#the Solve it squad says no to drugs

[man-down-in-hatchet-town]

💛💛Benji "Scrags" Scragtowski, my beloved💛💛

(If you couldn't tell, he's my favorite Squadster)

[wheredidthe80sgo]

something about joey richter protagonists just get me every damn time

[nightlyrequiem]

Latrodectus

III. Crime of Passion

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

AO3

Latrodectus Mactans, otherwise known as the Black Widow, are known for their uncouth treatment of their partners. The 'widow' part of their name stemming from the common occurrence of the female devouring her partner after mating.

Tags/Warnings: Abduction, Violence, Emotional Manipulation, harassment, A Dabble of Psychological Torture, Drugging, Breaking And Entering, Fem!reader

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Valeria never learned to share. When she was a child, a girl on the playground tried to take one of the dolls she was playing with. It ended with the little girl missing clumps of hair and Valeria being dragged away by her parents. Her territorial behavior shifted from toys to people. Marie and Elle were lapses in judgement. Valeria remained untethered by obsession during her remaining years of high school. At eighteen she had the brilliant idea to join the local military. Valeria knew she could climb the ranks. She was swift, strong, and cunning. Much to her anger and disappointment, she did not receive the recognition she rightfully earned. She shared her frustration with a woman from her unit. Julietta was strong and blunt. Unafraid to say what she was thinking and unafraid to stand up to the few sexist men on the squad.

Julietta had traits that Valeria admired. Her fierce personality drew Valeria in, and for once her interest was reciprocated. The two had a lengthy affair. Heated moments in closets where all Valeria was ever allowed, and it was never enough. She was so close to getting what she wanted. Valeria orbited Julietta, baring her teeth at any and all perceived competition. Julietta wasn't looking for anything serious. Not with Valeria anyway. Valeria's behavior along with Julietta's own inability to stick with one partner for too long caused her to start pulling away. Valeria could feel the shift immediately and it sent her over the edge.

While still working for the Mexican Special Forces, she saw opportunity with the local cartel. Big enough to bring the right person power and money, but still small enough that one could swoop in and build it up. What she was unable to do in the army, she did with ease in the cartel. Her violent nature and ruthlessness were rewarded. She became one of La Araña's favourite enforcers. During a raid on the aforementioned kingpin's son, Valeria saw an opportunity to further her own career. She, along with a few of her fellow soldiers, were tasked by La Araña to escort him and his son to safety. Forming an alliance with the other two soldiers, Valeria executed both of them. She created a power vacuum and what better person to fill it then her? There was only one more issue to solve. Julietta was one of the other two soldiers with Valeria and in the lonely desert, Valeria shot her in the back of the head and left her for the vultures.

She's tempted to give you the same fate as she carefully bandages her arm. Valeria's back rests against the cool, light blue ceramic of her bathtub. She washed, disinfected, stitched, and bandaged her own wound. It wasn't anything too terrible, she's had worse. Her brows are furrowed with anger as she tightens the bandage. She can't believe you did this. She went out of her way to do something nice for you, and you return the favour by stabbing her. She leans back against the tub and stares blankly at the counter across from her. Stockholm syndrome can take years to set in, and you aren't showing any progress at all. In fact, you're regressing.

Valeria rubs a tired hand across her face. She needs to be more patient. She reminds herself of this fact. The temptation to just go back downstairs and end you is strong, but she knows you're just acting out. She stands up from the tiled floor and begins collecting her medical supplies. She places them back underneath the sink and exits the bathroom. Pain rhythmically throbs down her arm, but she pays it no mind. She needs a drink. Walking into the kitchen she doesn't hesitate to snatch a bottle of vodka from the freezer. She needs something to water down the hatred currently blooming inside of her like the world's most ugly flower.

Control is one of the most important things to Valeria. She despises not having it and that's why the military didn't work out for her. Valeria is not any mere cog in a machine, she is the engineer. She would regularly commit insubordination. Doing what she thought was best even if her commanding officer didn't agree. On a mission in Europe, before she even joined the cartel, her squad had been tasked with rescuing a group of soldiers taken hostage. Valeria had been the one to find them, but the soldiers had been brainwashed. They were weak-willed and succumbed to the wiles of the enemy and turned on their team. Her orders were to subdue them and wait for backup to bring them to safety, but such weakness shouldn't have been allowed. She executed each and every one of them. She was under investigation for murder and insubordination but ultimately got away with it.

She takes a healthy swig straight from the bottle. She isn't able to control everything though. Not your attitude nor your actions. Her pink-painted nails tap along the table with her growing agitation. Dark eyes flit around the lonely kitchen. It's well stocked and maintained, she can picture herself cooking meals with you. Dancing along to music while you two make memories. If only you'd stop being so stubborn. She clenches her fist. If you want to be difficult and ungrateful then Valeria will have to act accordingly. See how aggressive you are after being isolated and weakened from hunger.

In the meantime, Valeria has important matters to attend to. Leading a successful cartel is hardly glamorous. When you come around Valeria will make sure to keep you separate from that part of her life. She takes a few more sips just for good measure before putting the half empty bottle back into the freezer.

                   *                    *                  *

She can hear you screaming. You are the loudest you've ever been. Your voice, although barely audible, manages to seep up through the floorboards. She wonders if screaming that loudly for too long can permanently damage your vocal cords. Valeria wouldn't mind if you lost the ability to speak, there's something appealing about you losing your prominent source of communication. You'd have to rely on her for a new way. For a second, she has the urge to go down there and tear out your vocal cords herself. She doesn't though, you'd never forgive her for doing that to you.

Valeria sits right outside your door silently. Listening to you sob so hard you retch. It's been five days since she's decided to impose complete isolation on you, and you aren't taking it well at all. Granted, you're also probably very hungry and thirsty. All she left you to drink was the paint water. Something thuds against the wall. Then another thing, and another. Judging by the weight of what's being thrown Valeria guesses you're chucking the tubes of acrylic at the walls.

The stab wound doesn't take that long to heal. By the second week it's already beginning to scab. She unwraps the gauze and throws it away, deciding it's no longer needed. She walks back out of the bathroom and lingers by the basement door. Everything is silent. You've been silent for three days now. Two weeks on your own should be enough time to rethink your outlook on this situation. She walks into the kitchen and prepares you something small. She can't feed you too much right away, or she could cause fatal chemical imbalances within your body. Refeeding syndrome is one awful way to go.

She makes you a sandwich, cuts it in half, and brings you a bottled water. Outside your door she hesitates. Wondering what she's going to see when she opens the door. She grabs the key from the doorframe and unlocks it, looking inside. You're lying in bed silently, back turned to the door. The blankets on top of you slowly rise and fall with your breathing. Valeria slowly approaches you and kneels beside the mattress.

"Querida." She murmurs softly. She reaches a hand out and lays in on your shoulder. "I brought you something to eat."

You don't stir, so Valeria shakes you gently.

"Look at me." She says. She grips your shoulder and rolls you onto your back. Propped up against the wall on its side is her painting of you. It's unfinished. She tried her best to capture your features, but you stabbed her before she got the chance to perfect them. She's surprised to see it in your bed. Your hollow gaze meets hers and she almost feels bad for doing this to you. Almost.

"... What did you bring?" You rasp. Your voice sounds awful, but Valeria is more focused on the fact that you're interested in what she brought.

"A sandwich, and some water." She sets the paper plate and water on the bed. You slowly sit up and look at them.

You grab the plate and bring it closer to yourself. For once you don't glare at her or ignore the food. You pick up the sandwich and swiftly devour it then grab the water and down it greedily. Some of it spills down your chin and the soaks the front of your shirt. You pull the empty bottle away from your lips and set it down. You stare at your lap with furrowed brows.

"I'm sorry." You mutter. "For stabbing you." Valeria wasn't expecting an apology but her heart leaps. She places a hand on the back of your head and gently caresses it.

"It's alright." She replies, as if your actions didn't make her contemplate killing you.

You sound sincere though. She thinks leaving you alone might've actually worked. She's still going to keep you chained down here for a little while longer, just as a precaution. You lay down. Covers pulled to your chin. Valeria takes this as her cue to leave, but when she goes to stand your hand shoots out and latches onto her wrist.

"Please don't go." You say. It was only two weeks but to someone with no windows or clock, it must've seemed like longer. Valeria lowers herself back down. Resting her back against the wall beside you while you drift off, hand still wrapped around her wrist.

[laquiet]

So... I forced my friend into watching Stranger Things (pt. 2)

I remember that I said we were on Season 2 the last post... Well, actually, we were on Season 3. I have NO IDEA what happened, it was some kind of delay in our brain, she simply said we were in s2 ep7 when we were actually on s3 ep2, AND I THOUGHT SHE WAS RIGHT LOL

We spent like, 20 minutes trying to undertand why she seemed to remember stuff about the episodes she supposedly had already seen.

SO... I'm gonna talk about her reactions on season 3

1. About Nancy and Jonathan

It was the highlight of season 3 for her, along with Max&El friendship. And it was REALLY FUN to see her talking about how they only do shit every damn time and don't actually solve shit... I... just look at it lool:

"Oh no, Jon and Nancy😭" "These two just keep all season trying to solve everything on their own and in the end they don’t solve anything🤡" "I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE LOOOL" "EVERY DAMN SEASON THAT HAPPENS" "Guys, did you notice things go better when you're with adults? TELL THE ADULTS"

Plus, she said that in ep3, right after Will destroyed Castle Byers:

"I DON'T WANT TO SEE JON AND NANCY GETTING INTO TROUBLE FOR THE THIRD TIME IN A ROW! SHOW ME WILL, TELL ME HE'S FINE"

However, she really had a soft spot for Jancy. By the end of the season, when the Byers were moving, she said more than once that "they should get married already."

2. About the Spy Squad - Steve, Dustin, Robin and Erica (yes, she named every group)

"Well, they're already ahead of Nancy and Jon. Those two did investigations for 3 seasons and got nowhere, while these guys, in 5 episodes, are in a Russian bunker 🤡" "Damn, Robin got the Russian code right, huh"

My girl was impressed by Robin.

"Robin is really smart if she understood Back to the Future drugged"

That was one of the phrases about Robin...

Anyways, she loved her, praised how intelligent she was multiple times and got this close with shipping Steve and Robin, but she got happy when Robin turned out to be lesbian (she didn't think the writers would have the guts, lol).

And she kept saying "Dude, you were right, I really like Steve now", AND I TOLD HER SHE'D LOVE HIM (I mean, who doesn't?)

Also, she thought Erica was weird, but as soon as Erica said they were doing "child endangerment", Erica became one of her favorites, I'm sure of that. The only one with common sense.

3. About Max and Eleven

I can't say much, she just loved them a lot. She thought Max was being good when helping El with her relationship with Mike and helping her to figure out herself. But. Really irresponsible when it was about using El's powers. Recently, she said Max and El were her favorite duo, besides Will and Mike.

