#would work more for Zangara

[to-the-head-of-the-line]

Would Saul Goodman have gotten the assassins reduced sentence/plea deal/not guilty verdict?

I think he could for most of them as long as they kept their mouths shut...

[bjfinn]

HARRY'S QUEST

Disclaimer: I don't have a Shuar dictionary or grammar, so I had to make up the language spoken by the tribespeople, but I have tried to make it similar to the small sample that I've seen on YouTube. Also, fair warning: since the story is set in Ecuador, there's quite a bit of Spanish dialogue, untranslated -- Harold doesn't know what's being said, so why should you? Lol

Tw: death, murder by execution

Beej did a double take when he got to the office and saw the new arrival. The guy was a good eight or ten inches taller than the demon, and he was wearing a safari jacket and pants with the cuffs tucked into a pair of black hiking boots -- and he was carrying a hunting rifle.

But it wasn't the guy's height, or clothing, or even the firearm that took Beej by surprise -- it was the guy's head. It was tiny -- about a quarter the size it should've been. The black hair had been pulled up into a severe topknot and tied with a red cord, and the guy's lips had been sewn shut.

"Holy crap! " Beej exclaimed. "What the fuck happened to you, pal?"

The guy looked at Beej with bulging eyes -- they were normal sized and therefore too large for their sockets -- and tried to speak, but all that came out was, "Mmm! M-mmm-mmmmmm-mm-mmmmmmmmm! "

"Sorry, buddy," Beej said, clapping him on the back. "I didn't quite get that. Anyway, whatever happened it looks like a pretty shitty way to die. Tough luck, pal. Well, I can't stick around -- I gotta get up to Florida for my next job. They just executed the guy who tried to assassinate Roosevelt -- name of Zangara. I'll see you around!"

*****

Harold J. Wilson III had been in Guayaquil a week before he managed to find someone who was willing to take him into the jungle.

He'd come to South America in search of a creature that would guarantee his name would live forever -- the mapinguari. Supposedly extinct for thousands of years, but there were rumours -- based on accounts by the local Indians -- that it was still alive in the deepest part of the Amazon. And he was determined to bag one and bring it back to the Smithsonian.

"Sí, señor," the guide, a short, stocky man in his fifties named Pedro Morales, said. "I know the jungle -- but it is not a safe place for un americano, especially a rich americano like yourself."

"I've been in plenty of dangerous places," Harold told him. "Congo, in search of the mokele-mbembe, for instance."

"Did you find it, this ... mokele-mbembe?"

Harold shook his head. "Unfortunately, no," he said. "But I'm sure I'll find the mapinguari. Now, will you guide me or not?"

Pedro looked at the American. He took a deep drag on his cigar, blew out the smoke and nodded. "One hundred American dollars."

Harold pretended to consider the amount for a moment, and then he smiled and held out his hand. "You have a deal."

Pedro grinned. "Muy bien," he said. "We should leave tomorrow, at dawn. Before the heat becomes unbearable, sí?"

*****

"Lawrence!"

Beej, startled, whirled around at the sound of Juno's voice. "Hi, Mom!" he said, panicked. He hurriedly tried to hide the files he was holding behind his back. "You, uh ... you got another pickup for me?"

"What are you doing with those files?" she asked, cigarette smoke billowing from the hole in her neck. She took another drag.

"Huh? Oh, you mean these files? I, uh ... I was just curious about the new guy ... how he died, that's all."

"Oh, but sweetie," Juno said, smiling, her voice gentle, "you don't know how to read very well." Then she looked at him contemptuously. "Hand them over!"

"Sorry, Mom," he replied, chastened, and gave her the files.

"Now get back to work, and no more screwing around! "

"Yes, Mom," Beej said in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

"I can't hear you! "

"Yes, Mom," he said again, louder this time.

Juno nodded. "That's better." She stuffed the files back in the drawer and limped away, the thump-slide, thump-slide of her footsteps loud in the sudden silence of the office.

Beej looked around. The others, who had no doubt been watching the exchange, quickly put their heads down to focus on their work.

Beej blinked back the tears and shuffled out of the Processing Department to his next assignment.

*****

The sun was just beginning to stretch its first rays over the rooftops when Harold was awakened by a knock on the door of his hotel room.

"Buenos dias, Señor Harold," Pedro said when the American opened the door. "Are you ready to leave?"

"Let's go," Harold replied with a nod. He grabbed his gear and followed the guide out to the waiting Jeep. He tossed his bags in the back and climbed into the passenger's seat as Pedro turned the ignition, and then they started off, down the dirt road towards the jungle.

"We will have to stop at San Ignacio and continue on foot from there," Pedro said. "No hay caminos en la selva."

Harold nodded -- he knew enough Spanish to understand what the other man had said. No roads in the jungle.

"This village -- San Ignacio -- how far is it?"

"Two hours, más o menos," came the reply. "We will stop for lunch, and then hike in."

"How will we know where to go?"

"A village elder, Tío Chako, says that he has seen the mapinguari when he was a young man," Pedro told him. "We will follow his directions." He looked at his passenger. "But that was many years ago, señor -- who can say if it will still be there?"

"I understand," Harold replied.

*****

In fact, the drive to the Otavalo village of San Ignacio took nearly three and a half hours, and by the time they reached the village the sun was already fiercely hot.

The guide stopped the Jeep in front of a small, single-storey house with whitewashed mud walls and a thatched roof. They got out of the vehicle, and Pedro knocked on the wooden door.

A moment later, it opened, and a wizened old man in a dingy tank top and baggy trousers looked out. "Hola," he said -- Harold saw that he was missing his lower front teeth. "¿Quién están ustedes?"

"Soy yo, Pedro. Y eso es Señor Harold, de los Estados Unidos."

"¿Un americano?" Tío Chako was incredulous. "¿Aquí?"

"Él quiere trover el mapinguari," Pedro explained.

Tío Chako shook his head. "¿El mapinguari? No, es demasiado peligroso -- los Jívaros ..."

"Lo sé, pero es un americano rico ... y tonto."

"Pedro, no es bueno -- irás al infierno por esto."

"¿Y él? Él quiere matar el espíritu de la selva por un trofeo." Pedro smiled. "El Santo Padre me perdonará, creo."

"What's going on?" Harold asked -- his Spanish wasn't good enough to follow the exchange between Pedro and Chako.

"We are just discussing the preliminaries, señor."

"Por favor, entran ustedes," the old man said.

"Gracias, tío," Pedro replied. To Harold he said, "Unfortunately, Tío Chako does not speak English -- I will interpret for you."

Harold looked around the abode. It appeared to have only two rooms -- the kitchen in which they were standing and another that was probably the bedroom. At the table, a woman who was almost as old as Chako sat peelig potatoes.

"Mi esposa, María," Chako said.

"¿Visitantes? ¿Por qué no me dijiste que teníamos compañía?" María asked.

"María, ¿te acuerdas de Pedro?" Chako said. "Y este es el señor Harold, un americano que está buscando al mapinguari."

María's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but she caught herself and said, "Bienvenido, Pedro. Y bienvenido, Señor Harold. ¿Se quedarán a almorzar?"

"Gracias, tía," Pedro replied. "Tenemos un largo viaje por delante."

*****

After a lunch of seco -- goat stew served with rice and plantain -- Pedro and Chako looked over a map of the region, discussing the most likely places to find the elusive mapinguari.

"Yo lo ve aquí," Chako said, pointing to a spot where the Rio Negro looped around like a noose. "Pero no sé si eras allá esos días."

"Lo entiendo," Pedro replied. "¿Y los Jívaros? ¿Donde es su territorio?"

"Casi todo el este es el territorio de ellos." He looked at Pedro. "Rezaré a San Cristóbal para que todos regresen sanos y salvos."

*****

"You know," Beej said, "I don't think I've ever seen anyone else who had their head shrunk before -- how'd it happen?"

The guy looked at the demon with his bulging eyes and drew a thumb across his throat.

"Yeah," Beej said with a nod. "That makes sense -- I mean, it'd be kinda difficult to shrink just your head if it was still attached, right?" He elbowed the guy in the ribs. "But how come it's attached now? I've seen others who've lost their heads, and they're always carrying them, you know?"

"M-mmmm-mmmm," came the response.

"Yeah, of course you don't know. Anyway, I'm wondering how they did it -- shrunk your head, I mean. But I guess you don't know that, either -- you were already dead."

The guy nodded.

Just then the door to Juno's office opened. Beej leapt to his feet. "Well, nice talkin' to you, pal -- see you!" And he scurried away before his mother could see him.

*****

It was an thirteen day trek through the jungle to get to the area where Tío Chako said that he had seen the creature. Harold had long since run out of citronella oil, and he was covered in mosquito bites, but that wasn't the worst of it -- every night was spent pulling leeches, ticks and other bloodsuckers off his exposed skin. He would've liked to bathe more often in one of the rivers, but he didn't dare -- the waters were home to flesh-eating piranhas, as well as anacondas and caimans. And other, more fearsome things.

"Candiru," Pedro told him. "It is a tiny, tiny fish that smells the piss and swims up your ..." He motioned to his crotch. "¿Entiende?"

Harold nodded grimly.

*****

At long last, Pedro set down his pack and said, "Es el lugar."

Harold looked around. It seemed exactly the same as the rest of the jungle -- trees and plants growing in riotous profusion in the eternal twilight, the silence occasionally punctured by the squawk of a bird or the screech of a monkey, or the sound of something larger making its way through the undergrowth. It felt like he and Pedro were the only two people in the entire world -- Harold would have been unsettled if he weren't so drenched and weary.

They set up camp as they had every night for the past two weeks, and Pedro built a fire with sticks that he gathered, smearing them with pitch from a rubber tree -- the smell of broiling latex was terrible, but it allowed the damp wood to burn.

Sunset comes quickly in the depths of the jungle. They had just finished their supper -- boiled mote corn and ch'arqui made from llama meat -- when it arrived and they were plunged into darkness. As always, the jungle came alive then with the sounds of nocturnal wildlife.

"You should sleep, señor" Pedro said. "I will take first watch."

Harold nodded and gladly slipped into the tent. He lifted the mosquito netting strung over his hammock and settled in.

He'd just drifted off when Pedro shook him roughly. "Señor," the guide whispered urgently. "Señor, wake up! I think I hear the mapinguari!"

Harold sat up, instantly awake, and rolled out of the hammock. "Where?" he asked. "Are you sure?"

"I can smell it -- can you not?"

Harold sniffed the air -- a rancid odour, like that of soured compost, filled his nostrils. "Let's go," he said, grabbing his rifle.

The two men exited the tent and headed in the direction of the odour, training their flashlights on the ground in front of them.

A few minutes later they heard a deep snuffling sound. They raised their flashlight beams ...

The mapinguari was scratching itself against an acacia. Harold gasped as it turned its head to look at them -- the beast had to be eight feet tall, with long, shaggy, reddish-brown fur. The three claws on each of its front paws were massive, easily capable of shredding a tree. The beast had tiny eyes and ears, and a flexible muzzle that reminded Harold of a tapir's. He caught a glimpse of the massive tail trailing on the ground behind it -- thickly muscled, like that of a kangaroo.

"I knew it!" Harold crowed. "It's a giant ground sloth!"

