#short character study

[thewolffairytaler]

Why Beaugard "Bo" Sinclair in the 2005's House Of Wax works

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I had a discussion once with a friend of mine about House Of Wax, and it was all about if we had to choose or were forced to pick one of the Sinclair brothers as partners. I would have picked Lester, whilst my friend decided to pick Vincent. They were surprised at that, because my friend knew how much I like Bo as a character. So when they questioned me about it, I basically answered it in the most hilarious way possible without meaning to.

"Well, yeah. I like how he's written and all that, but I don’t want a thirty year old matress to be my significant other. He's open to everyone, day and night."

And while that might sound too judging or harsh, it means that the writers did him right. They made a villain that dosen’t stick to the old formula of "oh, I'm terrible, because I hate people." Bo might seem like the typical American villain to some, but he's actually deeper than that, not to mention that his backstory has some more originality to it than the most media we have today. I like characters having deepth. He's so depressingly real and daunting that it puts more impact to me than what Vincent does. Some characters in media have these motivations that feel so insubstantial, or not enough that it might just be an anathor bad rip-off slasher film with no real purpose of existing besides bringing in money to the box office. So when I see a character like Bo, I can't help but to like him, I absolutely despise him as a person. But that's because he might as well exist in the real world.

He isn't unique in the way he does things. We see plenty of men in different positions of beauty and power get away with doing terrible things, and the film gives us enough context in comprehending how he does this, without fully knowing at certain times if he actually means it or not. But there's one thing for certain, he's objectively a monster.

However, that dosen’t stop the viewers from liking him, feeling empathy for him, wanting to save him, thinking about being his significant other, wanting to have intimacy with him, and wanting to date him. How come? Why do people want him, want to help him, and why does Vincent of all people help him? Well, like anything in this beautiful, yet unfair and cruel of a world. It's complicated. There are multiple answers to it, but when you think about it, there aren't any clear direct responses.

Maybe Vincent feels guilty over what Bo went through and wanted to help his twin by finishing their mother's dream in a more easier approach. Perhaps Vincent has some hidden animosity, and that’s why he agreed to do it. Or maybe it was both of their ideas. We don't know. Yet we do know that Bo tries to cope with his trauma in an unhealthy manner, hence why he kept the high chair, enjoying being the dominant one overall (having all control over the situations), unleashing his anger in a destructive behaviour, and stealing affection from those who don't want to give it to him.

Bo has clearly been suffering in his upbringing, and since he dosen’t know how to cope, he has this mentality of "if I don't make myself get the things that I want. I will never receive them." Because clearly, his parents taught him that trying to earn it isn’t enough. Behaving good for once isn’t enough to earn their love and attention. It doesn't help that he's naturally attractive and manipulative as well.

I believe that a part of Bo is afraid of opening up, afraid of being vulnerable because that's what got him hurt. So instead of seeking a potential someone who could make him feel everything that he wanted as a child. He takes everything from a person before dumping them or makes them a part of the wax collection. As if some part of him wanted to honour those he decided to "let in." And those women he decided to give his kisses to are his way of either saying sorry or that he likes them. It's really difficult to tell, because at the end of the day, I think it’s all about the context leading up to that. But I think we can all agree that Bo doesn't do this to everyone, he has his preferences. Whether that be beautiful women or how he wants to kill people.

If we take the alternate delted opening as an example, we can tell that Bo definitely dosen’t give everybody the privilege he deems them to get. I mean, he literally grabbed that woman and swung her to the car shield. He didn't even want to play hunt with her. He just wanted to get it over with. As if he saw her as an anathor part of the collection, not worth his attention or his sweetness. But then again, he doesn't mind doing it to people who are rude or do questionable things (I'm looking at you, Carly). So he definitely has expectations, but they have to be good enough for him to want to have you.

