#nasa: oh? how?

[the-faultofdaedalus]

would be really funny to make a relationship chart for all the relationships in aos currently (couple eps into season 3) because its just ward at the center with "hates and wants to kill" lines between him and literally every single other person

[sliverspeaks]

thinking abt this

[batcavescolony]

I was talking to an idiot and I need validation.

[wickedwitzh]

Shower thoughts: ok so Sergei was forced to collaborate with KGB… I kinda find it weird that the CIA hasn’t picked up on Margo in those 10 years

[danderria]

Hero Oak (S2, 23/31)

Check out the other characters in this project here

More outfits under read more!

Bonus everyday outfit 1:

Bonus everyday outfit 2:

[nasa-real]

we're making a ladder

Sidenote: how do you make ladders

[fangomango]

My thoughts have made me sad and stressed enough for today

I'll continue typing out my thoughts tomorrow rn I need scene music

(Warming I went in a huge ramble in the tags, it's very odd 😶)

[twunkzilla]

big brained engineer people r cool and intelligent but if somebody is in rocket science STAY AWAY

[rin-may-1103]

Just a Bite.

Master Post | Next

Danny stared out at the busy street from behind his dumpster.

or well, not his dumpster, but it might as well be his considering how many nights he's spent sitting behind it like some rabid raccoon.

Two months ago, he would have been sleeping in his own bed. His glow-in-the-dark stars vaguely lighting up his room in soft luminescent colors. The sound of Jazz snoring in her sleep just a room over, his parents still milling around in the basement.

he would have just finished fighting the box ghost and collapsed onto his bed, the sound of his home lulling him to sleep.

Oh, how things can change in a blink of an eye.

No, instead of sleeping on his bed with his cartoon ghost sheets and NASA poster covered room, he's out here in some random dirty city, sleeping behind dumpsters.

dirty, grimy, rusty dumpsters.

"did you hear?" some lady dressed in a light blue summer dress asked, turning to look at her friend as they started to walk past. "Mr. Wayne donated another lump sum to that charity." she huffed, shaking her head like she had just said the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard.

her friend stopped in the middle of the alley opening, her graying hair splaying in an ark as she twisted to face the other women. "my word! again? what the hell is that man thinking?"

the woman huffed, then smirked in amusement. "it's like he's shouting for the world to hear how desperate he is for attention. he thinks if he donates enough money to those scoudrails they'll love him or something. With how he's acting lately, it's like he wants all the street rats to barge into his home asking for money, food, and clothes."

her friend clicked her tongue in disgust, "I'd believe it. he has so many kids now, it's like he's running an orphanage. someone, anyone really, with black hair and some tragic story could walk right in and not even be noticed. they'd blend right in with the others."

"I heard it's genetic, his father was the same way before he met Martha. Bruce's blood son, Damian I believe, acts just like his father. the boy's been spotted taking stray cats and dogs inside. It wouldn't surprise me if the paper posted about him convincing his father for another sibling at some point."

the women then turned and started to walk away, their conversation slowly bleeding into the surrounding city ruckus.

Danny leaned back, resting his head against the crumbling brick behind him.

walk right in and not be noticed? wouldn't that be grand. He had heard of Mr. wayne and his gaggle of black-haired children. What were their names again? he could have sworn Sam told him before, in one of her rants about rich society.

Richard Grayson was the first, Danny remembered because Tucker had been making none stop dick jokes for a few hours. Danny didn't understand why the man would willingly go by Dick, but then again, who was he to question someone's name when he fights ghosts like Skulker and Technis on a daily basis?

Next was... Jason? Sam had mentioned there was a whole conspiracy theory of how his death was a cover-up. how all the unsolved crime community swore it was Bruce who killed the kid, that or the kid had some terminal illness that Bruce didn't want the media to know about.

thennnnnn-

Danny glanced around, trying to dig through his memories of Sam's rant. Dick: the orphaned circus act taken in the night his parents died. he's romanie? maybe, Danny wasn't too sure on that one. Jason: taken off the streets, one of his parents was out of the picture and the other one died of a drug overdose.

and then there was..... Tim! Right, Tim, the one who was Mr. Wayne's neighbor before his mother died and his dad went into a coma, then died later on. right, right. he was the known tech genius, the one who took over the company while Mr. Wayne stepped back for a while.

there were others? like, four others? Damian, the lady said he was the blood son sooo, that would imply he was the only bio kid.

who else was there? hmmmm.

well, either way, Danny's tired brain agreed with the women. someone, anyone, who looked vaguely like the other kids could walk right into the house and no one would notice.

it was a bad idea. a terrible one really. but. Danny was hungry.

he's been sleeping behind dumpsters for a few weeks now, he hadn't had anything good to eat in forever, and he was tired. (not as exhausted as he was back home, but still tired. who would have guessed he'd sleep more while homeless?)

he wasn't going to steal from people, his core wouldn't allow him to. and well, he's pretty sure Dan would have stolen already, so there was no way Danny was going to. not unless his life was at risk, and well? it wasn't right now, so no stealing.

but this? walking right into a house and blatantly taking food? right in front of them?

it wouldn't be stealing if he just flat-out didn't try to hide it. they'd be able to stop him and send him away. heck, he doubted he'd even make it past the front gate before they turned him away.

...

was he really going to do this?

...

yes, yes he was.

standing up, Danny started making his way out of the alleyway and over to the tall building with Wayne's name on it. It was a good place to start, maybe he could even find one of the kids and walk with them. or, even better, he could find Mr. Wayne and walk with him. he liked that better than following some kid around.

suddenly, a car honked right next to him, the window rolling down to reveal a tired and disheveled man behind the wheel. glancing up, Danny made eye contact with the taxi driver.

the man yawned and gestured for him to get in, already speaking before Danny could decline. "Mr. Wayne! Your father," yawn, "Father already paid for me to take you home. just hop in."

Danny blinked then glanced around, looking to see if the Wayne the man was talking about was around. nope. turning back, Danny spotted a green sticky note on the back seat.

well, alright then. guess he was getting into the taxi and doing this after all. Clockwork obviously approved if he messed with the timing of things.

Next

[dcxdpdabbles]

For The next part of freelance inventor, you should do more parent trapping(if you want, of course) I was just picturing cartoon level schemes trying to get these two to kiss.

On the flipside, what would happen if the two of them had a fight? I can see the kids and Alfred just kind of trying to make Bruce agree how wrong he was.

"Bruce?"

His heart stops at the sound of that voice, and then it speeds up before he can look over his shoulder. Not that he needs to. He already knows who called out to him.

Only one person in the world adds a certain ring to his name when they speak it.

Bruce turns away from his laptop, displaying some spreadsheets of the upcoming term, coming face to face with Danny Fenton's beaming smile. Behind him, the ocean gleams like liquid sapphire, highlighting the brightness and warmth in Danny's aqua-blue eyes.

He once thought Danny wasn't human; surely, no human could have eyes like those. The sunlight bounces off the dark of his hair, swaying in the breeze, and it somehow calls attention to the laughing lines around his eyes and mouth.

He's shirtless, showing off a physique that would fit a swimmer. His black swimming shorts are covered in the NASA symbol, which is such a Danny thing to do that it makes Bruce's heart skip a beat.

It's odd. As one of the wealthiest bachelors in the world, Bruce had always been surrounded by gorgeous people. Usually, women and men flung themselves at him, whispering false claims of eternal love while displaying teasing hints of the bodies. It was a tool they wielded to charm him into doing what they wanted, but none of them could even compare to Danny's looks.

Perhaps it was due to how effortlessly beautiful Danny was. He didn't spend hours and hours on his looks. Bruce had heard people claim the inventor was plain, but he could never see it.

Bruce had always thought he was pretty from the moment Dick wandered to his table. The gentleness with which he spoke to his then nine-year-old son with respect and full attention as he explained his first intention- the portable charger. How could anyone not be memorized by him?

"Danny? What are you doing here?" He asks after realizing he is gawking like a fool.

His friend's eyes crinkle further as he laughs. "On vacation. Jay and Dick told me about this place, and since I had a conference on the island, I thought I would spend my off time at the private huts. What about you?"

Oh, those little rats. This was all a setup. He should have known something was up when they all forced him to accept it.

"The kids bought me a private hut for a weekend." He answers, moving his eyes away from Danny's lips with great effort. "They said it was a gift and a means to follow my doctor's orders."

