mirror lense

cocked & loaded [dwayne johnson/vin diesel]

okay, so if i were to write the academy award-winning and world peace-establishing screenplay where Dwayne “the Rock” Johnson and Vin Diesel slowly fall in love, this is what it would look like:

  • vin and dwayne would be bitter Rival Agents for an intelligence agency. both would be up for a Big Promotion.  they would both be working together (but against each other) on something something black market mafia.  the mafia would be involved.  they would be VERY CLOSE to cracking this case.  
  • whoever cracks the case gets the promotion! because things like this are always very clear-cut in movies.  and whoever gets the promotion is the Better Agent, and it’s settled forever.
  • what they don’t expect is when they finally go in to make the Big Bust on The Family is that the Big Players will still be at large–and there will be a BABY.  
  • the baby will fall into agency custody, and will require surveillance in a remote safehouse.
  • “i need YOU TWO to pretend and be this baby’s GAY DADS to protect the baby and keep The Family off our tail while we close in on them,” says Head Intelligence Captain Lupita Nyong’o.  
  • dwayne and vin and baby are begrudgingly moved to a suburb of provincetown, massachusetts. cut to shot of a FOR SALE sign being pulled down, a ford fusion hybrid pulling up behind a moving van.  dwayne and vin step out.  they are both wearing muscle shirts and mirror-lensed aviators.  dwayne grabs a baby bag, throws it over his shoulder.  vin grabs the car seat out of the back, and both of them walk-slow motion up the side walk to their new 800k beach house.  
  • here’s what they expect: passive aggressive co-existence for a couple of weeks, where they try to be the Better Dad in a bid for the promotion they both want.  dwayne will go jogging with the baby every morning!! vin will wear her in a sling when he goes to the farmer’s market and smiles at the vendors while feeling up avocados and selecting fresh caught filets of fish!! 
  • here’s what they don’t expect: their next door neighbors are going to be Channing Tatum and Idris Elba and their five beautiful, interracial babies.  they are the perfect Gay Family, but “also,” dwayne says, pushing vin inside from where he’s been grilling steaks and drinking MILLER out of a CAN in broad daylight for the Real Gay Family to see and call over from their patio!!! “these guys are the REAL DEAL.  they’re gonna know something’s up!  i know we’ve had our beef, but we gotta step our game up and work together if we’re gonna make this operation work.”  
  • “you’re right,” vin says.  he’s nodding, looking at a ground, but then up and meeting dwayne’s gaze. “you’re RIGHT.” they’re gonna make this partnership work!!! they are going to be the BEST GAY DADS.
    • CUT TO: vin and dwayne staring at the king sized mattress in the master bedroom.  “i can just–” vin says, but dwayne grabs him by the shoulder and shakes it playfully.  “no man,” he says. “it’s all in or nothing.” 
    • CUT TO: them jogging together with baby playfully squealing from her stroller early in the morning.  
    • CUT TO: vin playfully feeding dwayne grapes at the farmer’s market.  “it’s all or nothing,” he repeats, raising his eyebrows (???? eyebrow folds? idk man). dwayne rolls his eyes and TAKES THE BITE.  
  • CUT TO: channing tatum in monogrammed shorts and pink polo and boat shoes on their front door step with one of his many perfect, precious toddlers on his shoulders, asking them to dinner.  “uh yeah,” dwayne says, cool as a cucumber. he’s not freaking out (he’s totally freaking out!!).  “we’ll bring the wine.”
  • “we’ll bring the wine?” vin repeats, in a hushed voice so the neighbors and baby don’t hear them fighting. “do you know anything about wine? they probably have a second house in france!  i haven’t had anything that didn’t come from a box since–since ever! what were you thinking?” “i panicked!  it seemed like the right thing to say!” 
    • TIRES SCREECH as the ford focus hybrid drifts into the whole foods parking lot.  
  • they show up out of breath, foreheads glistening, with baby in her favorite babybjorn, feet kicking from the day’s excitement of wine shopping.  vin, wheezing, passes a bottle of red and a bottle of white.
    • “oh, a chateau coutet barsac,” idris says with a chuckle, showing the label to channing. “remember that time–?” and oh my GOD, they have inside jokes!! 
    • (”we don’t have any inside jokes!!” dwayne whispers when they immediately excuse themselves halfway through a tour of the house. “that’s because you are the least funny person i know!” vin replies. “god, i hate you!!!” they both probably hiss at each other.)
  • the worst and best part of the night is when they’re serving the roast veg salad, and channing says with the best intentions, “so, how did you two meet?”
    • “uh,” vin says.
    • “the gym,” dwayne says. which, actually turns out to be true.  they look at each other, smile soft and genuine for once at each other, REMEMBERING. before they were BITTER RIVALS, they met at the academy gym and were GYM BUDDIES.  they used to have FUN trying to beat each other’s PR on the treadmill, they used to LOVE shit talking each other when they spotted each other bench pressing, they used to snap towels at each other’s asses in the locker room and totally not check each other out or anything!!! and then they were both accepted to the same position at work and they stopped being friendly for whatever reason.  they stop smiling, they look away from each other.  “anyway.”
    • “we met building houses for habitat for humanity,” idris offers, because of COURSE THEY DID.
  • the second worst part of the night is when channing mentions during the dessert course that two weeks from now is the annual May Day Homeowner’s Neighborhood Block Party Crab Cookoff, and maybe dwayne and vin would like to host to get to know everyone else in the neighborhood! 
  • vin has had like, three more glasses of wine than everyone else, and with aid of liquid confidence, shrugs his shoulders and leans back in his chair and says, “yeah, man, we’d love to.”
    • “’yeah, man, we’d love to?’” dwayne repeats when they’re walking home, baby asleep in her bjorn. 
    • “sorry, did you want me to give ourselves away? what happened to being the best? we’re trying to be believable!” 
    • “yeah,” dwayne says, watching vin strip off his shirt and pants and toss them over his shoulder into their spare hamper before crawling into their bed.  it’s routine.  they both have their sides of the bed.  “believable.”
    • the bedroom is quiet as they face away from each other at the edges of the mattress.  eventually dwayne asks, “do you remember why we stopped being friends?”
    • for a second he thinks maybe vin’s gone to sleep.  but he turns over.  “no,” he says.  “or yeah, maybe. as soon as i realized we would both be seeing action, it became too much of a risk.  friendship.  it was easier to lose you as a friend on my terms than lose you as a friend because you got your dumbass killed.”
    • they decide to be friends again.  you know, for the baby.  for work. whatever.  
  • they get so caught up in planning the May Day Homeowner’s Neighborhood Block Party Crab Cookoff, making inside jokes and ignoring the increasing casual physical intimacy between them that they don’t realize they are BEING WATCHED.
  • the mafia is HERE and they want their BABY and they want dwayne and vin DEAD.  
  • the M.D.H.N.B.P.C.C happens and everything is going according to plan, and they are about to have dwayne judge the bisque portion of the competition, but no one has seen dwayne anywhere!!!!
  • are there warehouses in provincetown??? is there a bad part of provincetown??? anyways, that’s probably where the mafia took dwayne.  vin is FREAKING OUT, how does he save dwayne??? how does he protect the baby, who they are using dwayne as ransom for??? who will judge the bisque portion of the crab cookoff???
  • idris puts a hand on his shoulder.  he’s been watching the entire time.  “i’ll take the baby into our panic room–” OF COURSE THEY HAVE A PANIC ROOM, “and channing will judge the bisque portion of the crab cookofff.  you go save your man.”
  • CUT TO: vin getting geared up to go out and kick some mafia ass, entering their walk-in closet and grabbing GUNS and a BULLET PROOF VEST and lacing up his L.L BEAN MEN’S GORETEX LEATHER BOOTS.  
  • vin takes out the entire warehouse-or-whatever of mafia lackeys and comes across dwayne tied up and blindfolded.
  • “who’s there!” dwayne demands, like he’s ready to fight despite himself.  vin takes three strong steps forward and grabs him by the back of the head and pulls him in for a kiss.  “guess who,” he replies.  dwayne smiles.
  • just then the Final Boss shows up as dwayne is being untied and like, something dramatic happens or whatever, but it’s okay.  they die or go to jail or something, it doesn’t really matter, because dwayne and vin are in LOVE and they’re gonna adopt the hell out of that baby.
  • CUT TO: a month later.  Head Intelligence Captain Lupita Nyong’o is disappointed when vin won’t accept his promotion.  
  • “i would,” he says, heavily decorated for saving dwayne in the field and taking down the mafia family.  “but the code of conduct says that it would be a conflict of interest if i was my husband’s supervisor.” BAM! THE END.  THEY’RE MARRIED.  WORLD PEACE UNLOCKED.   DONALD TRUMP IMPEACHED.  EVERYONE LIVES HAPPILY EVER AFTER.

anonymous asked:

I know requests are closed but can we have some like cute fluffy smutty niall blurb? Where you guys go on vacation for the first time as a couple?