So what we can learn from this is that to make a good villain, is that you don't have to make them different, be so evil, complex, or have a big motivation unless it makes sense. Just making them realistic or have a villain that you can understand is enough. The other way works too, you can have a villain where you don't understand their character, however, that kind of villain is much harder to execute if you can't deliver it perfectly. One villain that did manage to do this is the Joker from The Dark Knight film.

But back to what I mentioned about the key to having a good villain, you need to convince yourself that they are "the good guy." And also write them in a way where they aren't immediately seen as such, even though that's what they are. Now I ain't saying that Vincent is a terribly written villain, he isn't, he's just a slasher that we have seen before. Except this time, the survivors try to sympasise with him directly, trying to convince him that he's more than what he is. Not to mention that he has his own problems that make him special. And although there's nothing inherently wrong with that, I am getting tired of it. I still love Vincent, though, don't worry.

What do you think? Do you think I brought up some good arguments or not? Did I forget to bring something up? Leave some comments over your thoughts, I'd love to read them and see your perspectives when it comes to opinions.

[canisalbus]

Giordano please! I want to see him and young Machete.

Giordano di Calabria, the future Archbishop of Naples, and his good-for-nothing apprentice.

[riality-check]

ao3 link

Viktor does not have many friends at the Academy, but he is rarely alone. Such is the nature of university life. The academic environment is inherently social; he attends class with other students, eats alongside them, and must frequently bang on his wall so as to alert his neighbors that he can, in fact, hear… whatever activities they decide to do on weeknights. Being alone at the Academy is a difficult feat, and it is one that does not go out of his way to accomplish.

He has learned that surprises some of his classmates. They often remark, when they are paired with him for group projects, about their perceptions of him.

“I thought you’d be meaner.”

“I thought you’d be quieter.”

“I always assumed you were just shy.”

Every time, Viktor must refrain from rolling his eyes. Topside politeness is a strange thing, he has learned. It is very performative, with its big smiles and friendly, useless greetings. He finds it difficult to imitate - why, for example, ask someone “how are you?” if neither they nor him truly care for the answer? - and so he sticks to Undercity standards.

Nod politely as a greeting. Give people space unless they require conversation. Offer a chair or a coat or a snack if someone is in need, with the understanding that the debt will be repaid.

Back home, his parents were often praised for raising such a polite boy. Here, at least once a semester, someone comments on his standoffishness.

It does not matter. He is not here to slack off. He is here to learn. He does not need anything more than the pleasant, occasional company of his classmates, who, he is discovering, will offer their smiles but never their coats.

Every once in a while, he does get more. Someone will stay in his room for a night - they always think they are the ones in charge at the beginning, a fact that Viktor finds equally amusing and irritating - and coo sweet words about his appearance and his intellect.

He is lucky if they look at him the next morning. He learns the hard way that they are perfectly content with a trencher in their bed but never on their arm.

When this finally sinks in - it does not take long; he has always been a quick study - Viktor swallows back whatever odd thing it is that rises in his throat and determines that this attitude suits him perfectly well.

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The brace is simple in its concept but difficult to perfect. Considering the amount of time spent constructing his current cane a few semesters ago, Viktor is not surprised. Engineering for biological systems is far more complex than, say, pure mechanical engineering. Pain and discomfort, for example, are complicating factors for his leg bug not for air filtration systems.

Viktor would much rather design air filtration systems than leg braces or canes. They are far more interesting and useful on a larger scale. But the truth of the matter is that he cannot trust anyone else to construct these devices for him. Only he knows how they feel for his body, and the effort he would have to undergo to translate the abstract (but very real) sensations of wrongness, in all their varied forms, into words that another person can understand is not worth it. Not when he can just grab a wrench.

What is that saying? “If you want something done right, do it yourself.”

Story of Viktor’s life.

He sits on his bed, right leg crossed at an uncomfortable height over his left, and tightens a screw. The previous designs are all documented in his notebook, which he flips through using his unoccupied hand. With every problem he eliminates, a new one arises. It is the worst haggling he has ever partaken in.