"Dami told me about that. The doctor said you have been putting too much stress on your heart, and yet, here you are, working on vacation." Danny planted his hands on his hips, shaking his head in mock pity. "I bet you haven't even frolicked through a field of flowers or jumped over waves since you arrived."

Bruce feels a burst of amusement and slight anticipation tickle the bottom of his stomach. "Well, I just don't know how to do any of that."

"Since we're hut neighbors, I could show you how to have fun. You rich people know what that is, right? Fun?" Danny asks, reaching down to grip Bruce's wrist. Where he touches, tringles of flames light up his skin, and Bruce fights to keep the blush off his face. "I suppose you don't. The first lesson must be how to frolic through the ocean waves, and it starts right now!"

"I thought it was a field of flowers?" He laughs, allowing the shorter man to pull him toward the blue water.

"It's a hybrid course, Bruce," Danny laughs, splashing through the first wave until they are waist-deep and spinning around to grin at him. Bruce practically swallows his own tongue as the man shines in the sunlight, with a beaming soft smile that makes him feel like the only man in the world. "Prepare for the best weekend of your life. No kids. No work. Just us, the ocean, and some tasty meals!"

"That sounds like heaven," Bruce tells him, wondering if Danny can tell how soft his eyes have become or the yearning in his voice. He just knows somewhere in Gotham, all his children are high-fiving each other and scheming up another ill-fated attempt to get Bruce with the man of his dreams.

It's not that he's unaware of their goals. But over ten years after he'd known Danny, silently pinning for him, Bruce realized it would never happen. His friend didn't feel attraction like that.

If Bruce had told him how he felt, he would have lost Danny forever. He would rather live with this buckling longing for the rest of his life if it meant he could be gifted with Danny's friendly smiles and presence.

Danny reaches back, cupping his hands to gather water and splashing Bruce with a gleeful "What are you standing around for? Come! Frolic!"

Bruce grins, throwing back some water in a bigger splash as the young man screams, attempting to escape. He follows close behind, trying to drown the other between gasps of laughter. For a brief moment, he allows himself to live a fantasy life where this was a real romantic getaway, not a setup by his less-than-subtle children.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Fine! Be that way! Excuse me for having a fucking opinion!" Danny hisses, swinging around and stomping out of the room. Bruce's chest feels hot with anger; the angry words that had fallen from his mouth taste bitter and satisfying simultaneously. It's a whirlwind of contradicting emotions that he does nothing when the other man slams the door behind him.

He slams his hands over his eyes, willing himself to calm down but it's hard when Danny is the one who set him off. Danny is the only one in the world that made him feel everything like an explosion.

Both the positive and negative emotions.

How did things come to this? The conversation was going well until the two started talking about the Joker. He's always known his friend had a less white and dark point of view regarding the clown, but to actively claim that Batman was a coward for not killing him when he had the chance?

Yes, Danny didn't know Bruce was Batman, so when he tried to explain that the superhero was afraid that if he started taking lives, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop Danny had grown dismissive. It wasn't meant to attack Bruce, but he knows that logically.

But it still felt like the man he was in love with was calling him a coward straight to his face, and Bruce grew defensive. He tends to lash out when he's on the defense, and before long, the two were in a heated debate about vigilantes in general.

Suddenly, Danny was his face, sneering and growling, when Bruce pointed out that Phantom was the small-town hero of Danny's boyhood and someone he felt jealous of. Danny obviously held the hero in high regard to the point it felt like he was in love with him if Danny was inclined to such emotions- he was just if not more dangerous than Batman would ever be.

It went even worse when Bruce spoke his support for the Anti-Eco Acts that were currently being discussed.

A lot of hateful words were spoken in ten minutes, and by the end of it, Bruce couldn't even figure out how it ended, with Danny's eyes watering up with angry tears or his chest heaving with the screaming.

Why did he even say that? Bruce had a lot of issues with the Anit-Eco Acts. They were far too seated in bigotry to be anything but an excuse to hunt a different race.

He regretted his words, though he doubted he could ask Danny for forgiveness soon. That man was known for holding a grudge and giving the cold shoulder when angry.

Bruce would have to grovel later.

The door to his study slams open, and his children crowd the entrance, looking alight and outraged.

"Why did you make Dad cry!?" Jason demands, crossing his arms and looking ready to throw down. The kids started calling Danny Dad a few months ago when Tim accidentally slipped it into a conversation, and Danny thought it was sweet.

They played it off as a joke, but Bruce knew they liked referring to him as Dad. Bruce was Father in formal events, B in casual moments, and when angry with him, the kids simply referred to him as B.

B for Bitch since you act like one, Dick once explained, eyes burning with anger and a smile as sharp as broken glass.

"You better have a good reason, B." Tim hisses, voice low and anger tightly coiled like a snake ready to strike. It's a violent reminder of Danny that Bruce can only place his hand over his eyes again and groan.

"We had a disagreement."

"What did you do?" Damian demands next, tapping his left foot impatiently. He picked that up from Jazz the last time Danny's sister was in town. "Before claiming innocence, just know you're always at fault. Dad can do no wrong."

"Hear, hear," Steph, Duke, and Cass say together, glaring daggers at Bruce.

Great. The kids have unionized against him.

"We had a disagreement on the Anti-Eco Acts." He grits through clutch teeth, trying to get his shimmering anger to calm down. The children are not helping, and his frustration rises slowly at the avalanche of noise his children release.

"How dare you!"

"Those acts are a blatant disregard of human decency!"

"I always knew you were a white privilege asshole but this!?"

"I will stay with Danny for the rest of the month! I can't believe this!"

"Look here, you Father. You will not support those act,s especially at the expense of Dad!"

"You blue-eyed demon."

Bruce puts his head into his hands and screams. Danny returns to talk this over hours later, but Bruce is right.

He has a lot of groveling he needs to do. His kids still lock him out of his room. They have a sleepover with Danny, dragging in their mattress and watching movies late into the night.

He sleeps on the couch, listening to their merry-making with a heavy heart. Aflred refused to let him sleep in a guest room once Dick informed him that Bruce was in the dog house with Danny.

Betrayed in his own home.

The Anti-Ecto Acts are rejected primarily due to Bruce Wayne spearheading their resistance. Danny hugs him when he reads the paper, and all is right with the world. The Kids still don't let him sleep in his own bed, and for a month, Bruce's back hurts from the lumping couch cushions.

Clark tells him jokingly the children would choose Danny in a divorce, so he starts carrying around Kryptonite.

[diamonddaze01]

Error 404: Feelings not Found

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f!reader | wc: 4.0k genre: fluff, electrical engineering student wonwoo (pulled out my textbooks for this) warnings: loserboy core a/n: for all my fellow left-brained girlies who have never really understood feelings. sometimes, all you have to do is feel // now playing: when he sees me // thank u kae @ylangelegy for the song suggestion and betaing ily muah!

summary: Wonwoo has always been comfortable in the world of logic.  But his crush on you? A catastrophic anomaly in his otherwise perfectly functioning system.

Wonwoo has always been comfortable in the world of logic. Numbers are predictable, formulas are consistent, and circuits behave exactly as they’re supposed to. But his crush on you? A catastrophic anomaly in his otherwise perfectly functioning system.

It’s not like he planned for this. (Wonwoo plans for everything.) He planned how to tackle his midterms, down to how much coffee he’d need for optimal brain function. He planned his study schedule for finals week with a level of precision that could rival NASA’s launch timelines. But he didn’t plan for you—didn’t account for how you’d waltz into his life, smiling like it was easy, and throw every variable he’d ever known into disarray.

Take last week, for instance. You’d borrowed his notes in Signals class after the professor’s lecture turned into a chaotic sprint of equations, leaving most of the class scrambling to catch up. Wonwoo’s notes, as always, were pristine—straight lines, perfect margins, not a single smudge or scribble.

“These are amazing,” you’d said, eyes scanning the page before handing them back. “Your designs are so clean.”

Simple, right? A harmless comment. But by the time he’s back at his desk, staring at his notebook, the words replay in his mind like an unsolved equation. Somewhere between “clean” and the way you smiled, his brain spins out of control, dragging him into an entirely unnecessary analysis.

By the time the clock strikes midnight, he’s halfway through a list of possible interpretations for the word clean.

Did you mean clean as in technically proficient?

Or was it a general observation, like, “Oh, clean lines, nice work”?

Was it just a filler compliment?

Wait, what if you didn’t care about the project at all and were just being polite?

…Or were you flirting?

