#THEIR NAMES BOTH START WITH E AND ARE FIVE LETTERS LONG???

[aceofsweets]

good evening twisted wonderland fandom.

[milkbobatyun]

hundred broken hearts

pairing: nishimura riki (ni-ki) x reader

genre: angst

summary: being niki's sister's best friend was hard, but being his friend and having a crush on him is even harder, especially when he debuts as a member of a boy group

word count: 1.1k

a/n: the woes of being a hopeless romantic. and yes im finally back from the dead !! n e ways the stuff that i've hinted in this is from stuff that's happened in the kpop industry and my life !! hehe

1 name. 2 words. 3 characters. nishimura riki. those two words alone were enough send the girls, and some guys, in your year into a frenzy. nishimura riki, with his stunning visuals, was the heartthrob of the school. it was only a pity that he rarely ever came to school.

you weren’t unlike the other students in your year. hidden beneath the uptight personality of being the model student, you were a shy, hopeless romantic. just the mere mention of his name made your heart do backflips and the tips of your ears blaze with heat.

unfortunately, you had the joy of knowing riki’s sister and being her best friend. needless to say, she was very much aware of the small crush you had on her brother. it started when she first noticed how you would stiffen up around her brother, your usual, unwavering gaze flitting across the room like a trapped butterfly.

every meeting with riki was a test of your nerves. whether it was in the school hallways or tiptoeing into the kitchen while tutoring his sister at their house, your crush on him was always your biggest obstacle. somehow, your fingers always found themselves twisting in knots, your mouth fumbling over a polite greeting.

butterflies exploded in your stomach whenever you made eye contact, your heart twirling with glee, skipping its usual rhythm entirely. you would panic, mentally stressing over your hair, your clothes. did you have food left on your mouth? gosh that would be embarrassing.

riki’s younger sister was your biggest supporter. time and time again, she encouraged you to confess to him.

“trust me! he likes you too,” she told you, a smirk dancing on her lips. “he was telling me a couple days ago, how he wished you would come over more, like the old days, so he could spend more time, if not with you, at least around you!”

her words sent a spark of hope coursing through your body. was it really true?

truth be told, your long history with the nishimura family started way back and began with an unlikely friendship with the competitive boy at the dance studio.

one dance challenge threw you into the chaotic lives of nishimura riki and his siblings. he had been so impressed by your dance skills that little, five-year-old him had declared you were his friend without hesitation. as time went by, you became a part of their family, their adopted daughter. 

sleepovers became a tradition, family dinners were cosy and warm, with your favourite dishes spread across the table. over time, the nishimura family became your second home.

while the siblings were like family, your friendship with riki became charged with something a little more. something neither of you dared to touch, nor acknowledge, in fear of losing the other.

with the worries eating away at the both of you internally, your friendship drifted, until long and deep conversations about life faded into brief interactions and greetings when you saw each other in the halls at school.

your shared interests and hobbies drew you closer to riki's younger sister, until he became only a distant friend, an acquaintance.

your desk was scattered with the remnants of confession letters, left unfinished. your notes were locked, hiding away the dark secrets of your lengthy messages, trying to convey your feelings. your dreams were plagued with nightmares of the numerous ways riki could reject you. a dismissive laugh, a cold gaze, with the weight of his refusal haunting you even in your waking moments.

in the past few weeks, sightings of riki at school and even at the nishimura family home was scarce. 

this fateful night, you sat by the television at home, the boy group survival show airing in the background, as you stared daggers into your chat with riki, wincing inwardly as you read your past conversations from years ago.

tonight, you would strengthen your resolve, grow a pair, if you will, and confess to riki. no more excuses were holding you back.

you laboured hard to craft the perfect message, polishing it and editing the confession time and time again. your fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling with anxiety. a whirlwind of thoughts flew through your mind. what if he says no? what if i make this super awkward when i go to their house? his sister wouldn’t lie to me, right?

just as you were about to send the message, a familiar voice travelled through the speakers of the tv.

your head whipped up, gaze frozen on the boy framed in the tv screen. your heart stuttered to a stop. 

it was riki. no, his name was ni-ki, but there was no mistaking it. the boy in the program, was nishimura riki, the one who held your heart in his hands.

you had known that his dream was to be a dancer, ever since he was young, so there was hardly a chance that he wasn’t going to debut in this new boy group.

seeing him under the spotlight, he looked happy, beaming with excitement. he belonged on the stage.

dread weighed on your shoulders. you realised that your confession would be a weight he would have to carry. you didn’t want to jeopoardise his chances of achieving his lifelong dreams. your confession would distract him from doing his best. even if he accepted it, you knew how tough the industry could be on idols dating, especially before debuting. if the media found out, it could lead to devastating backlash.

the thought twisted in your heart like a knife.

you fought back tears as you deleted your message, racing to your bedroom and throwing your phone across the room, before you found solace in letting your tears run. all night, your pillows swallowed your sadness, soaking up your tears.

you whispered your love to the stars, muttering apology after apology for your stupid heart. why couldn’t you love someone else?

a bitter smile twisted on your lips as you silently supported him, watching as he debuted and the group skyrocket to fame.

slowly, you became one of the many engenes that loved and supported the group, lost in a sea of fangirls. you wondered if there had been a chance, one that slipped through your fingers like grains of sand.

thousands of unsent messages, unspoken words of confession. maybe one of them could’ve thrown the two of you onto a different path.

1 person. 2 names. nishimura riki. ni-ki. thousands of fangirls. there was no way he could be with you. it just wouldn’t work out. maybe in another world, in another timeline, another life.

riki, i never told you this, but i like you. i’ve liked you since we were little kids. your sister told me that you might like me back. either way, i just wanted to say that i like you a lot.

to my [name], i’m sure my sister has said many times, but i like you. a LOT. nowadays, you fill my thoughts. you’re all i can think about. i would stay right here, forever, if i could, with you for all eternity.

taglist (open): @leehanscorydora, @pastelmitzuki

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobatyun 2024 / づ ♡

[kurishiri]

01 ┊ The final promise, a mother's death

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— jude⌛'s past records, record #1.

— cw: domestic child abuse (physical), death of a family member, mentions of alcoholism and family neglect.

The amount of happiness a person is given in their lifetime is decided, and it is split equally for everyone.

Such was written in a book somewhere.

Just as there was no abundance of good things, neither was there an abundance of bad. Everything was made to be equal.

——If that was the case, then just what did this bloody wretched life of mine ever amount to?

Since I was born, I had never gotten a taste of that feeling called ‘happiness.’

My father was an immigrant from Ireland, who worked at the seaport.

The place was filled with violent people, making both public order and the working environment in poor condition, but not working would be the same as death.

And what was tragic about the job was the fact that you could be laid off at any point.

Jude’s father: Blast it all! I went outta my way to show up n’ they went and kicked me out!

Jude’s older brother: Was a fool’s errand from the start!

In the cramped house, the scent of liquor and tobacco pervaded the room,

and perhaps because of continuous exposure to that, my younger sister and I had weak lungs, and were often prone to asthma attacks.

Jude’s younger sister: *cough* *cough*...

Jude: Quit it already.

Jude’s father: ...Hah?

Jude: If ya continue smokin’ that stuff, ain’t no way we’re gettin’ any better.

J: If you’re gonna smoke go n’ do it outsi——gh!

All of a sudden, he hit my cheeks, and the moment I collapsed on the floor, he grabbed my hair.

Jude’s father: I dare ya to try sayin’ that again.

Jude: Hah, did ya drink so much booze your ears gone bad? I’ll say it however much I gotta.

J: I’m sayin’ ya don’t even got a penny in your pocket and yet ya go off smokin’ that stuff——guah!

This time, he hit my other cheek without holding back.

Jude’s father: Jude. How old are ya?

Jude: ...Five.

Jude’s father: Which is the age ya can go n’ work a job. And yet here ya are not doin’ that ‘cause you’re coughin’ a lung up.

Jude’s father: Who do ya think ya are, complainin’ when you’re a useless piece o’ trash, huh!?

Grasping at my hair, he tried to drag me around, when——

Jude’s mother: Stop this at once...!

Jude: Mum...

Jude’s mother: I’ll give him a talk and make him listen. Okay?

Mother took some money, and the two left the house for a drink.

(That cash... went and sold off clothes again, innit.)

She was a woman who could use perfect Queen’s English, and she was originally a well-to-do lady, or so I heard.

But, she pulled the short end of the stick, getting together with a good-for-nothing.

She sold the little jewels and clothes she had brought until she had nothing left to her name, and her health deteriorated.

—— Time skip (I think) ——

Jude’s mother: Jude, come here a bit.

Mother took me out to the garden, and there she took a stick and started writing something on the ground.

Jude: Mum, what’s this?

Jude’s mother: These are letters. They represent the words we speak... let’s see... it’s much like a ‘sign,’ so to speak.

Jude’s mother: See, this is how you write your name. J, U, D, E.

I copied Mother’s letters, writing them on the ground.

Jude: Wow, I could really get behind this. Hey, how do ya write Jazza——

Just then, Mother pulled me into an embrace.

Jude: Mum...?

Jude’s mother: In the times to come, even when your body is weak, and your money scarce, as long as you have wisdom, you can live on with that.

Jude’s mother: Jude, you are intelligent. I am sure knowledge will be your guardian.

Jude: Hey, mum, if ya hug me so tight it’s gonna hurt.

Jude’s mother: Hehe, you’re a big brother, aren’t you? You can handle this much at least.

Not too long after, Mother’s body grew weak, and she passed away.

The only thing left behind was the cold bed which she no longer occupied.

(She probably knew things would turn out this way.)

Running my hand along the cold surface of the bed, I recalled the final conversation we shared.

—— Flashback ——

Jude’s mother: Jude... I’m sorry.

Jude: What’re ya apologizin’ for? There’s a mountain of people other than ya who gotta apologize.

Father and my older brother drowned in alcohol, and even on death’s door, they didn’t bother even showing their faces.

Jude’s mother: ...I’m sorry, I’m sorry...

Jude: ...N’ like I said, don’t apologize.

Jude’s mother: ...Please...take care of your sister...Jude.

—— End flashback ——

That became the final conversation.

And, after that, my life stumbled even more down to the pits of hell.

to be continued…

first next →

masterlist🌙 ┊ ko-fi ☕️ ┊ comms 🤍

[castillon02]

“You ‘have amnesia,’” Dr. Sharma repeated, her eyebrows arched. 

“Oh yes,” Q said. He cheerfully waved his hand at his bandaged head. “Mugged this morning. Terribly traumatic. Physically, not mentally, since I don’t remember any of it, of course.” 

Dr. Sharma’s eye twitched. “I see.” Over the past year of therapy, she had grown inured to Q’s shite, but this was perhaps a new level of it for her. “Amnesia,” she repeated. 

Q beamed. “Judging by the dark circles under my eyes, this seems like a bit of an opportunity for a fresh start anyway,” he said. “Past me looks overworked.” 

Dr. Sharma had been trying to get him a holiday for the past four months. Her “I see,” every time M had denied his request for leave had become steadily sharper. Now her eyes gleamed. “Amnesia,” she said, smiling wider than Q had ever seen. 

(Also on AO3)

—

“Amnesia,” M said, squinting at him from behind his desk. “Really, Q?” 

“M,” Q replied, tasting the name as if he’d just learned it. “Seems a bit funny to work for a letter, but I suppose my past self had his reasons.” He leaned back in his chair and cast his eyes around the room as if those reasons might be visible if he looked for them. 

M’s hand twitched toward the security button on his desk lamp. “You answer to the letter Q,” he pointed out. “You clearly remember some things.” 

“The name Q has silent vowels,” Q said, straight-faced. “Q-U-E-U-E. A long line in A&E is the first thing I remember experiencing, so it seemed fitting. You know, waiting for something that never seems to come gives you a lot of time to think.” 

M glared. “If this is about your leave—” 

“I am leaving, yes,” Q interrupted. “I even have the paperwork filed for Queue Smith, since apparently you lot do that here.” He quirked his eyebrows. “You still haven’t told me what I do, exactly, but I assume it’s some form of tech support, not anything crucial. Something other people have been trained in.” Like Q had been training R and X for the past six months, for instance. Specifically to deal with M’s bizarre separation anxiety. 

“You are actually one of our most valuable assets,” M gritted out, clearly aware that said valuable asset was a lying liar who was lying to him at that very moment. 

Q smiled. “What a shame I can’t remember anything, then,” he said. “No value whatsoever now. In fact, Dr. Sharma distinctly said I was as useless as a pin-pricked prophylactic, and the rest of the medical department agreed with her.” 

