TLLH Characters Personality Types (WIP; still refining)

These are based on both the four-dimensions model and cognitive functions. These two methods aren’t the most compatible at times, but I tried to give them equal weight in judgment. Of course, I’m no expert in this topic, but I guess I do have some knowledge about it ^^
I only included the characters that I have a pretty good idea of the personalities of, meaning the ones that appear more often. Feel free to voice any opinions you have!
A couple of explanatory notes are included for some extra info.

Robinsons
Ernest – INTJ
Colette – ENFP (Ne-Fi as the dominant & secondary traits seem to match her pretty well, and the following Te-Si are nice supplements. Se as a dominant trait (ESFP) is a possibility too, of course, but I think Colette’s more leaning towards intuition.)
Lily – ENTJ
Jean – INTP
Fernand – ISFP
Marcel – ESTP
Gaston – IxFP

Robinsons’ family
Robert – ExTP, probably ESTP
Lucy – xNFJ
René – IxTJ (He’s rather hard to type, and I'll be reconsidering this.)
Emilie – IxFJ
Pierre – ISTJ
Jeanne – ESTJ
Mrs. Guibert – ENTJ (I was rewatching the earlier episodes recently, and I’ve realized how much tact she had in dealing/negotiating with Tissier and Baptiste, so that suggests extraversion, or more specifically Te. She’s a bit fussy and overbearing towards Jean, but her attitude to him running off like that in episode 7 was closer to one of curiosity than exasperation, and she also gives off a vibe of just understanding and subtly thinking about everything, so I think Ni/intuition would be a good fit too.)

Germans
Hans – ESTJ
Otto – ISFJ (I've actually thought a lot about this and I came to the conclusion that this was the best fit – it'll take a long time to explain why, but if you disagree then I can describe my reasoning in more detail :> so please object to this or ask about it ahaha, I really want to talk about it but I have no motivation to )
Colonel von Krieger – INFJ (his overall polite, flower-loving, and rather impulsive demeanor seems to suggest Fe/feeling as a secondary function. I don’t know where exactly I got the Ni from; it just seems to fit pretty well xD as for the introvert and judging traits I think they’re self explanatory. After all is said and all is done, I think that von Krieger really wasn’t too bad. Perhaps that moment with taking so many hostages out of anger was questionable, but he really wasn’t that cruel, especially considering how all of his actions were in reprisal of the Resistance sabotage. He’s not a sympathetic character, I get that. But still better than, say, Durand or Hans.)

Other town folks
Baptiste – ENFP
Durand – ISTP
Mr. Tissier – ExTJ
Mr. Herpin – INFJ

I'm planning to add more characters (Paul, Rosie, Lt. Douglas, Mr. Guibert, etc.) when I have time ^^ do keep in mind that I'm still in the process of rewatching the show and I'll be updating this with changes as I make new observations.
In any case, I strongly encourage you to check out the show!

I like Otto.
He’s so cool :0
Hans is so ugly and dumb.







April fools hehe

I like Hans.
He’s so cool :0
Otto is so ugly and dumb.







April fools hehe

Analysis of ATLWCS

Heavy spoilers; proceed at your own risk!
No one asked for this but I really liked how iNtRoSpEcTiVe I was while writing this lol

When he saved Marie-Laure, Werner certainly defied fate. His inner reflection in the previous section demonstrated his past actions and beliefs. “Frederick said we don’t have choices, don’t own our lives, but in the end it was Werner who pretended there were no choices, Werner who watched Frederick dump the pail of water at his feet–I will not–Werner who stood by as the consequences came raining down.” Werner was never proactive, never acting for his beliefs and conscience, until now. Despite outside forces that are outside of control, there are still choices that could be made in life. And his whole life had been leading up to this one choice that he could make, that would have a positive effect on the world: “All your life you wait, and then it finally comes, and are you ready?” Later, when Werner talks with Marie-Laure, she says something that reflects her personality: “When I lost my sight, Werner, people said I was brave. When my father left, people said I was brave. But it is not bravery; I have no choice. I wake up and live my life. Don’t you do the same?” Perhaps her situation is reality for her, but the way she handled everything maturely and responsibly is admirable. So many bad things had happened to her, and yet she still persevered, holding a bright outlook on life and doing good. She was the one who really saw the truth, despite her physical blindness. This contrasts sharply with Werner’s situation, and so he is right when he says “Not in years. But today. Today maybe I did.” For so long he had held silent against the injustices he saw, being willingly blinded to them. But for one day, in one lifetime, he finally acted. He had finally fulfilled Henri’s prophecy so long ago: “Open your eyes and see what you can with them before they close forever.” For a brief moment, at this point, near the end of his life, his moral “eyes” were opened and he had acted on what he saw. And there in the house, he saw and remembered the broadcasts, Birds of America, and Marie-Laure. They reminded him of his childhood, Frederick, and Jutta; these memories, which he had once failed to act on, are now revived once he did the right thing.