A/N: What happens when Niall goes to Ibiza and my disgust with Goulet peaks???  This.  Shout out to my girls for helping me work out the kinks!

When Niall suggested a quick getaway to Ibiza you were ecstatic.  When he also told you a gaggle of Devines and Matt Goulet would be along for the ride, you immediately refused to go.

“Babe c’mon!  Goulet’s got this hook up for a private yacht and Deo’s really excited to see Dua Lipa.”  Niall was close to begging, his big blue eyes pleading while he made his most pathetically adorable puppy face at you.

You groaned and slumped back into the couch dramatically.  “Fine.  But I’m not speaking to Goulet the entire time we’re there.  And if I hear him name drop you one time I’m totally kicking him in the throat.” You crossed your arms defiantly and set your mouth in a deep pout.  A wide smile broke out across Niall’s face and his eyes lit up with excitement.  He draped himself over your body and peppered kisses across the soft skin of your jaw and neck until you were a giggling mess underneath him.  When you finally caught your breath he pulled back and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips.  

“S’gonna be sick darlin’, no interviews, no schedule.  Just sun, drinks, swimming, and music.”

You quirked your head slightly, a question bubbling up before you could really think about it.  “Wait.  Why is Deo so excited to see Dua Lipa?  I didn’t know he was into her music.”  Niall rolled his eyes and sighed.

“He thinks they might be soulmates ‘cause her name is Dua and his name is Deo.”

“Niall.  Please tell me you’re fucking joking.”

“Hand t’God.  Told me that himself.”

You closed your eyes and tried to comprehend the adorable idiocy of Niall’s cousin.  Unfortunately there was no way around it, Deo had outdone himself on this one.  “Ok, but that’s not even his real name and - you know what?  I don’t even have a response for that.  Fucking Deo.”

Keep reading

Nowhere Fast (Logan x Reader)

 Word Count: 7k+

Rating: M for some mild smut

Warnings: None

Note:  I’m playing fast and loose with the events of “Logan” so most of this is pretty inaccurate. Took the basic premise and turned it into a fix-it fic slash road trip romance because the ending of that godfuckingdamn movie made me want to cry and I couldn’t leave the love of my life like that.
Also keep in mind that I have no fucking idea how cars work so anything in this oneshot is just guesswork.

ALSO the reader is said to be nineteen because duh this started out as a shameless self insert because I ADORE logan and he deserves love and someone who will appreciate his abs

It becomes his next mission, after Laura. Saving kids like her. Bringing them up across the border. And of course it’s easier said than done, but Logan feels like he owes it to them. It’s partially his fault their lives have gone to hell, anyway.

That’s how he meets (Name). She’s a mutant, the first natural-born one he’d seen in years– not strong, though, not with all the shit Transigen has been fucking dumping into the food and the water supply– and her entire telekinesis thing had brought a horde of those asshole Reavers crawling out of whatever hellhole they’d been stowed away in to track her down.

He picks her up in a bar somewhere east of Phoenix, Arizona.


The first thing he really registers about her is that she’s fucking pretty.

He notices her in fragments– she’s attractive in that sort of innocent way, with wide, wide eyes and dark lashes and a soft pink mouth and a bright smile, cutoff denim shorts exposing just a little more skin than actually necessary, enough that it makes him swallow around a sudden tightness in his throat.

He ignores it, focuses hard on doing what he came here to do, manages to get her out of there and into his truck without incident. Somehow she ropes him into small talk on the drive, though, and that– that’s where everything just ends up going to shit.

He tells her he’s like her– a mutant– explains where they’re going and why. Up through Michigan, to Canada, he tells her, because the Reavers will be expecting them to try to get through North Dakota again, and he’d rather be safe than dead. A solemn silence follows, which she breaks by making an odd sort of happy noise at whatever music is playing through his shitty speakers, and forcing him to crank up the radio for a song he’s never heard before. She tells him that she loves the song with a smile that’s pleasantly genuine. He says all he likes is alcohol and cigars and for some reason she finds that funny.

She asks him how old he is– “Old enough,” he says, avoiding the question– and then they lapse into a short silence.

“I’ll be nineteen soon,” she mentions as he’s crossing the state lines into New Mexico, an unimportant remark made in passing, and Logan feels his throat tighten inexplicably.

He glances over at her, mumbles some intelligible reply, rakes a too-hot gaze up her legs and over the front of her half-unbuttoned flannel shirt and registers that his palms are sweaty and his mouth is dry and that his stomach is sinking–

She’s barely even legal , he thinks, hopelessly resigned to how much he already knows he doesn’t fucking care.


They get to the safe house just fine, and Logan breathes a heavy sigh of relief when they pull into the winding dirt driveway at nearly two in the morning– the hardest part of this is over. His connection will be over within the week to take her up to where the rest of the kids are, and that’ll be it.

He never shows up.

Which is just fucking great, and leaves him with the responsibility of bringing her up to Canada himself.

It’s fine, he tells himself, as he pushes open the heavy oak door to the safehouse and realizes it’s only got two rooms.


There are separate beds, at least.

It’s not fine.

He finds out almost immediately that she sleeps in nothing but a t-shirt and underwear. That first day is hell– it’s like she’s actively trying to kill him; she runs around the house they’re forced to share in the tiniest goddamn shorts he’s ever seen and seems to own a fucking million of those tight, low-cut tank tops. And it’s not just that– she’s a good kid, too, which just makes it worse.

She’s cheerful. She’s smart and a little sarcastic and ridiculously positive, but she’s also focused. Nothing he does goes over her head. At first Logan spends half his time being ridiculously fucking careful about what he says and how he says it just to make sure he doesn’t accidentally scare her away, because he knows he can be frightening. He’s killed people before.

Three days in he becomes convinced that the girl honestly doesn’t care. Nothing he does ever phases her.

It’s nice.

She’s clever, and brave, and unfailingly, stupidly kind.

It’s fucking weird.

On the last day, he wakes up to her fucking making him breakfast at seven in the morning like it’s a normal thing for her to do.

“It’s sort of a thank you, for, you know,” she mumbles through a mouthful of blueberry pancakes, “For saving my life.”

“Mm,” Logan responds, trying not to stare– because her nightshirt is incredibly fucking see-through and he might be two-hundred-something years old but he’s still a man, and–


It’s fine.

(It’s not fine.)

“You could say thank you,” she whines through his silence, pretty obviously not meaning it.

“Thanks,” Logan replies, more gruffly than he intended. He pours cheap convenience-store syrup over the pancakes and focuses harder than necessary on cutting the stack into neat, even pieces. She bites her bottom lip. He does not look.

“So,” she says, looking up at him through her lashes thoughtfully. “I– what are we going to do? I mean, we can’t– how long are we staying here?”

He licks his lips. Swallows. Drops his fork down on his plate and clears his throat with a cough that’s a little too rattling to be healthy, and says,

“Not long.”

She doesn’t say anything.

It surprises him, how easily she accepts the answer. To be honest, it’s nice, because he really didn’t feel like arguing, but a part of him wonders about her family and her friends and if there will be anyone to miss her– if Transigen fucking left anyone alive to miss her. The answer, if he had to guess, is no. She’s alone. She’s probably already been through her fair share of hell, but she still sings as she does the dishes, swaying gently to the tinny sound of some acoustic pop song as it filters in from the cheap radio he keeps on the kitchen window sill. He finds himself in awe of how incredibly fucking happy she still manages to be.  

Logan leans back in his chair and he sips at his coffee and he watches her as she stares almost pensively out the bay window above the sink, her face illuminated in the warmth of the morning sunlight.

It’s nice, he thinks. It’s normal.

It doesn’t stay that way. Things like this usually don’t.


They clear out two days later. Logan leaves two hundred dollars crammed in the space between the front step and the doorframe for his contact who had set up the safehouse– if he isn’t already dead– and loads the remaining food and supplies into the back of his beat-down pickup truck.

“What the fuck,” she says, looking half-dead in the passenger seat– and it’s not really a question, so Logan doesn’t bother to really answer.

“Seat belt.”

“What the fuck,” she repeats, louder, voice taking on a whiny sort of edge that should really piss him off more than it does. He’s already got a soft spot for her, apparently. Jesus Christ.

Logan grits his teeth.

What ?” he responds, deadpan.

“Wh– you dragged me out of bed at five in the fucking morning,” she says, kicking her feet up on the dashboard with a yawn.

