#// anyways have i told yall i Despise painting?

[tewwor]

CHARACTER STUDY — HARUO & ART MANIPULATION ( ABILITIES / CT )

OVERVIEW .

User is able to manipulate existing / newly created art of various forms. Haruo is only able to shape and bring life to traditional art that revolve around drawings and paintings. The realism of which his creations are depends on how details Haruo is able to construct it — which is defaulted to a very high probability seeing as most of his existing skill revolved around hyperrealism.

DETAILS .

Is able to bring art created by others to life but the duration / effectiveness is halved.

Materials can impact results by means of texture and even durability, i.e., charcoal will have an almost gritty texture vs. graphite will be far smoother.

Colors also impact results by way of personality and additional stats. Red — higher aggression & attack. Blue — slower, but with higher defense. Yellow — additional agility. Haruo is able to finetune certain attributes based off of the primary colors if he mixes it by hand, i.e. a more redish purple vs. more blueish purple.

Carries all sorts of writing utensils on him from charcoal pencils, all manners of graphite, permanent markers, posca markers, etc.

Fun fact: He can use blood as a medium, but ... Gets queasy because he's a normal man with normal reactions. He can also draw on any surface and pull the drawing free from it — including himself.

J.JK SPECIFIC .

Binding vow — Warmup : Varies between 10 seconds, 1 min, and 5 min sketches. The less time used, the more cursed energy is imbued into the sketch ( won't be as detailed as the 5 min sketch but it'll pack more of a punch ). The longer and more detailed a sketch is, the more multifaceted it can act ( fight like fully rendered person with all limbs & proper reaction time vs. an anatomical skeleton outline that just barrels into things for sheer impact ).

Binding vow — Critique : Optimal usage is when combined when Revealing One's Hand. Haruo stages an impromptu critique of what is intended to be used & for what purpose to double the already increased cursed energy output given by Revealing One's Hand. Haruo is only able to do this with others & not himself.

[icarusignite]

These Violent Delights (1)

Chapter 1: Marigolds and Mayhem

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x OC

Word Count: 4k

Summary: Academic rivals, Coriolanus Snow and Artemis Highbottom must compete for the Plinth prize. Shenanigans ensue.

A/N: Check out the masterlist for a better synopsis lol. As usual, don't be a ghost reader. I live for yalls comments/questions/concerns/reactions, even a keyboard smash is highly appreciated and encouraged ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

Masterlist

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

It was the third nosebleed of the night and Artemis was just about tired of it. She didn't even bother stemming the flow, allowing the carmine rivulets to trace an unhurried path from her nostrils to the marble below.

The hush of running water met the heavy rhythm of a beating heart, and there she stood—a lone figure, framed by the harsh edges of the sink, her grip upon it almost desperate. She could feel the sharpness imprinting into her skin, and yet still she clung, her skin stretched across her knuckles almost comically grotesque.

She watched the blood, in an almost detached sort of way. It could be art, she mused, the juxtaposition of sanguine against sterile white. A whispered revelation danced at the edge of her consciousness—anything could be art if you framed it the right way. Even the bloodiest of carnages. A spectacle, a thing to be enjoyed.

Artemis looked up, and her reflection stared back, menacingly. The mirror, an unforgiving oracle, revealed a distorted visage, one she both did and did not recognize. Her dark hair, cascaded in disarray, entangled in the aftermath of sleep's elusivity and her eyes harbored shadows akin to a painter's bruised palette. The reflection mocked, a cruel mimicry of the composed persona she so ardently sought to maintain.

Out of control.

Unbidden judgment pierced through her thoughts, a verdict she loathed to acknowledge.

No that could not be right.

Artemis Highbottom was always in control.

She despised this discordance, this disruption to her meticulously curated world. To her, it was anathema, but nature could not be controlled, and what was more natural than blood? Perhaps it was fitting, that this fundamental of humanity could not be dominated.

Blood could never be dishonest, and it had the power to reveal one's innermost truths.

