Recently I got a request to repost the student email interviews I did with some established artists back on my blogspot in 2011. They really did help me, and I’m even more amazed now, than I was then that they took the time to reply. This is part 3/3 with illustrator Jon Klassen:
What do you think of the theory that there could be a secret sixth Lion (the White Lion) and that if found, it might choose Allura as its paladin?
From a storytelling perspective, I don’t really see the appeal, but, here’s my thematic beef with it.
I think that this devalues Allura, actually, by acting as if she already does nothing for the team, or that her accomplishments do not matter unless she has her own Lion.
Because the writers did give Allura the ability to take the field in season 3. This is significant to her character because, as she outlines herself- she will not demand her knights, her soldiers, to fight if she is not willing and ready to fight herself for this cause. She is a soldier of the rebellion too, and she’ll make good on that.
However- I actually think it won’t defeat all of Allura’s characterization if she’s not always a Lion pilot. If it’s a matter of shuffling who’s available and who’s needed.
Because here’s what I think is the impressive thing about Allura in VLD.
(A/N: I couldn’t find a proper gif of Eddie for this so here’s a relatively fitting gif of Richie and Co. This is mostly just a Losers Club/Reader fic with hints of Eddie/Reader in it but whatever. It’s a dumb fckin prequel, ya’ll!!)
Summary: The Losers Club struggles to come to terms with your death at the hands of It back in 1989.
Warnings: Slightly detailed description of death, a lot of death mentions and all that jazz.
DEVELOPER(S): Meaka ENGINE: RPGMaker XP GENRE: Supernatural, Puzzle WARNINGS:
Both implied and shown violence to the children, Emotional abuse, Blood SUMMARY: With what starts as a simple day at the park, siblings Tony, Pablo, and Octavio are once again caught up in a series of strange circumstances such as strange pocket dimensions, coordinated monsters, and more geese than anyone could ever want to see in their lives. Stranded with them are Haze and Seal, two witches who seem to be connected with whatever nonsense is going down. As witches tend to be.In the simplest of terms, this game is about friendship and relating to others, both the good and the bad. With an unfortunate focus on the bad. It will be mostly straightforward with only one ending.
I KNOW THE FANDOM IS DIVIDED ON ABBY BABY THEORY BUT STICK WITH ME.
@brittanias and I have been hashing this out and here are some thoughts. All the symptoms we have seen Abby show so far - sleeplessness, tremors,
anxiety, hallucination - could actually be symptoms of something completely
different. Such as, for example, pregnancy. When Abby’s on the radio with Kane, what we see of her does not actually
appear to present as a seizure; it presents much more like an anxiety attack.
She’s restless, pacing, her jaw is clenching, her hands are shaking, and then
when she hears Marcus she calms down. What we have NOT seen yet:
weakness, collapsing, fainting, sweating, bleeding from the nose or mouth,
foaming, rage/mania, or a scan of Abby’s brain.
THEORY: The reminder about Abby also getting fried with the EMP, just like
Raven was, and the link of Abby’s symptoms with Raven’s symptoms are a
narrative misdirect (perhaps its purpose is to give a reason why Abby’s contraception chip was fried and she didn’t know it); otherwise all the attention paid to the idea that this
brain thing could present very differently in different people wouldn’t
actually matter, unless it was so they could show us symptoms of something
that was not a brain tumor and convince us to believe it was a brain
tumor. So we see Raven hallucinate and then have a seizure, we have
Abby explain why, we have Jackson say “but the same thing happened to you, I
should check you,” and then we have Abby being stubborn and insisting she’s
fine and refusing to let him check her. So it’s possible that the reason
we see Abby’s first symptom - the hallucination (of her child, btw) in
the same episode as Raven’s is to make sure we, the audience, are going “oh
shit” and immediately assuming they are the exact same kind of
hallucination. Even though hallucinations are a very common symptom of
extreme sleeplessness and sleeplessness is a common symptom of a whole huge
range of things.
[Edited to add, per Brittany’s suggestion just now: we don’t even know that it was a hallucination. She was alone in the lab; she straight-up could have been dreaming. (In that fancy bed.) Just a regular ol’ extremely vivid dream - another common pregnancy symptom.]
Another, slightly more extra, possible indicator that pregnancy is a possibility: the editing of the sex scene. We didn’t see leadup/cut to black/afterglow like the show usually does; we saw Kane finish. It’s possible the writers and directors are just plain old Kabby trash like we are, but it’s also possible it’s plot-relevant in some way that we have concrete proof that Kane came inside her.
So this is my prediction. I don’t think either of them are going to
die. I think for Raven, the narrative purpose of the “oh no you have a
brain thing” is not the possibility of death, it’s the seizures. It’s to
put Raven in a situation where we know there is a danger she could completely
lose control of her physical body, with all of humanity on the line. They
made a big point of Raven having to switch the rocket to manual, which now
means only Raven can fly it. They made a big point of how they needed all
those barrels of hydrazine for the rocket and now they’re down one; what if
they can coast on only the remaining fuel as long as the rocket is only carrying
the weight of one passenger and they strip out all the unnecessary internal
workings to make it lighter? Then Raven is in space, alone, with all the
Nightblood, with brain that could go into seizure at any moment when she’s
over-stressed. We also have Luna’s ability to soothe Raven with her
words, and we have Murphy being in the room for every one of Raven’s failed
flight simulator drills (playing with a toy car whose controls are very similar
to the rocket). I don’t think it’s outside the bounds of possibility that
they’re setting us up for Raven to have a seizure as the rocket is landing and
even though it’s in manual, Murphy has to figure out how to land it himself
while Raven’s incapacitated and Luna is trying over the headset to soothe her out
of her seizure.
As far as Abby, I think the narrative purpose of “oh no you also have the
brain thing” could very plausibly be to set us up in the only conceivable
situation where Abby would have to consent to let Jackson give her a full
medical scan. If there wasn’t a chance she was seriously sick, she’d never
allow it. There’d be no point. But if she got pregnant in Polis,
then she’s less than 2 months along, which means she might not be showing and
most of her symptoms might easily look like something else, especially if she
already thought there was a chance she did have something else. So
my guess is that she’s going to end up pushing herself and pushing herself
until she has some kind of a meltdown or collapses from exhaustion or something
happens where she finally has to face the thing she’s been trying not to have
to face, her fear that she might also have what Raven has. But she’d
never say “sure go ahead give me a full physical” unless she had a very good
reason and Jackson had reached a point of no longer being willing to be talked
out of it. Exhaustion, anxiety/tremors, and lack of sleep could all very
easily be a combination of stress, overwork and pregnancy; hallucinations or
lucid dreams sometimes are as well. Especially given that the content of
the dream was her child, in danger.
In terms of the narrative purpose to be served by Abby possibly being
pregnant, there are a couple possibilities. One important thing to
remember, which I had forgotten until an anon just reminded me of it, is that
all the Sky People are universal blood donors, while the Grounders are
not. It’s possible that the “disappointing
setback” the episode description for 408 mentions with regard to the experiment
on the Grounder redshirt is because maybe a Grounder can’t take another
Grounder’s blood if they aren’t type-compatible. So that means they can’t go to space to
manufacture Nightblood synthetically, and they can’t use Luna’s bone marrow to
save all the Grounders; they could save all the Sky People, and they could save
Grounders compatible with Luna’s blood type, but that’s all. But if they had, oh, let’s say, Nightblood
embryonic stem cells from a baby of two Skaikru universal-donor parents, then
by the magic of television science (I DON’T THINK ANY OF THIS IS REAL, I JUST
MEAN BY THE RULES OF HOW THIS SHOW WORKS), that could crack the code for a
vaccine that could save everyone, as
Clarke always intended – not just the Sky People.
