someone should probably stop me from doing more of these

kcg4  asked:

Hi Charity as you are an ENFP I wanted to ask you how to do you see Si and Te in you? How was it clear for you that you were Ne dom and Fi aux and not the contrary? You said in the past that you cinsidered yourself socially introvert or shy, which I think is my case and I'm not sure about INFP or ENFP for me. Thanks a lot

My main way of recognizing my status as an extrovert, beyond my need for external stimulation all the time (NOTHING HAS HAPPENED IN TEN MINUTES, MY LIFE SUCKS) is that I am not a Fi-dom. So excuse me, while I once again travel into the land of indecisive Ne to illustrate my point; then I will return to your initial question.

If you compare the INFPs on this blog to the ENFPs, you will notice that the INFP’s Fi is often very prominent and “runs the show.” This is also true with real life INFPs, who as judging dominants, have and express very strong opinions. Since they are in contact with their inner self most of the time, they often know what they like and dislike, what they want to do or refuse to do, and how they FEEL about most things. There is rarely indecision on that point, especially when it comes to the strength of their inner moral focus.

While I have extremely strong opinions in a few areas, in the broader scope of reality, I am far more indecisive and disconnected from my feelings, to the point where half the time, I rationalize them out with Te, or question my “right” to feel this way at all, rather than just use them. Something I admire about INFPs is they tend to be more decisive than I am, especially in their likes and dislikes. As a Ne-dom, my likes and dislikes can change from day to day.

An INFP I know had a fight with her friends once and door-slammed all of them. She knew how she felt, that they were dissing her opinions and not respecting her true self, and after she had enough, she was done. And she did not waffle on that decision. She just quit. She made up with them much later on, but only after her temper cooled, and she had space and time to mature in her own way (and they matured also). She knew what she wanted: them gone. For now.

I complained the other day to my mother about Elizabeth of York in Philippa Gregory’s novel / miniseries, The White Princess. She is so indecisive. She changes her mind from one chapter to the next about who she is, what she wants, and answers “I don’t know” to half the questions posed to her. Some days she likes her husband, some days she doesn’t; she intends to give up on him, then turns around and falls for him again. It’s seriously annoying.

Once I got done with my rant, my mother smiled and said, “So she’s basically you, in literary form.”

Gee, thanks mom.

My mouth hung open for a couple of seconds, while my Fi had a little tantrum, and then my Te immediately snapped in and I went: “I guess. But I’d make a BAD heroine. Heroines need to be decisive! Books need plots! Heroines need to know what they want, or at least figure it out, and get there, not be lost in indecision! The plot must move forward!”

Unlike me. =P

Ne-dom makes me changeable. And it annoys me. One day, I might want this. The next day, I might not. One day, I might decide that this friend sucks. The next day, I might think I was wrong and they’re awesome. They did not change. My Ne flipped the situation around for a different perspective. It runs right over my Fi and what it wants, all the time. This means that I either do not KNOW what I want or cannot ADMIT to myself what I want, nor give myself permission to want it. It annoys me, it annoys my parents, it annoys my friends, and it annoys my cat. But that’s how it is.

I WISH I had some Fi to haul Ne’s ass into a chair and decide: NOPE. But no, instead Ne hauls me around with Fi going “Um… I don’t know how I feel yet?”

But anyway, rant aside: back to your question.

How do I see Si and Te in me?

I see Te a lot when I ‘temporarily loop’ in order to avoid dealing with my feelings. I do not LIKE my feelings. I consider them a major pain in the butt. When my grandpa died, I was a wreck before it happened. I didn’t even know him that well, but it took him a long time to die. His organs slowly shut down. I was so immersed in the pain of what was happening to my loved ones, that I cried way more than any of them. But after his death, my Te immediately kicked in. Mom wanted to clear out his house. Like, immediately. That’s how she copes.

So we did. I put aside my emotions, went into that house, and went through all my grandparents’ stuff. We filled a dumpster. I organized everything we decided to keep in piles for the family to choose from after the funeral. A lot of my decisions were people-motivated – my cousins loved playing these games with Grandma. Shall we keep them? I’ll make sure they have all the pieces and put them in nice piles. I did the funeral video. Everyone needs a Ne-dom for that. It wasn’t just about Grandpa, it was about his life. His dreams. His parents. The culture he grew up in. I managed the voice-over, without falling to pieces.

And then, I moved on.

