Context: Our party has been kidnapped by soldiers from a warring kingdom and are being transported to the capital in a cage on a horse-drawn cart. We are very low level and our bard is trying everything in his limited arsenal to escape.
Bard: I’m going to use prestidigitation to create a horrible smell in front of the driver.
DM: The driver wrinkles his nose.
Bard: Does he swerve and tip the cart over?
Bard: Fuck. Then I’ll use vicious mockery, I’ll shout “Hey driver, you smell like shit and your mom never loved you”
DM: He takes 1 point of psychic damage and continues to drive the cart, but sadder.
Bard: …. can I try to persuade?
DM: What do you want to say?
Bard: Hey driver, feel like giving us some gold at least?
Paladin: So let me get this straight. You made him smell like shit. Then told him he smelled like shit. Then asked him for money?
Paladin: Fucking bards.
“When I was 5, I would visit my aunt Rosemary for holiday. I was flown out from North Carolina all the way over to Vermont. So, it’s the day before Christmas. My aunt Rosemary takes me, my little sister, and my cousin Katy to this weird barn show. I wasn’t really interested in it until I was told there would be horses.
As expected, the whole thing was pretty damn boring. The only fun part was when we got on the hay ride, and aunt rosemary would not stop cracking jokes that were probably funny when she was a teenager.
This part is interesting. The hay ride ends, we get out of the horse-drawn cart and head into the little diner. Aunt Rosemary said she was going to order us some grub, while cousin Katy was busy chatting with her friends.
I remember sitting down in front of a checker board table, with a set of black and white chips to the side. I was staring at the board for maybe two minutes, when I heard someone start to talk to me.
I looked up, and didn’t recognise the man. ‘I’m cousin Ian!! Wanna play a game of checkers?’
I mean, of course I said yes. He said he was my cousin and he was away for a long time, not only that, but I REALLY wanted to play checkers.Ten minutes later of me dicking my way through the game, and Ian allowing me to do so, I finally got all of his white checkers off the board. I celebrated my victory, as he ruffled my head, and told me he had to go.
Years later, when I was 12, I brought the story up to my aunt Rosemary, asking if she remember cousin Ian.
It had been a week since Keith joined the circus and he had fallen into a routine.
Keith would wake up at 5 am to help Hunk make breakfast for the crew.
Then at 6:30 when everyone had eaten Keith would clean up while practice started.
He would spend the next few hours running around getting anything the performers need, dumbbells for Hunk.
Chains for Shiro.
Balance beams for Lance.
Megaphone for Allura.
Then around midday he would help make lunch.
After everyone’s eaten he would help Coran fix the set and costumes until show time.
During showtime after the first disaster of the winch Hunk was left in charge of it.
While Keith was put under Pidge, doing whatever the stage hand needed.
By time he had helped clean up Keith was usually so exhausted that he just collapsed onto his bed in the shared trailer.
Keith had gotten so used to this routine that it came as a surprise to him when one day everyone started to pack up so the circus could move on.
“Your coming with us right?” Hunk asked as he carried a large wooden beam over his shoulder.
“I mean… if you’ll have me.”
“Of course we’ll have you. Best assistant I’ve had since Lance started performing.” Pidge said as he seemed to materialise from no where making the two men jump in surprise.
“Wait Lance used to do my job?” Keith asked in surprise.
“Well sure he did, all the performers started out as stagehands until they found their act. Allura was actually the one to pick most of us up.” Hunk said with a soft smile “from the gutter or prison or mad house or brothel.”
Keith looked at Hunk in shock “that’s where you guys came from?”
“Well yeah, did you really think your the only one with secrets?” Pidge asked looking over his glasses at him.
“Hey Hunk Coran needs you to help him move some trunks of costumes!”
They all looked up to see Lance hanging upside down high above their heads untying the ropes that held the tent together.
A week ago Keith would of been worried Lance would fall. However after only a few days he came to realise that Lance was not someone to ever keep his feet on the ground.
He would always be climbing or hanging off something.
He even slept in a hammock hung above the others, refusing to sleep anywhere close to the floor.