Another factor is that a number of people have tossed around the idea of
long-term cryosleep and the theories about a five-year time jump in the finale
being connected; that is, maybe one of the “lifeboats” they come up with to
save some portion of the group is related to putting people in long-term
stasis. @knowlesian has a fantastic
theory I’ll be making her elucidate when she guest-hosts Meta Station next week
about how it’s possible that Cadogan’s secret “thirteenth level” was not merely
a fancier bunker, but pods for long-term space travel in cryosleep similar to
the ones we learned about in that story about the asteroid miners for whom
Becca invented Nightblood in the first place.
It was to protect them from solar radiation while in cryosleep for long
space journeys. (One factor to consider
here is the constant reiteration that Raven’s brain could heal itself if she
just took it easy, which of course she never fuckin’ does; however, a five-year
nap in cryostasis is probably enough time for her to wake up rested and ready
for the writers not have to keep writing seizures into her storyline for Season
5.) Again, using the magic of Television
Science, something something handwave handwave the Nightblood in the placenta
keeps the fetus safely in stasis while Abby goes under so they don’t have to
deal with the fact that she’ll still only be 2 months along when the death wave
comes. This also makes room for the most
crackpot of my crackpot Pregnant Abby theories, the idea that the season’s
continued thematic parallels of Abby with Bellamy (up to and including very
literal moments like Abby napping on the couch and dreaming of the 100 vs.
Bellamy napping on the couch while Clarke drafts the list of the new 100) are
actually clues as well. There were 100
spots on the dropship but 101 passengers, because Bellamy stowed away. If Cadogan left 100 cryosleep pods, there
would be 101 passengers if Abby’s pregnant.
On a thematic level, of course, a baby symbolizes hope and possibility and
the future; it’s a nice narrative device to tie the theme of hope which has
always been primarily centered on Kane and Abby’s relationship over the course
of the show and make it literal. The
first Skaikru baby being born to the Chancellors feels right, and it ramps up
the emotional stakes for both of them to stratospheric levels because
everything is more risky for a pregnant woman.
It’s also a nice way to set up a long-term possibility for Season 5
where we get to see Skaikru emerging from the wreckage, trying to rebuild a
home, and a radiation-immune Nightblood baby as a sign that the human race will
continue is a nice sort of thematic illustration of that sense of
I KNOW IT SOUNDS CRAZY AND I COULD BE LAUGHABLY WRONG
BUT IF IT TURNS OUT ABBY IS NOT DYING, SHE’S PREGNANT, I’M GOING TO BE SO
h/t again to @brittanias and @knowlesian, as well as to @reblogginhood who occasionally feeds my tin hat conspiracy theories with things like “Vesta was a fertility goddess I’M JUST SAYING”
summary: in which fred tries to rekindle his friendship with y/n and in the same time, uncovers her past before she even became a grim reaper.
a/n: totally made up the historical figures and events mentioned here lmao (except for the salem witch trials bc that really happened in real life)
p.s. so sorry for the long wait hehe. as i have always mentioned, school is really draining me out aND NOT TO MENTION I AM VERY DISTRACTED BY THE BANGTAN BOYS that i haven’t really prioritized writing that much. sorry again and i hope you guys would enjoy this update! x
This line really stuck out to me in season 4. After all this time claiming he’s not meant to be a leader, he inadvertently takes on that very position again with the rebel fighters at the pointy end of episode 6. So let me explain to you why his decision to join the BOM, while hasty, has a point. And the hastiness may actually BE the point.
Sidni’s head hurt. Sidni’s head hurt, and her eyes were too tight in her head. Sidni’s head hurt, and her eyes were too tight in her head, and her tongue felt like an old shoe, and she was definitely dying. Carefully, as though she might shatter if she moved too fast, she sat up in bed.
“Oh no,” she said, wincing against the morning light. “No, no. Not good.”
Well, we talk about gender as being a spectrum, and a lot of the time, people hear “spectrum” and think of the spectrum of visible light, which looks something like this:
Many people think of “male” and “female” as being two extreme poles, and assume that anyone nonbinary is somewhere in the center.
This gives a sort of inaccurate idea of view of gender, though. The idea that “male” and “female” are “opposites” at the ends of a long line does a lot of disservice to both binary male and female people (cis or trans) and leads us into the kind of thinking that gives rise to things like rigid gender roles that put so much pressure on male and female people.
The two “binary” genders we are most familiar with are a lot more similar in a lot of ways than either of them are to some other genders, and a lot more complementary than opposing. So, illustrating them as polar extremes is silly!
But that doesn’t mean we have to throw out the spectrum analogy! If you learned color theory or have used many graphics programs, you are probably familiar with a spectrum that looks more like this:
This is a much more useful illustration for how people relate to gender. There are places where colors overlap and places where they do not. A person’s identity might be one gender or a combination of more than one. For people who identify as more than one gender, they might experience them all at once, or one at a time, or somewhere in between.
Just like two colors that are different combinations of the same two primary colors, two people who identify the same way, might engage with their respective identities differently– and one person’s relationship to their own gender identity might change from day to day. You can visualize quite quickly when looking at a wheel that it’s easy to travel from one point on the wheel to another, and traveling from 1 to 10 doesn’t always mean passing through 4 or 6 to get there– everyone can have a different journey and identify in many different ways over the course of their life (or, for some people, even in the course of a short amount of time) and there are many ways to get to the same place.
Well, that’s cool, Tea, you say, but you’re only talking about people with gender identities, and you said you don’t have one. How do you fit into this model?
Well, I still have an external experience of gender, because of the ways that I interact with gender expression and presentation, and because I still have an assigned gender, and all of the external experiences of being perceived as having a gender, but it’s entirely external and has no internal identity component– that is, no little voice or guide or compass telling me what my gender identity is. The way I relate to gender has zero overlap with internal gender identity, which is something I only know exists because enough people with an internal gender identity have told me they definitely have one, and I trust my friends’ accounts of their internal experiences, just as they trust mine.
Request - Can you do a Corbyn imagine where the reader like him a lot but he’s doesn’t realize it and always has girls over and it hurts the reader a lot so she cuts herself off from all of them and then Corbyn finally realizes? Warnings: swearing, angst, Corbyn being a headass (A/N - didn’t add the cutting part, sozz)
It’s been two hours. Two hours spent sitting in a chair with a book in your lap as you wait for Corbyn to arrive.
You felt the urge to leave thirty minutes after him not showing up, but part of you felt obliged to stay and wait it out. He hasn’t even sent a brief text explaining why he’s late.
He had called two days ago requesting an outing to the mall and of course, you were down. The blue-eyed blonde is your best friend and you haven’t hung out with him in a while for various reasons, all of them containing sorts of a female other than you.
Girl, please give me like a Tarzan au with Cat as Jane finding Kara in the jungle and then Kara showing Cat the trees and Cat teaching her how to speak. NC x
This is as AU-ISH as it can be, probably crack-ish too.
What Cat notices first, surprisingly enough, isn’t that the girl is practically naked, no.
