the walrus club

10

© @yellowsbmarine - like or reblog if saving
(drag to a new tab to view full size) (abrir em nova guia para visualizar em tamanho maior)

The Curious Case of Chekov’s Thomas Hamilton.

Thomas (2x03): The new world is a gift, Lieutenant. A sacred opportunity to right our wrongs and begin a new - and I do not want my family’s plot in it to be the reason for its fall.

…well, about that, Thomas…. I hate to say it….

Miranda (1x07): This path you’re on, it doesn’t lead where you think it does. If he were here, he’d agree with me!

The following is a stupidly, stupidly long prolonged ramble about the whos/whats/potential hows on the justification for a Thomas Hamilton return, one that originally came about after I started doing a series rewatch. There are lot of questions, and not a lot of answers, but I decided typing it out was probably better than zoning out in the vegetables section of the supermarket again, trying to puzzle out the great mystery of Chekov’s Thomas Hamilton… which embarrassingly did happen. Twice. Once whilst staring at pumpkins.

Wherefore art thou, Mr Hamilton?

The following relevant quote is something @flinthamilton cleverly picked up on some time ago, which has been my soothing madness mantra ever since -

Thomas (2x01): They say it started with a man named Henry Avery, who sailed into the port of Nassau, bribed the colonial Governor to look past his sins, and camped his crew upon the beach -  and thus began the pirate issue on New Providence Island. Where and when will it all end - I suppose that’s where you and I come into the story.

Keep reading

crustyfun  asked:

How badly wounded is Wyman Manderly at the end of ADWD?

Lord Wyman pushed to his feet, only to collapse. Old Lord Locke was shouting for a maester as Manderly flopped on the floor like a clubbed walrus in a spreading pool of blood.

Four White Harbor knights had formed a ring around Lord Wyman, as Maester Medrick labored over him to staunch his bleeding.

It’s not looking good. We didn’t see him die, but nor do we get concrete evidence that his life has been saved. And even if he pulls through, Roose just stripped him of his protectors. I doubt Wyman makes it out of Winterfell alive, and given that he went into the castle with a fraction of his available forces–and, as Ramsay notes, no hostages–I’ve long suspected that he never meant to. GRRM’s pretty clearly riffing on Titus Andronicus with Wyman in ADWD, and the title character doesn’t exactly get a happy ending. 

Elena Chernyshova, Days of Night - Nights of Day (2013)

Members of the Walrus Club swim even in sub-zero temperatures, before warming up again in saunas heated by steam from the local power plant.

now i have drawn every single pc mc series in the five years of being in this fandom🎢🎡 

i was going for canon outfits at first before i decided themeparks were eccentric and summer -y and i wanted to include warm colours🔥

[image: (left to right) trottimus holding a blueprint for a ‘COOL FUCKIN’ ROLLERCOASTER’, alsmiffy with a bucket of sludge, and djh3 wearing a blue binder and pink tanktop, and carrying a messenger bag filled with blueprints and manga]

List of Trick or Treating NPCS

for your pre-TTR blog update needs

Impractical Jokes - Silly Street, Toontown Central

This Transom Man Custom Tailored Suits - Lighthouse Lane, Donald’s Dock

Rake It Inn - Elm Street, Daisy’s Gardens

Shave and a Haircut for a Song - Alto Avenue, Minnie’s Melodyland

St. Bernard Kennel Club - Walrus Way, The Brrgh

Rip Van Winkle’s Wrinkle Cream - Pajama Place, Donald’s Dreamland


Street Locations just for fun

Keep reading

I’ve been getting a lot of pushback for listing Wyman Manderly among my predicted deaths in The Winds of Winter and for thereafter insisting that in fact, as of the Pink Letter’s arrival at Castle Black, he’s already dead, his head among those adorning Winterfell’s walls per the Letter. 

Here is my case. This is where we left Lord Wyman:

Lord Wyman pushed to his feet, only to collapse. Old Lord Locke was shouting for a maester as Manderly flopped on the floor like a clubbed walrus in a spreading pool of blood.

And then: 

“Ser Hosteen, assemble your knights and men-at-arms by the main gates. As you are so eager for battle, you shall strike our first blow. Lord Wyman, gather your White Harbor men by the east gate. They shall go forth as well.”

So not only has Wyman been badly wounded, but Roose has stripped him of his protectors. Roose knows Wyman is his enemy: 

“The Cerwyns and the Tallharts are not to be relied on, my fat friend Lord Wyman plots betrayal…”

Moreover, Barbrey Dustin (Roose’s parter-in-crime, or possibly his superior) let slip to Theon that Roose plans on eliminating Lord Wyman at some point during the war against Stannis: 

“White Harbor might prove troublesome should Lord Wyman survive this coming battle…but I am quite sure that he will not. No more than Stannis. Roose will remove both of them, as he removed the Young Wolf.”

What better time than when Wyman is wounded and defenseless, especially given that Roose probably assumes that between Stannis and the Freys, the White Harbor men aren’t coming back? 

So that’s why I think Wyman’s a dead man in terms of plot. But then there’s his character to consider. Many have compared Lord Wyman to Doran Martell, and I get why: they’re both lords whose public reputations as shiftless cowards are countered by the cunning and anger simmering underneath the surface, rooted in the horrific murders of loved ones. Yet their actions and temperament really couldn’t be more different. Can you imagine the Prince of Dorne cooking up Arys Oakheart and serving him to Balon Swann?

