#I COULD WRITE A THESIS ON HIM ACTUALLY

[satoruxx]

Erm. The brain rot took over.

Does hybird!Toji's tail wag when he's near us?????? And does he let us touch/groom it considering its a rlly sensitive part and he trusts us??????????????

OK YUP YUP THANK YOU FOR LISTENING.

(Your honour he gives my life)

YESSSS BRING FORTH THE BRAINROT NONNIE I'M HERE TO LISTEN :3333

tee hee yes it doessss !! toji's very subtle about it now, but it becomes more frequent once he gets comfy and actually starts falling for you !! there are a few moments in the past chapters where he will notice his tail slowly going back and forth, but refuses to acknowledge it bc wtf??? curse his animal body for betraying him like this.

but in the near future, he will allow himself the freedom to let it wag. especially if you're both joking around or he's trying to push your buttons, you bet he's subconciously doing it. it's just a sign that he's truly letting loose around you :(((

(that and he's quite literally obsessed with you and everything you do makes him so stupidly giddy.)

toji's so funny too because he will give you the most abrupt and grumpy responses and yet his tail is literally thumping against the ground... like bro who are you fooling??

(try calling him out for it and he will put you in a headlock.)

as for touching/grooming, honestly i don't think he would let you do it now. even once you guys are comfortable and shit i think he still has a lot of reservations about people touching him. and especially a part that is so sensitive and vulnerable... i think he'd rather take care of it himself y'know?? BUT once your relationship is in full swing??? oh babe touch him wherever you want he was always only yours anyway.

once you're dating him he quite literally will trust you with his entire being. wanna wear knives on your feet and walk all over him?? do it, he's laying down for you already.

i just think wolf!toji will always have that reserved stance with humans, and it takes the confirmation that you actually do love him and won't hurt him for him to finally allow you that privilege.

also i think a big thing for him would be the implications behind allowing you access to a part of him that is so vulnerable?? the idea makes his head spin... i think a lot of his reluctance also comes from embarassment bc god knows he does not want to lose his shit around you....

(and he will for sure.)

[hephaestuscrew]

The role of Pryce and Carter's Deep Space Survival Procedure Protocol Manual in the characterisation, symbolism, and themes of Wolf 359

TL;DR: The DSSPPM is used as a tool to help establish and develop Minkowski and Eiffel as characters: Minkowski as a strict Commander who clings to the certainty provided by a rigid source of authority like the DSSPPM, and Eiffel as the anti-authority slacker who strongly objects to the idea that he ought to read the manual. The way their contrasting attitudes towards the DSSPPM manifest through the show reflect their character development and changing dynamic. The DSSPPM can be directly used against the protagonists by those with power over them, and the reveal of its authorship gives a particularly sinister edge to its regular presence in the show. But it can be also be repurposed and seen through an individual interpersonal lens.

Note: There’s plenty that you could say about the DSSPPM through the lens of what it says about Goddard Futuristics as an organisation, or about Pryce and Cutter as people. Or you could talk about Lambert quoting the DSSPPM an absurd number of times in Change of Mind, and Lovelace’s reactions to this. But in this essay, I’ll be analysing on mentions of the DSSPPM with a focus on Minkowski, Eiffel, and their dynamic.

“One of those mandatory mission training things”: the DSSPPM as a tool to establish characterisation

The first mention of Pryce and Carter's Deep Space Survival Procedure Protocol Manual (the DSSPPM) in Wolf 359 is also the very first interaction we hear Eiffel and Minkowski have. In fact, the first time we hear Minkowski's voice at all is her telling Eiffel off for not having read the manual:

[Ep1 Succulent Rat-Killing Tar] MINKOWSKI Eiffel, did you read your copy of Pryce and Carter?  EIFFEL My copy of what?  MINKOWSKI Pryce and Carter's Deep Space Survival Procedure Protocol Manual.  EIFFEL Was that one of those mandatory mission training things?  MINKOWSKI Yes.  EIFFEL In that case, yes, I definitely did.  MINKOWSKI Did you now? Because I happened to find your copy of the D.S.S.P.P.M. floating in the observation deck.  EIFFEL Oh?  MINKOWSKI Still in its plastic wrapping.

This is an effective way to establish their conflicting personalities right out of the gate. Minkowski's determination to "do things by the book - this book in fact" contrasts clearly with Eiffel's professed ignorance about and clear disregard for "this... Jimmy Carter thing”. Purely through their attitudes to this one book, they slot easily into clear archetypes which inevitably clash. Everything about Eiffel in that opening episode sets him up as a slacker who doesn't care about authority, but the image of his mandatory mission training manual floating in the observation deck "still in its plastic wrapping" provides a particularly striking illustration.

By contrast, we immediately encounter Minkowski as a strict leader who cares deeply about making sure everything is done according to protocol; the intense importance she places on the DSSPPM is one of the very first things we know about her. Her insistence on the importance of the survival manual might seem somewhat understandable at first, if perhaps unhelpfully aggressive, but it starts to feel less sensible as soon as we start to hear some of the tips from this manual:

Deep Space Survival Tip Number Five: Remain positive at all times. Maintain a cheerful attitude even in the face of adversity. Remember: when you are smiling the whole world smiles with you, but when you're crying you're in violation of fleet-wide morale codes and should report to your superior officer for disciplinary action.

The strange, controlling, vaguely sinister tone of some of the tips we hear in the first episode is largely played for laughs, emphasised by the exaggeratedly upbeat manner in which Hera reads them. But even these first few tips give us some initial suggestions that the powers behind this mission might not care all that much about the wellbeing of their crew members.

It says something about Minkowski that she places such faith and importance in a book which says things like "Failing to remain calm, could result in your grisly, gruesome death" and "when you're crying you're in violation of fleet-wide morale codes and should report to your superior officer for disciplinary action." (Foreshadowing the Hephaestus Station as the home of immense emotional repression and compartmentalising...) Having those kind of pressures and demands placed on her (and those around her) by people above her in the military hierarchy doesn’t unsettle Minkowski.

Eiffel groans and sighs as he listens to the tips, but Minkowski seems to see this manual as an essential source of wisdom. The main role the manual plays in this episode is to establish Minkowski and Eiffel as contrasting characters with very different approaches to authority and therefore a potential to clash.

When Minkowski demands that Eiffel reads the DSSPPM, he decides to get Hera to read it to him, asking her to keep this as “a 'just the two of us, totally secret, never tell Commander Minkowski' thing”. Eiffel seems convinced that Minkowski won't be happy with him listening to Hera read the DSSPPM rather than reading it himself. This suggests that (at least in Eiffel's interpretation) Minkowski’s orders are not just about her wanting him to know the contents of the manual, since this could theoretically be accomplished just as well by him listening to it. But she wants him to do things in what she’s deemed to be the correct way, to put in the right amount of effort, and not to take what she might see as a shortcut. It’s not just about the contents of the manual; it’s about the commitment to protocol that reading it represents.

“When in doubt: whip it out”: Hilbert’s use of the DSSPPM

In Season 1, the DSSPPM isn't purely associated with Minkowski. Hilbert actually quotes it more than she does in the first few episodes. In Ep2 Little Revolución, Hilbert's response to Eiffel's toothpaste protest is inspired by "Pryce and Carter six fourteen: “When in doubt, whip it out - ‘it’ being hydrochloric acid.”" This tip is absurd in a more direct obvious way than those we heard in Ep1. While this absurdity is partly for humour, it also casts further doubt on the usefulness of this supposedly authoritative survival manual, and therefore on the wisdom of trusting Command.

In Ep4 Cataracts and Hurricanoes, Hilbert starts to quote Tip #4 at Eiffel, who protests "I'm not gonna have one of the last things I hear be some crap from the survival manual". These moments again place Eiffel in clear opposition to the DSSPPM, but also suggest that Hilbert's attitude towards the DSSPPM - and therefore towards Command - is closer to Minkowski's than to Eiffel's.

When Hilbert turns on the Hephaestus crew in his Christmas mutiny, his allegiance to Command is revealed as dangerous. And here the DSSPPM comes up again. As Minkowski dissolves the door between her and Hilbert, she triumphantly echoes his own words back to him: "Pryce and Carter six fourteen: “When in doubt, whip it out - ‘it’ being hydrochloric acid.” Never. Fails." This provides a callback to a previous, more comedic conflict on the Hephaestus, and reminds the listener of a time when Minkowski and Hilbert were working together against Eiffel, in contrast to the current situation of Minkowski and Eiffel versus Hilbert. But it also shows that Minkowski, like Hilbert, is capable of using some of the more absurd DSSPPM tips to defeat an adversary. And it shows Minkowski leaning on those tips in a real moment of crisis.

Once Hilbert has betrayed the crew in order to follow orders from Command, we might look back on his quoting of the DSSPPM as casting the manual in a more sinister light, and again calling into question the wisdom of Minkowski placing such trust in it.

“It's not that I don't believe it, I'm just disgusted by it”: the DSSPPM as an indicator of a changing dynamic

The next mention of the DSSPPM is in Ep17 Bach to the Future:

MINKOWSKI Eiffel's been spot-testing me, Hera. He doesn't believe that I've memorized all of the survival tips in Pryce and Carter. EIFFEL It's not that I don't believe it, I'm just disgusted by it. I keep hoping to discover it's not true. MINKOWSKI Well, believe as little as you want, doesn't change the fact that I do know them. And so should you!

I think this provides an interesting illustration of the way in which Minkowski and Eiffel’s dynamic has developed since Ep1. They still have deeply contrasting attitudes to the DSSPPM, but this contrast is now a source of entertainment between them, rather than merely of conflict.

Given that Hera wasn’t aware of Eiffel testing Minkowski on the tips, we can guess that it’s a game they came up with while Hera was offline. In the midst of all the exhaustion and uncertainty and fear they were dealing with after Hilbert’s mutiny, this was a way they found to pass the time. It must have been Eiffel who suggested it; Minkowski cites his disbelief as the reason for the spot-testing. And yet she plays along, responding each time, even though this activity has no real productive value.

Minkowski is keen to demonstrate that she does know the tips and she emphasises that Eiffel ought to know them too, but their interactions about the DSSPPM in this episode have none of the genuine irritation and frustration that they displayed in Ep1. It feels almost playful and teasing. Eiffel still thinks Minkowski is "completely insane" for learning all the tips and is "disgusted" by her commitment to memorising them, but these comments feel much closer to joking about a friend's weird traits than to insulting a hated coworker's personality. It feels like something has shifted since Eiffel responded to Minkowski’s passion for the DSSPPM by saying “I'm so glad that your shrivelled husk of a dictator's heart is as warm as a decompression chamber”.

Another thing to note here is that Minkowski's respect for the DSSPPM has clearly survived Hilbert's Christmas mutiny and Minkowski's resulting distrust of Command. From Hilbert's behaviour at Christmas, it's clear that the crew's survival is not at the top of Command's priority list. But Minkowski still trusts the book that Command told her to read. She still thinks Eiffel should read it too. The main figures of authority above her are dangerous and untrustworthy, but she still clings to the source of guidance they provided her with.

It's also worth noting that Minkowski has not just learnt the advice in each of the 1001 tips, but she has memorised (nearly) all of them by number. If it was just about the information that the manual provides to inform responses to potentially life-or-death situations, then knowing the numbers wouldn't be necessary. Nor would it be particularly useful to know them all exactly word-for-word. Minkowski's reliance on the DSSPPM is again suggested to be about more than the potential practical use of its content. It's about showing that she is committed and disciplined and up to the task of leading. She does have some awareness of the strangeness of many of the tips, but this doesn't diminish the value of her adherence to the manual for her:

EIFFEL You're insane.  MINKOWSKI I'm disciplined. Although I will admit they do get more... esoteric as you go higher up the list.