With unyielding determination, Artemis scrubbed at the remnants of the crimson tide that painted her face, an act of restitution against the chaos that dared to invade her pristine sanctuary. Each abrasive stroke was an attempt to erase not just the physical residue but a deeper discord. She worked quietly, although there was no one else to hear. There was never anyone to hear her, her gilded halls always vacant, but Artemis spoke silence like a second language and old habits die hard. She spared her father a brief thought, wondering where he could possibly be at such a late hour but it didn't really matter. He just wasn't here. He never was.

Raw skin met her touch, and the blood, now vanquished, left in its wake a battlefield—a canvas of sacrifice for the sake of semblance.

The mess was an unwelcome intrusion there were far worse ways to be awoken. If she was busy cleaning up after her nosebleeds, then she wasn't sleeping, and if she wasn't sleeping, then she wasn't dreaming.

The walk to the Academy's Heavensbee Hall was a brisk one, although, in the sweltering heat, Artemis found herself increasingly short-tempered. She was going to be late, but she kept her pace measured. She would not arrive a panting sweaty mess like some savage. It had been a foolish idea, she knew that, but she had given her own driver the day off anyway, waiting instead for her father. His presence was expected, and she imagined it would have been a pleasant change of routine to accompany him. He was probably running late, she told herself. After all, she hadn't seen him return, and she would know, she was awake half the night.

The grand staircase up to the Academy could hold the entire student body, so it easily accommodated the stream of officials, professors, and students headed for the reaping day festivities. Artemis sped up, taking three steps at a time, while still attempting a casual dignity. Every other person she passed stopped to wave her down and exchange pleasantries, and although her impatience was rising, she kept a placid smile stretched across her lips as she greeted them all in turn. She nodded when they asked after her, and then nodded some more, albeit less enthusiastically when they asked about her father.

She made her way through an entry draped in black banners, then sprinted down a vaulted passage, and into cavernous Heavensbee Hall, where they would watch the broadcast of the reaping ceremony. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that she wasn't quite as late as she believed, and the official ceremony hadn't yet started. The hall was humming with faculty and students and a number of Games officials. 

Avoxes wove through the crowd with trays of posca, a concoction of watery wine laced with honey and herbs. One passed by Artemis, and despite her parched throat, she waved him away. On principle, she avoided any and all intoxicants. It was stronger than most people thought, and in previous years she had seen many make complete fools of themselves by imbibing too deeply. Artemis would be damned if she allowed herself to lose control like that. That and given her father's dependence on morphling, she imagined she must be genetically predisposed to addiction. 

In the great hall, she was once again forced to make her rounds, as faculty and students alike beckoned to introduce her to their circles. She eventually travelled past the hundreds of cushioned chairs set up for the occasion and onto the dais, where the communications professor, Satyria Click was regaling a mix of Academy professors and Games officials with some wild story. Amongst the gathered crowd was the biology instructor, Alfred Stanton, who stood off to the side, eyes deliberately wandering the area as if to make a show of his boredom. When his eyes caught sight of Artemis, he brightened, his face lifting in a smile as he waved her over. 

Oh great, more greetings. If Artemis had to utter another false pleasantry, she'd lose her breakfast. 

No, she wouldn't. She knew better than that. Besides, she was Professor Stanton's teaching aide, and it was quite literally in her job description to be at his beck and call. 

When she arrived, she scowled internally. It was inevitable, she knew that, but she was hoping that at least today of all days, she'd be delayed in setting eyes upon the one person who held the power of ruining her mornings. 

"Oh, Coriolanus!" Satyria drawled, as the blonde boy gave her the customary kiss on the cheek. "Here’s my star pupil.”

Artemis held no qualms against Satyria, not really. She was amusing and not overly uptight, one of the few professors who allowed students to call them by their first names. It was her teaching aide against whom she held a grudge. 

Professor Stanton, not to be outdone, clapped his meaty hand on Artemis's shoulder, making her stagger. Maybe the man needed to lay off the weightlifting for a bit. He announced her presence to the circle enthusiastically, earning a scowl from Satyria. 

"And Artemis, my star pupil. We were afraid we'd miss you this morning."

Artemis ducked her head bashfully, mumbling something about running late, but Professor Stanton only laughed boisterously, as he continued to speak. 