My Si is very poor. I may be adverse to CHANGE when people announce it (and I have to deal with it a lot, my parents literally cannot live six months without changing their house around, the yard, etc) but I am not stuck in the past. Half the time it never comes to my mind. The past flows beyond me. A day can seem a week ago, and three years ago can seem like yesterday. I gaped when a friend showed me a picture recently with 2014 stamped on the bottom. That was that long ago!? My grasp on time sucks. My awareness of time sucks. My own carelessness with time… sucks. A Si-friend recently said, “You should take more pictures with your cat. You will want them when she’s eventually gone.”

I stared at her. “I will?”

See, I don’t think like that. When people, places, things, are gone, I miss them. I love them. I still think about them sometimes, but they are gone. I do not pour over pictures. I do not sit and endlessly talk about the past. I do not want to think about the past. I moved on.

Sometimes, people tell me I should slow down, or take more time with that, since they do not want me to “look back one day, and regret this moment.”

Thing is, that probably won’t happen. I rarely go back.

Unless I hurt someone badly, and never received their forgiveness, or am beating myself up about something I should have done to stop something bad from happening, I don’t look back and regret. You cannot drive a car staring into your rear view mirror. In that way, I am careless. But I don’t know how to NOT be careless. Things matter right now, and then they’re gone. I loved that show, but it’s canceled. There’s new stuff to watch. I take in so much of it (as a Ne-dom), only a few things stick longer than six months.

And sometimes, I desperately want them to stick. I sit with someone or something loving it, immersed in its beauty, and think, “How can I hold onto it? I already feel it slipping away! WHY CAN’T I APPRECIATE THIS MORE?”

Inferior Si.

This is going to sound weird, because it is weird. But, under stress… I start obsessively tinkering with sensory elements. I’ve been editing and rewriting a book for what seems like forever (forever to me is four months, but I don’t want to talk about how this is the eighth draft of the fourth version of this book in two years) which is very tedious, Si-driven work. My Te is happy to help out with deadlines, and charts, and word counts, and I have a nice little sheet of paper with things marked on it, where I enter my progress each day to keep myself motivated. But I swear on my soul, yesterday when I opened the file, my Si went nuts and said: I don’t like this font. It curls funny. Change it.

So I did.

And then I sat there for at least ten minutes, changing the font, again and again, then the sizing several times. I printed out a page to see how it will look in book form, then promptly forgot which configuration I used (poor Si!) and had to print several more sheets in different sizes. I never did figure out which was the font and what size I used for that first sheet. (Shame, I like it the best.) Then I resized the file across my screen, to try and get the font to ‘curl’ how I like it, so I could read it. I cannot read it, unless it’s the right size. And font. And I must edit so there are no paragraphs that end with one word on the next line.

(Are you laughing yet? Is that not pathetic? Welcome to my life.)

Screw inferior Si. It’s bullshit.

I never know how to say this without hurting feelings but… Fi-doms are sensitive and since INFPs have higher Si, they do not forgive you fast.

Think about two terrific insults against NFPs (from future husbands) in literature and compare them to how you process things.

Gilbert Blythe pulls Anne Shirley’s braid and calls her carrots. The little INFP smashes her slate against his head and screams at him in class. She then tells Diana “the iron has entered my soul: I shall never forgive him,” and proceeds to ignore him, compete with him, and refuse to speak to him. For years. Gibert has to grovel to get on her good side, many times. She is super sensitive and her emotions flare up immediately. “You hurt me EXCRUCIATINGLY,” she says. She means it. He DID.

Mr. Darcy insults Lizzie’s appearance (she is not handsome enough to tempt me into a dance – ie, she’s not that pretty) in Pride & Prejudice. ENFP Lizzie gapes at him, then promptly turns it into a joke. She never brings it up again. She’s mad, but more mad about what he does to Jane than his insult. She finally confronts him when he proposes, but not about that. No, it was not the insult that hit her; it was the impression she formed of his character, based on it. And when he writes her a letter that basically calls out her family for being loud, obnoxious, inappropriate trash, she is pissed but has enough high Te to realize: he has every right to feel that way about us, based on what he saw. Once she realizes WHY he thinks how he does, her anger cools. And her mind changes about him. The anger dissipates.

Did he hurt her? Sure. Deeply? Not so much.

Someone walked up to my INFP the other day and insulted her appearance. It hurt. A lot. She will probably never speak to him again.