She doesn’t actually linger on the strange loincloth made of a few banana leaves and maintained low on the waist by what looks like a sturdy liana and she doesn’t even glance at the visible breast that is barely covered by a few long strands of dirty blond hair.
What Cat sees first, in all the oddity of the moment, is a pair of incredibly bright blue eyes that reminds her of a spring morning sky. It evokes a whole new world to her, one made of a cloudless azure or a quiet sea somewhere around the islands made of white sand and coconuts trees. It’s exotic and new and she finds herself drawn to those wild eyes, lost in a face that is all sharp edges despite the round and somehow childish features.
The stranger doesn’t move but something sparkles in her eyes that isn’t fear, not exactly. Cat figures she should try to move but she is scared she will make the stranger run if she does so instead, she chooses to speak. “Hello there,” She starts and her voice is soft and low, like the one she uses when she talks to her sweet little boy. “My name is Cat, and I am very pleased to meet you. Can you tell me your name?”
She sees the stranger tilts her head to the side right after the questioning accent on the last word. The bright blue eyes sparkle and shine but the weariness is still here, floating around the azure irises. Cat finally takes in the rest of the stranger’s body, the muscles and the nerves showing of everywhere, the sun-tanned, dirty skin and the scars, here and there, that didn’t heal properly.
“Do you not have a name?” She gently asks again, not moving from her position against the trunk of a tree and trying not to look down from the branch she is standing on, for fear of realizing how far down the ground is.
The stranger tilts her head on the other side this time and Cat briefly thinks of a puppy, a curious looking puppy listening to a new command and trying to figure out what is expected of him. Cat wonders how old the strange woman is but the dirt on her face, hair and body makes it hard for her to guess and the eyes, so ever blue, are both so old and yet so young she can’t rely on them. She can only drown.
“Cat,” She tries, pointing a finger towards her chest. She used to do that to try to get Carter to say mommy and it worked. It took over a year but it worked, so she figures it can work in her current situation as well.
The stranger looks at her hand and then at her face and slowly, very slowly, she relaxes enough to put her full weight on her feet and legs. She stands crouched on the floor, like an animal but Cat doesn’t find it that strange. She thinks maybe, the limits of what she considers normal are being pushed and her vision of the world is being shook, and it pleases her.
The stranger raises a hand and points it towards Cat, before opening her mouth and Cat holds her breath in anticipation. “Cat”
The voice is deep and gravelly and even though the name only has three letters, it’s hatched and laboriously pronounced. Cat wonders if it’s the first time the stranger ever talks and her heart aches a little for that woman who seems to have survived alone on this island for God only knows how many years. She wants to know the story behind the azure eyes of this woman who carries herself like an animal.
“Cat,” She repeats and then she turns her hand towards the stranger and simply stares, waiting to see if something happens.
The woman’s brows furrow but eventually, she turns her wrist to point towards her own naked chest and Cat thinks she sees a hint of thoughtfulness in the blue eyes.
It’s a guttural way to blurt two syllables but Cat gasps softly, thrilled by the progress they have made in such a short time.
Then she smiles and repeats, slowly “Kara”
Kara, since it seems to be her name, tilts her head on the left and then, her lips part and move to form what could only be described as a grimace but Cat knows, she just knows it’s meant to be a smile.
Kara is a fast learned and Cat is sometimes a little in awe with how clever the woman in the jungle is. She has learned the rudiments of the English language is less than two weeks and she is starting to form full sentences, despite a few mistakes here and there.
“Where is you from?” Kara asks one morning, her voice a little more smooth than before, and she glances down at an illustrated book showing various species of felines.
“Where are you from?” Cat corrects a little absentmindedly as she tries to sketch a portrait of the girl. She is sitting in a soft and comfortable armchair outside of the tent they had been using as an improvised school for the past few days. The charcoal in her hands it a little thin, about to break and it annoys her because she is practically done.
“I was born in England, in a city called London but I traveled quite a lot since then, I now live in America, in a town called National City,” She answers after having rectified the line of Kara’s shoulders.
The woman doesn’t move like a human yet, far from it actually, but Cat notices she seems to straighten a little when they are together. She still runs on her four limbs, much like a monkey, but when she manages to stay still for a few minutes, she almost sits down in what would be considered an appropriate position for a young child.
“America,” Kara repeats, struggling a little with the letter m. She tries the word again and this time, she seems satisfied with how it sounds because there is this grimace again, etched on her features. It still has a long way to go to become a real smile but Cat has become somehow fond of the strange gesture.
“Yes, America. It’s a big continent …” Cat trails off and Kara looks at her with her head tilted, like an actual puppy. “Here, don’t move. I will get a book to show you a map of the world.”
She stands, slowly enough not to startle Kara and then moves to enter the tent. She is still careful to avoid any kind of too sudden movements because Kara is easily spooked away.
When she comes back outside, she finds Kara looming over her sketch and she is relieved when she notices it is still intact. Kara, whose curiosity seems limitless, has this tendency to touch everything and anything and while it’s quite normal given the circumstances, it is very frustrating for her to find broken items and smeared lines in books and various pieces of paper.
“This is me,” Kara states as she points a finger to designate the aforementioned sketch.
“Yes, it is you. I am trying to draw you,” Cat explains and she smiles, before walking towards a nearby table to open the atlas.
Kara comes to her sides and since she is still not standing up properly, she isn’t tall enough to look at the book. Cat is about to help her to a chair when Kara gathers her limbs, tenses her muscle and then jumps on the table, landing in one fluid movement that barely makes the wooden piece of furniture creak.
“This is a book,” Kara states again as she tilts her head to study the double pages displaying the world.
Cat blinks a few time and then nods, choosing not to say anything about posture and appearances. She figures she will have time to teach Kara some manners later. “Yes, this is an atlas. It’s a special kind of book that only contains different sorts of maps, to allow us to know where a place is,” She explains and she turns the book so Kara doesn’t have to read it upside down. “Here is this big lot of islands called Great Britain, in the continent called Europe …”
Cat explains some geography to Kara and to her surprise, the woman seems genuinely interested. She asks questions and moves a dirty finger along the travel lines Cat showed her and she repeats the name of the countries, of the towns and she even remembers the boats.
A few hours later, Kara is back on the floor next to the armchair and she seems enraptured in the felines while Cat is reading a book.
“Who is Carter?” Kara suddenly asks and Cat’s head snaps up, both in surprise and confusion. Kara’s eyes are incredibly blue under the bright light of the late afternoon and the look in them is intense.
“Where did you hear that name?” She asks back, because she knows she never mentioned her son to Kara before.
Kara seems to think for a few seconds but then she trots towards a tent and brings back a wooden frame with the black and white picture of a young boy displayed in the oval shape.
“I … re-ad it,” Kara explains as she puts her finger on the golden plaque under the photography, where the name is carved in elegant black letters. She struggles with the word and it comes off hatched and unsure but Cat just gapes at her, dumbfounded and speechless. Kara starts to fidget with her hair under her gaze and it finally brings Cat out of her awed silence.
“You know how to read?” She half-asks, half-wonders out loud because it seems so impossible and yet.
“I teached myself. With a book?” Kara doesn’t sound sure but the look in her eyes is clear and a little happy as well.
Cat doesn’t even correct her on her mistake before praising the young woman enthusiastically.