The creature made a low, rumbling noise that sounded for all the world like it was saying huuuhhhh?

"I've got you now!" Harold crowed as he raised his rifle and took aim. He pulled the trigger, and the sound of the weapon instantly caused a pandemonium of noise in the jungle as bird, bats, monkeys panicked and took flight. The mapinguari bellowed in pain as the bullet ripped into its flesh, and it turned toward the two men, its powerful forearms raised threateningly.

It lunged at them, roaring in confused fury. Pedro screamed and fled. Harold readied himself to take another shot, but the huge beast was too close. He dropped the rifle and ran, stumbling over tree roots, desperate to avoid those massive claws.

The beast was gaining on him -- he could practically feel its hot breath on the back of his neck. "Shit shit shit shit shit! " he wheezed.

He took a tumble then, rolling down a short embankment into the river. "SHIT! " he yelled, and scrambled back onto the bank before something in the water got him.

He trained the beam of his flashlight upwards, grateful that he'd managed to hold onto it.

The mapinguari was looming over him, looking down at Harold. Its tiny eyes looked ... almost sad. Harold felt a twinge of regret for having caused it pain.

"I-I'm sorry," he said softly. And bowed his head, ready to accept whatever punishment the beast -- this jungle god -- saw fit to mete out.

But then he heard voices -- human voices shouting in a language he didn't recognise. The mapinguari heard them, too, and it calmly settled back down on all fours, turned and ambled off into the jungle.

"Hey!" Harold called. "Hey! Over here!"

Within seconds he was surrounded by a dozen or so spear-carrying warriors, wearing feather headbands, beaded bandoliers and red face paint.

"Wiñámishi jṵna kimiijusiai!" one of the warriors shouted. "Jikanyi ústa kanimuistaiyi! Uukanta!"

"I'm .. I'm sorry," Harold said. "I don't understand --"

"Uukanta!" the warrior shouted again. "Uukanta!"

Three of their number hauled Harold to his feet, and they bound him, tying his hands together behind his back and fixing a noose around his neck.

"Iijintaiyi nan chanwaarka ujaantaiyi na! "

And they led him through the jungle.

*****

Beej couldn't get the shrunken-head guy out of his mind. Or more accurately, he couldn't get the question of how breathers could shrink somebody's head out of his mind. He could do it easily, of course -- but he was a demon.

He decided to go back in time to see for himself -- after all, the information could prove useful someday.

He looked around to make sure that no one was watching, and then he snapped his fingers.

Instantly he found himself in a village in the middle of the Amazon jungle. Fortunately, since he was invisible, his arrival went unnoticed by the inhabitants. But he didn't think they would've noticed him anyway -- there seemed to be some kind of celebration going on.

A crowd of people were circling a large bonfire, singing and shuffling to the beat of drums as the thin, high notes of a couple of flutes threaded through the air. He could smell roasting meat and vegetables, and his stomach grumbled.

"Looks like fun," he said to himself, and moved closer.

Off to the side he saw someone tied to a post -- he recognised him as his new buddy, the shrunken-head guy. Same clothes.

He continued to watch, glad that he'd arrived at the right place and time.

Beej didn't even think of intervening on the guy's behalf -- what the fuck did he care about saving a breather? Eventually every one of them died anyway.

At last the drumming and dancing ended -- just as the first rays of the sun began to paint the treetops with golden light.

The prisoner was cut down, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

He was lifted up by several warriors and laid out spread eagle on a stone slab, his wrists and ankles tied to wooden posts. Then one of the warriors, strode up, a machete in his right hand. He raised the weapon high, and bellowed, "UKAIYIII!!!"

"AAAIYIIII!!!" the others shouted in response.

The warrior brought the wicked-looking blade down and severed the prisoner's head with one blow, and the women of the tribe began ululating in applause.

The executioner reached down and picked up the head by the hair, holding it aloft for all to see.

Beej was impressed -- it took some skill to sever a head with a single blow, even with a machete. Clearly this wasn't the warrior's first time.

The warrior gently handed the head to another man -- this guy was older, with grey hair. They exchanged a few words -- Beej heard them say muisak several times, and tsantsa. Two words he'd heard before. They meant "soul" and "shrunken head" in the Shuar language.

He nodded to himself.

Beej had heard of the Shuar, or Jívaro. Fearsome headhunters, they were famous for shrinking the heads of their enemies -- he didn't know if there were any other tribes that did that, though. Always wondered how they shrink the heads -- looks like today's the day I get to find out!

He followed the shaman into one of the thatched huts -- a large pot of water simmered over a fire in the middle of the room. The shaman picked up a knife with a blade of chipped flint, sat cross-legged on the floor beside the fire, and set to work, chanting as he did.

Beej squatted down beside him, still invisible, as he sliced into the back of the head, cutting the flesh from neck to crown, and carefully removed the flesh from the skull in a single piece. When he was done, he sewed the eyelids shut and forced three sharpened pegs through both lips.

The old man then took a baseball-sized sphere carved from wood and placed it inside the skin, and dropped it into the boiling water. He continued chanting, shaking a rattle made of shiny black seeds, as the de-boned head cooked.

This was going to take a while, Beej knew, so he headed outside to see what the tribe was going to do with the body. He was disappointed to see that they were burying it, rather than cooking and eating it. What a waste, he sighed. Ah, well -- can't have everything.

*****

A few hours later the shaman removed the head from the pot -- Beej was surprised to see that it had shrunk to about a third of its original size, and the skin was dark and rubbery.

The old man carefully turned the head inside out and began scraping the flesh and fat from the skin. Once it was completely clean he turned it rightside out again and sewed up the slit in the rear.

"Okaaay," Beej muttered.

With wooden tongs, the old man took several small rocks out of the fire and dropped them into the neck opening, followed by a few ladles of hot sand from the smaller pot.

"Why are you doing that?" Beej asked, knowing that the shaman couldn't hear him.

He watched, amazed, as the head shrank further, the skin contracting from the heat.

The shaman emptied the head and refilled it with more sand and rocks, holding more hot rocks against the outside to shape the features. This process was repeated several times, until at last the head was the size of a fist.

"Wow!" Beej exclaimed. "That's so fuckin' cool! "

Now that the head was fully shrunk, the shaman rubbed the skin all over with charcoal ash, and then he hung it over the fire to dry.

Finally, the shaman removed the pegs from the lips and sewed them shut with cotton string, making long, decorative tassels, and presented it to the warrior who'd made the kill.

Beej, grinning, took that as his cue to head back to the Netherworld.

*****

"I gotta tell you," he said to the shrunken-head guy, "it was fuckin' amazing! You shoulda been there! Uh, well ... I guess you kinda were, weren't you? Anyway, I'll tell you all about it sometime -- maybe we can grab lunch. Oh -- uh, right. Never mind."

"Lawrence! " Juno bellowed from her office. "Get in here right NOW! "

"Be right there, Mom!" he called back. "Anyway, I gotta go. See you soon, buddy!"

[bumblingest-bee]

THE assassins anon. back at it again. hi sit down grab popcorn and listen to me spew whatever nonsense i still remember about this fandom

i wonder if you know about the hot assassins thread. it all started with someone (i can’t exactly remember who, but someone who researched czolgosz alot) posted like two excerpts about czolgosz having that “grecian” beauty. then a BUNCH of ppl just started adding on and BOOTH WAS THERE AND MOORE AND BYCK AND ZANGARA AND HINCKLEY ?!? 😦 10/10 night will never recover emotionally from this 👍

i also have a memory about cooper st john, the first (?) and probably most iconic assassins oc. iirc he was like transmasc and an anarchist (jokingly shipped with czolgosz but we all know that man would run like the WIND seeing csj) and he successfully assassinated “trumpy-dumpy” (some dude’s words not mine but still hilarious). but i have a memory of him being like practically loved by all of us at the time. he was just a cute bby cinnamon roll who stutters all of the time 🥺/jjj

i also remember the FEW animations. tacky guiteau, czolgosz works at burger king (both by lin (?)) and then white and nerdy hinckley (by jack? i think thats what their name was ,,, i have goldfish brain 😔) and i THINK there were more … i really can’t remember much rn 🙁

maybe you know something new about this stage of the fandom? would be nice to have like a info trade system. i tell you abt old stuff you tell me new if you wanna 🤝 also rlly sorry for the incredibly long anon … but i gathered up as much info as my brain can remember. when i come back with more (or when you ask me anything you want to know) i’ll be sure to run to your inbox <3

- from that assassins anon. maybe i should have an emoji .. 🦄 i’ll choose this one its kinda cute

im sorry it took me like a billion years to answer this but i have finally realized there is absolutely no way i can possibly respond to this that is better or funnier than the bewildering, horrifying world that has just opened up before me

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“Rich Hated By Assassin,” Border Cities Star. February 16, 1933. Page 1.   ---- Would-Be Killer of Mr. Roosevelt Tells His Story ---- Always Oppressed ---- Pain in Stomach Intensifies Zangara's Hatred For Rulers and Powerful ---- By United Press MIAMI, Fla., Feb. 16. Guiseppe Zangara, the bricklayer who shot at the president-elect, has. according to police, told this story of his crime: 

HATES RICH AND POWERFUL "I HAVE hated presidents and kings since I was a boy. I have always hated the rich and powerful. 

"I have a sore stomach, too, and that has made me hate. 

"When I read in the Miami newspapers that Roosevelt was coming to Miami, I bought with $8, a gun with which to kill him. 

"I got to the scene early, but the crowd was too big for me to get near the platform. 

"I meant to shoot him while he was talking, but the crowd was in the way and I am short man. I have always hated the rich and powerful, i hoped that I would have better luck this time than I did ten years ago In Italy when I bought a pistol to kill King Emmanuel. The same thing blocked me in Italy as blocked me here. There was too big a crowd. 

"I guess I tried to kill Roosevelt because I have been troubled by a stomach operation. 

ALWAYS OPPRESSED "I would not shoot a working man or a policeman. It is the rich and powerful I hate. I am poor. I have always been poor. My people have been oppressed. As a child I had to work hard in the fields, and when I was 16, I had to go to war. 

“I hated all my officers. I determined that some day I would do my share of wiping out every official and every rich man I could find. 

"Life has been very bad for me. 

"When I was a little boy In school I began to hate very violently my richer school mates who had money to spend and who had more privileges than I.

"I am 33 years old, and was born in Calabria, Italy. 

HATRED GREW "As I grew older, this hatred for the rich became more intense and 10 years ago it reached a climax when I purchased a gun and determined to kill the King of Italy. As I told you before, this plan did not work. 

"I came to Miami from New York City, but I have also lived In Hackensack, N. J.

"I thought it would do my stomach good to come here, but it seemed to be getting worse instead of better. The pain seemed to make my extreme hatred for the rich and for everybody in authority all the more intense." 

The Italian was stripped of all his clothes as he reached the jail and his clothing thoroughly searched. 

Rogue's gallery pictures were taken of him clad only in his underwear. Later even that bit of clothing was taken from him. 

When News Syndicate photographers attempted to take pictures as he stood nude in his cell, Zangara demanded a shirt which he held in front of him. [Seen in the picture]

BOUGHT PISTOL "After I read about Mr. Roosevelt coming here,  I went to a store on North Miami avenue, and bought a pistol I paid $8 for the gun. 