The brace must be worn underneath his trousers; he will not wrinkle his uniform if he can avoid it. Until recently, this meant that the cold, harsh metal of the brace would chill and bite at his skin. He only had so much salve (fresh unopened tin, left in the communal bathroom for a week with no takers) left, and he intended to save it for injuries that mattered.

He tried once, a few days ago, with a long sock on underneath the brace, but it rolled down so often and so severely that in a fit of exasperation, he nearly cut it off with scissors. Then he remembered that his sewing kit did not have enough black thread to repair that level of damage.

He only had three pairs of socks left, as they had a proclivity for vanishing inexplicably each time he washed his clothes. So, he could not cut it.

This design should, hopefully, “do the trick.” He attached cushioning (A petite girl he had taken a calculus class with, when she woke up the next morning in his room, asked, with a glance at the sewing kit left on his desk, if he could hem a dress for her. She repaid him by purchasing his next meal - real food, finally, not from the university - and letting him keep the scrap. He never saw her again.) to the parts of the brace most uncomfortable to wear.

All the old problems - tension, pressure, weight, bulk - have been resolved. There will only be new ones.

Viktor tightens the last screw. Time to see what those will be.

The brace is multifunctional. Primarily, its design is intended to correct the abnormal inward rotation of his right leg. Secondarily, it supports his knee and ankle to both allow his muscles to stop carrying that burden and prevent the joints from overextending and subluxating, as they often tend to do.

It will be uncomfortable, compelling his leg away from its natural state. But Viktor can live with discomfort if it is in exchange for improvement.

He has been haggling in this manner for his entire life.

With assistance from his cane, he stands. Then, he divides his weight evenly between his two own feet, holding his cane aloft.

There is the discomfort, as he had expected, but there is no pain.

He paces up and down the length of his dorm without his cane. His joints are relegated to a normal range of motion, which is restrictive but more stable. They do not feel as loose. A dull stretch, induced by the rigidity of the brace fighting against his body, along the side of his leg runs from thigh to calf, but that is all.

No other pain. No true pain, other than the dull ache of adjustment.

He nearly falls over with the realization before he catches himself on the wall. He has had days free of pain before, but they occurred far more often when he was a child. Now, they are so few and far between that he had nearly forgotten what it was like to have the distraction of it removed almost entirely. 

He can think more clearly without it whispering talking shouting in his ear. He can breathe more easily.

Walking is awkward, what with the new rotation and the added weight, but he conjectures that he will get acclimated to it. He wants to get acclimated to it.

Outside of his window, he has a nearly unobscured view of the Academy clocktower. It takes him one glance to realize he is very nearly late for his systems course.

In his haste, Viktor nearly forgets to bring his cane with him to class. With how his brace reduces the pain, it is merely a failsafe in the event his balance is compromised by the awkwardness of his gait.

He barely uses it. Once he gets used to the new positioning of his leg, walking is a little easier. Slower, but easier. And the whole time, his cane barely makes contact with the ground.

The whispers are loud as always.

“Did he get better?”

“Has he been faking?”

“I knew someone our age couldn’t actually need it.”

He holds his head up and ignores them. When he catches a look, he returns the stares and wins.

He knows he will never be able to run. He could not when he was a child, and the unfortunate fact that the many non-functioning components of his body will only degrade - a fact he greatly prefers not to dwell on - has prohibited the notion for the rest of his life.

For the first time, he wants to run. So badly, in fact, that it is heart that aches instead of his leg.

He walks into class without the assistance of his cane, with the brace hidden underneath his pant leg, and believes, entirely, that this could work. That maybe he can walk like this, with no outward signal that he is different. Non-functional. Built incorrectly in the compounding of each and every failure inflicted upon the Undercity.

Maybe this is something he can overcome with his intellect. He already crawled up. What is stopping him from walking upright?

What is stopping his brilliant mind from allowing him to run?