Keith had tried to ask him about it, but he was always shrugged off and eventually he just gave up deciding it was just another of Lance’s strange habits.
“Sure thing bud.” Hunk walked off carrying the heavy beam like it was the lightest thing in the world.
“Lance! when your finished up there go help pack up the kitchen!” Pidge yelled up.
Lance grabbed a free piece of rope and began to climb down upside down.
“I’ll head there now.” He jumped off and landed on his feet with his arms outstretched like he expected applause.
All he got was an annoyed glare from Pidge. “Good, take Keith in about done here.”
“Yes mam.” Lance saluted making Pidge swat at him playfully with his hat.
Keith followed after Lance finding it annoyingly difficult to keep up with him and his long legs.
“Why did you call Pidge mam?”
“Oh cause she’s a woman… well on the inside.” Lance shrugged.
“What the hell does that mean?”
Lance thought for a moment “well Pidge is a girl but she has like a birth defect that makes her body look male. She doesn’t really care if you call her male or female but I know she prefers to be recognised as a woman.”
Keith nodded slowly starting to get it. “Was she the one from the mad house?”
Lance stopped in his tracks causing Keith to walk right into the back of him. “You heard about that then… yeah that was her. But it’s not my story to tell.”
Keith couldn’t remember Lance ever sounding so serious. “What’s your story then?”
Lance opened his mouth but closed it again when Shiro walked out of the kitchen tent carrying a few crates.
“All done here. Time to move out.” He smiled looking down at the two.
“I call Blue!” Lance yelled running off the the five horse drawn carts holding the entire circus going for one with a coat so dark it almost shon blue giving her namesake.
“What was that about?” Shiro asked looking down at Keith who only shrugged.
“I have no idea.”
If Keith thought helping to run a circus was tiring then actually moving one was beyond exhausting.
He had been put in charge of a slightly older horse with a ginger coat named Red.
She was a little tough to handle at first but eventually they came to an understanding after a few hours of struggling and running on ahead.
They fell into place next to Hunk and a very large shaggy horse named Goldie.
“So what’s your story?” Hunk asked.
“What?” Keith hoped he had misheard him.
“I mean no one joins the circus if they had the easy life.”
“Tell me your and I’ll tell mine.” Keith suggested pulling on Red reigns as she tried to catch up to over take Blue and Clover a little ahead of them.
“Well Allura picked me up after I got kicked out of a bare knuckle boxing ring.”
Keith stared at the gentle giant, he couldn’t imagine Hunk so much as hurting a fly let alone be fighting willingly.
“Well me and Lance had known each other for years, it was just us see and we needed money to get by. Lance did what he could and so did I. For every fight I won I could get a dollar but if I threw a fight I could get five.”
Keith could t bring himself to say anything. If Hunk and Lance really had been together for so long then their natural closeness made sense.
They were like brothers not lovers.
“How come you got kicked out?”
A shadow crossed over his face “the guy that ran the place… he did something really bad to Lance… I punched him in the face and I know I would of killed him. But a whole room filled with fighters and well let’s just say I woke up bloody and batterer by Allura trying to see if I was still alive.”
“Wow.” Keith found was all he could say. What else could he say after hearing something like that. “So Allura got you and Lance to join?”
A pained expression crossed Hunks features for less then a moment before he shook his head looking at the road in front of him.
“N-no… she found Lance about 6 months after I joined up. I never thought I would see him again but because of her I got my brother back.” He grinned at Keith with so much joy that he felt a similar smirk stretch onto his own face.
“Ok story for a story, your turn so spill.”
Keith chuckled rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I don’t really have a story. My dad owned a ranch in Texas and when I got old enough I decided to try my hand in the big city. I ended up broke and in prison for being caught with a prostitute.” He decided to leave out the gender of the prostitute.
Just because Hunk was nice didn’t mean he wouldn’t want him lined out for being gay.
Hunk laughed “aww and here I was hoping for some big dark secret, that’s nothing.”
Keith shrugged half heartedly “what can I say? Sorry to disappoint.”