“I tried to get to the park early so as to be as close as possible to the president-elect, but some people were there before me. I sat there in the park and my stomach kept aching more than ever. Maybe the excitement was responsible. I kept thinking if the crowd does not get too thick around me, I will not fail like I did 10 years ago." 

"I meant to shoot Mr. Roosevelt while he was talking, but the people in front of me were standing, and I am short. I did not have a chance. 

ONE BIG CHANCE "My one big chance came when some people got tired of standing and sat down.

"I stood on a bench and pointed the gun at Mr. Roosevelt. But the people around were pressing against the bench and making it wobbly. The gun started to shake, but I pulled the trigger anyhow I don't know how many times. 

"I do not know whether I shot Mr. Roosevelt, but I want to make it clear I do not hate Mr. Roosevelt, personally. I hate all presidents no matter from what country they come, and I hate all officials and everybody who is rich.”

[take-a-look-lee]

RIGHT, right, I’m here, give me a moment to just sort myself out. I’m here. Let’s do this. Brace yourself, because there are SEVERAL bards, unfortunately. It’s the nature of assassins. 

The Balladeer - Bard. Like. That’s it, I don’t need to say anything else. He would follow the College of Lore. He’s pretty cut and dry. He sings and he’s squishy as fuck, no hitpoints for you sir. 

Booth - Again, bard, but I feel like he’d be more of a Bard/Paladin multiclass. Mainly bard but with a few levels in paladin. I’m not working out like, pantheon’s and shit because that gets complicated, but he has that righteous anger paladin bullshit. Maybe he’s just a paladin with really high Cha, but I do feel like he’s got a bit of bard to him. He definitely doesn’t have the strength or the hitpoints of a paladin though.

Fromme - Fromme is a warlock. I struggled with Fromme at first but she’s definitely a warlock. Their whole thing is just, it’s religion but a bit to the left, and that’s definitely Fromme. You could probably spin it somehow so that her patron is Manson. I really really like this for Fromme. 

Guiteau - Barbarian/Cleric multiclass, definitely. You’ve got the Barbarian rage mixed with the religious zeal. I was kind of torn between paladin and cleric for his religious class, but I feel like having him also be a barbarian makes up for the sheer wild energy he’s missing by being a cleric instead of a paladin. Again, I did actually consider warlock for him but I like what I eventually settled on. 

Hinckley - He’s another bard. I’m sorry. I can’t help it. He’s peak shitty bard. He’s like, cliche to the point of almost being unplayable bard. Ridiculously low Cha, and I’m learning towards him being College of Creation? None of the subclasses really fit him which is fucking annoying, but I do like the idea of him being part of the College of Creation. All of his ability scores are low as shit though, hence him being almost unplayable.

Zangara - Wizard! Come on, was he really going to be anything else? I wasn’t exactly going to give him a close combat role, was I, and he’s absolutely not cool enough to be a sorcerer. So he gets to be a shitty little wizard and I’m very happy for him.

Czolgosz - @what-does-a-man-do jumped right on this one, and they were absolutely correct. He’s a Paladin! Now, they said Oath of Liberation (I think) but the more I think about it, the more I think he would work as either Oath of Vengeance, or, for a super funky one, Oathbreaker Paladin Czolgosz. But tbh, as long as he’s some sort of paladin, I’m happy. 

Moore - Genuinely struggled with Moore. In the end I settled on artificer because of the vibes, but also because I couldn’t really fit her anywhere else? I love her but she doesn’t work with something like dnd classes. I will admit though that the idea of her as an artificer has really grown on me. I just think it would be really funny. 

Byck - 100% pure barbarian. Nothing else. Just him and his anger and a very big stick. He’d have a surprisingly high Cha score though, I think. But yeah, he’s a barbarian, he yells at people and he rages and that’s about all he does. But he’s good at it, and he probably rolls very well on his intimidation checks. 

Lee - Rogue! Rogue! Rogue! Don’t actually know if I need to explain this one all that much? He’s a rogue! Look at that sneak attack damage stack up! It’s brilliant! Absolutely shit Cha score and his Con is also fucking awful but his Dex is out of this world, and hey, you’re dead before you know he’s there, so does that really matter? 

The Proprietor - Last but not least. He’d be a sorcerer! I really wanted him and the Balladeer to both be magic users, and socerers have a funky little bit of pizzazz that other similar classes - looking at you, Wizard - lack. So yeah, he’s a sorcerer and he’s cool and he’s powerful as fuck.

[missamyrisa2]

Story Archive: Snowed In

Sorry for the continued pause on the tickle teases. I've been busy with work and life, so here is another story from the vault. I wrote this for Taxwaxus many years ago. He had drawn a piece of art where three girls are tickling a boy and a girl in a dorm room. I had reached out to gush over the art because I found it so perfectly teasy and playful, and eventually our discussion turned into me naming the characters in the piece, describing their backgrounds, and finally writing a story to accompany the art. I had intended to write a part 2 and we had scoped out an outline but I lost my notes and never picked the project back up.

Anyway, this is a longform tickle tale and contains ffff/m & fff/fm scenes of tickling and teasing. It's more foot-focused compared to my usual belly and midsection style.

~

Ctrl+Shift+Delete, followed by the Enter key. These keystrokes could have saved Mike Dussell from a night he’d rather forget, and while he would never fail to remember the maneuver to wipe out his browsing history again, his story would never pass out of existence. It was nearing the end of the fall semester when the whole ordeal began. Mike was idling away his time in the computer lab, waiting for his friend Teddy to show up.

He had discrete porn browsing down to a science. Launch an excessively large document, plug in a tiny USB webcam, position the camera feed in the bottom corner of the taskbar, and open two browsers at the bottom of the screen – one set on library site, the other free to roam the image boards. Upon seeing any activity in the camera, a quick alt+tab flipped him back to the library, and the document remained in the background. Mike probably wouldn’t go to such drastic measures if he were watching vanilla sex acts, but as it was, he couldn’t get enough of tickle fetish art and video.

Today he happened on a sizeable collection of college-aged girls getting worked over by an older cougar-type lady. He perused a series of still shots, seeing the woman spread her experienced and well-manicured hands all over the helpless naked skin of the girls, who were bound standing in a long line. Pressing his luck, Mike opened one of the clips, and was immediately hard. The buxom woman expertly spidered her fingernails in tender armpits, traced ribcages, poked navels, and playfully flicked nipples all with a graceful smile on her face and teasing taunts emerging from her supple lips.

Mike growled to himself as he caught an eyeful of three figures approaching in the camera feed. He quickly switched browsers, and roughly shifted his position to push his throbbing member down.

“Hey it’s that kid who lives in the computer lab!” a shrill voice spoke. Mike rolled his eyes and turned around to see Kaysie St. Bernard, her perfectly trimmed jet black hair falling over her cold assessing blue eyes. Mike never regarded himself as someone who would hurt anyone, but he dreamed of yanking Kaysie down by her bangs on a regular basis. “Doesn’t he have a dorm?”

“Well, I-“ He murmured, trying to avoid Kaysie's typical outfit trap: a tightly fitted shirt under her jacket hugged her considerable bosom, adorned with two perfectly placed images of peaches under a bright text proclaiming the fruit's name. Below, the shirt was cropped enough to expose a slash of skin including the bottom of her navel. Anyone foolish enough to stare at either end of this top would be on the receiving end of a tongue lashing, and she always got her pound of figurative flesh.

“I think he just likes to pretend he has friends.” Trista Pires cut him off, one hand on her hip, the other casually flinging aside her long cherry blonde locks. She dressed more conservatively than her leader, though certainly flaunted her wealth with a gorgeous crimson sweater and designer jeans. “Like maybe this is the epitome of his social life.”

Mike blushed and tried to formulate some sort of retort, mumbling as Jessica Zangara leaned down. The girly girl and her floral dress with a floral perfume scrambled Mike's senses. Of the three, he found Jessica by far the most attractive - a fact all three of them knew and exploited regularly. “What are you always typing about anyway, Mike? It’s the end of the semester.”

He instinctively grabbed her hands as she went for the mouse, shoving her back. Kaysie laughed and moved in, her intuition for catching someone in a compromising position kicking into full gear.

“What, was it a loooove note? I bet you’re writing your thoughts and feelings for your blog aren’t you?”

“No…I don’t HAVE a blog!” He started thrashing his arms around, trying to keep the three girls from getting to the computer.

“mikeshikes.blogspot.com?” Kaysie continued, laughing as he got more defensive.

“How did you…hey!” He yelled, frantically trying to close his stack of browser windows.

“‘No one really knows the pain I have inside. I’ve wandered all alone for all my life’” Trista quoted, sending the two other girls into hysterics. Mike managed to close off the browsers, and relaxed slightly as they peered over his work.

“Wow, it really is research. And the dweeb was so scared we’d see!” Jessica cackled.

Trista ruffled Mike’s curly dark hair as the group started walking away. “It’s probably his porn. Some schematic of a particle accelerator!” He didn’t bother to respond as they laughed and strolled away, his face burning with embarrassment.

Kaysie, who always had to have the last word, turned and added “make sure you blog about this tonight, dork!” As their laughter faded, Mike considered resuming his adventure with the tanned tickler and her ticklees, but decided to cut his losses and quickly packed up before the trio returned with more oh-so-witty commentary.

As Mike scurried out of the building and into the blustering cold, Kaysie halted her pace, a squeak emanating from the soles of her designer boots. “Hold on ladies. I just had a thought…” She padded back into the deserted lab, and sat at the still-warm chair Mike had vacated. As she launched the Internet browser, and pulled up a list of recently closed tabs, Kaysie’s lips spread into a delighted grin.

“What, Kace?” Trista asked, peering at the screen.

“Oh, you’re never going to believe this…”

* * * *

Mike breathed a sigh of relief as he walked into the student union. He had never been so close to being caught, and cursed his overconfidence. He didn’t understand the compulsion to look at tickle porn when there was a threat of being caught, and yet he could never resist the opportunity. As these thoughts rolled around in his head, Mike picked out an empty table in the cafeteria and shrank against the plastic seat.

“Dude? What the hell?” Teddy called from the entrance, spotting his friend. Mike felt the temperature rise in his forehead as he quickly crafted an excuse for ditching Teddy.

“Oh, sorry. I forgot I had to…” Mike’s back suddenly went stiff. He felt a great weight shift in his stomach, and nearly passed out. With fuzziness creeping into his vision, Mike’s mind flew away from the cafeteria, back to the computer lab across campus, and to his workstation, where he could clearly see a browser being opened, and all his history retrieved.

“Yo. Mike.” Teddy snapped his fingers in front of his friend. A few bystanders couldn’t help but take in the scene, as Mike sat dumbfounded. And just when he felt some semblance of control return, Mike watched as Kaysie, Trista, and Jessica entered the building.

Teddy shook his friend, the crowd growing with each passing moment. “Dude! Are you all right? You go all Helen Keller on me?” Mike shook his head and stood up. They were giggling and looking in his direction. He knew he was caught, and his mind raced to search for an exit.

As the three girls approached, they shot Mike and his cohort a look of disgust and moved on to another table, removing their winter coats. Mike felt the blood return to his face. They knew, but were silently disdainful of his secret. He could handle that – it’s not as though they care for him to begin with, or that he had a crush on any of them.