Logan growls, and swats at her kneecaps with the folded-up, coffee-stained road map he’d swiped from one of those shady-looking rest stops by the highway. “Get ‘em off,” he snaps.

She flashes him a rude look, and in a move entirely indicative of how young she actually is, sticks her fucking tongue out at him , a flash of red against the white of her teeth.

And Logan–

Logan laughs. He laughs, the sound abrupt and kind of stilted, like he isn’t used to doing it, like there hasn’t been a reason for him to in what feels like years.

Which is probably true.

Fuck, he thinks.

The girl– she’s still looking at him, flatly unimpressed. Waiting for an answer, or an explanation, or something.

“We had to leave early,” Logan says, risking a side-glance over at her as he maneuvers out of the dirt driveway. “Makes sure we won’t be followed.”

She stares at him for a moment longer, and then heaves a sigh, leaning back against the leather-upholstered seat.

“I forgot about that,” she eventually offers. It’s kind of an apology.

He responds with a noncommittal grunt, reaching over to turn the radio up.

Soon enough they find the main road, and start heading northwest on a mostly-empty highway. The sky is still dark. The only light comes from the streetlamps, glinting off of the tinted windows in eerie, fleeting patterns as he drives past them, one by one.

“You’re not forgiven, though,” she says eventually, lips twitching up into a semblance of a smile. “I don’t get up before ten.”

Logan rolls his eyes. He wants to say something dismissive. Something rude, something to shut down whatever semblance of a friendship they’ve established.

Before he can muster up the courage to say anything she’s rolling down the windows and sliding on a pair of fucking sunglasses even though it’s like, five-thirty in the fucking morning, and turning up the radio as far as it will go. In the distance, the sun finally slips past the horizon line, and the light takes on this warm, ethereal sort of tone, highlighting the planes of her face in a way that makes Logan think about– things. Stupid things.

She’s pretty in a way that she shouldn’t be.

Whatever Logan was about to say dries up and disappears somewhere below his adam’s apple.

He looks at her.

His reflection stares back at him from the mirrored lenses of her knockoff Ray Bans.

“I can’t see shit,” she says, and, again, he finds himself laughing.


The first night, he manages to find a place for them to sleep: a motel about a half mile from the highway, nestled between a tiny gas station and a greasy, stereotypical “All-American” burger joint.

And it’s shitty.

Logan walks into their room and feels like he’s been blasted back to the fucking 1980s– between the weirdly overused floral patterns fading on the bedspread and the honest-to-god shag carpet, it’s like he’s stumbled into a time capsule.

“Ew,” the girl says, inspecting an odd stain on the chintz armchair by the coffee table. “ Ew.”

Logan scans the room. One bed. No couches, just chairs. The girl notices him silently studying the furniture and immediately sees the problem.

Her solution surprises him.

“We can share,” she says nonchalantly, “Just don’t snore.”

Logan opens his mouth, but doesn’t actually say anything. He closes it.


And that goes about as well as expected– which is to say they go to bed a respectable distance away from each other, and Logan manages to fall asleep without thinking too much about the practically half-naked girl next to him.


He wakes up on his side, hip digging uncomfortably into the box spring set beneath the paper-thin mattress, and finds her tucked into the empty space left by his body.

Right , he thinks, again, not really awake, and to be honest, uncertain as to whether or not he’s even conscious.

She shifts. Yawns, breath ghosting hotly against his bare chest. Makes absolutely no effort to move away, not even a little, and Logan feels something that’s almost panic begin to simmer in his abdomen, dissolving any of his remaining sleepiness and leaving him awake and painfully aware.

So he does the logical thing, which is to try to disentangle himself as quietly as possible, before realizing he’s already pressed up against the wall and that there is absolutely nowhere to go.

Fuck, Logan thinks, with the appropriate amount of irritation.

At least he hasn’t popped a boner.

He shifts uncomfortably.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Physical closeness– he refuses to call it intimacy, because it isn’t– has never bothered him before. His truck is small and road trips are long and at this point he should be used to the inevitability of being forced to share a bed with someone.

It would help, he thinks, if that someone were less attractive and less available and less exactly his type. Logan still isn’t sure if he even has a type, but if he did, she’d be it.

(He’s so screwed.)

She yawns, again, and then uses Logan’s body as leverage to push herself away from him towards the end of the bed. And Logan– he stays perfectly fucking still and forces himself to ignore the heat of her palms against his lower abdomen.

“Morning,” she mumbles, sitting up and kicking her legs over the side of the bed. She stretches, and her nightshirt rides up, up, up, exposes the curve of her spine as her back arches. The sun streams in from the nearby window and kind of fucking surrounds her, makes her look like some sort of goddamn angel, or something else equally as stupid.

Logan answers her with a noncommittal grunt and buries his face back in one of the lumpy pillows, legitimately praying for strength.

Getting up doesn’t help anything. They eat off-brand cereal for breakfast and he does his best to not talk. Later, she showers while he brushes his teeth, because they need to get on the road as soon as possible and sometimes that means awkward shit happens. He discovers there’s a sliding door to the bath, and it’s that bullshit frosted glass, not really see-through but not solid, either. It takes a ridiculous amount of effort to keep himself from watching– he can’t really see anything, nothing defined, anyway, but there’s the outline of her body through the condensation collecting on the glass, and it’s enough to make focusing on anything else difficult.

Jesus Christ.

It occurs to him, after they’ve checked out and after he’s thrown their bags in the back seat of his pickup, that ignoring her should be a lot easier than it’s ending up to be.

It isn’t.

They stop at the tiny convenience store next to the motel before leaving, to stock up on food.

“And gas,” he adds, staring at the meter, hovering just above ‘empty’.

She goes in to pay and Logan fills up the tank, fingers drumming absentmindedly against the dusty side of the car. He glances into the shop through the dirty glass window and his eyes fix on her almost immediately. She’s smiling and handing a twenty to the cashier– a young guy, about her age, who looks like he has no fucking idea how to react to so much genuine happiness being directed at him.

HIs immediate response is a startlingly aggressive rush of irritation towards the cashier, followed immediately by irritation at himself.

He used to be immune to this sort of shit, he thinks, shoving the gas nozzle back into its cradle.

Apparently that’s changed.


By the end of their sixth day on the road, they’re somewhere in Illinois and Logan is suffering.

The AC is out and his engine is overheated and he’s overheated and about two minutes away from what feels like a goddamn heat stroke. He’s not sure if he can even have those, but he is sure that he’s about to find out.

They might have enough time to stop for repairs and still be ahead of the people following them. But Logan isn’t going to risk it. He doesn’t want to fight. He’s tired, and there’s always another way, even if that means running.

He tells her they’re going to start driving at night, and her response is understandably negative. It still doesn’t stop him from pulling the truck out of the little bed-and-breakfast they’d ended up in and getting back on the road as soon as the sun sets. She complains for a solid two hours before she starts to fall asleep, drifting in and out of consciousness in the passenger seat.

They’re driving through a long stretch of wilting, sun-dried fields when it happens.

“Wh– fireworks?” She says, opening her eyes just as the first one explodes into a shimmer of red and white above the car.

Logan grunts in affirmative. “‘S the Fourth of July,” he says. “I think.”

She sits up straight in her seat, absentmindedly rubbing the spot on her neck where the seatbelt had bitten into her skin, and fixes him with an imploring look that he can barely see in his peripheral vision.

“No,” he says, already knowing what she’s going to ask.
“But I want to watch the fireworks. Just half an hour,” she answers, somewhat convincingly. “I’ll watch from the truck bed. You can be an asshole and just sit in the car.”

Logan manages to hold his own for about five entire minutes.

“Goddamnit,” he grumbles. She grins.

(In hindsight, giving in to her was a horrible, horrible idea.)

He takes his shitty, beat-up pickup truck and parks it down off the road in one of the fields, half-hidden from the road by a giant weathered sign that reads Land For Sale in peeling black paint, and she climbs into the back truck while he stares at the steering wheel and contemplates what he’s even fucking doing to himself at this point.

He gets out of the car.

She’s lying on her back in the bed of the truck, arms tucked behind her head. The suspension creaks perilously as Logan moves to sit beside her. The sky is clear and the stars are bright and the moon is glowing and full. A firework shoots up into the sky in a trail of golden smoke and explodes with a dull crack across the dark expanse of the horizon. Logan doesn’t care. He’s been alive long enough that any sense of wonder he had for them has just– dissipated.

Above them, fireworks continue to go off, flickering through the sky in bursts of bright, effervescent color.

Logan looks at her as she watches them. He thinks about the happy smile she’d given him when he’d agreed to this bullshit. He thinks about the corresponding warmth that had blossomed slowly in his chest somewhere between his ribs, and wonders, not for the first time, when everything had gotten so fucked.