There's only one tip Minkowski doesn't seem to remember, and that's revealing too:

EIFFEL 555? Minkowski DRAWS BREATH - and STOPS SHORT. [...] MINKOWSKI Hold on a second, I know this. (beat) Dammit. EIFFEL Hey, look at that! Looks like there may be hope for you yet. MINKOWSKI Quiet, Eiffel. Hera, what's D.S.S.P.P.M. 555? HERA "Good communication habits are key to continued subsistence. Be in touch with other crew members about shipboard activities. Interfacing about possible problems or dangers is the best way to anticipate and prevent them." This hangs in the air for a second. Then – EIFFEL So you forget the one tip in the entire manual that's actually helpful? MINKOWSKI Shut up.

Communication is a key theme of this show, so it’s interesting that this is the one tip Minkowski can’t remember, perhaps indicating an aspect of leadership and teamwork that she doesn’t always prioritise or find easy.

Eiffel saying “Looks like there may be hope for you yet” seems like just a throwaway teasing line, but it’s got a profound edge to it. A lot of Minkowski’s arc is about learning how to provide her own direction and support her crew outside of the systems of authority and hierarchy that she’s grown so attached to. So perhaps Eiffel is right to see a kind of hope in her failure to remember every single DSSPPM tip – she has the potential to break free of her reliance on external authority.

“Which one was 897, what was the exact phrasing of that Deep Space Survival Tip?”: the DSSPPM in interactions with Cutter

The Wolf 359 liveshow, Deep Space Survival Procedure and Protocol, is literally named after the manual. This suggests, before we’ve even heard/watched the episode, that the DSSPPM will be a key symbol here. Which is interesting because I'd say the liveshow has two main plot points: (a) Eiffel's failure to read the DSSPPM or follow orders in general, the resulting disruption to the mission, and his crewmates' frustration with this; and (b) the looming threat of Cutter, the necessity of keeping information from Command, and the risk of fatal mission termination.

Even without the knowledge that Cutter is one of the co-authors of the DSSPPM (which neither the Hephaestus crew nor a first-time listener knows at this point), there's a kind of irony in the contrast between these two plotlines. On the one hand, Minkowski repeatedly berates Eiffel for not having read Pryce and Carter's Deep Space Survival Procedure and Protocol Manual, which was made mandatory by Command. On the other hand, she is aware that Command in general - and Cutter specifically - represents the biggest threat to the safety and survival of her crew.

Cutter uses the DSSPPM against each of the Hephaestus crew in their one-on-one conversations with him. For Minkowski, he uses it as a way of emphasising the expectations and responsibility placed on her:

MINKOWSKI There are always gaps between expectation and reality, but-- CUTTER But it's our job as leaders to close that gap, isn't it? Pryce and Carter...? MINKOWSKI 414, yes. Yes, sir, I know.

Cutter knows that Minkowski will know those tips and he knows abiding by them is important to her. She's quick to demonstrate her knowledge of the DSSPPM and agree with the tip. There's something deeply sinister to me about Cutter's use of the word 'our' here. His phrasing includes them both as leaders who should be ensuring that things are exactly as expected. It’s almost a kind of flattery at her authority, but it comes with impossibly high expectations. This way of emphasising the importance and responsibilities of her role as Commander is a targeted strategy by Cutter at manipulating Minkowski, designed to appeal to her values.

In Hera's one-on-one, Cutter uses a DSSPPM tip to interpret her behaviour and claim that he can read her motives:

CUTTER This thing you're doing. Asking questions while you get your bearings. HERA Sir, I'm just curious about-- CUTTER Pryce and Carter 588: Shows of courtesy and polite queries are an efficient way to gain time necessary to strategize.

Unlike with Minkowski (or Eiffel), Cutter doesn't prompt Hera to demonstrate her knowledge of the manual. That wouldn't work as a power play against Hera, who would be able to recall the manual (or, rather, retrieve the file, however that distinction works within her memory) but who doesn't care about the DSSPPM like Minkowski does. Instead, Cutter implies that Hera’s behaviour can be predicted - or at the very least seen through - by the DSSPPM, which seems like a cruel attempt by Cutter at belittling her.

For Eiffel, Cutter uses the manual as a weapon in a different way again. He asks Eiffel, "which one was 897, what was the exact phrasing of that Deep Space Survival Tip?", something which Eiffel clearly doesn't know, but Cutter of course does. This puts Eiffel on the back foot, trying to defend and justify himself, allowing Cutter to emphasise his position of power yet again.

The DSSPPM plays a double role in the liveshow. On the one hand, as Minkowski reminds Eiffel, proper knowledge of the manual "would've saved [the crew] from these problems with the nav computer" – some of the tips can potentially save the crew a great deal of hassle, stress, and risk. On the other hand, the same manual is used by Cutter to manipulate, unsettle, and intimidate the crew. There are these two sides to the information given to the crew by Command - two sides to the manual which Minkowski still values.

In another duality for the DSSPM, the manual is sometimes used as a symbol of the relationship between the crew members and Command, and sometimes used to indicate the dynamics between the individual crew members, usually Minkowski and Eiffel. Before Cutter’s appearance in the liveshow, Minkowski and Eiffel’s discussions of the DSSPPM reflect interpersonal disagreements between two people with fundamentally different attitudes:

MINKOWSKI Oh come on, why do you think I keep trying to get you to go over these things? Do you think I enjoy going through them? EIFFEL Yes. MINKOWSKI Well, alright, I do. But this knowledge could save your life.

Minkowski enjoys rules, regulations, and certainty, for their own sake as much as for any practical usefulness. Eiffel very much does not. This is a simple clash of individuals, in which the link between the DSSPPM and Command is implicit. Minkowski doesn't seem to question the idea that the information in the DSSPPM is potentially life-saving, even though she knows Command don't care about their lives. But Cutter’s repeated references to the DSSPPM remind us who made that book a mandatory part of mission training – it certainly wasn’t Minkowski, even if she’s often the one attempting to enforce this rule.

At the end of the liveshow, in a desperate attempt to prevent mission termination, Eiffel promises Cutter that he will read the DSSPPM (the liveshow transcript notes that him saying this is "like pulling teeth"), an instance of the manual being used in negotiations between the Hephaestus crew and Command. All Minkowski’s orders weren’t enough to get Eiffel to read that book, but a genuine life-or-death threat might just about be enough. Perhaps it's ironic that Eiffel reads the survival manual out of a desire for survival, not because he thinks the contents of the book will help him survive, but because he’s grasping anything he can offer to buy the crew’s survival from those who created that same book.

In the final scene of the liveshow, Minkowski catches Eiffel reading the DSSPPM, and he fumbles to hide that he's been reading it, a humorous reversal of all the times that he's lied to her that he has read it. Perhaps admitting that he's reading it would be like letting Minkowski win. Minkowski seems to find both surprise and amusement in seeing Eiffel finally reading the manual, but she doesn't push him to admit it. There's some slightly smug but still friendly teasing in the way Minkowski says "were you now?" when Eiffel says that he was just reading something useful. In that final scene, the manual is viewed again through the lens of Minkowski and Eiffel’s dynamic – Command’s relation to the DSSPPM becomes secondary.

“The first thing I'd make damn sure was hard wired into anything that might end up in a situation like this one”: the DSSPPM as a tool of survival

In Ep30 Mayday, when Eiffel is stranded alone on Lovelace’s shuttle, he hallucinates Minkowski to bring him out of his helpless panic and force him into action. And this hallucination also brings with it one of Minkowski’s interests:

MINKOWSKI Eiffel... I worked on this shuttle. Reprogramming that console. EIFFEL So? How does that help – MINKOWSKI Think about it. BEAT. And then he gets it. EIFFEL Oh goddammit. MINKOWSKI What's the first thing that I would do when programming a flight computer? The first thing I'd make damn sure was hard wired into anything that might end up in a situation like this one? EIFFEL Pyrce and Carter's Deep Space Survival Procedure and Protocol Manual.

Again, a conversation about the DSSPPM gives us an indication of the development of Minkowski and Eiffel’s relationship. Not only does Eiffel imagine Minkowski as a figure of (fairly aggressive) support when he’s stranded and alone, he thinks about what advice she’d give him and he follows it. Rather than dismissing the manual entirely, he looks for tips that are relevant to his situation. He’s not pleased about his hallucinated-Minkowski trying to get him to read the DSSPPM, but that was what his mind gave him in an almost hopeless situation. Some part of him now empathises with Minkowski’s priorities in a way that he definitely wasn’t doing in Ep1. He thinks that the DSSPPM might be on the shuttle because he knows the manual is important to Minkowski. It’s by imagining Minkowski that he gets himself to read the manual in order to see if it can help him survive – he certainly doesn’t think about what Cutter or anyone else from Command would tell him to do.

In the end, the tips Eiffel picks out aren’t all that helpful or informative: “Confront reality head-on”; “In an emergency, take stock of the tools at your disposal. Then take stock again. Restock. Repurpose. Reuse. Recycle."; and “"In times of trouble, an idle mind is your worst enemy”. But Eiffel does use these tips to structure his initial thinking about how to survive on Lovelace’s shuttle. In an almost entirely hopeless situation, Eiffel finds some value in the DSSPPM. But since the tips he picks out are mostly platitudes, the actual wisdom that allows him to survive all comes from his own mind; the tips, like his hallucinations, are just a tool he uses to externalise his process of figuring out what to do.

“Wasn't there something about this in the survival manual?”: Minkowski potentially moving away from the DSSPPM

Given the significance of the DSSPPM in Season 1 and 2 to Minkowski in particular, it feels notable when the manual isn’t referenced. Unless I've missed something (and please let me know if I have), Minkowski – the real one, not Eiffel’s hallucination - doesn't bring up the manual of her own accord at all in Seasons 3 or 4. This might make us wonder if she’s moved away from her trust in and reliance on that book provided by Command.

Perhaps the arrival of the SI-5, which highlights to Minkowski that the chain of command is not a good indicator of trustworthy authority, was the final straw. Or perhaps the apparent loss of Eiffel - and any subsequent questioning of her leadership approach, or realisations about the valuable perspective Eiffel provided - were what finally broke down her faith in that book.

Alternatively, perhaps Minkowski still trusts the DSSPPM as much as ever, but trying to get Eiffel or any of the other crew members to listen to it is a losing battle that she no longer sees as a priority. Either way, Minkowski’s apparent reluctance to bring up the DSSPPM feels like a shift in her approach. 

The associations between Minkowski and the DSSPPM are still there in Season 3, but they are raised by other characters, not by Minkowski herself. The manual is used to emphasise Eiffel’s difficulties when he’s put in charge of trying to get Maxwell and Hera to fill out a survey in Ep32 Controlled Demolition. Trying to force other people to be productive pushes Eiffel into some very uncharacteristic behaviour:

EIFFEL Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you? It's like you've never even read Pryce and Carter! Tip #490 very clearly states that – He trails off. After a BEAT – HERA Officer Eiffel? MAXWELL You, uh, all right there? EIFFEL (the horror) What have I become? [...] Eiffel, now wrapped up in a blanket, is next to Lovelace. He is still very clearly shaken. EIFFEL ... and... it was like an episode of the Twilight Zone. I was slowly transforming into Commander Minkowski. [...] It was a nightmare! A terrifying, bureaucratic nightmare!

This is a funny role reversal, but it shows us the strength of Eiffel’s association between Minkowski and the DSSPPM, as well his extreme aversion to finding himself in a strict bureaucratic leadership position. It also suggests that becoming extremely frustrated when trying to get other people to do what you want might make anyone resort to relying on an external source of authority, such as the manual. I don’t know whether this experience helps Eiffel empathise with Minkowski, but perhaps it might give us some insight into how her need for authority and control in the leadership role she occupied might have reinforced her deference to the DSSPPM.

In Ep34, we get a suggestion of another character having a strong association between the DSSPPM and Minkowski. After the discovery of Funzo, Hera asks Minkowski what the manual says about it:

HERA Umm... I don't know if this is a good idea. Lieutenant, wasn't there something about this in the survival manual? MINKOWSKI Pryce and Carter 792: Of all the dangers that you will face in the void of space, nothing compares to the existential terror that is Funzo.