A person insulted me to my face at dinner a few years ago. He basically implied the people I work with and the caliber of their work is poor, and I should do a better job selecting the material we work on together. (IE: Wow, you suck.) I bitch-slapped him good with a Te-snarl comeback and … promptly moved on. I was mildly annoyed by it, and it certainly colored our interactions from that point on, but I wasn’t hurt by it so much as annoyed. We stayed “friends.”

I can count the number of times people have actually hurt my feelings on one hand. My Te is strong.

How do I know this?

I’m one of the first people to come up with a rational, non-emotional “fix it” to problems. I often discount my own feelings or put them aside entirely, to get a job done. I remember one time, a friend PM’d me after I wrote a movie review and said, “But did you LIKE it?? You wrote an excellent review, but it was so non-emotional I don’t even know what YOU thought of it.” I criticized the poor elements and talked about the good ones, but there was none of “me” there.

I admit, I was a little more emotionally reactive as a child / young teeanger, but Fi still wasn’t running the show. Most Fi-dom children are very sensitive. When asked what I was like, various family members (without consulting one another) have laughed and said, “Your focus was on being a comedian. You wanted to make people laugh. But you were not especially emotional.”

I’m not. It’s true. Sometimes to my own determent.

- ENFP Mod

PS: If you get to the end of this certain you are an NFP, but you don’t know what you do in a situation in order to compare it to Lizzie or Anne’s emotional reactions, congrats: that’s shitastic inferior Si. You are an indecisive Ne-dom.


Cara Delevingne having a major crush on you, but you don’t realize it. 

“Do you think Y/N realizes how much they’re annoying me?” Cara asked Rita, sighing. You were in the water at the beach, laughing and talking with someone who was unimportant to Cara.

“No, probably not Cara. You should stop staring. People are going to start to notice.“ Cara looked away, clenching her hands. “You’ve liked Y/N for almost a month now, so why don’t you just go tell them how you feel?” Rita pressed. Cara looked at Rita as if she grew four heads.

“I can’t just do that. It could ruin everything.”

“It could also change things for the better. You’re almost obsessed with them.” Cara blushed, shrugging. 

“I’d rather have our friendship than nothing.”

gif credit: not mine. please message me if yours.

gif came from: google images

want to read more cara delevingne imagines? click me!

Someone messaged me just now, wanting to see more Rengar x Teemo from me. I told them not to push me. Then they began sowing me their shipping art and I didn’t even know them AT ALL. Their blog was empty, too. When I said that they should stop pushing themselves on me, they threatened me to make screenshots of our conversation, probably to tell their friends that I’m an asshole. At some point they just threw insults in spanish at me. They made it clear that my profile & messaging being set to public gives them the right to do anything with me.

Let’s make this clear: You following my blog doesn’t make you a close friend. It makes you a follower. You liking my art doesn’t make you a close friend. It makes you a fan. Even if we’re mutuals, we’re just mutuals. If you just force yourself into my personal space I will most probably be rude to you because you’re the one being disrespectful. Y’know what makes you a friend? Being respectful. Being supportive. Being a friend.

I was reading a website and a guy was answering a girls concerns and thoughts regarding her relationship OCD. It helped me a lot. His replies to her thoughts are in bold: 

  • I should feel in love with my boyfriend 24/7. Impossible thing – you can’t feel these hormones all the time. Even if you could, you would start getting immune to it. And wanting a higher kick. 

  •  I have a boyfriend whom I consider to be in love with, hence I should not feel attracted to other guys or find them good looking.Impossible. You can’t switch this off. It is like saying “I do not want to feel hunger anymore.”
  • If we are having fights over small issues that means we’re not meant to be. A right couple do not fight.I don’t know of any relationship that does not fight from time to time. The issue is how we do it, not that it happens.
  • If he is not doing enough things for me, then that means he doesn’t love me as much as I do. I probably should be with someone who does things for me more than I do. This is a communication issue and male/female thing. The important thing is that BOTH are willing to put on the effort to address this.
  • I shouldn’t feel bored of him if I love him. If I feel like getting out on my own spending a little time away from him than that must mean I’m bored of him. You don’t stop being an individual when you get into a relationship. You can become more flexible like watching action movies with your boyfriend but you still like your chick flicks…
  • I shouldn’t marry him ’cause I already know him so much so after marriage it’ll be all same and boring. (spike given by a friend) You make the relationship exciting if it needs be. When things tail off – the infatuation feeling – you need to make things kind of happen again. I had a really great time with my wife, playing bowling last week. You have to find the solutions. And you cannot feel excitement all the time, it is not healthy.
  • If I move in with him, I’ll get bored cause of living with the same person all the time. Our love might fade away. Yes, or it might grow to a deeper level. It does not grow deeper when people are apart. But it will require work.
  • If I find some other guy hot then that must means I’m not in love with my boyfriend 100%. Or it just means that you find the other guy hot.
  • If my boyfriend is a bit immature or isn’t upto the level of understanding about life and love and other things then we can’t work out. Every relationship is a compromise. You are not perfect either. But this is the point of love – growing together by means of compromise.
  • if I’m looking for signs then that must mean he is not the right one for me.How do I know this is the one for me?Or Is this Mr. Right or Mr. Right-now?!” Maybe I should keep looking for signs. Ultimately, no one knows. No one. Our best bet is to become Mr. and Mrs. Right through a lot of work, patience and service. Becoming is reality. Being is fiction.
LOVE IS HARD WORK. By putting two imperfect people together, we can’t expect perfection to happen!

