Tyrion Lannister’s mountain clans from the Vale had attacked Stannis’s forces at the kingswood, thus preventing him from knowing the Lannister-Tyrell relief force in advance. No trick will work against him twice. Good.

“Will they hold?” Asha asked.

“The clans are not meant to hold,” Ser Richard replied, “they’re meant to retreat.”

“Where do they retreat to? The longhall? The weirwood islet?”

“Stop asking questions and mind the surroundings. If a dozen Frey knights are to follow us, or if the fat lord appears, I want to know. You’re wanted for your axe and your eyes, not for those prattling lips that irk me so.” Ser Richard was less harsh a man than the likes of Godry the Giantslayer and Clayton Suggs, nonetheless his patience wore thin as ice in such conditions. The winds came slashing against Asha’s face, each cut harsher and more ruthless than the one before. She felt her lips crack, but refrained from licking them, as she knew it would soon turn to ice. She pressed her cheek against Ser Richard’s cloak. The cold winds and the snow are foreign to these southron knights, and yet they fight for their king as they always did. Does the faith in R’hllor warm their hearts, or the faith in Stannis? The promise of a northern castle, or the glory in the battle itself?

It was not long before Asha saw the baggage train. Ahead of the train were twenty riders, all clad in heavy armor and the surcoats of House Frey. Ser Richard drew his longsword from the scabbard. “Men! With me!” Asha raised her axe as the enemy rode forth to them. Richard gestured the men to spread out the flanks to envelope the enemy. He raised his sword and charged against the enemy leader. The foe was no craven, and his sword nearly cut off Asha’s head. Her battle axe had shorter reach than the long sword, but there were more than one way to engage a mounted enemy. As the Frey’s sword clashed once again with Ser Richard, Asha cut off the palfrey’s leg with one firm swing of her axe. The loss of balance had Ser Richard’s horse founder into the snow. Asha was tossed some ten feet away. As she pushed herself up from the damp and cold ground with her axe, she saw the unhorsed Frey knight walking towards her. His helm was gone. Asha readied herself, as the man put both hands on his the hilt of his longsword and lunged forward. Before he could reach her, Tristofer charged forward and lopped his head off with his axe. The Liddles finished off the rest of the enemies soon enough, and seven Frey horses remained alive. The majority of palfreys and destriers in Stannis’s army hadn’t survive long in the march, but more horses were better than no horses.

Ser Richard lead a captured Frey destrier towards Asha, “Now you have your own horse, my lady.”

“I’m not a lady.” Asha took her gift gratefully.

Richard pointed at a few Glover men, “take these Frey armors and bring the train back to the king from the south side of the lakes. Rest of you, with me. It’s getting dark, we must return and give them battle.” Ser Richard commanded.

Asha looked towards the village, the snow was blinding, and the darkness was soon to come, and all she could see was the faint lamp light from the watchtower.

The night fell as the king had promised, as the sky shifted to grey, to a dark blue, and then black, in contrast to the white of the never ending snow. Asha could scarce make out the sound of cold steel clashing amidst the punishing winds. Her back ached from the fall, as she could hardly keep the lance straight. I’m more fit for an axe, she thought. The Frey soldiers were more like to use long swords, spears, and crossbows. Asha had slung the dead Frey’s crossbow onto her back. She thought of her uncle Victarion who would cut through scores of foes with his battle axe. Had I not pressed my claim, would he have won the kingsmoot then? Anyone in Westeros would be fitter to sit the Seastone Chair than Euron Greyjoy.

She could almost make the Frey banners as she rode forth towards the light. The Frey rear marched slowly whilst the van was engaged with the clansmen. The two flanks of the Frey army attempted to envelop the clans but arrows flew from the king’s position, halting their formation. The fire arrows provided little or less light as they were extinguished as soon as they hit the snow.

“We’ll lure out their rear,” Ser Richard commanded, “separate them from the main force. Ready the men!”