Even in his death, the flashes of the old Werner are visible. He poses one last question in delirium before he dies: “Why doesn’t the wind move the light?”. This is reminiscent of his childhood curiosity, and it shows how Werner has maybe finally returned to his innocence in death. And his death by landmine also shows how his life really had all led up to his encounter with Marie-Laure: after surviving his first encounter with death, he failed to withstand the second. He was deprived of the possibility to continue, to draw on his newfound will to act on his conscience, to use his skills and dreams to achieve great things in the world. And this is what makes N@z!sm and the war so brutal.

Evil Lieutenant Douglas AU (WIP)

Based off a dream I had xDDD
This is still a work-in-progress! It's super messy and incoherent right now (the scattered dialogue I wrote was for inspo; I'll add dialogue tags and actions later)

Gaston is gonna pull a “bLuEsTaR's YoUr MoThEr!!!” (I mean, not exactly, but you know what I mean) to save Otto

(hmmm maybe I'll put it here when I'm done)

Okay analysis, bad fanfic


Ima write angsty Kurt death thing bc why not

A-Sad-Invention wrote:

Okay analysis, bad fanfic

WOWWWWW MISTY
both were decent imo ):<

A-Sad-Invention wrote:

Ima write angsty Kurt death thing bc why not

I thought you're only gonna do that if Otto doesn't appear in the TLLH game :0
but sure, why not?

It just sounds fun lol

A-Sad-Invention wrote:

It just sounds fun lol

That makes sense lol, angst is just so satisfying to write sometimes

Hello

BF102 wrote:

Hello

Hello! Welcome to my thread ^^ any comments on my writing?
I do think that you should contact me on my profile if you want to talk, since this thread is mostly for my works :>

(Poem I wrote for school lol)

Title is self-explanatory, hehe

Delicate, powerful,
Savoring drops of afternoon sunlight

Yellow butterfly hovers before the mural,
Speck of color against the vivid sight

The breeze boosts the butterfly,
Strengthens its flight

Butterfly spreads wide,
Taking in nature’s might.

Joyful, carefree,
Unaware of humanity’s plight

Creamy wings
Reach for the sky

Butterfly dances for itself
Putting on its own show

Does not know of the staring eyes,
Does not know

Sandy-Dunes wrote:

I thought you're only gonna do that if Otto doesn't appear in the TLLH game :0

*does appear, actually. Because there's a really high chance that he won't D:

Sandy-Dunes wrote:

Sandy-Dunes wrote:

I thought you're only gonna do that if Otto doesn't appear in the TLLH game :0

*does appear, actually. Because there's a really high chance that he won't D:

Actually….

LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THIS IS THE BEST THING I'VE SAW ALL DAY
After being overloaded with evil chemistry homework and burned with hot glue and denied a cat,
OTTO AYAASLDKFJAS;LDFKJAS;DLFKJASD;LFKJAS;LDKJ

Sandy-Dunes wrote:

A-Sad-Invention wrote:

Ima write angsty Kurt death thing bc why not

I thought you're only gonna do that if Otto does appear in the TLLH game :0

HAHA LOOKS LIKE SOMEONE HAS TO WRITE A SCENE FOR ME >:3
BUT I HONESTLY DON'T CARE AS MUCH ABOUT THAT AS OTTO APPEARING HIMSELF

Poem I wrote for school #2 lol

Again, title is self-explanatory. The first poem is here!
We had to do a weird writing exercise in class (writing with our non-dominant hand) and write with our “unexplored” part of the brain or something. I don't really know. All I know is that it was super messy xD.