They’re in a shitty roadside bar in Michigan and she’s kicking his ass at pool when he realizes he has a fucking problem.

They’ve been camped out for the last hour and a half, commandeering the pool table in the back corner of the bar surrounded by half-drunk wannabe-rednecks in sleeveless flannels and fourty-year-old men with beer bellies who pretty obviously peaked in high school. Logan’s had enough scotch to actually start feeling it, which has been getting easier and easier to accomplish as his fucking healing factor shuts down, or whatever, but that’s not what really matters. The buzzing inside of his head isn’t entirely because of the alcohol, anyway.

The girl– (Name)– is bent over the pool table lining up a shot, and his eyes make a slow sweep up her body almost without thinking about it, lingering over her legs and her ass and the slow sinuous curve of her spine and–

“I am… the best, ” she announces, pausing to make sure she’s succeeded in sinking the eight ball before gloating, “That’s two to one, against somebody who’s spent, what, twenty years doing nothing but bar hopping–”

Logan swallows, mouth feeling particularly dry, and finishes off the rest of his scotch.

“Shut up ,” he says, not really meaning it.

Their arms brush. Distantly, he can hear the low-pitched rumble of his own laughter. She’s saying something about a rematch and he can’t fucking say no to her because they’ve got time to kill and this is infinitely better than being stuck in another shitty motel room.

She’s moving around the table, collecting the pool balls to rack for their next match when somebody approaches her from the bar.

In hindsight, Logan should have fucking expected this. It’s a dive bar and half the men here are scum and the other half are just plain stupid, and she’s young, and attractive, easily the prettiest girl in the damn place– it shouldn’t be all that surprising that somebody else would notice that.

The guy– he’s tall. Reedy. Messy, dull hair and a shitty beard that’s patchy and frankly pathetic, like he made it through half of puberty before his body just fucking– gave up. He’s got sweat-stains on his faded Michigan University t-shirt and tobacco-stained teeth and Logan knows, logically, that she isn’t even remotely fucking interested, but–

That’s not what matters.

What matters is that this piece of shit had seen him, and her, and assumed that any sort of bullshit he planned on pulling would be perfectly okay, because there was no way that the two of them could ever be together, no, the guy hadn’t even bothered to fully look at Logan before dismissing him entirely.


That makes him angry, even though he knows he’s got no right to be.

He comes up behind her. Curls his arm around her waist. He feels her stiffen and then relax into his side in less than a second, and a part of him wants to believe that the reaction is instinctive, natural, like she hadn’t even made the conscious decision to do it.

Logan grits his teeth and glares veritable daggers at the dirtbag leaning over her, and his anger must be palpable because the guy’s cocky, predatory smile withers and dies and he’s holding up his hands and walking away before Logan even has a chance to say anything to him.

She doesn’t move away. Instead, she leans into him, and lets out a heavy sigh of relief.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, reaching down to squeeze his hand. Logan stiffens– even that little amount of contact is enough to make his pulse beat faster, stronger, louder.

“We should get out of here,” he says, voice low and slightly gravelly. The events that had just unfolded– they don’t feel real. Like he’s outside himself watching everything unfold through a telescope a million miles away. What the fuck is he doing?

He swallows.

The look she gives him is soft, and Logan wonders if she realizes what’s happening, if she even gets it, gets the nights in the hotels and the hours together driving and the fireworks and the fucking bar fight he’d been willing to start for her, gets what it all means when the incidents are lined up like that, one after another–

“Yeah,” she answers. “We should go.”

They wind up in another hotel with two six-packs of Logan’s favorite beer, and everything feels– off. Wrong. The silence is thick and there’s a thread of tension between them that hadn’t been there before.

Logan realizes he’s singlehandedly destroying the first good thing he’s had in forty years.



He has a plan. Get to Canada, get her somewhere safe, and then leave.

That doesn’t happen.


 The truck finally gives out in a tiny town called Paradise, on the very edge of Lake Huron.

It would be funny, he thinks, almost like fate, if he even believed in that sort of thing.

“Engine’s all overheated,” the mechanic explains, poking at a half-melted length of rubber piping. “See this? Coolant’s supposed to go through here, but it’s all fucked.”

Logan grits his teeth and crosses his arms and digs his nails into his palms with an unnecessary amount of violence. “Can you fix it?”

The mechanic runs grease-stained fingers through his hair and nods. “Yeah, I mean, next week , not, y’know, today.”

He babbles on about the shop missing the parts or some other bullshit, because apparently they don’t get much business in fucking-nowhere, Michigan– big surprise– and then he directs Logan and the girl to a small hotel by the shoreline that’s mostly empty, where they’ll apparently have to stay until the parts come in on Monday.

He checks in at the front desk and gets the keys from a sweet old lady who asks too many questions. Their room is small, and overly-decorated, with ocean-themed throw pillows scattered across a matching set of armchairs and a handful of seashell windchimes hanging out by the screened-in porch. It’s a nice place, better than where they’d been forced to stay before, but Logan doesn’t care. He just throws his bags onto a quilted starfish-patterned bedspread and collapses on top of it with a long, drawn-out sigh.

The girl is standing in the doorway, watching him.

“You okay?” she asks softly.

Logan grunts in affirmative and closes his eyes. He hears footsteps, steady and quiet against the plush carpet, and then a hand brushes across his forehead and it’s fucking ridiculous how quickly his pulse stutters and how sharp his sudden intake of breath sounds in his ears.

“No fever,” she says.

“‘s just the adamantium,” he grunts, except it isn’t.

She looks at him, and it’s suddenly so easy– too easy– for him to be angry. Irritated that when he looks back at her he can’t get a read on her, or her mood, or her intentions, can’t quite tell what she’s thinking.

He sits up, suddenly feeling suffocated. He’s tired of this– tired of fighting her and himself and tired of never being sure whether he’s winning or losing or just wasting time. Nothing makes sense anymore. It feels like he’s been knocked off-balance, like for some reason his center of gravity has shifted just enough to make his world spin around him and the only fucking thing he’s certain of anymore is his own denial. He’s never been good at confronting his emotions.

Logan stands up.

“I’m going out,” he says, tone clipped and short.

She doesn’t stop him.

Logan didn’t really expect her to.


She finds him a little over an hour later. It’s dusk– the sun has slipped down over the horizon, but there’s still just enough lingering light to give everything a soft, surreal sort of glow.

Logan’s clothes and shoes are stacked in a sandy heap up on the shoreline and he’s waded into the lake up to his waist, watching the fractured patterns of silver moonlight flicker over the surface, dizzyingly bright against the dark water.


He says nothing. Her gaze moves slowly over the planes of his upper body–the scars and the burn marks and the bullet holes that never really healed right– and the expression on her face is something he only distantly recognizes. Their eyes meet, and she searches his face, studying him, and Logan can see the precise moment when she realizes, pieces together his evasion tactics and his silence and his jealousy and his perpetual anger–

Her expression softens.

She pulls her tank top up over her head in one slow, languid movement. Discards her shorts. Wades into the lake until she’s standing beside him, gentle waves lapping at her stomach. She skims her hands over the water, gently, lightly, never quite breaking the surface, and Logan watches with a sharp sort of intensity.

The tension feels different, tonight. It’s softer, but it’s also become that much harder to avoid.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he says in a gravelly whisper, before he can even think of stopping himself. His laugh is half bewildered and half angry, because he’s always, always angry. “You never fuckin’ know what you’re doing.”

She moves towards him. There’s the soft, lingering glide of her bare, wet skin against his as she traces the lines of the puckered, waxy scar he’d gotten on his left arm when he saved her life, and there’s the miniscule amount of space between them, hot and thick like the air inside of his shitty truck had been for the week since the AC blew out. None of this is new, not really, but it still feels different, this time.

“If I–” she pauses, swallows, and her pupils are dilated and nearly eclipsing her irises and Logan feels a sudden tightness in his gut, feels heat, feels anticipation and longing and a lot of fucking things, really, things he probably shouldn’t be feeling but feels anyway.

“If I asked you to kiss me, would you do it?”

He stares at her.

(He hadn’t been expecting that. He should’ve, though. She’s never been one for subtlety.)

The effect it has on him is instant. It’s like being doused in cold water. The fire pooling in his stomach fizzles and dies and is abruptly replaced by the thousands of reasons why he can’t and shouldn’t and won’t. It isn’t fair. It isn’t right. He can’t just come waltzing into her fucking life and take a space that she should be saving for somebody else. For anyone else, really, for somebody who’s safer and kinder and better than him.

“(Name),” he warns, sharply. Abruptly.

End of conversation.

It isn’t really the end of it, though. She’s too fucking stubborn.