anonymous asked:

lmao that anon just bring a huge flood on ur emotions tho. cant imagine someone out there seems like they know u in detail but you dont even know them. it's not weird if u suddenly delete this blog without notice. and happy belated birthday sab 💕💕 sorry if it seems too late already to wish u

tell me about it..and here I was a few days ago debating on removing anything about me from this blog because I was like wow this is actually a lot of real life people that know probably more about me than even my friends do, I should make sure I kinda remove all that and stop posting personal posts/info

well..and here we are

Creepypasta #316: The Wishing Well

Trees. Such vengeful bastards. I looked down at the paper cut on the inside of my finger, and the blood now dripping down it. I sighed and wiped off a nearby bench, no longer interested in the candy bar whose wrapper just mutilated my finger. The bench seat being sanitized, I sat. You never know with these public places. Someone could have just sat down, pissed, and walked away and nobody would be the wiser with all this rain. Cleaning this was worth using the last of my hand sanitizer.

I hate trees. My finger was still bleeding. I grabbed some tissues from my inner jacket pocket and wiped at the blood. I’d have to sanitize it when I get home. If I get home. The trees seem out to get me today. The other benches in the park were empty, all circling the wishing well that serves as the park centerpiece. Some kid was here earlier in the week judging by the well’s new graffiti reading “blood please.”

Aren’t you a badass, I thought. Society says don’t graffiti, stay in school, don’t be a douche bag who probably lives with his mom and thinks he’s a badass because he listens to Meshugga. Society said all of this, and you, Mr. Badass, said no.

Finger’s still bleeding, rain’s still raining, and the trees are still mocking me. I needed to go home, but there wasn’t a waste basket in sight, and I’ll be damned if I just throw this tissue to the ground like Mr. Badass probably would. What’s a guy to do? The wishing well still said “blood please,” so blood I gave it. I stared down the well, and wondered how deep it was. Didn’t matter, because at the bottom was my blood and rain soaked tissue.

Don’t I get a wish? Some hand sanitizer would be nice.

“Hey, Creep!” I see some guy leaning out of their car window, yelling at me. Bleach blonde hair, sunglasses at night, and a Tapout sticker on the door to top it off. Another badass. Badass #2.

“Go cut yourself!” he yelled, laughing. Because I wear black. How clever. Didn’t see that one coming at all. All sarcasm aside, what I didn’t see coming was a bottle lobbed at my face as Badass #2 sped off.

Hand sanitizer. Oh, the irony. And pain. My nose took most of the blow and began to bleed. Badass #2 was nowhere to be seen, and Badass #1’s graffiti seemed to be taunting me. “Blood please.” As I couldn’t get any blood on my jacket and I was out of tissues, I leaned over the edge of the well.

My blood dripped into the well. I had such a headache. I’d like some ibuprofen, but another bottle in the face probably wouldn’t help the throbbing. I just hoped Badass #2 got what was coming to him. My head was ringing. Lights and bells were going off inside my head. I rested at the park, my face dangling over the well, until the bleeding stopped and my head simmered down. Then I went home.

I don’t give enough to the relationship, she said as soon as I arrived. I’m never home. I don’t try hard enough. I don’t make enough money. In short, we’re broke, bitter, and butt-fucked by society, and it’s all my fault. Cereal for dinner. I’m sleeping on the couch again. The same thing it’s been every day for as long as I care to remember.