Now... I will divide this post into two just so it won't stay so long.

[tomorrowusa]

Just in time for the US elections, Philippines authoritarian former president Rodrigo Duterte freely admits he employed a death squad.

The 79-year-old, making his first public appearance on Monday since his term ended in 2022, said he offered “no apologies, no excuses” for his presidency, during which as many as 30,000 people were killed in a “war on drugs”. “My mandate as president of the republic was to protect the country and the Filipino people. Do not question my policies, because I offer no apologies, no excuses. I did what I had to do, and whether you believe it or not, I did it for my country,” he said. Duterte had entered the hearing walking with a stick and was defiant throughout, often cursing as he addressed senators.

None of what he's proud of doing had anything to do with Philippines law or international standards of human rights.

“I can make the confession now if you want,” Duterte said. “I had a death squad of seven, but they were not policemen, they were also gangsters.” “I’ll ask a gangster to kill somebody,” Duterte said. “If you will not kill [that person], I will kill you now.” When asked by senators for further details of the death squad, he said he would give more information at the next hearing. Duterte also said that he ordered officers to encourage criminals to fight back and resist arrest, so that police could then justify killing them. “What I said is this, let’s be frank, I said encourage the criminal to fight, encourage them to draw their guns. That was my instruction, encourage them to fight, and if they fight, then kill them so my problem in my city is done,” he said, in comments reported by Rappler, an independent news outlets.

When voters fail to keep lowlifes like Duterte, Putin, or Trump out of power they get lawless gangsterism and corruption.

If some shithead claims "only I can solve the country's problems" then it's probable that this person is one of the country's problems.

[disregardcanon]

thinking about a npmd characters yellowjackets au and oh boy it's fun

okay so the premise is, the hatchetfield high school nighthawk football team is going to nationals. i'm pretty sure that doesn't exist for american high school football but we're suspending disbelief.

solomon lauter is trying to build up goodwill with the community for this election cycle, so not only does he charter a private plane for the football team, he makes his daughter go with. HE doesn't have time to go to seattle and it's not like most people will see him there anyway, but if he puts his daughter on the plane with them and says oh look my daughter is so kind and supportive! she's taking time away from HER own schoolwork and HER own life to support our fighting nighthawks! what a kind and involved citizen she is!

and then of course he pressures her teachers to just. let her off the hook for activities in classes that week. because she's such a kiiinnnddd person who's supporting the football team.

richie, of course, is essential for an excursion such as this. he's zeke the fighting nighthawk! he's on that plane. ruth has some overlap with misty quigley that i find interesting, so we're making her the equipment manager. this is half to get her on the plane and half because i think she'd use that as an excuse to be a pervert. like oooohhh i'm so sorry! i didn't think there would be boys CHANGING in here right now! myyyy mistake.

max and the football team and brenda and the cheer squad are all there. now however do we get our dearest spankoffski on that plane? (ruth says that she needs help with equipment management duties and pete's already the salutorian of the class... so she's able to sell him just missing this second to last week of school alright to the teachers. he doesn't really WANT to, but steph, who he's been bonding with since she got him to help her cheat and then actually helped her study... asks him to. because she says she's going to be bored out of her mind without someone to hang out with... and he's only HUMAN, okay?)

now how do we get grace temperance chastity on a plane full of horny teenagers for an activity that she doesn't do? why making her the president of the FCA (fellowship of christian athletes) of course! she is the self-assigned chaperone of such an important and potentially very horny and drug-ridden activity in such a den of sin (seattle). SHE is the only thing standing between the students of hatchetfield high and total anarchy. as valedictorian (peter, if you just applied yourself and maybe went to chuuurrrcchhh you might have beaten me! grace will you just shut up-) she is not worried about her grades in this penultimate week of school. oh BOY was she wrong.

they of course crash in the canadian rockies. the coaches die, and we're left with absolute fucking anarchy. everyone save our favorite quintet listen to max for awhile as he dictates the ways that heeee, max jagerman, think things should be run. it's bad! it doesn't work! they're gonna fucking die!!!!!!!

jagerman is more worried about how to keep his power and where steph keeps disappearing to than figuring out how to stay alive in case of... not getting rescued.

ruth has GAD and is just freaking the fuck out in the corner, richie is doing the same, and pete is trying to figure out. how the fuck to survive in case of no rescue coming. steph's on team I Think We Should Prepare, Jesus Christ! and grace enjoys survival situations so she's over here. she also thinks that the act of god might be that they're stuck out here and have to build a new jerusalem (tehehe)

the combined powers of steph's charisma and kindness, pete's problem-solving, and grace's intensity and sureness in herself, they convince the rest of the group that they found a safer spot... a lake, where they might find water and food and not die here by the plane while waiting for a rescue that might not come.

the rest of the group listens, showing the first crack in max jagerman's power, and he has a very ugly blowup but eventually follows.

he IS going to die out there. he IS going to be the first to die out there. and they are going to eat him :) but it's also max jagerman who's in the narrative role of jackie. so he's gonna haunt this fucking narrative! OHHHHH YEAAAAAAHHHHHHH

other tidbits: max deciding to for real pursue grace is mainly about trying to break her power base because he's pissed she's the one everyone's listening to now, but he also... does think that's hot. :3

grace IS going full girl-prophet. lottie tempered her girl-prophet ways in season 2 because she realized that things were going wrong... grace thinks she's god's anointed so she is not going to do that. not at all.

stephanie HAS got a gun. a hunting she will go. a hunting she will take pete. (we're out here starving in the woods and you think that pete and i shouldn't... sleep together? with fucking CONDOMS!?!?! what is your prOBLEM? he's a loser and you're COOL! we're not in fucking high school, max! grow! up!) they're getting some of that Narrative Conflict With The Superstitions that defines natalie's character.

ruth WOULD find the porno mags she WOULD show everyone and when grace tries to confiscate them for Jesus Reasons ruth would find one to squirrel away just for herself. i am also assigning ruth butcher because i think she could handle the guts, and also.. i'm sorry the idea of ruth throwing girls' nights with jagerman's corpse in the freezing cold meat shed just works in my brain.

i'm gonna give richie van's How Do We Make Sense of All These Times I Almost Died and this ABSOLUTE Bullshit!??!! plot line, along with assigning him group morale and Person Who Tells the Stories.

when it gets to the card pull grace WILL be rigging it to get rid of "dirty dudes". jason gets got first. and grace keeps giving lautski and ruth cryptic warnings about cleaning up their sexual act or else and they're just like hahaha i'm in danger...

somehow grace thinks that this is all compatible with her christianity! i love her <3

[spacetimeaccordionfolder]

The stormlight archive but it's starkid/tcb

this is basically all hatchetfield, solve it squad, and a little avpm and spies are forever. I am copy and pasteing from my notes app so it's not very well explained. I can explain more if need be.

Hatchetfield:

What if tomorrow comes- Renarin Really nearly anything Hannah that is Renarin

The musical zombies from tgwdlm as the Fused, especially "Join us and Die" ending.

"Hey kaladin want to join the company softball league" "no." "Oh well it'll be fun" "yeah… I don't want to though"

"Feast or Famine" and "Hatchettown" the Thrill and Alethi

hatchettown is also that one coalition meeting in Oathbringer

Solomon Lauter as Gavilar

"I am trying to have an intelligent conversation with you. In other words, shut up."

Cursed thought: "don't be friwtened you're my bestest buddywud!" Odium to Dalinar

I really want to have "kick my head" somewhere in here. Thinking Adolin or Shallan and Kaladin pre friendship??

the very brief fight between Adolin and Kaladin on the training grounds or Shallan and Kaladin in the chasms.

Lift trying to grab the Kings Drop as Hannah in Do You want to Play

Bridgemen having to search the chasms : "it's like I have another shitty paying job on top of my already shitty paying job"

"Oh I've met God. He had nothing nice to say about you" Moash with Elhokar

If I Loved You - Dalinar and Navani in the Way of Kings

"sure I'm a sapiosexual you're an intellectual but I cut my lover losses when I can" Dalinar

Shallan as that Grace Chasity line "Me and Kabasl [what's his name] / Adolin? In carnal embrace? I'd never think of it"

wait better "kabasl asked if he could hold my books for me" jasnah: I didn't know ardents did that sort of thing

Avpm "So you came back?" "I came home" Dalinar and Navani.

"Turns out killing people doesn't make them like you. It just makes people dead" Moash.

Or Amaram, considering his whole "I made you!" fight/ conversation with Kaladin in Oathbringer.

Spies are forever: Not hatchetfield but torture tango and Moash and Kaladin. Owen's lyrics don't quite fit Moash but Curt's lyrics Mostly fit Kaladin.

Alt - DMA's Vyre and Curt's Moash in the ending section "I've been waiting so damn long for this" "it's not supposed to go like this" do you see what I mean

more on that the part where the dma and curt's lines over lap- Moash's different views of what he's doing in ROW "To show you the horror of staying alive" at the same time as "doesn't even matter if I killed my best friend" do you understand.

Shallan and Kaladin - "so we're just" "Friends?? :)"

Solve it squad- Shallan as Gwen trying to ask if Keith (Adolin) will be at the reunion

Renarin explaining visions as Esther's monologue about information.

also at the end with "Uh oh here come the neurons!"

that monologue also applies to other truthwatchers

Adolin as Keith saying he killed the demonic apostle (Sadeas) a while ago "Oh I killed Sadeas months ago… He was jaywalking and I hit him with my car. Accidental manslaughter not a big deal! Besides he was jaywalking so two crimes at the same time kind of cancel each other out . . . So! He was laying there dying and bleeding out in my arms and he told me everything. . . and then he died and I put him in my dad's yard."

The whole Esther intervention scene with scraggs as bridge 4 talking to teft and or Navani talking to young Dalinar "Ambien! I'm on it!" Teft Also the "nice to meet you I'm addicted to drugs" collapses with Kaladin or Rock as Scraggs trying to grab him as he falls.

Esther's "a boyfriend with a girlfriend" - is this Shallan/Adolin/Kaladin or Navani/Dalinar/Evi. Better idea!! It's actually a "girlfriend with a boyfriend" so Raboniel with Navani and Dalinar Yeah I like the Raboniel idea better.

"I am a scholar at Urithiru. I have a routine, [don't know what to have for home with a refrigerator], girlfriend with a husband, and enough void light to last me through a desolation. And I am happy, alright?"

"It's all going to go the way those 3 writers in the sky demand it!" average rosharan finding out that there's 3 shards on the planet (line is paraphrased)

[caltropspress]

Spittin' Wicked Randomness with Small Professor

or, Bizarre Rides II the Pharthest Cyde; 

or, A beginning doesn’t need an ending, only a portal

Make your body a temple. Make your home a shrine. You are a God, live like one!

—Timothy Leary, “You Are A God, Act Like One!” (1967)

Psycholinguistic structural confusion leads to insidious beat wrecking missions and continuous speech recognition, prescription, vocal anecdotal object impressions…. Synergistic sample arrangements.