“Ah well Lance is going to be disappointed, we had a bet going. He was sure you got arrested for fucking a guy or something.”
Keith felt his blood run cold.
“W-why would he think that?”
“Oh no reason, he just said you looked the type.”
Keith glared at the back of the trailer as though he could set Lance on fire just with the anger bubbling in him.
“Well I’m not, you can tell him and everyone else that asks that I’m no fag.”
Hunk winced “I’ll tell them your not gay… as long as you don’t use that word again.”
Keith looked at him in surprised curiosity “how come.”
“Because almost everyone here’s been one at least once in their life. Allura doesn’t get angry easy but her one rule is that no one uses that kind of language.”
Keith couldn’t of felt more surprised now even if Hunk suddenly sprouted wings and flew away. “B-but it’s illegal.”
Hunk grinned “not in every country we go to. First rule of the circus, the only laws that apply to us is about killing and stealing.”
Keith knew he should feel relief. These people were all like him… he could be himself.
However he couldn’t stop thinking about his time in prison.
The beatings and sleepless nights being on guard thinking that if he closed his eyes then he would never wake up again.
The Roma began moving out of Northern India more than 2000 years ago, spreading throughout Europe, the Middle East and northern Africa. Now numbering around 15 million, they face discrimination and live on the outskirts of society in every land they call home. The Roma are a people without a country. There is, however, one place where the Roma flag flies; in Shutka, Macedonia.
With the largest concentrated Roma population in the world, Shutka is the only municipality in Europe with Romani as its official language. Five miles from the modern center of Skopje, Macedonia, yet a world apart in terms of culture and economy lies Suto Orizari, or “Shutka.” This rough mishmash of small homes and dilapidated shanties is home to an estimated 50,000 people. The streets are full of life, the air is thick with smoke from wood fires and burning trash, Turkish pop music blares from boom boxes strategically placed on street corners and from open car doors, men yell greetings across the potholed streets and from horse-drawn carts. Shutka was founded after the massive earthquake of 1963 that left most of Skopje’s Roma homeless and without any possession. To house the newly homeless the Red Cross built temporary metal huts on the outskirts of the city, many of which are still inhabited today. Relatives of people who were moved to the new town wanted to be closer to their families and began a population boom that made Shutka what it is today.
We wish a huge Happy Birthday (13th of Sept) to @guava-juice! To help add further cheer to your day, the lovely @ally147writes has written you a special Everlark style fic just for you! We hope you enjoy it :)
Happy birthday to the prompter! I hope you had a wonderful day :) I’m flying high on cold and flu meds, but I hope you’ll enjoy this little bit of established!Everlark anyway.
Unbeta’d. All errors are my own.
Peeta chuckles every time he glimpses the bride. Everywhere he looks, Primrose Everdeen — or Hawthorne now, he supposes — is always on the periphery of his vision.
This narrow bridge in the western part of Iceland was one of the first Icelandic bridges made of concrete. The Icelandic name can be translated as “Cat’s Arch” or perhaps even better as “Cat’s arched back” and the bridge was originally used by horse-drawn carts only, but starting in 1930 it was also used by most of the motorized traffic to Akureyri until better roads were built.
Summary: The reader and Edmund have been friends for most of their time together in Narnia. They realize their true feelings for each other at the worst moment; just when they both leave for Earth. It doesn’t help that they live literally half a world apart.
Word Count: 1,855
Note: I am so sorry for the wait! This is the fourth part of Love Knows No Bounds, a collaboration between myself and the wonderful @peterpevensje. Enjoy!
Warnings: Slavery/slave trading, some fighting.
Previously:The same smile was worn on your face and it was at that moment Edmund realized that he didn’t think your smile was the most beautiful thing he had even seen.
He knew that your smile was the most beautiful thing he had even seen.
Edmund was here. Here! Standing right in front of you, sopping wet clothes clinging to his frame, showing you that he had grown physically in the year on Earth.
It was then that you realized you were staring.
Edmund raised an eyebrow at you, smirking. You laughed quietly to yourself, knowing that despite Edmund’s seemingly unfazed expression, he was shocked and excited to see you there.