After sanitizing everything that I need to sanitize, I turn on the TV I saved from the building dumpster. I watch the news every day, not because I enjoy hearing about religious wars, gas prices, and Kim Kardashian, but because it’s the only channel I get. The first thing I saw was that damn wishing well. It was in the background of the current scene, but I was offended and irritated nonetheless. I tried ignoring it by paying attention to the headline, when it hit me.

There was a crash by the park. A bad one. Fatal, even. I recognized the Tapout sticker.

I ran to the bathroom, checked the state of the toilet bowl. Not clean enough. I looked around desperately. I felt like I was going to die, and I needed something fast. The sink was clean enough. I’m pathetic, I can’t even throw up in a clean toilet, it must be sanitized. My OCD was getting a little out of hand. I ran to the sink and my stomach and mind finally made a compromise and let me let go. It was disgusting.

The accident had to be a coincidence. I didn’t kill that guy. I mean, he obviously wasn’t the world’s most outstanding citizen, but he didn’t deserve that. I threw up some more. I didn’t even know his name. It was really disgusting.

She barged in, demanding to know what I was doing. I was probably drinking our money away, because I’m such a waste of a person. I ignored her. I’ve gotten good at that. We’re only together any more to cut our living expenses, the finances have gotten that bad. This puke was unbearably disgusting.

Once she left, I thought back to the well. The sanitizer and the accident didn’t prove anything, but I can’t even leave the house without checking the lock three times. I’ll check the well one more time. That would make three. Three is a good number. It was only that thought that helped me get to sleep that night, long after the sink had been cleaned and sanitized again. It was no longer disgusting.

I’m not sure where to get the blood I needed. I didn’t think this far ahead. I stood at the park for a while, but the graffiti seemed to taunt me, knowing that if this thing is for real, then there’s plenty of blood on my hands. Badass #1 had added on to it so it now read;

“More blood please.”

I’d love to say no and forget this, but my conscience won’t let me. More importantly, my OCD won’t let me. Three is a good number.

I didn’t realize I was chewing on the right side of my cheek until I tasted blood. I was excited until the pain registered. I had to start chewing on the left of my cheek to keep things even, then I needed to find something to catch the blood in. Spitting in the well didn’t seem all that appealing, but I didn’t have any other options. I spat.

Most of it got in the well, but as I feared a good bit of it dripped down my chin, and I was running out of tissues. I had some and wiped my face. I then used some sanitizer on my chin. I would clean it more when I got home, but we had more pressing matters. I needed to make a wish. Was there a time limit? That wasn’t the test. The test was whether it worked or not, and yet I kept acting as though I knew it worked for a fact. What should I wish for? What do normal people wish for? I panicked.

That’s when I saw him. Obviously homeless, and obviously unsanitary, an elderly man was watching me from behind a tree. Disgusting. He started to approach me, leaving the safety of his unsanitary tree. He’s probably going to ask me for money or food, as if I have much more than him. I closed my eyes and wished he’d stop. Dear God, don’t let it touch me.

It sounded like someone letting the air out of a balloon. I opened my eyes, and the man had stopped five feet away from me with one arm outstretched, ready to touch me. Then he made the noise again. Then he fell over. Dead.

I did it again. I stared in disbelief, shook myself out of it, and I went home.

I couldn’t sleep. I stopped going to work. It wasn’t guilt that stopped me from going about my usual routine, but I don’t know what it was. I sanitized things until I couldn’t afford the sanitizer. I didn’t eat much, but when I did it was always three of something. Always three.

Nothing on the news about the bum in the park. Welcome to the suburban life, one badass, or Badass #2 to be specific, dies and the world cries over the loss of youth. Youth that throws hand sanitizer at pedestrians. Homeless people, though? Don’t care. Back to Kim Kardashian.

“Are you ever going to get off of your ass? You’re useless. I can’t believe you broke your fucking OCD just to ruin your work schedule. That was the only damn thing your OCD was good for.” That was last night. I’ve been out of it for a month. She was getting angrier as time went by, and I don’t know why she didn’t kick me out. Maybe she still had hope for me, or other feelings for me. I can’t tell. I wasn’t feeling anything any more.

Those words echoed as I tried to sleep. I was sleeping in the bed again. She’s quite confusing at times. Needs to be more structured and organized. “That was the only damn thing your OCD was good for.”

My OCD. The badass and the bum.

Three is a good number. A very good number.

I suddenly leaned over and shook her awake. I told her to get ready for a walk. She was confused. That was okay.

