map of my entire life

hrhprincessofalderaan  asked:

I have a question about cognitive functions. How would they be determined for someone who isn't distinctly one type? For instance, I have a friend who scores INTJ or INFJ depending on the day.

Thanks for asking this, because it lets me talk about the type confusion online. I see quite a bit of it with people who can’t determine their type. Some of that is from a lack of decent, coherent and easy to understand information online about how functions work; the rest is an uncertainty about understanding oneself. The less you know yourself, the more inaccurate your test results are, because you’re answering the questions based on a false impression of yourself rather than the honest truth.

To assess your own type (don’t rely on online tests, they are not always accurate and have never once typed me correctly*) you have to be brutally honest about the way you are. You also have to consider external factors that impacted your personality. Trauma, a strict upbringing, etc., can all conform you to a pattern of behavior that isn’t true to how you would be without those influences. Not all influences are bad, but they do play a role in shaping how we see ourselves.

I assumed I was a J because my mom is and she taught me to meet all my deadlines, finish what I start, and turn in assignments on time. Left to my own devises, that’s not how I roll. I hate schedules. I hate lists. Having a list of things to do, or a place to be at a certain time, makes me feel trapped. I procrastinate and do my best work at the last minute. I can’t draw a chart or a mind map to save my life. If my entire day is planned, I get bored. I never read instructions. The first time I decided to sew a Halloween costume, I took the pattern out of its package, tossed the instructions aside, and put it all together using my Ti-Ne. I got it all right, too. My Te mother was horrified to learn this, since she always does it exactly like the instructions say to do it… which is probably why when she builds/creates things, there aren’t “bits left over.” Ha, ha.

If you’re stuck between types or getting mistyped a lot, some of your behaviors aren’t your natural behaviors. Until you figure out what they are, you won’t get an accurate picture of yourself, which means you can’t figure out your own true type. Figuring out your own type demands you be entirely honest with yourself about what you are really like. You can’t decide which type is cool and be that type. You can’t change your type. You either make logical or emotional decisions. You either gather ideas or sensory experiences from your environment.

When typing friends, think about how they act, as well as how you respond to them. Your assessment of them is largely influenced by your personality type; if you’re a TP or a TJ, you’re going to find feelers “irrational” and “overly emotional.” If you’re a FP or an FJ, you’ll find thinkers “cold” and “emotionally unavailable.” In a spat, what do they do? Apologize and compromise to keep everyone happy (Fe)? Or stubbornly stick to their guns because you violated an issue of importance to them (Fi)? How do they argue on logical topics? With provable facts (Te) or hypothetical ideas (Ti)? How sensitive are they? Very? High-up feelers then! Not at all? Likely, thinkers. These factors all contribute to type.

A helpful trick when dealing with figuring out your friends’ types is this: Fe-users subconsciously use “you,” “we,” “us,” etc., when discussing hypothetical generalities because of their impersonal nature; it’s all-inclusive, it makes everyone feel involved and important, and it draws everyone together in a collective “group” – which Fe likes. It wants to feel part of the group, because being in the group is to be accepted by others! Fe anywhere in the function stack still wants acceptance on some level.

Fi, on the other hand, doesn’t like being part of a group; it wants to be an individual, so when dealing with a Fi-user, it’s all personalized. Strong personal convictions, no desire to include you in something they feel. Higher-up Te users will use Fi-individuality at times, but tend to speak more in impersonal facts (any emotional bias on their part, Fi or not, is seen as bad, so they exclude it and just share the facts of a situation, problem, etc).

* Every single test I’ve ever taken calls me an INTJ rather than an INTP. My BFF tested ESFP and she’s the most ISFJ that ever lived. It kept telling my last boyfriend that he was an INTP or an INTJ, and he was an ISTP. My brother tested INTJ and he’s a total Mycroft… err… ISTJ. So… online tests? Often unreliable.