M’s eyes narrowed and he sat a little straighter. “Dr. Simmons would never go along with this.” 

“Dr. Simmons thought the whole thing was very novel,” Q disagreed. “In fact, he said amnesia might be under-diagnosed, particularly in injured field agents being recalled for missions.” 

M frowned. “How patient-centric of him.” 

“Oh, terribly.” Straightlaced Simmons, head of Medical, didn’t always see eye to eye with Q, but they both prioritized the health of the people under their care. M wouldn’t find anyone in-house who would challenge Sharma’s diagnosis. Now for the killing blow: “Everyone says that if I’m lucky and have a nice long rest, then I might remember some things. But who knows? Amnesia is unpredictable. I could be out of the game for good.” Q gave an innocent shrug. 

“It can be dangerous, walking around ignorant in the world,” M said.

“Maybe,” Q said. “But I got mugged while I was working here with all my memories intact, so really, nowhere is safe, is it? Might as well be unsafe in the Maldives.” Q gave M his most beatific expression. It was rather cute of M to threaten him with being killed, as though Q didn’t have a dead man’s switch for exactly that contingency. 

M gave him a long look but eventually sighed. “I’ll put you on an indefinite medical leave. Don’t do something stupid with your free time.”  

Q stood. “I’ll do whatever I please. Since that is, in fact, the point of the term ‘free time.’”  

—

Q spent five days eating take-away and playing Elden Ring in his pajamas. On the sixth day, he had enough energy to move, so he took the train and then a bus to a little town in Andalusia, dreaming of egg-and-potato fry-ups and sunny olive tree-laden views. 

Warmth. Sunshine. Red roofs and white stone buildings. An outdoor cafe where he could drink his tea and people watch. 

Down the street, a wrinkled old woman stooped down to scratch a brindled dog whose whiptail flew back and forth at the attention. Q watched them until they rounded a corner out of sight. When he brought his gaze back to his own table, Bond was sitting across from him. Shite. 

“Amnesia,” Bond said. His eyes crinkled at the corners.

Q stared him down. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” If Bond asked about a mission, Q was going to send him back to R and X for replacement corneas. 

But Bond shook his head. “You can call me James. We don’t know each other outside of work,” he said. “I thought we could change that.” Bond gave him a half-smile, somehow sheepish—different from his Target Acquired smile. His bright yellow I Heart España t-shirt was more camouflage than Q had ever seen him in. 

“Caminito del Rey has beautiful vistas,” Bond added, his blue eyes locked on Q’s. “Or I know a place with good tapas if you’d rather eat than hike.” 

This might be a work-shaped trap. But there wasn’t any tech in the Gaitanes Ravine, and yellow wasn’t the color Bond wore when he went anglerfishing. Additionally, traversing a treacherous one-meter-wide walkway carved into a rock face a hundred meters above a river sounded like it was genuinely Bond’s idea of a good time. “If we went hiking,” Q said, “it wouldn’t be efficient. I take pictures of cool bugs. I lollygag to look at spiderwebs. I get distracted by rock formations.” 

“If I wanted efficient,” Bond said, “I’d wait until you ‘got your memory back.’” He offered Q a wry tilt of his mouth. “I have it on good information that you’re currently useless, and I don’t expect we’ll need any of your skills from the office.” 

Bless the medical staff’s ability to gossip. Q exhaled and slouched a little. “You’re really here just because?” he asked.  

Bond shrugged. “We’re good at being useful together. I thought we might be good at being useless together too. If you like.” He tilted his head. 

Q stood without answering. 

Bond stood with him. His designer blue jeans stretched flatteringly around his thighs. No concealed carry. His watch wasn’t one of Q’s. He had a knife in his boot, but that was sensible enough. His t-shirt showed off tan arms criss-crossed with pale scars and a smattering of graying hair. He had a red España bucket hat tucked into his belt. 

007 on holiday. 

Q smiled. “Lead the way.” He extended his hand. 

Bond took it. In the center of a rural village steeped in machismo culture, Bond held his hand. “I have a car,” he said, and they walked, still linked at the fingers, to where Bond had parked his entirely normal Mitsubishi Mirage rental. Good god; a hatchback. Not even four-wheel drive. Bond was really giving this ‘useless’ thing a genuine effort. 

If this went well, Q would have to send 006 a basket of explosives. Rather than leaving his mugging-based amnesia up to fate, he’d rather desperately arranged for a surreptitious blow to the head from one of Six’s experts in cranial violence. He hadn’t expected that his memory loss would lead to something so lovely.  

[glitterjay]

— spelling

⭒ head (f. receiving), club, mention of alcohol, afab!reader, strangers, suggestive content mdni!

⭒ c's note: i apologize for not continuing lover boy or enemies to lovers, i haven't had the creativity to continue the stories :( take this drabble as my apology

⭒ taglist: @hollyoongs @moon7jay @wondipity @fertilizedtoesw @kwiwin @jaylaxies @americanojake

reblogs help me a lot and are very much appreciated!

you frowned when the waiter placed a drink in front of you. to be completely honest, you didnt feel like drinking at all, going to the club to simply keep your mind off your hectic life. when he saw your confused expression, he pointed to a guy sitting a few seats away from you, saying it was on him.

it took the stranger some time to approach you, noticing you hadn’t touched your drink at all. “i don’t blame you,” he spoke, taking the empty chair next to you. “it’s a harsh world. i wouldn’t trust a random drink either.”

you laughed slightly, still playing with the straw that came with the cup. "why bother, then?" "it was worth a shot."

he had introduced himself as heeseung. he said he was there because his friends had dragged him along but had left him alone for some hookups. he was a nice guy and incredibly handsome. the black button-down that he was wearing made his jaw look sharper and also helped the lights to glow on his face.

he caught you staring as you both talked, but he wouldn't admit it. in fact, he liked it when you lost your senses while staring right at his lips and apologizing for not hearing what he was saying. he knew he was handsome.

he had to admit you were quite stunning yourself. the dress you were wearing only added to your beautiful appearance. he was a gentleman about it, sneaking compliments here and there. if you were completely honest, the nice words were boosting your ego.

"say, heeseung, your friends are here to hook up, but i don't see you trying to find someone."

"oh, i did. it's up to her if she want to hook up or not."

-

and that's how you ended up guiding heeseung and his car to your house. it took him five seconds to have your back against the wall as he stared you down with hungry eyes.

you were fast to grab the collar of his shirt, pulling his lips to yours to close the gap. he tasted like gum mixed with alcohol. your lips, on the other hand, tasted like the watermelon lip gloss you were wearing.

-

everything got heated in a matter of minutes. you had dragged heeseung to your room, where he invited you to sit on his face. he was pretty straight forward, which made you blush furiously, but it made him giggle.

"put all your weight down."

"what if i suffocate you?"

heeseung grabbed your thighs and pushed them down, forcing you to sit directly on his face. one of your hands went directly to the headboard of your bed for support as the other pulled on heeseung's hair.

he was experienced, tongue moving deliciously around every corner of your core, tasting all of you. his strong arms rocked your hips back and forth, making your clit hit his nose. you were in heaven.

the way he was licking your folds had you seeing stars already, but the way he was moving was quite familiar. You realized every lick was tracing something, like a letter.

H E E S E U N G, he spelled.

it drove you crazy thinking how he was somehow marking his name on you. you rocked your hips faster along his face, feeling the knot on your stomach tighten. heeseung noticed you were close by the way your walls clenched around his tongue fucking you.

his right hand reached your clit, rubbing fast circles. your thighs closed on his head, almost suffocating him. you tried to get up, but his arms were holding you still. you started to doubt if heeseung was even breathing at this point.

every thought was long gone when you reached your orgasm, letting your juices free all over his face. it was then when heeseung loosened his grip on your thighs and you were able to get off him, plopping right next to his body.

"already tired? baby, im not even done yet."

© glitterjay | tumblr

[hlficlibrary]

HL Fic Library 🌊 Fics With Misunderstandings

Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find the library's other recs here.

🌊 the unfinished game (series) by barchive {M, 240k}

Harry's been engaged to Princess Charlotte of Ryde for as long as he can remember. He's come to know her, to love her, through the letters she's sent him over the past three years.

But when the wedding finally arrives, Harry quickly learns that nothing is as it seems. With his crown and country at stake, Harry must decide who to trust in this strange new land. And the sly Crown Prince of Ryde doesn't seem inclined to make things easy.

🌊 For the Right Reasons by @juliusschmidt {E, 105k}

Harry doesn’t agree to be the Bachelor expecting to find love. He’s just hoping for an exciting jaunt around the world, half a dozen new friends, and, if he’s lucky, an amazing hj or two.

Louis may have signed up to be a contestant on the Bachelor, but he’s not interested a ring or a proposal, not from Harry, not from anyone. He wouldn’t turn down a few more Instagram followers, though.

🌊 Where You Lay by HamPalpert {E, 86k}

When Louis's upcoming heat threatens his success at his new dream job, he asks the best (and only) person he can think of to help him through it: his best mates' best mate, Harry Styles. Harry reluctantly accepts, and together the two navigate a strange friends with benefits relationship that quickly turns complicated.

🌊 The Pros and Cons of Breathing by @hellolovers13 {E, 81k}

Harry wiped the tears from his cheeks. No. He’d not been raised to give up. He’d find a way to survive this. He might be an omega, but he’d never been weak and he wouldn’t start now.

His gaze fell to Louis, who was already asleep, chest rising and falling evenly. Harry would become the perfect omega for him. No matter the disgust he might feel in doing so.

It was his duty, after all.

or Omega Harry has always known he'd be married off someday. It's to be expected, given his station. So his betrothal to Prince Louis comes as no surprise. While he's nervous about leaving his home, and the life and people he knows, he's still hopeful for a good match and a happy marriage.

But when Louis avoids him at all costs, and is downright cruel to him at times, it leaves Harry trying to make sense of his new life alone.

Can he find happiness - and a home - even in a broken marriage?

🌊 The Lone Hydrangea by lightswoodmagic / @lightwoodsmagic {E, 77k}

“Thank you again,” he smiled at Harry as he picked up the arrangement and headed towards the door, and Harry quickly realised he didn’t know the man’s name. “I – wait! Sorry, I just...what’s your name?” At the man’s eyebrow raise, Harry stumbled over his words, “It’s just, if you’re coming back, I thought I should…know.” As the man looked at Harry, his smile only grew, and Harry’s heart thumped in his chest. “My name’s Louis. Louis Tomlinson, and it was so lovely to meet you,” he shot one final grin in Harry’s direction, “I’ll see you next week, Harry.” And then he was gone. “It was lovely to meet you too,” Harry whispered to the empty shop, putting his head on the counter, “Louis”.

Or the post Hogwarts AU where Harry's a florist, Louis' a muggle who edits fantasy books, and they both have no say in how quickly they fall for each other.

🌊 Don't Want Shelter by @kingsofeverything {E, 76k}

Louis and Harry have known each other all their lives. Friends as children, they danced around each other as teenagers, and have spent the last twenty-five years either screaming at each other or not speaking at all. Except for that one time ten years ago…

When Hurricane Nicole threatens the coast, they end up stuck together in their families' old vacation home that they begrudgingly co-own.

During the storm, and in the months after, they’re both forced to reevaluate their history and what they mean to each other.

🌊 Caught In Your Gravity by @lululawrence {NR, 62k}

It felt like the blood froze in Harry’s veins even as he got a bit lightheaded. He hadn’t even made it two practices, only one of which he was remotely in charge of, without giving it all away and now he and Liam were both absolutely fucked.

“Shit,” Harry breathed out. “Who all have you told? Does everyone know? I thought I covered it better than that…”

“No, no,” Louis said quickly. "They’ll figure it out soon enough, though, because they’ll get used to you changing things up, but you’re only going to trip over your so called Americanisms for so long before they realize it’s because you don’t actually know fuck all about football.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah. I figured. I just need to bullshit for long enough to allow Liam to get the situation figured out from his end.”

“Right, which brings me to my entire point. I think we can find a mutually beneficial arrangement with all of this.” Louis leaned forward. “You need to learn the ins and outs of the sport incredibly fast. I can help you with that.”

“What do you want in exchange?”

Or, an AU inspired by a 30 second trailer of Ted Lasso that doesn't actually have much in common with the show at all.

🌊 Here's Your Perfect by @brightgolden {E, 54k}

All finesse tossed aside, Harry yanks the envelope from Miss Eden’s hand. He hears her laugh, bright and cheerful as he tears into the envelope. His eyes skipping over the complimentary paragraph congratulating him for being assigned, settling into the centre of the letter - the name of his future mate.