It’s interesting to me that Hera asks Minkowski here. We know from Ep1 that “Pryce and Carter's Deep Space Survival Procedure Protocol Manual is among the files [Hera has] access to”. Two possible reasons occur to me for why Hera might ask Minkowski about the DSSPPM tip here. One possibility is that Hera thinks that retrieving the manual from her databanks and finding the correct tip would take her more time than it would take for Minkowski to just remember the tip. Which suggests interesting things about the nature of Hera’s memory, but also implies that - at least in Hera's view -Minkowski’s knowledge of the DSSPPM is more reliable than that of a supercomputer.

The other possibility is that Hera could have recalled the relevant DSSPPM tip incredibly quickly but she doesn’t want to, maybe because she resents having that manual in her head in the first place, or maybe because she wants to show respect for Minkowski’s knowledge as a Commander. Either way, we can see that Hera – like Eiffel – strongly associates Minkowski with the DSSPPM.

And Minkowski, even if she wasn’t the one to bring up the manual here, recalls the relevant tip immediately. Perhaps she is moving away from her trust in that manual, but everything that she learned as part of her old deference to the authority of Command is still there in her head. She might want to forget it by the end of the mission, but that’s not easily achieved. The way Minkowski’s friends/crewmates associate the manual with her emphasises the difficulty she’ll face if she tries to move away from it.

“One thousand and one pains in my ass”: The authorship of the DSSPPM

In Ep55 A Place for Everything, Eiffel effectively expresses his long-held dislike of the DSSPPM when he comes face-to-face with both of its authors:

EIFFEL What? What the hell are - wait a minute - Pryce? As in one thousand and one pains in my ass, Pryce? (sudden realization) Which... makes you...? MR. CUTTER (holding out his hand) W.S. Carter, pleased to meet you. 

It’s significant that the two ‘big bads’ of the whole series are the authors of the manual which Minkowski and Eiffel were bickering about all the way back in Ep1. It’s not the only way in which the message of this show positions itself firmly against just accepting externally imposed authority and hierarchy without question or evidence, but it does reinforce this ethos.

By being the authors of the manual, Cutter and Pryce have had a sinister hidden presence throughout the show. Long before we know who Pryce is and even before we hear Cutter’s name, their manual is there, occupying a prominent place in Minkowski’s motivations and priorities, and in her arguments with Eiffel. It’s not at all comparable to what Pryce put in Hera’s mind, but it is another way in which these antagonists have wormed their way into the heads of our protagonists.

Minkowski will have to come to terms with the fact that the 1001 tips she spent hours memorising and reciting were written by two people who would have killed her, her crew, and even the whole human race without hesitation if it served their purposes. We never get to hear Minkowski’s reaction to learning the identities of Pryce and Carter, but I think processing the role of their manual in her life will be a long and difficult road that’ll tie into a lot of other emotional processing she needs to do. Her assertion to Cutter that, without him, she is “Renée Minkowski... and that is more than enough to kick your ass!” feels like part of that journey. She doesn’t mention the DSSPPM at all in Season 4. She’s growing beyond it.

"Doug Eiffel's Deep Space Survival Guide": The DSSPPM as a weapon against those who wrote it

Last but not least, I couldn’t write about Eiffel and the DSSPPM without mentioning this scene from  Ep58 Quiet, Please:

EIFFEL As someone once told me: "Pryce and Carter 754: In an emergency, take stock of the tools at your disposal, then take stock again. Repurpose, reuse, recycle." And right now? You know what I got? I got this lighter from when Cutter was using me as his personal cabana boy. [...] and I've got myself this big, fat copy of the Deep Space Survival Manual, and you know what I'm gonna do with it? [...] Eiffel STRIKES THE LIGHTER. And LIGHTS THE BOOK ON FIRE, revealing Pryce just a few feet away from him! EIFFEL I am going to repurpose it... and reuse it... and recycle it into a GIANT FIREBALL OF DEATH! And he swings the flaming book forward, HITTING PRYCE ON THE SIDE OF THE HEAD. [...] EIFFEL That's right! Doug Eiffel's Deep Space Survival Guide, B-

No one other than Doug Eiffel could pull off the chaotic energy of this moment. It doesn’t get much more anti-authority than lighting the mandatory mission manual on fire and using it as a weapon against one of its malevolent authors. It might not be the wisest move safety-wise, and it certainly doesn’t improve the situation when the node gets jettisoned into space. But there is still a powerful symbolism in taking a symbol of the hierarchical forces that have tried to constrain you for years and setting it alight to fight back against those forces. Eiffel takes his own approach to survival and puts his own name into the title, an assertion of his agency and rejection of Command's authority.

The DSSPPM tip that he uses here is one of those he considers when stranded on Lovelace’s shuttle. It’s understandable that after that experience it might have stuck in his memory.

I can’t help feeling that the line “as someone once told me” has a double meaning here. The immediate implication is to interpret “someone” as being Pryce and Cutter – it’s their manual after all – which makes this line a fairly effective ‘fuck you’ gesture, emphasising how Eiffel is using Pryce’s manual against her in both an abstract and a physical sense.

But I think “someone” could also mean Minkowski. Eiffel uses a singular rather than plural term, there’s already an association established between Minkowski and the DSSPPM, and, in Mayday, it’s his hallucination of Minkowski that gets him to read this tip. She's probably also recited this tip to him at other points as well. Under this interpretation, this line is as much a gesture of solidarity with Minkowski as it is a taunt to Pryce. I like the idea that these two interpretations can run alongside each other, reflecting the duality of the use of the DSSPPM that I talked about in relation to the liveshow.

Conclusion

The DSSPPM is a symbol of external rules imposed on people by those with power over them. These rules can be strange, arbitrary, and even sinister, but for those with a desire for certainty and control, like Minkowski, they can be tempting. And they can have their uses, as well as the potential to be repurposed. Attitudes towards these rules provide an effective shorthand as part of Minkowski and Eiffel’s characterisation. And the clash between these attitudes, and how that clash manifests, can tell us something about how the dynamic between those characters develops and changes.

[sbd-laytall]

[aroacesofspades]

^ face of someone (me) who just finished the arcane finale

[thingsseenandheard]

New Cazador meta that I've been cooking for a few days now: Cazador and poetry!

This is once again going to relate to my apparent thesis of Cazador's identity problems but I'm coming at it from a slightly different angle this time. My prior mad ravings have been about Cazador's concept of who he is as a person, this is going to be about anonymity.

I think it's fair to assume that someone with no concrete concept of who they are as a person might struggle to identify and come to terms with their more difficult emotions. And I've talked before about Cazador's response to this sort of thing being to separate it from himself as much as possible - separating his past self from his current self, for example, is a big one. So it follows that to handle difficult emotions (i.e. anything that makes him feel weak or inadequate in some way. Fear, frustration, despair, that sort of thing) he would try to separate them from himself. It's easier to get perspective, and to walk himself through them that way.

I think poetry is how he does that. It offers him anonymity - I mean to say, he is not required to identify himself with the emotions he's writing about. It allows him to express these things in a way that still keeps them at arm's length. It's also helpful because in order to write, Cazador doesn't need to identify himself either. I don't mean as an author by signing the poem, I mean he doesn't need to try to figure out who he is before he can go to the next step of handling difficult emotions.

And it's because of the anonymity of it - he doesn't have to be Lord Szarr in a little poem - I think this is one of the few, and perhaps the only way that he can identify himself to himself in any meaningful way. He can write all of it down, get it out of his system, and then look back at it and it's like looking in a mirror. Obviously, because he wrote it. But I think he's not used to that sensation. He's not used to recognizing himself in general, so when he does, it catches him off guard. I think it forces him to recognize that he doesn't really know who he is.

Basically I think it allows him to both express himself without the requirement of personal identity, and to sort of lay out his personal identity while still keeping it separate from his cultivated persona. The parts of himself he thought long dead and buried rise from their graves long enough for him to write about them, and I think poetry is maybe the one thing that really unites all of the different versions of Cazador that he's split himself in to.

[todayisafridaynight]

re: last anon i definitely think it comes from the uhhh whole threatened thingy. Since most of y3 is. Well. Uhm. Daigo Coma Hours we spend a lot of time w/ that guy in a threatened state. Hence the more “violent” interpretations bc. Well. his sillyguy’s in a coma. Though I’ve definitely seen Mine’s more… stressed (for lack of better words) state being misinterpreted as his natural state and I can see how that would lead to more frequent violent kirinmine takes etc. (Hopefully this is coherent I am soooooooooo tired rn)

for Last Anon

[theholidayslingerlikebadperfume]

as much as i like jess, logan was the better match for who rory ended up becoming and i think its time we as a fandom admit that

[givemaycoffee]

Oh my god. I just wrote an essay in the comments of a fanfic and I was like Wow, I sure had a lot to say.

And then I remembered I actually took my adderall this morning XD

[ch1maeras]

@prscttss

WILDERNESS (2023) | 1x06 Where White Knights Go To Die

[leechlets]

guys wouldn't it be crazy if bruce wayne actually WAS batman?

0 notes

□ bat4bat Follow

no IM saying that there's something going on with commissioner gordon and batman. that shit is not straight.

□ metro-metropolitan Follow

fucking gothamblr always going on about their goddamn police force. licked enough boots yet?

352 notes

□ TheRealBoosterGold Follow

Hey everyone, first post on Tumblr. I just wanted to say Cock is one of my favorite tastes. Not only that, but balls smell amazing. It makes me go a little crazy on it to be honest. Like, I cannot get it far enough down my throat to be satisfied.

□ nothingonnigh Follow

BOOSTER GOLD COCK MONOLOGUE ON MY DASH? IRL??

□ midnighterstanno1 Follow

guys make sure you have your dates turned on for this one. I still can't believe they used to let you edit tumblr posts. one of you did this to a SUPERHERO.

□ supermanssupertits Follow

someone tell lex luthor to stop trying to buy twitter and to come on tumblr. i want to cock monologue him.

1M notes

□ GreenLanternLesbian reblogged

□ heroesfuckablitypoll Follow

FUCK YOU GUYS. IM OVER THESE STUPID POLLS. SUPERVILLIAN FOUND ME AND RUINED MY APARTMENT.

□ green--lantern--stannn Follow

ALAN SCOTT ISN'T EVEN A REAL GREEN LANTERN YOU STUPID BITCH. KILL YOURSELF.

□ GreenLanternLesbian Follow

#what the fuckkkk #HELPPPPP

49,254 notes

□ black-canary-slay Follow

i cannot believe they actually let oliver queen be mayor of star city that one time. with his stupid ass goatee??? he was good but guys that could have ended SO badly. but the fuck else are you going to do.

□ isuggestpeggingoliverqueen Follow

I have a suggestion

1,267 notes

□ metropolisgirlswereunforgettable Follow

Lex FUCKING Luthor's stupid ass going on about "Superman's secret identity". BITCH HE LIVES IN THE FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE! WE KNOW THAT. HE DOESN'T HAVE ONE YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER.

□ teenteenteenteentitans Follow

11.8k notes

□ gothamHERstorian Follow

so i'm writing my thesis on the the impact thomas and martha wayne had on gotham and how their death affected the social and political climate of the next few decades and guys, the waynes were fucking their butler. there is NO explanation for this.

□ gothamHERstorian Follow

TUMBLR, I HAVE SEEN PEOPLE POST BRUCE WAYNE'S SEX TAPE ON THIS GODDAMN SITE. BUT I SUGGEST THE WAYNES WERE FUCKING THEIR BUTLER AND YOU REMOVE MY PHOTO. THERE WAS NOTHING MATURE ABOUT IT!

13,392 notes

□ justiceleagueundressed Follow

hey guyssss, my work is being held hostage again. so send in your asks, and I'll try to keep you updated. (also, if I die, I have the next 4 updates of my batman x superman x reader fic on queue, so don't fret!)

soooo ask away!!