—Jungle Brothers, “Trials of an Era” (1993)

EXORDIUM

I long for the anonymity the internet once provided. Everyone was faceless. Vacant visages—not even an avatar. I’ll often try to remanufacture this premillennial experience for myself. I deliberately avoid seeking images to accompany the names I see on the screen. Many people nowadays—most people, the writer bemoaned—make this nearly impossible. Vanity of vanities—all is vanity! But I do try, I do. I look away; I increase the scroll speed; I squint to blur and becloud. Like Iris DeMent desired, I try to let the mystery be. On Rakim’s plodding “The Mystery (Who Is God?),” the God MC suggests you can solve the mystery if you realize the answer revolves around your history. But I need the mystery to stay intact. So many years on, and I’m still figuring out da mystery of chessboxin’, looking all the way back to when Wu-Tang was in black hoodies on the man-sized chessboard—cloaked rooks shouting peace to all the crooks with bad looks. “You cannot hook up a 100 million years of sensory-somatic revelation to your puny, trivial personality chess board,” so says Timothy Leary. I’m inclined to agree.

Aside from his music, I’ve known Small Professor—Jamil Marshall, if we split the veil—only through his words, through his text on my chosen screens: pixelated patterns of character images. But late last year, I stumbled across an image of him appearing not unlike a cloaked rook. Draped in a black robe, Small Professor appeared beside his Wrecking Crew brethren as a Sith Lord. The occasion was a Halloween performance at Cratediggaz Records in South Philly. Small Professor’s face was hidden, and so I could fuck with this type of qualified exposure. His shrouded appearance elevated my intrigue rather than diminished it. This was no flashbulb, soul-capturing, photographic evidence of existence; this was no selfie self-absorption; this was simply some spooky shit. 

Of the many messages that Small Professor measures out into the ether[net], the ones that have frequently caught my attention make some mention of hallucinogenic drugs. Here again, we have [e]strange bedfellows—that being technology and drugs. Twinned conceptualizations: drugs as teknology; teknology as drugs [scanned as tricknology, too, two]. Programming in the Silicon [Uncanny] Valley with the capital-I Internet reformatted as a Third [Eye]nternet. You scream as it enters your bloodstream. “Build, elevate to a higher comprehension, / Let your third eye rise above evil interventions,” if we’re properly tuned in to the Jungle Brothers’ “Troopin’ on the Down Low.” Teknology and drukqs might be more familiar than we (Eye) thought.

As we know from Jesse Jarnow, psychedelic saints were known as “heads,” which, underground hip-hop stalwarts of a certain age will wreckonize as an honorific for their own dedication to a way of life and listening. Stewart Brand, author and publisher of the Whole Earth Guide, would later speak of computers and online communities as the most auspicious collective force “since psychedelics.” Hua Hsu brings this to my total attention, but with my full cooperation (word to Def Squad), so there’s a few more things I’d like to mention. Computer science research centers saw networking and information sharing as devout acts “borrowed directly from Deadhead communalism.” Again, not dissimilar from the tape trading so crucial to the spread of this thing of ours called hip-hop. John Morrison writes of how “hip-hop owes much of its early development and propagation to an underground economy,” to the “recording and circulation of cassette tapes of park jams, live battles, DJ sets, and radio broadcasts” that brought a burgeoning and insurgent art form to the masses. The backchannels and clandestine conduits that made this dissemination possible suggest a secret organization with figures like Geechie Dan and Elvis “The Tapemaster” Moreno as its stewards. These cross-cultural, cross-generational connections exist despite Jerry Garcia’s abhorrence of rap as a legitimate musical form [see below: “Deadhead” diss-poem]. Small Professor centers himself within the radial lines of this complex mandala. His production isn’t strictly for the psych heads, or the hip-hop heads—his musick is For the Headz at Company Z. 

Small Professor understands the possibility and catalytic practices of rappers, much like William S. Burroughs did: “With computerized tape recorders & sensitive throat microphones we could attain insight into the nature of human speech & turn the word into a useful tool instead of an instrument of control in hands of a misinformed and misinforming press.” Somewhere you can hear the echoing call of Newwwspaaaaperrrr from the  Jungle Brothers’ “Book of Rhyme Pages,” a song with a prophetic register, a song that reads. 

In Burroughs’ essay “Academy 23: A Deconditioning,” which appeared in the San Francisco Oracle (c. 1966-1968), the beatific junky proposes that “academies be established where young people will learn to get really high…high as the Zen master is high when his arrow hits a target in the dark…high as the Karate master when he smashes a brick with his fist…high…weightless…in space.” As high as Wu-Tang get, I might add, Allah allow us pop this shit. Burroughs believes it’s “[t]ime to look beyond this cop rotten planet.” The students in Academy 23 “would receive a basic course consisting of training in the non-chemical disciplines of Yoga, Karate, prolonged sense withdrawal, stroboscopic lights, the constant use of tape recorders to break down verbal association lines. Techniques now being used for control of thought could instead be used for liberation.”

Small Professor is already present in such an academy, his “lab”—be it Albert Hofmann’s Sandoz Laboratory or RZA’s antediluvian lab. Like Bobby Digital, Small Professor experiences the “Lab Drunk,” the studio stupor: Stumbled into the lab half-drunk—honey-dipped, stinking blunts. The neural activity of Madlib’s psilocybin; the mind expansion of MKUltramagnetic; outlaw practices: tripping on LSD or sampling on an MPC—same diff, really. “The experience,” Leary wrote in the East Village Other, “must be communicated, harmonized with the greater flow.”

PART I

[December 23, 2023 | 9:10 PM] 

Small Professor:  Ah, fuck. I was supposed to plan this out. Just took 2 tabs to the dome officially at 9:00 PM. At some point tonight I will be looking around at my room like I just got here from outer space.

[10:14 PM]

Caltrops Press:  Where’s your head at right now?

SP:  Difficult to see. Always in motion is the right now (to paraphrase Yoda). Right now I am listening to “Right Now” (HAIM, live).

CP:  Are you alone?

SP:  I believe that to be true, but we can never be 100% sure, can we? I don’t presume to speak for you of course, but I’d wager that you may have, at least once, considered that The Truman Show could be real life, after all. According to this, though, yes:

CP:  Somebody once said, “Every day is Truman Show. True men show their face and expose flesh…” Do you think acid allows you to see beyond this reality?

SP:  No. It allows me to see this one more clearly. Time, or whatever it is that we collectively agree is this forward feeling momentum, seems to slow. So you (me) see the same things that you see everyday, but that your brain kinda knocks aside after a while. Things look new.

CP:  Are you typically playing music when you trip? Does the music slow down? Not literally. But do you process it differently? And, of course, I’m curious if you ever try to make music in this state?

SP:  I like making music that barely makes sense in whatever state I’m in at that time, so when I come back to it I’m even more confused. Like leaving yourself a drunk voicemail, but on purpose. I’m generally high—it’s just a matter of how. And to the last question: Do or do not, there is no try. 

PremRock:  I think [Small Professor's] work has benefited from discovering [hallucinogens]. He’s pretty passionate about ’em! I think it’s made him more expansive and he’s more eager to try far out ideas. He was always psychedelic in nature, but this just provided more of a conduit.

Zilla Rocca:  Even without shroomz he always had a bugged-out sense of melody, rhythm, and layered samples. Smalls has always been a seeker. We connect like that. We love unearthing old rap to learn from it while appreciating all the new styles.

When brothers start buggin’, I bug the most.

—Jungle Brothers, “Simple As That”

CP:  I’ve never fucked with psychedelics, so I generally have either a romantic or sensational notion of what it must be like. Have you ever had any experiences where things went really weird, or have you ritualized it enough so that you know what to expect? Like it’s become yoga or meditation for you by this point. 

SP:  Yeah, it’s pretty meditative. The first time I had acid was so surreal that nothing else could dream to compare.

CP:  When was that? Do you still remember the details?

SP:  Well, first of all, I couldn’t have started such a journey without such caring guides, for they did not have to take time from their lives to explain how much to take, how much not to, to be mindful of the kind of media you’re ingesting while in that space—like nothing too scary and shit like that. They specifically said, “Maybe watch a comedy tonight. Something on the lighter side of things.”

CP:  I’ve heard that’s important, having a guide.

SP:  So I believe I initially started off with the smallest amount I could take, cuz I didn’t know any better. But the effect was immediate. I remember going outside and just standing in an empty parking spot in front of my crib and watching it rain. It was night already. I was like, Wow, this is the best rain I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot of rain. And then I went out to get more tree. On my way home though, so…okay. How do I explain this? So, my Lyft driver on my way back to my house, he and I strike up a conversation. At the end of our talk, which included a phone call to someone of high stature in the 5% community who spoke to me directly, I embarked on the path to knowledge of self.

CP:  Like, sincerely? Or only until you stopped being high?

SP:  Well, I know now it started there. But I’ve always known that I am god, in some way. It’s just that, after you find out, what do you do with that knowledge of your own god-dom? That’s one thing I can appreciate about psychedelics. It’s like, Alright, well, if I know my brain is capable of such a thought or a piece of music in this one state, then I should be able to get back to it.

CP:  I get that. Like, “I’ve done this before, so I can surely do it again.” But, for so many artists, they struggle to capture whatever it is. I know a lot of times I’ll look back on something I’ve written and then ask myself, How did that even happen? Because the process—the making of something—is often so unconscious. 

Curly Castro:  Smalls calls me after the fact (bka “a trip”) and regales me with a cornucopia of odd and odder occurrences. I will say that one time [redacted] and that’s when [redacted] and what could say after [redacted]. I just told him, Say Less.

CP:  How long will this trip last? You took two tabs at 9 PM, and it’s been 4.5 hours.

SP:  Oh, I’ll be up for a while. Night hasn’t even begun.

CP:  I need to crash because I’ve got to be up early. But keep dropping whatever random thoughts you have here. We’ll call this Part 1.

SP:  Fantastic, Pt. 1

SP:  “God is never small.” Those are the words that man said, and my reply was, “...I am? I am. Ohhhh. I am.”

[Small Professor links me to a video showing Donald Lawrence & The Tri-City Singers performing “I Am God.”]

SP:  Also, I’m quite proud of the fact that my government name [Jamil], oddly Arabic considering how Christian my dear mother is, quite literally translates to “Beautiful Ruler,” with my first name actually meaning “god” in certain places (“Jamil” is one of Allah’s 99 aliases—I found that out earlier this year). My mom HATES THIS BOYEEEEE. She thought it just meant “handsome.”

SP:  Words mean things but don’t have to.

SP:  [Denmark Vessey & Scud One’s Cult Classic] (This is my official trip soundtrack.) “Throw bricks at him if you can’t build wit ’em, / Whoever marquee, top bill, I’ll Kill Bill ’em.”

SP:  It’s 8:23 AM. Still trippin’.