And suddenly, Harry feels there isn’t enough air in this world for him to inhale as he recites the name in his mind. Louis Tomlinson.

OR In the world where mates are assigned to everyone and deposited to their door when an agreeable partner is found for them, Alpha Louis has recently been given his. However, he is nothing like the type of alpha that the omega academy prepares Harry for.

🌊 Life Was a Song, You Came Along by rainbowninja167 / @rainbowtitania {E, 37k}

It's embarrassing how long it takes Louis to recognize his own song. Niall had sung it as a bright, hopeful love song, and that’s honestly how Louis had always assumed it should sound. But this new voice, slow and rough, stripped of any backing instrument, has infused the lyrics with just the tumultuous mix of fear and defiance that Louis can remember so clearly from the night he wrote them.  It’s not a comfortable thing, to feel like someone is singing all your secrets back to you.  

Louis is a songwriter trapped in a lie that could ruin his best friend's career. Harry owns a record store, distrusts everyone in the music industry on principle, but loves Niall Horan's newest album. A modern retelling of Singin' in the Rain.

🌊 I Just Want You to Stay by @sadaveniren {E, 34k}

“Remember the vet job up in Edinburgh I interviewed for right before your rut?” Louis nodded. “She just called me back. I got the job. I start next year.” Harry let out a shriek as he said the word year and he clapped his hands in delight. “Isn’t that great! Full time vet job! New animals to meet! A new environment!” He settled his eyes back on Louis, who was still standing there in front of him with wide eyes. “Isn’t it great, Lou?”

That seemed to jolt Louis out of his thoughts and he nodded immediately, opening his arms up for Harry to dive into. “Holy shit, yes. Congratulations. Come here,” he wrapped his arms around Harry and cuddled him close, pressing his nose into Harry’s neck. “Holy shit,” he whispered.

aka Louis and Harry have been roommates for four years, comfortable in their routine and their relationship. But all of that is about to change.

🌊 Only by @allwaswell16 {E, 33k}

Although Louis Tomlinson lived most of his life on the most remote island in the world, now he’s ready to leave home, attend university, and maybe have a chance at finding his soulmate. Prince Harry Styles reluctantly leaves London for yet another diplomatic visit, this time to the tiny island of Tristan da Cunha.

Or the one where the electric touch of Louis’ soulmate isn’t enough to discount that he's a bit of a dickhead.

🌊 And That's The Tea by @2tiedships2 {M, 27k}

I’d like an Earl Grey with milk and sugar, please.

Louis had the phrase memorized, even though it had disappeared off its place on his upper arm over thirteen years ago now.

At fourteen he didn’t understand. Soulmarks don’t just disappear. Not unless…

Unless one of them dies.

Or, the one where Louis loses his soulmate before even getting the chance to meet them, and he is in no way prepared for the kind of distraction his new friend Harry proves to be.

🌊 tread lightly on my ground by fairytalelights / @lookslikefairytale {E, 20k}

No, that's the tragic part of this, the part that makes Harry feel like the universe is playing a cruel joke on him. The father of his baby is exactly right, exactly who he always imagined himself having kids with. He just imagined them married, bonded. Happy. He didn't imagine them barely talking, tip-toeing around each other because neither of them is brave enough to talk about what happened between them. He didn't imagine the father of his child not loving him back.

or, the one where Harry is having Louis' baby, but Louis doesn't know it's his.

🌊 please don't be in love with someone else by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze {E, 18k}

Harry ran after Niall, out the door, pausing at the doorway, realizing he was only in his boxer briefs, and yelled out, “Niall! You forgot your lunch.”

Just as Niall paused from all the way down the hall, the door opposite theirs opened and the hottest boy Harry had ever seen walked out, eyes widening when he spotted a half-naked Harry.

Harry was so fixated upon the boy across from him, who was staring right back with his mouth now hanging open, he’d missed it when Niall bounded back towards him and grabbed the lunch before popping a kiss on his cheek and leaving again. The kiss snapped Harry out of his daze and he let out a breathy laugh as the pretty boy walked out furthermore, closing his door behind him. He gave Harry a small smile back, raising his eyebrows in amusement while looking down past Harry’s waist and then back up.

or the one where Harry and Louis are neighbors and there's a lot of overthinking, misunderstandings, Backstreet Boys sing-alongs, embarrassing moments in the hallway, and pining. They somehow still make it work.

🌊 Saw It In Your Eyes by @taggiecb {E, 15k}

Harry Styles counts himself extremely lucky that he has landed such a great roommate. It doesn’t bother him at all that his new roommate is gay. In fact, they get along so well that they have formed an extremely close friendship that takes up pretty much all his free time. When Louis starts bringing a new guy home with him, Harry is surprised by how much it bothers him. Is he not as okay as he thought he was with Louis’ sexuality?

Or the one where Harry is an oblivious walnut.

🌊 Man, Deconstructed by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom {E, 13k}

Harry doesn’t need help getting laid and he certainly doesn’t need Niall to hire a professional to ‘sort him out’.

But when a gorgeous man turns up on his doorstep on his birthday to ‘lay some pipe’ in the back garden (who just happens to have the best arse Harry’s ever seen), his world is upended.

OR the one where a well-meaning best mate, a sculpture-worthy arse, and a heaping dose of misunderstanding combine to create sheer and utter chaos, and also, maybe, the best thing Harry’s ever found.

🌊 Ain't My Fault by @afirethatcannotdie {E, 6k}

“Liam, M4M is for sex! You posted in a sex forum about your missing jacket.”

“It is not for sex!”

“It is. Trust me.”

“Well, if it helps me find my jacket then I don’t really see why it matters. Besides, someone already texted me about it. This Styles guy’s coming over in a bit to get it.”

“You invited the avocado man to come get his jacket at our flat after posting on a sex forum. Do you see where this is going?”

“I really don’t.” 

“Someone is going to have to have sex with the avocado man!” Louis screeches, and Liam covers his ears.

AU. Liam posts an ad on the wrong section of Craigslist, Louis is pretty sure they’re gonna get murdered as a result, and Harry’s missing an avocado.

🌊 All The Way Home I'll Be Warm by @justanothershadeofblue {T, 3k,}

Harry & Louis jokingly send out holiday cards together as friends, and now everyone is congratulating them for finally getting together. A 5+1 fic, for Christmas.

🌊 an honest mistake by @disgruntledkittenface {NR, 2k}

“You look different when you’re not covered in come,” he blurts out, immediately regretting each and every life choice that has led to this exact moment. Elevator Guy is going to hate him.

Louis has ridden the elevator with his neighbor all week. The first time they speak, there’s a misunderstanding.

🌊 On the Go by @phdmama {T, 2k}

From this post because I could not resist: ok so i saw a truck today and i thought it said MANSCAPE but it actually said MAINSCAPE and it was a landscaping company. but then i thought LARRY AU. where louis owns a landscaping company called MANSCAPE and harry thinks it’s some sort of in-home pubic hair grooming company, so he calls to make an appointment, there’s some discussion of whether he wants his bushes trimmed as well, and then when it’s time for the appointment, harry’s like half-naked waiting around in a robe or something and louis shows up with lawnmowers. 

[sometimes-love-is-enough]

Every time you talk about giving yourself writing challenges, I think about how it would be fun to have a 'handicap bingo'- where you get a random writing 'handicap' like not being able to say any character's name, and have to write a full story with it. Idk. I think it would be fun

Min's Writing Challenge

Rules: Roll a d20, accept your fate, write a fic of your choosing and follow your fate to the letter. (Creative workarounds encouraged.)

Roll twice; you have to use both. If you roll another 1, the extra challenges compound accordingly.

Pick a single letter, A-Z. You're not allowed to use it for the entire fic. (Bonus challenge: E.)

Every sentence must be under ten words long. (Bonus challenge: five words.)

Pick a poetry/lyric style (sonnet, terza rima, ballad, etc). The whole fic must be written in that form. (Bonus challenge: keep it still obviously a normal fic, with appropriate tropes and narrative conventions.)

You must write in future tense.

You must write in first-person POV.

You must write in second-person POV.

Take your least favorite fanon concept/trope, and make it into something you want to write. (Bonus challenge: play the trope entirely straight - no subversions! - and make it enjoyable anyway.)

No character names allowed. (Bonus challenge: no dialogue tags either; you can't use descriptive phrases like 'the man in the prince costume' to work around it.)

No dialogue allowed. (Bonus challenge: no internal monologues allowed, either.)

Dialogue only - playscripts encouraged.

Epistolary fic - only letters, emails, notes, etc.

Write an AU, but the alternative universe is a profession!AU that you know nothing about. (Bonus challenge: no research allowed.)

Unreliable narrator. (Bonus challenge: the narrator is good at being unreliable, to the point that they might legitimately fool a reader.)

Whatever fic concept you have, you can only write the very ending of it. (Bonus challenge: you aren't allowed to use any exposition to explain how you got to that point.)

Write any AU of your choosing, but you must choose at least one major canonverse event/plot point and adapt it accordingly to your setting of choice. (Bonus challenge: Make the canonverse event and AU of choice absurdly incompatible.)

Must start in medias res, with a 'yep, that's me. Bet you're wondering how I got into this situation!' moment. (Bonus challenge: Don't plan what the in medias res situation is before you write it. Force yourself to resolve whatever bullshit you come up with on the spot. I've definitely never done this in my life, ever.)

You must write in outsider OC POV - no canon characters allowed. (Bonus challenge: No Sanders Shorts/related characters allowed.)

Pick a fairy tale, fable, or myth. The fic must be a retelling or reinterpretation of it. (Bonus challenge: you aren't allowed to reread or reference any version of it while you're writing - from memory only!)

Dealer's choice - pick from any of the above.

Good luck.

[shrimptacodaniels]

what’s in a name?

(*emerges from The Void shaking* hey guys read my 3.2k word fic about the Freak from my brain. I’m normal about him.)

His name was Sasha. It was what he learned to write on the tops of his papers for school, a shaky hand tracing each curve swiftly. It was five letters, S-a-s-h-a. Five is his favorite number. 

Until he starts second grade, and Franklin pushes him to the ground by the slide. It hurts, wood chips cutting into his hands. When he cries out, Franklin sneers. 

“You’re gonna cry like a girl,” he sings. “No wonder your name is Sasha. Wuss.” 

-

His name was Alex. He’s in third grade. He likes the number four because that’s how many wheels are on his plastic monster truck and how many letters are in his name. He’s Alex he’s Alex he’s-. Third grade is alright until it isn’t. He does good in English and Science, and okay in Math and Social Studies. 

They call Alex to the principal’s office a month in. He hit a substitute teacher after she called roll. He dreads the phone call they have to make, more than he resents the quiet remorse he feigns

“Just what provoked you, Sasha?” his mother asks sternly. He bites his tongue so hard it draws blood. It reminds him of the playground. 

“She didn’t say my name right,” he mumbles. They get in the car and go home, his mother silent and stony. Every part of him wishes he could just be Sasha again. It was easier. 

-

His name was Alexander for a while. It looked best on certificates. Of course a spelling bee champion would have a long name.

He spends the hours he’s not playing guitar or going to figure skating or learning Greek pouring over the dictionary, spelling out clambering (c-l-a-m-b-e-r-i-n-g) and intersect (inter-sect, clean break, no extra “e.”) and translucent (he likes this one, it means-)

“Alexander Biligrim, Honor Roll.” 

Right. Alexander straightens his spine as he saunters to the stage. Stares straight ahead. That promotion certificate is his ticket out of here, away from “Alexander” and the playground and these kids that hate him. His cousin Dean says middle school isn’t much better, but Dean’s always been a liar and a crybaby. Alexander isn’t either of those yet anymore. 

He shoots a winning, bright smile to his mother as he stands between Abby Barnes and Dawson Bonnell. Slotted just right, in alphabetical order. “Alphabetical” - A-L-P-H-A-B-E-T-I-

-

His name was Alex again. He doesn’t love re-using a nickname, but his friends aren’t super creative. They’re fine though; Joe and Bryson and Lucas are all on the soccer team with him and they do nothing but play. He likes to run as fast as he can, weaving between them all to make risky shots. But his coach prefers him as goalie, so he watches and waits. And waits. And waits. 

He keeps waiting for them, stopping as Joe ties the laces of his cleats. Refilling Bryson’s water bottle. Getting Lucas alone for a second before the game to remind him that the stakes are low (Lucas is quite good at forgetting). 

He’s waiting for them now. Mrs. Chen is supposed to pick the four of them up from school. It’s technically Joe’s turn to host, but he’s in the midst of moving. He and his dad are going back to South Carolina. Alex guesses Florida was just not the right fit - they’re a reclusive duo and Joe’s dad hates tourists. 