Doran holds back because he has something to lose; as we’ve seen from his introduction forward, he is haunted by the fear that he is leading his people, represented by the children of the Water Gardens, into a mass grave. Wyman unleashes his fury whole because he has nothing to lose. He is not only unafraid to die–like Roose himself, he honestly doesn’t care if he dies. In A Dance with Dragons, the Lord of White Harbor is not a cool, calculating plotter. He is a grief-stricken father so white-hot furious at the world that he serves human pie and goes back for seconds. Even Ramsay realizes that Wyman is no longer behaving like an astute, long-game politician: 

“What I noticed was that he brought no hostages.”

So Wyman brings, like, a tenth of his available forces even though he’ll be surrounded by enemies, and leaves the rest of his family behind even though that’s an outright defiance of the Bolton regime. Why? Because you don’t bring your best men or your beloved granddaughter on a cannibalistic suicide mission, that’s why!

But the best microcosm of Wyman Manderly’s outlook in Dance is how he reacts to being accused of killing Freys.

“Step out into the yard, you sack of suet, and I’ll serve you all the bloody bits that you can stomach,” Ser Hosteen said.

Wyman Manderly laughed, but half a dozen of his knights were on their feet at once.

“My lord,” boomed Hosteen Frey. “We know the man who did this. Killed this boy and all the rest. Not by his own hand, no. He is too fat and craven to do his own killing. But by his word.” He turned to Wyman Manderly. “Do you deny it?”

The Lord of White Harbor bit a sausage in half. “I confess …” He wiped the grease from his lips with his sleeve. “… I confess that I know little of this poor boy. Lord Ramsay’s squire, was he not? How old was the lad?”

“Nine, on his last nameday.”

“So young,” said Wyman Manderly. “Though mayhaps this was a blessing. Had he lived, he would have grown up to be a Frey.”

He comes within inches of dying for that last remark, but I can’t imagine he’s regretted it for a second. Everything about Wyman Manderly’s actions and attitude in A Dance with Dragons suggests to me a man relishing the opportunity to silence everyone who ever called him a coward or a “sack of suet,” to die proving that his family (outsiders even after a millennia) are true Northerners, patriots, “Stark men.” And on those terms, he’s already won:

Wyman Manderly laughed, but half a dozen of his knights were on their feet at once. It fell to Roger Ryswell and Barbrey Dustin to calm them with quiet words. Roose Bolton said nothing at all. But Theon Greyjoy saw a look in his pale eyes that he had never seen before—an uneasiness, even a hint of fear.

Frey, and Boltons, and Manderlys, Oh My!

Guys, the Winterfell plot line in A Dance with Dragons is soooo boring:

The doors of the Great Hall opened with a crash.
A cold wind came swirling through, and a cloud of ice crystals sparkled blue-white in the air. Through it strode Ser Hosteen Frey, caked with snow to the waist, a body in his arms. All along the benches men put down their cups and spoons to turn and gape at the grisly spectacle. The hall grew quiet.
Another murder.
Snow slid from Ser Hosteen’s cloaks as he stalked toward the high table, his steps ringing against the floor. A dozen Frey knights and men-at-arms entered behind him. One was a boy Theon knew—Big Walder, the little one, fox-faced and skinny as a stick. His chest and arms and cloak were spattered with blood.
The scent of it set the horses to screaming. Dogs slid out from under the tables, sniffing. Men rose from the benches. The body in Ser Hosteen’s arms sparkled in the torchlight, armored in pink frost. The cold outside had frozen his blood.
“My brother Merrett’s son.” Hosteen Frey lowered the body to the floor before the dais. “Butchered like a hog and shoved beneath a snowbank. A boy.” […]“My lord,” boomed Hosteen Frey. “We know the man who did this. Killed this boy and all the rest. Not by his own hand, no. He is too fat and craven to do his own killing. But by his word.” He turned to Wyman Manderly. “Do you deny it?”
The Lord of White Harbor bit a sausage in half. “I confess …” He wiped the grease from his lips with his sleeve. “… I confess that I know little of this poor boy. Lord Ramsay’s squire, was he not? How old was the lad?”
“Nine, on his last nameday.”
“So young,” said Wyman Manderly. “Though mayhaps this was a blessing. Had he lived, he would have grown up to be a Frey.”
Ser Hosteen slammed his foot into the tabletop, knocking it off its trestles, back into Lord Wyman’s swollen belly. Cups and platters flew, sausages scattered everywhere, and a dozen Manderly men came cursing to their feet. Some grabbed up knives, platters, flagons, anything that might serve as a weapon.
Ser Hosteen Frey ripped his longsword from its scabbard and leapt toward Wyman Manderly. The Lord of White Harbor tried to jerk away, but the tabletop pinned him to his chair. The blade slashed through three of his four chins in a spray of bright red blood. Lady Walda gave a shriek and clutched at her lord husband’s arm. “Stop,” Roose Bolton shouted. “Stop this madness.” His own men rushed forward as the Manderlys vaulted over the benches to get at the Freys. “One lunged at Ser Hosteen with a dagger, but the big knight pivoted and took his arm off at the shoulder. Lord Wyman pushed to his feet, only to collapse. Old Lord Locke was shouting for a maester as Manderly flopped on the floor like a clubbed walrus in a spreading pool of blood. Around him dogs fought over sausages.

Yawn.

I can see why we needed a weird hot potato love triangle and a super probable commando raid to spice this up.