PART II

[December 24, 2023 | 9:15 AM] 

CP:  You awake? If so, talk to me about “Dettol.”

SP:  I feel like that beat was made along with a few others in that same span of time with Roc Marci in mind. Not only in terms of the drum un-emphasis but also being intentional about giving an MC room to operate, to breathe. On Midnight Marauders, both “Electric Relaxation” and “Lyrics To Go” are special beats because they operate within the parameters of 4/4 time but the bar lengths aren’t the typical 8. On “Dettol,” you have mostly 8-bar loops until it shifts to 12 for one measure, and then it starts over. (Not sure about my beat math there.) So the Armand Hammer guys had to each approach that in their own way. Couldn’t have drawn it up any better. “Numbers look crooked like King Kong shook it.”

CP:  (That’s your second Slum Village reference in this convo.) Paraffin was the first album I heard by them, so that beat would’ve been the third Armand Hammer song I heard overall. And that “giving them space” idea definitely benefited me—a guy who hadn’t been paying attention for years, specifically because lyrics weren’t grabbing me like they used to. 

The psychedelic experience is not just an internal, private affair. The “turned on” person realizes that he is not an isolated entity, a separate social ego, but rather one transient energy process hooked up with the energy dance around him.

—Timothy Leary, “You Are A God, Act Like One!”

CP:  How did you originally connect with woods and ELUCID? 

SP:  I may have been aware of ELUCID as early as 2005 by way of his Tanya Morgan/Lessondary/Okayplayer fam associations, but 2007 when he dropped Smash & Grab is when I instantly knew, Ah, this guy’s one of the best rappers ever. By 2009, that became, The best ever. That was the Myspace era, so we connected on there musically but also on some homie shit. We were working on a song of his in like 2011 or ’12 for the BIRD EAT SNAKE mixtape, “Dumb Out.” 

ELUCID:  BIRD EAT SNAKE is a whole lifetime ago. I had just met woods. I was also just beginning to develop the Cult Favorite record with AM Breakups. I was super charged creatively and was fortunate enough to have a lot of space to develop that. “Dumb Out” was such a strange beat that made my pen move immediately. Nothing overthought or drawn out. Just really chunky, vibed out, and punchy energy. I just began to acquire these attributes during the making of that tape. 

CP:  “Don’t eat the brown acid…”

SP:  Originally woods was supposed to be on there. I distinctly remember this being one of the first times I heard him because…okay. He recorded a verse on this beat and ELUCID sent his acapella but no reference to guide from. And I’m very good at matching up acapellas, so the fact that I could make no sense of his flow—where to place it in the mix—always stuck out to me. 

CP:  Is that why he didn’t end up on the song?

SP:  I don’t believe so. That would be funny if true, though. Because it feels like I have more music with those two than what tangibly exists. 

CP:  Also funny because, as their audience has grown—exponentially of late—the “discourse” returns to whether woods raps “on beat” or not.

SP:  Once I understood that the question of if he’s rapping on- or off-beat is the wrong one—when it should be, Why do I hear this as off-beat? How do I hear what he heard to deliver it that way?—that’s when it clicked for me.

CP:  Was “My Blank Verse” your first beat for them officially?

SP:  That was the very first song me and ELUCID made together. Don’t think it was for anything in particular, initially.

CP:  Got it. So it wasn’t approached as an Armand Hammer track, per se. Just ended up on an AH project. When did you connect with ELUCID in person?

SP:  I wanna say I met him in person at a show in Philly, at the Khyber. But the time I remember the most is when I was in Brooklyn with him (this actually might have been when we met up to record “My Blank Verse”), and he showed me the block where B.I.G. grew up. I like to imagine my power levels increasing on that day due to the residual holy hip-hop energy on the premises.

CP:  That’s dope. I’m surprised to hear you recorded the track in person. Both because so much is done remotely now—the producer and the MC separate—and also because ELUCID, I’ve read, is pretty private when it comes to recording. Maybe that came later, though.

SP:  Yes, that did come later to my knowledge. But also, I’m special. 

ELUCID:  This was the era when Willie Green’s studio was still in his apartment. I had just started recording with Backwoodz, and “My Blank Verse” was indeed recorded that afternoon. I usually don’t have people hanging in the studio while I record, but I think my comfort level with Jamil speaks to the ease I feel in our dealings.

SP:  I also remember going to meet ELUCID in New York specifically to get a flash drive that had he and woods’s verses for the Sean Price “Midnight Rounds” song they all should have been on together. His internet was down.

CP:  Why didn’t that track come to fruition?

SP:  woods’s hook was an interpolation of Apache’s “A Fight” (because, midnight rounds). The label was like, “Oh nah!” Word for word! Bar for bar! Sean P would have appreciated it.

CP:  Jersey’s own.

billy woods:  At that point in my “career,” I was kinda disappointed to get cut but not surprised. I guess I had a long history being snubbed regularly by peers and institutions in the indie music scene, so it just seemed like, Yeah, more of the same. I was pleasantly surprised to be invited, and unpleasantly unsurprised to be disinvited.

SP:  So, kept ELUCID’s verse and subbed in my man Castle, making this song the spiritual successor to a track I did on me and Guilty Simpson’s Highway Robbery, also featuring those two. Things fall apart, but they also come together. How they’re supposed to.

CP:  What’s the story behind “No Grand Agenda”? Also, where are we at in terms of the trip?

SP:  It’s slowing but at a light jog now. The beat for “No Grand Agenda” was originally part of an album I did made up entirely of exactly 1-minute long songs called You’re Killin’ Me Smalls. There were 60 songs. ELUCID was one of the only rappers I sent it to, specifically because it wasn’t “supposed” to be for raps. I had an ex who stomped out my computer and hard drives one day, including the original files for this project. All except for that one.

SP:  “Are we sure there’s no grand agenda?” And ELUCID took my stems and arranged it how he heard it. It was meant to loop in on itself, like the other songs on that project. It was originally named “Kelvin Spacey,” and I’m sure I’m misremembering but I wanna say “Dettol” was originally named “Kelvin Duckworth,” if only to verify Zilla Rocca’s guess that I was the producer in question that had sent woods a beat named after his favorite Portland Trailblazer.

CP:  So you’re saying, like any good friend, ELUCID jacked that beat?

SP:  Oh, I remember him asking to rap on it, perhaps for nothing in particular at the time. But who am I to deny the goat? And it’s obvious to me that this is how it was supposed to go; ain’t nothing coincidental or accidental, dunn.

ELUCID:  The making of “No Grand Agenda” was a cornerstone for a foundational era of style for me. I felt like I made a song that seamlessly weaved both verse and chorus in a way that felt absolutely hypnotic. It was a new belt for me, this sense of control. Small Pro was one of the first producers to trust me enough to send his beat stems. During this period is where I began producing more of my own music, so I also wanted to arrange the song how I heard it. Thankfully, Jamil dug it. 

CP:  What do you like about ELUCID’s rapping?

SP:  Some of it is the voice. Some of it is the things that he’s saying. But mostly, my favorite rappers all share this in common: they can get busy on any style of beat, any tempo, any sound, any Small Pro time puzzle. I was listening back to his older stuff a little while ago and heard him doing whole specific styles on one song, and never doing it again. The versace, versace flow, in particular. It felt like he was bored at the time and peered ahead three years to see how everyone was rapping, came back, did it, and that was that.

ELUCID:  [Working with Small Pro] is a special thing. Something that I’m still exploring. I think a Small Pro x ELUCID tape would be ill. Knowing his attention and care in the translation of my bars and flows is the type of partnership real MCs aspire to. It just hasn’t happened yet!

SP:  He and woods both have had a way of inspiring me through specific lines. “Go where the drummer commanded me,” for example. It’s me. I’m the drummer. And woods, a few songs before “Dettol” says, “Beg producers to take out the drums,” which he said was meant to be a joke, but I took it literally and started making beats that could exist with or without drums equally. 

All of my Backwoodz-related songs are credited as “Small Pro,” not “Small Professor.” I was on shrooms the week after my birthday earlier this year when I realized those are now different entities. Especially because woods was once like, “Wait, you did ‘No Grand Agenda’?” And I was like, “I did….I think? No, that was Small Pro.”

The last full project I—or I—did before moving back to Philly was a reimagining of A Jawn Supreme 1-3 from the Small Pro remix perspective. It was my—or my—first time remixing my own music, hearing things without the drums I put on them originally. It was an enlightening time. I hear voices at the fortress.

CP:  I think it’s rare for a producer to be so attentive to what the MCs are saying, let alone to look at what they’re saying as guideposts. The idea of a differentiation between “Small Pro” and “Small Professor” is interesting. Where does the Small Pro path ultimately lead? Into this larger Armand Hammer universe?

SP:  I feel like when I started out making beats my natural inclination has been to make things as busy as possible. Small Pro is like, What if I take away instead of adding? Or, How can I still have a million things going on in the track but it sounds bare or like, not done? “My girl say this beat sound unfinished, / I said, ‘Yeah, that’s where my voice go.’”

SP:  (Not sure when I passed out. I knew the crash was inevitable.)

[December 24, 2023 | 6:47 PM]

SP:  To your point about it leading to the AH-verse, that may be part of it too. They’ve both inspired me as rappers but also their production decisions and choices—ELUCID quite literally, as his production has always confounded me, but woods too. Two producers who have had just as much an influence on me as anybody I worshiped when first starting out are August Fanon and Messiah Musik—modern legends. Fanon can make beats for literally anyone. But Messiah’s natural style is one that both Hammers can sound great on from the get-go, whereas I have to consciously get myself into that mode. They also both sometimes do odd and potentially challenging things regarding time in their beats, as I do, but in their own way.

CP:  Do I remember seeing you mention somewhere that you still use Fruity Loops and Cool Edit?

SP:  Yup. I wanna say since 2008. Well, technically since 2003. But I’ve been using the same versions of those two programs for a minute now. Still using Windows XP, too. It’s comforting to me. And ridiculous. Like Rasheed Wallace faithfully wearing Air Force 1s his whole playing career.

CP:  I love that. Some real “if it ain’t broke don’t fix it” ethos. Any rules for yourself when it comes to sampling? Strictly vinyl or are you irreligious when it comes to source format?

SP:  98% of my beats are made from mp3s. The remaining fraction is YouTube or some other source. Haven’t used vinyl for sampling purposes in many years but ironically try to make my beats sound like vinyl. As far as rules, everything I thought was law were things I later learned the musicians I look(ed) up to sneered at. 

CP:  Ain’t that the truth. Very little is sacred when it comes to process, I find. That’s a lot of ego. What efforts do you make to have the beats “sound” like vinyl?

SP:  On “Dettol” is my go-to record crackle sample. That’s also in 98% of my beats, and something I specifically remember was like, corny or something, but—ah, here it is: Slum Village reference #3 to fulfill the rule—on “Hold Tight” Dilla uses a needle pop as a snare bolster as well as the accompanying static. It’s there for added depth and texture but also can act as a counter-rhythm to your percussion. Reality features an inherent level of static in the form of cosmic microwave background radiation around us at all times. Art imitates life.