Anyway, Bryson’s an only child and has the biggest house and this is the last sleepover they’ll have together before moving up to high school. So it’s all kind of weird and exciting. Alex is just glad to be included. 

It’s been 15 minutes since school

got out, which is strange. Alex knows Joe and Bryson have math together. They both hate it. Maybe they had to stay after for help? But then where was Lucas? He would have had English, which he’s really good at. Surely they can’t all still be in class. Right? 

Alex whips out his phone - his mom gave him her old one once soccer season started so that he could keep her in the loop when the team is traveling. He texts Lucas. 

Hey where are u guys?

Lucas reads the message immediately. He doesn’t respond. 

Alex watches and waits. And waits. And waits. 

Thirty minutes later, he walks home alone. 

-

His name was Abe. Which is weirder than the other monikers he’s adopted, but “Alex”isn’t safe anymore. He was “A.B.” for like all of Freshman Year (to the two Science Olympiad kids he ate lunch with sometimes), but Abe, apparently, is easier to say. Less syllables. That’s fair- why waste more time than necessary on him? 

He doesn’t do soccer anymore, opting to pick up his guitar again and audition for Commercial Music. He makes it into an ensemble. The group is great - Darcy on drums, Leaf on keys, Logan on bass and backup vocals, and Caroline singing lead (mostly because she’s a Senior, because Abe thinks Logan is the stronger vocalist). 

Logan calls him “Abe the babe,” which is stupid and makes Abe blush (which he doesn’t want to unpack right now). In retaliation, Logan is “Logi Bear.” It was funny the first time, when Logan’s mouth fell open in shock and outrage, but now he chuckles fondly and that just makes the little freak in Abe’s stomach do backflips. 

Anyway. 

They’re rehearsing for their Spring Concert, themed around “Golden Afternoons” (whatever thatmeans). Weezer’s “Island In The Sun” is the next piece to work on. 

“You’re changing your patch on this one, yeah Abe?” Leaf asks. They’re too busy fiddling with buttons on the keyboard to look up at him properly. He doesn’t mind - Leaf is really kind and evidently just in the zone right now.

“Mhm,” he replies, leaning to adjust a few knobs. He strums a chord. “That volume good?” 

Leaf abandons their post to jog to the entrance of the classroom. “One more time?” they call. Darcy counts them off. He picks the opening riff as Logan strums chords under. 

“Yeah, awesome.” They shoot him a thumbs up. Caroline looks up from marking her lyric sheet. 

“Logan, you wanna try lead on this one?” 

Logan cocks his head at her, long brown hair swishing attractively as he does. “It’s your last concert though, you sure?” 

She smiles softly. “I’ll perform again. Yeah, take it.” 

That breaks Abe’s heart a bit. He knows she’s going to school to study Finance, which is what her parents want her to do. Music doesn’t make money. They’ve all heard it and they all know it. 

Will she perform again? Biases aside, Caroline is the most magnetic musician of the bunch, maybe in all of Florida. She can control a crowd like it’s no one’s business. He’ll miss doing shows with her. 

Wow. This is a lot. 

“Yo! Abe?” Darcy’s next to him in a flash, peering to look at him. “You good, little dude?” 

Oh. Oh, he’s crying. 

“I uh…yeah, sorry.” He wipes at his eyes. Darcy slings an arm around him, pulling him to her side. Her glasses poke against his chin - for a Junior, Darcy’s incredibly small. 

“What’s up?” she asks. 

“I don’t- just,” he looks at his band mates a bit helplessly, settling on Caroline. “Carrie, will you actually ever perform again?” 

She looks as disturbed as he feels, her hazel eyes glistening with tears. 

“Hey man,” she smiles lopsidedly at him. “I have no clue how anything’s gonna turn out. At all. But I know that I’d rather die than never sing again. It might not be my whole life-“ her voice catches. Logan and Leaf exchange a worried look. 

“Carrie,” Leaf murmurs sadly. Their eyes search her face, but Caroline turns away. 

“Hey, no, none of that. C’mere.” Logan sets his guitar down and opens his arms wide. Caroline shuffles over, resigned, to lean against his shoulder. He doesn’t close the hug though, looking at the rest of the band as if they’ve all grown three extra heads.

“C’mere,” he tries again, beckoning all of them to him. Darcy chuckles, leading Abe towards the two. Leaf hurries to Caroline’s other side, knocking their head against hers lovingly. Caroline traces patterns through their buzzed hair. It’s achingly sweet. Darcy bumps her hip against Logan’s. He grins at her. Abe reaches to sling an arm around Leaf, completing the huddle. 

“This is a weak ass hug,” Logan teases. Darcy decides to take that as a challenge and presses them all together tightly. They all squeeze in unison, laughing at the sudden increase in pressure. 

“We’re gonna rock the fucking house like it’s never been rocked before,” Logan starts lowly, like it’s the best secret in the world. “And we’re gonna do it because Darcy’s a beast on drums, and because Leaf is a damn wizard on keyboard, and because Abe shreds on guitar like it’s nobody’s business, and you, our fearless, genius Caroline, are gonna sing your heart out and have the best time. And you willperform again. You’ll do Choir or an a-cappella group or start a new band with your cool college friends, and it’ll be glorious. But you will be sad every time you perform, because you’re never beating the magic we’re gonna do on that stage in two weeks.” 

Caroline laughs weakly at that, huffing through a sob. Leaf presses their lips against her temple firmly, squeezing their eyes shut to prevent more tears. Caroline shudders again. 

“Babe,” Leaf whispers brokenly. They squeeze Abe’s shoulder before untangling to gather Caroline fully in their arms. The whispering continues, but it’s only for her - Abe can’t make out what they’re saying. It relaxes Caroline though. She goes limp against her best friend, nuzzling into their collarbone. Leaf kisses her above the ear, continuing to soothe her quietly. It feels deeply intimate in a way that makes Abe’s chest twist. Leaf already gets enough shit for being nonbinary, and Caroline for not dating around.

He knows they’re in love. He knows that’s not allowed, not normal. He wishes it was. If it was, would he ever hold Logan the same way? In two years, maybe, when they’re performing for the last time? 

Darcy brings him closer to her and Logan. 

“We’re sticking together,” she says firmly. “After they leave, we’re staying together.” 

Logan nods. “For as long as we can. Then and after.” 

Abe rests his head against Darcy’s. “Then and after.” 

-

His name was Xander at camp. Teaching kids music was fine, even fun sometimes. Not a bad post-grad summer job. Some of his campers remind him of the old gang, but no one’s as accurate as Leaf or as charming as Caroline or as wild yet controlled as Darcy or as-

Ooh. Rough one. 

He still thinks about Logan. Often, really. 

(Whenever he’s kissing his coworker, Darren. Which is often, really.)

It’s electric because no one knows. The rush of exclusivity, of being someone who can do things like this and get away with them, leaves him floating. It’s almost an addiction. 

Darren’s nice. He’s got soft hands and a bright smile and, honestly? A huge nose, which Xander is often distracted by. It’s disproportionately large. 

He never finds out if anything else is disproportionately large. They get found one night by a girl named Faith, who reports them to Jean Frances, who reports them to Liam, who fires them both. It feels deeply problematic, but Xander still gets some money out of it and never has to hear another kid butcher AC/DC’s “Back In Black.” 

It’s the little wins. 

He flips burgers for the rest of the summer at the Sonic by his house so his mom doesn’t freak out (or force him to babysit his sister). He goes by Xander there, too, because it really doesn’t matter. He’ll be at Mountport U soon. 

-

His name was Alexander on his first college essay, so he sticks with it. He remembers fifth grade - it really does look best on paper. He briefly considers going by Sasha again, for kicks, but decides against it. He doesn’t really know why he’s so reluctant. 

He studies PR with a minor in Communications. It’s fine, but he can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t where he’s supposed to be. He wants to be out there, learning by doing shit. Lectures aren’t helping him. 

He drops out. There are better things to do. 

-

Her name was Lexi. She’s not very proud of it. 

Here’s the thing: money is tight. Tighter than tight. He hasn’t found a roommate so he’s paying rent alone. He works as a plumber when needed and a receptionist at the tattoo parlor he frequents. Those two things together don’t give him enough. It’s not that he’s a bad worker, he’s not, it’s just that somehow his income isn’t stable. Maybe some higher power hates him. 

So in the evenings, she’s Lexi. 

Lexi’s a pole dancer. 

He’s always had killer legs and great balance and a general sense of charm about him. And, well, the thing about working for addicts is that they’re generous. They want, so they pay. 

Lexi leaves them wanting. They pay more for that. 

There aren’t as many woman there to entertain. So Lexi caters to the men. He could be himself, but it bears repeating: They want, so they pay. 

Lexi leaves them wanting. They pay more for that. 

-

His name was Billy. And Horatio. And Willy and Alex and Xander and Lex and Alejandro

and Andre and Horris and, funnily enough, “Balexander.” 

Truly, whatever was most convenient at the time. Whoever got him money. Safety. Food. Shelter. 

He was just Alexander in this apartment building, though. 

Mostly, he was exhausted. 

He didn’t roam the halls often, truly only ever interacting with the neighbors on his floor. A young couple, Mariana and James, live on one side. They’re sweet - Mariana’s expecting their first child, which is exciting. Alexander thinks it’ll be a girl. James is adamant it’s a boy. 

On his other side is a group of people his age -  Lucy and Renee and a third girl who they call Ella. “Ella” often looks like she doesn’t want to be called “Ella” when they do it, so Alexander puts quotes around her name in his mind. 

He gets it. 

Anyway, he hopes whoever moves in after him is nice and helps Mariana carry her groceries and puts quotes around “Ella.” 

Because Pinocchio’s terrifyingly close to kicking him out. 

Alexander chooses to save him the hassle. His lease is up, and he’s ready to go. 

(No he’s not). 

He reaches out to Darcy, who he’s heard is in the surrounding area. She’s all too happy to let him crash on her couch for a bit. So he does, and borders on overstaying by a few weeks, but packs up just quickly enough to save their friendship. He’s good at slipping away in the nick of time. One day things will catch up to him. 

He drives back to Mountport early in the morning, without saying goodbye. He wrote a letter and left it. He’ll text her later. It’ll be fine. 

“We’re sticking together,” she says firmly. “After they leave, we’re staying together.” 

Logan nods. “For as long as we can. Then and after.” 

Abe rests his head against Darcy’s. “Then and after.” 

He shakes himself out of his head. Checks his GPS. He’s almost to the salon. 

He’s going to dye his hair, he thinks. Maybe jet black? Get some length off? Hair grows back. Maybe he’ll stop wearing contacts for a bit. Buy some foundation. Shave. Cover up his tattoos (and maybe get a new one). 

He doesn’t know what his name will be. He was Alexander. 

-

His name was Horris on the documents he signed. Horris McBills from Kentucky. Not his first choice, but you know what they say about spaghetti and walls. 

Anyway. Horris will keep him under the radar. 

He has Raffaella’s (that’s “Ella’s” full name) Instagram page pulled up. He technically moves in tomorrow, so he’s trying to learn things. Make a good impression. Even though they sort of already know each other. He hopes she likes him.  Raffaella looks normal. She’s cute, tan skin and red hair and an easy smile. He didn’t often see her smiling, he realizes. Yikes. He wonders why Lucy and Renee moved out. At the same time, too? Well. He supposed he’ll find out. 

Back to Raffaella. She’s a teacher and seems to absolutely love it, which is really sweet. She doesn’t post pictures of the kids she teaches, which is a green flag to him. He’s never understood why people post kids on the internet without their consent. She seems smart and witty and passionate and perceptive, weirdly, which he doesn’t know how he gets that vibe from her Instagram. He just knows. 

It’s 2:49. He should sleep. This is the last night he’ll have to sleep in his car. It’s been several months. Three? Four? He made a road trip out of it. 

Wild. 

-

His name was Horris. It was. But he was right about his new roommate being perceptive. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

He slides his headphones off of his ears, letting the rest around his neck. He’s setting up his little desk, which is taking longer than anticipated. He gestures to her. 

“Hit me with it.” 

“Yeah. Thanks. Your name isn’t Horris.” 

That wasn’t a question. 

“Hate to say it, teach, but that’s not a question.” 

“Please don’t call me teach.” 

He shoots her a thumbs up. 

“And that’s not an answer,” she counters. 

“Why don’t you think my name is Horris?” 

“Still not…” she starts again. “Okay, I’ll bite. You lived in the room next to me, like, six months ago. And now you don’t look like you. But Pinocchio is a clueless man, and you know that, so you got back in.” 

He whistles. “Nice work, detective.” 

