not for plebs

Shopping for our new campaign

DM: We have a lovely portable ram available should anyone want it?

Ex-Soldier: Like? Like a tiny sheep?

DM laughing his ass off: No you pleb, a battering ram

Cut to the entire party laughing and wheezing for several minutes.

—  A party which contains a ranger wearing a plague doctor costume, and refusing to buy a quiver cause she already bought a large chest and decided she will store the arrows in there amongst her 100 packs of rations and 50m of silk rope, very much against the advice of the rest of the party and the DM.

no offense but “i can harass this minor to the point of threatening to kill themselves bc theyre white and life matters less than mine” lit sounds like something an anti sjw would write in a shitty plebs style comic so how about we all take a step back and think about going outside 

lizardcool17  asked:

Mafia AU: Mafia boss Michele and his bubbly bodyguard Emil

“How do you feel, son?”

Emil shifted in the bed, sitting up. The everlasting smile was still present on his lips, even though the rest of his face was pale and tired.

“I feel alright, sir,” he replied with a small nod. He didn’t expect Michele’s grandfather to come visit him, definitely not there. The Crispino family had their own little private wing in the hospital, but that was no place for Emil. As a bodyguard, he had to spend his time “with the plebs”, as Michele used to jokingly say.

And now, suddenly, there was Mr. Crispino, sitting down next to his hospital bed. That could mean only one thing.

“Did I… Do something wrong, sir?” Emil asked carefully. He didn’t like the cryptic way of speaking the Crispinos were so great at, not only it took hours for them to actually say something, but Emil, with his limited knowledge of Italian, just didn’t understand them That was why he always asked straight, which often left Michele feel abashed.

“Not at all, son, you’ve done a great job out there,” the old, yet vital man let out a low, throaty laugh. “I have to admit, I had my doubts about you. So young, a foreigner… I though my grandson chose you just because he liked you a little too much,” he admitted. “But you did your job well.”

“Is Mr. Michele alright, sir?”Emil asked quickly. He didn’t remember much from the attack. And since he woke up a few hours ago, he hadn’t heard of his client yet.

“Oh, don’t worry about him, he is perfectly fine. He’s just, well, in a shock. It was his first attack and he apparently wasn’t ready for it. I don’t blame him.”

Emil nodded. Of course, he wasn’t ready for it. No one ever is. How can you get ready for someone trying to stab you to death in a frickin’ mall? He looked down. His torso was wrapped in bandages, the red still peeking through some of them. From what he understood, he jumped in front of Michele just in time so that the six stab wounds ended up on him, not on Michele’s body. Thank God.

“Is someone with hi-”

“Christophe took your place for these few weeks of your recovery,” Mr. Crispino laughed and gently pat Emil’s shoulder as the young man tried to get out of the bed. “Calm down, you need a rest more than anything now. And I’ll make sure you get all the care you need here.”

“T-Thank you, sir…” Emil mumbled. It ffelt weird. It felt so strange not to be close to his client after the year they’ve spend nonstop together. He glanced to his night table where his phone was resting. Still no calls, no messages…

“Emil,” Mr. Crispino suddenly addressed the man on the hospital bed. Emil’s head instinctively jerked towards the old man. “You and Michele… You know that’s not going to happen, right?” 

Emil’s heart sank down to his stomach. He kept smiling, but his gaze fell down to his legs. 

“Yes, sir…”

“You are a good man and I’m glad my grandson has you by his side. You are a great bodyguard. But that’s it. You’re just a bodyguard, Emil.”

“Yes, sir…”

“Good. Well, I think you need some sleep now, I’ll let you rest. Take care and if there is any problem, just tell doctor Lorenzo to call me,” the mafia boss stood up, shook Emil’s hand for the last time and left.

Emil fell back in his bed with a deep sigh. He was just a bodyguard… He knew this was his job, Michele owed him nothing. But it was not fair. After all the nights they’ve spent in Michele’s bedroom… He shouldn’ve kept his hopes up. Michele should’ve told him right away. He should’ve told Emil that he was just one of his servants, that they would never work out because of their different social statuses. He should’ve told him that he wouldn’t even call even if Emil was about to die…

Babe I'm Gonna Leave You
Led Zeppelin
Babe I'm Gonna Leave You

One of Led Zeppelin’s greatest songs is also an excellent rendition of The Plebs’ (Anne Bredon) original late 50s hit. The song was further covered by Joan Baez (in the early 60s) before Zeppelin added their touch to it.

  • you: farm-owning aristocrat, duly performs ancestral rites, eats cabbage, follows the cursus honorum, respects the laws of the twelve tables, trades the sword for the plowshare
  • me: a member of the unruly plebs, plays dice games in taberna, demands land reforms, covets tyrian purple, revels in the decline of traditional values, spends every denarius on avocados

anonymous asked:

The funny thing abt cowboy culture is not only was it diverse (a lot of native and Hispanic Cowboys) but it was also gay as fuck. Men would literally become Cowboys for the chance to get a gay lover. This white straight Playboy stereotype of Cowboys is utter shit and McCree is gay and not white

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early ideas for Tgr’ek from the SciFi/Jailbreak/Space-Pirates AU, AKA BUGgrek, AKA you better stock up on Raid and grab a really big shoe edit: she/her