“Logan,” she retorts, moving closer. She reaches out to touch him again and he grabs her wrists before she can and fuck, he thinks, she’s looking at him like she already knows how he’ll react to everything that she’s saying and everything that she’s doing and he can’t help but wonder what the hell he’s managed to get himself into.

“Don’t be stupid,” he says, hoarsely.

She doesn’t say anything. He can hear the gentle sound of the waves lapping up against them, the strange silence of the surrounding shoreline, can feel his own heartbeat perilously, traitorously loud inside his ribcage.

She’s waiting for him, he realizes. He’s waiting for him.

“Fuck,” he says.

He lets go of her wrists, registers her hands against his bare chest, warm and soft, and then he’s reaching out, cupping her face, tipping her chin up.

She moves up to meet him.

He kisses her slowly. Gently. His hands are shaking and she has her arms wrapped loosely around his neck and her body is pressed against his like it belongs there.

It’s easy. It’s so fucking easy. Weeks of constant tension dissolve like mist in the sunlight.

She’s the one who ends it.

“I’m going back to the hotel room,” she whispers, breath warm where his neck meets his shoulder. “Come with me?”

He breathes out, exhale shallow and shaky, but his eyes are steady on hers. Focused.

By the time they get back to the hotel, it’s dark, but that doesn’t matter.

The door closes with a soft click of rubber insulation against wood, and Logan looks at her, really looks at her, eyes roaming over her legs and her hips and her chest and her mouth, all the places he hadn’t allowed himself to notice until now.

The distance between them closes much more easily, much more quickly, this time.

“Never thought we’d do this,” he murmurs, and then corrects himself, “Never thought you’d want me to.”

Her laugh is soft. Disbelieving. She meets his eyes and leans up towards him and whispers, “That’s because you’re stupid”, and the words dissolve into his mouth as she kisses him– or maybe he kisses her, or maybe a little of both. It doesn’t matter, anyway, and Logan doesn’t care.

He frames her face with his hands and slants his mouth over hers and deepens the kiss, his tongue parting her lips and pushing in and scraping over her teeth, across the roof of her mouth– she tastes exactly how he imagined, exactly how he’d dreamed she would, sweet like chapstick and strawberries and so fucking perfect that for a moment he’s left wondering if this is even real. His hand is moving down from her face to the curve of her waist, fingers digging in, and he’s urging her closer until her body is pressed up so close to his that he can feel her heartbeat against his chest, the rapid rise-and-fall of her breathing as he keeps kissing her. Her hand wraps around the back of his neck and her teeth scrape over his bottom lip, half-smiling against his mouth when he makes a sound almost like a growl and kneads her hips, yanking her closer, moving one hand up under her half-damp tank top. Her skin is soft and warm under his calloused hands and fuck when he drags his thumb across her nipple through the sheer fabric of her bra she makes a noise like a sigh, or maybe a moan, shallow and soft, and rakes her nails down his arms–

It’s still not good enough.

He wants to touch her everywhere.

Logan yanks her tank top off, fabric clinging stubbornly to her still-wet skin, and then he fumbles with the clasp of her bra for a moment before discarding that, too. She’s beautiful, and he had known that, but it’s not the same– not when it’s like this, when he can so easily reach out and touch, and maybe he stares for a second or more than a second–

“Jesus,” he whispers, a little more frantic than intended, and almost immediately his mouth descends over the soft column of her throat and then down to her collarbones, her breasts, kissing every inch of skin he can reach with a sort of reverence he hadn’t known he was capable of. She leans into the feeling of his mouth, gasps out his name in a breathless, needy way that hits him hard, makes his cock ache in the rough confines of his boxers as he sucks a bruise into her skin where her shoulder meets her neck– half because he wants to and half because it’s proof that this is real.

In the back of his mind, he thinks of all the ways he could talk himself out of this, all the countless reasons why he shouldn’t let this get any worse or any more permanent, but he finds that he doesn’t care. She kisses him and he tugs her closer, a low groan vibrating somewhere in his throat at how effortlessly her body fits against his.

She’s the one who pulls him towards the bed.

“Come on, Logan,” she says, and it’s probably supposed to sound teasing, sarcastic, defiant, even, but mostly it just sounds breathless. There’s a bruise blossoming on her neck and her mouth is swollen and red, and Logan stops and stares and the only thing he can think is I did that, I did that to her, I kissed her–

“Fuck,” he bites out, the noise low and unsurprisingly aggressive.

He hears the rustle of the comforter against the mattress as she moves onto it, and he follows, wrenches his shirt up over his head and tosses it to the floor and then easily pushes her legs apart to take the space between them. Her nails dig  into his shoulders, not enough to really hurt, and she drags him down into another kiss, the movement of her mouth against his mirroring the slow, languid roll of her hips–

“Get your clothes off, c’mon,” he mutters, half pleading, biting her bottom lip just hard enough to make her gasp against his mouth and relishing in how she reacts to him, honest and real in a way he hadn’t expected.

Her shorts are off before he even has time to think about what he’s doing, and then her underwear, too, joining his shirt in a messy, haphazard pile of clothing on the floor, and he’s looking at her and she’s staring right back and the sudden rush of vulnerability he feels is almost enough to make him wonder if this was a mistake. It’s fucking stupid, he thinks, because he’s still got half his goddamn clothes on, why does he feel so exposed ?



His breathing is ragged. His pulse is thundering. The air is thick with something that feels like static electricity, sharp and heavy, like in the moments before a storm. His eyes rake up her body almost of their own volition, taking in the swell of her breasts and the curve of her stomach and then trailing down, down–

“Logan,” she mutters, squirming under the heat of his gaze, and any hint of defiance is gone at this point, replaced by pent-up, repressed longing, and it suddenly clicks that this entire fucking thing had never been one-sided. It had never just been him, she had watched and waited and wanted him too, and–

“(Name),” he rasps, not sure if he had even meant to say it out loud, and then he’s undoing his belt and fumbling with the button on his jeans, discarding his clothes in a bundle and closing the space between them with a newfound desperation.

She leans up and meets him halfway, and the kiss is frantic and messy and perfect. His weight pins her down to the bed and his desire is all-consuming, white-hot in the pit of his stomach as she rocks up against him, the friction making him groan. It’s the first time in a long time that he’s wanted something this badly, and the feeling of her bare skin is like a fucking drug. His hand slips down her stomach, moves in between her thighs, and she’s wet, fuck, his fingers are slick against her skin and when he touches her she chokes out a soft, trembling moan, and he realizes distantly that he’s so fucking hard it hurts–

“Logan,” she whispers, a little desperately, rocking her hips up into his hand, looking for friction, and his breath just fucking falters, shit, the arm supporting his weight on the bed is trembling and he can’t think of anything he wants more in this moment than her.

“Jesus,” he groans, pressing a finger inside of her and curling it up, and her answering moan is needy and helpless and when he starts to fuck her with his fingers she fucking melts underneath him in the best way–

“Stop fucking– teasing,” she says, trying to sound irritated but failing miserably as her voice wavers and dissolves into a moan.

Logan exhales shakily. He stops touching her.

They’re both aware of it, he knows, his cock pressed up against the inside of her thigh, hot and hard and insistent, and then she rocks her hips up against him and he groans, the sound frantic, desperate, dragging her into a kiss–

He thrusts into her in one fluid motion.

“Ah– fuck,” he groans, against her open, waiting mouth, eyes closed and face tense and the muscles in his arms and upper back strung taut, tense with the effort of holding himself still.

There’s a moment of silence– a moment of stillness– that’s strangely intimate, warm and familiar and right, his breathing ragged and unsteady against her neck as he struggles to hold on to the quickly-fading remains of his self-control.

Logan moves slowly.

Her answering moan is soft and the warmth of their combined body heat is heady and suffocating–sweat beads on his forehead and her breath ghosts hot across his collarbones as he moves and as she rolls her hips up to meet him. His forehead is pressed against hers and their noses are bumping as he kisses her, open-mouthed and messy, catching her gasp and his answering groan as she tightens around him, hot and wet and perfect. The way she drags her palms down his chest and across the wide expanse of his shoulders is desperate, almost like she’s looking for something to hold on to as he thrusts in a little harder, watches, seemingly entranced, as his cock moves, in down to the base until their hips are pressed together and then back again.