Once Mike felt he was in the clear, he reassembled his composure and sat down. The crowd dispersed as he carried on the usual conversations with his friend, discussing school politics and Fortnite strategies. When he went to the food line for a late lunch though, Mike would soon come to realize that his nightmare was just beginning.

He sensed someone was standing close, watching his choices as he carefully selected between the overcooked unidentifiable meats and dried-to-a-crisp salad.

“See anything that…tickles your fancy?” He heard with a sultry giggle. He turned to see Kaysie beaming at him.

“I know I did. This lettuce always feathers up my throat, but I think I like it.” Trista said as she approached behind Kaysie. Mike felt his cheeks ignite.

“Hey, Tris, I meant to ask. What is your favorite song?” Kaysie continued,  following behind Mike.

“Um…it would have to be…Carly Simon’s Are you Ticklish.” The way Trista slowly and deliberately said the word tickalish made Mike shudder with pleasure. When he realized the affect their words was having on his manhood, he quickly set his tray down on a table, turned to face an unoccupied corner of the cafeteria, and tucked his hardness up into his beltline.

“Well, are you? Are you ti-cka-lish?” Kaysie asked, giggling incessantly. Mike scurried away and plopped back onto his seat, praying no one saw what just transpired. Teddy looked at his friend, then to the group of girls.

“Yeah, I know man, they’re terrible. Just last week they tried to make fun of Adventure Time.”

Mike blinked slowly and took a deep breath. They knew, and they weren’t going to let it go. He decided he would have to become invisible for the remainder of the semester. Then who knows? Maybe he’d transfer. But he couldn’t bear being away from Laura. Mike scratched his head and decided at once that he’d find away. He wouldn’t be scared off by three petty girls.

* * * *

Try as he might, Mr. Dussell could not avoid the tormenting trio in the ensuing days. He figured that one of them must have either figured out his schedule, or was friends with someone who knew it. They appeared at every turn, trying (and usually succeeding) to set him off. In psychology, Jessica broached the subject of fetishes when the professor started an open discussion forum.

“I’ve been reading a bit about podophilia, and was considering doing my research paper on its inclusion in mainstream media. It’s an intense sexual attraction to feet or shoes. The points of attraction can include the toes, arches, soles, pedicured feet, foot jewelry, foot odors, and such. The most notable television foot fetishist was probably Al Bundy…”

“Mike, are you alright? You look flushed.” His particularly attractive young female professor asked, cutting off Jessica’s diatribe, who grinned sweetly at Mike from across the room. He shifted his position to hide his erection, hoping no one could see it. And that’s mostly how the last few days of the semester went. Sometimes Kaysie would pass by him, and murmur “tickle…” in a darkly erotic tone, other times the girls would talk about celebrity feet while in his vicinity.

During a particularly agonizing break, Trista sat at Mike’s table, pulled off her boots and asked Mike if she liked her new stripe-y socks. When he froze, mouth agape, she propped her leg up on the table and came within inches of his face, her scent wafting into his nostrils. “What, do my feet smell or something?”

Mike felt lightheaded, the smell of her perfumed feet mixed with perspiration mixed with the fibers of her sock forming a dizzying orgiastic cocktail. She wiggled her toes, and pressed one foot ever closer. At this, Mike stumbled off his chair and walked off, holding his books strategically over his crotch. The two other girls rolled in laughter from a nearby table, walking over to high-five Trista.

On the last day of the semester, their efforts culminated in a particularly fiendish trap. Mike haphazardly navigated his Biology final, not only because his mind was in a cat-like state of readiness, but also because his seat happened to be right behind Laura’s. The object of his affections, Laura concentrated on the exam, her tiny perfect feet idly hooked around the legs of the seat, showing off a cute pair of black pumps.

Near the end of the test, she removed one shoe to scratch an itch, and he caught an eyeful of her fresh toenail varnish – an unbearably cute light red. It may have been his surging arousal, but Mike could swear he smelled the acetone of freshly used nail polish as he stealthily gazed at her petite toes. Once Laura finished, Mike abruptly concluded his own work and handed it in, moving quickly to catch up with her.

As he stepped from the room, a pit once again formed in the depths of Mike’s stomach. The three wenches were waiting in the Science building’s lounge. While Trista and Jessica occupied two chairs, Kaysie sat on a sofa, and right next to her was Laura. Mike felt sweat prickling in his temples, trying to decipher the scene before him and discern whether she knew his secret.

“Let’s ask Mike. He’s in the know, right? Hey Mike!”Kaysie called, sounded disgustingly sweet. Mike reluctantly stepped to the group, and noticed Kaysie was slipping one of Laura’s shoes off. “We keep telling Laura that guys love when girls wear heels, especially when it makes them taller than their man. She says it makes their guys uncomfortable and…what’d you say Laura?”

“Emasculated.” Laura interjected, smiling softly.

“Right! So, what do you think Mike?” Kaysie asked, gesturing to Laura’s bare foot. “Here, you stand next to him. You’re taller than he is in these.” She continued, grinning at Mike. He froze, his mind flooding with unerotic images…furniture, trees, spiders, hairy moles, star-faced moles…he was in the clear, until his mind’s eye broke its concentration and he envisioned Laura’s toes slowly touching his leg…drawing up, up, and down, and up to his face and…

“Hold still, you spaz!” Trista interjected, nudging Mike against Laura’s back. He felt her tiny frame bumping against his, and gasped softly. The three girls watched intently. “So, how does it feel? Mike?”

“I…uh…” Laura turned her head curiously as he mumbled. “Um…” Trista elbowed him playfully in the ribs, and Mike squealed out. Laura burst out laughing, and turned around.

“Oh my gosh. That was hilarious! Are you ticklish, Mike?”

“No! I um. I have to go!” He said, stumbling away.

“Uh-huh. What do you think girls?”

“I think he’s super ticklish!” Jessica piped in, moving towards Mike. He looked around quickly, and realized the four ladies were closing in fast. Mike attempted a dive between Kaysie and Laura, but they were ready. Two sets of hands caught his sides, and his momentum fell, dropping him to the floor. The skilled touch Kaysie’s black nails set his nerves alight, and Laura’s tender grip put his arousal level into overdrive.

A young man thrashing on the floor at the hands of two giggling girls drew a crowd in record time. Cell phones blinked to life and captured photos and videos. Trista and Jessica egged them on, calling out “get him behind the knees!” “I swear I’ve never seen a guy so ticklish!” Mike rolled back and forth, kicking his feet as he tried to push away from them, keeping his midsection flat against the floor.

He tried to defend against their attack, blindly swatting his hands back, but their deft fingers easily dodged him, and continued stroking and squeezing his sides, occasionally detouring to poke his ribs or bury their fingers behind his knees. His face melted with blushes realizing how many smirking faces behind recording phones were pointed at this scene.

“Tickle, tickle, tickle!” Kaysie teased, nearly falling back as he rolled against her. She played up the action, shrieking and laughing. “Woooo! We’ve got a live one here!” She smile and relented as a professor approached, tapping Laura on the shoulder.

“Ahem.”

Mike slowly registered that the room had fallen silent, and turned his head. Looming above was a cross-armed Dr. Peckinroth, his Biology instructor. She sighed heavily and put an aged hand through her long silver hair. “Mr. Dussell. Ms. Alt. Ms. St. Bernard…could you at least try to act like you are responsible adults, and not sophomoric children?” Laura turned bright red and Kaysie smirked as they stood up and stepped back. Mike didn’t move from his position.

“Mr. Dussel...” The agitated professor said. “That means get up!” She wedged her shoe’s toe under his arm and lifted. Mike reluctantly stood up, and tried to hurry from the lounge. Every one gathered there, including Laura, got an eyeful of the big boner straining against his khaki pants, the tip awkwardly poking to one side. Mike’s face deepened to a beet red as he stumbled around, trying to find his way through the crowd. Laura turned a similar shade, and backed off in the opposite direction, moving for the women’s restroom.

Kaysie balked at Mike as he walked past, her face twisted up as she feigned surprise. “That turned you on? What a perv!” Laughter echoed throughout the room as Mike hurried out, his face on fire. He couldn’t help but catch eyes with people who kept looking down at his tent, their eyebrows popping up left and right. Near the door, a group of goths pointed and laughed, an especially curvy girl calling out to him:

“Hey, you want me to take care of that for you?” She asked, making a squeezing motion with her ring-laden hand.

“Don’t do it man, she’ll bite it off.” A guy with gauged ears said, snapping his jaws at Mike. He made a mocking laughter sound at them, and shoved the door open, stomping off into the snowy yard towards his dorm building.

Sadly, this would not be the height of Mike’s torment. There was much still in store for the poor guy this night, as Kaysie and her gang had attained a wicked streak that simply couldn’t be satiated.

* * * *

“Due to blizzard conditions, the city has declared a level 3 snow emergency, which means all roads are closed to non-essential personnel. Those travelling on the roads may subject themselves to citation or arrest. For those students remaining on campus, you are not to leave your dormitories. Staff will be posted at each building to ensure the safety of all students.”

* * * *

Mike sighed and relaxed on his bed, idly flipping through TV stations. With the Internet down and all his friends already off-campus, he found himself incredibly bored. The only other person on his floor still around was the bizarre pasty-faced kid who couldn’t be peeled away from Minecraft. Mike really didn’t want to see what happened when the game was no longer available.

His hands gravitated downwards as he thought of Laura. Her soft hands touching his sides. A slow removal of her shoes, his tongue lapping up the little beads of sweat between each toe. Watching as the cougar woman from his videos tickled Laura’s feet, then shoved her own in Laura’s face. He drew a finger lightly over his own sole, the only place he could self-tickle, and writhed in pleasure.

Jumping up in his bed and quickly tucking up his erection, Mike called out to whoever knocked on his door. “Yeah, it’s open.” The door clicked softly and swung ajar, revealing three grinning faces.

“Michael. We’ve come to play.”

Kaysie, Trista, and Jessica stepped in, each of them dressed in their pajamas, and carrying shopping bags from the local salon. Just when Mike stood up, he saw that Jessica was dragging Laura in by an elbow.

“Wha-Laura?”

“It turns out…” Kaysie said, pushing Mike back down onto his bed. “Our little miss Laura has quite the crush on you.” Mike looked as though someone had just thrown a bucket of red paint over his face. Laura wasn’t fairing any better as she looked down at the floor. “We were planning to come visit you already Mike, but Trista decided we should stop by Laura’s cushy RA’s room.”

“After all,” Trista started in, twirling Laura’s thick hair around an index finger. “Miss authority had said she was going to ‘take care’ of us, watch us like a hawk. I figured we could repay the favor. She was all by her lonesome. So we gave her a nice pedicure and had a girls’ night.”

“They t-tickled me!!” Laura cried out. Jessica laughed and snatched Laura by the arms. Bewildered, Mike stood up and went for his cell phone.

“You’re crazy! Get out of my room, I’m calling campus security.”

With lightning-quick reflexes, Kaysie grabbed his phone and tossed it to Jessica. Trista joined the ringleader, and the two of them again put Mike on the bed.