“Are you…like, a sex offender?” 

He laughs loudly at that. “You really make a fast impression, Raff. No, not a sex offender. I was just really poor and living alone and Pinocchio’s a bitch when he doesn’t get his money. Now I’m back, but I’m not me and I’m interviewing for a better job so I’ll get my payments in and he’s none the wiser.” 

She nods, processing all of that remarkably fast. “Okay. Two things. One, you didn’t call me Ella.” 

“You hate being called Ella.” 

“How the hell did you know that?” 

“You kidding?” He looks at her in disbelief. “You’d go all tense, look like you wanted to disappear.” 

“Huh.” There’s a muddle of emotion on her face. “Yeah, no, not a fan. Um. Raffa is good.” 

“Is Raff not good?” 

She considers it for a moment. “No, Raff is good too.” There’s a small sort of quality to her voice. Almost vulnerable, but guarded. Like she means more than she’s saying. But it’s their first day living together. He’ll let it slide. 

“Cool. Second thing?”

“Hm? Oh, right.” She eyes him warily. “I’m not calling you Horris.” 

“Yes! Please don’t.” 

“What’s your real name?” 

Yikes. Loaded question. This is the point in the interaction where his mental filing cabinet appears. Usually. This time, he knows the answer instantly. He grins at her. 

“My name is Sasha.”

[levunalangs]

Sdefa Sdaturday #1

Sdefa is my newest conlang, started in July of last year. Like T’owal, it isn’t intended to be naturalistic, but it takes that lack of naturalism a lot farther! Instead of being a spoken language, it’s a musical one; its twelve phonemes are the twelve notes of the Western chromatic scale. It’s playable on any chromatic instrument, since you never need to play more than one note at a time. That means you can sing it, too!

If you do sing it, then of course the syllables you sing don’t matter—just the pitches. The word “Sdefa” doesn’t actually mean anything in the language; instead, it’s a sort of transliteration of the language’s “actual” name, which is the sequence of notes E♭ D E F A. In German music terminology, the note E♭ is called “Es,” so here that translates to the letter S. The Germans also call B♭ “B” and B “H,” which is how the great composer J. S. Bach was able to compose using his musical signature, B♭ A C B.

Almost every word in Sdefa is a tiny musical reference, four or five notes long. In fact, B♭ A C B is a Sdefa word, meaning “great,” since Bach is one of the greatest composers of all time. Most of the references are fragments of songs, usually bits that have lyrics that match the meaning of the word. Other references are parts of pieces whose titles match the meaning in some way. Some other words are:

⁕ D A F D, meaning “art,” from the beginning of the theme from Bach’s Art of Fugue

⁕ G C E D, meaning “deep,” from the first four notes of the main theme from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine

⁕ E D G F, meaning “moon,” from the song שײן װי די לבֿנה/Sheyn vi di Levuna (“Pretty as the Moon”)

The word “Sdefa” itself isn’t a reference, though; it’s just something that sounded nice both as a sequence of notes and as a spoken word.

It’s not just the syllables that don’t matter if you’re singing Sdefa. Rhythm and register are not part of the language, so D A F D would mean “art” regardless of the note values or octave(s) it’s played in. This allows the language to be flexible, giving a Sdefa text better chance of having a musical quality instead of sounding like a string of random notes. However, since there are so few phonemes and everything can be played in multiple ways, it does mean that most things take a surprising number of notes to say, and that can take a long time unless you use a fast tempo!

Next week I’ll get a bit into the grammar of Sdefa, and explain how the music at the top of the post translates (loosely) into “Sdefa Saturday!”

[codfanficedits]

Before the mask - Part three

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Because Simon wasn’t born as Ghost.

Wordcount: 2629 | Rating: E! (18+ only!)

Warnings: White man flirting?

A/N: Simon would be around 22/23 in this fic, so it would be set around 2015 ish?

Tags: @batmanunicorns523

God he could feel his heart swell with pride every time he saw you walk around on base with his hoodie on. Technically you weren’t his, yet. But it felt like he were his, proudly walking around with his last name. It was a clear message to all the other men on base, and he couldn’t be happier about it.

You on the other hand were as oblivious as could be. Sure the hoodie was a little big, and it smelled just like him, and on top of that people were giving you strange looks all day long, but you were at work, caring about a hoodie wasn’t exactly your top priority.

It wasn’t until you were in the restroom, after a day that went on a little too long, that you noticed the white letters on the back of the hoodie.

‘Property of Riley.’

“That cheeky fucking bastard.” But did you really mind it? Yes. No. Maybe?

Fuck it was hard to think about it, part of you really just wanted to be friends, nothing was too complicated at the moment, nothing could go wrong. But the other part was very close to going feral for this man, the way he looked, the way he smelled, the way you had been sniffing that fucking hoodie all day.

You were ready to bang on his door when that same door flung open.

No matter what you told yourself, you were damned the moment those soft brown eyes locked with yours and all the sudden you couldn’t be mad about the hoodie anymore.

“I was lo-“

“I was lo-“

A sheepish smile from the both of you when you started to say the same thing, at the same time.

“I was looking for you.” Simon resumes, he could feel his heart thump in his chest, he had confessed he was in love before, what was making it so damn hard?

“I got permission to leave the base for the night.” He resumed, holding up a set of car keys. “Care to join me?”

You wanted to say no, you were tired, had a long day, you had to rush in the morning AND you had been wearing his stupid hoodie all day, but how could you decline those eyes and that sweet, sweet smile? “Yeah, sure. Might have to change first.”

His lips curled into a smirk. “Why? ‘s my hoodie not good enough for you?” Simon teased, pulling you with him by the shoulder of the fabric, just like you had pulled him closer towards you during that skype call. “I figured black would be your taste, given your emo phase and all.” The insecurities he had felt during the night had melted away, seeing you in something that belonged to him had made him strut like a peacock.

“So you did know I was wearing it!” You tried to protest. “I didn’t mean to, you must’ve left it in my room last night.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I’ll make sure to wash it before you get it back.” You promised him, and Simon just responded with a simple hum. If it was up to him you didn’t need to wash it at all.

“Where are we going anyway?” You asked him, as he nearly dragged you towards the car, it was getting dark outside already, and you couldn’t remember there being a reason why he had to drive around.

Simon just shrugged. “We’ll see when we start driving.” He simply responded, it wouldn’t matter where he would go to, as long as it was with you. You gave him those soft butterflies in his stomach, and while he wasn’t comfortable letting you know yet, he would give his kidney to spend five minutes with you.

It stayed quiet when the both of you got into the car, the clicking of the seatbelt being the only noise you could hear before he started the car. Did you have to hold back some drool when he put his hand on the back of your seat to drive the car out of the parking lot?

Yes. Shamelessly yes.

Your knees tilted to his side, just begging to be touched, but neither of you vocalized their longings for the other. And you couldn’t stand the awkward silence that followed, so you leaned a bit forward, wanting to turn on the radio. Simon had the same idea, his eyes on the road, not seeing you already leaning forward. Your hands brushing against each other while Maps from Maroon 5 blared out of the radio.

His hands were warm, hot even, and yours were cold. The both of you pulling their hands back the movements your fingers brushed against each other.

You notice the music was loud so you go to turn it down, you didn’t notice that Ghost’s hand was already on the volume switch. Your hand brushes against his, ice was all you felt. His hands were freezing cold.

“How are your hands so warm?” You ask, putting your hands on your lap.

“How are yours so cold?” He replies, pulling away from the volume switch after he turns down the music.

“Don't answer a question with a question." You chuckled, before you looked out of the window. "I guess I just have bad circulation." You explained. "Now, why the hell are your hands warm like that?"  You leaned back into your seat, your fingertips tracing on the back of your hand, feeling the cold skin under your fingertips.

"I don’t know." He responds, putting his warm hand up to your cold one, making a joke about the temperature difference. "I guess I have good circulation." He adds, jokingly mocking your comment from before.

"I didn’t know this before, but when a cold object and a warm object touch, heat is transferred over to the cold object." He explains.

His warm hand begins to transfer heat into your freezing fingers.

"Here, feel." He says.

Your eyebrows rise up at his mocking tone, but you can't help but laugh about it. Your fingers intertwine, but you didn't mind one bit. The warmth of his hand felt welcoming.

"Just so we are clear." You begin. "I’m just holding your hand so I can warm up a little."

"Whatever you say." He chuckles.

Soon, it was Simon who couldn’t remove his hand from yours. As the heat began to transfer, your hand felt incredibly cold on his. The cold was so inviting that even he couldn’t remove it, despite his intentions of doing so before. He never knew he had craved the cold so much before.

"Did you know that humans generate heat, even when you just touch someone?" He adds, rubbing his thumb over your hand. "But for some people, their touch is enough to drive someone insane." He teases.

"Mhm." You hummed softly, you just enjoyed him talk. "Just make sure we don't crash, will ya?" You squeezed his hand softly, not minding having him share his warmth with you, at all.

“Of course." He chuckles, giving your hand another squeeze.

The car continues driving down the empty streets of the city, the light snow flurries falling down from the sky like silent stars. You two were so caught up in the moment that you didn’t even notice that you missed a turn.

You were starting to forget the rest of the taskforce back at the main base. It was only you and Simon in the car, and it felt like you were about to be consumed by the moment.

"It’s a beautiful night." You mentioned as you looked out of the car window.

"Wait. Stop at that gas station for me, will you?" You requested politely, a simple idea brewing inside of your head.

"Sure." He nods, stopping at the nearest gas station.

"What’s up?' He asks, curious as to why you asked him to stop at a gas station.

The snow continues to fall outside of the car, the light breeze causing snowflakes to swirl around in the air like a dance.

You let go of his hand, before you opened the passenger door.

"Stay here." You said, before you went inside. He disliked this part, he wanted to be in control at all times, even in simple situations like this. But he had promised himself that he would try to be better, for you, but mostly for himself.

If you recalled correctly, he had quite a sweet tooth, so you stacked up on some sweet, some soda, and some crisps for yourself.

It wasn't cheap, and you nearly gave yourself a heart attack when you saw the total, but Simon was worth it. With your arms full of snacks you returned, a wide grin on your face.

"If we find a quiet place, we can watch the stars." You said, as you sat back

Simon wasn't expecting you to stock up a bunch of snacks to enjoy together, and it made his heart flutter that you had bought sweets for him, he had told you he liked gummy bears once and you had remembered.

"Sure." He responds, smiling at the gesture.

Once you're both back in the car he starts driving. After a few minutes of driving, he finds a quiet, empty looking spot.

It was just far enough away from the city and main roads that there wouldn't be anyone around for miles. It was a perfect spot for watching the stars, and Simon stops the car.

With a little bit of work you sit down on the cold ground to watch the stars, the snacks and soda divided between the two of them, and you sit on his left side, a different side than in the car.

You hold his other hand, using it to keep her other hand warm, while they stargaze.

Simon is happy to sit down next to you in the fresh snow, which crunches under the weight of your bodies. He holds your hand tightly, still trying to warm up your otherwise freezing hand.

Simon looks over to look at the food and snacks. He picks up a bag of gummy bears and a soda.

He smiles as he watches the stars with you. He leans back on the ground, his head leaning on the car door.

The snow outside of the car had picked up, it had turned into a full-blown snowstorm. The snow was piling up outside, creating a winter wonderland of sorts...

...The snow flurries felt like a flurry of silent stars, swirling and twirling around each other. In that moment, it was hard to believe that there was no magic involved -- how could something so beautiful exist naturally?

"This night is... incredible." Simon whispers to you, holding your hand.

He pulls you closer, using his body to warm it even more, eventually the snow is too heavy to stay outside anymore, so your little idea gets cut short, as you both head to the car again. But the both of you have a smile on your face, and when you turn to Simon you can see a snowflake in his eyelashes, just when you thought those brown eyes couldn’t get prettier, the universe pulls this stunt on you.

“Jezus, it is only October.” Simon huffed. “This American climate is something else. Almost makes me regret going on this exchange program.”

You laugh at his remark. “Speaking about October.” You begin, trying to find something to talk about. “What are you dressing up as for Halloween?”

Simon’s smile fades, and his expression shifts to a serious one, his eyes darkening. “You have to promise you won’t laugh.”

“Okay, okay, I promise!”

“That’s not enough.” Simon teased. “I need you to swear it on something.”

“I swear on my life th-“ You stop your sentence when you see the frown on his face. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. But I’ve seen your life and I want you to swear on something that is worth something.”

The punch you land on his shoulder is harder than you intent it to be, and Simon is pleasantly surprised by your strength. Yet there is an awkward tension. You want to apologize, violence should never be the answer, but he did cross a line. The feelings of guilt seeping in to your soul.