[December 25th, 2023 | 11:41 AM]

CP:  “No Christmas this Christmas…”

CP:  I always like to think of the story—apocryphal or not—of Evil Dee using bacon grease hissing on the stove for extra crackle.

SP:  The turntable hum is freakable too. Makes for a great bass sound but also something you can feel.

CP:  Do you ever have acid trips accidentally interfere with other obligations? I imagine you’re always planning for a blocked out number of hours. But best laid plans…

SP:  There’s a recovery period the next day, so that can be interesting to navigate. But yeah, I usually am in my room avoiding external interactions on whatever kind of trip it is. In my experience with acid, you gain more control over your “self,” and shrooms is the opposite, where your sense of self and awareness is reduced. Go home, brain—you’re drunk.

CP:  The loss of control is something I just can’t handle. Have you ever found yourself in a situation on shrooms where you emerge later, like, “Damn, that was a bad look”?

SP:  Yeah. My first time taking an 8th to the face (I ate it on a burger) after getting to and past the point of looking in a mirror and not recognizing my face for a sec. I later came upstairs and my BM had made some, like, lasagna? And it was so good that I’m just there demolishing it over the stove—like I was Garfield. Her friend walked in the kitchen at that moment and I should have been mortified, but in that moment there was only delicious lasagna.

CP:  Real Gs move in silence like lasagna…

CP:  Listening to Terror Management on Xmas morning. Is “Marlow” your beat/song with the most synchronicity between you and the rapper?

SP:  It’s up there. That album is interesting to me because of the repeating motif of having two beats from different producers for one song—always thought that was cool. The intro on that beat had the spoken part added after the fact, so it did really feel like some good ole fashioned teamwork. 

CP:  And specifically the serendipity of you naming the beat for your late father, correct? I imagine an artist won’t typically name their song after the name of the beat. Was there a reason you named that beat, out of so many, after your father?

SP:  Originally it was a play off of the artist’s name I sampled (a lot of my song titles are born this way), but I can also say it makes me think of my father’s dark side. He was one of the happiest, generally cheerful people I’ve ever known, but I’ve seen him go into green belt mode when pushed too far—only a few times, but it was like, Oh snap. 

woods closed his set with “Marlow” at a Philly show last year shortly after my pops passed, and it’s one of the nicest gestures anyone has done for me. I was at the bar crying like a newborn fucking baby, god.

billy woods:  That was a special moment for me, too. I really love that song. Pro and I have not worked that much together, but a lot of what we have done is really dope. He has produced a handful of Armand Hammer songs but they all hit, in my opinion. But [“Marlow”] is a song I really love and has come in and out of my setlist, but always makes it back in. The fact that it happened at that moment, and that it had that extra meaning for him was an honor for me.

SP:  That album [Terror Management] as a whole has always intrigued me because of the repeating motif of two producers each having a beat on one track (this happens on some Armand Hammer albums too, now that I think about it, but it’s a different effect when it’s two MCs on each beat instead of one). 

CP:  Lots of doubles—the name, the sides of your father, “Small Pro” versus “Small Professor,” two beats, etc. Double-consciousness, perhaps. Not necessarily in a Du Bois sense; more so in the sense of realities. 

SP:  I’m all about man’s rugged duality.

CP:  Did you and your father connect over music?

SP:  Oh, absolutely. Our music rooms were down the hall from one another when I got started in college, and over the years he would start wandering in to hear what I was working on. Eventually, as he started transitioning into working in DAWs, he would ask for advice with things he knew I would be able to help with. He loved showing me whatever he was working on, and I knew he valued my opinion as one of the people responsible for a lot of my music edumacation in the first place. 

[December 26, 2023 | 12:26 AM]

CP:  Would you reciprocate and show him what you were working on? Did he look upon hip-hop favorably?

SP:  He was from probably the last generation that didn’t grow up with hip-hop, and by and large it was probably offensive to him on two fronts: as a pretty religious dude the language and subject matter was too much, and musically all he heard were the loops, repetition, and sounds he loved and recognized being used all over again in an inferior, simple way. (I found a lot of the samples from Mobb Deep’s second album amongst his tape collection.) But over the years, as he saw how seriously I took it—as well as being impressed as a person who played 7-8 instruments by what I was able to do with two computer programs and mp3s—he was able to appreciate it as an artform (at least, the production side) even if it wasn’t quite his thing. 

He’s also half the reason I’ve always been enamored with non-common time signatures, a key feature in a lot of the music he dug—that Weather Report, Yellowjackets, Return to Forever, Herbie Hancock, Steely Dan, late ’70s, early ’80s chamber. My mother was more into “traditional” jazz and classical. They shared gospel personally—and professionally—as working church musicians. On my first album, there’s a 5/4 beat that I remember excitedly showing him because it took me forever to get the chops lined up in an un-choppy fashion, and there’s a switch on there between drum pattern grooves much like what you would find on a jazz fusion-type song. I felt like if I could impress him, I must be doing something right. The last time we hung out before the cancer did him in, he was showing me how far he had gotten learning how to play drums, and I got on the sticks and tried to replay the patterns on some of my beats (emphasis on tried). The “trouble don’t last” jawn, in particular, to which he responded by telling me I was already a drummer. Memories live. 

The times I saw his email pop up in my Bandcamp purchase notifications, I figured it was just a proud dad supporting his firstborn…nah, he was actually listening. His favorite project was the album I did along with my group Them That Do, which was my version of Madlib’s Shades of Blue on the beat tip. Besides digging the actual sound (updated jazz rap), I think he was most taken by the fact that he couldn’t quite tell what was sampled from where and that I had made all these sound from sometimes vastly different records seem like they were supposed to be together, and the beats made sense from the perspective of a person who understood music theory.

CP:  “I said, Well Daddy, don’t you know that things go in cycles.” Beautiful that you guys got to share those moments.

SP:  (I even said the part about two beats on Terror Management twice.)

SP:  My brother (the actual drummer of the family) just sent me “Spain” by Chick Corea, one of our dad’s favorites. Speaking of my brother—who I credit with teaching me how to program drums and how to count bars and all that—one time we were on our way to church with my dad, and Steely Dan’s “Black Cow” was on. Pops started to try to explain the lyrics, what a “black cow” was, why they were very high…all that. 

So a few years back I was proud to send [my father] “Gas Drawls” from Operation Doomsday because this story has always cracked me up, but also that’s a great-ass sample chop (and one that he appreciated, as opposed to the time my broski and I were buggin’ out over the beat for Jay-Z’s “Kingdom Come” and he was like, Is nobody doing anything original anymore?). 

[December 28, 2023 | 12:56 AM]

CP:  You should’ve sent him Lord Tariq and Peter Gunz after “Gas Drawls” and been like, “See.” As a drummer, does your brother fall more in line with your musical tastes or your father’s? 

SP:  I’d definitely say my brother has a much more diverse and varied musical vocabulary/understanding/tastes than I. We both grew up hearing, and then eventually listening, to rap. Twenty-three to twenty-four years ago when the neo-soul era was beginning, we were smack-dab in the middle of it, in the literal eye of the storm. Things Fall Apart, Like Water For Chocolate, Black on Both Sides, Reflection Eternal were just coming out. Musiq Soulchild was on the radio. Voodoo (which I didn’t get into until much later when I listened to it riding through Zanesville, Ohio countryside in 2007 [it’s still “Brown Sugar” over everything, though]) was everywhere. But there was also his actual school music education from primary to college, as well as listening to people from all instinctive travels and paths of rhythm, so he knows it all—or because he’d be like, “Shiiii, no I don’t!—a bit about a bit.”

I keep saying “my brother” when I have two. My younger bro is the drummer but my older brother’s tape collection was everything in high school (actually, even before that I was stealing his It Was Written tape when I was in seventh grade to play on the way to school). Being eleven years older, he was in high school when the great 90s east coast revolution was happening, and his Nike shoebox archives reflected the sounds of the time. As far as his tastes go, if DMX was still with us and dropped an album today, he’d get it without a second thought.

[December 28, 2023 | 11:10 PM]

CP:  Sorry to trail off. Got a bit busy on my side. Would you be down to hit me with a handful of your most interesting beat names at the moment?

CP:  This is art.

SP:  The “Will Smith as…” series is new. They all slap.

[Small Professor posts a since-deleted message on X quoting Werner Herzog talking about stealing a 35mm camera from a Munich film school. The quote: “I don’t consider it theft. It was just a necessity. I had some sort of natural right to this tool. If you need air to breathe, and you are locked in a room, you have to take a chisel and hammer and break down a wall. It is your absolute right.”]

CP:  I love this. “A natural right” to make something. Like a compulsion within. (I also love Herzog, so I appreciate the anecdote.) Do you remember where you first acquired that cracked Fruity Loops (and maybe Cool Edit, too)? If I think back, I probably had a friend hand me a disk, a CD-RW, back in like 1999 or something. God knows what sketchy site he downloaded them from.

SP:  In college when I first started doing beats, I torrented everything—movies, programs, especially music—with nary a second thought. It’s a good way to give your computer a bad cold, which I did on several occasions. And I too appreciate Herzog because I love no myth more than my own as well.

CP:  Have you got any myths on par with rescuing celebrities from wrecked cars or nonchalantly brushing off bullets to your abdomen?

SP:  No, but I can say I did albums with both Sean Price and MC Paul Barman.

CP:  Indisputable. I think this is an appropriate spot to (un)officially close this. Anything else you want to talk about?

SP:  Gotta give a shout-out to the Jungle Brothers for making Crazy Wisdom Masters in 1991. PremRock told me legend was that they made it on shrooms and when I listened to it on acid I was like, Oh, yeah, y’all were high as fuck when this was made. I could tell not only because the music itself is bugged out but even the pace of the record is accelerated. They had some songs on there that were a minute-and-thirty-seconds but so much was going on , sometimes different things in either stereo channel that it gives off the effect of being on a trip and you’re noticing—for what feels like the first time again—that everything is happening everywhere at once.

Listen to Crazy Wisdom Masters when you get a chance. It’s a personal classic that I’ve listened to at least fourteen times this month. Warner Brothers did them dirty (this was their M.O. apparently—this was the same time period they were beefing with Prince) by delaying the entire record two years and having them clean up the tracks, and disrupting the carefully curated listening experience by taking tracks away and rearranging the entire thing. J Beez wit the Remedy, the resulting hodgepodge, would drop on my birthday in 1993, and when I first heard it, I was like, Hmm, something’s awry here, and that’s how I found out about Crazy Wisdom Masters. 

CP:  I think I downloaded it or thought about downloading it recently when people started talking about it again. Is there a “definitive” version to look for? I know Bill Laswell had uploaded a version to his Bandcamp page a while back. 