Coriolanus Snow was seething. Well, no that was perhaps a little extreme. Artemis Highbottom did not deserve such a reaction from him. She didn't deserve the energy. When he hadn't seen her earlier today, he had deluded himself into thinking that she simply wouldn't come. She was never late after all, so the fact of the matter must be that she simply wasn't coming. With her gone, he could be the sole beneficiary of the crowd's attention, networking his way into their hearts. 

Then he had seen her arrive, panting and slightly out of breath and he had to admit he marveled at the sight. Her coffee skin flushed and her hair thrown over her shoulder haphazardly as if she'd been running. Coriolanus had been amused, to say the least. He had hoped that she wouldn't wander over to his little corner, that he would be able to have Satyria's circle all to himself, but it was wishful thinking. People knew of him of course, being the son of Crassus Snow and all, but he realized that they tended to forget about him in her presence. After all, it was far easier to garner the good graces of one's father if he was still alive. Even if said father was Casca High-as-a-Kite-Bottom. Snow sniggered at the nickname, a creation of his own genius. 

Almost as if she could read his mind, Artemis shot him a withering glare, and Coriolanus stiffened, standing straighter to shoot her one back. The circle had shifted, placing him right next to her and if he stretched his fingers, they'd brush against hers. Not that he'd want to of course. How utterly repulsive. 

“Beautiful shirt. Where did you get such a thing?” Satyria was addressing Snow now, surveying him carefully. 

He looked at the shirt as if surprised by its existence and gave the shrug of a young man of limitless options. They didn't have to know that all that was left to him was his name. The world still needed to think of Coriolanus as rich. 

“The Snows have deep closets,” he said airily. “I was trying for respectful yet celebratory.”

Artemis held back a snort. 

Celebratory, my ass. 

The Snows' closets were as deep as their pockets, which was to say, containing all the depth of a bottlecap. Standing this close to him, she could almost smell the faint scent of dead marigolds and potato starch his shirt was emitting. 

"Is something funny, Miss Highbottom?" Coriolanus turned to him with a raised eyebrow. 

Just your pathetic fibbing skills, she wanted to say. Perhaps she had not been as discreet with her expressions as she thought she'd been because he was still waiting for an answer. 

"Not at all, Mr. Snow," Artemis gave him one of her very best saccharine smiles. "I just agree with Satyria. That is indeed a lovely shirt."

Their professor beamed, happy to be validated.

“And so it is. What are these cunning buttons?” Satyria asked, fingering one of the cubes on his cuff. “Tesserae?” 

“Are they? Well, that explains why they remind me of the maid’s bathroom,” Coriolanus responded, drawing a chuckle from her friends. 

This was the impression he fought to sustain. A reminder that he was the rare person who had a maid’s bathroom — let alone one tiled with tesserae — tempered with a self-deprecating joke about his shirt. 

He nodded at Satyria. “Lovely gown. It’s new, isn’t it?” He could tell at a glance that it was the same dress she always wore to the reaping ceremony, refurbished with tufts of black feathers. But she had validated his shirt, and he needed to return the favour.

As he did so, his eyes couldn't help but return to the figure at his side. While Satyria's renovated dress made him feel better about his own attire, brought to life only through his cousin Tigris's efforts, Artemis's had the exact opposite effect. It was new, almost obscenely so. Wasteful extravagance, he thought to himself bitterly. What a vain and shallow creature, but such was the case with all the Capitol women he supposed. 

"What a wonderful ensemble, Artemis!" Satyria crowed once again. "You absolutely must give me the details of your dressmaker. Doesn't she look lovely, Coriolanus?"

Snow blinked. The question was directed at him, clearly, but he couldn't force the words out, even as his professor looked at him expectantly. 

“Elegant,” he finally stated blandly.

Liar. 

Artemis's eyes flashed at him triumphantly, almost as if calling him out. 

The adults wandered off, and their company was replaced by that of their classmates. Arachne Crane slipped her arm into Artemis's as soon she was within range, and Artemis sent her a smile that was only slightly less false than the one she had been wearing all morning. 

"Finally, and here I thought our star pupils would be too busy to give us humble folk time of day," she complained. 

"Don't ever use the word humble, Arachne," the boy to her right, Festus Creed, scoffed. "It does not suit you."

Arachne rolled her eyes and sipped her drink petulantly. 