[sixeyesonathiel]

satoru gojo is cocky, top of the class, and one passive-aggressive emoji away from tears.

a/n: nerdjo is so easily rage baited it’s actually embarrassing. one compliment from you and he’s rewriting his entire thesis out of spite. i love bullying him gently.

satoru is going to break his keyboard.

his fingers twitch above the keys—hesitating, retreating, returning again—hovering like they might snap the poor letters clean off. the skin on his knuckles is taut, his jaw clenched so hard it ticks like a time bomb, and his mouth is parted just barely, like he’s one saccharine comment away from spontaneously combusting.

strands of white hair keep falling over his forehead—static-charged from his hoodie—and he shoves them back, again and again, increasingly violent about it, like maybe the hair is conspiring with you. his glasses have slipped halfway down his nose. the gleam of his lenses barely masks the pure, incandescent rage in his eyes.

those eyes, now glassy with disbelief, are locked on the latest reply from you—the class discussion board’s reigning empress of emotional terrorism. his academic rival. personal poltergeist. a sugar-coated demon in pastel lip gloss.

oh satoru, i think it’s so admirable how you stuck by that article! not many people would be brave enough to defend a source that’s been debunked four times. it’s honestly kind of inspiring. keep doing you!

his vision goes white.

that is not a compliment. it is a tactical airstrike in a pink envelope. he knows it. you know it. and worst of all, you signed off with a heart emoji. a heart. he can see your face in his head—tilted just slightly, like you’re too sweet to possibly mean harm, but your eyes glint like you’re holding a scalpel behind your back.

his reply has already died and resurrected five times. the first version read like a cease-and-desist letter. the second had footnotes so aggressive it required double-spaced disclaimers. the third almost made it to the post button, until he remembered your last reply that ended with, “hope this clears it up, prof said some people struggle with statistical nuance.”

you are not just baiting him. you’ve turned it into an art form. a spiritual practice. and your weapon of choice is niceness so passive-aggressive it should be federally regulated.

back in first year econ, you sat beside him, humming under your breath and tapping your pen against the desk in tempo with his unraveling sanity. you kicked his bag under the table. you leaned close just to whisper, “your equation’s wrong, but don’t worry, i won’t tell anyone! not everyone’s meant for regression models.”

you once highlighted his errors in the shared google doc—in pink. pastel pink. with cheerful comments like “uh oh!” and “almost got it!” he swears he could hear the sparkle emoji implied in your tone. the worst part? your spelling was immaculate.

he still thinks about it in the shower.

now?

now he’s two seconds away from flinging his laptop across the room. the lab’s overhead lights buzz like mosquitoes. someone’s typing across from him, calm and steady, and it only amplifies the sound of his own frenzied assault on the keyboard.

his typing is violent. the spacebar clacks like gunfire. he’s halfway through a paragraph when he snarls—actually snarls—and deletes the whole thing. he writes another. more venomous. more precise. then pauses, eyes narrowing.

because you’ve edited your post.

p.s. just reread your old comment and i think i finally get your logic now! i must’ve been too slow before. thanks for your patience <3

he makes a sound. an animal sound. it’s somewhere between a wheeze and a gasp. his knee bounces under the table, leg jittery with restrained rage.

“i hate her,” he breathes.

from across the lab, shoko doesn’t even glance up. “you said that yesterday.”

“i mean it today.”

she lifts her eyes only slightly to peer over her laptop, one brow arched in apathy. “you said that yesterday too.”

“no, no, no—you don’t understand, shoko.” he shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the frames skewed slightly to the left from stress. “she thanked me.”

“chilling.”

“she made it sound real. like she appreciated it. like she didn’t just nuke my thesis and then bake me a fucking muffin.”

“did she add sprinkles?”

“a smiley face.”

he slumps forward, head in his hands, glasses slipping again. his breath fogs the screen. it’s like you’re there—he swears he smells that damn peach shampoo you use. he hears the echo of your voice cooing, “aww, did i mess up your graph again?” like a knife wrapped in a silk ribbon.

he’s haunted. infuriated. he’d rather be insulted outright, mocked, cursed at, anything but this sweet, syrupy condescension that drips like poison into his every academic wound.

then his inbox pings.

a private message.

hey, sorry again for misunderstanding your point in the thread! i know you work really hard on these. if you ever want to explain it to me one-on-one, i’d love that. i learn best from people who are smarter than me :)

his soul ascends. his body remains.

he stares at the message, slack-jawed. horror prickles under his skin like cold water. one hand twitches toward the power button, but he hesitates. you know what you’re doing.

and he hates that it’s working.

“what did she say now?” shoko asks, sipping lukewarm coffee from a chipped mug labeled ‘property of shoko: touch and perish.’

he doesn’t look up. “she wants me to teach her.”

“sounds like flirting.”

“it’s not flirting.”

“she called you smart.”

he pauses. then squints at the screen like it just insulted his bloodline. “she called me smart the way you praise a goldfish for finding the glass.”

he types:

sure. let me know when.

deletes it.

types:

that’s… fine. i guess.

deletes that too.

his fingers hover over the keys.

he types, each letter hammered with the weight of pride swallowed whole:

if you need clarification, i can walk you through it. though i'm sure you'll figure it out eventually.

hits send.

wants to die.

he sags back, hoodie bunching around his shoulders. his sleeves fall over his knuckles. his knee taps against the metal chair leg in a relentless rhythm. he stares at the blinking cursor like it’s counting down to his doom. the little grey dots appear. you’re typing. again. you’re going to be worse. he knows this. the anticipation is psychological warfare.

he watches anyway.

this is war.

[coefore]

I just wanna ask bc I'm curious, but why did you find Starscream being older than Megatron in tfone interesting? :0

I just like the concept of Starscream being more experienced, especially in terms of leadership. Sentinel berates him once he has captured him, but he also says that it had been pretty difficult to find the high guard, which means Starscream had managed to carefully and competently hide, feed and direct many troops.

Dee (just writing it like this because I feel dumb just saying "D" in the middle of a sentence lol), on the other hand, rose to the occasion with sudden violence and improvised rhetoric. He was good with it! He got all the old guys (gender-neutral) to shout his name and make a public spectacle of their new loyalty! Good for you my little dude, but being skilled with your mouth and words doesn't mean you actually know what you're doing!

Dee is an isolated twenty-year-old runaway driven mainly by revenge and betrayal who has murderous intent towards +*+The System+*+, which he has no clue how to dismantle effectively without the most basic gut feeling aka "kill the leader" (= Kill Sentinel; Kill Optimus, who reiterates the Primacy, which is now tainted in his eyes).

That doesn't work. The system will still stand without The Leader TM. He also has no theory on how Said System works, differently from some iterations like IDW Megatron, nor does he have a solid mutual-aid net of friends/"colleagues"/fellow abused bots that would follow him like TFP Megatron has in characters like TFP Soundwave or Dreadwing.

He has no clue what the hell he is supposed to do, especially regarding how to command an army of people who are twice (or more) his age. But Starscream does. It is fascinating because, if done well, it could give Starscream an actual and rooted reason why he wants Megatron out: he is too naive, too emotional, too young to do this efficiently.

Anyway, thanks for coming to my TED Talk (Grammarly made fun of me with the 🤓 emoji because it feels like I've written a paragraph on a PhD thesis but that's what writing a PhD thesis does to you 😭).

[captain-huggy-bear]

could i request “this is the end of your all-nighters, you hear me?” with quinn hughes but it’s quinn taking care of reader 🩷💕💞💗 ty, congrats on 1000, you deserve it all and more

Thank you, lovely! Actually love this idea because Quinn is first and foremost a provider. Quinn is soft dom in this and if the idea of a guy making you do stuff (aka you need to eat) isn't your cuppa then probably not for you. Meanwhile I would love someone to take all the decisions from my hands lol

Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed at the moment but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

He's done. He's reached the end of his patience with you. Quinn has been watching you slowly wear yourself down, grind yourself into the ground with how hard you're working. It's your goddamn Masters' thesis that's done it combined with him being on a roadie and unable to keep a proper eye on you.

You've been pulling all-nighters almost every night for the past week, only really getting away with it because Quinn's been away on a roadie. But every time you face time it's clear to him you're not looking after yourself. You're tired, exhausted, hair a bird's nest, dark bags under your eyes. You're skin is ashy, your focus is shot, you can barely walk in a straight line and he knows that you need someone to direct you, guide you, get you back to looking after yourself. Usually he's there to do that, usually he takes those decisions out of your hands, makes life simple...but he's been gone.

It's the final face time that has him deciding he's going in guns blazing when he finally gets home to Vancouver because you look like you're going to pass out at any second, struggling to hold a conversation with him, blinking in and out of focus even while you're still typing that goddamn thesis on your laptop. Whether any of it is legible is doubtful.

You barely get a hello when he storms into the apartment, a whirlwind of authority as he tugs the laptop from your lap and shoves it in a drawer where you can't look at it. The way you blink up at him is sleepy, confused, so tired that you're not even able to express joy at seeing him back after a week of being separated. You can barely process that he's there, that he's taken your thesis away.

“This is the end of your all-nighters, you hear me, baby?”

"My thesis..." You're mumbling from your spot on the bed, surrounded by rumpled blankets. There are empty glasses covering your bedside table, the bin is full of cereal bar wrappers where you've clearly not been cooking or eating proper food. He's neglected you, Quinn decides, if he'd been here you wouldn't have gotten to this point. He's mad at himself.

"Baby, you're not going to be able to write a good thesis if you keep running yourself into the ground."

"Bu-"

"You're going to get in the shower, you're going wash, brush your teeth and hair and then you're going to get your cute ass in this bed and we're sleeping for the rest of the day."

"Okay..." There's no argument from you, submitting to his will because he's giving orders not requests and it's so easy, so easy to just let Quinn think for you right now.

You let him tug you to your feet, let him guide you gently by the shoulders to the bathroom. You don't complain when he stays in the room, scared you'll pass out in the shower. You accept it when he brushes your teeth for you, your arms like lead, and when he runs a comb through your hair. It's so easy to just let him look after you, to let him rub your moisturiser into your skin and pull a t-shirt over your head and panties up your legs.

It's so easy to let him guide you back to bed, your legs like weights and its so easy to let Quinn lay you down with him. So easy to curl up against his side, face pressed firmly into his neck, nuzzling into him, breathing him in.

You curl against him without even really thinking about it, an instinct to just get as close as possible like you want to crawl inside his skin. Face flush with his neck, hands gripping his t-shirt tightly until one slips under to feel the warmth of his skin. Your legs tangle with his and Quinn takes it in his stride, his arms are solid, firm, protective as they wrap around you, one hand falling to cup your ass to pull you closer, the other running through your hair and cupping the back of your neck. His lips press kisses to your hair, gentle but soothing and he doesn't talk just holds you.

Even when you're asleep, which really doesn't take long with how exhausted you are, even when his arms and legs start to grow tired of the position you're in. He doesn't move because you need this, you've let yourself get run ragged, you've not been taking good care of yourself while he's been away and it's his job to look after you.

You clearly need more guidance, you clearly need him to tell you what you need and he can do that, he can make sure you look after yourself.

One thing is certain you're never pulling an all-nighter again.