By the end of the day, the list has ballooned to 27 points, each item meticulously numbered and annotated with follow-up questions. He’s considered:

The tone of your voice (friendly, teasing, or something else entirely?).

The duration of eye contact (exactly 2.3 seconds—long enough to register intent?).

The statistical likelihood of romantic interest based on casual interactions in a shared academic setting.

He even creates a small flowchart titled “Compliment Probability Breakdown” in the margins, complete with arrows leading to various outcomes: “Casual comment” → “Friendly disposition” → “No further analysis needed.” Except, of course, he does further analyze. He always further analyzes.

Mingyu finds him later that night, still hunched over the notebook with a pencil tucked behind his ear. “Wonwoo, what are you doing? It’s a compliment, man. Just take it.”

Wonwoo glares up at him, a little defensive. “Compliments can have layers.”

“Compliments are not onions, dude. Sometimes people just say stuff because they mean it.” Mingyu grabs the notebook, flipping through pages of scribbled notes and diagrams. “Wait, are you seriously tracking eye contact now?”

Wonwoo snatches it back with a huff. “It’s for clarity.”

“Clarity,” Mingyu repeats, shaking his head. “Okay, listen: not everything needs a breakdown. Maybe she just thinks you’re good at this stuff.”

The suggestion should feel reassuring, but it only creates more questions. Do you think he’s good at this stuff? Wonwoo’s chest tightens as the overanalysis starts up again, his brain racing to decode every minor interaction between you two.

And for the first time in his life, he wonders if there’s a problem even logic can’t solve.

The first time Wonwoo realizes he might have a crush on you is during a Circuits lab. The task is simple: build an EKG circuit. The professor’s voice echoes in the background, laying out the steps, but Wonwoo doesn’t need instructions—he’s already ahead, mentally piecing together the circuit in his mind like a jigsaw puzzle.

You, him, and Soonyoung are grouped together. Soonyoung, true to form, spends more time spinning a pen between his fingers and accidentally dropping it than actually contributing. “What’s a diode again?” he whispers, squinting at the diagram. Wonwoo doesn’t bother answering. He’s focused on soldering the components, the familiar rhythm of it calming.

Then you lean closer. Close enough that he catches the faint scent of your shampoo—something floral, light, completely unexpected.

“Wow, you’re fast,” you say as Wonwoo expertly attaches a capacitor to the circuit. There’s a trace of genuine admiration in your voice, enough to make him falter. “I’d probably still be looking for the resistor.”

The comment shouldn’t faze him. It’s just a compliment, nothing extraordinary. He glances at you, briefly, before immediately looking back at the board. It feels safer not to meet your eyes for too long. “Uh, it’s color-coded,” he manages, his voice steady but quieter than usual. “You just… follow the stripes.”

You laugh softly, the sound threading its way into his chest like a loose wire connecting where it shouldn’t. “Yeah, but it’s not that simple for everyone,” you say, brushing a stray hair out of your face as you turn your attention to the circuit.

The way you say it makes his chest feel strangely tight—like you’ve taken something as mundane as resistors and turned it into a compliment, like you’re saying he’s not simple either. It’s a ridiculous thought, and yet it roots itself in his mind.

Wonwoo’s hand, soldering iron poised mid-air, doesn’t move. His brain, which usually fires on all cylinders, freezes like an overloaded processor. The soldering iron hovers dangerously close to the board, but all he can focus on is the way your hair catches the light, the way your fingers curl around the resistor as you inspect it. Wonwoo doesn’t mean to notice, but suddenly he can’t stop noticing—the way the fluorescent light reflects in your eyes, the faint trace of soap on your hands when you adjust a wire, the warmth radiating from your voice when you hum quietly in thought.

It’s not until Soonyoung gently clears his throat that he realizes his brain has completely stopped functioning. His usually razor-sharp focus is now cluttered with incoherent static. 

“Wonwoo?” you ask, leaning back slightly to meet his eyes. There’s a hint of concern in your voice. “You good?”

He panics. “Uh. 100 ohms.”

Your brow furrows. “What?”

“Uh—100 ohms,” he repeats, gesturing vaguely at the resistor in your hand like it explains anything. “That’s… its resistance.”

There’s a beat of silence, thick and awkward. You blink at him, clearly trying to piece together whatever he’s just said. Then you burst out laughing, shaking your head as you turn back to the project. “Okay, resistor boy. Whatever you say.”

The sound of your laughter leaves his chest feeling tight, like someone’s replaced his heart with a capacitor about to blow.

Soonyoung, who’s been watching the exchange with far too much interest, smirks. He leans over the table, stage-whispering, “What was that?”

“What was what?” Wonwoo mutters, focusing on the soldering again, as if he can undo the entire exchange by sheer force of will.

“You’re usually all cool and robotic,” Soonyoung teases, wagging his pen like it’s some kind of magic wand. “That was… weird.”

Wonwoo shakes his head quickly, but the heat creeping up the back of his neck says otherwise. “I don’t know,” he mumbles, the words barely audible over the hum of the soldering iron. “I think I glitched.”

“Uh, yeah. Glitched hard.” Soonyoung grins, nudging him in the ribs. “Man, this is going to be fun to watch.”

Wonwoo groans, his ears burning. The circuit in front of him makes perfect sense—the resistors, the capacitors, the impedance of the op-amp—but nothing about you fits into a neat schematic. And for the first time in his life, that terrifies him.

Now, weeks later, Wonwoo is in his room, utterly consumed by the mess on his desk. It’s an anomaly in itself—Wonwoo is meticulous, his workspace usually a shrine to organization (he always says: clean desk, clean mind). But now, papers are scattered like fallen leaves, covered in scribbles, equations, and bullet points that grow increasingly frantic as they spread across the desk.

The centerpiece of this chaos? A flowchart spanning two pages, taped together like some sort of grand engineering blueprint. It’s titled, in block letters: “Signs She Might Like Me Back.”

Wonwoo taps his pen against the paper, staring at the branching lines as if sheer focus might make them reveal the answer he’s been agonizing over. Beneath the title are subcategories labeled “Physical Cues,” “Verbal Indicators,” and, his personal favorite, “Ambiguous Behavior That Could Go Either Way.”

Under “Physical Cues,” he’s written:

Smiles when she sees me.

Leans closer during conversation (but what if it’s because of background noise?).

Touches my arm (happened once, inconclusive).

Under “Verbal Indicators,” there’s a bullet that reads:

Complimented my handwriting. Significance unclear.

He’s in the middle of adding a new branch—“Initiates conversation (specific or casual?)”—when the door bursts open without warning.

“Wonwoo, what the hell are you doing? It’s 3 AM.” Mingyu strides in, holding a bowl of instant ramen and a look of mild concern. His gaze lands on the desk, and his expression shifts to outright amusement. “Wait… what is this?”

Wonwoo freezes like he’s been caught committing a federal crime. He instinctively moves to cover the flowchart with both arms, but it’s far too late. Mingyu steps closer, craning his neck to read the edges of the paper that Wonwoo couldn’t shield in time.

“‘Compliments: Genuine or Polite’?” Mingyu reads aloud, his voice rising in barely-contained glee. He sets the ramen down and leans over the desk. “‘Smiles frequently—friendly or flirty?’ Wonwoo…” He looks at his friend, wide-eyed and grinning. “Are you seriously trying to analyze feelings right now?”

“No,” Wonwoo lies, far too quickly. “It’s… theoretical.”

Mingyu snorts, dropping into the chair beside him and spinning it halfway around before leaning forward. “Theoretical? Dude, this looks like the final project for your psych elective. Come on, what’s the problem? Spill.”

Wonwoo hesitates, gripping his pen like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality. But the weight of weeks of overthinking finally tips the scale, and he lets out a long sigh, setting the pen down.

“I just don’t… get it,” he admits, gesturing vaguely to the papers. “Feelings are so inconsistent. They don’t follow any rules. There’s no formula to predict intent, no way to be certain what someone means. How do people know if someone’s interested in them? How do you know when to… I don’t know, do something about it?”

Mingyu leans back in the chair, arms crossed as he considers the question. “Easy,” he says after a beat. “You stop thinking about it so much and just ask them out.”

Wonwoo blinks at him, utterly horrified. “That’s… illogical. That’s guessing. That’s like building a circuit without testing the components first. What if the whole thing explodes?”

“Yeah, well, feelings aren’t supposed to be logical,” Mingyu says with a shrug, grabbing the bowl of ramen and slurping a mouthful. He claps Wonwoo on the shoulder with his free hand, grinning around his chopsticks. “Face it, man. You’re screwed.”