SP:  That’s a good question. The version I found that concludes with “For the Headz At Company Z” is the album as the god(s) intended.

Just as Small Pro is distinguished from “Small Professor”, “Crazy Wisdom Masters” is a distinct personality from “Jungle Brothers.” Small Pro is a definitive, lost Laswell version—a ra ra kid who catches wreck with randomness. He doesn’t channel, but grooves, as the most psychoactive Afrika Baby Bam and Mike G doppelgänger. We end up doubled-over; “dope-sick,” if you will. You sleep on it, then you wake up in the morning and dwells on it, as Small Pro casts his spells on it. (It’s as Simple As That.) SP’s Comin’ Through, and when he does, multiple realities accelerate as he explores radical possibilities. He’s chewing on the chemicals and raising up the levels on the decibels. We—his audience of lab assistants, his dilated pupils [and peoples]—“experience the ultimate, the infinite.”

Images:

Most images are from the Vol. 1, No. 10 October issue of the San Francisco Oracle or unknown issues of the Chicago Seed | Small Professor “Sith Lord” photo courtesy of Matthew Shaver for WXPN | The Grateful Dead tapers section photo, Unknown | Screenshots by Small Professor | Apache tape photo by Caltrops Press | Gilbert Shelton, “The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers,” East Village Other (detail) | “Deadhead” poem by Joseph Rathgeber

[foulbearobservation]

(I can't remember if you've answered this before but...)

Okay, you've already established quite nicely that Ava is Columbo vibes, but if you had to pick a single famous fictional (or real if you want) detective for each of the rest of the squad, who (and which version of them) would you say fits the other characters?

I've talked abt it but I think it was in the tags so I should probably elaborate more.

Ava is Columbo of COURSE. She's incredibly intelligent but hiding it under a guise of bumbling sincerity. She's beloved to me. She knows you did the murder within moments, she just needs to let you talk about the murder until you reveal what you did.

Beatrice is Hercule Poirot. She is impeccably dressed. She is extremely neurotic. She solves mysteries using nothing but scraps paperwork you threw out five months ago. (Specifically I'm thinking about BBC's Poirot (1989) and David Suchet's UNBEATABLE Poirot.)

Lilith is a Sherlock Holmes type to me. She is an asshole. She is probably on some drugs. She knows you murdered your husband but he was a bastard so she's gonna let you get away with it. She's a genius. She's useless without her emotional support doctor. (I am specifically talking about Sherlock Holmes (1984) and Jeremy Brett's frankly phenomenal performance as the titular detective.)

Camila is a little harder to pin down for me. She has sidekick energy I'm so sorry to say it but it's true. She's more of a Watson than a Hastings to me tho. She's Lilith's emotional support doctor.

[agentcable]

Chicago Fire Season 1 Ep. 16 "Viral"

Cruz is upset about what he did before. He puts himself and his colleagues in danger. Casey and his sister Christie try to sort things out with Nancy and each other. Meanwhile, Severide meets Renee Whaley, who works in a strip club. The squad learns something new after helping the bomb squad on a dangerous call. Shay tries to prove she's a good mother to Clarice's baby, but a homeless man hits her with a possibly-tainted needle.

If you want to watch the series for yourself, stop reading! This post contains spoilers to the storyline.

Casey's mom's parole officer stops by, and Casey has to lie to her after his mom says she can't pass the drug test. Meanwhile, Shay and Clarice meet with a lawyer to fight for full custody of Clarice's baby. The lawyer says they need to move out if they want to win the custody battle.

The crew responds to a house fire and must rescue residents on the top floor. Cruz enters the building to rescue a dog. While he's inside, the roof collapses and he must be rescued. Everyone is upset with him for taking an unnecessary risk.

Back at the station, Chief Boden urges Casey to calm down Cruz. Otis, Herrmann, and Dawson discuss fixing up their new bar. Otis says they could use Casey's help, but Gaby got on his bad side by fraternizing with Voight.

Severide tells Shay that his ex-fiance, Renee, is in a psych ward. Shay decides to save the "we're moving out" conversation for later.

Casey talks to Mouch, who is upset because he warned Casey about Cruz's erratic behaviour. He says that if Casey doesn't solve the problem, he'll have to go to Chief Boden. Dawson and Shay take a homeless man to the hospital. While treating him in the ambulance, Shay accidentally sticks herself with a needle that she used on the homeless man. She'll have to wait for test results to find out if she contracted any diseases.

Dawson is upset that Casey won't talk to her. Mills tells her to forget about it because she did the right thing. Shay finally tells Severide that she and Clarice have to move out. Severide says he supports her. Cruz tries and fails to apologize to Mouch. Casey scolds Cruz and tells him to turn in his badge.

The next day, Shay and Clarice look for a new apartment and find one.

Severide visits Renee in the psych ward, but she's angry with him. Back at the bar, Herrmann, Otis, and Dawson find a safe inside the wall and debate whether to open it.

Casey meets his sister to talk about watching their mom while he's at work.

Later at the station, Severide tells Whaley about his visit with Renee. Whaley is glad the two are friends again.

Cruz goes to church and struggles with the decision to retire from firefighting.

After a vote, Dawson and Otis decide to open the safe, but they're interrupted by an emergency call. A man killed himself and left explosives in his apartment. Firefighters cut through the roof to get in. Inside, they found a woman who was unconscious. Severide went into the apartment to save her. The bomb expert defused the bomb, and Severide got the woman out.

Back at the station, Cruz gives his badge to Casey. Mouch feels guilty and asks Cruz what caused him to snap. Cruz breaks down and Mouch forgives him. Mouch stops Casey from reporting Cruz's resignation to Boden, and Casey lets Cruz stay on.

The next day, Shay gets a call from the hospital. The homeless man was clean so Shay didn't get sick. Meanwhile, Renee is released from the psych ward and Severide meets her outside and talks to her.

Otis, Dawson, and Herrmann saw the safe open and found a small wooden box inside.

Casey's mom leaves to stay with a friend to help Casey and his sister.

Shay is waiting to sign the lease on her new apartment with Clarice. Clarice arrives and tells Shay that her ex-husband agreed to split custody of the baby if Clarice moves to New York. She's leaving with the baby tonight. Shay is heartbroken. Meanwhile, Severide and Renee begin to heal old wounds.

[meanwhileinstasiville]

“Oh, a white person! We have a white job for you in a white place, redemptive and of the lifestyle to which you are accustomed! That a white American should expect”

Social services in the mind of liberals

What really happens

The Latinos go in there and find, somehow, that they’re American citizens officially, yet relegated to a lifestyle standard *below* what whites on welfare are eligible for. They get the SAP broadcast and the ESL social service person as English speaking Americans. Clearly there must be some mistake...

Black people on welfare, stay on welfare. Get earned income credits for all those unwanted pregnancies. Some of them rapes. Rapists get “visitation rights”. Children of color of rape grow up in enforced single parent homes; they can’t get support from social services if the man in the home. The job pool doesn’t exist. All the Latinos are getting all the stuff done where the black people can’t seem to go, having a mobility *just* great enough to get beyond the so-called “inner cities”.

A good primer on “wiggers” as I learned abject poverty level whites are sometimes called in the south. We have “white” Latinos out here in the west; kids whose parents weren’t quite around despite a suburban or better lifestyle, and thus who were effectively “raised” by the drug trade. 

They raved, they airsofted. They play squad-based shooters. Not necessarily in that order. They smoke pot around coffee tables. They “built” a family of other white kids like them to compensate for the broad extended families that real Latinos have. Alive, the book about the Andes aircraft disaster is how whites around the drug trade learned to live.

(This is why there’s ALWAYS another spending bill to keep the government open, while Congress claims that Americans “don’t want to work”, despite constant assurances that “democracy works” so long as you don’t happen to be black, except that Latinos seem to all be in agreement about solving social problems. And it doesn’t seem to be working for them, as non-black minority America the way the Koreans and others had explained to them, so they’re sort of curious about socialism)

And I notice this, because segregation is very much alive where Asians and Latinos *both* self segregate. And I’ve seen what the system does and doesn’t do for lack of actual slavery to shore up living expenses. For others, not part of slavery. Asians are around the barrios that once contained the Latinos, relegated permanently to “tending their own” within ethnic towns. Some of the larger Latino populations have spread out to cover where slaves could traditionally be found, in those lines of work, where America doesn’t want black people. Redlining *says* that, and speaking for the government. So Latinos have to have a wage lower than blacks had, to compensate for the size of their diaspora. While maintaining a “separate but equal” community of small barrios and attending tiendidas. And these are *serious* advocacy problems. 

[rcyharper]

this thing where people treat like Roy like an anti-hero? it’s over, it’s ended, we’re not doing it anymore, it never should have happened and it’s time to stop it

[noellawrites]

Brother Figure - Yandere!Sonny Carisi x reader

summary: Sonny is tired of you only seeing him as a brother, so he decides to take matters into his own hands.

warnings: coercion and drugging

“Carisi, (y/l/n), head to the studio and see if any crew members are ready to talk,” Olivia said as she fired off orders to the team.

“You got it, boss,” Carisi said as you nodded.

“Want me to drive?” you asked as the two of you got into the elevator.

“Nah, I got it,” Sonny said.

As you waited to reach the bottom floor, you pulled out your phone and clicked on a notification.

“Is that one of those stupid datin’ apps?” he asked from over your shoulder.

“Yeah, it is. But it’s not stupid, I’ve gotten five matches in the last hour,” you smiled, flicking through the possible candidates.

“C’mon, don’t ‘ya wanna meet someone in real life?” Sonny said pointedly as the two of you exited the elevator.

“Who else do I see in real life other than my co-workers? You really want me to date another cop?” you joked.

“You could give it a shot,” he shrugged. The two of you walked out into the coldness of the city and towards Sonny’s squad car.

“I think my best options would be Fin or Kat,” you said, laughing at the low amount of viable options inside your precinct.

“C’mon, what about me?” Sonny asked, a twinge of desperation in his voice.

“You? Sonny you’re my best friend, you’re like my brother!” you laughed.

Sonny didn’t respond, he only gripped the steering wheel tighter. You could sense he was upset, but you didn’t know what else to say. Thinking about hooking up with him was like hooking up with a brother or cousin.

—

“To another case solved!” you said, raising your glass. The rest of the team followed, even Liv and Amanda having found extra time to spend celebrating the end of a hellish week.

“I never thought we’d get the producer to confess, but thanks to (y/n) the DA's got a good chance of winnin'!” Sonny praised, patting you on the back gently.

The rest of the squad hung out for a while, but the numbers gradually dwindled as Amanda and Liv left to be with their kids.

You sat next to Sonny for almost two hours, talking about the case and his next steps as he applies for the ADA job.

You began to feel woozy and nauseous, but you’d only had two drinks. You looked around and noticed it was only you and Sonny left from the team, with a few other random patrons scattered throughout the bar.

“Let’s get you home, alright?” Sonny said, and you both stood up.