The bath is something Cat almost regrets suggesting in the first place but when she takes in the sight of a clean Kara, with her glowing sun-kissed hair falling is soft waves upon the tanned clean skin of her shoulders and chest, she forgets about how hard the whole experience had been.
“I don’t like baths,” Kara grumbles and Cat chuckles at how dejected the woman looks. The blue eyes are a shade darker than usual and there is an honest to god pout etched on her glossy pink lips.
“Well, maybe you do but you also smell better, trust me,” Cat retorts and Kara narrows her eyes at her, already understanding that there is a sassy jab hidden behind the words. Cat has discovered, during the past six weeks, that Kara is in fact very astute, clever and perfectly able to sense the different tones and double meaning behind Cat’s not so innocent words sometimes.
“You are saying I was stinking before,” Kara accuses and she isn’t smiling, she looks a little upset even. Cat swallows the burst of laughter that threaten to escape her lips and simply offers a smile instead, a gentle one.
They wander off in Cat’s camp and Kara makes herself comfortable, nested in the seat of an armchair with a book. Cat marvels at how fast Kara is learning but as she watches the woman turn the pages of the novel, her eyes linger a little.
Kara is beautiful, it’s something Cat had always suspected despite the dirt and the strange attitude. She’s tall when she stands up, broad shoulders, strong arms, defined abs caught in a thin waist, muscular legs and her skin has this natural, healthy glow of one that has spent much time under the sun. Her long hair, now clean and free from all the branches and leaves that had been caught in there for who knows how long, is of a golden sun color that sparkle and gleam underneath the sunlight and Cat follows the strands that cascade around Kara’s features, stopping on the half-hidden breast Kara still refuses to cover despite Cat’s best attempts.
A blush rushes to her cheeks and she looks away quickly, busying herself with a book of her own.
“Does Carter like birds?” Kara asks, a few hours later as she closes her book and leaves the armchair. She doesn’t quite walk like a human yet but she has learned to move on her two legs only and while it doesn’t look natural, it’s still better than her previous way to move.
Cat smiles softly and nods. She misses her little boy but she had been promised a fortune for her exploration book and she loves the thrill of adventure too much to feel too guilty about leaving her 7 years old son at home with his nanny.
“He does indeed, why do you ask?” Cat tilts her head to the side and put down her book on her lap, watching as Kara seems to gather her thoughts.
“Do you want to come see the birds? You could … draw some, for him?” Kara asks, sounding hopeful, and something warm and soft rises inside of Cat’s chest.
“I would like that very much,” She accepts the offer and she is stunned to see a smile grace Kara’s lips. A genuine, true smile, far away from that grimace Cat knows she will miss a little but for now, Kara’s entire face is glowing from that smile, it’s raw and pure and as intense as the sunlight.
It doesn’t take long before she finds herself clinging to Kara’s body as the woman climbs along a liana, taking them up, up, up and away.
When they emerge from the densest part of the foliage, Kara gently puts her down on a large and solid branch and she moves a finger to her lips to indicate they must be quiet. Cat nods softly and then looks around.
Her eyes widen at the incredible spectacle she witnesses. Everywhere, on every branch, every liana and every edge available, there are birds, of every size and every colors and she counts at least two dozen of different species. She didn’t notice before because she was focused on not thinking about the height but the air is buzzing with the sounds of bird tweeting and chirping and it’s so beautiful she feels tears fall on her cheeks, happy ones.
A hand comes to brush the salted drops away and a palm, strangely soft for belonging to someone who had spent most of their life in the jungle, presses against her cheek. It’s warm and gentle, kind.
Cat looks up to find Kara’s face barely an inch away from hers and her breath catches in her throat.
She doesn’t know, in this moment, if she is surprised or hopeful or scared, or all three of the above, but when Kara tentatively leans forward, Cat doesn’t turn her head away.
As Dark strolled down the dark corridors of his home, he looked at the portraits of his fellow egos that lined the walls. Each of them painted in incredible detail.
He first passed his own, looking at how the artist had captured the hot red and electric blue of his cracking shell, he noticed the little details that were hidden in them. The red outline seemed to show more details when it came to his eyes, while the blue outline had its focus on his mouth. The mouth in blue was turned up into a smile that bared his teeth which looked like fangs as sharp as daggers. He cast his gaze to the mouth of the normal face, the gray one. His mouth was shut there, emotionless. The eyes were on the blue side, shut, but it was so hard to tell they were shut. His eyes looked so faint there.
He looked back over to the red outline, he saw his eyes in the painting, they looked like they were hiding something. The closest thing he could relate the gaze too was that of a predator, half-lidded yet, focused. Dark checked the mouth of the red shell, like the eyes on the blue side, it was faint, barely there. He finally looked back at the gray face he knew was his own. His hands were set against the edges of his black suit jacket, it made him look more elegant. His eyes were looking down at him, it was like they knew he was watching. His eyes flicked back and forth between the three versions of him he saw in the paintings. He tried his best to take it all in, he thought about why he had been portrayed that way. After reflecting back on it, he couldn’t think of an answer on his own and continued onto the next painting, Wilfords.
Wilford was his equal in the work environment, but outside of that, Dark knew he was stronger and better than him in many aspects. He looked at the details once again and he saw that Wilfords eyes were like those of Marks. Dark glanced back over to his painting, seeing that his eyes were the proper black irises that he knew he had. He thought momentarily that his eyes would have been different too. He looked back up at the painting of his friend, his eyes going to the background. He searched the background for anything hidden, perhaps something that showed his darker side. He found nothing. He looked at Wilfords outfit, the yellow shirt, the pink suspenders and the matching bowtie, and of course his signature warfstache. Nothing was out of place for his, at least not that he could see.
Dark began to form a theory. He walked down the length of the corridor, checking the other paintings, still seeing nothing unusual or out of place. Baffled, he looked around for anyone else. His theory was that only the person in the painting could see more than the others could. He stopped back at his painting and pulled it off the wall, holding it against his side as he ran through the halls. He knocked on every closed door, demanding that anyone inside was to head to the meeting hall right then and there. He ran to the meeting hall and composed himself before anyone arrived. He had placed the painting on the center of the table.
The Host was the first one to walk in. Dark was a little disappointed that the blind man walked in first. The Host asked what was so urgent that Dark had to run through the house to get everyone because he pulled a painting off the wall. Dark knew that The Host always knows what’s going on as it happening. The Host approached the painting. Dark offered him a better perspective, seeing as he had the painting towards himself. The Host did not respond, he simply turned the painting around himself. He asked Dark if it was acceptable if he touched the painting. Dark allowed him, but he would not let the others. Host was his advisor so to speak, he trusts him more than the others he works with.
Dark followed The Host’s fingers as he traced the ridges of the paint. Dark hadn’t noticed it while the painting was still hung on the wall, but his shell was flat against the canvas. He ran his fingers along the edge of his gray face. His face was higher than the illustration of his shell behind him. He asked The Host if he had noticed what he had. The Host agreed, stating that he only felt one person. Dark wasn’t sure how well his advisor would apply to his theory, so he told The Host he was free to go. The Host promptly left. Dark started to get aggravated when his underlings had not arrived yet. He waited in the meeting room for a few short moments before he decided that he needed to get them again. He didn’t care if they didn’t want to come, he needed this solved. He walked back down the corridor he had stolen the painting from and knocked on the doors, gentler this time. He opens the doors and asks people to come down, even if there was no one in the room. Dark then went back and sat down at his spot, the head of the table and waited once again. Soon everyone but The Host piled in and took their normal seats. Dark asked his men what they saw in the painting before them. Everyone looked down at it. Wilford asked what this was really about. Dark replied sternly, he told everyone to write down what they saw and left the room. He left questions with no answers, they did as they were told, not wanting to anger Dark any further.