Wonwoo stares at him, expression blank but mind racing at a million miles an hour. “There’s got to be a better way than just… guessing.”

“Good luck finding it,” Mingyu says, standing up and taking his ramen with him. “But if you don’t make a move soon, she might just think you’re not interested. So, you know… keep that in mind.”

Wonwoo sits in silence long after Mingyu leaves, staring down at his flowchart. His pen hovers over the paper, but he doesn’t write anything. For once, the calculations feel insufficient.

And maybe, just maybe, Mingyu’s right.

The thing is, you keep throwing off his system. Wonwoo’s world is built on rules, a place where inputs lead to predictable outputs. But you? You’re the glitch in his perfectly functioning program, an anomaly he can’t solve no matter how many late nights he spends overanalyzing.

The way you laugh at his deadpan jokes—it’s too loud for the library but not loud enough to draw attention, just enough to pull his gaze toward you. It doesn’t matter that you’ve already heard that joke during last week’s study session; you laugh anyway, and the sound is unreasonably addictive. The way you ask for help even when he knows you don’t need it. Like last week, when you slid your notebook toward him with a confused pout.

“Can you help me with this? I don’t get it.”

He barely glanced at the equation. “You’re way too smart to not understand this.”

And then you laughed, a soft, warm sound that curled around his chest and lodged itself there. That laugh earned a solid 15 points on his internal ‘Possible Signs of Interest’ checklist, though he later downgraded it to 10 because he couldn’t account for external variables like your naturally kind disposition.

It’s infuriating. Why do feelings refuse to conform to logic?

He tries analyzing every interaction, mapping out probabilities and outcomes in the quiet corners of his mind. He’s drawn tables, diagrams, even flowcharts in an attempt to parse out the truth.

Was the way you leaned closer during study group last week a sign of interest? Or were you just trying to hear him better? Did the way you laughed at his dumb, offhand comment in class mean something? Or do you just laugh like that at everything?

Take today, for example: You brushed past him on your way to class, smiling and throwing over your shoulder, “See you at study group later!” That brief moment derailed his entire afternoon.

Did you linger when your arm touched his? Or was that just an accidental graze? Was your smile just friendly, or something more?

And why does he care so much?

Wonwoo spends the rest of the day distracted, his mind looping through possibilities like an endless algorithm stuck in an infinite while-loop. What’s worse is that he doesn’t even know what he wants the answer to be. A part of him craves certainty, some definitive sign that he should act on these feelings. But another part—a quieter, more cautious part—fears the idea of ruining the tenuous balance between you two.

Because what if he’s wrong? What if you’re just like this with everyone? What if he makes his move and you pull away, looking at him like he’s a problem to be solved instead of someone you enjoy spending time with?

By the time the study session rolls around, he’s teetering on the edge of complete disarray, not that he’d ever let it show.

Or so he thinks.

Because two hours in, he miscalculates an integral. An integral. Wonwoo never miscalculates anything.

You catch it immediately, tilting your head as you lean closer. He can feel the heat radiating off your skin, the soft rustle of your notebook as you shift it toward him.

“Are you okay, Wonwoo? You’re usually so precise,” you say, your voice light but with an edge of curiosity.

His ears burn. “Just tired,” he mumbles, avoiding your gaze as he corrects the mistake. He doesn’t add that it’s your proximity short-circuiting his brain, or that the way your hair falls over your shoulder is infinitely more distracting than any differential equation.

Your smirk lingers in his periphery, and he wonders if you can tell just how fast his heart is beating. He wonders if you feel the same strange, unexplainable pull that he does.

The study session stretches late into the evening. Most of the group has already packed up, and you’re the last one still typing away at your laptop when Wonwoo’s caffeine miscalculation finally catches up to him.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep—just the faint hum of your keyboard and the warm glow of the desk lamp. When he stirs slightly, he feels a ghosting touch against his face.

Your fingers are gentle as you slide his glasses off, careful not to wake him. He feels the cool metal leave his skin, followed by the soft brush of your thumb near the mark his nose pad left.

His heart lurches, and he has to force himself to keep his breathing even. A dozen thoughts rush through his mind all at once:

Is she doing this because she likes me?No, she’s just being considerate.But she’s touching my face.What does that mean? What does it mean if she’s touching my face?

He clenches his fists against the urge to open his eyes, to meet your gaze and demand answers. Instead, he forces himself to focus on the moment—the sound of your quiet breaths, the occasional click of your mouse, and the warmth that radiates from your side of the table.

For a fleeting moment, he thinks: Maybe emotions don’t always need to make sense. Maybe, just this once, he can let go of the need to understand everything.

Maybe, just this once, he can let himself feel.

Wonwoo doesn’t know how it’s come to this. One moment, he was perfectly content at home, considering a quiet evening spent debugging code or reorganizing his bookshelves. The next, Mingyu and Soonyoung were in his room, looming like conspirators with matching grins.

“You have to come,” Mingyu had said, tugging at the sleeves of Wonwoo’s sweatshirt. “It’s social interaction, it’s good for you. You’ll thank us later.”

“No, I won’t,” Wonwoo deadpanned, crossing his arms.

Soonyoung leaned in, holding up his phone with a smug look. “You sure about that? Because I might have accidentally taken a picture of that Venn diagram you made the other day.”

Wonwoo froze, his blood running cold. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, but I would.” Soonyoung’s grin widened. “And I bet someone would find it very… interesting.”

That was how he found himself lacing up his sneakers with a grim expression, muttering under his breath about betrayal and bad friends.

Now, standing awkwardly at the edge of a crowded house party, Wonwoo is reminded why he hates these things. The music is too loud, the lights are too dim, and there are far too many people moving unpredictably around him. He’s already considering texting Mingyu and Soonyoung to demand their exact location when he spots you.

You’re standing by the makeshift bar, laughing at something someone said, your smile so effortless it lights up the room in a way the cheap string lights never could. Wonwoo doesn’t mean to stare, but his feet move before his brain can catch up. He tells himself it’s because you’re familiar, a safe point of contact in an otherwise chaotic environment.

But deep down, he knows better.

“Wonwoo?” you call out, your eyes lighting up as you notice him approaching from the edge of the room.

He halts mid-step, caught somewhere between relief and apprehension, and forces out a casual, “Hey.” His hands disappear into his pockets, his fingers fidgeting with loose threads, unsure what else to do.

You grin, leaning one elbow against the counter, your drink swaying lazily in your other hand. “You don’t seem like the party type,” you tease, tilting your head to study him.

“I was... coerced,” he replies flatly, and the corner of your mouth quirks up as you laugh.

“Oh, let me guess.” You raise an eyebrow, pretending to think hard. “Mingyu? No, no—Soonyoung. Or both? Definitely both.”

“They’re... relentless,” Wonwoo admits, almost sounding offended, but there’s a faint twitch of a smile at the edges of his lips.

“Wow. Dragged out of your hobbit hole just to stand here and glare at people? They must’ve bribed you with something really good.”

He looks away, almost sheepishly. “Something like that.”

Your laugh rings out again, easy and unforced, and Wonwoo feels a little lighter despite himself. “Poor you,” you say, your voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Do you need a drink to cope? A strong one?”

He snorts. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Well, you made it out of the house, so I guess that’s something,” you say, stepping closer. “Though you do look like you’re two minutes away from bolting.”

He shrugs, his gaze flickering between you and the crowd. “It’s not my scene.”

“And yet, here you are,” you point out, your tone playful. “Is it for Mingyu? Or Soonyoung? Or…” You pause, a slow smile spreading across your face. “...someone else?”

His brain short-circuits at your words, but he does his best to play it cool. “I think they just wanted to ruin my night.”

“Hmm,” you hum, unconvinced but amused. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. It’s always fun seeing you outside your natural habitat. Like spotting a rare Pokémon.”

“Am I supposed to thank you for that?” he asks dryly, and you grin.

The two of you ease into conversation, the party blurring into background noise as you chat. Wonwoo listens intently, hanging onto your every word as if your voice alone could drown out the overwhelming din around him. He’s not even sure how much time has passed when you lean a little closer, the shift in your tone catching his attention.

“So,” you say, a conspiratorial grin tugging at your lips. “Do you have anyone you’re crushing on?”

He freezes. The words settle in his chest like a sudden, unsteady weight.

Does he? Of course, he does—you. But his brain stalls, caught between the truth and the absolute terror of saying it out loud. Instead of answering, he scrambles for something—anything—to say.