[daemonverse 8] fly baby fly

More daemonverse! SAM in the daemonverse. Previously (or just read the tag):

1. Ailsa takes a long time to settle.
2. When Steve stumbles out of the Vita-Ray machine…
3. one-man rescue mission (one man, one bald eagle) 
4. haven’t felt like this, my dear 
5. and never touch down 
6. we are made to live 
7. where everybody knows your name

_

fly baby fly

In the pinkish dawn light Ailsa’s a dark spot circling over water: first the Reflecting Pool, then out over the Potomac  with a few long lazy flips of her wings as Steve runs his circuit. She’s right at the edge of their range of separation, enough to be a little bit of a burn; it feeds into the burn in Steve’s muscles, not comfortable, but they don’t care. They’ve been trying to push the limits of their range more. Some military personnel in the twenty-first century go through special training to give them extraordinary abilities to endure distance from their daemons; Steve’s met a couple of SHIELD specialists who can split by eight hundred yards or more. He and Ailsa haven’t talked about it, but he knows both of them thought at the time that if they’d known how to do that in 1944 in the Alps – if Ailsa had been able to dive just a little further after Dolly before Bucky fell after her –

Fury very emphatically told him no when he asked about it, and Natasha gave him a narrow look and then said, simply, “Don’t,” but what they don’t know won’t hurt them and they can’t stop Steve and Ailsa trying on their own. Ailsa’s found a rising current of warm air to circle on;  as she gets higher the burn of the distance between them increases. Steve grits his teeth, grins through the pain, and keeps running.

“On your left!” he calls to the guy he’s about to overtake. Can’t see his daemon running with him—there’s a few other runners up and about, plenty of dogs, an older woman Steve passed earlier running alongside a horse. Might be a mouse or rat daemon tucked somewhere inside the guy’s hoodie. Just after Steve passes him the burn of separation from Ailsa kicks up for a fraction of a second into white agony, before fading to almost nothing as she abandons her circle and swoops  low overhead, skimming close to Steve’s hair before she finds a new spot for them to start trying again.

Steve laps the guy in the hoodie a couple more times as the sun keeps climbing. He’s grinning by the third time as he hears the yell behind him.  When he’s done with his run – he could keep going, but there’s no point once he and Ailsa are past the stage when they can stand to be properly apart – he spots the guy sprawled panting under a tree, goes over, introduces himself. He figures he’ll either apologize or keep up the joke, depending on how saying hello goes.

No apology required, it turns out. Sam—his name’s Sam—stands up, shakes hands, grins at him. “And this’s Ailsa,” Steve says, jerking his head up at where she’s settled onto a tree branch.

“We figured,” said Sam, and because Steve’s already looking up he sees the dark spot appear and plummet through the morning air until dark resolves into ruddy feathers and Sam’s daemon banks sharply and rakes right through Ailsa’s space at high speed.

Ailsa, affronted, takes to the air after her. Steve shades his eyes with his hand for the glitter off the water as Sam starts to laugh. “Guess this is the rematch,” he says.

“Might as well tell you now that you’re going down,” says Sam.

Steve grins and doesn’t argue. It’s already obvious how mismatched the chase is. Ailsa’s bigger, she’s got a lot more power in the air, and she’s always been fast, especially over water—but Sam’s daemon can fly circles around her. Is, in fact, flying circles around her. Just when Ailsa’s nearly caught her, she changes direction with pinpoint precision, dives under Ailsa’s belly, and heads back over Steve and Sam’s heads into the trees behind them. Ailsa attempts to follow through the narrow gap that Sam’s daemon took at a perfectly judged angle and nearly crashes into a tree. She immediately retreats to Steve’s shoulder and sits there hunched, pretending it didn’t happen. Steve is pressing his lips together against a laugh that threatens to bubble up from his belly.

A few seconds later Sam’s daemon reappears from the trees and perches on top of Sam’s head. “Hey, no, not cool,” says Sam, and holds up his hand for her to hop onto. She’s a falcon, Steve can see now he can get a good look at her. Her feathers are barred red and grey. “So this is Redwing,” says Sam. “She’s a little competitive.”

“No kidding?” says Steve.

“Girl, you cannot bank worth a damn,” says Redwing to Ailsa in tones of total disdain.

Ailsa sulkily ruffles all her feathers and chirps in Steve’s ear. For some reason that’s what tips Steve over the edge into laughing. Once he starts he can’t stop, and it feels great. He can’t remember the last time he watched Ailsa playing with another daemon, just playing; it’s maybe not since Dolly fell. He hadn’t let himself know how much they missed it. Sam’s grinning big at both of them, and when Steve starts to laugh Ailsa settles down a little. She tilts her head sideways so she can eyeball Redwing, chirps again, and then admits sheepishly, “No, I can’t.”

Sam’s a vet, it turns out, former pararescue. He and Redwing probably have that separation training. Steve doesn’t ask about it. There are some things you don’t ask: he knows that.