“Shit.” His eyes widen. “I can only imagine what you can do with a plastic bucket.” And with that he eases the tension. “Sorry, that was out of line.”

“I shouldn’t have punched you.” You reply to his apology.

“No, no, it’s okay, I deserved that one. Just remind me that I will never spar with you. I would like to keep my life.”

He rubs his shoulder. “I might even use this as an excuse to get out of training tomorrow morning. Even better, I might tell your dad about it.”

You laugh again. “Worst case I’ll get grounded again.”

As you both laugh, the remaining tension seems to disappear into the thin air. “Right, I won’t make you swear, but please don’t laugh at me.” Simon says and you nod, of course you wouldn’t laugh.

“I was watching The Punisher the other day, and you know how the main character wears a shirt with a skull on it?”

He stops his explanation to see if you’re listening, and you nod to show him that he can continue. “I was thinking about making a skull mask you know, a little something to hide my face, I find those parties a little awkward, and maybe I’ll earn myself a cool callsign or something.” Simon is nervous, worried you’ll laugh at him, but it is just a little smile that curves your lips upward.

“I think that is a pretty cool idea.” You answer, the idea of Simon crafting his own mask seems so endearing to you.

He grins at you. “Thanks.”

“What kind of callsign would you like?” You ask, and he shrugs as he turns the car back on. Your eyes flicker to the clock, and it is indeed getting late.

“The Punisher would be way too cliché.” Simon answers. “But I hope it sparks some creativity around base.”

“What about Ghost?”

“Ghost?”

“Yeah, you move around pretty quiet, and when the enemy spots you, it is already too late.”

“Yeah, but I’m not death.” He retorts.

“That is beside the point.” You answer.

He rolls his eyes playfully before he starts to drive. “I’ll think about it.”

And that answer has to do it for now, you know him well enough to know that it won’t be useful to push it any further.

“What about you?” He asks, his gaze flicking to you for a brief moment.

“Katniss Everdeen.”

A grin forms on his lips. “It would suit you.” He says, but Simon has to hold back a snicker, it is such a cliché, and he loves it so much. In his book, nothing is worse than a person who is trying to force themselves to be unique, it is okay to like mainstream things, and the fact that you’re so content with it, it makes him feel content too.

Before you know it you’re back on base with him, and he stops the car at the entrance. “You go inside already, it is cold and it’s late. I’ll park the car” He says as you unbuckle your belt.

“Thank you Simon, I had a lot of fun.” You say, before you open the passenger door.

Simon smiles, this would have been the perfect time to kiss you, but he is too much of a coward to do it. “I had fun too.”

He sighs as he watches you leave, his eyes lingering on the hoodie you’re wearing. His hoodie, before his eyes shift to your ass, he was a man after all.

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Short Muke Fics (2) Masterlist

part one

3 A.M. (ao3) - thegiftboxxx M, 4k

Summary: Five times Michael accidentally meets Luke in the bathroom and the one time he meets him there on purpose.

“Ah, sorry Doll.” (ao3) - cliff0rd T, 4k

Summary: Luke is a shy, quiet boy who works in a small Café and Bad boy Mikey just loves seeing him blush.

breathing deeply, walking backwards (ao3) - maiamaryse N/R, 1k

Summary: “Um, are you okay there?” A voice asks from next to him, and he whips his head round to see, of course, hot snapback guy.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Luke groans, and the guy looks a little taken aback. Luke is in no state to care, “No, hot snapback guy, I am shitting myself.”

Butterfly House (ao3) - thegiftboxxx G, 2k

Summary: Luke and Michael go to a butterfly house for their anniversary.

cause I’ve been trying way too long to try and be the perfect song (ao3) - luke hemmings (wishingforlondon) T, 1k

Summary: Thinking about Michael was, for Luke, just a really bad idea.

Dating Protocols of Santa’s Elves (ao3) - allsassnoclass (brightblackholes) T, 5k

Summary: Or: 5 times Luke brings a kid to Santa’s Grotto and 1 time he brings himself

dont waste your time on me (ao3) - sweaterpawlyssa 994

Summary: Luke has a bad day and Michael adds onto it.

or where Michael is really oblivious to Luke being upset, ends up being a complete douchebag and when he finally figures it out, he cuddles him and sings him ATL

Drunken Miracle (ao3) - YaoiLover66 M, 4k

Summary: It was a drunken mistake, a one night stand that we barely remembered in the morning. But the proof of that night is here, right in my hands and forming inside my stomach. A new life form, one that I’m responsible for; Eighteen and Pregnant. My life just became a little more complicated.

Gay Doesn’t Mean Rainbows (ao3) - walking_crisis69 T, 3k

Summary: “Your breath tastes like smoke.” Luke said as he pulled away, running his fingers through his enemy’s hair. “And your breath tastes like rainbows.”

hold me close (don’t ever let me go) (ao3) - mukelftv (eddiethebanisheds) T, 2k

Summary: 6 months have passed since Luke and Michael met on that fated day at the mall.

i got a long-term plan (with short-term fixes) (ao3) - bellawritess michael/luke, jack/alex T, 4k

Summary: Michael comes into the bookstore one day with the weirdest request he’s made of Luke in the almost-year they’ve known each other.

“I need a hot boyfriend,” he announces. “You in?”

Luke frowns very slowly. “To help you find a hot boyfriend?”

“To be my hot boyfriend,” Michael says, like it’s obvious. “Temporarily.”

It started out a game…(ao3) - SilentlyFighting G, 5k

Summary: It started out a game - a joke - but slowly became the truth ….but was I ready to accept that?

It was always you (ao3) - orphan_account N/R, 2k

Summary: When Michael broke up with his girlfriend and isn’t that sad like he propably should be.

I’ve Got The Recipe (ao3) - FayeHunter T, 4k

Summary: Michael keeps going back to the same coffee shop and no, it has nothing to do with the cute barista.Or 3 times Michael went to Luke’s coffee shop to see him and 1 time Luke visited Michael at his job

Lollipop (ao3) - im_just_a_sucker_for_bromance E, 3k

Summary: Seeing Michael flustered on stage after dancing against him was a turn on for Luke. He knew he had to get Michael in his bed; he just had to build up Michael’s frustrations and wait for the right time to do it.

(not) just friends (ao3) - galacticsugar T, 4k

Summary: His eyes land on the folded paper, drawn in by Luke’s scrawling handwriting.

Specifically, on his name in Luke’s handwriting.

Casually, like he’s being watched, Michael picks up the paper and carefully unfolds it. It’s from one of those hotel room pads, branded with the hotel logo, which Luke improved with some artful squiggles. At the top, it says Michael Mix, the peaks of the Ms rising high above the rest of the letters, both words underlined twice. And below that, a list of songs.

Not Without You (ao3) - pilotmikey G, 3k

Summary: Michael doesn’t want to go to prom without a date, but Luke doesn’t want to go to prom without Michael.

permanent jet lag (ao3) - kingscrossinseptember G, 1k

Summary: Meanwhile, Luke had tried sitting in practically every position he could in his cramped airplane seat and, as far as Michael knew, had yet to drift off for more than a couple minutes at a time. Michael glanced over to see Luke burrowing his face into Ashton’s shoulder. His neck was bent at an awkward angle and he was more hunched over than Quasimodo. To put it simply: he looked like crap.

this could be heaven (if heaven was an actual place) (ao3) - yellingatbabylon T, 5k

Summary: It’s a feeling Michael was hesitant to believe he’d ever experience himself. Now he’s filled two albums just trying to describe it.

You’re Place Is Home To Me (ao3) - fckmuke N/R, 3k

Summary: Luke is fed up with Michael giving him shit and it just goes down from there.

[dreamingdormouse]

Conversations in my house can be WILD.

There are four of us. Me, my husband, and our two kids - an older daughter and a younger son. They're... let's be vague and say 3rd-7th grade. Of all of us, the only one who MIGHT be neurotypical (and I don't give it good odds) is my son. My husband and I have been bookworms since we were very small, we met in a library as middle schoolers. And both kids are very bright and love to acquire new information, although like me they have trouble finishing assignments. Since they're still comparatively young, they haven't yet acquired a lot of niche information if it doesn't relate to their special interests. So conversations often involve a lot of infodumping - from them, if it IS a special interest, or to them, if they're curious.

When I say our discussions can go anywhere, I mean it. A couple days ago we went out for dinner, and our discussions in the car, at the restaurant, and heading home involved some fairly random subjects.

Summaries of five of our topics under the cut, if I've correctly guessed the workings of this button I found. I've never figured out how to make a long post look shorter before!

(1) Why it is PERFECTLY OKAY to pronounce GIF with either a hard or soft "G" sound, even though it abbreviates a word with a hard "G" sound. My daughter's initial reasoning was fairly sound, but unnecessarily prescriptive; we pointed out that English does not require that abbreviations follow the pronunciations of their source words, for example "Laser" is generally pronounced "lay-zer" not "lah-seer," and therefore you shouldn't yell at people that they are wrong just because they use a different pronunciation than you, which would be rude even if they were wrong.

(2) The International Phonetic Alphabet, what a schwa (ə) is and how it sounds (which is kind of like "uh"), how any vowel can make this sound in English (balloon, camel, pencil, carrot, bug), a quick bit of research to discover that this can include "Y" when it's used as a vowel (vinyl), the fact that schwa is the most common sound in the English language, and then that "E" is the most common letter in the English language, which led to both kids counting how many "E"s are in each of our full names, how many vowels, and how many total letters.

(3) How backwards aging would work - this one in itself deserves a whole post, I wrote it up yesterday but it vanished into the void. I'll rewrite it maybe tomorrow.

(4) Who was in town when the kids were born and a VERY brief discussion of the events of both days - not the how-it-works bit, but "waking your dad up at 4am" and "calling the babysitter to watch Daughter when Son was coming" and "Grandma was scheduled to arrive the next day to help, you couldn't have stayed put another 36 hours, you little Early Bird?" kinds of things. The kids were vastly amused by the fact they both started the proceedings at 4am but that my son took twelve hours less to be born than my daughter, which I summarized as "my body got better at it the second time." We were mostly focused on the fact that babies are rarely born on their actual due dates, because that's just an estimate by the doctor; if someone were to somehow show an unborn baby a calendar and say "See here, you're expected to put in an appearance on April 23rd," (why does this person have a posh British accent in my head?) the baby wouldn't know or care what April was. So out-of-town family can't exactly pre-schedule a visit for the day after the birth (especially if the visiting family would need to fly). This came up because we were discussing when their uncle gave my son the nickname that said uncle still uses; it wasn't "when he first saw you," because Uncle wasn't in town that week, it was "when he heard what we named you, the day after you were born."

(5) Why English-speakers call cow meat "beef" but chicken meat "chicken;" the answer involves the Norman conquest, loan words, and classism.

If you're curious about topics 1, 2, or 5, let me know. 3 will be expanded on soon.

[runwayrunway]

No. 48 - Eurowings

We're here today to talk about Eurow

Yes, Eurowings! Did you think those five letters started any other words? Silly. Let's discuss the aerosartorial choices of Eurowings, a member of - oh dear - the Lufthansa Group.

Eurowings! Eurowings is a former regional airline formed from the 1990 merger of Nürnberger Flugdienst, a regional airline that I'd heard of, and Reise- und Industrieflug, one I hadn't. After its acquisition by Lufthansa, it has been restructured into a low-cost subsidiary, making it something of the FlyDubai of Germany. That means I am yet again courting a C&D from the Lufthansa Group, and I am delighted to throw myself on this particular blade.

The process of Eurowings's evolution into its current state is somewhat tortuous, involving the cannibalization of its old subsidiary Germanwings (yes, this was subsidiary-ception, and while it happened after 2015 it seems to have been planned before...well, you know) and the establishment of an Austrian subsidiary which was moved to Malta last year and is named - get this - Eurowings Europe.

Eurowings has been going through it of late. Well, of ever, as far as I can tell. If you've ever been frustrated by a delay, spare a thought for the passengers of 2016's Eurowings flight 131, some of whom had their visas expire while stuck in their hotels in Cuba during their 60-hour delay. Every fourth flight could expect six hours or so of unscheduled quality time at the airport. Or, you know, 20 sometimes. 20 hours. Yikes! That's what happens when you start seven long-haul routes with one (1) A330 and a handful of various and sundry wet leases. A lot of their routes have been taken over by Lufthansa proper, which seems eager to kill the brand as soon as possible, and I can't blame them given it's somehow developed a worse reputation than actual Lufthansa. I've never flown with them. They served Boston for literally three entire months, but I wouldn't have flown Eurowings anyway. For my own taste their 'cheap' prices are still fairly expensive.