“I’m going to make an app,” he blurts out, the words tumbling from his mouth before he can stop them.

You blink, tilting your head. “An app?”

He nods, trying to steady his voice even though his heart feels like it’s about to burst. “Feelings confuse me. So I’m taking all the data I’ve collected and making an app to tell if someone’s interested. Algorithms are easier for me to understand, anyway.”

Your expression flickers between confusion and amusement before a slow smirk spreads across your face. “What data, Wonwoo?” you ask, setting your drink down and stepping closer.

His throat goes dry. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“Because if you’ve been collecting data,” you continue, your voice teasing as you close the distance between you, “I’d love to hear about it. What have you noticed?”

His pulse skyrockets as you reach for his hands, gently guiding them to rest on your waist. The warmth of your touch sends his mind spiraling, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. Your hands slide behind his neck, your fingers brushing against the sensitive skin there, and he feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff.

“I don’t know how much more obvious I could have been,” you murmur, your teasing tone softening into something warmer, more certain.

His mind blanks. He should say something—anything—but all he can do is stare at you, completely undone.

Then you lean in, your lips brushing against his, tentative at first, as if waiting for him to meet you halfway. And when he does—hesitant but earnest—you smile into the kiss, your fingers tangling gently in his hair, and it feels like the world stops spinning.

For Wonwoo, everything finally clicks.

It’s not a Venn diagram or a flowchart, and it doesn’t follow any logical formula, but it makes sense in a way he can’t explain. The way your hands fit behind his neck, the warmth of your body against his, the soft sigh that escapes you when his hands tighten on your waist—it’s all the proof he needs.

When you pull back, his head is spinning, but you’re still close, your breath mingling with his.

“So,” you say, your tone light but your eyes impossibly warm. “Do you still need that app?”

He chuckles softly, the sound unsteady but genuine. “No,” he admits, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips. “I think I’ve got all the data I need.”

You laugh, and the sound is music to his ears. For the first time in weeks—months, even—Wonwoo feels like he can stop overthinking, stop analyzing every little detail. He doesn’t need an algorithm, a chart, or a diagram to tell him what’s in front of him. Because some things don’t need to be solved.

Some things just need to be felt.

[isaadore]

SLEEP CAN WAIT CONNOR BEDARD

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ pairing connor bedard x reader

SUMMARY connor wakes you up at two in the morning, completely serious about proving the moon landing was fake. it’s ridiculous, but it has you laughing and falling for him all over again. word count 0.6k

warnings pure fluff, established relationship, light teasing

note requested by @cyberhughes 😋

CB98 MASTERLIST MAIN MASTERLIST

YOU WERE TEETERING on the edge of sleep, the warmth of Connor’s arm draped around your waist, his slow and steady breaths lulling you into relaxation. The glow of your bedside lamp illuminated the room in soft golds, casting gentle shadows on the walls. You sighed contentedly, eyes fluttering shut, ready to drift off.

And then Connor spoke.

“You know the moon landing was fake, right?”

Your eyes blinked open, confusion cutting through your drowsiness. You turned your head slowly, catching sight of Connor’s face, illuminated by the soft light. His expression was serious—almost too serious for what he had just said.

“Come again?” you mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

He rolled onto his back, his brows furrowed like he’d been thinking about this for hours. “I mean, think about it,” he began, his voice low but carrying that familiar matter-of-fact tone. “It was 1969. There’s no way they had the technology for that. And the shadows? They don’t even match up.”

You propped yourself up on your elbow, staring at him in disbelief. “Connor, are you seriously telling me you think the moon landing was fake?”

“I don’t think it was fake,” he replied, turning his head to look at you. His blue eyes were filled with an intensity that was both endearing and mildly ridiculous. “I know it was. Have you ever seen the flag in the videos? It’s moving. There’s no wind on the moon.”

Biting back a laugh, you squinted at him. “So you’re saying NASA faked the whole thing? Just for kicks?”

“No, not for kicks,” he said, clearly offended by the idea. “Probably for the Cold War. Or to beat the Soviets. I don’t know.” He shrugged as if the finer details weren’t as important as the truth he was unveiling. “But it’s obvious if you really look into it.”

It was too much. A laugh bubbled out of you, and you quickly covered your mouth with your hand, trying not to wake your neighbours. “Connor, it’s two in the morning,” you managed between giggles.

He turned on his side to face you fully, an almost exasperated look on his face. “You’re laughing, but I’m serious. This stuff matters. What if someone asks you about it one day?”

“Oh, of course,” you teased, grinning at him. “Because moon landing conspiracies are such a hot topic in 2025.”

“It could happen!” he insisted, his voice serious. “And when it does, you’ll thank me.”

Shaking your head, you reached out to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over the soft flush that had spread there. “You’re a nerd, you know that?”

He smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth tilting upward in that shy, boyish way that you loved. “Maybe,” he said softly. “But you love me.”

“Unfortunately, I do,” you admitted with a mock sigh, leaning in to kiss him gently.

Connor sighed as you pulled back, collapsing against the pillows. “Fine. I’ll let you sleep,” he mumbled, almost like he was doing you a favour. “But tomorrow, I’m showing you a video about the shadows. You’ll see I’m right.”

You rolled your eyes and settled back into your spot, the weight of his arm finding its way around your waist again. “Whatever you say, moon boy.”

Even as you closed your eyes, you could feel the energy radiating off him, his mind still racing through facts and theories. And despite how absurd it all was, it made you smile.

Because even when Connor Bedard woke you up in the middle of the night to talk about conspiracy theories, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ CB98 MASTERLIST ✷ MAIN MASTERLIST

[millersfinest]

pluto and charon | e.w

astrophysicist!ellie & aerospace engineer!reader

wc: 4k

blurb: there’s a new planet that formed in the milky way galaxy—and it’s dr. ellie williams’ (and a few research assistant’s) job to prove that life can exist on it. oh, and you’re the second opinion there to back her up and steer the ship (whether she likes you or not). but, when a sector of the shuttle malfunctions, locking the two of you inside… what will two analytical scientist do to fix it? was it a dignified sign from the cosmos?

warnings: nothing much, vulgar language, enemies to lovers (?)

note: ellie loves space, so i wanted to write her as an astronaut—please, enjoy! i haven’t written anything in awhile so…. had to get this off my mind.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

The thick sound of silence and machinery crowded the ears of everyone on board. It had been approximately one hundred and twenty-five earth hours since you have taken off from the ground—to and through the stratosphere. The ship was in autopilot, cruising through the nothingness of the milky way; passing whirling planets and asteroids that shied away from prying eyes.

This wasn’t your first time estranged from earth. It was your second. But there was no feeling like floating in metal that you concocted—stitched together with wires, buttons, and joysticks. You marveled at the large windows that displayed your universe just as enthusiastically as the research assistants on board.

Jackson’s planet was where you were headed. Previously named, J-74.

Through many study sessions and research assignments, it has been theorized that it could withstand human life. Earth’s depletion of resources has been making it difficult to live—for average people. With the atmosphere rapidly thinning, livestock, farming, and health sustainability has been dramatically decreasing.

There needed to be an intervention—and Dr. Williams was the one to jump start it.

You have been working off and on with her since your early years at NASA. Initially, the two of you came in as forthright interns who were too smart for their own good—arguing every chance you got because you both wanted the same thing; to see what space looked like from space. Not from a camera or laptop or extreme telescope.

Eventually, you split into separate fields and concentrations. It was engineering that began to pique your interest. You worked hard to curate materials that could withstand dramatic changes in temperatures and weather. Still studying planets and galaxies, but with a distinct perspective.

The space shuttle was made for damage—only certifying the safety of the mission. There was very little risk traveling to Jackson’s planet.

You couldn’t decipher if it was morning, noon, or night, but you just couldn’t stay asleep. Checking the watch on your wrist you have only been asleep for three hours. How puzzling. Typically, you sleep well in silence and whirring, but it was different this time. The sounds prickled under your skin, pulling you from the absorbing mattress in your sleeping quarters.

Finding your way toward the center of the shuttle, you used a key card to enter each sector. A ziplock of dried fruit was pinched between your fingers—reaching inside every few minutes for a bite. Wanting to estimate time of arrival, you navigated toward the flight deck. A pair of dark sunglasses resting on the bridge of your nose to dim the fluorescent lights.

