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Flicker Goon meme example.

Flicker Goon

Sakshi Rakshale

Sakshi Rakshale • about a year ago

The Tunnel Effect meme from JJK.

The Tunnel Effect

Mateus Lima • 2 days ago

June 2025 LA ICE Protests image example.

June 2025 LA ICE Protests

Owen Carry • 3 days ago

Loss

13 years ago

Would You Still Love Me If I Was A Worm meme.

Would You Still Love Me If I Was A Worm?

Owen Carry • 3 years ago

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/r/freefolk - Images (21,632 results)

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Of course Liam is an October 7 truther | /r/FreeFolk

TJEWISH SECRET JE MAZEL SPACE liam cunningham @liamcunning....5h Ø If you want to know how sinister and complicit the western press is. Read and listen carefully to the reporting of the illegal ramming, boarding and kidnapping of the volunteers onboard the #Freedom Flotilla near #Gaza they were carrying humanitarian aid. LASER TOUGH 220 17 5.4K 18K Ilil 288K Isac @Isacb2021.4h Why don't you watch the October 7th unedited videos? Q46 174 liam cunningham @liamcunningham1 94 IlII 10K Hannibal directive. Look it yourself. You're welcome. 3:33 AM 6/9/25 11K Views up. Educate Q Follow

TJEWISH SECRET JE MAZEL SPACE liam cunningham @liamcunning....5h Ø If you want to know how sinister and complicit the western press is. Read and listen carefully to the reporting of the illegal ramming, boarding and kidnapping of the volunteers onboard the #Freedom Flotilla near #Gaza they were carrying humanitarian aid. LASER TOUGH 220 17 5.4K 18K Ilil 288K Isac @Isacb2021.4h Why don't you watch the October 7th unedited videos? Q46 174 liam cunningham @liamcunningham1 94 IlII 10K Hannibal directive. Look it yourself. You're welcome. 3:33 AM 6/9/25 11K Views up. Educate Q Follow

Don’t have a link cuz twitter’s for cunts | /r/FreeFolk

liam cunningham @liamcunningham1 · 6h The Freedom flotilla was attacked during the night. The ship was rammed, boarded and the 12 volunteers kidnapped. This is more reprehensible behaviour from the genocidal regime in Tel Aviv. 730 10K 40K ill 638K @TheNotoriousMMA - 38m Conor McGregor Replying to @liamcunningham1 I thought you were on this boat Liamo, what happened? You forgot your goggles? You get sea sick off the gargle? Bottler. 38 119 189 41K Q liam cunningham @liamcunningham1 Didn't know you could read and write Conor. Thought you used your hands to tap out. 1:22 PM - Jun 9, 2025 5,726 Views

liam cunningham @liamcunningham1 · 6h The Freedom flotilla was attacked during the night. The ship was rammed, boarded and the 12 volunteers kidnapped. This is more reprehensible behaviour from the genocidal regime in Tel Aviv. 730 10K 40K ill 638K @TheNotoriousMMA - 38m Conor McGregor Replying to @liamcunningham1 I thought you were on this boat Liamo, what happened? You forgot your goggles? You get sea sick off the gargle? Bottler. 38 119 189 41K Q liam cunningham @liamcunningham1 Didn't know you could read and write Conor. Thought you used your hands to tap out. 1:22 PM - Jun 9, 2025 5,726 Views