“Now, now. Don’t be a grumpy gus. We’re taking care of you kids tonight. And your babysitters have decided that you two need to embrace your mutual love.” Kaysie said, pinching Mike and Laura’s cheeks. “What’s the matter? Don’t you like her?” She asked, as Mike stared downward.

“Maybe he needs a little…motivation?” Trista mused, shutting the door and climbing onto the bed.

“Yes, I think you’re right, Tris.” Kaysie beamed at Mike and sat behind him. “Now, if you would just cooperate with me…” She said, as her fingers slipped under his shirt and began stroking wildly over his sides.

“AHHH-Stop!!” Mike shouted, flopping on his bed as she tickled merrily. He tried to get away, and found Trista attacking his underarms, wiggling her thumbs over the tender area. Through a blur of motion, Mike could see Jessica had started tickling Laura, locking her arms down with her knees in a schoolgirl pin, and freely running her hands all over Laura’s tummy.

Trista taunted Mike as she moved her hands down, catching his feet and stroking his soles through his socks, up and down. “Tickle tickle toesies! Coochie coo!” Mike kicked helplessly, and by the time he realized Kaysie was shifting her legs, he found his arms pinned down as she sat on his legs, his head resting on her bosom.

Jessica tormented Laura, waving her fingers slowly in the air as her hands descended gradually. “Where’s it gonna goooo…I think it’s gonna beeeeee…your ribbies!!” Laura bucked as Jessica ran tapered digits over her upper chest, trying to fend her attacker off to no avail.

Trista continued her work on Mike’s soles, tracing every turn and curve before hooking her fingers into his socks and tugging them down slowly. “Wow. Just look at these hideous beasts.” She remarked, poking his naked sole. “Ew. Girls, we have to do something about this.”

Kaysie continued lightly dancing her nails on Mike’s midsection as she leaned in. “How about a pedi?” she asked, looking down at Mike’s face.

“No! I don’t want that! Get off my feet!” He kicked, as Trista locked her hands onto his ankles, lifting his feet for everyone’s inspection.

“Yes, I think that’s what he needs. A good pedicure!” Trista giggled as she went for the bags she brought to Mike’s room, retrieving all her home salon tools. Kaysie didn’t move from her spot, and continued a light tickle torment of Mike’s upperbody as Trista prepared. Jessica let up from Laura, looking over to Trista.

“I want to do one of his feet too! Hmm…here, Tris, hold her for a sec.” Trista stepped over and held Laura’s arms down, as Jessica retrieved a wide white belt from her bag, and bound up Laura’s arms behind her back. She then pulled out a black belt, secured Laura’s legs, and lastly retrieved some white string and wound it around Laura’s two big toes. “There, all wrapped up nice and neat.”

The two girls left Laura to lay on the bed, watching helplessly as they prepped Mike’s pedicure. He kicked at them, but was unable to resist as they soaked his feet, making sure to stroke the instep and sole playfully. They worked to trim and shape his nails, remarking how they would get them good and girly for his first date with Laura.

He writhed as they applied the cuticle remover, and moaned in pain when they began pulling the skin off. “Don’t be a baby.” Kaysie taunted, lightly squeezing his sides. After another soak, he thought they were nearly done, and when they began scrubbing with pumice stones, he howled with laughter. The two girls locked his ankles under one arm, and scrubbed away with their free hands.

“NOOOOHAHAHAHAHA!” He yelled, unable to break their grip.

“What? Does this tickle?” Trista asked, slowing slightly.

“Yes!! Stop!” He shouted, trying to pull his arms out from under Kaysie.

“Well, that’s why I’m doing it! Ticka-ticka-ticka!!” Trista cackled, and resumed her work. When the two girls finally finished, he felt like his feet were throbbing. As they soaked him once more, they couldn’t resist tickling his newly polished skin a little longer. At last, they dried him off and looked like they were finished. Until of course, Jessica retrieved a bottle of nail polish and waved it back and forth.

“Hope you like pink.” She said, opening the bottle and starting on his big toe. Laura watched silently, her face still burning red as the girls gave Mike a bright coat of pink paint to each nail. When the forced pedicure ended, Trista and Jessica stood up to admire their handiwork.

Mike didn’t even know what to say. These girls had hounded him all week, and now held him prisoner as they tickled him and humiliated him in front of his crush. Kaysie, on the other hand, knew exactly what to say. “I think it’s time we inspected surprise you’re holding down below. What do you think, girls?”

“I think he wants to show it off to Laura.” Trista replied, smiling evilly and rubbing her hands together. She went in for his pants, pushing his legs down as he tried to keep them up. Carefully undoing the button and tugging them down, Trista laughed as his hardness was revealed, straining his red boxer shorts to the max.

“Oh my. You really liked that pedicure, didn’t you?” She balked, lightly flicking the tip of his tent.

“Just let me go…” Mike mumbled, trying again to escape Kaysie’s pin.

“What, right when things are getting hot? Jessica, could you get me the…hmm?” Kaysie said as she nodded to her cohort. “And…maybe a box of tissues?”

Laura had just about gotten her hands free when Jessica returned to the bed, tossing a fluffy feather toy to Kaysie. “No no missie! What kind of babysitters would we be if you ran off and hurt yourself?” She fixed Laura’s bonds, and patted her prisoner on the head.

Mustering all her courage, Laura turned to Jessica and spat “You…you…bitch!”

“Temper, temper, miss RA” Trista said, jabbing Laura in the ribs. “What’s that you say?” Laura giggled and squirmed, eyes shooting daggers. “She says stop tickling me Trista! Ha ha.” While Trista and Jessica delighted in making Laura squirm and scream, Kaysie fluttered her toy over Mike’s tent while lightly tracing his soft sides with her free hand.

“Ladies…I think Laura shouldn’t miss this show.”

“What ARE we thinking? Of course, she needs to see her man!” Trista exclaimed, sitting herself down and pulling Laura’s feet into her lap.

Jessica pursed her lips, reached into her bag, and retrieved a set of nylons. She wound them up into a makeshift gag and worked it into Laura’s mouth. “Much better.” Jessica then climbed behind her captive and, lowering her lips to Laura’s ear, she whispered with a lick, “there’s no escape for you now, little girl.”

Kaysie let the feathery puff come ever closer to Mike’s manhood, which was now awkwardly poking out of the door on his boxers. “I think your penis is ticklish…and I think you like me tickling it, don’t you? Or maybe you just like showing off for Laura.” She said, ever so lightly dusting the sensitive tip of his rock-hard member.  He moaned softly, then gasped as he felt two feet sliding up his body.

Trista grinned at Mike as she again put her striped socks up to his face, and began tickling Laura’s toes, who laughed heavily through her gag. Jessica took that as her cue to attack, drawing her fingertips all along the insides of Laura’s underarms. “My, my, you both are having quite a first date, aren’t you?” Kaysie chuckled, dipping her instrument’s tip along the underside of Mike’s cock.

Mike breathed deep, taking a breath of Trista’s socks, his face alight with shame, yet his manhood told another story. The sight of Laura gagged, squirming, and barefoot was almost too much in itself. Kaysie kept him right on the brink, teasing his shaft elegantly while letting the tips of her nails glide all over his midsection. He arched his lower body, trying to touch the feather more, but she always kept it right on the edge.

“I wonder if we can make him cum just by doing this!” Trista mused aloud, pressing her toes to his cheeks.

“That would be like, so amazing.” Jessica added. She held Laura tight against her chest, working an index finger deep into the girl’s armpits. Laura squeaked through her gag, and wriggled her legs, trying to pull away from Trista’s tickly fingers.

“mmmmpph!! Mmm!!”

“You’re right Laura! I bet we could do it with the help of your cute little toes!” Trista exclaimed, and pulled Laura’s legs over to Mike’s quivering shaft. “Do you like that? Huh? Her feet riiiight up near your penis?”

Kaysie laughed, delighting in the way he shrank against her, yet kept twisting his body to get closer to Laura’s feet. She dusted his dick heavily now, pushing it along further and further, and her fingers slipped up under his shirt to tease his nipples.

“I know what he needs.” Trista and Jessica worked together to shift Laura’s body, and as the latter repositioned herself to start tickling Laura’s ribs, the former placed the girl’s feet on either side of Mike’s manhood, the string between her toes keeping her feet right next to his shaft. “How about…this?” Trista continued, forcing Laura’s toes to rub up on his cock.

Mike threw his head back and moaned deep, begging softly for release. “Please let me cum…please…”

“First…smile, sweeties!” Trista cried, holding up her cell phone as she snapped a video of them. Mike barely registered what she was doing, and continued begging. Laura’s face turned an even deeper shade of red at the sight of Trista recording. An instant later, she was smiling despite her situation as Jessica attacked her sides with renewed fervor.

As a result of tickling, Laura’s feet danced around Mike’s hardness. Sensing his release, Kaysie went all out with her tool, running it up and down the erection, and under Laura’s soles. Trista held the feet tight and urged Mike along. “Are you gonna cum? Is someone gonna cum for us? You know you wanna…” Mike arched hard and began moaning so loud that even the only other resident on the floor heard him.

I'm gonna...I'm gonna cuuuuuum!!

The three girls couldn’t stop giggling as Mike’s cock exploded, with wave after wave of the milky liquid spurting into the air and down onto Laura’s feet. His eyes rolled back in his head as the last drops dribbled out, his seed spilled all over his crush’s toes. Laura writhed in her bondage, eyes wide.

“Well, that was quite a show Mike.” Kaysie giggled, at last releasing him. The girls stood up and looked over at the couple. “See you lovebirds tomorrow.”

[toss-that-can]

I’m a big musical theatre kid and I love casting shows! After Nick said Twisted was in part inspired by the Texas Book Depository scene in Assassins I’ve been thinking about how I’d cast Assassins with the Starkids. I love this show (my favorite Sondheim!) a lot and I love these performers a lot so I had a lot of fun making this! If you like this send requests of show’s you’d like me to cast or reblog with your thoughts!

So here’s my casting:

John Wilkes Booth: Joey Richter

The Balladeer/Lee Harvey Oswald: Brian Holden

Sara Jane Moore: Rachael Soglin

Lynette “Squeaky” Frome: Jamie Lyn Beatty

Samuel Byck: Jeff Blim

Giuseppe Zangara: Clark Baxtresser

John Hinckley: Brian Rosenthal

Charles Guiteau: Jon Matteson

Leon Czolgosz: Robert Manion

The Proprietor: Corey Dorris

A Housewife: Lauren Lopez

Ensemble: Jamie Burns, Joe Walker, Mariah Rose Faith, Corey Lubowich, Brant Cox

Character breakdowns and my justification under the cut

John Wilkes Booth - Male - Lead - Baritenor

The Balladeer/Lee Harvey Oswald - Any gender - Lead - Tenor/Alto

Sara Jane Moore - Female - Lead - Alto-Mezzo

Lynette “Squeaky” Frome - Female - Lead - Soprano

Samuel Byck - Male - Lead - Character voice (any range)

Giuseppe Zangara - Male - Lead - Tenor

John Hinckley: - Male - Lead - Tenor

Charles Guiteau - Male - Lead - Tenor

Leon Czolgosz - Male - Lead - Bass-Baritone

The Proprietor - Male - Supporting - Baritone

A Housewife - Female - Featured - Any range

Ensemble - Any gender - Any range - Need about 6 (including Housewife)

Ok so first things first this show is full of unhinged people and Jeff would’ve killed it in any role.