"Have you tried this lamb, it's scandalous!"

The only thing scandalous is the president's son eating with his hands, Artemis thought to herself, but she knew better than to say it out loud. 

Lucky for her, Festus didn't. 

"Only the vulgar eat with their fingers, Felix," he chastised. "What, daddy not teach you table manners?"

"Maybe he would have if he wasn't so busy running the country!" Felix retorted. 

The conversation veered off in the direction of the Plinth Prize, and their eyes were drawn to the family standing off to a corner, speaking amongst themselves. 

"Who would have thought that you could buy yourself into the capitol?" Felix muttered derisively. 

"You can buy god himself, provided you have the resources," Artemis finally commented. 

"You can't buy class though. Did you see Sejanus's mother's outfit," Festus paused for dramatic effect before sniggering. "Sorry, his ma's."

At least he had a mother who cared for him, which is more than Artemis could say for the imbeciles around her exhibiting motherless behaviour. 

"Dress a turnip in a ballgown and it'll still beg to be mashed," Snow jeered. 

Artemis scoffed. And here was the biggest motherless moron of them all. 

"Interesting that you of all people should say that, Coriolanus," she eyed him carefully. Gone were the honorifics she had addressed him by earlier in front of the professors. This was a battlefield and there were no pleasantries in war. 

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

The two stared at each other, neither wanting to be the one to look away first and their classmates glanced between them uneasily. 

Eventually, Coriolanus blinked, his ears burning, and Artemis flashed him a grin. If he wasn't thinking about carving the smile from her face, he might have thought it suited her. 

If it was a battle of wills, Artemis was a born victor. 

Their conversation about Sejanus came to a halt when he approached them. He didn't bother greeting any of them but he smiled at Artemis, which she heartily returned. Arachne shot her a questioning glance, but if the Capitol was a hierarchy, Artemis outranked her, and therefore did not have to answer to her. 

Coriolanus eyed their interaction sullenly. He was a charmer, it was the only currency he had access to after all, and over the years he had made his best efforts to charm the Dean's enigmatic daughter. Perhaps he thought it'd make Dean Highbottom detest him a little less, if he had Artemis's favour, but although it appeared that she shared nothing else with her father, she shared in his disdain for Coriolanus. There was nothing he could do to endear himself to her, and he had long since stopped trying. 

It especially irritated him, that it was Sejanus of all people who had managed to make friends with her. He did not even need the networking opportunity it provided. Snow observed the brunette boy now, his soft charcoal gray suit that reeked of money. 

Sejanus’s father was a District 2 manufacturer who had sided with the president. He had made such a fortune off munitions that he’d been able to buy his family’s way into a life in the Capitol. The Plinths now enjoyed privileges that the oldest, most powerful families had earned over generations. It was unprecedented that Sejanus, a district-born boy, was a student at the Academy, but his father’s lavish donation had allowed for much of the school’s postwar reconstruction. A Capitol-born citizen would have expected a building to be renamed for them. Sejanus’s father had only requested an education for his son. 

For Coriolanus, the Plinths and their kind were a threat to all he held dear. The newly rich climbers in the Capitol were chipping away at the old order simply by virtue of their presence. It was particularly vexing because the bulk of the Snow family fortune had also been invested in munitions — but in District 13. Their sprawling complex, blocks and blocks of factories and research facilities, had been bombed to dust. District 13 had been nuked, and the entire area still emitted unlivable levels of radiation. The center of the Capitol’s military manufacturing had shifted to District 2 and fallen right into the Plinths’ laps. When news of District 13’s demise had reached the Capitol, Coriolanus’s grandmother had publicly brushed it off, saying it was fortunate that they had plenty of other assets. But they didn’t. 

Sejanus had arrived on the school playground ten years ago, a shy, sensitive boy cautiously surveying the other children with a pair of soulful brown eyes much too large for his strained face. When word had gotten out that he’d come from the districts, Coriolanus’s first impulse had been to join his classmates’ campaign to make the new kid’s life a living hell. He was glad he didn't because when Casca Highbottom's daughter befriended him, it put an end to all public acts of cruelty. They still mocked him in private, but that couldn't be helped. His district blood simply invited the scorn. Coriolanus's decision to simply ignore the boy had only reinforced his image. The other Capitol children took it to mean that baiting the district brat was beneath him, and Sejanus took it as decency. Neither take was quite accurate, but both worked in his favour. 

