so many 3s

The MBTI Enneagram overlap

It is important to remember that MBTI and the Enneagram are two different systems explaining two different aspects of our thought processes and behavioral tendencies. For the most part, MBTI is trying to explain information orientation and communication through cognitive functions, while the Enneagram is trying to explain the underlying dynamics that motivates us towards our desires, and away from our fears. To grossly simplify, Enneagram steers us towards our wants and needs, while MBTI gives us the tools to orientate and communicate said wants and needs, both to ourselves and to other people.

However, there are some strong correlations between MBTI and the Enneagram, which has led to some unfortunate stereotypes and misunderstandings that might alienate a lot of people reading about any of the systems. To put it this way: based on what I want to call the MBTI Enneagram overlap, we try to explain too much of our desires through MBTI, and too much of our expression and communication style through the Enneagram. If you are one of the people with a not-so-common MBTI and Enneagram pairing, you might feel like neither of the systems explains you well, because we emphasize the stereotypes the high correlations imply way too much.

Keep reading

((I got two asks for the same thing, so here we go! Now, note: I did write something similar to this already. This link goes to a post I made about Sole’s spouse being made into a Courser, but that’s not quite the same thing as a synth, so I chose to write something new. But feel free to check out the previous post!))

Some time after Sole made it into the Institute, Father informed them of a… new project, that he had been working on. After creating the child synth version of himself, he’d sent agents to the surface, to recover some of his dead parent’s DNA. Using that, he managed to have a synth version of them created, memories intact and all.

Father insisted on having Sole and their companion present for the synth’s ‘awakening,’ when he otherwise refused to have Sole’s friends in the Institute at all. He wanted to show off, or so it seemed. Pressing a button, the intercom buzzed, and he sent for the synth. Soon, Sole’s spouse walked into the room, dressed in an Institute jumpsuit with a hesitant expression on their face. “Sole…” They synth took a slow step forward. “It’s really you?”


Cait: She had to physically bite her tongue, a sour expression on her face as she observed the meeting. She hated the Institute. Hated every damn bit of it. Hated the snobbish, educated voices of the scientists, the yellow eyes of the Gen 2s, the subservient words of the Gen 3s mopping the floors. She hated how fucking clean it was, how any speck of dirt or dust was cleaned away before you could spit. Were these people not human? To not have dirt or profanity or laziness - it was unnatural. As Sole’s spouse stepped into the room, she grit her teeth, her right hand curling into a white-knuckled fist. She couldn’t help the glower she gave Father, nor the rising anger heating her blood. How could anyone do this to someone? To their damn parent? Cait had no love lost for her own parents, but Sole… Sole deserved better. Better than Shaun, who just kept smiling and watching, observing the meeting without a word. If Sole weren’t here, if they didn’t need her… She’d show ‘Father’ just how they did it up in the Commonwealth, and wouldn’t stop until either she or he was dead.

Codsworth: Oh… Oh no. What? How could-? What-? Words failed the Mr. Handy, who only watched in stunned silence as Sole reached forward to greet their spouse. Their spouse who wasn’t their spouse, and yet… They had their memories, didn’t they? But they were a synth! They were made, in, in a- in a factory. Made by computers, by robots, by other synths. He saw the looks of want, of need, of desperation and uncertainty that passed over his employer’s face. What a conundrum. He could only imagine the suffering Sole must being enduring that moment, no doubt reliving all the traumas, the moments of their spouse’s death. He just- If only- A thousand wordless feelings plagued him, all crashing together in a storm of code and commands. The line between programming and genuine emotion blurred, and Codsworth trembled when the synth approached him. He couldn’t bring himself to say hello, and turned away when they met his eyes.

Curie: At first, she was overwhelmed by the cleanliness and advanced technology of the Institute. She knew all about technology Pre-War, and the Commonwealth as it was now lacked most modern luxuries. But the Institute… Why, it had everything! Everything and anything you could imagine. But her mood turned solemn as she remembered why she and Sole had come. Ah, yes, the synth. She observed them curiously as they emerged, taking in every aspect of their appearance. So this was the individual that Sole had married! Interesting. And so sad, too. Her sympathy soon drowned out her curiosity as she watched the tense, pained interactions between Sole and synth. A strange sense of guilt washed over her. She was a synth. The body she inhabited now had been made by the same man who created the person standing before them. Confusion and uncertainty made her stand off to the side, lingering in a corner with her hands clutched to her chest. For the first time, she questioned if in this case, science had gone too far.