Dark went back to the corridor and looked at the portraits again. He stopped at the silver shepherds, he oddly looked rather sheepish. The portrait showed Silver hiding in a corner, his cartoonish hands covering his face the upper half of the painting was pitch black. It looked like he was hiding from it. Dark looked along the other portraits, he saw that Bing, Bop, Bim, Jim, and Jim, all looked scared. He walked down to the Google’s shared portait, all but one had a stoic face, and it was little Oliver. He was clinging onto green for dear life, hiding his face in his shoulder. Dark couldn’t believe his eyes because, the painting had returned to normal. He ran down the hall, looking at the other portraits, they had all returned to normal. Dark froze in place. This isn’t real, he thought. It’s not possible. He needed to compose himself, yet he struggled. He placed his head in his shaking hands, something was wrong, he just didn’t know what.
That’s when he felt it, his shell cracked. He screamed, he hunched over himself, gripping to his sides. The ground was cold as ice and harder than stone. Dark looked around, shaking, groaning, clawing at himself. There was nothing there, just pitch black. He cried out for help, needing it. Dark was desperate for anyone to come and save him. He cried, something he hadn’t done in such a long time. He put his hands on the ground, falling to his knees. He felt like throwing up, like bleeding out, he wasn’t used to being this weak. He couldn’t even see his own tears hit the floor. He groaned in pain and sobbed, falling onto his side, he tugged at his hair. It hurts so much, he thought. Is this what I put everyone else through, he kept thinking, reminiscing as he felt helpless. Time was always an obscure concept to him, until now, he was counting each and every minute he was in pain. It was his way to try and distract himself from the pain. He counted 1 to 60 and then back again, trying to remember how many times he had done that. His mind quickly became clouded with numbers. He took off his suit jacket, he felt like he was sweating through it. Dark didn’t want to do anything else, he feared any other actions would be irrational and more stressful. He layed on his back, looking up into the blackness, and hoped that he would wake up.
As his tears rolled his cheeks, Dark wished he wasn’t alone. He wanted to call out and be answered. He wanted to know he wasn’t alone in this void. He thought about Dr. Iplier, and how he would help him feel better. He thought about how Bim would have made him soup to help him feel better. He thought about how he would be cared for by everyone.
‘Well, looks like someone finally cracked.’
Dark shot up, looking for the one who said that. He grabbed his jacket, still weak and shaking.
‘Who, who’s there!?’
Dark knew the voice as his own, yet doubted it. He heard footsteps and looked around the void he was trapped in. His eyes scanned the area, he watched as a faint blue glow grew brighter as it approached him. He felt hands lay on his shoulders, he gasped, jerking his head back to see what was going on. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears, his breath was forced and heavy, the tears had slowed down but they had yet to stop. Red arms led to the hot red face of the portrait. Dark bit his lip as nails dug into his shoulders.
‘You know, I didn’t think stressing out over a painting would have made you crack.’
The blue figure approached him and pulled the hands off his shoulders. The red man growled, muffled, yet still threatening.
‘ Pay no mind to him, he will only hurt you.’
The blue man, spoke calmly, but with a tone Dark knew all too well. It was purely manipulative, false trust, deception, every tactic he needed to get someone in his trap. The red man walked to the blue one, walking through him, getting stuck and becoming a glitchy blue and red amalgamation.
‘Now that I can speak, you WILL listen’
Dark was pushed down back onto the floor. He groaned in pain, all his nerves felt like they were on fire, the pain added from the fall was not dulled, but amplified.
‘ You’re weak, you’ve come to care more about your workers than your own goals.’
Dark opened his mouth to speak, but a stomp to his chest forced all the breath out with an echoing gasp.
‘You finally realized you were using them as you should, and you DIDN’T EMBRACE IT!’
The foot pushed deeper into his chest, Dark gripped at his ankle, trying to get it off so he could breathe once more. The man got off of Dark and kicked his side hard.
‘ YOU’RE WEAK! WE ARE THE ONLY THING MAKING YOU STRONG! YOU WILL LEARN TO HURT AGAIN!’
Dark felt like he was losing consciousness. He couldn’t move his arms, his legs, his lips, nothing.
how did you and your sister get into photography? i wanna get into it and eventually freelance in my spare time when i get enough experience but don't how to begin and 2) have you both done wedding photography and if not is that something you'd be interested in doing? also do you think it's better to be self taught or is it okay to take a photography class at my local community college? like i feel like almost everyone is self taught and idk if taking a class is a waste
We have always been into anything art related. Our parents bought us small digital cameras for our birthday when we were in 5th or 6th grade I believe. We were always taking photos of nature, vacations, and various events. When we got to high school (right around the time dslr cameras were becoming available to everyday consumers not just professionals) my dad bought one for himself. At first our dad wouldn’t let us use it without him there but eventually when we got the hang of using it and he let us take it places without him there. Natasha started taking photos of school events and posting them on Facebook. I started doing the same but a little bit after her. Eventually she bought her own entry level dslr and I bought my dads old dslr when he upgraded his. By sophomore year we were both posting lots of photos on Facebook. We also started asking our friends if we could photograph them. We would style our friends and have mini photoshoots. This was all just for fun for us. We have always been into editorial makeup/photography and styling our own shoots was our way of getting into that. Then during the summer after sophomore year a student asked Natasha to take his senior pictures which she ended up doing did. And later more and more people asked both of us to take their senior pictures. We had no idea how to price anything or what to include in packages initially. After 2-3 years we both were honing in our photography style and were getting better at pricing and guaranteeing a certain level of quality to our clients. When we got to college we would go home and take senior pictures during the summers. In college we took peoples headshots. So it was overtime that we started our photography businesses. We didn’t start photography with the intention of making a business out of it/going into it professionally. We still ask our friends to photograph them and have mini photo shoots that we style. Its important to us to constantly create personal work as well as client work. During all of this we both tried our hand at surreal/photo manipulation photography but it wasn’t for us. By the end of high school and throughout college we also shot a few wedding but both didn’t like photographing weddings. By the time we finished college both of us realized that our favorite genre of photography is portraits. So now we mainly shoot headshots, portraits, and senior pictures professionally and create editorial shoots for our personal work.
Even though we both went to art school neither of us has taken a photography class. The photo department at U of M mainly focused on documentary photography which we were not interested in. Plus the photo professors were known to be sexist and/or racist. We are about 95% percent self taught. One of our digital media professors did help us learn some stuff in photoshop but that’s about it. When either Natasha or I start a hobby we go into it full force lol. So right when we got into photography we followed a TON of photographers online and were constantly trying to figure out how they edited there photos so we could improve our editing. Over the course of 8 years we have really developed our photography styles and editing skills. Early on we would sometimes try and copy other photographers which helped us figure out what we liked and disliked for our own photography. I don’t encourage people to copy other artists especially if they are going to sell their work. But it can be helpful when figuring out your own style but it’s important to make sure you are not ripping someone off and give credit where credit is due. When I would use another artists idea I always explained in the description who the artist was and linked to their work. A photographer I know was notorious for copying another well known photographer but her audience thought she was super original because they didn’t know about the well known photographer. Plus you will never be as good as the original photographer/artist and will end up constantly comparing yourself which is no fun lol.