"Sejanus," Festus grimaced. "You made it to the reaping for once."

"And you made it to graduation Festus, we're both shocked," the brunette boy responded. 

"Spill it, who won the prize?" Arachne inquired. 

Sejanus scoffed. Like any of these rich Capitol children even needed it. 

"Oh no, I'm not going to ruin my father's big day. No one here actually likes him, but they all love his money. You know what that's like, don't you Arachne?"

Arachne scowled, leaning up to whisper in Artemis's ear about what a stuck-up thing he was. Artemis did not grace her with a response, but when the bell rang, and the students began to assemble in front of the dais, she took the opportunity to slip her arm out of Arachne's. Sejanus fell into step beside her then, taking the opportunity to slip a bottle of water into her hands. 

"And this is for?" she raised an eyebrow. 

"I know you can't stand the posca. Thought you might need something to drink, given all the talking they have you doing around here."

"And you thought I couldn't get myself some water?"

"I thought you shouldn't have to," he rubbed his neck ruefully. "Although I realize I might be a little late."

"I appreciate the gesture anyway. Thank you, Sejanus."

Artemis granted him her only real smile of the day. His sheepish smile reminded her of the day they first met, when this district boy with the cloddish accent first wandered up to her, offering her his bag of gumdrops.

She followed him to where a special section of chairs, six rows by four, had been set up for the mentors. To her chagrin, he took a seat to the right, leaving the only vacant seat next to one Coriolanus Snow. She felt the childish desire to kick his chair out from under him as he went to sit down, but shook away the traitorous thought. It was beneath her. 

When her father began to speak, Artemis suppressed a sigh of exasperation. Dean Casca Highbottom, the man credited with the creation of the Hunger Games, presented himself to the students with all the verve of a sleepwalker, dreamy-eyed and, as usual, doped up on morphling. Artemis zoned out as he went on his usual spiel of how the Hunger Games, his displeasure at the whole event evident in his tone, although perhaps that was just the drugs talking. 

"There has been a change this year. One final assignment to prove your worth, because the esteemed citizens of the Capitol have grown bored of the Games and simply aren't watching anymore. And if the Games are to continue at all, there must be an audience," he continued rambling. "Head Gamemaker Dr. Gaul has stepped in to incentivize patriotic values with her own unique flair. Starting with you. The Plinth Prize will no longer be determined by who has the best grades...but by who is the best mentor in the Hunger Games."

Nervous whispers fluttered among the students, as they exchanged uneasy glances. A subtle unease threaded its way through the crowd as they leaned in, both captivated and unsettled by the Dean's cryptic words. 

Artemis had been aware of this turn of events, and so did Sejanus, as it was his family's money involved, but she took great satisfaction at the dumbfounded expression on Coriolanus's face when he heard the news. It made the dourness of the entire situation as a whole much more bearable. 

"Your goal is to turn these children into spectacles, not survivors," Dean Highbottom announced. 

Artemis was right. Anything could be art. Anything could be turned into a spectacle, even the most depraved of carnages, and what greater carnage was there than the Hunger Games? 

Artemis did not need the Plinth Prize. She imagined her father would finance her higher education as he did all her other luxuries, but perhaps he might look at her differently if she won it. Perhaps it might gain his admiration. Perhaps he might respect her if she earned something of her own for once. Perhaps he might finally return home sometimes. 

She did not care much for the Games, in the sense that they held no significance for her, so far removed were they from her daily life. Her classmates were a varied spectrum on where they stood, ones like Sejanus speaking out firmly against the ritual, and others enjoyed the butchery, the slaughtering of district lives. Artemis simply did not care. They were irrelevant, but if it meant gaining her father's approval, Artemis would make herself care. 

As the large screens in front of them came to life with life footage from the reapings, Dean Highbottom began to recite the mentor assignments. 

"District One, boy, goes to . . .” he squinted at the paper, trying hard to focus. “Glasses,” he mumbled. “Forgot them.” Everyone stared at his glasses, already perched on his nose, and waited while his fingers found them. “Ah, here we go. Livia Cardew.” 