YAYYYY? | /r/FreeFolk

NEW POST ITS FINALLY HERE! #001 THE WINDS OF WINTER: Une Tempête en Cryptographie May 12, 2025 Yes. It's done. You read that correctly. The Winds of Winter is finished. (Insert dramatic pause here for those of you who have just passed out from shock. Breathe. Drink some Arbor gold. I'll wait.) Now for the catch. Because of course there's a catch. Would it be Westeros without one? I've decided to release The Winds of Winter not in plain English... but entirely in medieval French. Not modern French. Not Duolingo French. I'm talking 14th-century, illuminated- manuscript, Geoffrey of Monmouth has-a-stroke-on-parchment French. The real stuff. Also, each chapter is written in code. Not just a substitution cipher-no, no. That would be too easy. We're talking riddles, sigils, numerical keys, mirror writing, palindromes, anagrams, inverted heraldry, and a dash of Braavosi rhyme-scheme encryption. Every chapter is a puzzle. Every POV unlocks another. Want to know what happens to Arya? Solve the riddle of the three-faced god. Curious about Jon Snow? Decode the Nightfort's floor plan. Bran? That one's in the Weirwood's language. Hope you speak tree. It's a book. It's a game. It's an ordeal. It's Westeros. You said you wanted it. Now work for it. Winter is coming. But only if you can read it. Bonne chance, GRRM ereallygreatsite

NEW POST ITS FINALLY HERE! #001 THE WINDS OF WINTER: Une Tempête en Cryptographie May 12, 2025 Yes. It's done. You read that correctly. The Winds of Winter is finished. (Insert dramatic pause here for those of you who have just passed out from shock. Breathe. Drink some Arbor gold. I'll wait.) Now for the catch. Because of course there's a catch. Would it be Westeros without one? I've decided to release The Winds of Winter not in plain English... but entirely in medieval French. Not modern French. Not Duolingo French. I'm talking 14th-century, illuminated- manuscript, Geoffrey of Monmouth has-a-stroke-on-parchment French. The real stuff. Also, each chapter is written in code. Not just a substitution cipher-no, no. That would be too easy. We're talking riddles, sigils, numerical keys, mirror writing, palindromes, anagrams, inverted heraldry, and a dash of Braavosi rhyme-scheme encryption. Every chapter is a puzzle. Every POV unlocks another. Want to know what happens to Arya? Solve the riddle of the three-faced god. Curious about Jon Snow? Decode the Nightfort's floor plan. Bran? That one's in the Weirwood's language. Hope you speak tree. It's a book. It's a game. It's an ordeal. It's Westeros. You said you wanted it. Now work for it. Winter is coming. But only if you can read it. Bonne chance, GRRM ereallygreatsite

did a reddit recapped on my account | /r/FreeFolk

Roast • You've spent so much time analyzing why Game of Thrones season 8 sucked, I'm starting to think it's the only healthy relationship you've ever had that ended badly.

Roast • You've spent so much time analyzing why Game of Thrones season 8 sucked, I'm starting to think it's the only healthy relationship you've ever had that ended badly.

1 out of 2 isn't bad | /r/FreeFolk

Liam Cunningham, 1-1, as an Onion Knight

Liam Cunningham, 1-1, as an Onion Knight

SIMPSONS DID IT | /r/FreeFolk

Hello, children. I bring you love.

Hello, children. I bring you love.

What was the creative reasoning behind making Maggy the Frog young and sexy? Her nickname doesn't ev...

What was the creative reasoning behind making Maggy the Frog young and sexy? Her nickname doesn't ev...

What was the creative reasoning behind making Maggy the Frog young and sexy? Her nickname doesn't ev...

Character flaws: Margaery Tyrell. List them. | /r/FreeFolk

Character flaws: Margaery Tyrell. List them. | /r/FreeFolk

Character flaws: Margaery Tyrell. List them. | /r/FreeFolk

He was a special boy | /r/FreeFolk

Night's Watch members: now that we swore the oath our family doesn't matter anymore for us Benjen Stark:

Night's Watch members: now that we swore the oath our family doesn't matter anymore for us Benjen Stark:

I don't know what's worse about this scene; Gendry proposing or Arya preparing for Cersei after defe...

Everyone's inside celebrating, you should be celebrating with them.

Everyone's inside celebrating, you should be celebrating with them.