Even though both of us are self taught I don’t think taking photography classes is a bad idea if you think it will help you learn. One of my favorite illustrators, Sam Spratt, took many illustration classes when he was at SCAD but that doesn’t mean he is any better or worse than other illustrators that are completely self-taught. I always wanted to take commercial/fashion lighting classes but they were never offered at my university. I also would love to take some photography workshops but they the ones I want to take (Lara Jade’s in particular) are too expensive for me. Also as an artist I’ve generally been self-taught. I had a few great drawing teachers and professors in high school (I took a college drawing class in high school) who helped me a lot. But when it comes down to being an artist you really have to push yourself to make stuff outside of class. This was a challenge for a lot of my classmates once we graduated. A lot of them didn’t know how to create work outside of class. (I’m simplifying a lot here bc i could go on and on about how much i disliked or liked u of m’s art school lol) My whole life I’ve been making stuff outside of class so creating a photography business wasn’t super difficult for me.
This brings me to the business/freelance part. Turning something you are passionate about into a business can be great and horrible. A lot of my friends don’t freelance because the business side of it destroys their interest in the art. Some of my clients are very particular and they don’t always like the photos I take. But this is something I have to get past. Also over time you start to get better clients because they come to you knowing what they will get. Early on people would hire me because they knew I took photos not because they liked my style of photography (I hope that makes sense). Now people know what they are getting and it’s less likely that a client will be unsatisfied with their photos. As a freelancer keep in mind that it’s a lot of emails and advertising yourself. Yes it’s great that I can make money off of something I love doing but I have to keep in mind that it’s still a business. When I first started out clients would ask for lower prices and I would lower them because I didn’t want to lose a client and I didn’t know if I was too expensive or not. This was fine at first but now I don’t budge on my prices because now I know my worth and it’s not fair to my other clients to change prices. Also photography gear can get expensive and when you freelance/do photography professionally there is a point when you’ll probably to invest in professional gear. Part of this is to put you among other photographers in the industry but the physical quality of your photos will also improve. This way you can better guarantee what a client will get. Ex. my dad’s old dslr that I used had a cropped sensor so if the lighting wasn’t the best i couldn’t edit the photos as much in photoshop as I can with a full frame camera. Basically I just want to make it clear that once you start freelancing it’s a business so just like other business you have to know when and where to invest and how much.
I’m sure you were not expecting this long of answer but I hope it helped!
Here is the second installment of my Parallels in VKM posts! This time, I’ll be examining the parallels between Yuuki’s relationship with Zero and her relationship with Kaname, as well as the contrast between Zero’s relationship with Ai and Kaname’s relationship with Yuuki.
My personal belief is that Hino has chosen these particular parallels to deconstruct the relationship between Yuuki and Kaname, as well as to further highlight Yuuki’s growing similarities to Kaname’s character and how that has impacted her relationship with Zero, who is now, in a sense, fulfilling Yuuki’s role from the Kuran Manor Arc.
Disclaimer: Due to the controversial nature of this post, I have tagged it as anti yume out of consideration for those who might take offense. With this warning out of the way, the rest of my post can be found behind the cut.
summary: after the accident, you were told your memories would come back to you, but it had been 3 years and you still didn't know who you really were. Bucky remembers you, you were one of the things he clearly remembered but when he approached you and the life that had once flourished in your eyes was gone, as with the memory of him, was it worth the risk of telling you?
“There used to be 5 of us…but now I’m all alone.” murmured the girl.
her fingertips played with a thread which she had found uncut on the oversized jacket that hung off her shoulders. with hollow eyes, her attention became fixed to the room that confined her. it was rather large, larger than she had realized since she had entered and to the left of where she now sat, was pure glass stretching right across the wall in hopes of showing off the forest that surrounded the building. the view was comforting to (y/n) as tho she found peace in the mystery which lurked behind the parts of the forest that was visible. directly opposite her was another chair made from creme leather, accommodated by a woman whose blonde hair fell a little too perfect just above her shoulders. The woman’s eyes drifted back and forth from the patient to her note book, jotting down things that her patient spoke as she tried to understand and help in any way that she could.
1 hour had passed since you had walked into her office and she had only gotten a few things from you, yet amazed at how open and strong you were considering the things you had spoken of.
She took note of the accident which resulted in the death of your family and she took into account of how little you remember of what happened, or where you were going that day. But, what seemed strange was how when she asked about the years before the tragedy, confusion washed acrosses your face.
“the nurse on staff that night told me that the crash resulted in my memory loss, she told me that with time they would eventually come back but 3 years have passed by and it’s all still a blur. The hardest part of it all was not knowing who i was, not being able to remember the years before the crash and trying to build the foundation of my life back up again.
friends would come up to me yet all i would see was a stranger and a relative would talk to me as if we had known each other forever,” you mumbled, snapping the thread which you had been twirling between the pads of your fingers.
“I guess the only good thing that came out of it all is, because there was no memory or emotional context linked between my family and me, there was no feeling of grief or sadness when the nurse broke the news ”
The woman, whose gaze was in her book with a gold pen at hand scribbling down every word that had just been spoken was too much in trance, that she didn’t hear the click of the door as you made you way out of the building and back to what you only remembered
a week had passed by since you had gone to see a therapist, although you heard great things about that specific facility, the boredom of sitting in that room, with a woman who you barely knew didn’t feel welcoming, or right. thou three 3 years had passed by and the struggle of trying to grasp onto your past still haunted you whether you denied it or not, you began to find something to appreciate as the sunlight shone through your window each morning, even if it had to be as little as the breath of morning air.
with the silence that followed the stop of your typing fingers, and the close of your MacBook marked that your day was finished, you leaned back in your chair with back arching in harmony with your arms towering high above your head, stretching out from the frozen position you had once been it. slouching your way over to the open wardrobe, you snatched your running gear from the shelf it was neatly placed on and slowly got changed. There wasn’t much motivation to go for a run tonight, but you found the empty streets and cold air calming, as if this type of atmosphere was something you were used to in the past, it brought the sense of what you thought home might feel like. Your feet guided you out the streets where normally people would crowd your path, and onto a stretch of land where trees rose towards the moonlight. you were always a sucker for scenic views and loved the feeling of how the glow of every window that you passed, illustrated an individual, living in their own little world.
And As you went on to stare at the path in front of you, and take in the view of the buildings flooding the sky, something felt off. Adrenalin rushed through your body and natural instincts kicked in. you found your arms were crossed over in defense, whilst your torso and legs were in a fighting stance. with squinted eyes, you mapped out the area trying to find something which wasn’t familiar, and as a crack of a stick came from behind, an unwelcome feeling of danger crept in. the mere second that every thing played out, you knew you were too late, you wouldn’t be able to turn around fast enough to see what or who had triggered that noise. the next thing you knew was A cold sensation embracing your shoulder. A chilling sting sent shivers to your core, but not before you noticed how much the shape resembled fingers.