Ideally Chris Allen would be the perfect Byck but like I haven’t seen any work he’s done lately so idk if he’s still doing the theatre thing who knows.

Brosenthal hopped from The Balladeer/Oswald to Zangara to finally landing on Hinckley. He seemed very fitting as Balladeer/Oswald to me but then I needed more males with angel voices and I trust his angel voice the most and Worthy of Your Love is a very important song to me. Brolden would make a fantastic Balladeer/Oswald so he seemed a good fit and Clark has the CHOPS needed for Zangara’s crazy singing and would look amazingingly close to the real Zangara (besides height OOP).

Joey was immediately Booth for me no questions asked as soon as I started thinking about this. HE HAS THE RANGE! Also I like the idea of him and Corey Dorris being partners bc I feel like we’ve only seen them as enemies/adversaries in the musicals they’ve been in together. Also Corey’s voice would kill me as the chilling Proprietor and I really want that to actually happen.

I was stuck on Moore for a bit bc I feel like there are actresses that can fit her persona but not her voice or they fit her voice but not the necessary persona. I also felt stuck bc when I did Assassins I think I got to work with the best Moore ever so my standards are high. Finally Rachael popped in my head and it’s just an incredible fit. Her voice stole my heart in Trail to Oregon and I would absolutely trust her to rock the shit out of that role and be a comedy goddess.

Jamie has Frome energy and range. Next.

Guiteau is incredibly tricky. He was an incredibly odd and frankly scary man. You need to be able to command a room but also have an unhinged energy, as well as decent singing abilities bc Ballad of Guiteau can get a lil wild (tho more for the Balladeer than Guiteau to be fair). I think Jon has the right range and I think after Black Friday we’ll get to see a more unhinged side of Jon that will further validate my decision here. Also I think he played Hamlet and that’s ultimate unhinged. ALSO HE JUST ANNOUNCED LIKE 30 MINUTES AGO HE’S PLAYING MACBETH LET THE MAN BE UNHINGED YAY!

Tbh I’d probably rather have Robert somewhere else singing tenor but have y’all ever noticed that nearly every Starkid man is a tenor? I need to utilize Robert’s bass range it’s such an incredible talent basses are so hard to come by. Also we’ve only really see Robert be very silly and I’m interested in the serious side of him as a performer, and Czolgosz is a very serious character. He’d probably make me cry and I’d say thanks.

I think Lauren would make me cry my eyes out if I ever heard her sing Something Just Broke. My heart raced and I teared up a bit thinking about it and knew I needed it. Also I think Mariah could kill this role but I ultimately went with Lauren.

Assassins is an interesting show when it comes to its ensemble bc they appear so rarely but are so incredibly vital. I think the ensemble of any show has the ability to make a big dent in making or breaking the show, but that goes even further for Assassins. A lot of the female ensemble parts have a higher range, but the 3 gals I picked also have wild ranges so I trust the shit outta them. I think all 6 of them would blend in well to create the different atmospheres they have to portray throughout time, and they’re also so goofy and fun to match the energy in the Ballad Czolgosz and How I Saved Roosevelt. I also think they’re all capable of delivering the heartbreaking and frankly scary nature of Something Just Broke. Generally I also wanna see more of Corey and Brant on stage bc Brant has the voice of a Disney prince and Corey blows my mind with his performance capabilities in TCB live shows. Also Jamie would probably play Emma Goldman and Lauren or Corey (or maybe Brant) could be Billy/Wanna Sip boy lol.

Can y’all tell I really love Assassins.

[incorrectassassinsquotes-blog]

Assassiversary: Giuseppe Zangara (February 15, 1933)

Giuseppe Zangara (September 7, 1900 – March 20, 1933) attempted to assassinate president-elect Franklin D. Roosevelt on February 15, 1933 during an informal speech in Miami, Florida. Zangara missed his target, injuring five bystanders and killing Anton Cermak, mayor of Chicago. 

Zangara was born in Italy on September 7, 1900 and emigrated to the U.S. in 1923. He became a naturalized citizen of the U.S. in 1929. 

Zangara’s father did not allow him to attend school, instead insisting that he perform physically demanding labor on the family farm from a young age. According to Zangara, this over-work, coupled with extreme punishments, prompted the onset of his chronic stomach pains at age six. When he consulted doctors, they only told him that it was “chronic” and offered no cure.

On the night of February 15, 1933, Roosevelt appeared at a scheduled event in Bayfront Park in Miami, giving a short speech from an open car. 

Zangara, armed with a .32-caliber US Revolver Company pistol he had bought for $8 at a local pawn shop, joined the crowd of spectators. Only five feet tall, he was unable to see over other people and had to stand on a wobbly metal folding chair to get a view.

After the first shot, two bystanders grabbed his arm, and he fired four more shots wildly. Five people were hit, including Chicago mayor Anton Cermak, but Roosevelt was uninjured.

Zangara confessed in the Dade County Courthouse jail, stating: "I have the gun in my hand. I kill kings and presidents first and next all capitalists." He pleaded guilty to four counts of attempted murder and was sentenced to 80 years in prison. 

As he was led out of the courtroom, Zangara told the judge: "Four times 20 is 80. Oh, judge, don't be stingy. Give me a hundred years."

Cermak died of peritonitis 19 days later, on March 6, 1933, two days after Roosevelt’s inauguration. Zangara was promptly indicted for first-degree murder in Cermak’s death.

He pleaded guilty to the additional murder charge and was sentenced to death by Circuit Court Judge Uly Thompson. 

Zangara said after hearing his sentence: “You give me electric chair. I no afraid of that chair! You one of capitalists. You is crook man too. Put me in electric chair. I no care!” 

Under Florida law, a convicted murderer could not share cell space with another prisoner before his execution, but another convicted murderer was already awaiting execution at Raiford. Zangara’s sentence required prison officials to expand their waiting area, and the “death cell” became “Death Row”.

After spending only 10 days on death row, Zangara was executed on March 20, 1933 in Old Sparky, the electric chair at Florida State Prison. 

Zangara became enraged when he learned no newsreel cameras would be filming his final moments. His final statement was "Viva l'Italia! Goodbye to all poor peoples everywhere!... Push the button! Go ahead, push the button!"

In the original Off-Broadway production of Assassins by Stephen Sondheim, Zangara was played by Eddie Korbich. In later productions, he was played by Paul Harrhy in London and by Jeffrey Kuhn in the show's original Broadway production. Appearing in several songs from the play, he has a major solo in the number "How I Saved Roosevelt."  [x]

[sjeisp]

Assassins

Assassins

a musical by Stephen Sondheim

The first time I saw this musical, I was 16: a sophomore in high school. At the time, I didn’t really understand the weight that it carried, I just loved the music. It quickly become one of my top ten musicals of all time. Last year, I was able to see it live again, and I felt like I was seeing a whole different show.

In 1990, when the show first premiered Off-Broadway, there was a large amount of backlash. The composer, legendary Stephen Sondheim, says he expected this (http://www.nytimes.com/books/98/07/19/specials/sondheim-assassins.html). The show circulates around people who have, either successfully or not, tried to assassinate an American president. The main assassin being the most famous, Lee Harvey Oswald. He is joined by John Wilkes Booth, Charles Guiteau, Leon Czolgosz, Giuseppe Zangara, Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme, Sara Jane Moore, John Hinckley Jr., and Samuel Byck. Sondheim stated in an interview in the New York Times, “the plan was that the piece would be built around character…around people who had something in common. They were entirely different people, but they were motivated by a similar kind of passion”. By investing the time into these people’s motivations and personal stories rather than immediately condemning them caused some audience members to quickly write off the musical as anti-nationalist, and perhaps even anarchist. In America, especially in large scale media and entertainment, that is highly frowned upon. We are structured in a widely militarized, America-centric world view, and when that is questioned, the American population can get extremely defensive quickly.

This being said, Sondheim in no way makes these people heros. They still set out to kill another human being, with some succeeding and changing the course of history as we know it. But there is always more to the story than that, no matter how much simpler it is to just demonize someone. In one song in particular, Gun Song, several characters discuss how they obtained their lethal weapon. There is a proprietor present who continuously temps the characters and urges them to take the gun. The fictional Leon Czolgosz, who assassinated William Mckinley in 1901, weighs the morality of the weapon:

[CZOLGOSZ]

A gun kills many men before it's done,

Hundreds,

Long before you shoot the gun:

Men in the mines

And in the steel mills,

Men at machines,

Who died for what?

Something to buy-

A watch, a shoe, a gun,

A thing to make the bosses richer,

But

A gun claims many men before it's done...

Just

One

More..

From a young age, mid-teens according to the records we have, Csolgosz was always in the work force. The mines, steel mills, and machines he mentions aren’t just hypotheticals, but rather the only reality he has known since childhood. He was born into a family with seven other children, and a mother who died only six weeks after his youngest sister was born (Miller, Scott. The President and the Assassin. New York: Random House). After the economic crash of 1893, he was put out of work. He turned to the church and reached out to other immigrant organizations to no avail. Continued injustice in the country led him to his interest in archaism, and eventually, Mckinley’s assassination.

People don’t like when crimes, especially murder, are put into grey scale instead of black and white. It is far easier to condemn someone automatically than humanize them and inevitably feel some degree of empathy for them, if not only understand what caused them to commit such an act. But life isn’t in black and white, and it is artistic works like Assassins that push our boundaries and force us into the grey space.

[3dnygma]

Cory Michael Smith in the musical “Assassins”

First of all, I would like to thank Nat (@obfonteri !!) for their amazing help on this post. They have seen another production of Assassins before - and know how musical theatre productions at the New York City Center generally work.

This article, written by Andy Lefkowitz for Broadway.com gives us the following information about the production:

Steven Pasquale will play John Wilkes Booth, Julie White will portray Sara Jane Moore and Alex Brightman will play Giuseppe Zangara in the New York City Center Encores! Off-Center presentation of Stephen Sondheim and John Weidman’s carnival ride through the history of political violence Assassins. The previously announced production will run July 12-15 at City Center. Also set to appear in Assassins will be Steven Boyer (John Hinckley Jr.), John Ellison Conlee (Charles Guiteau), Clifton Duncan (The Balladeer), Shuler Hensley (Leon Czolgosz), Ethan Lipton (The Proprietor), Erin Markey (Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme), Cory Michael Smith (Lee Harvey Oswald) and Danny Wolohan (Samuel Byck). Assassins will be directed by Anne Kauffman, with music direction by Chris Fenwick and choreography by Lorin Latarro.

I will be adding more information about the show itself (plot, characters, songs, etc) and what we know from this production under the cut!

About Assassins

This is taken from the official Wikipedia page:

Assassins is a musical with music and lyrics by Stephen Sondheim and book by John Weidman, based on an idea by Charles Gilbert, Jr. It uses the premise of a murderous carnival game to produce a revue-style portrayal of men and women who attempted (successfully or not) to assassinate Presidents of the United States. The music varies to reflect the popular music of the eras depicted.

The musical first opened Off-Broadway in 1990, and the 2004 Broadway production won five Tony Awards.

Stephen Sonheim is a very important musical composer, some of his most famous works include Sweeney Todd and Into The Woods.