You stepped forwards, about to hug him, when Caspian pushed past you. Three fluffy towels were in his arms.
It was breezy at sea, so Edmund, Lucy, and his whining companion probably felt cold.
“One last time,” the general said with a wicked
The leader of the rival army slid a riding
whip down Keith’s face, and anger boiled fiercer in Shiro’s gut. Red welts from previous strikes were littering Keith’s body, and the soldiers
gathered around the circle were getting restless.
The hot sun beat down on Shiro’s head, and he
grunted with effort, trying to force his arm as far as it would go between the
poles of the wooden cage. Though he was sweating under his tunic and leather
armor, a cold chill was running through him at the sight of Keith on his knees
in the dust.
Shiro and his troop had lost the battle. After
being taken captive, their ruthless enemies decided to perform some sort of
test. Shiro had been thrown in a cage on the back of a horse-drawn cart, and
his men had been dragged before him one by one, tortured until they gave up
their allegiance to him. So far, every one of them had.
Earthenware ox cart, dating to the late Han Dynasty (25-220 CE) in China. Wealthy Chinese people would travel on ox carts (rather than horse drawn ones), and model carts like this were often found in the tombs of wealthy Chinese people as a method of transportation in the afterlife.
In 1938, in Pulaski County, Kentucky, Carl Pruitt came home from a day’s’ work to find his wife in bed with another man. He flew into a rage and in his anger he grabbed a chain and strangled his wife to death while her lover fled the scene. When he came to his senses Carl could not live with what he had done so he committed suicide moments later.
His wife’s family never forgive Pruitt for her murder so he was buried in a cemetery in a different cemetery from his wife. This is when things started to get strange. Visitors to the cemetery that saw Pruitt’s grave noticed some discolouration on the gravestone that looked liked a group of circled linked together. It looked like a chain was resting on the headstone. A group of young boys decided to ride their bikes to the cemetery to look at the famous headstone chain. One boy decided to impress the others by throwing rocks at Pruitt’s gravestone and chipped it. Later, when the boy was riding home he fell from his bike and in a freak accident the bike chain came off, wrapped around his neck and strangled him. The boy’s mother blamed the gravestone for her son’s death so she took an ax to the cemetery and hit the grave several times. The next day, while she was hanging out the laundry, the clothesline caught around her neck and she was strangled to death.
A few months later, a farmer was riding in a horse drawn cart with his family past the graveyard when he decided to shoot at Pruitt’s gravestone for fun. The gunfire spooked the horses, causing them to bolt. The family managed to jump from the wagon but the farmer was thrown from the carriage and one of the horses’ reins wrapped around his neck, strangling him. After that death most people stayed away from Pruitt’s grave, until the 1940s when a man went into the cemetery and decided to smash the cursed gravestone with a hammer. People nearby quickly reported screaming coming from the graveyard and when they went to investigate they found the man dead at the cemetery gates with the gate chain wrapped around his neck.
That was the final death attributed to the Carl Pruitt curse as the locals decided to remove the gravestone entirely and leave the grave unmarked. It is an odd urban legend, but the story has been investigated and all of the victim’s death certificates have been found confirming their causes of death. So was there a curse or just a series of strange accidents plaguing 1930s Kentucky?
Request: How about the reader somehow gets back to hamiltime sort of like Narnia? All the confusion, her explaining everything else to them and vice versa?!?! Thanks xxx
Pairing: Alexander Hamilton x reader (slow burn)
Warnings: Historical inaccuracy, time travel,
Word count: 2,521 (my longest yet!)
A/N: I fiddled with the request a bit but hopefully just about right. Also this is quite long so I put in a “read more”. I actually know a fair bit about this time period but I have fiddled with the timeline- aka musical is canon- and am describing the figures as the actors to avoid confusion. Any questions, just ask!
It was a two show day and you had decided to explore the theatre by yourself.
Most of the rest of the cast had elected to crash at Jasmine and Anthonys’ place to shower and eat, but you’d promised to join them a bit later. When the others hadn’t protested, you had cited a need to call your best friend from home and have a little you time.