Livia’s pointed little face broke into a grin and she punched the air in victory, shouting “Yes!” in her shrill voice. She had always been prone to gloating. As if the plum assignment was solely a reflection on her, and not on her mother running the largest bank in the Capitol. Purely by chance, Artemis exchanged a cursory glance with Coriolanus just then, secretive like a private joke, which left her feeling quite unsettled. 

Coriolanus felt increasing desperation as Dean Highbottom stumbled through the list, assigning each district’s boy and girl a mentor. After ten years, a pattern had emerged. The better-fed, more Capitol-friendly districts of 1 and 2 produced more victors, with the fishing and farming tributes from 4 and 11 also being contenders. Coriolanus had hoped for either a 1 or a 2, but neither was assigned to him, which was made more insulting when Sejanus scored the District 2 boy, and Artemis the girl. 

Unlike Livia, Artemis received news of her good fortune with tact, pushing her sheet of raven hair over her shoulder as she studiously made note of her tribute in her binder. Their brief moment of camaraderie during Livia's outburst was forgotten as she shot him a smug smirk and he seethed. 

District 4 passed without mention of his name, and his last real chance for a victor — the District 11 boy — was assigned to Clemensia Dovecote, daughter of the energies secretary. Something was amiss when a Snow, who also happened to be one of the Academy’s high-honour students, had gone unrecognized. Coriolanus was beginning to think they had forgotten him — perhaps they were giving him some special position? — when, to his horror, he heard Dean Highbottom mumble, “And last but not least, District Twelve girl . . . she belongs to Coriolanus Snow.”

[shapeshiftersandfire]

bellows family hcs

yall asked, and so yall shall receive! the massive bellows family hc post, complete with a readmore because wow this turned out longer than expected.

cw/tw: child abuse

GENERAL one of the tidbits of into in the movie was that the bellows family was one of the first to settle in mill valley in the late 1800s, but my thought was: why? what would make them want to come here, to some dinky little hole in the boonies of pennsylvania? my answer: albinism.

deodat and delanie both having it running in their families

delanie has a relative further up her family tree who was albino, deodat had an uncle

they lived in the same small town together, where, much like mill valley, talk went around easily, so it was known their families carried albinism

they both resented it, but the way they handled it was different

delanie grew bitter and angry, deodat grew withdrawn and determined to make something of himself that would shut them all up

they bonded over their mutual hatred for the town and the gossip surrounding their families, more or less grew to love each other, and married

which, of course, garnered more talk

and more still when delanie became pregnant with ephraim

he came out normal, but they left shortly after, not wanting to listen to the talk that would undoubtedly come when delanie got pregnant again

they left for mill valley, where deodat established the mill that pretty much put the town on the map and the talk of the family’s albinism was non-existent 

(and they intended to keep it that way)

they had the hidden basement room put in in the event that one of their kids had albinism

they at first thought sarah was blind, which wasn’t an issue, since gertrude couldn’t see well at this point anyway, but that turned out to very much not be the case and they had two very different reactions

DELANIE

she despises albinism with every fiber of her being as a result of her hometown’s relentless gossip and her own family’s intolerance

being a carrier, she has super light eyes, and she was frequently mocked for it (i did read that female carriers of OCA can have decreased iris pigment, hence)

when the painter came to do the bellows family portrait, she made him paint her eyes brown

delanie wanted nothing to do with sarah when it became apparent sarah was albino, borderline wanting to get rid of her (deodat somehow convinced her otherwise)

harold and ephraim feed off her hatred and bitterness and take it out on sarah

she generally overrules deodat in anything related to sarah

she resents sarah for a few reasons:

she sees it as her family’s curse, coming back in full to haunt her

it reminds her of the voices that followed her through town, mocking her family and her eye color

and of course because of her own family’s intolerance and bigotry

DEODAT most if not all of my hcs for him come from the one screenshot in The Haunted House scene where he looks Exhausted and just doesn’t want to do this anymore.