We walked to the park. She asked if I was going to tell her why I’ve been acting so weird. I said maybe. I don’t know why she’s stayed with me for so long. I really don’t.

Badass #1 was on a roll. The graffiti now said “Just a little more blood please.” I hope his mom doesn’t know what he does, and that she thinks he’s an outstanding citizen. I hope Badass #1 loves his mother, even if he doesn’t admit it.

I stood next to the well, and she stood next to me. We used to be in love, even with my problems. We used to stand really close like this in the middle of the night every night. There were a lot of things we used to do. She tried to break the silence and suggested we make a wish.

“I wish that you’ll forgive me for this,” I said.

Just a little more blood please.

Oh, I gave it plenty.

I don’t know if my wish came true or not, but I do know that I’m better now. I sleep. I work. I got a nice job. I don’t worry about money now. I still keep things in threes. I still walk pass the well at times. Someone cleaned the old graffiti and replaced it with “Thank you.” I really don’t think it was Badass #1. I don’t think there was ever a Badass #1. There was a Badass #2, though. And a bum. And then there was her. And I do know that three is a good number. It is a very good number.

Credits to: KMilliron

anonymous asked:

I just want my drive to return. Because right now my lack of belief in my talent etc. & my despondent nature are making me lazy. Because it's difficult to try when you don't see progression. I just want to live. I do, I don't want to be this sad. And I know there are bigger issues in the world, I just have ocd while someone has schizophrenia. But even knowing this doesn't take away from my pain & that's probably cause I'm selfish. Of that's the case please ask God to help me to stop being selfis

I understand what you’re saying. I understand how you feel, I have been there. I know it’s hard. I know it seems impossible. I know you feel like you should be doing more and get so upset when you see that you’re not going at the pace you want to go. Just do this: power through it. Why will it work? Because it isn’t your power, it’s God’s power. You will get through this, and you will be so happy you did. In order for Moses and the Israelites to get to the land of milk and honey, that had to go through the desert. Was it fun? Was it enjoyable? Did they like it? No. But it had to happen in order to get them to where God wanted them. You’re not being selfish for wanting to be better. You’re allowed to have pain, you’re allowed to express it. All God wants if for you to include Him so he can help you through it. You need to have faith in Him, even though everything is going wrong, even though you don’t see progress, even though you don’t even want to anymore. You must have faith. Keep believing, keep trusting. Don’t let the lack of visual progress discourage you, don’t let the lack of desire discourage you. Why? Because God isn’t discouraged. God has a plan, all of this has a reason, and you have a purpose.

Band quotes, unicorn version

Me and falling-in-pierced-horizons want to share these gems with you:

“You can’t trust all unicorns which is kinda sad in a way but it’s true.” - Oliver Sykes

“Josh is a much cuter unicorn.” - Tyler Joseph 

“If liking disney makes you a unicorn, i’m a flaming unicorn.” - Austin Carlile 

“Keep your unicorns out of my cornflakes, i’m not interested.” - Gerard Way 

“Don’t ever let a single unicorn tell you what you can and can’t do.” - Ronnie Radke

“One might call it a unicorn, but we like to call it a fanbase.” - Alex Gaskarth 

“Just wait things out. Unicorns won’t be bad forever, i promise you.” - Vic Fuentes

“Noone thinks bad things about unicorns. They are all busy thinking bad things about themselves.” - Patrick Stump

“All our unicorns are stupid and make terrible decisions, that’s why we love them.” Danny Worsnop

“Be unicorn. Stay unicorn. We got you.” - Jaime Perciado.

“Just because she doesn’t have 100+ likes on her pictures doesn’t mean she’s not a unicorn.” - Oliver Sykes 

“I struggle with my own shit. I’m not a unicorn.” - Kellin Quinn

“We are normal unicorns, you know what i mean?” - Oliver Sykes

“I’m just a man, i’m not a unicorn.” - Gerard Way 

“If someone loves unicorns, you should probably love them.” - Chris Drew

“Alan, my guitar player, he’s the greatest unicorn i know.” - Austin Carlile 

“If i’m labeled a unicorn for wanting to stop this world from hate, then so be it.” - Kellin Quinn

“Everything i do can fall in the unicorn category.” - Jordan Witzigreuter 

“At the end of the day, it’s most important to enjoy unicorns.” - Josh Francheschi 

“More like unicorn-non-fiction.” - Josh Dun