Shuffling your feet against the floor, you slipped into chair of the pilot seat. There were many screens and buttons before you. All bright in different colors and hues—blinking. However, you focused on the screen that determined the path of the shuttle. It showed the ship following a dotted green line, with the time in the far-right corner. Six hours.

Time of arrival was only a few hours out. You were almost at the very planet you’ve been studying for the past two years. A tired smile stretched onto your lips, leaning back in the cushioned chair.

In the comfort of silence, you watch the celestial bodies minding their own through the three panel windows. Legs folded up, comfortably. You were currently passing Pluto and Charon. There were four other moons of Pluto, but Charon was the largest. And even bigger up close.

The coolest thing about the pair was that they always shared a face. There wasn’t a time where they weren’t looking at each other—scientifically, it was called mutual tidal locking.

“I didn’t think you’d be up…” A raspy voice muttered from behind your chair. She must’ve heard you crunching on your dried raspberries.

Turning around, you noticed her walking toward the co-pilot chair with a yellow notepad in her hands. Her gray NASA jumpsuit was tied around her waist, exposing the white, ribbed tank top she had on. “I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d kill some time up here.” You responded, watching as she sat down.

“What’s our ETA?” Her green eyes focus on the destination screen.

“Oh-eight hundred— we have six hours left of travel.” You pushed the glasses above your head, eyes glancing at the screen. “Raspberries?” Holding the ziplock toward her, you offered.

Ellie shook her head, clicking the pen in her hands. Pressing your lips together, you shrugged, zipping it tight before placing in the crevice of the chair. She quietly scribbled on the yellow pages—her thick eyebrows knitted together in concentration.

The other moons of Pluto came into your line of sight. They weren’t all close on your path, but Hydra and Nix made a clear appearance. Their shapes were not as circular as Charon; they were like any other moon on any other planet.

She hummed to herself, clicking her pen in thought. “Can you check this equation for me? I’ve been thinking about this since we boarded The Firefly…” Ellie hands the notepad to you. “It’s an estimation of sustainable oxygen and energy— if Jackson’s planet doesn’t provide us with enough… How much can we manually create for it to be habitable?”

It was your turn to hum in thought. Dragging your finger along the inked lines of her equation, you sucked your teeth. The numbers appeared to be correct—Ellie was always good at the math part of theory. “This seems about right, but we can only theorize so much.” You begin. “The only way we can thoroughly verify this equation is by settling on Jackson—running physical tests.” You hand the notepad back to her. “We need specificity, not estimation.”

“I’m just making sure that we’re prepared.” She grumbled.

“We are prepared, Ellie. If we have too many hypotheses, it may confuse our students… Overwhelm them.”

She pressed her lips into a line, averting her eyes toward the three panel windows. You could feel her level of irritation rise, as she adjusted in her seat. The ship was slipping past Pluto and Charon, leaving the bodies in your wake. “Do you have to challenge everything that I say?” Ellie muttered, leaning her chin on her fist with a pinched expression.

You deepened your eyebrows. “I don’t challenge everything you say… You asked for my opinion.”

“On the equation!” She whisper-yelled, pinching the bridge of her nose to calm herself. “Not your opinion on how to teach my students.”

“Our students—“ You corrected, but she abruptly cut you off by standing to her feet.

Scoffing, she ran her fingers through her choppy auburn strands. Rolling your eyes, you watched as she threw an adult tantrum. Ellie’s capacity for managing her emotions has never changed; she’s always been angsty and easily frustrated. “I knew I shouldn’t have listened to him— I should have chosen someone else for this mission.” She tossed her notepad onto a table, shaking her head.

With that, you stand up. Leaning your arm against the back of the pilot seat. “Oh, yeah? Who?” You squinted your eyes, condescendingly. “Jerry the fucking receptionist? So, you can feel intellectually superior enough to feel good about yourself?” Raising an eyebrow, you chortle. “Wow, Dr. Williams… Didn’t know you could stoop so low.”

“Fuck off…” She sucked her teeth, shaking her head, dismissively.

“Gladly!” You snatched the bag of dried fruit from your chair, before stomping toward the sliding mechanical door. Before raising your key card to the receiver, turned toward her one last time. “This isn’t just about your findings. It takes a team's effort for a mission like this to succeed. Challenges foster discovery— even if I’m the one doing it.” You wave your card over the receiver, the door releasing air as it slid open. “See you in few hours…” And back to your sleeping quarters you went.

It was difficult, but you managed to get four extra hours of sleep after that little argument. Typically, bickering with Ellie lasted more than just a few minutes, but you’ve matured—you’d like to think. Times have changed, and you were in space; you were working. There was no time for petty, egotistical arguments. Even so, you couldn’t help but wonder why you ground her gears so bad. Yet, somehow, she was always around you—orbiting you like the beautiful celestial bodies you know and love. Was she stuck in a gravitational pull—unable to flee? Or was she fully conscious?

Two hours until Jackson’s planet arrival!

The automated voice announced over the intercom. Which pulled everyone on board from their own devices—whether that was sleeping or exercising. The classes you and Ellie taught were basically conjoined; two in one. So, each of you had your own research assistant that tagged along on this mission. But they both worked for the both of you— you were their supervisors.

However, for some reason, Ellie’s assistant appeared to be distant from yours. Allan was his name. When everyone met at the breakfast table, there was a quietness in the room that felt unfamiliar. Usually, Allan and Sophia, your assistant, would be filling the room with casual chatter. About their personal lives. This morning was drastically different. Scraping your plastic fork against the plate, playing with your powdered eggs, you glared at Ellie. “Dr. Williams, how old are you again?”

“Dr. Jones, isn’t it disrespectful to ask a woman her age—?”

“Thirty-one, right?” The legs of your chair screeched against floor as you stood up. Taking your plate, you toss the food into the trash bin. Scoffing, you use your key card to leave the eating area. You navigated toward the flight deck to guide the ship the rest of the way. Flicking off the autopilot switch and taking ahold of the joystick. For as long as you’ve known her, you never thought she’d stoop as low as admitting to choosing another for the job.

You’ve never done anything to Ellie for her to be so adamant about being a pain in the ass. Academically, you rivaled each other, but that was it. At least, that’s what you thought.

In the distance you could see the blue-green planet ahead. Looking like the long-lost sister of Earth. You mused at the sight, grinning to yourself. That was what you were here for.

The sound of air puffing from the sliding door leading to the flight deck, caught your attention. For a moment, you thought it was Ellie, but a much softer voice called your name. “Dr. J,”

It was Sophia wandering into the room. “Tense morning, huh?” She raised her slender eyebrows, taking a seat in the copilot chair. You jutted your eyebrows in response. “I thought it’d be more enthusiastic considering we’re almost there…” Her light eyes glanced toward the three-panel window, glimmering with excitement.

“You and me both.” You responded, dryly.

A beat passed between the two of you. Sophia awkwardly rocking in the chair. “I can’t help but ask— what’s going on between you and Dr. Williams?” She questioned, softly. “I’ve seen you guys' bicker before but…” She dragged on, hoping you’d respond before she rambled.

You sigh, glancing at her. “We’re just having a disagreement. That’s all.” You swallowed, clenching your jaw. Keeping the relationship between you and your student professional, you change the subject. “We’re nearing Jackson. I suggest you suit up and start taking notes on what you see as we approach. Meaning asteroids, moons— anything.”

“Copy that.” Sophia quickly got up, to leave the flight deck.

Focusing, within the next hour you enter the atmosphere of the planet. The ship shuttering through turbulent clouds and temperatures. The ground resembled the dirt of Mars, just darker and muddier. The ship released stilts to prop itself on the ground of Jackson. With a hopeful sigh, she jumped from her seat. Going to slip into her protective suit and helmet. The whistling of heavy winds sounded against the ship, rocking it slightly.

You met the rest of the group in the airlock. Allan was about to press the button to shut the door into the hall—locking them out with an airtight seal. But Ellie stopped him with a wave of her gloved hand. “Your suits not zipped up all the way. Turn around.” She told you, gesturing with her hand for you to turn. Her voice echoing in your helmet, you do as she says; as it’s a safety concern. But you were still annoyed with her—and you were sure that she was still annoyed with you.

She zipped up the back, latching it with a metal button. Ellie even made sure that your helmet was sealed and secure. You grabbed your pack, swinging it onto your back. Then began locking everything into place with buckles and latches. “Thanks…” You muttered, barely sparing her a glance. “Allan, the door.”

He glanced at Sophia with eyes you couldn’t read, before pressing the button. The airlock sealed, puffs of air releasing from the hinges.