The Eurowings livery is unfortunately on more than just one plane for the moment. They have 95 A320 family members and four wet-leased Boeing 737s, giving them a very typical fleet for a low cost carrier. And they look like that!

Okay, first and foremost, I want to talk about their logo. It looks a lot like LATAM's logo.

Indeed, they even both use a variation on something adjacent to blue and something adjacent to pink. I think it's definitely a coincidence - they both were unveiled in 2015 - and even if it weren't I don't respect either one enough to defend its honor from the other.

So, those colors. I think I prefer the shades chosen by Eurowings, and in a competent livery design that palette could be extremely effective. I love LATAM's saturated pink and indigo, which made the mostly-white fuselage a disappointment, and I like Eurowings's desaturated fuchsia and cyan as a combination even more, but the lack of fuselage coverage gets even sadder when it's such light colors that fail to contrast against the white at all.

Unlike LATAM, Eurowings makes use of grey as both shading and background. I like this! I think it can make for a nice base to play with and a potential source of some interesting, dynamic designs.

Oh, and the logo is meant to look like an 'E'. I guess I can sort of see it, but it looks more like me attempting to get a pen that's starting hard going again. (Don't mix inks in pens, though. Especially not fountain pens.) Anyway, I don't really love the logo's shape in isolation but I do think it could easily lend itself to some totally acceptable fuselage layouts.

It's the wordmark that I think is interesting. This is about to be a long section about fonts but I promise that one, I have a point, and two, if you keep scrolling it will stop being about fonts.

The typeface used for the Eurowings wordmark is Soleto in medium weight. It was designed by Dalton Maag, a London-and São-Paulo based foundry. You've definitely seen their work around - they've done custom fonts for the likes of Pitney Bowes, Tesco, Fox Sports, Nokia, AT&T, Airbnb, Wix, USA Today, Google, and the flipping BBC, among others. And, well, a few that I would go as far as to say are pretty iconic:

Lush Handwritten is actually gorgeous in Cyrillic, by the way.

I would say they're not my favorite foundry, with a lot of their work trending towards somewhat boring sans-serifs that are not at all to my taste (you will never replace Gill Sans), but they've had some hits. They're also no stranger to airlines - they did a custom typeface for the TUI wordmark, which appears on their livery!

Blue side up appeal aside, I definitely want to someday talk about the strange beast which is TUI, the World's Most Misogynistic Airline.

So you might think that Dalton Maag was commissioned to make a nice custom font family for Eurowings, given Lufthansa literally used their money to commission a slightly different version of Helvetica, but you would be wrong. As their website makes no mention of a custom typeface for Eurowings, despite discussing modified versions of their existing products for other companies (like Fox Sports Cricket being a variant of Aller), I believe they are indeed using off-the-shelf Soleto, available via Dalton Maag's website as well as Adobe Fonts. Now, there is nothing inherently wrong with this, and I, who cannot afford a tablet to redesign the Eurowings livery, am not trying to wealth-shame an airline for not custom-ordering a typeface. They're far from alone. Another Dalton Maag user is Cebu Pacific, which uses Foco in a bold weight to decent effect, and I firmly believe that there's no reason to commission a second Helvetica if you want to use Helvetica. SAS uses Rotis Sans, and that's a massive airline with money to spare.

I just think the contrast here is funny. I could get the right to use the full Soleto font family for the entirety of Runway Runway's branding, title, and body text for one thousand sterling, or around $1350 in USD. This is, to me, a fortune and more money than I've had at any one time in literal years. It's also definitely not what Eurowings paid. I don't know what they paid, because Dalton Maag does custom quotes for unlimited licenses, but I don't want to imagine how much it cost to commission a firm to make a second Helvetica, so this just makes me think that Lufthansa really despises Eurowings. Pointless diversion? Maybe. I just think it's funny.

I think Soleto Medium is on the uglier side. I mean, I really don't like how Eurowings uses it in the same way I don't like Helvetica or the FedEx proprietary font - I really don't like really wide sans serifs used as titling, and I'm not sure why. Is it because it reminds me of elementary school? Is it because I find them sort of illegible? Are they just...ugly? Well, there's no such thing as objective ugliness, but this is my blog and I dislike them. They're certainly not at all memorable, which frequently makes their use something of an epic branding fail.

Soleto looks better than Helvetica, I'll give it that. A lot better. It's not really the typeface, though. It's the usage. While Dalton Maag's website does say:

Soleto is a flexible font family that can adapt itself to a wide variety of uses. [...] [it] is also quite capable of standing on its own.

It opens with:

Soleto is a contemporary sans serif font family with a quietly confident character. It works well for big areas of text, creating an even rhythm and texture, but can also make a statement at larger sizes.

And I think this is totally true, actually. As body text Soleto is fine! (This is via Dalton Maag's TypeTester feature, as are all future samples.)

This is 10pt Soleto medium, and it's a solid if generic sans-serif. Not overly ugly, totally legible. I'm not sure it's meant to be used for a logo, though. When I read 'statement at larger sizes' I think...titling, not airplane livery. A title for a website and an airplane wordmark are just different orders of magnitude.

How about titling? Well, I tried my own name in a couple different weights, and I actually think Soleto looks great in black italic.

This is a bit modern for my own taste, but I think this would look fine as a wordmark. Frankly, I think it would look good as an airline livery! It's not nearly as generic, it's almost a bit stylized even, and it's legible. The italic is always something I think looks nice due to its aerodynamic implications, and with a name as long as mine you don't really notice that this also does that obnoxious thing where the bottoms of certain letters dip beneath the baseline. Let's try some other weights!

Normally I prefer lighter weights in sans serifs, but no, Soleto looks worse the thinner it gets. These are, respectively, Light and Medium. Medium is what Eurowings uses!

Oh, wow, would you look at that! One of their default color combinations is even basically the Eurowings scheme, though in reverse.

Well, this...doesn't look that bad, right? It's boring, but it doesn't actively make me wrinkle my nose.

So why is this such a problem? I mean, let's look at this picture of an airplane, as we do on this blog. I've chosen this picture because you can see a Finnair (post coming soon) plane in the background. Finnair has this neat spiky sci-fi looking wordmark, for which no typeface exists. This wordmark is absolutely huge, and in a very dark blue against white.

Meanwhile, Eurowings's logo is very similarly formatted to Lufthansa's. It's high up and closely spaced, making it feel a little claustrophobic. It's not...as bad as Lufthansa's proprietary Helvetica (Helvetica Neue Neue? Helvetica Ultra-Ultra-Condensed? Hellvetica?) but that's barely a compliment. Lufthansa has theirs well above the window-line all squished together, while Eurowings has the decency to use the windows as the underline you would think they're just perfect to be, but with a typeface that's medium weight, neither thick nor thin and with no italics or serifs, it becomes something of a small blob. To locate something that far up should be a stylistic choice. There should be no default choices in airline liveries. You can design a massive wordmark to cover the fuselage, or something which looks nice when localized to part of it, but you don't just get to do the equivalent of opening your text editor, typing in one word without indenting, and calling that a livery. Lufthansa doesn't get this, and neither, really, does any of the unfortunate airlines in the Lufthansa Group.

The color used doesn't blend into the white, but it also isn't like they're sharply contrasted. It just doesn't particularly draw your eye. It's a wordmark your eyes glide right over and it's not at all memorable. While grey or cyan could have been incorporated somehow to accentuate it, they weren't. For a livery that's mostly white to work, you generally need some sort of really vivid color. Kalitta Air's red and gold or Tibet Airlines' rainbow are examples of good use of a white fuselage. You could use a different background, but they stand on their own, and the white plays an active part in the color palette rather than just being a default canvas for it. Many airlines use black or dark blue for their wordmarks, and while these aren't the most creative choices they're used for a reason. Just look at Finnair. That's some contrast. It's nice and legible and distinct.

Icelandair's two most recent liveries use the same placement for their wordmark as Eurowings and Finnair respectively. Now, I actually like the wordmark on the old livery better. It has those nice trailing serifs and is in small caps, making it memorable and dynamic, and it doesn't feel closely spaced. The name 'Icelandair' teeters on the edge of being too long for this to work, but ultimately pulls it off. The modern livery dispenses with this much nicer font in favor of gigantic letters. While I like this less, it's still serviceable. It is gigantic, legible, and feels as natural as me sprawling out on a couch after work. It's simply expanded to its natural point. Adequately done on both archetypes.

Meanwhile, the lack of color contrast from the white fuselage was perhaps my main criticism of Air Astra's livery, which I otherwise quite like. It's probably the inverse of Eurowings, which is contrasted enough to be acceptable but entirely boring in design - well-designed, but please, please, please let me actually see it.

Eurowings just...well, I'm going to copy and paste exactly what I said earlier. There should be no default choices in airline liveries. You can design a massive wordmark to cover the fuselage, or something which looks nice when localized to part of it, but you don't just get to do the equivalent of opening your text editor, typing in one word without indenting, and calling that a livery.

And, as a final note, something that looks good on a webpage won't always look good on an airplane. The angles you'll see it from are completely different, it has to compete for the rest of the livery for your attention, and you can't necessarily put infinite space around it due to the very physically limited canvas you're working with. The Eurowings wordmark feels vertically cramped more than it does horizontally, because the windows are right below it and immediately above it the fuselage just...ends, from a two-dimensional view. Something looking okay in copy doesn't mean you can transfer it immediately to material.

Lindon Leader talked about this when discussing his design process for the FedEx logo in a very illuminating interview I cited heavily in my FedEx post. He looked at multiple pre-existing fonts but decided to create a custom one, and one of his reasons for this was:

[...] each had its potential limitations downstream in application to thousands of FedEx media, from waybills and embroidered courier caps to FedEx.com and massive signage for aircraft, buildings and vehicles. 

Something can look acceptable or even sleek on a webpage, and that same wordmark can look downright horrible when applied to an airplane. I'll say this for FedEx - while I find their logo ugly it is absolutely good at what it needs to do. It looks no worse in any one medium or context than any other, and that's one of the reasons it's successful. It's not to my taste, but it's definitely well-designed, and I think one of the ways to improve the livery would actually be to somehow give it more real estate on the fuselage.

So the wordmark is, in my opinion, an abject failure. It's not even ugly but I mean that in the same way Wolfgang Pauli describes crackpot physics as not even wrong. Like, it's fine. It's nothing showstopping or even memorable enough to be picked out of an identity parade of default webfonts but I don't despise it. It's a common phenomenon and I'm picking on Eurowings because it's there and I know exactly what font was used and thus can mess around with it, not because it's the worst. Much like Lufthansa, it's an opportunistic victim. You know, the sort of post I'll end up hyperlinking to later, because even in its failure it's nothing exceptional.

I will say I enjoy the tiny outline of black on the letters. That's not on the wordmark proper, as rendered on their website m, but adding it was definitely the right move to help the magenta stand out from the white. Once you know about it you can notice how it makes the wordmark pop ever so slightly, turning an unmitigated catastrophe into a mitigated catastrophe. It's almost infuriating that they did this thoughtful little thing when you zoom out and remember what it's in service of. This honestly is a reoccurring thing with Eurowings.

Look at that nice tail design! They could have slapped the logo on and left it at that, like so many other airlines, but they didn't. They use the same nice colors and the overlapping greys to create a design that is clearly their logo while also being abstract and dynamic. There's a lot of shapes, a lot of motion, and a lot of nice shades of cyan and magenta, and I love it!

See that airplane landing in the background? Think about what airline you think it flies for, and stick a pin in that for a minute.

Hey, uh...where's the rest of it, though?

So, yes. Eurowings shares the first five letters of its name with Eurowhite. If you're not familiar with the term (I have a glossary, by the way) it just means a livery that is almost completely white save for logos. One could argue that the fact that the pattern on the tail isn't limited to strictly the tail and does form some sort of attempt at a fuselage design means that Eurowings' livery isn't 'true' Eurowhite, but I'm not going to brook that. Eurowhite is a state of mind. There is a nice, abstract design here which could easily be extended further. There is a grey shade which could be utilized (as it is on the engines, which look like they're lost and wandered onto another livery by accident) and there are infinite ideas to be had on the planet, and instead the majority of the plane is just white.

If one thing is thought of as my thesis from this post, let it be this, said for the third time: there is no such thing as default. Things like this wordmark placement, this type of font, and the primarily white fuselage are not default. The fact that they are common and boring does not make them inherent until replaced. They are still an active choice just as much as designing a livery that doesn't utilize these features is. It was proposed, iterated on, signed off on, and implemented. Airlines don't start with a template they then alter. They start with a vast world of infinite possibilities and decide they want to do the same thing as everyone else - that's a choice just how any other act of cowardice is a choice. I think the misconception that boring design is a result of inertia and lack of effort is a harmful one. It is a choice. They choose to do this.