deodat tried to be a good dad but Failed Miserably

he never liked the idea of the basement room but had it put in anyway because of delanie

he tried to see it as a safety measure: he didn’t want his kids being hurt or killed or ridiculed for being albino

he wanted to keep sarah and refused to let delanie do anything reckless

gertrude also tried to convince him to get rid of her, but he politely told her what she could do with that suggestion

he knew delanie could be a decent mom, he’d seen her with harold and ephraim, so it left a sour taste in his mouth when she refused to care for sarah

he still interacted with sarah when the flow in business allowed for it, she was his only daughter, how could he not?

he was the one who got her into storytelling

when delanie wasn’t up his backside for chilling with sarah, he’d sit with her for an hour or so and tell her a story or two

he had an affinity for it as a kid, but gertrude was a Bitter Old Bitch and discouraged it

per deodat’s instructions, sarah never told anyone how she got so good at what she did

eventually the mill took all his attention away from sarah, opening up the door for ephraim, harold, and delanie to abuse her, and instead of doing something about it, he ignored it

that’s what led to sarah’s resentment of him, he was good to her and then he let the family abuse her and never tried to defend her

delanie convinces him to cover up the mercury spill and ultimately blame sarah for it

when sarah is sent to the asylum, that’s the last straw

he really doesn’t want to do that, the knows what ephraim is capable of, but this has gone on so long, what the point of trying to stop it?

when sarah dies, he has more regrets than he realized, not that it stops sarah’s fury when she starts writing stories

he figures out pretty quick that sarah’s writing stories from the grave

when he and ephraim are the first on the chopping block, he pretty much accepts that’s how he’s going to go, he deserved it for everything he did or didn’t to do/for her

did he love his daughter? he’d never admit that he does, not even to himself

GERTRUDE

gertrude is also a hate sink

she’s just as intolerant as the rest of her family

she actively encourages delanie’s hatred

when deodat introduces her to delanie for the first time, she instantly picks up on delanie’s bitterness and hatred, not all that different from her own, and tells deodat “You better keep this one.”

she’s very pleased when they marry

even more when they have ephraim and harold

not so much when they have sarah

she has a few choice words and less than stellar suggestions for the third-time parents

she is very much Not Pleased when deodat tells her to shove it

she and delanie were particularly close, to where delanie felt comfortable calling her “mother”

(gertie, never having been the warm and fuzzy type, basically responds to this with “if you gotta” but deep, deep inside really likes that her daughter-in-law calls her mom)

HAROLD AND EPHRAIM still going back and forth with some things about harold. everything i have for ephraim is built off his and sarah’s interaction in the wax cylinder recording.

harold is the middle child and four years older than sarah

ephraim is the oldest of the three, four years older than harold and eight years older than sarah

they both learned to hate their sister from delanie and gertrude; deodat tried to convince them otherwise and almost succeeded with harold but didn’t

harold looks up to ephraim

he tends to go overboard sometimes, to where ephraim feels he needs to step in, hence his “leave that to me, harold” line in the movie

harold is more prone to physical violence for the sake of being violent

ephraim, on the other hand, is more professional and refined, only getting physical when he feels it necessary to do so (which is rare and scarier than anything harold has ever done)

he’s the more methodical type, more person-oriented, more focused on the psychological aspect of his interactions with sarah and in general; he pays attention to people’s behavior and mannerisms

he’s still clearly remorseless about the way he treats his sister but it’s with more control and precision than harold

harold’s tendency to get trigger-happy and ephraim’s need to get involved is what sparks this attachment between sarah and ephraim

he doesn’t completely ignore her like the rest of their family (once deodat stopped visiting her) and he also doesn’t treat her well, but he also treats her more like a person than the others (sans deodat)

sarah latches onto that, because hey, it’s the first one of the family who’s taken seven minutes to talk to her since deodat bailed? and he doesn’t insult her, he doesn’t call her names, he calls her by her name and the way he treats her is almost?? human??

he doesn’t treat her like complete dirt and in the back of her mind she relishes that, even if she doesn’t recognize it consciously

they inadvertently attach themselves to each other

ephraim may or may not realize what’s happening on his end, but he recognizes that sarah has this strange fixation with him and he tends to use that to his advantage

which is why he advocated for institutionalizing her, because a) he had more at his disposal to coerce a “confession” from her and b) he already had that established relationship with her and figured he could use that for his family’s own gain