Asha and the rest of the ironborn loosed the crossbow bolts onto the Frey rear. A few Frey horses fell into the snow. The rearguard turned, and they outnumbered Ser Richard’s men two to one by sight. However, by the time that their luxurious and yet impractical southron breeds managed to turn around, Richard’s cavalry already jammed their lances into a row of Frey knights. The rest of the foes remained ferocious, however, and they retaliated. The right wing, commanded by Liddle, began to retreat, and the freshly aggravated Freys ate the bait and then some. As the left wing of the rearguard rode forth towards the Liddles, Asha, Tristifer Botley, and the men under Ned Woods’s command went to engage them. We have the element of surprise, and their numbers matter but little so long as they can’t maintain the formation.

Asha drove her spear into the back of a Frey’s neck. The man wore chainmail under his warhelm, but the sheer impact broke his neck. In a matter of moments, the left wing of the rearguard was all but annihilated. There were many left still, Asha realized that as a man cut her spear in half with a sword. She drew her axe and engaged, but her arm was growing weak. The initial blood rush from a battle would make one forget the very concept of exhaustion, but soon or late, fatigue always set in. In that instant, she grew thankful of Ser Justin Massey, who had urged her to devour more horse meat despite her lack of appetite. She gave all the strength she had and swung the axe upward, and the blade almost touched the enemy’s warhelm. Her body was left defenseless, and the foe lowered his sword to his chest level for a killing strike. Oh, fuck me.

The foe’s head came flying towards Asha before his sword could land a killing strike. Tris? she thought for an instant. As the headless body rolled off the horse, the man who appeared was Qarl the Maid. Asha remembered the night she had spent with Qarl in Deepwood Motte, when he’d sucked her breasts whilst driving his firm cock into her wet cunt to release his seeds. Asha had loved the rough play. Quiet, mind, she reminded herself. She gave a nod to Qarl. It may be that I shall never bed you again.

The Freys were no meek foes, the rest of the rearguard were not to submit without a fight. Thirty men or so they had left, perhaps fewer, got in formation, and charged forward with a chilling war cry, as the Liddles turned around. Ser Richard’s men engaged them, and Tris was on the left wing, attempting to surround the Freys once again.

Qarl rode close to Asha. He sees that I’m weak, Asha thought begrudgingly, I’m not some princess who needs a flowery knight to shield me from danger. And yet she seemed to be surrounded by men who’d die for her, and a precious few who’d love to see her burnt alive. Almost forgot that.

“Thank you.” It took a deal of reluctance for Asha to express her gratitude. She had affection for the pink-cheeked boy once in a while. Asha rubbed on her right shoulder to make sure that she could still swing. When she turned her head it was too late.

A spear went through Qarl’s back and protruded out of his chest. Qarl had worn only jerkin, fur, and light armor, and the blood rendered the back of his white horse crimson. He held onto the tip of the spear with his right hand, and coughed out blood. The enemy tried to pull the spear but Qarl would not let go.

No time to grieve, Asha turned her horse towards the Frey. The man loosened his grip on the spear to draw his sword, but Asha killed him with a single swing before his sword could clear the scabbard.

“Don’t forget me.” Qarl smiled with blood around his lips. It was the sweetest smile he ever gave. Asha fought her tears, and she fought them hard. A few managed to drop, however, and they froze onto her cheeks. she pressed her hand against her cheek to break it. Qarl almost fell from his horse, and she held him.

“Go.” He planted one last kiss upon Asha’s lips before he fell into the snow.

“What of our losses?” Ser Richard cut down a Frey and rode forward to Middle Liddle.

“A dozen or more,” the Liddle replied.

Richard ordered the men to ride towards the light of the watchtower. When they rode close to the lakes, Asha realized that the light was not from the tower at all.

The tower was all in darkness. Instead, the light that they saw was on the weirwood islet. Asha remember the tales of the night lamp of Sisterton, where the sistermen lure ships with false beacons.

The mountain clans fought the Freys on the surface of the ice lake. Already Asha saw a few horses sinking their limbs into the ice as the knights fell off their backs. When the Frey knights got on their feet, the clansmen cut their throats.