The hatch creaked as it fell open, hitting the ground with a thud. The assistants marveled, stepping toward the threshold. You and Ellie mirroring them, approaching where they stood. The morning sky’s were clear and blue. With the reflection of two, perfectly circular moons in view. Allan turned around, looking at his main supervisor.

“It’s your mission— you should be the first to step foot on it.”

Ellie smiled through her helmet, glancing at you, briefly. You didn’t spare her much of a glance, you just rocked on your feet. She should be lucky she has such supportive students.

“I think its just as much as Dr. Jones’ mission as it is Dr. Williams’.” Sophie spoke up, lifted her eyebrows. “If it weren’t for Dr. J… We wouldn’t have The Firefly; I think they both should go. Together.”

“Holding hands…”

You put your hand up, scrunching your eyebrows. “All right, that’s enough.” Rolling your eyes, you chuckled, dryly. “We can go together… If you don’t mind.”

Ellie shrugged. “It takes a team’s effort to succeed…” She held out her gloved hand.

Sighing, you took her hand. She held onto your gloved hand, gently, pulling you toward the hatch. The wind whistled, nearly blowing the two of you over, but when your feet jumped into the mud—the assistants cheered. “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind!” Ellie exclaimed, swinging your arm, unintentionally.

You meet her eyes, laughing at the reference. “Be original.” You playfully, jested. Turning back to the team. “Let’s begin our testing— shall we?”

The team was out there for hours with test tubes collecting matter of different forms. You grabbed bites of temperature and took notes of the environment. The assistants diligently worked—doing exactly what they were told. Ellie kept her distance from you, but never forgot to spare you a glance every now and then. Pretending not to notice, you kept to your work. Walking in and out of the shuttle, collecting data. Trying not to mind it one bit.

Fatigue began to rain over everyone—including yourself. Despite your incessant need to prove otherwise. It was reaching twenty-one hundred; it was past their bedtime. Allan and Sophia had grabbed the supplies propped outside, bringing them back into the shuttle. They were the last touch the ground for the evening. But, you and Ellie had been hibernating inside the shuttle running chemical tests on the matter collected.

A makeshift dinner was prepared by the leading astrophysicist as a prized delight. She was proud with how hard everyone worked—giving the pep talk of a lifetime. Her influential words were really meant for your students. You even added a few supportive statements to hers. Applauding their work. Then, eating ensued; chowing down on the blandest food known to mankind.

It was not long before half the crew went to bed. You disappeared into the comms room to film the first scientific update of Jackson’s planet. The sliding door shutting with a smooth sss sound. In your hand, you held a personal vial of the dirt you found. With pieces of rocks and, what you could only assume to be, grass stuffed into the top. White scotch tape labeled the small glass: J-74.

There was a small television screen built into the wall. Touch screen. With a little camera at the top center of the shape. You pressed the screen until the recording option came up. Clearing your throat, you started by saying the date and time, then your name. “We just finished day one on Jackson’s planet— it was a busy day.” You held up the vial of dirt, shaking it around. “But it was well worth it.” A grin stretched across your face.

“The team has loads of research ahead— thank God for Allan and Soph; they’ve already made this trip easier— but the odds are looking up.” You nod, continuing. “Jackson just might be everything that we need for our survival. Just like Dr. Williams anticipated.”

Sss!

The door opened, revealing the auburn-haired academic. “Shit-talking me in the comms room?” Ellie raised an eyebrow as she entered. But, upon noticing your filming, she paused in her steps. Cursing to herself. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” She cursed herself, again, for swearing on company file. Her notepad was glued to her hand—as per usual.

“Speak of the devil and she shall appear.” You chortle after glancing over your shoulder at the woman. “Dr. J, signing off.” Ceasing the recording, you swiveled around in your rolling stool. Ellie wandered around the room with a nervous aura. Bending the notepad back and forth. “I hope you’re not wanting my opinion on another equation… I’m on too much of a high to bicker tonight.”

Ellie chuckled, dryly. “Not this time. I actually wanted to apologize for this morning.” She inhaled, stiffly. “I was unprofessional— you’re the best this team has; I could never replace you—“

“Okay, I get it. Apology accep—“

“Let me finish!” She held up a hand. You blinked with a slightly surprised expression, pursing your lips. “I could never replace you nor would I want to” Ellie paced the floor before you. “And, yes, it was very childish for me to ask Allan to take a vow of silence when communicating with Sophia and you. That was wrong. But, in his defense, he argued me down about it…” She rambled, messing with her hair, notebook, fingers—everything to busy herself.

This may have been the first time that she has ever thoroughly apologized. Usually, the two of you let the frustration from arguments simmer; then, eventually talk to each other. “Where’s Ellie Williams and what have you done with her?” You joked, standing to your feet. She was a nervous person, but never this nervous. “Seriously, it’s fine. No hard feelings— we do this all the time.”

You move to leave the room, pressing your key card against the receiver. That familiar puffing of air doesn’t sound—the door doesn’t open. The light flashes red. Deepening your eyebrows, you try again. Ellie watches you, intently. Her lips parted, wanting to speak. The focus on you breaks when she realizes she can’t leave either. “Let me try.”

She waves her card, and it flashes red. You swear, stepping backwards, in thought. Was it the high winds? When you built The Firefly, you made sure to consider every possibility externally. Did you really forget about the smaller details—like doors? You weren’t the only one working on this contraption, so this issue couldn’t have been on you. “Have there been any complications in any of the other sectors of the shuttle?” You asked.

“Uhm, not that I know of— I haven’t had any problems.”

“So, it’s just this one… Hm.” You hum, feeling the gears of the door. Bracing your hand on the part of the door that opens, you attempt to pry it open with your hands. Grunting, using most of your strength. Sighing, you look at the woman next to you—gawking. “Are gonna stand there or are you gonna help me?” You exhaled. “You must want to be locked in here with me.”

She jumped to action, tossing her notebook aside to try to pry open the door. “To be honest, I’m not complaining…” Ellie muttered to herself. But she was close enough for you to hear.

Abruptly, you stopped pulling. “What?” Your eyebrows deepened, placing your hands on your hips. “What did you just say?” You questioned, gently. Confusion written along the faint fine lines across your face. Ellie pressed her lips into a line, stepping back from the door as well.

“I have a confession.”

“A confession? Am I being punked?”

She crossed her arms. “Do you seriously think I’m incapable of being nice to you?”

You shrugged, pursing your lips. “For longer than ten minutes… Yeah, I find it a little hard to believe.” Ellie scoffed, dropping her hands at her side. She began to pace, again, but in a different way. Leaving a trail of frustration and irritation in her path. “Ellie, we’ve been butting heads since we met. Excuse me for being a little surprised at the word confession.”

The scientist looked over her shoulder, partially glaring. “Did you ever consider why we bump heads so much?”

You cleared your throat, awkwardly. “Uhm, you hate that I’m smarter than you.” You chortle, but she doesn’t laugh. “Kidding.”

Swiveling around, her freckled cheeks were as red as a tomato. “Ellie, I’m kidding.” You tried, approaching her slowly, remorsefully. You’ve never seen her this way before. Her foresty eyes were glistening and wide like she wanted to cry. Placing a hand on her bare arm, you felt her muscles flinch. “You’re probably the only person at work that actually meets my intellect— maybe even exceeds it at times.”

“Pluto and Charon.” Ellie mumbles, examining your features. Overthinking the feeling of your hand on her bicep.

“What about them?”

“Do you think Pluto always noticed Charon?”

You thoughtfully averted your eyes, but your fingers remained against her warm skin. “She’s so large, I doubt Pluto didn’t always notice Charon. How could she miss her? I mean, they share a face.”

A beat passed between the two of you, leaving room for you to finally understand. Were you that stupid? The most remarkable thing about you was your intellect. So, you wondered, how this could slip by so easily? Ellie had to frame her words in a way that you’d understand. Astronomy.

“Oh.” Your hand drifted up her arm, over her bones shoulder, resting lightly over her trapezius. “Ellie… You have a thing for me?”

She tries to brush your hand off her skin because she was beginning to feel claustrophobic. But, you resist, taking her other hand in yours. Perhaps, you never fully thought about it—drowning yourself in your work. However, when you do think about it, you loved working with her. Even if that meant arguing and bickering every few minutes. At least you got to be around her; seeing her pretty freckled face for hours at a time. Watching her eyebrows twitch in thought as she solved equations.