He spends all day testing this notion, barely using his cane.

Viktor should have known the haggling would not work entirely in his favor. It never has.

When his body comes to collect, he pays in full. With interest.

The other installments, if you're interested: 1, 2, 3. 5 6.

[sentientstump]

i have a (very evil) question to ask... who's your favorite miracle mask character? favorite to draw, favorite to think about, favorite in general? :)

i will let the images speak.....

thank you for the ask! (⁠~⁠‾⁠▿⁠‾⁠)⁠~

[ericityyy]

i definitely recommend reading “study group” in webtoon, if you like action and stuff like that cause it’s so good!! what if i make fics abt them? cause i’m also watching the kdrama version of it and NOW IM HYPED! i barely see shit from it and it’s just SO AAAAAAAAA

[reel-fear]

Honestly the funniest thing abt Don't Starve lore is just that Wagstaff made a robot born from someone's death, full of trauma upon having several out of body experiences that started crashing out and then threw it into the nightmare hell word and somehow didn't expect it to become the most bitter evil angry person ever. If my only exposure to humans was Wagstaff honestly I would've turned out worse we're lucky WX hasn't strangled their fellow survivors in their sleep yet.

As far as I know we don't really know when WX became truly evil and honestly I think it would be very interesting to imply idk, being mauled by hounds and tossed around in an uncaring unforgiving world for years with some canon evidence even suggesting they don't remember too much of life before the constant, might've been why they turned out. Like that. Esp I think it says everything WX can confront Wagstaff stare him down but Wagstaff just avoids their gaze, one of these people is guilty [and knows it too] the other is not.

Also Wagstaff's quote for the nightmare throne implying he meant for WX to die in there ='].

WX feeling the need to tell a Wagstaff inspired machine she's better than her creators, telling another to never trust Wagstaff. I think it screams yet another thing Wagstaff tossed the second it became clear it wasn't doing exactly what he wanted [as WX says about some of his machines discarded like trash] rather than him saving the world from an evil robot born evil.

Also makes for an amazing Frankenstein comparison, make life, don't give it a name, be horrified when it has emotional problems, dump it in the woods, oops it came back- [I know that's not exactly what happened but y'know]

[lucinedoodles]

When Lucanis turns to Fiorella de Riva to ask her what should be done with Illario, Viago already knew what her answer would be.

He raised her. He knew her better than anyone else.

When she was a child and another Fledgling in the warehouse tried to smother her in her sleep, she responded by stabbing him twenty seven times with a shard of glass.

When she was fifteen and completed her first Contract, other Houses tried recruiting her immediately- Viago had chosen her first Contract well and the high profile kill put the Ghost Crow on the same level as the Demon of Vyrantium. Fiorella responded to their persistent recruitments by killing their messengers.

Fiorella was coldly efficient. Her former master had designed her to feel nothing.

So Viago readied himself, pulling out his knife.

But then she spoke-

"You said he's your brother and your closest friend," she told Lucanis in that soft, faint voice of hers. Despite how quietly she spoke, her words carried through the silent, waiting crowd.

There was an expression on her face that was new. She looked sad and compassionate, her eyes looking at Lucanis beseechingly.

"My only friend before you," Lucanis agreed, turning to Viago, "Viago- keep him out of trouble."

Viago sheathed his blade.

He was surprised that Fiorella of all people would encourage mercy. Surprised... but proud.

[dyed-indigo]

i may or may not have written a fanfiction

[ID: Shang Qinghua and a human Mobei-Jun wearing a doctor's coat sit at a table together eating a bowl of bugs. Mobei-Jun looks satisfied with a pair of wings sticking out of his mouth, while Shang Qinghua has a cricket leg stuck to his face and is crying. Shang Qinghua is also thinking about himself at an earlier point in time, gaming on a livestream and saying "Chat, I'm not gonna eat bugs!" /End ID]

[indybob]

Incoming soft hangster headcanon:

Bradley’s love language is physical touch and Jake’s is quality time, which works out perfectly for their relationship.