[bth3cowboi]

love conjeture, lh44 x reader

masterlist

pairing: lewis hamilton x mathematician!reader

summary: sometimes algorithms win championships, other times they help find love. (social media au)

mercedesamgf1

liked by yninmath, georgerussell63 and 879.301 others

mercedesamgf1 This year we want to give a special thank-you to Dr. Yn Ln! With the creation of her new algorithm focused on data analysis and her extensive collaboration this season our view in analytics evolved to unimaginable levels. We are forever grateful for her contributions and what they mean for the future of Formula 1. Thanks again Dr. Ln, and good luck with the thesis! 😎💻

tagged yninmath;

see all comments

yninmath thank you for the opportunity🫡💙 it was an honor to work alongside this great team

mercedesamgf1 👏💙

user1 omg work girlll!!

user2 just googled her and im going crazy like how do you have 3 phds at 27😭?

user3 graduated super early too shes kind of a genius lol

lewishamilton thank you miss yn💙

yninmath your welcome sir champion🥹

user4 ok this is cuteee

user5 you should be thanking him bffr

georgerussell63 Outstanding!🙌 Make sure to come back Dr. Yn

yninmath oh but the travelling😮‍💨

lewishamilton nah you’ll make it back

yninmath if you say so haha

yninmath

liked by lewishamilton and others

yninmath currently picking up trash couches, writing thesis and remembering the friends ive made along the way 🤓💘

on a serious note, if anyone is interested in reading about topology feel free to read my new paper abt it (link in bio #influencer)

tagged bestfriend, roscoelovescoco;

see all comments

roscoelovescoco working’s hard🐾😵‍💫

yninmath or hardly working🤔

bestfriend surprised the couch didnt bring rats or something

yninmath no rats or fleas!!! its been a great couch #trashcouch #luckygirls

bestfriend please never use # again

user1 great paper dr yn😍 is there any way I could get your paper on the hodge conjeture for academical porpouses? magazines are too expensive, help a girl out🙏

yninmath dm me girl that should be free so make sure your class gets it too

user2 dr yn youre saving the nyu maths class of 25’🫡

lewishamilton no rest on break miss yn?

yninmath you know me already haha💞

user3 suspicious…

user4 what? they cant be just friends?

user5 I thought she worked for merecedes, what is this?

user6 she was only there to develop part of her thesis tho still won them another championship

liked by lewishamilton

f1paddockgossip

liked by pierregasly and 903.443 others

f1paddockgossip BREAKING! Lewis Hamilton was caught while vacationing in France with mathematician and Mercedes’ collaborator Dr. Yn Ln. The pair are rumored to be in a months-long relationship already, starting in the middle of last season.

see all comments

user1 NOOOOO

user2 isnt she like way younger than him? weird

user3 shes literally a grown woman lol she can be with whoever she pleases

user4 no cause they actually look really cute🥹 so happy for them

user5 right! she seems super nice

user6 i just know that man is confused everytime she talks numbers lmao the curse of dating a stem girlie

lewishamilton

liked by yninmath, f1 and 3.478.139 others

lewishamilton congrats on the finished thesis miss yn😉💙 love you

comments have been limited

yninmath love u and ty for the championship😘 would have failed otherwise

lewishamilton 😂😂

lewishamilton anything for my girl

yninmath 🥹

yninmath

liked by mercedesamgf1, lewishamilton and others

yninmath you best believe he sat on the #trashcouch #dearlordwhenigettoheaven

comments have been limited

bestfriend did it have fleas lewishamilton?

lewishamilton no but I was worried

yninmath booo tomatoes

bestfriend just buy a new one please

yninmath i believe in sustentability🫡🍃

lewishamilton there has to be a limit

lewishamilton ❤️❤️

yninmath love you sm

liked by lewishamilton

——

a/n: ty for reading and i hope you enjoyed🩷 maybe ill be writing more for different drivers soon, so if anyone is interesed keep that in mind!

[lightsoutmatthews]

Pipeline Punch - Sidney Crosby

summary: You love energy drinks, Sid? Not so much

pairing: Sidney Crosby x female!reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: age gap (reader is described to be in mid-twenties), hints to sexual activity (nothing explicit on page)

authors note:

sponsored by my moster addiction that´s keeping me alive during hockey games in the middle of the night

-----------------------------------

The apartment was quiet. Sidney was still at practice, and you had instructed him to stop by the store after, just to have a little more quiet time.

Working on your master’s thesis had been draining you these days. There was a month left before you had to hand it in and while you were finished with all your research you still had many pages to write for the actual piece to be completed.

Sidney tried to support you in any way he could, staying longer at the rink to give you time alone, quietly reading in the bedroom while you worked in the dining room but also by making sure you took breaks.

He cooked your favorite meals for dinner, so you could enjoy half an hour eating before going back to work. When you laid in bed at night, he rubbed your back and told you how proud he was of you, or he worshiped your body actually showing you just how proud he was.

You enjoyed it and you were thankful for everything he was trying to do but sometimes you just needed him gone for a little while longer. Hence while you send him grocery shopping with a list that was probably half consisting of things you didn’t actually need.

Taking a break from writing you walked over to the kitchen to grab another energy drink. You were practically running on them at this point. Long nights and early mornings didn’t mix well with your sleep schedule, so coffee and Monsters were keeping you alive and your brain more or less alert.

Picking up the last one of your favorite flavors, pipeline punch, you were happy you put down “a case of monster” on Sidney’s shopping list. You didn’t have the motivation to go to the store yourself. You could order it but even picking up the phone and doing it seemed like too much distraction from work.

Taking a quick peek at the device when coming back to the table, you saw that Sid had texted you a few minutes prior.

Sid: I´m at the store, what kind of Monster do you want again? And don’t say ultraviolet, that can looks radioactive, I´m not bringing that into our house.

You chuckled at your boyfriends question. Being a hockey player, he was really looking after what he put into his body, especially during the season and always side eyed you when you grabbed a can out of the fridge. He would never dare to take a sip of it, as he told you a million times.

I Pipeline Punch (pink can), juiced monarch (peach can with yellow logo), ultra white (white can) and ultra peachy (peach can with silver logo).

I just grab two or three of each

I thank you, you´re the best x

You could picture his reaction to that exactly. He would roll his eyes, mumble something about how unhealthy it is and then pack exactly what you told him. He was considerate like that. Never thinking about making you live his lifestyle.

When you returned to your computer you sighed loudly. The page starred back at you, the graph you just pasted looking completely wrong.

You told yourself you would finish editing this and the rest of the theoretical background tomorrow so you could go to Sid´s game in the evening but so far it wasn’t looking good.

Initially you just wanted to put and edit the graphs showing your research before diving into completing the theoretical background for the topic. But none of your graphs looked right when you pasted them into the document, the captions didn’t look like you envisioned it either.

So, instead of to keep fighting with the computer you closed the document and opened the one for the theoretical background. Taking another sip of your monster you began typing.

-----------

You weren’t sure how long you sat there but when two large hands suddenly gripped your shoulders you looked up for the first time in what felt like forever. “Working hard?” Sid asked before placing a kiss to your cheek.

“You have no idea. I fought with my graphs for like two hours earlier,” you sighed. Sid began rubbing your shoulders and you relaxed into his touch. “I´m sorry, honey.”

You leaned your head back and he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “How much do you have left in that chapter?”

“Not much, a few sentences maybe.” he let go of your shoulders, his movements sounding like he was ready to leave you alone again. “I´ll put the groceries away, meet me in the kitchen when you´re finished?” You just nodded before getting back to typing, trying to finish this as quickly as possible.

Ten minutes later you joined him. Your laptop put on its charger in the living room, retired until you´d have to get back to it tomorrow. Sidney was putting away the pile of groceries that had stacked up on the kitchen island.

“Did you get everything?” You asked with a chuckle as you inspected the mountain of your favorite snacks that was piled on the carton of monster. The half empty can you opened earlier still sitting on the dining room table. “Yeah. But don’t think I don’t get what you did.” A smile spread across his face.

“I didn’t do anything,” you chuckled. “Sure, your sudden hunger for…” he grabbed one of the packages on top of the pile. “… dinosaur cup cake mixes and…” he grabbed the next box. “… Oreo flavored popcorn, wasn’t suspicious at all.”

“My brain wants what it wants.” You laughed. He dropped the groceries he was holding and walked over to you. Wrapping his arms around your waist you leaned against his chest. He placed a kiss to the top of your head before softly creasing over your back. “I hope you didn’t mind.” Your quiet confession made him lift your head up to look him in the eyes.

“Sweetheart, you could ask me to buy you the most outrageous things imaginable and I would find a way to make it work. You needing some sweets and an outlet in baking dinosaur cupcakes is nothing.” A lingering kiss was placed on your lips before he turned back around to finish putting the groceries away.

-------------

An hour later dinner was simmering on the stove while Sidney was preparing a salad and you were setting the table. The forgotten Monster can still sitting next to your plate. When you picked the can up to take another sip Sid entered with the bowl of salad in one and the bowl of rice in the other.

He grimaces as he spotted you drinking your favorite drink. “How you drink this every day is beyond me.” You playfully rolled your eyes. “You´re too old to get it, babe.” He stopped mid movement and huffed.

“Not everyone can still be in their mid-twenties and not get heart problems from drinking a can of energy drink every day,” he chuckled. “You´re telling me you drank that when you were in your twenties?” He shook his head. “Absolutely not. But my teammates certainly did.”

The image of Kris or Geno drinking energy drinks around him, him having a similar reaction to when he saw you doing it made you laugh.

“You should try it,” you held out the can to him, waiting for his reaction. He eyed it suspiciously. “Come on, I´ll let you pick the movie later,” you offered. He sighed and wiped a hand over his mouth. Then he reluctantly grabbed the can.

A satisfied smile spread across your face when he set it at his mouth to take a sip. He grimaced again when the liquid touched his tongue, and he set the can down quicker than he shot a slapshot in a hockey net. “Christ, I don’t know how you drink that shit.”

A warm laugh bubbled out of you. Everything about this situation was so NOT Sidney Crosby. “Worth it for picking the movie?” you laughed.

He rolled his eyes. “We both know you will end up convincing me to watch your show because you couldn’t watch it all day.” You laughed, because he was right.

He vanished back into the kitchen, coming back with the salmon and sauce a second later. Before he put it on the table, he leaned down, so his mouth was lined up with your ear. “But I hope you remember you still owe me something for scoring that hat trick yesterday…”

Goosebumps immediately spread all over your arms. “… because I´m thinking about cashing it in tonight.”

[defectivevillain]

wicked irony

pairing: Joe Goldberg/Reader

The reader is not a woman. Otherwise, no pronouns are used and race is ambiguous.

The end of class doesn’t seem to come fast enough. But finally, finally, everyone files out of the classroom. A few of the students send Joe lovelorn gazes, but he only has eyes for you. And you only have eyes for… the bookshelves around the room, apparently. It’s horribly ironic, Joe thinks, that you’re so blatantly restless and disinterested. You’re barely even looking at him. He thinks he loves it.

Joe is underwhelmed and unimpressed with the wide majority of his students, and this semester is no exception. At least, until he reads your first paper…

word count: 7.9k | ao3 version | joe playlist

Warnings: stalking, kidnapping, threats/blackmail. gory imagery.

Sigh. I have a weakness for charismatic and popular characters being frustrated and intrigued by the one person who isn’t affected by them. (cough cough, Felix fic, cough couch, Finnick fic, cough cough, this one…)

This fic is Joe/Reader centric. Again, the reader is either masculine/male or nonbinary. They’re written to not be a woman, basically. I especially love the idea of Joe breaking his pattern and falling for a super queer-presenting person and falling HARD. Come on, we knew this was coming.

I have almost zero canon knowledge. I’ve never actually watched this series—I’ve only seen Trixie and Katya watch it. Canon does not exist to me.

Joe has finally escaped his past. He’s creating something of a life for himself in London. Here, he isn’t Joe Goldberg, obsessive stalker and murderer; instead, he’s Jonathan Moore, literature professor at Darcy College. It’s a humble life, compared to what he had before. Surprisingly, he’s starting to enjoy it.

Except… his students aren’t the brightest. Joe isn’t sure what it is—if he’s distracting them, or if he just isn’t that great of a professor. (The mere thought amuses him. He knows he isn’t the problem.) Ultimately, though, no one seems very engaged in his class. And, even worse, hardly anyone has a grade above a C. 

Joe sighs as he reads through another mediocre essay, red ink littered across the margins. He shakes his head in annoyance and writes “D” in the top right corner, before adding it to the pile of graded papers. It’s abundantly clear to him that this semester’s batch of students are just like the last group: unmotivated and incompetent. 

Joe grabs the next paper, taking a deep breath and preparing himself for more mediocrity. He’s so accustomed to skipping over the introduction that he nearly neglects the thesis. Joe thinks he’s seeing things at first, but there it is: a well-constructed thesis. He reads through it once, twice. It’s not bad.

But Joe’s not going to get his hopes up, so he continues reading skeptically. It only takes him another paragraph to acknowledge that this student is a good writer. Perhaps even a great one. He only feels more satisfied with each additional page he reads. By the time he gets to the end of the paper, his heart is nearly racing. He’d been waiting for something to ruin it, but nothing happened. That essay was… quite good. 

Joe goes back to the first page and stares at the heading, scrutinizing your name at the top of the paper. It bounces around his mind even after he grades the paper and attempts to put it back in the pile; even as he takes it back in a few minutes to read it again. 