“снег” the figure behind you breathed close to your right ear, slowly releasing the grip around your shoulder.
using this as your only moment to escape you brought both your elbows to the stomach of who was behind you succeeding in Hearing a painful moan leave lips of who ever had grabbed you. without turning back, your legs broke into a sprint, running faster than you ever thought you could. Your ears pounded, but it wasn’t enough to stop the sound of heavy footsteps gaining up on you.
“снег” The figure called out again in a masculine voice
“снег” he cried out again while still on your 6
“(Y/N)” pleaded the man followed by his footsteps coming to a halt.
Spinning around to the plea of your name, your eyes widened when noticing the man who had just touched you had, in fact, a metal arm. It illuminated in the darkness as the moonlight bounced off the plated arm, the sight took your thoughts away as you felt bound to the glow as if in those few moments you felt complete… until you caught sight of the red star an inch below the shoulder of the metal.
Gulping down the bile which had risen to your throat at the sight of the star, your (e/c) eyes glanced up to meet his face. the dim light which cascaded across his skin made his cheeks looked chiseled, well what you could make out due to his long black hair taking covering his face. hesitantly looking up to face him, you were meet with icy blue eyes pooling into your own. Panic consumed your body, you could feel your chest tighten as you began to struggle to breathe, you felt as though the eyes that stared back at you, could not just view your appearance, but also your soul.
“Who are you?” is all you managed choak out.
“what do you mean who are you? we trained together…” bleated the man whose brows were now stitched together,
you both stood in silence for a few moments, neither knowing what to say.
“Sorry, I’m Bucky I must have the wrong person… you just really remind me of someone” he managed to say before disappearing into the evening.
looking around back to the illuminated windows and trees that soared high above, you tried to ground yourself back into reality, not knowing what to make out of the strange encounter. as you finally felt your feet pick up the pace again the name of the man who you had just seen played of your mind. what did he mean train with? who the hell is bucky? people had come upto you before that had known the part of you which had been forgotten, but something about this time felt different, as though he might have been apart of your life. a lost feeling emerged from a forgotten place deep within, you felt a sort of grief, and as you tried to remember pushing yourself harder then you ever had before, your cheeks became stained with hot sticky tears.
“STEVE” bellowed bucky as he made his way out of the elevator and into the compound. his fists were clenched at his sides as he marched towards steves room, but just before he could knock on the door he was greeted by his old friend who didn’t see to pleased to see him at this hour of the night.
“what is it Bucky’ groaned steve “its like one in the morning cant it wait till tomorrow”
“i saw her, she was running through the park and didn’t even recognize me”
“what?.. who did you see, and what were you doing out this late at night?” Steve questioned wandering out of the door frame and into the kitchen to grab a drink of water. he was used to Buckys nightmares but wasn’t use to seeing him like this. bucky was on Steves heels taking a seat at the breakfast bar.
“From my time as the winter soldier, I trained with снег, her real name was (y/n). we spent years together, going on missions and training together. i might not remember a lot but the memory of her is clear as day. And then she disappeared, and I went into cryo”
he was about to continue when steve butted in
“Are you sure it was her? and not someone else?” asked Steve downing the last drop of water from his glass.
“it was her, she had the same scar on her right shoulder that I left” whispered Bucky “ and it was like the life had left her eyes when she turned to me, she seemed so lost, so distant, so cold like снег(snow)”
steve watched as Bucky eyes scrunched together as he talked about her, and he couldn’t help but here the pain mixed with affection in his voice.
“go to bed buck, get some sleep because tomorrow is going to be a long day”
We are constantly deep-diving through Instagram to find posts that just SPEAK to us. The second we found Violet Clair, we went on an endless scroll of like after like. Created by Samantha Rothenberg, Violet Clair is a creative brand stemming from her illustrations, making everything from single comic panels, to pins and keychains. We all know that if there’s one thing to get us hooked when it comes to anything, it’s a pastel palette. DONE. SOLD.
Last month, we got to step inside Samantha’s Brooklyn apartment and took a trip to the bold, colorful street mural she recently designed!
Hello, Charity. Being ENFP, how does it factor into running this blog? Did it in any way contribute to its inception?
In the sense that I took an interest in MBTI and started ‘talking about it’ while I was learning about it, yes; I thought typing characters would be a fun way to learn and like a lot of NP’s / intuitives in general, I started off long before I had a substantial knowledge base to work off of. It’s been a continual learning process that has slackened off in my interest in the last couple of years, since I’ve kind of exhausted most of the available resources – although I am still interested in learning more / hearing about interaction between types, to expand my knowledge.
One of the reasons I started this blog and maintain it is out of the hope that it could educate in a fun way – that by reading profiles of characters and why / how they think as they do, people might start recognizing patterns in them and come to find their own type in the process. =)
Seems to me you’ve been at this for years, and it occurred to me that you have to deal with answering tons of questions. That must require patience.
Yes, it does, sometimes more than I have to offer (patience is not my strong suit!). And as my interest wanes, my enthusiasm for answering them has also waned – but sometimes I get a great question that demands a fun or deep answer and that usually fires me up to respond; especially if I feel re-framing something in a new way could help people understand a function better.
And it’s safe to assume you get a lot of similar questions, and about personal problems and such. Does it drain you?
I do, yes.
To be honest, the questions that could be answered by the user doing a simple SEARCH (you can find almost anything on this blog by typing it into Google along with “funkymbti” – for example, “Stranger Things funkymbti” or “fe vs fi funkymbti or even by using this blog’s very own search engine) I find irritating for obvious reasons. I don’t mind questions because people are always learning and/or discovering the blog, so I do wind up answering some of the same things multiple times in different ways; but sometimes I just point them to a similar answered ask.
I receive a lot of questions about ‘are these two types romantically compatible,’ and I always answer that MBTI has nothing to do with that; two people of the same type are not the same, and unless you’re wondering how to communicate better due to Fe/Fi differences, I can’t answer that, because I don’t know the Enneagram type, the mental health levels, or traumas of the individuals involved. Hence why I urge people not to date or break up depending on MBTI type! (My parents have no functions in common, get along splendidly, and have been married 35+ years, because both are agreeable, mentally healthy people.) Pick someone who makes you a better person, regardless of type. ;)
Does it drain me? If it requires anything other than Ne (abstraction, etc), yes, it can be draining. Coming up with specific examples from my own life is hard – but I prefer to use them instead of abstract hypothetical situations.
(You have high Fi, so, how do you empathize with issues that don’t resonate with yours?)
I do care very much about people, but I focus more on ‘fixing the problem’ and ‘offering solutions’ than trying to offer emotional reassurances beyond ‘I’m sorry you had to go through that,’ etc. Some people just want to know their type – others have deep hurts. I’m not a psychologist, so anything I don’t know about, I simply say I don’t know… or I will point them to resources.
I actually do not really like typing people online, since you can get a ‘false’ image of them / may tend to rely on stereotypes a lot, so usually what I do when people ask for help on that front is to further illustrate functions for them / ask them to read different sources, and then will answer questions if they have them / tell them if I get a stronger sense of one function or another. I was mistyped by others online so much, I became rather insecure about it – so I do not want to make that mistake with anyone else and/or ‘force’ a type onto them.
Does it bore you, or even irk you, perhaps?