Vine green,
blinding me,
choking my heart.

The world receded
further, further, further away.
It was just me,
and the light.
So soft, pale, comforting,
loving.

Am I ready to go?
“It didn’t have to be this way.”

Why couldn’t I have waited?
They were still waiting,
waiting for me to be back,
yet I am here and I will never return.
Never.

Sorrow,
spilling from a bucket onto me,
drowning me.

Deeper, darker
Soundless vacuum.
The sky. A quiet, misty blue.

Home.
I am going home.

I Cannot Hear A Nightingale

If this didn't have a title it would obviously be a Poem I wrote for school #3 lol. It's based off of this tutorial (my teacher chose it).
First poem here, second poem here.

In the quiet standstill of dusky evening
I cannot hear a nightingale.

But not far from my musing
A video’s volume dominates the silence
Voices drawing in and out
A choir, a chorus, speaking of crowds
Yet merely radiating from a device of sound

I hear tires rumble against the road
Hoarse-voiced odes to their journey
Sometimes they all leave or stop
Brief calm
Then tranquility breaks and cars press on

Among the crowd a giant staggers to a stop
It coughs and splutters, voicing its exhaust
As if infected
With permanent lung disease
If buses had lungs.

And the ambiance stirs
A silence in itself
In every dot of living room light,
People lounge in their idle inner worlds,
As the noisy quiet swirls around.

And from this solitude
Through the omnipresent hums
Dreams are unleashed
From the soul’s depths
Blossoming to life in the melody

Joining Together At Last

You can also call it Short story I wrote for school lol B)
The title was really last-minute and rushed; me and the friend who helped me edit (K, who also helped me read The Journey We Must Take) both couldn't think of a title, so I just decided to go with a Sabaton lyric xD take a look at my signature!
I'm too lazy to explain what this short story is about, so you'll just have to read yourself.

Sunsets on the Babbitt family farm are always a spectacular sight. Every day Zinnia Babbitt, the only child of the family, would sit on the fence, her legs swinging gaily about. The sky lights up in a grand swirl of fiery colors, and then cools down once more, the pale pink and bright gold dissolving into the darkening blue. The golden meadows filled with wildflowers shift in the light breeze and cooling air. Zinnia’s parents shuffle about in the house, and the mouth-watering scent of dinner wafts through the doorway. True bliss.

But today something was different. Somehow, she could sense a malevolent atmosphere over the farm. It was probably nothing, maybe just the chill of late fall getting to her. Zinnia was never one to be preoccupied with such trivial fears. She half-heartedly shrugged, then leaped off of the fence into the cushiony grass.

Dinner was a cheerful time of the day, as usual. Her mother Lydia served warm, soft bread topped with peppered butter and a cob of corn. A rather strange combination, especially from the perspective of a more modern era, but it was common in the household, and delicious too.

After a few moments of the family of three eating in silence, Zinnia’s father cleared his throat. “Have you heard about what happened to the Morrisons?” It wasn’t clear if he was talking to Zinnia or her mother. But nevertheless, they both shook their heads.

“Well, the local news is that they’ve moved to some town over the hills,” Roger Babbitt continued, waving his buttered bread.

“Really? Why?” Zinnia asked. The Morrisons were a large family who lived nearby. They weren't extremely well-to-do, but like almost everyone else in the region, they had enough to make a living. One of them, a cheerful girl named Natasha, was a good friend of Zinnia's, fourteen years old just like her. Or to be precise, one of the only three friends that Zinnia had; the countryside wasn’t very populated, as countrysides go. Natasha hadn’t talked much about moving away, which was rather strange. She was outgoing, and Zinnia felt that if it was important, then Natasha wouldn’t have said so little about it.

”They said they wanted to go to the city to make some more money,“ Roger replied.

”I don't understand,“ Lydia spoke up, seeming slightly worried. ”It's never something that they cared about before now. There must be something more to it.“

”Well, maybe. Let's not jump to conclusions right now. They'll send a letter or something else back, I'm sure."