Jake loves that Bradley is always attached to him because it means they’re always spending time together, even if it’s just a lazy day around the house. Bradley loves that he and Jake are always hugging, kissing, cuddling, or stealing innocent touches, and that his boyfriend never seems to mind🥰

[nursehella]

These are all drawn in my analog sketchbook. It's super fun to watch David Wain's comedy stuff and just redraw him as the Warden. These are all from Wainy Days or Stella, I noted the episode down when I remembered to... Doing stuff like this is that perfect mix for me: the comforting pedantic familiarity of engrossing myself in a beloved practice with the ADHD friendly stimulation of constant variety from expression to expression. Hyperfocus bliss.

[thewolffairytaler]

The Wolf Fairytaler: I can't believe I missed this on my first playthrough, but Lori Meyers is a refrence to the Halloween franchise. Her personality and love for horror movies is a refrence to the Myers siblings, Laurie and Micheal. Lori is a bit of both, but is still her own person. Having Michael's sense of gore and morbid thinking, but Laurie's shy and introverted nature.

[pup-b]

Partner is replaying fnv and everytime i see yes man on screen i giggle and kick my feet God i love him so fucking much

[wangxianficrecs]

redemption, repentance by stiltonbasket

redemption, repentance

by stiltonbasket (@stiltonbasket)

G, 3k, Xuanli

Summary: Five months after the Sunshot Campaign, Jin Zixuan travels to Lotus Pier to ask for Jiang Yanli's hand in marriage. Kay's comments: This story was very cool and I loved the idea of how Jiang Fengmian (and, to a lesser extent, Yu Ziyuan) surviving would have changed the odds for Jin Zixuan marrying Jiang Yanli. I love the introspection Jiang Fengmian shares with Jiang Yanli, love how he looks out for her and for Wei Wuxian as well. Excerpt: Only four were dining that night: himself, his mother, Aunt Yu, and of course Jiang Yanli, Jin Zixuan’s betrothed; so it seemed like the proper time to make his aunt aware of her unruly household. “A servant boy?” his mother inquired, after Zixuan had finished explaining—in great detail—how the errand-boy had hooted at him and paddled off to join the carousing Jiang disciples, while Jin Zixuan shouted after him from the pier, to no avail. “I didn’t know you had one, Ziyuan-jie.” Jin Zixuan looked between them, confused; and then he glanced across the table, and saw that Jiang Yanli was trembling with laughter. “He’s not a servant boy,” she gasped, when she came back to herself. “He’s my shidi, Wei Ying.”

pov jin zixuan, canon divergence, jiang fengmian lives, yu ziyuan lives, post-sunshot campaign, introspection, father-daughter relationship, ambiguous/open ending, character study, feelings realization, developing relationship

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[kozukind]

first-(ish) post?

the rest is available on ao3. a little ramble on Leviathan from obey me?? This is more of a test on how tumblr works but!

warnings: none.

Leviathan knows envy.

Like a trusted familiar, the sin clings to his back and anchors itself to him— deems him worthy enough of being the lucky ship that won’t be set from its harbor, day in and night over, Leviathan learns to know himself more and more.

The good and the bad, the ironic greed that comes with the bitterness of longing. Like always, he comes close to last place, outmatched by even the laziest of demons. Stuck against the current instead of being taken with it, alone, he bears the knowledge of thirst.

(A kind of lust he can’t escape, whereas Asmodeus can easily get the haze quenched and drink from something until satisfied, such luxury is lost on him.)

The thirst he wants quashed would mean to step out of his shell and let the world accept him as he is— purely Leviathan. (Un)apologetically mediocre and lacking in every department that could max out his stats, make him stand out amongst his brothers.

It’s not a question of power, he is power. Levi knows. Amongst the seven of them, he ranks easily third— undefeated by his juniors, feared by ancient demons with floating whispers of what was once the “Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy”.