Dany isn’t going to like this! | /r/FreeFolk

Bells E Lil Wayne 0:09 RIE ARKED BUB 862 كسي أمي Marci Mercy 17 aum lil WAYNE THA CARTER VI -3:16

Bells E Lil Wayne 0:09 RIE ARKED BUB 862 كسي أمي Marci Mercy 17 aum lil WAYNE THA CARTER VI -3:16

Since Theon was a good archer, having arrows with dragonglass heads would've been pretty useful here...

Since Theon was a good archer, having arrows with dragonglass heads would've been pretty useful here...

Since Theon was a good archer, having arrows with dragonglass heads would've been pretty useful here...

Lord Tywin Lannister deserve a better death in battlefield. | /r/FreeFolk

Lord Tywin Lannister deserve a better death in battlefield. | /r/FreeFolk

Lord Tywin Lannister deserve a better death in battlefield. | /r/FreeFolk

Sir Barristan Selmy Book vs Show - It's Crazy! | /r/FreeFolk

Ser Barristan heard a door open, somewhere to his left. He turned in time to see Khrazz emerge from behind a tapestry. He moved slowly, still groggy from sleep, but his weapon of choice was in his hand: a Dothraki arakh, long and curved. A slasher's sword, made to deliver deep, slicing cuts from horseback. A murderous blade against half-naked foes, in the pit or on the battlefield. But here at close quarters, the arakh's length would tell against it, and Barristan Selmy was clad in plate and mail. "I am here for Hizdahr," the knight said. "Throw down your steel and stand aside, and no harm need come to you." Khrazz laughed. "Old man. I will eat your heart." The two men were of a height, but Khrazz was two stone heavier and forty years younger, with pale skin, dead eyes, and a crest of bristly red-black hair that ran from his brow to the base of his neck. "Then come," said Barristan the Bold. Khrazz came. For the first time all day, Selmy felt certain. This is what I was made for, he thought. The dance, the sweet steel song, a sword in my hand and a foe before me. The pit fighter was fast, blazing fast, as quick as any man Ser Barristan had ever fought. In those big hands, the arakh became a whistling blur, a steel storm that seemed to come at the old knight from three directions at once. Most of the cuts were aimed at his head. Khrazz was no fool. Without a helm, Selmy was most vulnerable above the neck. He blocked the blows calmly, his longsword meeting each slash and turning it aside. The blades rang and rang again. Ser Barristan retreated. On the edge of his vision, he saw the cupbearers watching with eyes as big and white as chicken eggs. Khrazz cursed and turned a high cut into a low one, slipping past the old knight's blade for once, only to have his blow scrape uselessly off a white steel greave. Selmy's answering slash found the pit fighter's left shoulder, parting the fine linen to bite the flesh beneath. His yellow tunic began to turn pink, then red. "Only cowards dress in iron," Khrazz declared, circling. No one wore armor in the fighting pits. It was blood the crowds came for: death, dismemberment, and shrieks of agony, the music of the scarlet sands. Ser Barristan turned with him. "This coward is about to kill you, ser." The man was no knight, but his courage had earned him that much courtesy. Khrazz did not know how to fight a man in armor. Ser Barristan could see it in his eyes: doubt, confusion, the beginnings of fear. The pit fighter came on again, screaming this time, as if sound could slay his foe where steel could not. The arakh slashed low, high, low again. Selmy blocked the cuts at his head and let his armor stop the rest, whilst his own blade opened the pit fighter's cheek from ear to mouth, then traced a raw red gash across his chest. Blood welled from Khrazz's wounds. That only seemed to make him wilder. He seized the brazier with his off hand and flipped it, scattering embers and hot coals at Selmy's feet. Ser Barristan leapt over them. Khrazz slashed at his arm and caught him, but the arakh could only chip the hard enamel before it met the steel below. "In the pit that would have taken your arm off, old man." "We are not in the pit." "Take off that armor!" "It is not too late to throw down your steel. Yield." "Die," spat Khrazz... but as he lifted his arakh, its tip grazed one of the wall hangings and hung. That was all the chance Ser Barristan required. He slashed open the pit fighter's belly, parried the arakh as it wrenched free, then finished Khrazz with a quick thrust to the heart as the pit fighter's entrails came sliding out like a nest of greasy eels. Blood and viscera stained the king's silk carpets. Selmy took a step back. The longsword in his hand was red for half its length. Here and there the carpets had begun to smolder where some of the scattered coals had fallen. He could hear poor Qezza sobbing. "Don't be afraid," the old knight said. "I mean you no harm, child. I want only the king." He wiped his sword clean on a curtain and stalked into the bedchamber, where he found Hizdahr zo Loraq, Fourteenth of His Noble Name, hiding behind a tapestry and whimpering. "Spare me," he begged. "I do not want to die." "Few do. Yet all men die, regardless." Ser Barristan sheathed his sword and pulled Hizdahr to his feet. "Come. I will escort you to a cell." By now, the Brazen Beasts should have disarmed Steelskin. "You will be kept a prisoner until the queen returns. If nothing can be proved against you, you will not come to harm. You have my word as a knight." He took the king's arm and led him from the bedchamber, feeling strangely light-headed, almost drunk. I was a Kingsguard. What am I now? Miklaz and Draqaz had returned with Hizdahr's wine. They stood in the open door, cradling the flagons against their chests and staring wide-eyed at the corpse of Khrazz. Qezza was still crying, but Jezhene had appeared to comfort her. She hugged the younger girl, stroking her hair. Some of the other cupbearers stood behind them, watching. "Your Worship," Miklaz said, "the noble Reznak mo Reznak says to t-tell you, come at once." The boy addressed the king as if Ser Barristan were not there, as if there were no dead man sprawled upon the carpet, his life's blood slowly staining the silk red. Skahaz was supposed to take Reznak into custody until we could be certain of his loyalty. Had something gone awry? "Come where?" Ser Barristan asked the boy. "Where does the seneschal want His Grace to go?" "Outside." Miklaz seemed to see him for the first time. "Outside, ser. To the t-terrace. To see." "To see what?" "D-d-dragons. The dragons have been loosed, ser." Seven save us all, the old knight thought.