He soon finds himself looking forward to his next class. You haven’t left his mind, despite the fact that he has no idea what you look or sound like. Regardless, your name lingers in the back of his mind as he carries on with his day, crafting lesson plans and responding to the occasional email. And he finds himself distracted with contemplating just what you could look like. 

During his next class, he finds himself actually paying attention during attendance, if only to put a face to the name. You’re near the end of the list, and it takes every ounce of restraint he has not to speed through the list and just call out your name. 

Finally, he gets to you and says your name. You raise your hand. His chest lurches as he looks at you, everything clarifying and blurring around you. It’s such a nonchalant gesture. Hell, you didn’t even care to speak. “Welcome,” Joe says before he can stop himself. Your lips are pulled into an awkward, completely ingenuine smile and you nod. You seem confused at the thought of him welcoming you when he didn’t do the same for the other students; and annoyed at the brief attention the remark garners you. Joe updates the attendance, fighting off the urge to smile for some reason. 

He can’t fight off his curiosity for long. Twenty, then thirty minutes pass. And he reaches the brink of his patience. His lectures are meant to be interactive, but the majority of the class doesn’t care to participate. You aren’t necessarily vocal, but you’re clearly listening, at the very least. And Joe finds himself eager to hear what you have to say. He asks a question. No one answers. And he lets the room descend into a tense and uncomfortable silence. 

Joe looks at you, sharing something of an apologetic grimace. You stare for a moment, before slowly raising your hand. It’s hard for Joe not to acknowledge you within the millisecond, but he waits a few moments before calling on you to make things seem more authentic. 

Your answer is nearly perfect. You cite direct evidence from the text in your assertion, referencing multiple implicit themes present from the beginning of the book. Joe nods and thanks you for your answer, internally satiated with the knowledge that his preconceptions about you were correct. You’re brilliant. This class is probably too easy for you. 

He manages to exercise inordinate patience and stop himself from keeping you after class. Instead, he resigns himself to a night spent searching for anything and everything he can find on you. Joe’s actually looking forward to it. He wants to learn more about you. You’re clever; you’re undeniably attractive; and you’re entirely unaffected by his machinations. (Joe wants to eat you alive.)

He’s never felt this way about someone before. And his previous infatuations had all been women. That doesn’t seem to matter, though, does it? The feeling he gets in his chest when he looks at you is undeniable. And within the next few classes, he’s surrendering to the urge to get you in a room alone with him. 

“Stay behind for a moment?” Joe asks you near the end of one class. He allows his eyes to wander across the room as he asks, making sure his voice is just loud enough for the other students to hear.  

“...Sure,” you agree hesitantly. Joe knows he’s left you virtually no choice—asking you in front of the entire group. He did that on purpose, of course. You almost seem to recognize that, as your eyes flit about in recognition of the spotlight he placed you under. 

The end of class doesn’t seem to come fast enough. But finally, finally, everyone files out of the classroom. A few of the students send Joe lovelorn gazes, but he only has eyes for you. And you only have eyes for… the bookshelves around the room, apparently. 

It’s horribly ironic, Joe thinks, that you’re so blatantly restless and disinterested. You’re barely even looking at him. 

He thinks he loves it. 

Joe takes the proffered opportunity to study you, amused to find that you’re wearing sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and sneakers. A lot of his students dress up—probably to impress him, he thinks to himself wryly—but here you are, wearing what he can only imagine to be comfortable clothing that you practically threw on. Your hands fidget ever so slightly in your pockets as you explore the room around you, showing no indication of even noticing his presence. Joe studies you for a while longer before finally saying your name to catch your attention. 

It’s gratifying to see the way you almost force yourself to drag your gaze towards him. Your eyes meet his and, for a moment, Joe just stands there. Every word he means to say falls to dust on his tongue as he looks at you. You look so fucking bored, as if you’d quite literally rather be anywhere else. 

Finally, Joe thinks to himself. A challenge. 

He taps his fingers against his desk a few times in faux restlessness, seeing your eyes track the movement. “How’d you like the book?” Joe asks after a few moments. He doesn’t even really need to ask—he knows exactly what you thought of it, because you had written about it rather transparently. Somehow, he still wants to hear your answer anyways. 

“It was a book,” you respond vaguely. And Joe feels a genuine laugh crawl out of his throat. He’s just as startled by it as you are. 

“That’s a diplomatic way of putting it, yes,” he agrees. You were the only one to genuinely analyze the rhetorical style and consider how it impacted the story. You were the only one to find fault with the author’s pretentious language and shitty metaphors. “I must admit, I was impressed with your essay,” Joe continues. He reread it several times. He closed his eyes and imagined you sitting in the library—or perhaps even in your apartment—writing the paper, a concentrated expression on your face. He stood outside of your building and stared up at your drawn curtains, envisioning you typing away on your laptop. But you don’t need to know that.

Truthfully, when Joe began looking into you, he was annoyed to find that you have little to no social media presence. The few accounts you have are private. Joe had to do a bit of work—and, even then, he doesn’t have nearly as much information as he should. He’s forced to actually pay attention to your answers now. 

“Thanks," you say, seeming surprised as you blink at his compliment. He’s broken out of his thoughts.  

Joe doesn’t bother responding to your gratitude. “You’re doing well in this class,” he states instead. You’re the only person with an A. Joe has earned himself something of a reputation on campus for being the strict and exacting American professor with rigorous standards. Yet here you are, passing his class with ease. He would be annoyed, if he didn’t find you so intriguing. 

You don’t seem to know what to say to him. Joe continues speaking. “What program are you in?” he asks, despite already knowing the answer. Communication. Transfer student. Perfect GPA. Peer tutor at the writing center on campus.  

“Communication,” you respond, unknowing of his internal dialogue. Joe hums, pretending that information is new. 

“And how do you like the program?” he continues, secretly a bit entertained by your short answers. 

“It’s good," you respond. And wow, you’re giving him absolutely nothing to work with. It’s almost amusing. Joe feels his lips quirking at the edges. You’re not even trying to hide your disinterest. It’s fascinating. 

“Just good?” Joe prompts you. 

“I’m enjoying it,” you answer. There’s an awkward, tense silence for several long moments. Joe doesn’t make a move to break it, and neither do you. Then, just as he begins to think he’ll have to keep it going, you continue speaking. “Did you need me for something, Professor?” you eventually ask. 

Joe’s almost impressed that you had the courage to say that to his face. He was convinced he would have you trapped in conversation for a few minutes longer. It appears he’s underestimated you. 

“I was just curious about you,” Joe admits. You have no idea how dangerous his curiosity is. He is going to pick you apart. (And, if he’s feeling particularly merciful, he’ll even put you back together.) “Your writing is quite well-developed. I wanted to inquire about your career goals, see if there was anything I could do to assist you.” 

“Oh,” you say. You’re shifting your balance ever so slightly as if uneasy. Your backpack’s on your shoulders still, as if you’re going to just bolt out of the room at a moment’s notice. You really don’t want to be here, do you? “Well, thank you. I appreciate that. I don’t think I’m going to be pursuing literature, necessarily, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

Damn it, you are good. You buried your disinterest in faux gratitude. Joe was almost fooled for a moment. He’s suddenly scrambling to find something to say, something to force you to stay in this room, if only so he can pick you apart more—

But you’re already walking away, taking the opportunity you’ve created for yourself to escape. Joe stares after you for a moment, almost in disbelief. He hardly got anything out of you. You pretty much brushed him off and continued on about your day. You threw him off for a fraction of a second, long enough for you to get away. 

Did that really just happen?

Joe must be getting rusty.  

Joe is quickly learning that you’re a bit of an interesting case. You’re a lot different from the people he would usually go after. He’d almost venture to call you reclusive, because you’re not one to go to parties on campus or hang out with friends very often. You’re independent, which he would ordinarily appreciate—if it didn’t make tracking you down so damn difficult. You’re an unobtrusive presence on campus, clearly content with fading into the background. And your efforts work rather well for you, it seems. Of course, you can’t fool Joe. He would never be bored by you. Anything and everything you do just fascinates him. You’ve been fixed in his sights since that first paper you submitted to him weeks ago. 

This fascination is how he finds himself walking into one of the humble coffee shops on campus, pretending to look at the menu when he’s really tracking you down. He knows you tend to come here after your Intercultural Communication class on Wednesdays—and, after a few moments, he finally spots you. You’re nestled in one of the booths in the corner of the room, typing away on your laptop as usual. That’s one of the least surprising things he’s learned about you: you’re rather studious. He didn’t even need to glimpse into your apartment window to learn that, although he did anyway. 

Joe feels himself moving before he can stop himself. A few steps and he’s standing at the edge of your table, waiting for you to tear your attention away from your busywork. It takes a few seconds longer than he’d like, and he eventually abandons his patience. “Fancy seeing you here,” he remarks. 

You finally look up from your laptop screen, your eyes briefly finding him. “Professor Moore,” you say, momentarily startled by his presence. “What brings you here?”

“Just stopping by for some coffee before my office hours,” he answers with a slight smile. 

“…Well, I should leave you to it, then," you say smoothly. You predictably don’t take the bait—the reminder of his office hours—and instead practically dismiss him. His hand twitches at his side. “It was good to see you.” Liar. You look so uncomfortable. It only makes Joe more persistent. 

“Nonsense, I can spare some time for my best student.” Joe waves off your concern, before promptly leaning down and taking a seat in the booth across from you. You’re stoic for the most part, but a flicker of surprise and bewilderment passes across your face. Joe resists the urge to smile at the sight, instead focusing on you. 

“How’s your paper coming along?” he asks. You look suspicious and wary. Damn it, that’s right. Joe’s not supposed to know that you started that, is he? Finding the password to your school account had been far too easy, though. From there, he was free to browse your many assignments. And Joe devoured them all—especially the ones for his class. (God, that sounds pathetic, even for him.) “Don’t tell me you haven’t started it yet,” he adds jokingly, jabbing at your quick work pace. You’re at least a few weeks ahead of the course schedule. He can’t bring himself to be irritated by it. 

“I have some ideas, but nothing concrete yet," you answer.

“Good, good,” Joe says. “And what are you working on now, may I ask?”  

“Something for my Digital Activism class,” you respond. Joe looks at you expectantly and you continue. “We have to pick a digital activism movement and use content analysis to determine its efficacy.”

He sits for a bit, watching you continue to ignore him. He’ll occasionally take a sip of his drink but, otherwise, he’s unabashedly staring. Either you’re particularly good at ignoring him, or you just haven’t noticed. Joe gets the feeling it’s the former. 

“I have to get to class,” you announce at some point, closing your laptop and slipping it into your backpack. Joe almost laughs. You’re not getting out of this that easily. Absolutely not. Not again.

“Are you going to Winslow Hall?” Joe asks. He knows you are. Even if he hadn’t checked your schedule—which he did—he would be able to come to that conclusion. The college isn’t huge, so a lot of the liberal arts classes are in the same collection of buildings. “I can walk you there,” he offers politely.

“...Okay.” You’re clearly displeased with this turn of events, and confused by the gesture. Joe doesn’t give you any time to retract the remark, instead putting his jacket on and waiting for you to do the same. You’re sneaking suspicious glances at him every few moments. Usually his charismatic attitude isn’t met with such disregard and wariness. It’s a strange departure from the past. Then again, he’s sort of reinventing himself here in London. (Or, at least, that’s what he tells himself.) 

Joe heads out of the coffee shop with you, walking at your side and taking note of how you almost seem to shrink on yourself as passersby stare at the both of you. No doubt they’re wondering just who you are—Joe hasn’t earned a reputation for being particularly social. And he has quite a few admirers across campus. You’re almost wilting under everyone’s gazes, your hands fidgeting with the straps of your backpack restlessly. You probably haven’t realized, but your somewhat alternative appearance is only making you stand out more when next to him. It’s kind of funny. 

“Here we are,” Joe announces after your rather uneventful walk. “See you in class tomorrow,” he says, letting a charming smile slip onto his face. 