When war was something he could pride himself in, when the possibility to solve anything by blood was an option, before peace with the Celestial Realm was to be established and that day by day, he’d lose himself even more. Forever changed with the absence of violence.

Then he found an escape. Shameful and laughable as it was, when he had first fallen— Leviathan found comfort in the shows the world offered, buried himself deep under the common folk. He gave up what little social interactions he could muster, locked himself up in his room and established his kingdom.

(Alone at night he’d wonder if all of this truly had freed him. If being closed off and aching truly had been the cure to his torment— a firm body against the waves, something born out of stubbornness.)

When it gets late (although it’s always late in Devildom), Leviathan falls asleep with nothing to look forward to other than an unlimited exclusive launch of whatever Ruri merchandise he hasn’t gotten his hands on over the centuries.

And alone in silence, Leviathan sometimes cries.

[calamitoustide]

"are you crying?" from the prompt list (also hi gabby 🤗)

hi zar! so funny story. I completely forgot about this ask and game until I was sitting in class today not paying attention and thinking about this little scene and then I realized it fit the prompt you gave me so I used it. Even though I'm supposed to be focusing on so many other things right now... I wanted to write Regulus with Harry so that's what I did <3

"Papa, are you crying?"

Regulus' breath hitches at the noise. He would've thought if anyone would catch him like this it would've been James, he was kinda expecting it honestly. He didn't think it would be little feet running over to him, and a soft voice so small it weakens his heart every time he hears it. Through his blurred vision, he sees Harry rushing towards him, his little Spiderman shoes lighting up with every step he takes. He takes no hesitation clambering onto Regulus' lap.

"Hi, mon cheri," Regulus murmurs, his voice catching on each word, keeping Harry steady, even if his hands are shaking.

Harry's face scrunches up, "What's wrong?"

Regulus opens his mouth to speak but no explanation comes. His chest caves in more with every breath he takes. He wouldn't give the real one, even if he had one, but he can't come up with a false one either. The panicked breaths and brittle chest are something he's so familiar with, and yet it feels like a new feeling now. It's been so long since it's overtaken him, that he's not sure what to do with it. He learned things to make it better. He's learned the signs so he can call someone to help talk him down. He felt them now too, but he brushed it off. He feels sixteen. He never thought he'd feel sixteen again.

It's stupid. He knows it's not just something that goes away, it's built within him, and yet he had so much hope.

"Papa?" Harry calls out again, his fingers reaching out for the side of Regulus' face. Regulus almost wants to push him away, little tendrils reach for his brain begging him to find a quiet corner far from the light, but he doesn't. He just tries to take another breath, even if it comes out more like a wheeze.

Regulus wants to be able to explain this to him. He wants to explain that he's okay, he's just a little panicked for no good reason. He hates worrying him, especially for things like this. He's too young to see this. Regulus never wanted him to see this.

Harry sits back before suggesting, "Do you want a hug?"

Regulus' chest splits in two. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying again to take a deep breath but it's hard, and the most he can do is a hitched breath before he's consumed by it again. He feels himself nod even if anyone else's touch would feel like sandpaper against his skin right now.

Harry wastes no time wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pushing his face into his neck. Regulus holds him back keeping his eyes closed. He can feel his tears soak into Harry's shirt. He didn't even realize he was crying until Harry asked him about it, he couldn't feel anything, but he feels it now. It's an endless ache, not enough to really hurt him, but he feels it still.

It's been years since he's felt this trapped. He's not other sure what word to use even if it doesn't sound quite right. He grew up as nothing more than a kid trapped in his room. Trapped in a life he didn't want with no options of leaving it. Trapped in skin that didn't feel like his own and a brain that was working overtime to go against him. He's better now. He got out of his parent's house, and he fell in love with a man who showed him all the colors he could only dream of before. He has Harry now. He loves his life. He's even surprised to admit that but he does. He has no reason to feel trapped. He has no reason for his chest to fail him, but here it is caving in again.