Asha heard one blast from a horn, coming from the longhall. The mountain clans began to spread out and retreat. The Freys either chose to dismount, or struggling to hold still. One Frey who was larger than most, dismounted and cut down two clansmen. He was freakishly huge, althought not as big as Gregor Clegane. The big bellied chief Hugo Wull raised his axe to engage him. The old man struggled, as the Frey was much stronger. The old man blocked the Frey’s blow with the hilt of his axe, but the knight kicked him in the belly. The old man rose and lunged forward, raising his battle axe. The knight got on his feet and parried the attack and drove his sword into the old man’s throat. Two of the queen’s men began fighting the ferocious Frey. And then came the second blast. Stannis’s men moved farther from the islet, and the Freys struggled. The holes were not only for fishing, Asha thought. Ned Woods had made a remark about Stannis’s men drilling holes into the ice.

When Asha heard the third blast of the horn, large rocks were flung into the lakes from the north and the south. Catapults, Asha noticed. large portions of the ice began to crumble and crack. two dozen Frey knights sunk into the water as the rest attempted to retreat. The king’s knights and the mountain clans lined up along the east side of the lake and held a shield wall. Another hail of rocks were launched with the next blast of the horn. Dozens, or hundreds of horses fell. Asha could barely tell as the snows were blinding. The heavy cavalry were mostly sunk as the barding on the destriers added more weight. The king’s archers got into position as well, two dozens at the north side of the lake, and another two dozesn at the south side.

“Nock! Draw! Loose!” A hail of arrows were loosed onto what remained of the Frey van. Some arrows found their way onto the clansmen’s shields as well. Most of the Freys dismounted and drew their swords to engage in melee with the mountain clans. The horses were spooked and began running in all directions. The Freys’ castle-forged steel were still an advantage. The Frey men got into formation in an attempt to fight their way out of the mountain clans’ envelopment. They concentrated their forces on the right wing. Stannis’s archers were lightly armored and the Freys cut through them with ease. The Freys began pushing south as they were no longer surrounded. The large Frey fought in the frontlines and cut down half a dozen of the tribesmen. Asha had seldom seen such ferocity. The man reminded her of her uncle Victarion. Stannis’s knights went towards the Freys. Asha could hardly see faces, but she saw the winged pig and the purple knight sigils. Suggs and Farring, she thought. For a split moment Asha wished that the bloodthirsty queen’s men would fall. She hoped that the fearless Frey knight would cut them in half. She soon regretted that thought. She wondered why she grew to hate the queen’s men a little less. Perhaps it was Ser Richard, she thought, nothing in this world turns foes into friends faster than comraderie born amidst a bloodbath.

The fire-crazed knights were indeed a fearsome lot, as their steel clashed against the Frey armors. The knight of the winged pig, Ser Clayton Suggs, stroke the helm off the tall Frey. A husky man with a jut-jawed face thick with beard and full of rage. He blocked the blows from both Suggs and Farring, and pushed forth with his freakish strength. Godry the Giantslayer lowered his sword and cut the Frey’s leg, and as the Frey went onto his knee, Clayton drove a dagger into the brawny man’s throat.

Asha heard a horn blast from the north, but a deal farther than the one before. More men? She thought. By the sound, Asha judged them to be a few hundred horses at least. Asha looked towards the north and could almost make out the banners. Green, she thought, a white figure on a blue-green field, a merman. The knights wielded tridents instead of spears. The Manderlys. The Karstarks came out of the long hall to engage the White Harbor knights. She could almost hear the laugh of relief of the Freys. Their saviors finally came for them, and we are fucked.

Except, the tridents went through the necks of the Frey knights, not Stannis’s men. The clans soon understood the situation and surrounded the Frey knights completely. More cavalry came pouring through the woods onto the helpless Freys. The trumpets were blowing, as the knights continued to charge and trample through the deserting Freys, and the words they cried were “the North remembers! The North remembers! The North remembers!”

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