You can watch a video recording of the 2004 production (It features Neil Patrick Harris as the Balladeer!) here, please don’t share this link too openly though.

The official cast recording (also from the 2004 production) can be found here.

About Cory’s Character

Most characters in this play used to be actual people who attempted/succeeded to assassinate the president of the Unites States. Cory will be playing Lee Harvey Oswald, who assassinated John F. Kennedy on November 22, 1963.

This is what the plot of Assassins says about Lee in the show, once again taken from the official Wikipedia page:

The scene changes to the sixth floor of the Texas School Book Depository. Lee Harvey Oswald sits with a radio and a pistol, preparing to kill himself, but he is interrupted by Booth. Surprising Oswald with intimate knowledge about his life, Booth slowly and carefully attempts to convince him not to become his own victim and to instead assassinate John F. Kennedy. Summoning the other assassins from the shadows, Booth tells Oswald that by joining them he will finally make a difference, but Oswald refuses. Booth tells him that in the future, when Hinckley’s room is searched, Oswald's biographies will be found. Summoning the voices of Arthur Bremer, Sirhan Sirhan and James Earl Ray, Booth tells Oswald that the key to the future is in his hands. Oswald tries to leave, but Zangara addresses him passionately in Italian, his words translated by the other assassins, imploring him to act so their own acts can come alive again. They tell him that he has the power to cause worldwide grief and inspire global passion about himself, a man the world has never cared or heard about. Calling themselves his family, the assassins sing, imploring Oswald to act. He crouches at the window and shoots ("November 22, 1963").

After the assassinations, a group of citizens recount what they were doing when they heard that the President had been killed and lament that even though only a single man died, the nation has changed forever ("Something Just Broke").

The assassins regroup once more at the shooting range, now with Oswald among their ranks, and they proudly restate their motto, "Everybody's got the right to be happy," before loading their guns and opening fire on the audience ("Everybody's Got the Right (Reprise)").

Lee’s costume usually included a plain, white shirt - so you can easily distinguish him from the other characters. His character is the last assassin that the play includes and therefore an important figure and plot point.

I haven’t watched all of Assassins yet but I’ve listened to most of the parts including Lee (especially November 22, 1963 is very important for his character). However, it’s important to remember that Lee Harvey was an actual person...that killed the president. The assassins themselves glorify their actions in this play - but the Balladeer (along with several other characters) and the overall show itself warn about how terrible their actions were. 

About The Production

Some info that @obfonteri gave me about how Encores productions at the New York City usually work:

“NYCC Enchores is probably the most renowed regional theatre located in midtown Manhatten. It’s not Broadway, it’s not Off-Broadway, but it’s the best professional theatre after that. In NYC nothing is “bigger” than Broadway as far as popularity for tourists and general public knowledge. But as far as quality of production and professionalism, it’s equal to broadway.

Big name Broadway actors do their shows there. It’s just...they do a season of shows with short runs. So instead of a Broadway or Off-Broadway show that has an extended or open-ended run, these shows play for a few weeks and then another show opens.”

And here is some more information about Encores at the NYCC from the Stubhub ticket site:

“The Encores! event is a stripped-down version of a hit musical that is meant to showcase the music over the costumes, staging and acting. The sets are minimal and the orchestra is enhanced. Each cast gets eight days of rehearsal and one dress rehearsal for the production, which lasts for five performances.

The New York City Center hosts the Encore! event. The beautiful center was built in 1923 and had its first concert of the New York Philharmonic in 1943. Since then, it has hosted many events, mostly dance and opera productions."

As you can see, this production won’t actually take that much time for Cory, he’ll be done by July 15th. I estimate that he’ll have time for Gotham while they are filming 4x04/4x05 - Ed staying frozen until then seems alright to me.

After Broadway or Off-Broadway shows, fans can usually go to the Stage Door and ask the actors for autographs or just...talk to them. This won’t as easy at NYCC, as it has multiple exists. Therefore, not every actor is guaranteed to leave the building through the Stage Door exit and talk to the fans. 

Nevertheless, people who are planning to see the show for Cory can still try to meet him after the show...let’s just not be creepy stalkers, he really doesn’t need that. In general, it’s important to respect him and the rest of the cast (or, for that matter, anyone else who’s involved in this production).

Nat (@obfonteri) is probably going to see the show and might make a few audio recordings. Video recordings are generally hard to make during theatre performances, as it’s usually prohibited. Maybe we’ll be lucky and get some sort of video recording - it’s not guaranteed, though.

If you’re curious about Cory’s singing voice, you can check out this Spotify playlist that I made. His most important songs in that playlist are Career Day, Show Me The Magic and Ordinary Day. They are taking from a 2011 production of “The Shaggs - Philosophy of the World”, in which he played the character Kyle Nelson. This is a sneak peak of the production, Cory can also be seen in it (tiny, pre-Gotham Cory, must be protected).

To conclude, I highly recommend those who are interested to check out the video recording (or the cast recording) from Assassins, it’s a really good show. And, if you live close to NYC, I deeply hope that you get the chance to buy tickets for the show! If you still have questions, you can contact either me or Nat, they were so wonderful to offer their support on this. Thank you all for reading this. Please like, reblog or share it otherwise, if you can!

[to-the-head-of-the-line]

fine here's my oc (once again I'm not American)

TW: suicidal thoughts, suicide

Leung Cheng Fai (梁正輝) was born in 1845, in China's Guangdong Province. (His family name is Leung, his given name is Cheng Fai, he goes by Fai) His family owned a small farm.

He left with his father and three brothers for America via Hong Kong to earn money in 1865, leaving behind his mother, two sisters, a wife and a year old son on the farm.

They worked on the Transcontinental Railroad from 1866 to 1869. His father and one brother died in an explosion from blowing up rocks with dynamite. He didn't get paid much (actually all the Chinese workers were paid less than the average one cause racism, but they did the jobs no one wanted to do), the working conditions were bad, and he got serious back problems. They sent most of their money back to China.

Fai settled in San Francisco with his other two brothers. Tired of construction and due to back pain, he did various jobs over the years. He waited tables, delivered goods and worked in factories.

Originally, the family only wanted to earn enough to go home rich. But as the situation got worse, he tried to get his family to the US, but didn't have enough money. His son managed to come over in 1879, but since they barely knew each other, they did not get along. Besides, his son was in boarding school. It was difficult to get his wife here due to the Page act of 1875 (Banning the entry of 'undesirables', e.g. forced labourers, prostitutes and convicts, but basically made immigration harder, especially for East Asian women), but the Chinese exclusion act signed in 1882 prohibited all Chinese from immigrating, which meant his wife and brothers' families had to wait for at least 10 more years.

Devastated at the possibility of never seeing his wife again, disillusioned with the American Dream and having tolerated discrimination for all these years since he arrived (especially the San Francisco riot of 1877), Fai sank into a deep depression and became suicidal. He decided that the government was to blame for all the misfortunes he and his people have suffered. If he killed Arthur, the man who signed the act, perhaps this would send the men in power a message to not underestimate them. Or perhaps more would rise up and fight back. Or perhaps this wouldn't change anything or make things worse, but he was too furious to think clearly. He tried to shoot Arthur in 1883. A bystander noticed his gun and cried out. Shocked, he pulled the trigger and missed. A mob cornered him on the roof of a building and he shot himself. He was 38.

He's pretty normal besides the depression. He likes music, drinking tea and sleeping. He's ok at Western and Chinese chess. He doesn't care much about politics except when it directly affects him and his family. At least the US was still slightly better than the Qing dynasty, since tensions between his family and the authorities were high over land disputes and taxes. He's more of a 'everyone in the small community sits down and decides on local matters themselves' person.

He keeps to himself most of the time but closest to Zangara and maybe Czolgosz. Hates Booth because they did it for opposite reasons.

All male subjects of Qing China were required to wear a queue. They had to shave the front of their heads and braid their long hair or faced execution for treason. When his mental state deteriorated, Fai shaved his queue and now has short hair. Like other Chinese men, he wears the traditional jacket, trousers and straw shoes(not entirely sure about the names, I'm a disgrace). But he also wore a dark grey suit, flat cap and shoes, which he wore more frequently after 1882 and at the assassination to disguise himself. He is 5'3'', brawny (he's strong af) and has a slightly bent back due to hard labour.

[cwnerd12]

hopefully this isn’t too all over the place

On June 20th, 1932, Captain J.S. Blitch died. An obituary in the Tallahassee Democrat praised, “[Blitch] is widely known over the entire country for his humane methods in dealing with convicts.”

Before the funeral, Blitch’s body briefly “laid in state” in the main dining hall at Raiford for inmates to view. House described, “Some inmates came to look at him, the majority didn’t. They said ‘They had seen too damn much of him when he was living,’ and ate too damn much of his sorry grub, too many years, to ever wish to see any more of him, - and if he went to Heaven, they all wanted to be in Hell.”

Assistant Superintendent Leonard Chapman took over Blitch’s role, and life at Raiford continued on as before.

In 1933, the Flat Top building was expanded to include 42 cells and a death cell where prisoners awaiting executions were held. The death cell’s first occupant was Giuseppe Zangara, an Italian anarchist whose assassination attempt on president Franklin D. Roosevelt in Miami had been foiled by a wobbly chair. Zangara instead hit Chicago mayor Anton J. Cermak, who eventually died of his wounds. House says that he made a few visits to Zangara while he was housed at Flat Top, but that his attempts at conversation were met with icy silence. Zangara was electrocuted on March 20th, 1933, after expressing dismay that no news photographers had come to witness.

House was assigned to work at the prison bakery, making pastries to be sold at the prison canteen. Every Christmas, he made a fruitcake for the judge who sentenced him, but the judge never ate them, afraid of any extra ingredients House may have added.

On November 25th, 1934, House and his mother were dealt a severe blow when his step-father died, leaving his mother without any means of support. Shortly afterwards, the state Board of Pardons again denied a pardon for House, which House said was due to the fact that they didn’t have the money to make a sufficient bribe.

After this, “Realizing that I had not the ghost of a chance to get out alive to be with my mother… waiting on the Pardon or Parole Board for relief, I somehow started to more fully investigate my case and the legal aspects involved.” House had no means to get the law books he needed, “I did the best I could, I saw some old cast off books on law, I studied them constantly and finally succeeded in getting hold of - among others - ‘THE SOUTHERN REPORTER’  published by the West Publishing Company at St. Paul, Minnesota. It gave the reports and Opinions of the Supreme Court of Florida and various other southeastern states, and what they held in certain cases. I finally started to study Constitutional Law written in 1925 by Lawrence B. Evans, a volume that contained some 12 or 13 hundred pages.”

House began conferring with a lawyer-turned inmate named Michael C. Jones, and through him, House was able to get in touch with a semi-retired lawyer named Edwin L. Bryan, who promised him that he could get a writ of Habeas Corpus from the Florida Supreme Court. in December 1935, he was granted a new sentencing. The following February, he went back to Tampa.