Danse: Sole’s friend or not, the only chance of him entering the Institute would be after his exile from the Brotherhood. He tries not to look impressed when they enter the Institute, but on the inside, he in awe, in a grudging sort of way. Though that feeling leaves him when the scientists introduce themselves. Ah, the synth! they say, and their eyes run over him in a way that sends shivers down his spine. In the Brotherhood, he was reviled, but this…? This sensation of being… subhuman? At least Maxson valued him enough that his true identity warranted a violent reaction. But here, to these scientists, he wasn’t worth the air he breathed. He felt Father’s eyes on him as Sole’s spouse entered the room, the man’s clinical gaze gauging his reaction. He stared Father down, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Shaun soon averted his eyes. During Sole’s introduction to the… other, synth, Danse felt more uncomfortable than anything, standing awkwardly off to the side. The love in the other synth’s eyes, the pain emanating from Sole… how could he compete with that? What could he do?

Deacon: He took careful note of everything inside the Institute, mentally writing up a report for Des. His stomach twisted in knots at the sight of so many poor Gen 3s, forced into acting as virtual slaves for creators that threatened recall at any small misstep or act of disobedience. Stay calm, Deacon. Gotta stay cool. He gave Father a pleasant smile as they entered his office, leaning against the wall in the corner and staying out of the way. He played the part of faceless companion as Sole and the synth made their awkward introductions. Dull, aching pains pulsed in his chest as sorrow struck both Sole and their spouse. No witty comment rose to his lips, no glib remark designed to ease the tension. He couldn’t bring himself to touch such a sacred moment. No, instead he just lingered in the corner, watching Father from behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses. Sole would ask him for his opinion when it was safe to talk. What his opinion was, he honestly didn’t know. But in the meantime, he’d get as much information as he could. Fuck that Father guy, by the way. Total jerk.

Dogmeat: It smelled funny in here. Smelled wrong. After a lifetime growing up in the Commonwealth, where almost everything reeked, all the new smells bombarding his nostrils confused him. The Institute smelled like antiseptic, and chemicals, and laundry detergent. Of metal and oil, and fresh-cut grass. He didn’t like the strange, probing glances of the scientists. And when Sole went up to an office, and someone new entered the room, Sole got all tense and unhappy and upset. Dogmeat looked up with a whine, snuffling his nose into their hand. He didn’t like being ignored by everyone. Who were all these weird people? Why did everything smell funny? Why was Sole sad?

Hancock: He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat, giving the passing Institute scientists a toothy grin. They recoiled at the sight of his burned, peeling flesh and yellowed, half-rotted teeth. A sick, venomous pleasure burned up his spine, heating up the back of his neck as he took out his frustration on the nosy scientists. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to be picking fights, but he’d at least get a kick out of seeing them gag. Better to laugh than get angry. As Sole’s synth-spouse stepped into the room, he stood proud and strong at Sole’s side, offering his wordless presence as comfort. Father did not take to Hancock, but he ignored the old man’s narrow-eyed look, keeping a faint smirk on his lips as Sole met the synth. It was all real touching, that was for sure. But Hancock didn’t trust a lick of it. The only reason you’d made a thing like that, a synth like that, was if Father wanted to manipulate Sole. And he wasn’t gonna let that happen. Shaun can do and say and make whatever the fuck he wanted. John Hancock would take him on without hesitation, if push came to shove.

Nick Valentine: For once, Nick appreciated the wear and tear of his body, appreciated the battered coat and hat he wore out of modesty. It set him apart from the emotionless, full-bodied synths manning the service stations, with soulless eyes that made him shiver. All those years, loathing his differences… and now he treasured them. Dropping sharp, cutting comments whenever he could, he made sure to draw as much of a reaction as he dared. He wanted to see them squirm, as something - someone they’d discarded so easily, came back to haunt them. He stood aside, letting Sole face their spouse without a word. He waited for them to look to him, if they did, and then he’d cross his arms and offer a single nod. I’m here, said the nod. And I’m not going anywhere. Nick Valentine was a detective. He’d find out why Father was making this synth, he’d find out why he’d been made in the first place, and… he’d help Sole. Whether they needed him or not, he’d always be ready to lend a hand.