Sirius used to tell him there's no straight line for progress. It's not linear. Going backward doesn't truly mean going back, you're always moving forward even if it doesn't feel like it. Regulus doesn't know. He thinks he might've believed it once. He tries to. He tries to be good. He just thinks no matter where he is in his life he'll always be that sad little kid who's trapped in his childhood bedroom. He's afraid it'll never leave him.

"Daddy's taking me to the park," Harry tells him, still refusing to let go. James taught him to not let go first if someone really needed a hug, and Regulus isn't ready to let go yet.

He can't manage to say anything, he only hums instead, feeling the texture of Harry's sweater underneath his fingertips.

"Do you wanna come?" Harry asks him, "We can go on the swings."

Regulus hums again, he wants to say more but all he can manage is, "Sure."

"Good," Harry tells him, "I like when you come."

Regulus' heart aches, but it's a good one this time, he takes a breath. It's shaky but it still fills his lungs all the same. He takes another letting his shoulders drop. He pulls away and finds Harry still smiling softly at him, it's like taking a first breath after you've just almost drowned.

"Better?" Harry asks.

Regulus only manages to nod before kissing the top of his head.

He doesn't have the time to say anything else before James is walking through the doorway, "Kiddo, you ready to go? I thought-" he cuts himself off.

"I'm okay," Regulus beats him to it, letting Harry off his lap.

James' eyes still flicker over him like he's trying to find an open wound he can stitch closed, "What happened?"

Regulus shakes his head, "Just..." he sighs, he knows he can't get out of it. James has never been known to just let these things go. "Worked myself up," he ends up on, "It's okay now."

James doesn't seem convinced, he opens his mouth to say something else but Harry beats him to it.

"Papa's going to the park with us," he says, grabbing at his hand to bring him to stand.

James looks over at him, "Are you-"

"I'm okay," he tells him, giving into Harry's pulling on his arm. He can't make it to the door before James stops him, forcing Harry to slip from his grip making a break for the door.

"Reg..."

Regulus sighs, "I'll talk about it later, okay?"

James' gaze flickers between his eyes before he nods, "Alright," he says, "If you promise you're-"

"James," Regulus stops him, "I'm fine."

Before either of them can say anything Harry's voice calls out from the hall, "Hurry up!"

Regulus smiles softly, "If we leave him waiting he'll kill us you know it."

James rolls his eyes, kissing his cheek, "Yeah, yeah let's go."

James goes through the door first. Regulus stays back to take a breath, he thinks he still feels that crack in the middle of his chest. He knows it'll never go away, but maybe he's okay with that, for a moment anyway. The water doesn't always have to be violent, it can be kind and innocent too.

"Papa! Come on!"

Regulus lets out his breath, dispersing the ocean around him, "I'm coming!"

[l3xdrigo]

Something about Vertin being the black sheep of the foundation is taking over my thoughts.

(I am terribly sorry if this is poorly written at the moment, brain is not functioning well👍)

Black sheep in biblical terms are mostly represented as those that have gone astray or have denied the faith and teachings of God. It's used to represent rebelliousness as well, and I think most of those match up on how the Foundation sees Vertin. But, like in Christianity, a black sheep can be found and saved from what it is by God, and that's what Constantine and the Foundation tries to do. They try to "help" Vertin by putting her in Artificial Somnambulism to try and get her trust and faith back to the Foundation(It doesn't work, obviously) but yea.

Vertin has been in the herd of white when she was a student, she used to be just a white lamb as well, but as curiosity grows, she slowly becomes astray. Now she stands along with people in white, wearing a suit and coat with a darkish blue color, her hat with a neat ribbon attached. Vertin is a lamb of the foundation who has gone astray, but she chose this rather than to live as a part of herd whose lives are made to be sacrificed for half-truths and a deception of faith and lies.