Lydia finally nodded, and the dinner table fell silent again. Zinnia didn’t pay much attention to this strange conversation, confident that the Morrisons will return eventually… right?



They didn’t. What’s more, over the next weeks, quite a few of the other nearby families left as well, apparently for the same reason: to get some money out of the trip. They’ve written back, of course, but none of them had offered to return.

“This is suspicious,” Roger said one day to a crowd of farmers at the community’s weekly gathering. In the past few meetings no one brought it up, but now it was what everyone had been thinking; it had been a month since the first families left, and none of those gone had ever come back.

“I’ve heard that someone kidnapped them.”

“It really looked like they weren’t going to be leaving permanently.”

“Why else would they leave their land?”

Zinnia watched as the group debated what really happened and, more importantly, how to bring the families back. Maybe, she thought, we should go find some clues. The arguing adults seemed unlikely to help her. So, she decided to just go by herself.

First, the Morrisons’ house. They had left first, after all.

After some minutes of walking along the dusty road, she finally arrived. Peering through the translucent windows, she saw it was just like the neighbors had said; everything seemed to be normal, at least in the living room. No exceptional neatness nor messiness – the only things missing from the house were the inhabitants. Though it did seem like a few supplies were gone. The Morrisons probably packed them while going away.

Then Zinnia caught sight of something on a wooden table in the living room. A piece of crumpled paper, next to something yellow. She wondered what it was. Then, thinking that it would possibly help with her search, Zinnia stepped inside. She briefly wondered whether it would be unethical to go inside in a situation like this, then decided that it would be fine. For one thing, the Morrisons probably wouldn’t return very soon, and the paper on the table might be helpful. So she tried the door. Unlocked. Zinnia opened it and let herself inside.

The paper turned out to be a letter – or rather a note, scrawled hastily in pencil. “Dear Zinnie, we’re going to leave today, I hope you could see this, but you might not. We’re going to have to go quick or else we might not get there in time…”

There was no more to the note, and Zinnia was left disappointed. The yellow she saw from outside turned out to be a couple of daisies. They were left in a glass bottle filled with water, or at least it had been filled with water, since the glass was empty and the daisies were drying up. Zinnia, not wanting to stay longer, took the daisies home.



It has been 6 weeks since the Morrisons’ disappearance, and the farm families were on the borderline of desperation. It was just so strange – why would they just disappear out of the blue? Zinnia has wondered that many times herself.

“Don’t we go into town all the time?” she piped up curiously one day. The family had just eaten breakfast, and Roger was at another meeting. “I thought that we had to, or else we wouldn’t have any supplies.

Her mother nodded. “That’s true. But they went south, over the hills. Not north.”

“Over the hills? That’s an odd place to go.”

“I know.”

The hills over the valley were beautiful and dotted with green woodland. But over the hills were thick and dark forests, from what Zinnia recalled from the journeys she took with her father to see it. Everything came from the town up north, so no one had ever bothered to go past the woods.

So Zinnia came to a sure conclusion on this: aside from the money, there was no reason for anyone to have been going there! So it must have been a really promising opportunity if the families chose to venture into the unknown.

“Should we go and find them?” she proposed to her father. He paused, looking thoughtful.

“That’s what everyone had been asking me to do,” he finally said. “Alright, then, I’ll discuss it at the council.”

“Isn’t it the first thing that you’ve thought of, though?” Zinnia asked.

“Yes… but we have to be careful about this,” Roger replied.



But in any case, it was decided that there would be a team sent out to search for the Morrisons and the other families in the town. Back in those days, there were not yet any automobiles, and there was no quick way to get through the forest, so Zinnia’s and the other farm families decided to go around it. They packed up their belongings into covered wagons, hitched up their horses, and set out.

The yellow daisies Zinnia had found were now potted, making some sort of recovery. She touched them tentatively, holding the hope that she would find her friend and bring everyone back.

It took them two weeks, two long and agonizing weeks, to get there. And they finally arrived, in the bright and flamboyant town of Pedgeton.

Zinnia was surprised – to put it mildly. She had expected the place to be small and shabby, a place where the missing families were perhaps lost or even kidnapped (that was a stupid idea, now that she looked back on it), but it was certainly not the case.