“Don’t shy away from me now.” Your hand reached to cup her cheek; drawing comforting lines across her skin. Pluto always noticed Charon. It was natural for them to be in each others orbit—stuck like glue.

Despite her nerves, Ellie’s hands found solace at your hips before she leaned in for your lips. You pushed your body against hers, wrapping your arms around her neck; somehow wanting her closer. Her lips were soft and slow moving against yours—melting with passion and warmth. You could tell that she yearned for you, unlocking a part of you that yearned for her. Slowly, the kiss intensified. Ellie’s hands clenched at your tank top, slipping her fingers under the hem.

While your skin was being set aflame by her touch, you pulled away. Eyeing her with glimmers of lust in your irises. “This is great, uhm, but we’re still stuck in the comms room…” Your brushed hair from her face. “I don’t want the entirety of Houston to see or hear what we’re doing.”

“We’re not doing anything…” She smirked, keeping your hips flush to hers.

“Right.” You grin. “Let’s wake the assistants.”

The two of you separated, hesitantly. Ellie reached for the intercom button, but when you both heard giggling from the other side of the door—all movements ceased.

“Those little assholes.”

The cosmos.

[javaelemental]

Hey, so, here's a thing I noticed...

I'm re-watching Leverage right now, and a fun bit I noticed this time around that I hadn't spotted before is how Eliot will come out with some random-ass knowledge that saves a situation or answers a question and the crew is all "How do you know that" and he'll answer "Oh I dated a NASA engineer" or whatever. It's played a bit for laughs, but -

Since Eliot is heterosexual generally shown to date women, it's showcasing that women have valuable knowledge and expertise in a wide variety of areas,

Eliot actually listens and talks to the women he's dating, to the point where he's learning and understanding what they're talking about,

And, Eliot respects women and their knowledge and always looks a bit miffed when the crew laughs at him for knowing things because he dated someone once.

It's a little thing, but this show is constantly surprising me with the amount of thought that got put into it.

[radiotorn]

LOOK AT THIS BEAUTIFUL BEAUTOFUL PHOTO OF THE CONJUNCTION THAT HAPPENED IN JUNE!!!!! LOOK AT IT!!!! SO POWERFUL!!!!!!!!!

GUYS IF U LOOK AT THE MOON RN YOU CAN SEE JUPITER BELOW IT!!!!! ITS A MOON-JUPITER CONJUNCTION!!!!!!!

[hotshotsxyz]

buck, eddie & the great comet of 2024

(buddie) (1.1k words) for and inspired by @moonlightperseus who said, and i quote, "do you think he would break down crying in bucks arms out in the middle of nowhere under the stars". yes. yes i do.

There’s something to be said for wallowing, Eddie thinks. It’s hard to make any new mistakes, for one, and it’s far less labor-intensive than any of the alternatives. So yeah, maybe he’s wallowing a little bit, but it’s not like he needs to be saved from himself.

He says as much to Buck, who immediately rolls his eyes.

“I’m not saving you, I’m kidnapping you,” he says.

“Maybe I don’t want to be kidnapped,” Eddie replies. He settles further into the couch to make his point.

Buck frowns. “I don’t think the kidnap-ee really gets a say in it,” he says. “Anyway, you’re not going to make me go alone, are you?”

 “To what?” Eddie asks. “You haven’t even told me where we’re going.”

 Buck’s eyes light up like he’s won something. Eddie replays the last few seconds of conversation in his head and groans.

“Come on, do you trust me?” He asks, and it’s not even really a question. Or, if it is, Buck knows the answer just as well as he does.

“Fine,” Eddie sighs. “I’m picking the music, though.”

Buck grins. “Deal.”

Just to fuck with him, Eddie starts their drive with the most depressing song in his library.

Buck snorts as soon as he recognizes it. “A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“I’m being kidnapped,” Eddie says with a shrug. “I can be mopey.”

“Yeah, but… Trading Yesterday mopey?”

His nose wrinkles and Eddie can’t help but laugh. “Oh yeah, Trading Yesterday, Amber Run— sure you don’t just want to leave me to my misery?”

“Nah, I always want you around,” Buck says, a little too soft, a little too sincere to be anything but the truth.

Eddie’s breath catches in his chest. “Okay,” he says. He tries to ignore how raw it feels as it leaves his tongue.

“Just add some Death Cab for Cutie for me,” Buck teases.

Eddie huffs something close to a laugh and adds Transatlanticism to the queue.

By the time Buck turns onto Angel Crest Highway, Eddie’s given up on trying to work out where they’re going.

“You know, I thought you were joking about the kidnapping,” he says.

“Oh no, I take my kidnapping very seriously,” Buck says, glancing over.

Eddie laughs, and then his stomach growls. “Any chance your plot includes snacks?” He asks.

The corner of Buck’s mouth quirks up. “What kind of kidnapper do you take me for?”

“The kind that’s trying to Stockholm Syndrome me, clearly,” Eddie drawls.

“Is it working?” Buck asks. His eyes are alight with mirth, and not for the first time Eddie finds himself a little distracted by them.

He hums an affirmative. “You’ve got me right where you want me.”

“Alright,” Buck says. “We’re here.”

Here is, seemingly, a random scenic overlook. In the distance, the sun is slowly sinking below the horizon.

“And we’re… watching the sunset?” Eddie guesses.

“Nope,” Buck says. He pauses and tilts his head to the side. “Well actually, yeah, I guess we are. But not just the sunset!”

“So…” Eddie prompts.

Buck rubs at the back of his head. “It’s, uh— do you remember that comet I told you about a few months ago?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and he does. It’d been while they were on shift, a slow one if Eddie remembers correctly. Buck had excitedly shown him a NASA article and said that he was putting it in his calendar for—

For Chris.

“Oh,” Eddie breathes.

“Is— is that okay?” Buck asks.

Eddie closes his eyes and tilts his head back. “Yeah,” he says, a little rough. “I just wish…”

“Me too.”

A familiar wave of guilt crashes through Eddie’s chest. It’s just one more thing on a long list of things Chris is missing out on because of him.

“I’m still glad we’re here,” Buck says, taking Eddie’s wrist in his hand.

Eddie feels a little nauseous when he realizes he is too.

Buck packed them an entire dinner to eat while they wait for the comet to become visible on the horizon. If Chris was here, Buck probably would’ve brought a few camp chairs for them to use, but as it is they sit on the floor of the Jeep’s cargo space, legs dangling past the rear bumper. It’s a little chilly in the mountains; Eddie appreciates the long line of warmth that is Buck’s body pressed against his, shoulder to knee.

In hushed tones, Buck tells Eddie everything he knows about Tsuchinshan-ATLAS, which is, apparently, the comet’s name. He describes its origin in the Oort Cloud, and how it survived a seemingly deadly trip around the sun.

“It won’t be back for another eight hundred centuries,” Buck says breathlessly.

Eddie loves him like this. He loves the curiosity that emanates from him in waves, and the way he seems to have absorbed every little fun fact he’s ever read. He loves the way Buck glows when he shares his knowledge with anyone lucky enough to be in his orbit. He loves—

He loves Buck.

And that’s—

It’s—

Oh.

Of course he does.

The comet makes its appearance forty-five minutes after the last rays of the sun dissipate into inky blue.

“There,” Buck says, pulling Eddie toward the guardrail and pointing at a tiny streak of light in the sky.

All at once, Eddie is desperately sad. He’s here and Buck’s here but Chris isn’t, and it’s not supposed to be like that. It’s supposed to be the three of them together. It’s supposed to be Buck and Chris bouncing fun facts off each other, and Eddie watching fondly as the two people he loves most in this world revel in the joy of sharing a new experience. It’s supposed to be their family, their whole family.

Buck turns to him, like he’s somehow sensed the sudden shift in Eddie’s mood. He offers him a small, sad smile.

“I, uh, I reminded Chris about the comet this morning,” he says quietly.

Eddie takes a shaky breath.

“He should be seeing it too, right about now,” Buck continues. “I know it’s not… but—but we’re looking at the same sky.”

An overwhelming mix of sadness-gratitude-guilt-joy-sorrow-love hits Eddie square in the chest. “You…” he whispers.

Buck bites his lip. “I just… I thought you’d want to know,” he says.

Out of nowhere, a sob bursts from Eddie’s chest. In an instant, Buck’s arms are around him.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry I can’t fix it.”

Eddie tucks his face into Buck’s neck, and for the first time since the night Christopher left, he lets himself cry.

Buck holds him until the comet is far beyond the horizon.