MacCready: The whole place creeped him the hell out. The weird slave synths, the ones with yellow eyes, all the scientists that… acted weird…? It send chills sparking across his skin. He wanted to leave as soon as he arrived. Hell, he didn’t even want to come here! But Sole needed him. Sole needed him. And say what you will about Robert Joseph MacCready - he might be an asshole, but he paid his debts, and he owed Sole a whole helluva lot. So much so he might never be able to pay it all back. Thus, he followed them into the Institute, and kept his trap shut under the curious gaze of the scientists and synths. And when Sole’s spouse came staggering into the office, and Sole looked like they were on the verge of goddamn tears… He kept his mouth shut then, too. What was he gonna say? He wanted to tell Sole, they’re not real! They’re not who you loved! But he kept quiet. He’d give them a piece of his mind afterwards. Instead, he just kept glaring at Father, and trying to avoid the gaze of the two people in front of him.

Piper: Teleporting into the Institute aroused all of her reporter’s instincts. A thousand questions bubbled up on her lips, and her fingers itched for her camera, her notepad and pencil. But they’d all been confiscated as soon as they arrived in the facility, and it drove her crazy. Everyone she passed, she had to resist the urge to lunge over and bombard them with questions. What’s with all the white? Do you guys not like dark colors? Why do you make the synths? Why haven’t you guys come up to the surface? Why kidnap people? Why not tell anyone who you are? Why not help people instead of ignoring them, instead of taking from them? But as soon as she and Sole entered that office, and the synth emerged, her brain fell silent. She could only stare in fascinated horror, in horrified fascination, as Sole and the synth greeted each other. Closing her mouth, she made sure Father wasn’t looking, and reached into her pocket for her concealed holotape recorder. She’d get something out of this, damn it.

Preston: Out of all the companions, out of everyone Sole could’ve brought, he was the only one to question the Institute. The only one not commanded by fear, or respect for Sole. He had respect for Sole, of course, but he also spoke for a small army, and worked to represent the interests of the Commonwealth. He stood by Sole as they greeted their dead(?) spouse, but the meeting only cemented his feelings about the Institute. They weren’t good people. Good people wouldn’t force such traumas on someone, wouldn’t make a good person like Sole suffer for no good reason. As soon as he had a moment, he squeezed Sole’s hand, patted them on the back and promised to talk about it when they had a moment. But he had to do his duty first. Taking Father aside, he raised his chin, calling on all the people he represented and the morals in his heart, and demanded answers. Come hell or high water, Preston Garvey wanted to do the right thing, but he’d at least give the Institute a chance to explain itself first. It wouldn’t be just, otherwise.

Strong: Something… tickled, in the back of his brain, when he and Sole teleported into the Institute. Mutants weren’t always in the Commonwealth, you know, weren’t made there Pre-War like in the Capital Wasteland. No, the Institute made the Commonwealth mutants, pumped them full of FEV virus and released them to watch their havoc from a safe distance. Sole may or may not have known this, and Strong had mostly forgotten, but something about re-entered the place of his rebirth triggered memories buried deep in his mutated conscious. He let Sole meet their spouse alone, not really understanding what it was all about. Instead, he wandered around the Institute under the watchful eyes of some Coursers. And for a moment, for a moment, he thought he recognized one of the scientists. An animal roar tore from his throat, and he lunged forward, clawing a thick hand at the person’s throat. It took four Coursers to subdue him, and Sole had to quickly convince Father not to have him killed on the spot.

X6-88: Father didn’t bother acknowledging him as he followed in behind Sole. He clasped his hands behind his back, taking his place beside the door, no different than a trained animal or piece of furniture. But no one had told him what exactly this meeting was about. So when the synth emerged from the other door of the office, and he realized who they were, who they represent, he fights to keep his expression neutral. A synth? But… It conflicts with everything he’s been trained to think. Why make a synth a… a person? Why make them human? Everything Father has ever said affirms the idea that synths are not human, that they are anything but. But then why make a synth like this one? What makes them different from the ones sweeping the floors, or the Coursers like himself that serve as mindless security. He doesn’t understand, and it frustrates him, but he doesn’t let it show. Can’t let it show, not until he’s sure he’s safe to do so.