The innkeeper seemed irritated when the Babbitts barged in his place, with their huge bags and ruffled appearance, but his annoyance quickly turned to satisfaction as he took their money.

“We’ll make a trip to the address where they’re at,” Lydia told Roger and Zinnia, and they both nodded. The family of three set out, heading to the Morrisons’ place.

The place was so drastically different from the rest of the town that Zinnia thought that they were at the wrong address at first. The buildings were old and tiny, and they weren’t very well-furnished either: the buildings’ walls had crude holes in them, presumably as substitutes for windows, and the walls themselves were dirty and rusty. The open doors on the ground floor creaked noisily, and a bunch of stray cats and raccoons prowled around, scavenging for the already hard-to-spare scraps. This whole place seemed to cower under some invisible force, bringing whispers of woe overhead.

“So we go in?” Zinnia whispered.

Roger nodded. They bumped into various other people on the way up, probably the occupants of the tenements. As she went, Zinnia wondered about the filthy and grime-covered people, clutching rags and rusted basins filled with muddy water, plaintive expressions plastered onto their faces. She didn’t want to be demeaning, but she couldn’t help but think that farm life was so much better than living in this place.

And on the second floor, the family arrived at the Morrisons’ door. It was ajar, and when Zinnia gave it a push it quickly opened. Inside, a few members of the family were sitting around, and as they saw the Babbitts they came over to receive them.

“Zinnie!” Natasha exclaimed happily, heading towards her friend. Zinnia wrapped her up in a hug, but then she noticed some cuts on her arm.

“What happened to you?”

“Oh, well, we don’t have enough money to leave. And these are just a couple of scratches I’ve gotten at work. They don't really pay a lot.”

Natasha's misery managed to pierce through even in her nonchalant words.

“How do you get by, then?”

“Joakim brings in more money. So does Irina. They've got nicer jobs.” Seeing Zinnia's expression, Natasha continued in a more sincere tone. “Zinn, it's not that hard being here. I mean, maybe it is, but it's also amazing. There are so many inventions and places to go, and it's just such a great life.”

Alright, maybe Natasha was exaggerating a bit, but she was still telling much of the truth. Zinnia had to admit that town (or is it city?) life is perfect for Natasha and her family. Challenging and risky, but bright and hustling.

Still…

“We’ll make this place better, I promise,” Zinnia told her friend. She had no idea how she would manage to achieve that, but she had to do it for the sake of all the families here in the town.



So the next day, Zinnia made a trip to the mayor’s manor.

As she stood on the doorstep, she touched the doorknob hesitantly, feeling thoroughly unsettled by the unusual coldness of the metallic surface. Something gave her a faint nervousness about this place. Yet she had to come and investigate. She brushed her fears aside, then knocked on the door.

A maid opened it to greet her. “Here to see the mayor? Come in!” Zinnia followed her and stepped into the manor.

The two of them went through the hall towards a large staircase, with rich wooden banisters and steps that clicked under the maid’s heels. As they walked, Zinnia glanced into a room on the right and suppressed a gasp. It was a bright and flashy room, from what she saw. The crystals of the chandelier glittered brightly, like opals with their fiery streaks. The crystalline glass windows, framed by spotless silk curtains, looked outside to the majestic garden.

Still, as she turned away, something didn’t feel quite right. It seemed to Zinnia that everything in the house had the impression of being gilded, covered with splendor that wasn’t quite genuine.

Before she could consider the matter further, the maid went into a small room, with Zinnia hastily following.

“Mr. Lasker, there’s someone who wants to talk to you.”

Mayor Lasker turned from where he was taking a book from his shelf. He was a slim man, with sharp features. dressed in a formal but fashionable suit. His thin spectacles framed a pair of dark eyes. These eyes squinted down at Zinnia, judging her silently and coldly.

“Well… hello, sir…”

Zinnia recounted everything that had happened, but the response was worse than her lowest expectations.

“I can’t help you with this. The wages are regulated by the factories.”

He went on to describe the finest details of factory labor, almost like he was trying to confuse Zinnia. And then, under his breath: “Rural scum.”