Ser Barristan heard a door open, somewhere to his left. He turned in time to see Khrazz emerge from behind a tapestry. He moved slowly, still groggy from sleep, but his weapon of choice was in his hand: a Dothraki arakh, long and curved. A slasher's sword, made to deliver deep, slicing cuts from horseback. A murderous blade against half-naked foes, in the pit or on the battlefield. But here at close quarters, the arakh's length would tell against it, and Barristan Selmy was clad in plate and mail. "I am here for Hizdahr," the knight said. "Throw down your steel and stand aside, and no harm need come to you." Khrazz laughed. "Old man. I will eat your heart." The two men were of a height, but Khrazz was two stone heavier and forty years younger, with pale skin, dead eyes, and a crest of bristly red-black hair that ran from his brow to the base of his neck. "Then come," said Barristan the Bold. Khrazz came. For the first time all day, Selmy felt certain. This is what I was made for, he thought. The dance, the sweet steel song, a sword in my hand and a foe before me. The pit fighter was fast, blazing fast, as quick as any man Ser Barristan had ever fought. In those big hands, the arakh became a whistling blur, a steel storm that seemed to come at the old knight from three directions at once. Most of the cuts were aimed at his head. Khrazz was no fool. Without a helm, Selmy was most vulnerable above the neck. He blocked the blows calmly, his longsword meeting each slash and turning it aside. The blades rang and rang again. Ser Barristan retreated. On the edge of his vision, he saw the cupbearers watching with eyes as big and white as chicken eggs. Khrazz cursed and turned a high cut into a low one, slipping past the old knight's blade for once, only to have his blow scrape uselessly off a white steel greave. Selmy's answering slash found the pit fighter's left shoulder, parting the fine linen to bite the flesh beneath. His yellow tunic began to turn pink, then red. "Only cowards dress in iron," Khrazz declared, circling. No one wore armor in the fighting pits. It was blood the crowds came for: death, dismemberment, and shrieks of agony, the music of the scarlet sands. Ser Barristan turned with him. "This coward is about to kill you, ser." The man was no knight, but his courage had earned him that much courtesy. Khrazz did not know how to fight a man in armor. Ser Barristan could see it in his eyes: doubt, confusion, the beginnings of fear. The pit fighter came on again, screaming this time, as if sound could slay his foe where steel could not. The arakh slashed low, high, low again. Selmy blocked the cuts at his head and let his armor stop the rest, whilst his own blade opened the pit fighter's cheek from ear to mouth, then traced a raw red gash across his chest. Blood welled from Khrazz's wounds. That only seemed to make him wilder. He seized the brazier with his off hand and flipped it, scattering embers and hot coals at Selmy's feet. Ser Barristan leapt over them. Khrazz slashed at his arm and caught him, but the arakh could only chip the hard enamel before it met the steel below. "In the pit that would have taken your arm off, old man." "We are not in the pit." "Take off that armor!" "It is not too late to throw down your steel. Yield." "Die," spat Khrazz... but as he lifted his arakh, its tip grazed one of the wall hangings and hung. That was all the chance Ser Barristan required. He slashed open the pit fighter's belly, parried the arakh as it wrenched free, then finished Khrazz with a quick thrust to the heart as the pit fighter's entrails came sliding out like a nest of greasy eels. Blood and viscera stained the king's silk carpets. Selmy took a step back. The longsword in his hand was red for half its length. Here and there the carpets had begun to smolder where some of the scattered coals had fallen. He could hear poor Qezza sobbing. "Don't be afraid," the old knight said. "I mean you no harm, child. I want only the king." He wiped his sword clean on a curtain and stalked into the bedchamber, where he found Hizdahr zo Loraq, Fourteenth of His Noble Name, hiding behind a tapestry and whimpering. "Spare me," he begged. "I do not want to die." "Few do. Yet all men die, regardless." Ser Barristan sheathed his sword and pulled Hizdahr to his feet. "Come. I will escort you to a cell." By now, the Brazen Beasts should have disarmed Steelskin. "You will be kept a prisoner until the queen returns. If nothing can be proved against you, you will not come to harm. You have my word as a knight." He took the king's arm and led him from the bedchamber, feeling strangely light-headed, almost drunk. I was a Kingsguard. What am I now? Miklaz and Draqaz had returned with Hizdahr's wine. They stood in the open door, cradling the flagons against their chests and staring wide-eyed at the corpse of Khrazz. Qezza was still crying, but Jezhene had appeared to comfort her. She hugged the younger girl, stroking her hair. Some of the other cupbearers stood behind them, watching. "Your Worship," Miklaz said, "the noble Reznak mo Reznak says to t-tell you, come at once." The boy addressed the king as if Ser Barristan were not there, as if there were no dead man sprawled upon the carpet, his life's blood slowly staining the silk red. Skahaz was supposed to take Reznak into custody until we could be certain of his loyalty. Had something gone awry? "Come where?" Ser Barristan asked the boy. "Where does the seneschal want His Grace to go?" "Outside." Miklaz seemed to see him for the first time. "Outside, ser. To the t-terrace. To see." "To see what?" "D-d-dragons. The dragons have been loosed, ser." Seven save us all, the old knight thought.

You need money ASAP, which of these two you'll most likely convince to lend you some? | /r/FreeFolk

You need money ASAP, which of these two you'll most likely convince to lend you some? | /r/FreeFolk

You need money ASAP, which of these two you'll most likely convince to lend you some? | /r/FreeFolk

What was the point of this nonsense? | /r/FreeFolk

Are you a virgin? No.

Are you a virgin? No.

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