You wobbled a bit, causing Sonny to hold you up with his arm and escort you out of the bar.

“Sonny, wh-why do I feel so sick?” you blubbered, Sonny practically having to carry you at this point.

“Rohypnol. Don’t worry, you’ll be out soon,” he said, a mischievous grin on his face when you looked up.

“Y-you drugged me? Why would you do that?” you cried, feeling your limbs going numb. You had no choice but to lean on Sonny for support.

“To show ‘ya I’m more than just a brother to ‘ya,” he sighed, opening the passenger door to his car and pushing you inside.

You cried softly until you passed out, slouched against the window as Sonny drove towards his apartment building. He was tired of waiting for you to come to your senses. Sonny would make sure you never looked at another dating app again.

[aephereal]

Official Police Work (Part 1) // Sherlock x Reader

You and Sherlock have progressed past the feeling of mutual hatred, and onto something much more...physical.

Read Part 2 here!

Rating: 18+

Word count: 3.5k

Tags: fluff, smut (swearing, oral sex (female receiving), edging, orgasm denial, fingering).

There was definitely something going on between you and Sherlock Holmes. Regardless of the fact that Sherlock had never been known to be in a romantic relationship of any sorts, and the very well known fact that the two of you despised each other, there was a thick fog starting to blur the line between 'I want to kill you' and 'I want to fuck you'.

You had never fully understood why Detective Inspector Lestrade decided to keep bringing Sherlock Holmes to crime scenes, even if admittedly he was rather efficient at getting the job done. But seen as you were the DI's Number 2 in the Major Investigation Team at Scotland Yard, you couldn't really do or say anything without jeopardising your position, and because you really wanted to keep the job you worked so hard to achieve, you kept your mouth firmly closed. For you, it was just wishfully plotting ways of getting rid of the sociopath and his ego the size of Everest.

Despite this, something started to shift in the way you looked at each other. It didn't feel as though you wanted to keep as far away from him as possible. More... the opposite. You didn't just want to hear about his anger, know about it.

You wanted to feel it.

This was a feeling you'd toyed with in your mind for at least a couple of months, turning it over, torturing each little feeling you got in your stomach (and lower) when you thought about what it could be like if that hatred was siphoned into something physical.

But obviously, nothing happened. Of course it didn't, because it was ridiculous to think that sex with Sherlock was a possibility, or something that you'd even remotely want.

Though you did want it, and there was no denying that.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The case that had brought you both to South London was probably the murder equivalent of being left high and dry. Before you had arrived, the works had been summoned - police helicopters, raid vans, ambulances, fire engines, a SWAT team and a drugs squad (complete with sniffer dogs).

But clearly this had put off the murderer in his attempt to hold the other victim hostage and demand a ransom in order for her life. So, he slit her throat and tried to make a runner through the back of the house, which he stupidly thought wouldn't be guarded.

It was really over before it had begun, and the thought of heading straight back to the Yard was already boring you to tears. But as you were about to get straight back into the squad car, you saw him talking with Lestrade, seemingly also frustrated with the (sort of) false alarm. You still wound up with two dead bodies, but you'd already caught the killer.

"You getting in, Detective?" PC Nelson called from the driver seat.

You leaned down, popping your head into the car. "Uh, no. You go on without me. I'm just gonna take a quick look around." Nelson nodded, and you closed the door as he reversed away from the scene.

With you eyes on one person and your mind made up, you made your way over to the three men stood at the far side of the building. However as you got closer, you spotted the Chief Superintendent joining their conversation, causing you to slow your steps and consider whether you actually needed to go over at all.

But alas, your superiors had already noticed you, so you carried on until you were stood at Lestrade's side.

"Ah, there you are. Greg here's just been telling me about your success with the Tate case. Hard one to crack, was it?" You nodded politely to the Chief, internally chastising yourself for not trying harder to escape what was going to be a very boring conversation that you'd already had with about twelve other people, all congratulating you on the success of a case which a child could've solved.

"Yep, but we got there in the end. Couldn't have done it without the Inspector, though."

Greg jumped in. "And Holmes here was a big help, as usual. None of us would've been nearly as close if it weren't for him." You silently seethed over this - him? Him? No.

"I'm sure we would've managed on our own, Sir." The Chief seemed to agree here, something which you were thankful for - your joint hatred for Sherlock Holmes and the fact that he shouldn't be here, interfering with official police work. You were sure that the Chief Super still didn't trust the - in his words - vigilante type detective.

Accidentally, you looked over to the man in question, who, to your surprise, was already staring at you with very poorly concealed...anger? Well, yes, anger. It wouldn't have been anything else.

What surprised you more was his interruption in the conversation.

"Lestrade, may I borrow your DS for a few hours? I'm sure you can spare her for some official police work." John, Lestrade and the Chief exchanged confused looks, wondering if they'd heard Sherlock right. You looked over at him again, barely concealing your anger. And confusion. And surprise. And maybe deep curiosity for what clearly wasn't going to be official police work. Perhaps he'd finally decided to get it over with and just kill you.

"Uh, yeah, I suppose I can if it's alright with you?" Lestrade turned to you, however you weren't really sure how to respond.

"I...yes? Fine, if I have to." Well, you know what they say - curiosity killed the cat.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

As the cab made it's way through London, you suppressed the urge to ask questions, deciding instead to keep watching the streets pass silently. When you'd got in, you heard Sherlock relaying the Baker Street address of his home, which further worried (and...maybe excited) you.

When the cab pulled up at 221B, Sherlock paid the driver and climbed out, you doing the same as he unlocked the front door and held it open for you to enter.

Once you were inside, Sherlock directed you silently up the stairs, by which point you were slightly shaking with nerves that you tried to hide by shoving your hands deep inside your coat pockets.

Sherlock's flat was everything you'd expected - a mess. That's pretty much it. You'd already assumed he didn't have time or a desire to live in tidy accommodation, so the cluttered surfaces weren't a surprise.

The man in question came into the flat behind you, moving past to hang his scarf and coat on the hooks by the door before making his way over to the window to look out onto the street.

"So," You finally ventured, "why am I here?" Surprisingly, Sherlock didn't seem to have an answer to that just yet.

"I don't know. I just know that we can't keep going on like this. Surely I'm not the only one of us both that knows this isn't just hate. I've hated many people before, and this isn't that." He sighed. "So what is it?"

"I-I don't know. Your guess is as good as mine." Feigning ignorance perhaps wasn't the best idea, as Sherlock predictably saw through the charade in seconds.

"What is it, hm?" He turned from his place at the window, slowly making his way forwards until he was in front of you. "What are you feeling, right now?"

Stupidly, again, you tried to deflect. "I thought you didn't do feelings?"

Sherlock stepped closer again. "Answer me."

"I'm not entirely sure."

"And if you had to guess?"

There was silence for a few seconds as you hesitated. And then-

"Lust."

The silence resumed as you both stood there, processing what you'd just said. Out loud. You weren't sure what he was feeling at that moment, but a Black Hole sounded like an inviting idea to you.

You knew what you'd said was wrong, regardless if that was what you were actually feeling, so the best option was to just leave, and go back to hating him again. But as you turned to grasp the door handle, you felt Sherlock's hands on your upper arms, spinning you around and pinning you against the still closed door.

You were about to protest, but his mouth was suddenly on yours, a gasp leaving you at the forcefulness of his lips. It took you a moment to get over the fact that oh my god Sherlock Holmes is kissing me and I want so much more, before you started to reciprocate, opening your mouth for him, your lips coming together perfectly as his hands made their way to your hips, pulling you into him enough to feel the way his cock grew in his tailor made trousers which were now way too tight, that fact making you way too excited.

You whimpered as Sherlock slowly yet firmly ground his hips against yours, taking the opportunity to slide his tongue inside your mouth, swallowing your moan as you gripped his upper arms which were so much thicker than you'd ever imagined.

Then, Sherlock bent down slightly, gripping the backs of your thighs. "Jump."

You did as he demanded, wrapping your legs around his slender hips, your now soaking core just above where you needed it to be. Sherlock turned and carried you over to the table on the other side of the room, placing you down as his lips strayed from yours, down your neck. In no time at all, he'd found the place that made you gasp, biting down on it and soothing it straight after with a swipe of his tongue.

"Sherlock..." You needed more. Immediately. He seemed to know exactly what you wanted, his hands moving once more to the hem of your skirt that now sat high up on your thighs. Sherlock slid it up further, you pulling yourself up slightly so he could slip it over your ass to sit around your waist.

He made quick work of your black tights and underwear, pulling them down your legs and discarding them somewhere which meant you'd have to search for them later. But for now...

Unconsciously, you closed your legs to hide your now bare pussy from his view, but he was having none of it, shaking his head.

"Come on, be a good girl and spread your legs for me."

You hesitated, but as he placed a hand on your knee, sliding it between your legs, you slowly parted them until you were fully exposed for him.

Sherlock stood there for a moment, caressing your inner thigh as he took in the sight of your arousal. "Is this all for me?" He murmured, his hand creeping up to touch the skin where your thigh met the place you needed him to touch. He directed his gaze towards your face.

This time, there was no hesitation as you nodded, involuntarily lifting your hips to try and direct him to where you wanted him to be. He seemed to get the hint as his thumb finally grazed over your clit, a gasp catching in your throat.

Sherlock did this a few times before pressing down on it firmly, eliciting a broken moan from you. Your hips once again tried to lift to find more friction, but a hand on your waist kept you sat firmly on the surface of the table.

"Have some patience, sweetheart. That's going to get you nowhere." You whimpered as his fingers now made full contact with your pussy, spreading your arousal up to your clit and circling over the sensitive bundle of nerves before dipping back down to instead tease your entrance.

You had never been more turned on yet frustrated in your life. This morning, you weren't even aware that you wanted to be in this situation, but now you were silently praying that it never ended; that his fingers never left your skin, that his lips never left yours.

He stepped closer, so he was now right in between your spread legs, pushing them further apart as he looked for permission to enter you.

"Please," you whimpered into his mouth, kissing him desperately. "Sherlock, please." You felt him smirk against your mouth as he finally slid one, then two fingers into you. Your head dropped to his shoulder, a breathy moan just about all you could manage while he slowly retracted his fingers, just to push them firmly inside you again, this time pushing them so deep that they teased exactly the right spot. "Fuck, yes Sherlock!"

He looked down at where you met, your hips lifting up to meet his hand. "God, I love the way my fingers look inside you."

That sensation, him thrusting his fingers in and out, again and again, talking the way he was right in your ear would've been enough to make you come almost straight away, but before you could reach the edge, his fingers were gone.

You opened your eyes, frustrated at the loss of contact. But that soon ebbed away as Sherlock got to his knees in front of you, his face level with your heat.

"What're you doing?" You asked as he shuffled forward, closer to you.

"I want to taste you so bad, sweetheart." He looked up at you, the arousal evident in his eyes as well as his probably very uncomfortable trousers. "May I?"