“Bye,” you say with an awkward, strained smile. He’s caught your genuine smile from afar—this tense pull to your lips is the furthest thing from it. It’s like you’re determined not to let your guard down in front of him. And within moments, you’ve already entered the classroom—as if you’re fleeing from him. 

In the coming weeks, as the semester starts to wind down, Joe decides to adjust his curriculum slightly to make the final assignment a partner project. It’ll boost some of the slackers’ grades—assuming they actually put in the work. But he knows that’s not the real reason why he’s giving the class this work. The real reason is sitting in the back of the class: you. Inexplicably, Joe wants to observe you speaking to someone else. He wants to see how you act when you’re forced to speak to someone else, to a peer. How will it differ from how you speak to him? Are you naturally wary, or is he special? He’s smirking at the thought. 

This partner project is how Joe currently finds himself in between the bookshelves of the campus library, subtly peeking through the gaps in the books to look at you and your partner. He’s hanging on to your every word, regardless of how mundane or unassuming it may be. There’s something positively captivating about you. (And this feels like it should be a blow to his pride, somehow. Joe has watched people before, many times. He’s never sunk to such depths: watching you do virtually nothing as you complete your schoolwork.) 

Then again, you’re not a particularly scandalous or public person. This is the best he can do. You like to keep to yourself, after all—spending hours in your apartment with your eyes glued to your laptop, or your phone, or a book. Joe shakes his head in annoyance, forgetting himself for a moment.

“What do you think of Professor Moore?” your classmate asks curiously. Joe suddenly snaps back to attention, feeling himself lean forward and peek through the gaps in the bookshelves to study the look on your face. That was rather fortuitous. 

You’re frowning at the question. “I’m not sure,” you say after a moment. The fluorescent lights of the library hum in impatience. Joe breathes slowly. “He kind of gives off serial killer vibes.” 

Joe is sure there’s a huge chunk of context he’s missing, but he still has to duck below the shelves to hide himself as he laughs. Oh, you have no idea. His shoulders are shaking with mirth. It takes concerted effort for him to reel himself back in. 

“How?” your classmate asks, clearly thrown by your honesty. 

“I don’t know,” you say hesitantly. You’re acting a bit uncertain, but Joe gets the feeling you’re just pretending for your classmate’s benefit. After all, you’ve made little effort to hide your skepticism whenever he speaks to you individually. “He fits the demographic. White man, conventionally attractive. Kind of emotionless.” Conventionally attractive. That’s not even a compliment—it’s just the truth. But it somehow satisfies Joe anyways. 

“I guess," the woman responds, clearly unconvinced. 

“Why do you ask?” you question her. 

“Just wondering,” she shrugs. “He seems to talk to you a lot.” 

Joe can see your eyebrows furrow from his position behind the bookshelves. You don’t exactly look pleased at the thought. “I don’t think so,” you say to your classmate. You don’t have anything else to say on the matter, supposedly, because you turn your attention back to the project.

This is fun, Joe thinks. Surprisingly so. 

Unfortunately, you soon part ways with your classmate to return to your apartment. Joe follows you on the way back, annoyed at the knowledge that he’ll never get another chance like that again: one to hear your honest, unfiltered opinion on him. At least, not without asking you directly. Your words ring in his ears, even after he returns home that night and gets ready for bed. 

The next few weeks are par for the course. Despite his best efforts, he can’t quite seem to get you alone—save for your regular visits to the coffee shop. But that’s not enough for Joe, and he knows it. He needs so much more. He needs to sink his claws into you, rip your rib cage apart until he can finally see that damn heart of yours. And then maybe, just maybe, he’ll finally understand you. 

He’s… not doing well with this whole “reinvention” thing. Ah well. 

It isn’t until one early afternoon that his resolve finally starts to weaken. Joe’s sitting in his office, scrolling through his inbox when he finds an email from you—buried between the bureaucratic nonsense sent from the university and automated notifications from the grading system. His heart jumps unpleasantly, until he sees the headline of the email: “Class Tomorrow.” That doesn’t bode well. You’re probably not going. 

Indeed, as he opens the message and skims through it, his eyes find the important parts: “sick” and “absence”; and then, “apologies for the inconvenience.” Despite it all, you’re formal and polite. He appreciates the fact that you notified him of your absence: so many of his students will ditch class without warning. It’s nothing more than a common courtesy, but somehow, it’s still rather rare. He has an attendance policy on his syllabus, but it is often ignored. Joe shakes his head and returns his attention to your email. Then he reads it again. And a third time. 

He scoffs at himself. What the hell is he doing, reading a simple email over and over again? Is that really the best he can do? Joe sighs and refocuses his thoughts on the remaining emails sitting in his inbox, fighting off thoughts of you. 

As it turns out, rereading your email is far from the best thing Joe can do. He can do much better, like stand outside of your apartment and look through your windows. His eyes explore the scene: the tissue box and unusually cluttered table near your couch, the somewhat exhausted look on your face, the uncharacteristic lethargy to your movements. You look kind of miserable. 

You must have a fever, because you’re only wearing a tank top and shorts. Joe doesn’t think he’s seen this much of your skin before—this fall hasn’t been a particularly warm one, so he’s used to seeing you in sweatpants, jeans, sweatshirts, sweaters… He is absolutely not used to this—was not prepared to feel this uncomfortable stirring in his gut, this horrible restlessness and urge to get moving, to do something to distract himself from whatever this is—

Joe rubs a hand over his face and takes a slow breath. Get a hold of yourself, he admonishes himself. He continues studying your apartment from his vantage point, finding that, even in the throes of your sickness, you’ve still kept it relatively clean. That’s admirable, if a bit foolish. You head to your couch and throw a blanket over yourself. Joe watches as you drift off, checking his watch. It’s not very late yet—you usually go to bed later. You must be rather fatigued. 

Joe eventually leaves, if only because the night air is getting uncomfortably chilly. He spends the rest of the night grading and preparing for his next lesson. He wonders when you’ll get better, when you’ll return to his classroom. You’re not the type to miss lectures, Joe can already tell. So the fact that you’re absent is… a bit worrying. Or, it would be worrying, if he were the type to get stressed about things like that.  

Days pass, and Joe is forced to settle for your occasional emails—and the glimpses of you he catches from outside your apartment building. You’ve missed three classes at this point, interspersed across a week and a half. He isn’t sure whether to expect you today. You didn’t send an email like normal, but he doesn’t want to get his hopes up. 

The universe almost seems to be poking fun at him, because as he settles at his desk and muses, you walk through the door. “Back in the land of the living, hm?” Joe asks in lieu of a greeting. You sigh and place your backpack down, getting to your seat. He takes in your appearance, finding that you look worn out but still marginally better than before. He hopes you took those antibiotics your doctor prescribed. 

“For now,” you respond with a tired smile. You look exhausted. Joe doesn’t realize he utters that thought aloud until he hears you respond. “I know,” you say. Another student would be embarrassed at the thought, but you don’t seem to care. 

“Well, don’t go falling asleep on me,” Joe says teasingly, if only because social etiquette demands it of him. Secretly, he wouldn’t mind if you fell asleep. The thought of your wariness and skepticism slipping away, leaving you entirely vulnerable… 

“No promises,” you huff as you get your laptop out, entirely unaware of the dark turn his thoughts have taken. 

“Let me know if you need any assistance with catching up,” he offers. You both know you won’t need it. 

“I will, thanks,” you respond amicably. Your attention is focused on your screen for a moment, your eyes shifting ever so slightly as you read something. Then you blink and look back up at him. “I watched the lectures, so hopefully I’ll be okay.” 

“Ah, very good,” he smiles. “I’m sure you’ll be just fine, then.” 

Soon enough, the other students begin to file into the room. He allows them a few moments to get settled, before diving into today’s shorter lecture. Joe had allocated some time at the end of class for the partner projects, if only to make things easier on himself. Now, he won’t have to sneak around in the library to hear your conversation with your classmate. (Although, last time was certainly interesting in its own right.) 

Joe fights with the urge to stare at you the entire time, instead letting his eyes wander across the room as he subtly eavesdrops on your conversation. 

“Are you feeling better?” your classmate asks.

“Yeah, sort of," you answer her. “Just tired. I got the analysis done before I got sick, though.” Of course you did, Joe thinks. Of course you did. 

“Well, let me know if you need anything," she says, in a voice dripping with concern and something more… intimate. Joe feels an ugly feeling settle at the pit of his stomach. 

“Okay, thanks,” you say blankly. Jesus, you’re a brick fucking wall. She’s clearly flirting with you. Either you’re oblivious—which Joe somewhat doubts, given the perceptiveness you’ve exhibited in the past—or you’re just uninterested. It’s intriguing. Almost impressive, actually.  

As the two of you continue to work on your project, Joe catches bits and pieces of your conversation—interspersed between his unfortunate lapses in attention as he’s forced to answer a few students’ questions. But then the class is ending and you’re leaving. He can’t quite stop himself from staring after you as you go, nor can he convince himself to stop going to that coffee shop every time you go. 

He finds you there the next day, in the same booth you’re always in. Joe is almost ready to think you’re doing this on purpose. You’re not even making it difficult. The same time, the same place, the same day of the week… Come on. He thought you were a bit of a challenge. Joe slides into the booth across from you, settling into the seat that is starting to become his. 

“Hey, Professor,” you say, not even looking up from your screen.

“You can call me Jonathan, you know,” Joe says with a bit of friendly inflection. He very nearly slips and introduces himself as Joe. Something about you makes him want to be honest with you, if only to provoke you into some sort of reaction. 

“I’d rather not,” you respond seamlessly, a pinched expression on your face. Usually, that would be more than enough for a student to fall at his feet. He almost frowns, but manages to resist the urge. Perhaps he needs to try a different tactic. 

“Is your schedule settled for next semester?” he asks instead. 

“Yeah,” you confirm casually. 

“What classes are you taking?” he asks. It’s like pulling teeth. Are you doing this on purpose?

“Just communication classes,” you answer. “And a history class, I think. Some gen-ed, I don’t remember the name of it.”

“Exciting.” He raises his brows, willing you to look at him. You spare him a momentary glance, before returning your attention to your schoolwork. Is whatever you’re doing really more intriguing than he is? He almost wants to be offended. Almost.  

“Not really,” you dismiss the remark. 

He sits with you silently for a while, just watching you write. Joe has to admit, he’s stewing a little bit. You’re not even giving him the time of day. But his patience starts to pay off, as he catches you sending him confused glances. 

“Why are you doing this?” you ask, finally addressing him. You close your laptop screen and give him your full attention; and Joe gets a sudden rush of adrenaline. 

“Pardon?” he manages to ask, his tongue feeling slightly thick in his mouth.

“Why are you doing this?” you repeat yourself, gesturing to the two of you and the coffee shop around you. “Sitting here, asking me these questions.” 

“I want to get to know you," he answers immediately. That is the complete truth, for once. Unfortunately for you, that desire is far from harmless. 

“Why?”

“Is it really so hard to believe?” Joe counters instead, tactfully avoiding the question. He lets a charming smile rise on his lips. The gesture only seems to disconcert you. 

“Yes, it is,” you answer flatly. “What’s your endgame?”

Bold of you to assume he has an endgame. You’re absolutely right, of course. He absolutely has an endgame. He always does. “I’m just making conversation,” Joe says innocently. 

“Okay.” You’re clearly unconvinced. 

“It’s getting late,” Joe observes, casting a pointed glance through the dark windows at the front of the shop. “I’ll walk you home,” he offers. 

“No, it’s okay,” you deny him. You’re too smart for your own good. “I’ll be fine,” you say. And oh, you really, really would be. You would be so much better off walking home alone. But that’s just not in the cards for you tonight. 

“I insist,” Joe says firmly. You’re silent, clearly annoyed but sensing he isn’t going to relent. You know he’s got you trapped now. He shrugs his jacket on and watches you do the same, waiting for you to gather up your things before heading out of the coffee shop. 

The two of you are quiet for a few minutes. Joe has his hands shoved in his pockets and he’s walking ahead of you, anticipating what’s to come. He can’t say he’s been this excited before. But you’re different from the others. 