Logan ,” she moans, biting into the tight, sinewy curve of his shoulder just enough to make him groan, and make his rhythm stutter, and make his hips snap forward hard, and whatever he was going to say in response is replaced with a desperate, needy growl at the way she moans with the rock of his body. A shiver trembles down her spine, liquid and involuntary, and he can feel the way her muscles tighten around his cock, can hear the creaking of the bedsprings and the sharp, ragged sounds of his own breathing and nothing else really seems to matter except what’s happening right then. He doesn’t care about the past, or the future, or anything except the way she melts when he kisses her and how she arches her hips to meet his and moans into his mouth at the feeling, simultaneously overwhelmed and wanting more–

He snaps his hips forwards and he watches her tremble, watches her mouth part for a gasp and how she never stops looking at him, not even for a second. Her eyes are bright, clear and warm, and Logan wonders if she’s always looked at him like that, if maybe he just never noticed.

“I– fuck, fuck, I’m–” she gasps, tripping over the words, a little desperate and a lot frantic as she grinds up against him, one hand tangled in his hair and the other somewhere on the expanse of his shoulder, reaching for purchase, something to hold on to–

He’s acutely aware of her body pressed up against his own, slick with sweat and incredibly fucking warm, her face buried in his shoulder and her breath hot against his skin and her body soft and pliant and perfect underneath him. Everything about this is driving him fucking crazy and he’s wanted it for so long that it’s hard to focus, that everything else is a colorless, meaningless blur in the background and all he can see is her, back arching and muscles tensing and calling out his name as she comes.

And it’s fucking beautiful, and perfect, and exactly how he imagined while also being so much better. She trembles and tightens around him in the most delicious way and the moan she releases is wonderfully helpless and whatever remaining scraps of decorum he had left just fucking dissolve. His thrusts become erratic, his rhythm falters and he realizes, distantly, that he’s not going to last much longer as she rocks against him until he can barely think straight.

“(Name),” he mutters, and chokes out a curse, buries his face in her shoulder and relishes in it, in the closeness and the shared body heat and the feeling of being here, with her, like this, until his body falters and his weight comes down onto his forearms and his orgasm is wrenched through him like a fucking revelation.

And then it’s over.

He doesn’t move for a long moment. She doesn’t make him. Nothing seems to matter anymore except the warmth of where their bodies are still joined, the sound of their combined breathing, and the ache of the emotions they had unleashed on one another. It’s a brief moment of peace for him, and he thinks she must feel the same.

“You can get off of me now,” she complains, softly. Breathlessly. Logan huffs out a laugh, deep and warm, and moves away. He hesitates, only for a second, before pulling her to his bare chest with his hand curled over her hip.

The silence isn’t as suffocating as he’d expected. It’s almost– comfortable.

“Dumbass,” she says. There’s an honest sort of affection in her voice, as she throws an arm over his chest and buries her face in the crook of his neck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, sleepy and sated and not really meaning it at all.


He goes up to Canada. Brings her back to a house he hasn’t been to in years, nestled comfortably in the mountains under the shade of a forest of pine trees. The last time he was here, he was still mostly human; no adamantium. Just bone. The house is empty, but he still owns it, technically.

The first thing she asks him after getting unpacked is if he’s going to stay. He expected the question, but answering it is still hard, the word catching somewhere in his throat just below his voice box.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, I think so.”

Somali Astronomical/Astrological terms

Space = Fagaagga
Space and Time = Fagaagga iyo Semen
Solar System = Iskujoogga qorraxda
The Solar System = Isku-joog qorraxeed
Galaxies = Diillimo-caanoodyo

Planets = Meerayaasha
Planet = Meere
Planet = Malluug

The Sun = Qorraxda
Moon = Dayax
Mercury = Dusaa
Venus = Waxaraxirta(Sugra) ama Bakool
Earth = Dhulka
Mars = Farraare
Jupiter = Cirjeex
Saturn = Raage
Uranus = Uraano
Neptune = Docay

Saturn rings = Garaangaraha Raage ama Saxal
Dwarf planet = meere-cillin ah
Nebulae = Ciiryamada xiddigaha
Crab Nebula = Ciiryaamada
Super Nova = Xiddig dhimanaaya

Asteroids = Dhadhaabyo
Comets = Dibdheeryo
Meteorider = Burburka jibinta ama xiddigaha ridma
Meteor = Jibin
Meteorites = cir-kasoo-dhac ama shiidmadoobe

Light Year = If-sanadeed
Black holes = Dalool-madowbaha
Open Universe = Koonka Furan
Closed Universe = Koonka Xiran
Expanding Universe = isbaahidda Koonka
Light = ifka
Speed of Light = Xawliga ifka
Cosmos = Koonka
Color Spectrum = shucaaca ilayska-ifka

Lunar Eclipse = Dayax-madoobaad
Solar Eclipse = Qorrax-madoobaad
Calendar = Shintiris-sanadeedka
Leap Year = Sanad shindhalad ah

Astronomy = Xiddiga'aqoonta
Astronomers = ogaalyahannada xiddigo-aqoonta
Satellite = Dayaxgacmeed
Navigation Satellites = Hagidda dayaxgacmeedyada
Space Exploration = Sahminta fagaagga sare adduunka
Earth-based observatories = Rugaha kuurgalka fagaagga dhulkaku Saldhigan
Research Centres = Rugo cilmibaaris
Spacecraft = Gaadiidka Cir-maaxidda
Spaceships = Maraakiibta cir-maaxidda
Robot Vehicle = Alaadaha dadoobisan
Telescope = Doorbin
Mirror = Biladdaye
Lenses = Quraarada cadaska
Zoom = Waxweyneynta
Observatories = Rugo-kuurgal

Spherical = Ugxan
Rotation = meerwareeg
Rotate = udub-wareeg
North Pole = Qudbiga waqooyi
South Pole = Qudbiga konfur
Northern Lights = Wirwirka Qudbiga woqoyi
Southern Lights = Wirwirka Qudbiga koofureede
Equator = dhulbaraha

Core = Bu’
Inner core = Bu’da gudo-xigeenka
Sulfuric Acid = aashitada kibriidka
Greenhouse effect = kulaylkaydinta

Astronomical unit = Halbeegga xiddigaha
Diameter = Dhexroorka
Formula = Hab-xisaabeed

Particles = bitaanbitooyin
Anti-Particles = lidka-bitaanbitooyinka
Particles = iniino
Nuclear reaction = iskushubmidda bu'aha
Magnetic Field = Birlabta
Charge electricity = Cabbeynta Shixnadaha Jacda

Gravitational Forces = cuf-isjiidashada ama xoogga-jiiddada
Gravity = Cuf-jiiddada
Circuit: Mareegta
Current= Qulqulka
Forces = Xoogag
Earth’s gravity = Xoogga-jiiddada dhulka

Inertia Law = Xogta qaynuunka nuuxsi wax-negaadsan
Acceleration = Xowli
Response Act = Qaynuunka falka iyo falcelinta
Theory of Relativity = Fikriga isudhiganka
Quantum Theory = Fikriga imisada ama meeqada
Mass = Jir
Energy = Tabarta
Relative = Hadba Rogmada
Electromagnetic wavelengths = Dhererka hirarka ku danabeysan birlabta

Pyramids = Taallo-tiirriyaadyo
Zodiac = Cutubka Meecaad
Constellations = Cutubyada xiddigaha

Aries = laxo
Scorpion =daba-alleele ama dib-qallooc
Cancer = naaf
Gemeni = mataanaha
Virgo = afaggaal
Sagittarius = dameerajoogeen
Pleiades =Urur
Leo = Libaax

Capacitor = Madhxiye
Resistor = Caabiye
Diode = Laba Qotinle
Transformer = Dooriye
Socod Karaarsan = Accelerated Motion
Samaan = Time
Barobax = Displacement
Fogaan = Distance
Karaar = Acceleration
Keynaan = Velocity
Xawaare = Speed
Celcelis = Average
Socod Winiin = Circular Motion
Barobax –xagleed = Angular Displacement
Gacan = Radius
Karaar –xagleed = Angular Acceleration
Keynaan –xagleed = Angular Velocity
Xoog = Force
Culeys = Weight
Xoog –cuf –isjiidad = Gravitational Force
Xoog –dilaac = Shear Force
Xoog –giigsan = Tensile Force (tension)
Xoog –islis = Frictional Force
Xoog –ligan = Normal Force
Xoog –taab = Tangential Force
Xoog –urrur = Compressive Force (compression)
Xoog –xudumeed = Centripetal Force
Weheliyaha isliska = Coefficient of Friction
Daafad = Momentum
Daafad –xagleed = Angular Momentum
Gujo = Impulse
Gujo –xagleed = Angular impulse
Kalka = Period
Maroojin = Moment
Maroojinta Wahsiga = Moment of inertia (Angular mass)
Walhade = Pendulum
Tamar = Energy
Hawl = Work
Awood = Power
Tamar-keyd = Potential Energy
Tamar-socod = Kinetic Energy

Speed = Xawaare
Velocity = Kaynaan
Acceleration = Karaar (I think this is more appropriate than xowli and this is how i remember it from Fiisigiska)
Deceleration = Karaar-jab