You were sure you sounded much too eager, yet you replied without hesitation. "God, yes."

The words were barely spoken as his hands snaked around your thighs, pulling you so your ass was at the edge of the table, and his mouth descended on your clit, sucking hard.

"Christ!"

Sherlock pulled away for a second, looking back up at you. "Not quite."

You huffed a laugh as he returned to his ministrations, flicking his tongue left to right over your clit, before dragging it down to your entrance, circling it before dipping inside you, teasing you with his sharp, wet tongue that you'd never imagine would be doing something like this - especially to you.

Even after he'd only been down there for a minute at the most, you knew that you wouldn't last much longer if he kept doing exactly what he was doing. You just prayed he wouldn't stop.

The feel of his tongue flattening over your clit, giving the exact friction and pressure you needed, the way he gripped your thighs so hard that you just knew you'd have bruises afterwards, it was all bringing you closer to the release you needed from him.

And you knew he knew this.

But as you got impossibly closer, so close to tipping over the edge, he pulled away. A whine escaped you as you brought your head forward to see what on earth he was playing at.

Sherlock looked up at you with a dirty look that actually could've made you come on the spot, your arousal on his lips that were a darker shade of red than they had been before, and his hair a mess from your fingers threading through it, drawing him ever closer.

"You really thought I'd let you come, just like that?" Another whine from you as you threw your head back, and he chuckled. "The way you look at me at crime scenes, like you want to slit my throat with the biggest knife you can find - it really hurts, you know?" You heard the sincerity in his voice, but knew it was too good to be true as you looked at him again, and saw the same smirk and the sarcastic hand over heart.

"Like you don't want to do the same to me." Sherlock hummed, feigning debate over your comment.

"No, actually. I'd rather make you beg." You narrowed your eyes at him.

"Beg? For what?"

He chuckled. "If you want to come, you'd better beg for it, sweetheart."

There were many things you would do during sex with someone, but what you'd never do is beg.

You breathed out a laugh. "No. No way is any orgasm worth begging over."

"Are you so sure about that?" As he finished talking, he placed a single, light kiss on your clit, making your walls clench around thin air. Already, you could see your composure starting to falter, but you weren't going to let him get to you so easily. You'd already begged once this afternoon, easily, but you weren't going to beg to come.

"Y-yes. Very sure." He kept kissing the same spot each time, getting a little firmer each time until he was back to sucking and nipping, the simple pleasure quickly eating away at your composure.

You were so close, and you knew he'd pull away again. But as you could feel your orgasm coming again, you decided to wait and see what he would do, and how far he was willing to push you.

However you didn't expect his fingers to return to your entrance, teasing with little dips in and out until he shoved two of them inside you, so deep that he could easily rub against your sweet spot, something that would surely make you come.

"Sweetheart, either you beg for me to let you come right now or I pull away and you'll be left empty and unsatisfied."

The way he moved his fingers inside you, the way he alternated between his thumb and his tongue to rub at your clit, you knew you needed this orgasm. You needed to come.

And that was it. And he knew it. Bastard.

"Jesus, please, please let me come, please!" Sherlock chuckled deeply, vibrating through your core and pushing you closer and closer.

"That's it, that's my girl. Come for me."

'That's my girl'. That's what finished you, your head falling back as the breath was knocked out of you, coming what felt like harder than you had in your entire life. Your walls clenched around Sherlock's fingers as you rode them, trying to prolong this euphoria for as long as possible.

Sherlock didn't stop attending to you, his fingers slowing until they were stationary inside you, but he still sucked lightly on your clit, milking every last drop of come from you as you finally relaxed.

As he pulled his fingers out, you couldn't bare to look as he rose from his place kneeling on the floor to stand in between your legs again, bringing his hand to your mouth.

"Come on, open up for me." He murmured. You opened your mouth, and he slid his dripping fingers across your tongue, all the way to the back of your mouth as you moaned around them. You sucked them greedily, keeping eye contact with Sherlock until he withdrew them with a pop, replacing them with his mouth.

You could feel the way he inconspicuously tried to buck his hips forward, trying to create some friction to ease the throbbing of his cock. But as you reached for his belt buckle to return the favour, he shook his head and withdrew from your grasp slightly.

"We don't have time for that." He looked towards the window, where you could hear the sound of a cab pulling up outside the flat. Sherlock made his way across the living room, retrieving the tights and knickers he'd so carelessly discarded earlier, sorting them out and swiftly helping you put them back on as you stayed seated on the table. He still kissed you, though, perhaps as a reassurance that this wouldn't be a one time, heat of the moment thing.

"I promise we'll have more time later, but for now we need to act like this never happened." He placed his hands on either side of your face, cupping your cheeks so tenderly that the physical contact nearly made you tear up, so you closed your eyes.

The front door downstairs opened as presumably John and Greg made their way into the flat.

"Hey, look at me." You opened your eyes once more, meeting Sherlock's uncharacteristically tender gaze. "This will happen again, and I promise you I have more to give. But I'm not well versed in this, so I need to make sure I don't screw up, okay?"

You nodded, accepting another slow kiss before he pulled away, helping you down from the table before he made his way over to the mirror above the fireplace, quickly fixing his hair before turning around, winking at you as the door to the living room opened.

"I trust you two didn't rip each other's heads off while you were alone?"

You rolled your eyes at DI Lestrade, making your way over to the door.

"I only just managed to keep my composure. Trust me, next time I'll do more than throw a few choice curse words his way." Smiling in what you hoped was a passive aggressive manner, you left the flat, still feeling the ache between your legs.

[forthegothicheroine]

How other great detectives would solve the Chesapeake Ripper murders

A series I do sometimes.  For the purpose of this post, I will be assuming Hannibal does not have protagonist protection.  I will also do my best not to assume that any of these detectives have protagonist armor, either.

Columbo: Columbo is immediately suspicious when Hannibal says that he “transferred his passion for anatomy into the culinary arts.”  When Hannibal talks about his hobby of collecting news clippings about church collapses, Columbo knows for sure that only a serial killer would do that.  He keeps needling at Hannibal, being incessantly polite, asking a series of innocuous questions, mentioning that his wife has been urging him to go to therapy and can Hannibal tell him anything about that process?  Hannibal can tell he’s smarter than he seems, but doesn’t realize just how smart.  He’s also smart enough to finally come to arrest Hannibal with a full squad of burly guys with guns.  Columbo is also very sweet to Abigail and they write letters to each other after the case is over.

Phryne Fisher:  Phryne has an absolutely marvelous time investigating this case.  Hannibal takes her on dates to the opera and fine wine tastings and they have amazing sex.  She also almost has sex with Will Graham, but when he collapses on a chair and beings talking about all the troubles he’s been going through, including encephalitis symptoms, she ends up driving him to the hospital instead.  Between Will’s testimony about how Hannibal has been misleading him about his symptoms and her own secret swiping of keys, she becomes suspicious and investigates the murder house.  When Hannibal catches her, he promises that her death display will be the most beautiful one yet.  She shoots him non-fatally and he gets arrested.  (She may also be arrested for breaking and entering, but Hannibal can’t exactly claim stand-your-ground when he has a basement freezer full of body parts.)  Phryne also possibly sleeps with Alanna.

Sam Spade: I’ll be real here, Sam Spade is probably going to die.  His primary method is deliberately antagonizing people into giving him money, and Hannibal would absolutely put him in his ‘rude people’ recipe cards.  If Spade was clever, he left a dead man’s switch with Effie, and she goes to the police with the evidence folder when Spade’s body is found posed like a statue of a bird.

Sam Vimes: The moment Sam meets Hannibal he mentally classifies him as a vampire, even though he is not technically a vampire.  Hannibal keeps ‘forgetting’ and offering Sam food and drink with alcohol, talking about how harm reduction is much more viable than complete abstinence and generally trying to manipulate him into falling back down the addiction hole.  Sam gets brittle and suspicious in response.  Hannibal drugs him and tries to hypnotize him into believing he saw another character do the murders, but the Inner Watchman in Sam’s head comes to the rescue again and he slams Hannibal over the head with the nearest heavy art object.  Sybil still afterwards insists that Sam go to therapy to deal with his rage.

L: L wastes time going on dates with Hannibal and trying to trick him into implicating himself despite already having plenty of evidence, and Hannibal kills him and puts his head in a candy store.

Poirot: When Poirot attends dinner at one of Hannibal’s parties, he knows as soon as the meat touches his palette that it isn’t really rabbit.  He does his best to hide the fact that he isn’t eating, and whispers to Hastings to do the same.  When he finally has caught Hannibal in enough lies, he accuses him of murder while in a room with him, Will, Alanna, Abigail, Chilton, Able and Jack.  With so many witnesses, Hannibal maintains his cool and says that he’ll call his lawyer and see everyone in court.  When they actually investigate his house and find the human body freezer, Poirot faints.

Philip Marlowe: Every time Marlowe tries to bother Hannibal, the local cops drag him into the station and berate him for hassling a rich person.  He has long conversations with Hannibal when he does get him alone about great literature and the morality of Shakespeare characters.  Hannibal drugs him and tries to convince him he witnessed somebody else commit the murders, but Marlowe is so used to being drugged and seeing ridiculous things that he doesn’t trust any drug trip memories.  He is eventually able to catch Hannibal in the process of cleaning up after a murder, and both shoot each other.  Both survive and Hannibal gets arrested, but Hannibal taunts Marlowe that he will go the rest of his life never meeting anyone who understands him as well as he did.  Marlowe sadly agrees.

Dale Cooper: If Cooper does solve this case, it will take at least a season and a half.  It will be based less on evidence and more on Hannibal having dark energy and his name coming up when Cooper picks it out of a bag of ice cubes with initials carved onto them.  Abigail finally breaks down and confesses everything that’s happened to Cooper, and he tells her she’s not an evil person.  He and Hannibal shoot each other; both survive.  Hannibal goes to jail but continues to influence other people to commit murders from within jail.  Cooper ends up in a coma, and when he wakes up, he reports visions of a feathered stag telling him that he should look for new hair gel.

Kinsey Milhone: Kinsey inherently distrusts smug rich people, and no rich person is smugger than Hannibal.  She spends a lot of time talking to Abigail about their mutual family issues and becomes suspicious of how much her answers seem to have been worded ahead of time by Hannibal.  She tracks him and manages to find him while he’s in the process of cutting someone up.  They attack each other, and it’s pretty much a coin flip as to who survives.  If it’s Kinsey, the resulting story is called C is for Cannibal.

Miss Marple: Miss Marple thinks Hannibal dresses in such a lovely fashion, and he’s so sweet to invite her over for a glass of sherry.  She doesn’t attempt to look around his house or catch him in the act of murder or do anything dangerous, she just compares notes about what’s being said by him, Will and Abigail, and unravels a web of lies to find some definite conclusions.  Jack Crawford and the entire FBI are humiliated that a nosy old lady sitting in her living room figured everything out before they did.