Sometimes, yes. I do get tired of answering “what’s the difference between ENFP and INFP?” every couple of weeks. (I think I now have at least 3 pages of comparisons between the two in the enfp x infp tag!) But … I can also understand how confusing cognition is, how hard it can be to tell the difference between functions, and how hard it can be to decide between two similar types, particularly if you are a shy person or have social anxiety, or an Enneagram type that makes you less risk-taking and/or more risk-taking than is usual for your type. (I go through a minor typing crisis of my own at least once a year, as I debate whether I’m an ENFP or an INFP… so believe me, I GET IT. And it frustrates me if I can’t help you figure out your type; I hate to leave people with as many questions as when they arrived, but people are COMPLICATED, and there are a MILLION factors that go into who you are and why you are the way you are and how your brain works! So there is no ‘quick’ method to MBTI.)
Sometimes, I run in circles with someone and feel like my brain has turned inside out and all the lines between the functions blur until I can’t distinguish them anymore – and those are the days when I think, “Why the hell are you even doing this?”
What keeps you going?
The thought that out there somewhere may be a person for whom this blog can help, by allowing them to say, “AH, THAT’S WHY I THINK THIS WAY!” I really desperately want people to understand how to communicate with one another – so even on my worst days, that keeps me from hitting the DELETE button; the idea that out there someone may discover one of these pages and go, “Oh, so that’s why I can’t make my best friend / boyfriend / girlfriend / parent / child understand me! And that’s why they think the way they do!”
Part of this is because I used to fight ALL THE TIME with my ISFJ friend, until we discovered MBTI – and it explained everything about her, so that I was able to understand why she loves what she loves, and why I couldn’t seem to give her what she needed / wanted from me (Fi/Fe problems) – and then… we have never had another fight since. Once we ‘got’ each other, that was it. Oh, we still annoy one another a little bit, but I don’t expect anything from her she cannot give and she doesn’t expect ultra-gush from me. I value that so much, the idea that I could help someone else find it, keeps me going.
And have you ever wanted to give it up?
Yep, about once a month at least.
Also, how does sticking to the one topic of MBTI keep your Ne satisfied?
It doesn’t. That’s why I dabble a little in Enneagram / Socionics from time to time, read lots of psychology books, and have a lot of side projects going on in my free time. Although… typing new characters is also kind of fun, especially as I wonder what kind of response they may generate (how popular will this one be? has anyone even SEEN this movie?! is someone of that type out there going to be super excited that their favorite character IS THEIR SAME TYPE??). I suppose I also have this secret desire to ensure everyone has tons of characters who share their type, hopefully COOL characters, so that they can realize that no type is more awesome than another, and can feel good about being an ____.
(This is why it annoys me there’s so many ‘evil’ NJ villains and not enough SFJ villains!)
Or is that very narrow minded of me to limit your Ne like that?
It’s not narrow at all; Ne needs newness all the time to stay interested – but as I said, there will always be new movies / television shows to ponder. ;)
I want to expand on it below, but rather than looking at Reyes as someone who likes to be in control, I want to suggest that Reyes is someone who is comfortable with being in control, and there is a difference.
Reyes when romanced is indeed most of the time physically leading the interactions with Ryder, taking the active role whereas Ryder responds by following Reyes’ lead. This doesn’t necessarily mean that Reyes particularly desires to be the one leading - but it does tell he as experience leading, and thus feels comfortable leading. And with Ryder being so comfortable following his lead, I think it is natural that this is how their physical interactions will pan most of the time.
Why I want to suggest this doesn’t necessarily mean Reyes likes being in control is because of his reactions when it is Ryder who initiates or takes the lead. It doesn’t happen often, but it happens. We see it when Ryder uses his own line on him (he smiles fondly for a moment, before he turns around to respond. That delay could suggest he didn’t expect it, but he clearly enjoys being surprised. Someone who likes or feels a need to be in control does not like being surprised, I believe). We also see it when Ryder uses a kiss for distraction (once again, a pause then a positive reaction, and more importantly Reyes makes no attempt to take control over that kiss, just responds in kind, taking the situation in stride). I think in the cave, if Ryder flipped them around and took control, Reyes wouldn’t protest. Reyes previous reactions say otherwise, say he might’ve been surprised but that he’s quite capable of following as well as leading, even if he has a tendency for leading.
Ok, I got a bit carried away below, ahaha, trying to analyse Reyes and his motivations. If you don’t mind me going a little academic over all this, please continue.
I had a couple questions about the tools I took with me on my trip to Iceland, so I figured it’d be nice to do a quick visual guide to what I carry when I’m in the field making art! Read on under the cut if you want some more thoughts on choosing your tools and The Quest for the Magic Pencil.
Awkward Anime Episode 5: Tonari no Totoro (My Neighbor Totoro)
I only used this one Gif for this movie today. Why? Because for me this Gif sums up everything great about the film.
Love it. Seriously, what is there to say about this movie? There is really no need to analyse this movie. It’s not supposed to be this huge cinematic adventure that the rest of the world has portrayed it as. Hayao Miyazaki’s words:
“Slay the villain,everybody’s happy. I can’t make those kind of films”
This movie is sensational. The idea of a simple innocent children movie with no antagonist in the 1980’s movie industry - not only in Japan but around the world - was simply unheard of. Miyazaki stated himself that as a young animator/director he had a very difficult time convincing the hierarchy to give the green light on a simple animation. As a matter of fact, Hayao Miyazaki first drew up the concept of Totoro as a children’s book. It took 15 years to turn his idea into a full animated feature!
Curiosity. That is how I would describe this and numerous other Ghibli works with one word. Curiosity. Miyazaki loves creating “normal” characters that don’t stand out much, UNTIL that spark happens. In My Neighbor Totoro, the inspiration for the “monster in the forest” came from Miyazaki spending time at a “big old house, alone, on top of a cliff
by the sea, and I would be in one room but it felt like there were
other people living in the other rooms.” As children, even when we’re alone at any age in a house, we all feel it, right? Any little sound makes us believe someone is there, or something. Miyazaki finds that presence wonderfully interesting: “When I would go out for a walk, I thought they would be lonely, so I turned on my radio to entertain them while I’m out!”
I honestly am having a hard time trying to figure out what to say here. Just go out, buy the DVD, relax on the couch and watch it. Parents, watch it with your kids. It is a relaxing, art orientated movie. That curiosity of the girls chasing their imaginative minds into the forest. Totoro is the cutest mf ever, though that smile does still creep me out a little!
The art in this movie is phenomenal. Nothing over the top. Just girls running through different parts of the countryside. The rain dropping on to the ground, the wind whispering then shouting, swaying the fields back and forth. Simply beautiful. I also want to praise the animators on the angles and the detail of the children’s emotions. The emotions of Mei especially, stood out a lot to me. The animators did a fantastic job, like always! I would love to sit back and watch the people at Studio Ghibli or Chizu just draw out a background for a scene. Have you ever wondered how long it takes? It must take a while!
Favourite Scene? Like many people, my favourite scene in this movie is the sisters waiting for their Dad at the bus stop and they look up to see that Totoro is next to them. The sound effects of the rain, the silence. No music, just rain dropping on to the ground, that always gives me goosebumps, relaxes me in a way.
“Back then, a story without a hero or a girl with superpowers and the ordinary Japanese scenery as a backdrop was not considered entertaining enough”
My Neighbor Totoro. Sit back, relax and adore. The art, the background, and of course adore the stamina of the girls! Like WOW! :D
10/10. A Simplistic Relaxing Adventure.
Until Next time, remember to eat those tiny trees…