Still in your pink Angelica dress from “The Schuyler Sisters”- you had an appointment in wardrobe in half an hour- you started to look around. The building felt quiet without the cheery bustle of the rest of the cast. Other than the cast dressing rooms, there were dozens of corridors and doors that you’d never been through.
After you’d exhausted those, you headed into the wings. You had only started performing as Angelica a few weeks before, having been a universal swing beforehand. You had fallen in love with the show and had been singing the songs for weeks before you even auditioned. It was exciting and you were still in awe of the opportunities you were having.
A new delivery of props we’re waiting in the wings. You stepped closer to take a look and noticed a wardrobe among the old-style chairs and bayonets. The varnish was faded and it didn’t look overly sturdy. That can’t be for Hamilton, you thought.
You reached forward to touch the knob, wondering if there might be a label or tag somewhere, and the door swung open. The inside was filled with revolutionary costumes that looked like those you wore in the ensemble, but much older and more in need of repair.
You stepped into the wardrobe, reaching to pull down one of the costumes. You had wanted to inspect them- maybe bring them to wardrobe- but when you stepped inside, the door slammed and sent you sprawling.
Instinctively, you threw your hands out in front of you to stop your fall. Your hands landed on something cold and dirty and you opened your eyes to see cobblestones.
What the fuck? you thought as you slowly got to your feet. You were definitely not in the wardrobe anymore.
You were standing a street. It wasn’t a street you knew- the buildings were squat and dirty, the road cobbled, and you swore you saw someone go by on horseback. Actually, now that you thought about it, you couldn’t see any cars. You took another look and started to notice the clothing- everyone looked like they’d walked right off the Hamilton set- though in duller, dirtier colours.
It wasn’t until you saw someone with a newspaper that the reality began to sink in. You focused on your breathing as you read the year on the newspaper: 1781.
Rating: T, not quite M Length: 1,559 words Prompt: Varekai - Recuperation from injury RMW:Day One | Day Two | Day Three | Day Four | Day Five | Day Seven | Day Eight Summary: Canonverse. After an expedition, they catalog their injuries. Approaching smut, but not quite. Clean smut, I guess.
The latest expedition is a success, in that only a tenth of the Survey Corps comes back broken and bloodied, stacked like firewood on a horse-drawn cart to be shipped back to their parents or, for most of them, burned over an anonymous pyre. As seems to be custom these days, Squad Levi trudges on horseback behind the corpse cart as it rolls through the gates of Karanes. This time, five years after the disastrous 57th Expedition, no one save a few clustered fanatics and vagrants greets them as they wend their way back to base.
The squad has a routine, almost a tradition at this point, that they check one another for injuries upon their return. Even a secretly fractured finger can spell the difference between life and death: two years earlier, a new recruit couldn’t operate his flare gun and the Aberrant Titan that he had spotted killed him and most of his squad. So upon return to the barracks they all strip to their underwear and pair off, running firm hands over bruised limbs, applying ointments and bandages.
Benjen looked out to the gates of Winterfell as he watched two figures come through in a horse drawn cart. One woman, a woman he didn’t know, and a man he did know, his quiet friend from Harrenhal, Howland Reed.
Yet there should have been a third– no, not Ned, who had to return to King’s Landing, not even Brandon, who Benjen had always known would drive himself into an early grave, but his other sibling, the one closest to his heart.
I arm myself with a bow and arrows and head out, intending to exit 12 through the Meadow. Near the square are teams of masked and gloved people with horse-drawn carts. Sifting through what lay under the snow this winter. Gathering remains. A cart’s parked in front of the mayor's house. I recognize Thom, Gale’s old crewmate, pausing a moment to wipe the sweat from his face with a rag. I remember seeing him in 13, but he must have come back. His greeting gives me the courage to ask, “Did they find anyone in there?” “Whole family. And the two people who worked for them,” Thom tells me. Madge. Quiet and kind and brave. The girl who gave me the pin that gave me a name. I swallow hard. Wonder if she’ll be joining the cast of my nightmares tonight.