They do not choose it because it is right for their livery, because they like it. They choose it because it is common, it is safe. It is reliable and it doesn't rock the boat. I've said this before discussing Southwest and Flair - low-cost carriers should be willing to rock the boat. If you're going to advertise yourself as the no-frills option you shouldn't try to look all composed and corporate. You have nothing to lose with being bright and pretty and interesting, so why aren't you?

And that cowardice is what makes me hate it so much. Some liveries are ugly, and some are almost ugly but stop halfway to cower in a Eurowhite bunker in an attempt to stem the bleeding, but there's nothing more tragic than a livery so afraid of being ugly that it cuts off and cauterizes something beautiful. The fear of ugliness is the death of beauty. condor is worth one billion Eurowings.

(No, Eurowings does not fail the Star Alliance Test, though.)

Like many of these designs that sort of just decide to stop after the tail, the longer a plane is the worse the Eurowings livery is on it. This is a very nice tail attached to a big white tube. Sure, Eurowings mostly operates somewhat short aircraft, but that wasn't the case when the livery was designed - back then they had A330s. Even now they have A321s.

Frustratingly, given how much I've ragged on this livery, I do still really like the tail. Even more frustratingly, you can see how easy it would have been to not have it be this way. The end of the cyan stripe almost begs to be held onto, weaved onto the rest of the fuselage, but it just isn't. It looks unfinished. It looks sad.

With all these shades of cyan and magenta to play with, the light heavily alters the way the colors on the tail look. They're never not pretty. It's a lovely colorscheme that's dramatically underutilized. The way it weaves together has so much potential, and it's attached to a white body. It looks like the paint job is unfinished. And that's what I hate the most about Eurowhite - good ideas left to languish, where a bit of custom letterhead does a better job of expressing your identity than an airplane livery.

The one feature Eurowings has towards the front of the plane is this little cheek decal of the Eurowings logo. Nice thought, but it almost looks actively worse when it stands out like that among an otherwise blank space. Plus, it's so small it might as well be a dot. It's cute, but in terms of overall effect on the livery it has the effect of making something mostly white look cluttered, which is just downright bizarre.

Obviously I can't endorse this. While not quite at the Lufthansa Line, with the actual bit of design happening on the tail instead of a sterile block, it doesn't cover much more fuselage than a proper exemplar of the phenomenon, and that's just always going to be a bit of a kneecap. Eurowhite is a state of mind, so much so that I almost think an unremarkable sans-serif font is as much of a codifying feature as a white body despite not being specified anywhere in the term. The same decision-making process leads both places, and the little black outline and cheek stamp and nice tail design just cant overpower that.

I'm giving Eurowings a D+.

Eurowings reminds me most of Saudia. They both have gorgeous colorschemes wasted on a design which burrows itself down as far into the substrate of artistic cowardice as physically possible. It's especially tragic and leaves me fighting myself over my final ratings. It feels wrong to grade such a gorgeous tail so harshly, but the good design features just make the bad package even more insulting. And at the end of the day I just have to put my foot down.

Sometimes I'm generous with grading because an airline is new, or because they're iterating on something that could be taken in a good direction. Eurowings isn't in the process of developing towards something nice, it's just Eurowings. It's an airline that stranded people in Cuba for 60 hours and Lufthansa seems to want it dead. I don't think we'll be getting a Eurowings livery overhaul anytime soon and I'm pessimistic about its longevity in general. Low-cost carriers and subsidiaries of large airlines are both easy come, easy go. Tears in the rain. 'Twas ever thus. Try not to get too attached.

Remember that plane from earlier? Yeah, I've got no clue what airline it flies for, but I don't think I can rule out it being Eurowings. 'Twas ever thus.

[ducklooney]

5, 21, 22, 23 for asking and yes, what do you like to draw in terms of have you been passionate about ducks for a long time?

Oh, hi. Hmm…good questions, although you asked a little too much. Also, the questions have been changed under the ordinal letters of the alphabet rather than numbers, but never mind. I'm going!

5. (E) My blog started four and a half years ago (next year it will be five years since I've been on Tumblr), mostly out of dissatisfaction, and to join a new collective that has similar interests as me. Interestingly, I joined when it was Donald's 85th birthday. XD Yeah, I already enjoyed the Ducktales reboot back then (even though it disappointed me in a lot of things at the time), I was still sad that no one mentioned the other Duck media, especially when we talk about the comics, Quack Pack, The Legend of The Three Caballeros and I wanted to take that job into my own hands. So I posted various posts about other Donald Duck media and let me tell you, I succeeded in that. Unfortunately, due to numerous obligations related to the university and at home, there were times and often when I was away for a long time. Still, I'm grateful to the Ducktales reboot for reawakening my feelings of nostalgia and re-reading the Donald Duck comics I used to read when I was a little boy.

21. (U) Actually I am, but more that I am a Christian believer and that I believe in God the Creator, as well as in Jesus who saved us from our sins, as well as in the Holy Spirit. Sometimes I study and read the Bible and go to church. But I'm not a fanatical believer, plus I don't force anyone to believe what I believe. Everyone has the right to their own religion. But I don't like it when my faith is abused through bad mockery and attacks on being a believer.

22. (V) I don't know if you mean the person I love or me personally, but I will answer both. I like in a person who is very pleasant and kind, who likes to draw and respect others and someone who is close to me. And I like to draw, read, write, and sometimes ride my bike outside, when the weather is nice.

23. (W) I don't like it when someone copies me without asking me, without me being mentioned, I don't like it when they insult and when they lie, I especially don't like it when someone insults me in dirty ways, as well as abuses my name as something worst. And I don't like sweet-talking people, I don't like it when someone blocks me, just because we have different views, and I don't like it when someone breaks their promises (either mine or someone else's). And I don't like it when someone insults my religion.

And this particular question, to answer you, I've been drawing since I was young, certainly when I went to school, but I didn't like to draw and I often had terrible drawings. I'm talking about when I drew in the traditional way. I think I have the hardest time painting with water colors. As for drawing itself, and coming back to it, I started four years ago, unfortunately I drew mostly very badly, but over time I learned some methods (and now I practice) and perfected it. If you look at my first drawings and my current drawings, you will see a big difference. I try my best though. Now I need to practice drawing and coloring backgrounds as well as portraits. And as for the ducks, well, I've been watching the classic shorts and reading the comics since I was a kid, but when I was in my teens, I stopped. Yes, I watched a lot of cartoons. In return, the Ducktales reboot is ironically credited, and I've come to love the comics more than before, even collecting those comics. Either online or I buy them. However, I prefer the classics the most, because it is still the best that will always remain. The Legend of The Three Caballeros and re-watching Quack Pack and other cartoons made me even more devoted to ducks.

I hope I satisfied you with your answers. And yes, I tell others to feel free to ask me, if you are interested in something. And yes, those are my opinions and sorry if anyone is offended by this, it's not my intention, just stating my views.

And yes, HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

[airprime7]

Four and vier (four in German, pronounced “fear” but more German) are both 4 letters long. Cinqo (five in Spanish, pronounced “sink-o” but more Spanish) is 5 letters long.

However, four is the only English number which, when spelt out, is the same length as its numerical value. This, however, makes it nicely unique in terms of English names for numbers.

Fifty has 5 letters and seventy has 7 letters. This fact is nice. Therefore fifty-four and seventy-four have letter-counts of 5-4 and 7-4. Thirty-six and forty-five have reversed pairings; their counts are 6-3 and 5-4 respectively. Both of these sum to 9, and the numbers they represent are both multiples of 9, even if reversed.

Forty has its letters in alphabetical order. One (and also first) has its in reverse. These are the only English integers to do so. (Non-integers, such as pi and e, do not count toward this.)

Eighty-eight and thirty-three both are divisible by 11, and 11 letters long.

Eleven plus two = Twelve plus one, both mathematically and anagramatically (they have all the same letters.)

I have many many more nice number facts; perhaps I should start a series of information posts about them. Many of these I retrieved from this site.

its absurd that trio is four letters long and not three

[ilearnedthistodaysblog]

#1175 What is the Myers Briggs personality test?

Katharine Cook Briggs and her daughter Isabel, creators of the Myers-Briggs personality test, early 1900s What is the Myers Briggs personality test? The Myers Briggs personality test is a psychological test that categorizes people into one of 16 different personality types. It is a fun test to take, but it is not scientifically accurate. It’s official name is the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI). The MBTI is named after Katharine Cook Briggs and her daughter Isabel Briggs Myers, who came up with the test in 1944. They had started working on the test in 1923 after Katharine Briggs read a copy of a Carl Jung book called “Psychological Types”. They spent a long time working on the theory behind their test before publishing it in 1944. They hoped that it would be used to help women find jobs that matched their personality types during World War 2. Neither Myers or Briggs had studied psychology at university and they were both self-taught. The MBTI is currently the world’s most popular test of psychological type and it is widely used by universities and companies. Approximately 2 million adults in the US take the test every year. It is thought that in the US alone, 10,000 businesses, 88 of the Fortune 100 companies, 2,500 colleges and universities, and 200 government agencies rely on the test to analyze the personalities of prospective students or employees. So, how does the MBTI work and is it reliable? The MBTI works by asking a series of questions to attempt to categorize the test taker into four different areas. Each one of these areas is given a letter. The areas are extraversion and introversion, which are given the letters E and I. Sensing and Intuition, which get S and N. Thinking and feeling, which get T and F. Judging and perceiving, which get J and P. The results of your answers to the test will give you four letters that then correspond to the your personality and there are 16 possible combinations of personality types. For example, if you get ISTJ, then you are introverted, sensing, thinking, and judging. That means you basically are reserved, practical, and quiet. Or, you could get INFJ, which is what my first attempt that this test gave me, which is Introverted, intuitive, feeling, and judging. This means, apparently, that I am creative and analytical. Or, as one site I found puts it, I am an “easy-going perfectionist.” I kind of like that. So, the most important question is how reliable are these tests? The answer is not tremendously. However, that is not to say that Myers and Briggs made up something that has no scientific basis to it. They spent several decades researching the theories behind their personality indicator and they made a test that they believed was completely accurate. They came up with a system that works well, but is just not reliable and is not something that should be used by professional organizations. There are several problems with the MBTI and the first is general reliability. If something is scientifically provable, it should give the same result each time. If you want to test gravity on Earth, and you drop an apple from a specific height and time how long it will take to reach the ground, you will get the same result each time. Well, removing small interferences such as wind, the weather, height above ground. Although, if the experiment was repeated with the same conditions each time, the same result will be expected. This is not so for the MBTI. People that take the test a second or a third time are very unlikely to get the same result. Apparently, between 50 and 75% of people that retake the test after five weeks get a different result, which means that it is not a scientific test. Another problem is that the test doesn’t take scales into account. It only classifies for introverted or extroverted, for example, while there are many variations along that axis. It is also not true that there are only 16 different types of personality. Another problem is the fact that all of the questions are available online and you can skew the test in any way you choose. When answering the questions, it is pretty obvious what answers you should give to attain a certain type of personality. And there is also the use of Barnum statements in the results. These are statements that can simultaneously apply to a range of people. And one of the most important problems is that the test has been scientifically analyzed by the company that makes the test. They also sponsor most of the experts online that argue for the credibility of the test. That sparks of the oil industry paying experts to say that climate change is a fad. If something is reliable and scientifically provable, the company that profits from the test wouldn’t have to sponsor people to test it. But, what would I know? I’m only INFJ. And this is what I learned today. Try these: - #735 What is an algorithm? - #846 Christiaan Huygens – inventor of the pendulum clock and the balance spring. - #515 Why can you test for drugs in urine? - #1097 How much weight could a human lift? - #932 How many countries are nuclear powers? Sources https://www.themyersbriggs.com/en-US/Campaigns/All-About-the-MBTI-Assessment https://www.verywellmind.com/infj-introverted-intuitive-feeling-judging-2795978 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/MyersBriggs_Type_Indicator https://www.washingtonpost.com/national/on-leadership/myers-briggs-does-it-pay-to-know-your-type/2012/12/14/eaed51ae-3fcc-11e2-bca3-aadc9b7e29c5_story.html https://www.reddit.com/r/askscience/comments/1p2cki/how_scientifically_valid_is_the_myers_briggs/ https://www.16personalities.com/infj-personality Image By Unknown, Courtesy of Katharine Myers - Katharine Myers, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=48805871 Read the full article