Average Velocity: Kaynaan Celcelis
Momentum: Daabadayn
Diffusion: Saydhin
Capacitor: Madhxinta
Capacitance Capacitor: Madhxinta madhxiye
Radio Activity: Kaah
Infrared: Casaan Dhiimeed
Decay: Qudhmis
Decay series: Qudhmis isdaba Joog
Resistance: Iska caabin
Concave Mirror: Bikaaco Golxeed
Convex Mirror: Bikaaco Tuureed
Virtual Image: Humaag Beeneed
Real Image: Humaag runeed
Displace Ment: Baro bixin
Noble gases: Hawooyinka Wahsada
Vector: Leeb
Hir = Wave
Daryan = Echo
Itaal = Intensity
Tooxda maqalka = Range of audibility
Danan = Pitch
Isku duba-dhac = Resonance
Ileys = Light
Noqod = Reflection
Daahfurran/gudbiye = Transparent
Falaar abaareed = Incident ray
Golxo = Concave
Tuur = Convex
Xagasha qiirqiirka = Critical angle

Xisaab - Maths

Tiro = Number
Tiro tirsiimo = Natural number
Tiro idil = Whole number
Abyoone = Integer
Jajab/Tiro lakab = Rational number
Mutaxan = Prime
Farac = Composite
Tiro maangal ah = Real number
Tiro maangad ah = Imaginary number
Tiro kakan = Complex number
Wadar = Sum
Faraq = difference
Taran = Product
Qeyb = Quotient
Urur = Set
Hormo-urur = Subset
Hormo-urur quman = Proper subset
Dhextaal = Intersection
Isutag = Union
Duleedin = Complement
Aljebro = Algebra
Doorsoome = Variable
Tibix = Term
Hawraar = Expression
Tibxaale = Polynomial
Heer = Degree
Hawraar lakab = Rational expression
Isirayn = Factorization
Isir = Factor
Isle’eg = Equation
Isle’eg toosan = Linear equation
Isle’eg wadajira = Simultaneous equation
Sunsun = Sequence
Dareerimo = Series
Faansaar = Function
Wanqar = Symmetry
Tikraar = Intercept
Made = Asymptote
Tiirada = Slope
Weydaar = Inverse
Qiime sugan = Absolute value
Xididshe = Radical
Saabley = Quadratic equation

Joomitiri - Geometry

Bar = Point
Xariiq = Line
Xagal = Angle
Fool = Bearing
Barbaro = Parallel
Qoton = Perpendicular
Sallax = Plane
Goobo = Circle
Gacan = Radius
Dhexroor/Dhexfur = Diameter
Qaanso = Arc
Fatuuq = Sector
Labojibaarane = Square
Dhinac = Side
Laydi = Rectangle
Joog = Length
Balac = Width
Saddex-xagal = Triangle
Sal = base
Dherer = Height
Gundho = Centroid
Barbaroole = Parallelogram
Koor = Trapezoid
Qardhaas = Rhombus
Gunbur = Pyramid
Toobin = Cone
Dhululubo = Cylinder
Gabal Toobineed = Conic section
Goobo = Circle
Saab = Parabola
Gees = Vertex
Jeedshe = Directrix
Kulmis = Focus
Qabaal = Ellipse
Kulmisyo = Foci
Dhidib weyne = Major axis
Dhidib yare = Minor axis
Labosaab = Hyperbola
Dhidib-wadaaje = Transverse axis
Dhidib-xisti = Conjugate axis
Taxaneyaal = Matrices
Taxane = Matrix
Jiiftax = Row
Joogtax = Colunm
Suge = Determinant
Leeb = Vector
Itimaal = Probability
Abnaqan = Factorial
Raaboqaad = Permutation
Racayn = Combination
Waqdhac = Event
Xigidda = Differentiation
Xad = Limit
Xigsin = Derivative
Lid-xigsin = antiderivative
Abyan = Integration
Abyane huban = Definite integral


He takes out his wallet and gives her two hundreds. Claudia pockets it without hesitation, her lip curling. He’s kind of glad he can’t see her eyes behind the mirrored lenses of her sunglasses.

Claudia: I thought you and your wife had an understanding?
Roy: I thought we did. But it turns out I might have…misunderstood.
Claudia: What? What’s that supposed to mean?
Roy: It’s complicated but…shit. Did I actually say that? Jesus. Anyway, the fact that she flew here was a really big conciliatory gesture and.. and I …I’m not going to lie. It got me. I was touched.

He glances around and lowers his voice.

Roy: Claudia, I want to fuck you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. But considering the circumstances…I just can’t. I’m sorry. Jesus Christ, I’m sorry.

Claudia’s posture relaxes slightly. 

Claudia: Yeah, me too. Huh. So where’s your wife now?

Roy: About 500 yards away, at a cafe having lunch with my sister. Look, I took a big risk coming down here to see you but I wanted to tell you face-to-face. Because I’m a decent guy, okay?

Claudia: Oh yeah. You’re a prince.

Roy: I’ve got to go. Thanks for…the chat. And for not hating me. Too much.

He turns to go. Claudia waves.

Claudia: Bye, Roy. And if your wife’s hot, maybe next time you’re in town you could convince her to have a threesome.

Roy stops still. It’s like her words have caused his body to malfunction, his mind spinning with stars and lust and incredulity as it tries to process the inconceivable. He slowly turns around.

Roy: What did you just say?


Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Namjoon

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 1,413

Summary:  Spy!AU - It’s been nine months since you last saw him. Nine months, since you last took a job. When he sends you a message though, how can you stay away?

For @vixxpirational - as part of @kpoptrashnetwork ‘s secret santa. Hope you enjoy, love!

Keep reading

Fool's Gold | Chapter 3 | Harry Styles PT AU


Story Page Here

Listen to Army Ellie Goulding
Dark times, you could always find the bright side
I’m amazed by the things that you would sacrifice
Just to be there for me
(P.S. It was so hard to choose lyrics, this whole song is Harry and Olivia to a tee) 

Word Count 4.6k

You were drinking whiskey the other night?’ She quizzed only half hoping he’d deny it. Part of her wanted him to say he had been so she could lay into him the way she’d been wanting to for the last three days, but had been putting off to spare his feelings.

‘I had one.’ Harry mumbled glancing up at her for a brief second. Olivia rolled her eyes and shook her head running her tongue along the inside of her teeth. Harry on whiskey was an image she’d gladly forget but knew she never would. For as long as she’d known him Harry had always been a fun drunk, all he wanted to do was dance, and sing, and hold onto his friends. Sometimes he got emotional but he never got angry. She never wanted to see it again. The way his eyes glazed over and he became virtually unrecognisable.

‘You know what it does to you Harry why would you do that when you were already in a state?’

‘I’ve told you to stop mothering me.’ He stared at her then. His eyes lifted, they were dull and lifeless, but staring nonetheless.

‘Stop acting like a child then.’ She countered dragging her fingers across her temples, and wondering how he couldn’t see it.

‘I’ve just broken up with my fiance cut me some slack.’ Harry mumbled, dead, green-grey eyes falling back to the TV.

‘Right that’s it get up.’ Olivia reached for the controls and turned the TV off before Harry could even realise what she was doing, before he’d even processed her words properly.

Keep reading


“Seeing the Beginning of Time” takes viewers on a visually compelling journey through deep space and time. The 50-minute, 4K science documentary was co-produced by the National Center for Supercomputing Applications (NCSA) at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign and Thomas Lucas Productions as part of a National Science Foundation supported project called CADENS (Centrality of Advanced Digitally Enabled Science). Donna Cox, director of NCSA’s Advanced Visualization Laboratory (AVL), leads the CADENS project to help raise public awareness about computational scientific discovery.

“The AVL team members developed state-of-the-art technologies and used NCSA’s Blue Waters supercomputer to create cinematic production-quality data visualizations showcasing hundreds of millions of years of galactic evolution,” says Donna Cox. “We collaborated with numerous science teams and were deeply involved in the co-production of the film.”

The documentary features NCSA Research Scientist and Astronomy Research Professor Felipe Menanteau and his colleagues from the Dark Energy Survey (DES), an international collaboration dedicated to charting the expansion of our universe. The NCSA, along with Fermilab and the National Optical Astronomy Observatory, are the founding institutions for the Dark Energy Survey. Menanteau and colleagues are using light from distant galaxies to study the distribution of matter in the universe. “When we are looking deep into space, we are essentially looking back in time. We are using the light of distant galaxies to trace the influence of mysterious unseen forces such as dark matter and dark energy to look for clues to what they are,” said Menanteau.