Zinnia tensed up. Alright, maybe she had lived a life different from his own, but that doesn’t mean that this snobbish man gets to insult her!

“I'm not rural scum and neither are my neighbors!” she burst out. “They're hard workers, and they’ve been hard workers their whole lives! You wouldn’t know anything about it!”

A look of outrage briefly crossed Lasker’s face, but it quickly shifted back to his usual coldness. “Well, it's not as if I know them,” the mayor said indifferently. “Alright, I've already wasted enough time on this. Please leave now.”

Baffled by his statements, Zinnia barely protested as she was steered away and left outside the doorstep.



“So what would we do?” Zinnia asked the Morrisons and her parents as they gathered outside in a courtyard. It was early afternoon, and everyone else in the town was going about their business, giving the group strange glances as they passed.

“I was thinking of petitioning the mayor to let everyone go,” Lydia spoke up. “But like Zinn saw, he obviously doesn't care about what’s going on in his town.”

“Or he’s relying on them to achieve something,” Irina, one of the Morrison cousins, said quietly.

“We can’t change anything. They’re too powerful,” Natasha’s mother sighed.

Everyone fell silent. Zinnia thought back to what she said to Natasha a few days ago. Is this how everything will end?

But then she thought of something. It was grasping at straws, to be sure, and a thousand things could go wrong. But this could be the only chance to get the families out of the endless cycle of poverty, of being trapped here in this ugly corner of town.

“How well do you know your town neighbors?”



Roger remarked that it was a marvelous idea, and Lydia nodded. The Morrisons were hesitant, but Zinnia assured them they would have nothing to lose if they failed.

As was expected, the neighbors weren’t particularly happy with the state of affairs in the town and the encroachment of their rights. For the first time, Zinnia wondered about the lives of the other people who lived in the town. How did they get here? What were their stories?

And so the plan was set into motion, and when it was done, the results were better than Zinnia expected.

Hundreds of protestors gathered at the manor and at their workplaces, demanding better working conditions and more involvement from the mayor in fixing the slums. And right in this mess lay Zinnia, Natasha, and their families, hoping for a better life like everyone else did. The roaring crowds drew more and more workers, like nectar drew bees. A petition was distributed all over town, cramped signatures scrawled over the pages. Of course, Zinnia herself was too young to sign, but the petition was still impactful nonetheless.

Zinnia’s father called it a “union,” what they were doing.

“A labor union. I never thought it would go this well,” he added.

Their demands persisted, until one day, Mayor Lasker, obviously with great reluctance, had authorized the changes and agreed to spend a sizable
amount of money on them.

And he stayed true to his words. Already renovations were being made to the tenement buildings all around town. The families could see possibilities blooming in front of their eyes. Better wages, better conditions, better work hours, better life.



“When are you leaving?” Natasha asked Zinnia, one bright afternoon a week after the approval of the petition. The Babbitts were packing up for their trip back home, and their wagon was almost completely stocked.

Zinnia smiled sadly. “In two days.” After all that she had seen and done here in Pedgeton, she felt it was enough. By the fruits of her own ideas and work, change had transpired.

And yet her heart lies with the farm, out in the country. It is where she had grown up and is growing up still, where all her memories were. Yes, challenges will come by, but she and her small family will persevere.

“Here, you can have this.”

Zinnia pulled out the pot of daisies that Natasha had left behind. With water and sun and nourishment, it was now thriving, bright yellow petals stretched wide open. Natasha looked at it with delight, taking the pot from her friend.

“You’ll write, won’t you?” she asked Zinnia.

“Of course! And we’ll visit when we can.”

“But it’s a long way here from the farm, isn’t it? Maybe you should pave a path through the forest,” Natasha proposed.

“Then we can put in some train tracks-”

“With a train!”

Zinnia laughed. “We’ll have huge long cars with fancy plush seats…”

And the two friends talked and joked until sunset.

Your poems and your short story are kinda bad

A-Sad-Invention wrote:

Your poems and your short story are kinda bad

Where did you come from? 0-0
BUT COME ON, NOT AGAIN! I know they're bad, but I don't need you to remind me >:p

ALSO THIS IS THE 100TH POST
LET'S GOOOOOOOOOO




hehe