“I’ve learned my lesson,” he told The Tampa Tribune, “I know the folly of crime and when I get out I’m going straight. Considering the good records I have for the last few years and the time I have served, I think the judge might give me a chance. I’m going to try to have a talk with him.” House was resentful that Lester Gildre and John Kinney had been freed in the earlier appeal to the Supreme Court, and that “Big Paul” Huhn had also been freed after serving eight years of his sentence. Brought before Judge W. Raleigh Petteway once again, he claimed to have had nothing to do with the Hav-a-Tampa robbery and the Knight & Wall burglary. He said that with no legal council, the county solicitor had pressured him into making a guilty plea or else he’d be given an un-specified murder charge. The judge reduced his sentence from 60 to 50 years. Perhaps a small victory, but not the resolution House wanted. He once again appealed to the Florida Supreme Court, claiming that Judge Petteway had no authority to pass sentence again, and that House should have been granted his request to withdraw his original guilty plea and enter a new, not guilty plea. in February 1937, the Court upheld Judge Petteway’s sentence.

Some time during all this legal back and forth, House got into a fight with another inmate and once again found himself back in Flat Top. This time, he was kept next to condemned men on “murderer’s row.” The head keeper at Flat Top was a man named J.H. Dowling, a corpulent man who House described as “garrulous,” “exceedingly cruel,” who would walk up and down the corridors singing, “Oh, it won’t be long, it won’t be long, they’ll call my number and name, and I’ll be gone!”

House described watching the condemned be carried away for execution, “Some of these were wild and frightened, crying all the way… Some of these men had to be assisted down the narrow corridor to their doom. A doctor would offer to give them a shot of Morphine to steady their nerves, but over half of them refused it. Most of the condemned would seem to be in a stupor and walked slowly, with eyes straight ahead, as if walking on a cloud. As they reached the electric chair room, a brine soaked sponge  would be placed on their shaved heads and the hood pulled down. Three minutes later they would be dead.”

Officiating each execution was the Reverend Leslie Shepherd, who “Would stroll down the corridor with a burning cigarette in one hand and a Bible in the other.” According to House, Brother Shepherd would stop and spend long hours conversing with his favorite convicts, who were all “Homo-sexuals and those ‘good-looking-boys’ convicted of sex crimes. These homosexuals were called ‘gal-boys’ and ‘sweet-mammas’ in the prison language used, and ‘punks.’” Brother Shepherd would inquire, “all about their intimate selves and sexual relations with other convicts… ‘which of the two ways they liked it best,’ and if they were still a ‘virgin.’” House goes on, “The only prisoners at Flat Top that received any favors from ‘Bro’ Shepherd were the ‘girls.’ He would bring them expensive Bibles or dictionaries - candy and cigarettes, along with perfumes or cosmetics - to enhance their feminine beauty… I tried to get him to bring me a dictionary and a large-print Bible, but he always told me that he forgot it.”

When not pampering his favored young convicts, Brother Shepherd would solicit funds for a chapel to be built on the grounds of Raiford. He sent letters to the friends and family members of convicts, having convicts all sign their name so that he couldn't be charged with mail fraud. While construction of the massive main housing unit at Raiford took just over two years, construction of a small chapel at Raiford took over seven years, with each year $50,000 being officially budgeted from the state of Florida for its construction. Clearly, Al House wasn’t the only clever con man at work at Raiford.

In March, 1938, the United States Supreme Court granted House a writ of Habeas Corpus, directing that the state of Florida had to show just cause for holding him.

According to House, “Nathan Mayo, Prison Custodian, was so scared that I would get out that ‘he shook like an aspen-leaf in a forty mile gale,’ for in those days he knew that the prison system of Florida would be thoroughly exposed to the last degree by my mother and me.” On March 28th, the Supreme Court found that the state of Florida did indeed have just cause for holding House, leaving him with no other legal recourse. The only way House could get out of prison was through pardon or parole.

[evilelitest2]

100 Days of Trump: 1/100, Assassins, the Mind of the Alt Right

“Everybody’s got the Right to be Happy, don’t be mad, life’s not as bad a it seems.  If you keep your goal in sight, you can climb to any height.  Everybody’s Got a Right to their Dreams” 

So again, this is my response to my nation’s madness, to try to understand the insanity and explain WTF just happened, how did something like this ever come to pass?  So I am going to recommend 100 things that can help people understand what is going and how to fight it.  First and more importantly, the single most important thing to understand Trump, is the Musical Assassins by Stephen Songheim

You can listen to the soundtrack here  The music is good, with a lot to recommend but I want to talk about the psychology of madness that is its core tenant.  

   The play is about a strange fantasy realm where all of the presidential assassins live together, from John Wilkes Booth to Lee Harvey Oswald, they hang out, justify, and rationalize their actions.  The play is about the psychology of people who take violence, and trying to understand the people who think that killing the president will solve their problems.  And very quickly it becomes apparent that to understand assassins, you need to understand American culture as a whole.   That Giuseppe Zangara’s belief that killing President Roosevelt would cure his stomach illness or Samuel Byck who tried to hit Nixon with a plane in a Santa costume isn’t just the demented psychosis of demented madmen, but is part of American culture as a whole.  The play notes that  Presidential assassins aren’t political activists or agents of rival factions, but instead individual nutters who take it upon them selves to kill the president.  These universally white and overwhelmingly male figures mostly don’t have a coherent political ideology or frame of principles, but instead more of a vague emotional bag of insecurities and demented psychosis writ large.  The musical is set in a nightmarish Carnival, where the assassins desperately compete for “The Prize” of the American dream, and national renown serves as the rationalization for violence.  

Sound familiar?  Well its the theme of the Trump Campaign, here this is basically their theme song 

   All of the assassins (except Booth who plays the role of lucifer in the tale) are in various degrees losers, the social maladjusted, the failed dreamers, left over forgotten people, but critically they all buy into the idea of the American Dream.  Even as they consistently fail to do anything productive with their own lives, they idealize the American dream worshiping the notion that anybody can one day become President of the United States.  These are people born with privilege, but for various reasons are unable to reep the full benefits of that privilege, and feeling betrayed they lash out.  Conspiracy theorists, radicals, and racists, at their heart these people are pathetically lonely, and reminds you of nothing so much as MRAs or the Alt Right. I mean isn’t this just the Manosphere in a nutshell?

People who fetishist the idea of guns, capitalistic progress, and above all machismo, but  at their heart they are failures at all that they strive for, and whose ranting underlies a sense of insecurity and loss.  These people aren’t intellectuals, instead they find the resents of an ideology and cling to it as driftwood, they make a Cargo Cult out of American values and using it as a security blanket for their own feeling of inadequacy.  And in this bubble of loneliness, entitlement, narcissism and above all shame, which quickly turns to resentment.  And over time, that turns to violence, and they become so myopic they no longer even realize that their actions hurt other people, that such ideas have rhetoric.  Above all, these people truly believe themselves to be the underdogs, that they are the persecuted fighting against an America that owes them a prize.   Where the American dream is unbridled optimism, they are what happens when you combine it with a kitch sort of nihilism which as inspired people from the Columbine Shooters to Dylan Roof.  Trump is the what happens when people understand the problems with the system enough to become disillusions but lack the emotional and intellectual maturity to comprehend it properly

listen to this bit of a man quite articulately understanding the problems with the two party system and then come to the exact wrong conclusions of how to respond to it

There is a lot to like in the Musical in how it talks about the Two Party System, Nice Guy Syndrome, Gun Culture and much more, but I just want to leave on this exchange.  The Assassins plead with Lee Harvey Oswald to kill JFK and he says “People will hate me” and Booth says “Yes they will hate you, they will hate you with a passion that is unimaginable.  Imagine it, people will have strong feelings about you, people will care about Lee Harvey Oswald”  The musical isn’t about endorsing them, in fact it is a very strong condemnation of that mindset, but why I recommend it, is because it is through this that you can understand the type of mindset that votes for Trump.  But it is more than just the Right, because some of the Assassins are actually more leftist, its about misdirected rage and frustration being channeled into unhealthy channels by those who have internally given up on everything except the American dream, if you want a primer on how not to respond to a dying political system, this is it. 

   Which brings up the other reason why this musical is important, cause with the least popular president in history now in power, a lot of people are talking about killing him, and I just want to make this clear, that is not how you respond to a broken political system.  All that will do is create a left wing form of what we see in assassins, a naive optimism mixed with absolute disillusionment, the same mentality of bitterness and rage that lashes out in destructive violence and it doesn’t work.  It just weakens the political system and buys into their structure, the right’s narrative, and harms the country as a collective whole. The left is going through some hard times now, there is a way to fight power in the US rather than feeding into the toxic narrative of personal vengeance somehow solving complicated problems.  It didn’t for help Leon Czolgosz, it certainly isn’t going to help us now

For really, what better sums up the Election of Donald Trump than this?

[damiens1206465-blog]

Education and learning Articlesbd.com.

I can frankly say until a year ago I possessed no idea just what a blog owner also was actually, and also now I realize there are all sorts of bloggers. That is actually a still coming from Ridley Scott's thriller embeded in Asia, African-american Storm That showed up in September from 1989. If you make a decision to gamble as well as give the lending, ensure you are prepped in occasion that your friend determines certainly not to spend you back. There are actually data that inform our team Black guys comprise the biggest portion from the penitentiary population and also Dark trainees are more regularly incarcerated compared to white colored pupils. Furthermore, a special day reminder is a wonderful way from keeping in mind a pal or a family member on their wedding day, replacing the outdated fashioned means from pointers including organizers or even schedule memoranda. She understands exactly what to perform and when to accomplish this. Courting a black lady will definitely make a man enjoy the electrical power from activities compared with severe loud words which merely excites rage as well as hate. Precede your remark along with a crystal clear statement that you value your relationship, however you know that, if accurate, your pal ought to recognize," Zangara urges. During the course of the Middle Ages, and around the late 18th century, folks who always kept dark pet cats were actually very likely to be targeted as being actually a witch, because of a worry that the feline was lived in by the feeling of the Devil, and would injure them while they rested. mouse click the next article last time we found this threatening technological design, gold dropped off September 2011 via December 2015. This was actually the most up to date in a string of capturings from typically disarmed black males by white police in the USA that have brought about at times terrible protests. The berries advance to a brilliant black different colors, or even reddish, pink, or white colored and also are actually delectably fragrantly pleasant and concerning pair of ins long, like an air conditioning taste and blend from raspberry as well as strawberry. When they can locate these and also observe just how the outdated piece appears, they have the ability to assign a market value for the old piece. As opposed to scraping aged bathroom tissue barrels, utilize that to suck up dust as well as filth in windows and doors by mading it over the mist nozzle of the hoover. Considering that you are handling outdated pieces you should be careful in the managing process given that you do not desire to develop any indicators of damages. The shortage of timeliness in recording a great likewise refuted justice to Carol Jenkins, a younger black lady murdered on the streets from a small Dusk city in Indiana in 1968. A 28 year old guy, with a younger family members, perishing from an unusable growth in his lung given that he worked as a welder without recognizing he should possess worn breathing apparatus. You can take a look at the celebrities as well as you are going to locate some excellent few where the spouse is a dark man as well as the spouse is a white female. Tom revealed such undisguised and breathless interest in his narratives that the outdated protection rubbed up his mind, and also released out in to a graphic past of all the efficiencies from the kids when driving for the last twenty years. One can easily play the internet browser activities 2015 easily as it just requires one to develop on the abilities that they had in the previous games. The good friend that possessed us was actually not the person she has actually been actually finding, however a partner from hers.