Watch the trailer video:

The NCSA leads data management for the DES project, receiving large volumes of observations over high-speed networks from the telescope in Chile and using the Blue Waters supercomputer and Illinois Campus Cluster Program (ICCP) to review, process and release the data products, with the first public release scheduled for December 2017. The DES project is a pathfinder for the next generation of surveys, the Large Synoptic Survey Telescope, or LSST.

“Astronomers are forging giant new lenses and mirrors, while marshaling vast computational power,” says Thomas Lucas, veteran science producer and CADENS co-investigator. “These technologies are at the center of a historic quest: to peer into the deep recesses of time, to find out how the universe set the stage for galaxies and worlds like ours in an era known as the Cosmic Dawn.” Currently under construction in Chile, the LSST will rapidly survey the entire night sky every two weeks with a field of view almost 40 times the size of the full Moon. These large-scale cosmic surveys can be shared across the world and will revolutionize astronomy.

“Seeing the Beginning of Time” illuminates the groundbreaking connection between computational big data science and contemporary astronomy.


Concave - CONvering Mirror
Convex - Diverging Mirror

1/o + 1/i = 1/f = 2/r         f = r/2  or  1/2r 

o > r  Real, INverted, Reduced 

o = r  Real, INverted, Same Size

r > o > f  Real, INverted, Enlarged 

o < f  Virtual, UPright, ENLarged

o = f  i @ infinity 

Real Images = Inverted 

Virtual Images = Upright 

Convex Lenses ~ ConCave Mirror Except:

  • Real Image on OPPOSITE side of Lens as Object, Virtual Images on SAME side as object

Concave Lenses ~ ConVex Mirrors (Diverging- Virtual UPright) Except:

  • Virtual image formed by Lens is on SAME side of lens as object 

Farsighted = Converging Lens (reading glasses)

Nearsighted = Diverging Lens


Convergers = + Focal Point, Real, Inverted, Image on side of Observer 

  • if o < f —> rules for diverters apply 

Divergers = - Focal point, Virtual, Upright, Reduced, Image NOT on side as observer 

anonymous asked:

Where do you get all the style inspiration?

If you had asked me years ago I would have responded with 100 links but these past few years honestly I choose what I like and work backwards.

After I did the whole Marie Kondo thing it just happened naturally. I didn’t actually consider myself ‘stylish’ at all anymore because I stopped following trends so closely but, not to sound too vain, when I looked back on photos from December in Japan I felt really good about it.  I feel like I actually have my own style now and it’s so much less effort than anything I ever did before.

So I kept the things I loved and only buy things that I love.  If I try something on and I have to question any part of it I don’t buy it. Yeah it means walking away empty-handed A LOT. But it’s truly worth it and I never feel like I have “nothing to wear.”

So when I look for some inspiration I’m drawn to magazines or sites that contain a lot of items I already have.  That’s why I really like Vikka magazine. It matches my wardrobe and lifestyle a lot and if I’m getting a bit bored I’ll see something in it I could easily work into my current stuff and will keep it in mind. Like recently I lost 2 pairs of shoes (sandals and loafers) to wear & tear. So I was in the market for something I could wear in the summer, relaxed. I saw these slide loafers from TopShop and while I acknowledge they might considered ugly (LOL) I love them and bought them for summer.

Mostly I just follow my mood these days and really try to listen to myself when I’m trying things on either out shopping or even in my closet. There’s a difference between “not today” and “I feel lousy whenever I wear this.” I’m someone who will sort of punish myself by wearing my least favorite thing if I’m feeling badly. Whenever everything I own is a fav it’s hard to get trapped in the mindset.

I still make mistakes.  Like a pair of sunglasses from Madewell I loved how they looked but the mirrored lenses made me really dizzy when I was in direct sun! I had to return them. Or the men’s Muji shirt I adored but later realized I had to wear it with a certain bra or else the buttons would pull weirdly because I should have sized up. I donated it after a few months of wear because the trouble of matching certain shirts to certain bras is just NOT what my life is about these days.

This might have been way longer than you were looking for but I just felt like talking about this in depth.

I also still look at style-arena.jp sometimes and follow instagram accounts like…


Here’s a crazy show theory for you:

The big chandeliers in the library of the citadel are definitely the same design as the sun from the opening credits of the show, with mirrors and lenses for illuminating specific areas of the library. It’s beautiful and incredible and diegetic now, I guess. 

The opening credits show a hollow world, with a map and clockwork cities on the edge and the sun in the middle. I think that whole sequence will become diegetic to some extent. I’m imagining that eventually Sam will meet show!Marwyn and see the lit glass candle. The general consensus among the fandom is that the glass candles are GRRM’s version of palantirs, devices that can be used to see across vast stretches of space, and possibly communicate with other candles. With this in mind, I don’t think the candle in the show will simply be standing on the floor of some room. I think the candle will go along with a specialized map room, similar to what we see in the opening credits, with the maester’s best guess of the geography of the world carved into the circular or spherical walls, and adorned with finely crafted clockwork cities. The candle will be loaded into the Sun chandelier, and once it has been lit, and it’s light focused on a specific location on the map with various lenses, a user will be able to look through the device and gain some kind of vision of that part of the world. 

Imagine Season 7 opening with the normal credits sequence- featuring the various cities where the actions going to take place, and ending as usual with the sun. …Then the camera pans slightly to one side, a door opens in the wall of the hollow world, and Sam walks in. He stares, open mouthed, at the whole spectacle for a moment, until Marwyn grumpily interrupts his reverie and demands to know what he wants. Sam passes of some message, then asks for an explanation of the room, and Marwyn gives us the relevant exposition about glass candles, their uses, the long-standing inability to light them, and his own recent success. Then he pushes Sam back out of the room, and gets back to work.

Believe it.

Pretty Boy [a Barry Allen AU] (Pt. 4)

Request: You should make the next chapter kinda angsty! Like the reader gets hit on by a guy and Barry sees from afar and he thinks that reader moved on from him because nobody could possibly like him. Barry then gets distant and more depressed than before.

a/n: this hurt my heart

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 ||

It’s tearing Barry apart inside; the image of you getting hit on by that jock. He saw the scene play out in front of his eyes as he stood in the doorway. Teardrops pricked inside him; he ran outside, suddenly feeling 100% more unstable than usual. His vision blurred with each step he took, racing to his house.

That happened about four days ago. Barry stares at his naked torso in his full-length mirror through watery lenses. Ugly pink plush scars scatter from his jagged collar bone, disappearing into his smoke colored sweatpants. He stands sideways, peering backwards; his shoulder blades flex, shifting together slightly.

His eyes outline the patterns on his back, “I-I’m disg-usting” he huffs, sniffling. No wonder you wanted someone else; someone better. Water leaks from his eyes at the sight of himself; his hands shake as they trace his chest.

There’s a knock on his bedroom door, snapping him out of his thoughts. His legs wobble over to the exit, long fingers wrap around the handle, pulling on it gently. Through the crack, you peek at him and he staggers a breath past his lips. His palm rests flat on the door, trying to slam it closed, but stops when your foot appears. “Barry, let me in, please.”

“N-no!” he shouts, wincing at his stutter. “Y-you do-n’t w…want me! I-I s-saw you fl-fl-flirting! G-go a-away, I-I’m ug-ugly!” he blubbers, trying not to break out in sobs. At least not right now; not with you here.

You stop pushing, furrowing your eyebrows. “Barr, what the hell are you talking about?! Of course I want you!” you frown, “Please, just let me in.” you pull your blue hat over your ears, fixing your hair in the process.

“Y-you’re go-nna be gr-gr-grossed o-out.”

Leaning against the door, your breath fans against the door, “I won’t be. I promise.” you whisper, hoping he will open up to you. After a few seconds, his hand falls, walking away. Taking that as an okay, you slip in the room, enveloped by darkness. “Geez, did the lights go dead?” you joke, searching for the lightswitch.

“D-don’t!” he shouts, cringing at the brightness. Your eyes widen, hand still on top of the switch. Barry can feel your gaze on his scars; tears welling in the corners of his mossy green orbs. “I-I kn-knew you wo…would. I-it’s okay. Y-you were p…probably go-nna l…leave an-anyway… I-I’m gr-oss.” he whimpers, turning away. He can’t look at you; he can’t.

Slowly, you walk closer to him; gaze raking over his exposed torso. With care, your fingertips graze the blotchy skin, sending shivers down his spine. “You’re pretty in my eyes.” you say sincerely, peering up at his tearstained red cheeks. “And I’m never leaving; I told that guy I was seeing someone… Barry, be my boyfriend. Please.” you whisper, tracing his scars with your index finger.

He inhales a deep breath, droplets still sprouting from him. “O-okay.” he nods.