“You seem like you know where you’re going,” you say suspiciously.

Shit. That’s a harsh reality check. “I assume you live in one of the residence halls on campus." Joe thinks quickly. “Am I incorrect?”

“The dorms are back there,” you point out, glancing behind you momentarily before returning your attention to him. “And you’ve been walking ahead of me.”

“I take long strides; I’m tall," Joe justifies. 

“You’re not that tall.” You roll your eyes. “And I can walk quickly, so it’s not that.” You seem completely convinced, confident. You’re difficult to throw off, almost unshakeable even as you unknowingly approach a line you can’t come back from.  

“You don’t seem to trust me,” Joe eventually remarks, after sensing that your doubt is still very much present. 

“I don’t,” you agree. 

“Why not?”

“You don’t make sense to me," you admit. “You’re… I don’t know.” Joe waits patiently. He’s curious to hear how far you’ll go. “You’re elusive. You’re constantly acting, pretending. I’ve never seen you look authentic.”  

“A professor has to act a certain way, you understand,” Joe says somewhat dryly, secretly a bit annoyed by your stubbornness. You’re treading on thin ice and you don’t even realize it. His hand is twitching at his side. 

“Sure,” you acquiesce. “But you’re always acting. Even when you think you aren’t.” That’s… more accurate than you could ever know. 

“I see,” Joe says. 

“You act like… you want something from me,” you continue, studying him for a moment. “And I have no idea what it is.” 

“Maybe I just want your company,” Joe replies. 

“That’s not enough,” you respond far too quickly.

“Why not?” He asks. 

“Don’t pretend to be offended now,” you scoff, shoving your hands in your pockets. You look very restless and apprehensive, your eyes flitting around him as if waiting for him to make a move of some sort. 

You both walk in silence for a few more minutes. 

“I don’t know anything about you, you realize,” you continue. Joe’s so surprised to hear that remark that he just stares in disbelief. “You’re hard to track down. Practically nonexistent on university websites. It’s like you just… appeared.” 

The irony of that statement isn’t lost on Joe, but it will certainly be lost on you. Because you’re just as difficult to track down. Getting to this point—spending time with you, alone and unguarded—took him practically the entire semester.

“What do you want to know?” Joe asks, because he’s nothing if not charitable. His heart is roaring in his ears. Things don’t typically go like this. He’s not supposed to be the one being interrogated. 

You shrug helplessly. “I don’t know. Something, I guess. Something to prove you’re an actual human being, not just an empty husk.”

Damn. Damn. 

“Did I hit a nerve?” you ask. Joe blinks and there’s an entertained quirk to your lips. Another blink and it vanishes. “Whoops,” you say carelessly, clearly not very bothered by it. 

“You don’t seem very apologetic,” Joe notes calmly. 

“I get the feeling you’re not that great of a person,” you say. 

Jesus fucking Christ. Joe genuinely freezes for a moment, forgetting to walk alongside you. This entire interaction is giving him whiplash. Joe is so used to dominating the conversation—steering it at his will, until he gets exactly what he wants. But here you are, casually demolishing his plans and laying him out to dry in the same breath. Is he really so predictable, for you to take a simple glance at him and break through all of his defenses? Surely not. 

Joe shakes his head and catches up to you. “That’s not a very nice thing to say to someone,” he eventually says. That’s about what a normal person would say in this situation, right? Sure. 

“Yeah, you’re probably not used to hearing that, are you?” you huff. You’re smiling now—honest to God, smiling. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you smile so genuinely before. What the fuck?

“You realize I have control over your grades,” Joe says, the statement leaving his lips before he can think it through. It’s… not the best response he’s crafted, but he supposes it’ll do. 

You don’t seem the least bit affected by the implicit threat. “Are you really threatening me?” you ask, clearly amused. “Everyone else in your class is failing. Tanking my grades would only reflect poorly on you.”

You’re perceptive. Super perceptive. And yet you have no idea just how much danger you’re in right now. And yet you’ve never even noticed the persistent shadow following you across campus, lurking outside your apartment. “You’ve thought this through,” Joe remembers to say. 

“Not really,” you dismiss the thought. “Just saying. Besides, it’s near the end of the semester.”

“It is,” he agrees. Somehow that remark is what ushers in the finality for him. You’re right: finals are next week. His class doesn’t have a final. With the end of the semester, Joe won’t have an excuse to see you regularly anymore. He’ll track you down at that one coffee shop, lurk near your apartment, sure. But that’s not enough for him. 

“You almost sound disappointed,” you notice. Because of course you do.

“Competence is increasingly rare these days,” Joe says. The night air almost seems to warn him after that comment, rustling through his hair and sending a persistent chill through his bones. 

“You do have something of a reputation for being a stickler, don’t you?” you murmur. 

“No one here knows how to write,” he huffs. 

At that, the air between you falls silent once more—complete with a tangible, stifling tension. Your eyes flit about restlessly, never seeming to settle on any one thing for long. You’re steadily avoiding his gaze, as if meeting his eyes will confirm your suspicions. (It certainly will.) Joe allows it, if only because the sight amuses him. 

“This is me,” you then say, as the two of you stop in front of a nondescript building. It’s not you—you don’t live here. Your building is down a block or two. Joe just arches a brow. 

“You don’t want me to know where you live?” he asks casually, before he can stop himself. Joe’s getting closer and closer to crossing that same line he knows he can’t come back from. But damn it, what else is there to do? Moving to London, adopting this new identity… none of it quelled that visceral, manipulative desire in his chest. 

“What do you mean?” you ask slowly, breaking him out of his thoughts.

Joe has a choice to make. He can play dumb, let the conversation fall to silence and allow you to walk into that building you certainly don’t live in. He can turn his back, pretending not to see you sneak out of the building minutes later and head to where you actually live. He can give you that small mercy. 

…or… 

“You don’t live here,” Joe asserts. You’re frozen in front of him. He finds himself satisfied to know he provoked a reaction in you, no matter how small. He can’t quite give up the game now—he’s just getting started. “Come on, then,” he says, putting a hand on your shoulder and steering you away from the building. 

“Where are we going?” you question. 

“To your apartment,” Joe answers. 

You look unsettled, genuinely nervous. Joe feels a smirk rising on his lips before he can hide it. He grabs your forearm and leads you out of this building, heading down the sidewalk and towards your apartment building. “I’m going to die, aren’t I?” you say at some point. 

You’re going to wish you did. “Not exactly,” Joe settles for saying, when he senses you’re still waiting for an answer. 

You stare at him for a moment, before stiffening. You almost seem to find something in his eyes. “I can walk without your assistance,” you snap, trying to break out of his grip. Joe just tightens his hold on your arm. He’s never been this close to you before: close enough to see the streetlights reflecting in your eyes, the unnerved pull to your lips, the tension stretching across your shoulders. 

“Don’t be difficult,” Joe says patronizingly, if only to irritate you a bit more. You look furious at the remark and he smiles, continuing to lead you towards your building.  

“Should’ve trusted my gut,” you mutter quietly, talking to yourself. 

“You should’ve,” Joe agrees, ushering you into the lobby and guiding you to the elevators. With the elevator’s arrival, he leads you into the elevator before finally, regretfully, removing his grip. Upon pressing the button for your floor, he’s satisfied to find fear flickering across your face—as you evidently realize he knows exactly where your apartment is. Joe wants to burn that memory into his mind forever, watching your reaction over and over again to pick it apart. 

The elevator ride is quick and painless. At least, it is for him. Joe notices that you’re getting fidgety, though. And when the doors slide open to reveal your floor, you hover in the doorway. Joe just sighs, putting a hand on your back and leading you to your apartment. You only seem to be more disturbed as he does so. 

“Well?” he demands somewhat impatiently, after a few moments pass and you don’t say anything. You haven’t made a move to unlock your door yet. 

“I don’t have my keys,” you answer. He huffs at the attempted lie.

“Left pocket of your jacket,” Joe hums, looking at you expectantly. He watches as your hand explores your left pocket, emerging with your keys in your palm. “There you go,” he says with a nod. And if you looked afraid before, you look completely terrified now. 

“Go on, then,” he urges you. After a few seconds pass and you don’t move, he takes the keys from your hand and swiftly unlocks the door. “After you,” Joe says, gently pushing you into the room and following after you. 

He takes in the space greedily, connecting the objects to how they looked from outside. “Nice place,” Joe eventually says. You’re silent. 

Truthfully, things don’t usually go this quickly. Usually he gets into a relationship first, then manipulates the other person until he’s satisfied. But Joe can’t discredit you—he knows you’re not foolish enough to fall for that. You were suspicious from the outset, so he had to abandon his typical methods. It’s a nice change of pace, though: you know exactly how dangerous he is. 

And he doesn’t realize he’s uttered that first sentence aloud until he sees the look on your face. “You do this frequently, then?” you ask. “What, did you do this in America before you got here?” 

Joe keeps silent, knowing you’ll decipher the truth. Indeed, your face falls and you bury your head in your hands for a moment—clearly sensing the gravity of the situation. He gives you a moment to yourself, instead directing his attention to the space around him. It does remind him of you, somehow. And isn’t that a frightening thought? 

“What happens now, then?” you ask quietly. You don’t appear nearly as confident, now that you’re pinned under his gaze. “Will you kill me?”

“No,” Joe responds far too easily. He doesn’t ever want this game to end. No one has challenged him quite like you do. And he’s certain that, even when he seems to have you under his thumb now, you’ll find a way to make things interesting. 

“Why not?” you whisper. 

You’re too interesting. Joe keeps the thought to himself, his hand exploring the adjacent wall and running over the various posters and photographs you have hung up. He’s seen your apartment from the outside, but this is the first time he’s actually been inside it. 

“This apartment isn’t big enough for two people,” you state, as if that’s your most pressing concern. Joe chuckles. 

“Mine is,” he remarks, watching in delight as you process the implications of that statement. Several emotions pass across your face: dread, fear, anger. Then something like resolve gleams in your eyes and you move to get up. But Joe’s standing in front of you before you can even begin to head for the door. “Don’t bother. You won’t escape me.”

And you wouldn’t know, but you lost your chance at escape from the very moment you turned in that first essay. You surrendered yourself to his surveillance as soon as you walked into the classroom the next day. And your efforts at subverting his attention have only drawn him closer. 

Joe stands in front of you for a while, before guiding you to sit on your couch. He bustles about the room, grabbing an empty backpack and beginning to explore the room. He goes to your closet first, taking a few outfits and folding them up before placing them in your bag. 

“What are you doing?” you eventually ask, clearly unnerved by his silence. 

“Gathering your things,” he answers easily, grabbing a few things from your bathroom and stuffing them into the bag. “You won’t be back here for a while.” 

Joe knows he’s only unnerving you more, with the way he’s mechanically making his way through your apartment as if he knows it like the back of his hand. He hears a startled inhale of breath as he grabs your medications and fights off a smile. Yes, you have no idea just how much he knows about you. You’re only beginning to grasp it, because he wants to unsettle you. 

“Shall we?” Joe hums a few minutes later, slinging the bag he prepared for you over his shoulder. He doesn’t bother to wait for your response before latching his hand on your wrist and tugging you along after him. 

The elevator ride is silent. Joe realizes you’re finally looking at him. To think… all this time, all it took was a few drastic measures to thoroughly ensnare you. It doesn’t quite matter that you look disturbed—the fact of the matter is that you’re staring at him, trying to pick him apart the same way he’s been dissecting you. 

When the elevator reaches the first floor and the doors slide open, Joe’s hand finds your wrist again and he leads you after him. The cool night air meets you once more. There are only a few people out this late at night, but he’s brutally aware of how uncomfortable you must look. Coming to an idea, Joe’s hand slips down to your hand and he interlaces your fingers. He can nearly feel your hand trembling in his. Your discomfort can now be interpreted as uneasiness being spotted on the street, holding hands with him. No one will understand just how much danger you’re in as you walk alongside him, pliant in his grip as he leads you towards your new cage. 

Joe looks up to the polluted night sky, entirely void of stars, and smiles. 

Reader, chuckling: I'm in danger.

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