#(thomasin is their mother)

[normalbrothers]

you know john's whole 'tommy i need a wife now because my kids are running around at night and i can't handle it bla bla ' is funny. because maybe if he got less drunk in pubs and spend some time at home, this wouldn't be an issue. and thinking of, on the topic of who's the most like arthur sr? you bet it's john.

[svnnyd4ys]

oughh Samantha taking after her mother, even when she was younger and not even knowing it.

having visions of Sally (who was always the more rambunctious of the two) falling out of that leftenmost window; of meeting Egbert (who was destined to be with her, always with) at her uncle's stables for the first time. the most important events of her life always came with the same feeling, the same funny turn, the same things would happen every time:

Sally would knock on her bedroom door, begging her to play. (Samantha would turn her down, sobbing once she finally heard the sigh of discontent from her sister as she finally left)

Thomasin would come into the room after she thought Samantha had fallen asleep, and gently brush the hair from her face, before taking a silent vigil by that window. (how still Samantha would be, as her mother would finally be looking at her instead of past her)

she didn't remember the visions. it was always an intense feeling of deja vu, an intense "i've been here before. i've seen this but i can't stop it"

she remembered the migraines. the nursemaids and nannies fluttering and fussing around her. (her father never coming to her room, "Sally needs him more. You have your mother!" the governess would explain, as she and Samantha did their private lessons)

unlike Sally, Samantha loved reading and writing. the lessons with the governess were the highlight of her week, and she was encouraged by her to keep a journal.

so she'd sit in that leftenmost window (the same one that Sally fell out of, the same one that her mother would take her to the astral plane through, the same one that she sees Egbert coming back home from) and she would write.

and when Samantha is finally told the truth, she picks up those journals for the first time in years, and she reads and she writes.

when Egbert comes home, she reads and she writes.

pieces slowly click into place. Samantha is starting to understand herself, but she's not sure that she'll ever be able to forgive herself, or her mother, or her father, not fully. but Samantha feels like herself for the first time in years.

it's just about midnight on Sally's 18th birthday, and she knocks on Samantha's bedroom door. it's tentative, and unsure, and Samantha thinks she might be hallucinating at first, but when she goes and sees her little sister stood there (crooked smile and crooked teeth, and her crooked nose that never fully healed after the window incident)-

"Sam? Do you- Can- Would you like to sneak down to the kitchens with me?" Sally asks. she's nervous and Samantha's nervous. and then Sally starts to turn, "It was stupid- actually- nevermind- I just thought, for old times sake-"

"Can I grab my housecoat first?"

[literary-chameleon]

HAPPY WOMEN'S DAY TO SOME OF MY FAVOURITE FICTIONAL WOMEN!!!

[llimerrence]

random boiling iseles article: thomasin & belos have been married with a very active sex life for hundreds of years, how do they not have kids? thomasin: creating potions for herself to ensure she doesnt have kids

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

“The VVitch” (2015) and “Nosferatu” (2024) Are More Similar Than You Think

Robert Eggers made “The VVitch” and then thought: what if Thomasin and Black Phillip/The Devil had an demonic sexual love story going on? Time to make my own version of “Nosferatu” (the first script is from 2016).

This man is really out there making historical horror movies about ostracized women making pacts with the Devil.

“Wouldst thou like the taste of butter? A pretty dress? Wouldst thou like to live deliciously? […] Wouldst Thou Like to See the World?”

“You are not for the living. You are not for human kind. And shall you be one with me ever-eternally. Do you swear it? […] As our spirits are one, so too shall be our flesh. You are mine.”

How these films are similar:

Both Thomasin and Ellen pray for something at the beginning of the film, and the Devil answers: Thomasin asks for forgiveness and guidance, Ellen prays for companionship and tenderness;

Both Thomasin and Ellen are ostracized in connection with their womanhood and sexuality: Thomasin is growing into a woman, and Ellen has “hysteric fits” with strong sexual undertones;

The Devil (Black Phillip and Orlok) essentially kills everyone around them, until they are the only left, to force their hand into accepting him (a bit different in “Nosferatu” because it’s a remake);

Both films have a pair of children which are “foreshadowing bombs” in the narrative (Mercy and Jonas in “The VVitch” and Clara and Louise in “Nosferatu”);

In both films, the Devil offers something tempting to both these characters, which they accept: Black Philip promises freedom and knowledge, and Orlok promises eternal passion and sex;

Both pacts involve blood sacrifice and death to seal them: in “The VVitch” Thomasin kills her mother, in “Nosferatu” Ellen kills herself alongside Orlok.

Thomasin was accused of being a "witch", a “whore” and having a pact with the Devil by everyone around her, until she actually did at the end. Ellen is also seen as “deranged”, “diseased” and often compared to supernatural beings ("changeling girl", "sylph", "fairy", etc.) until she becomes just that at the end, too. They are both the Devil’s concubines.

“I’m that very witch. When I sleep my spirit slips away from my body and dances naked with the Devil. That’s how I signed his book.”

Thomasin taunts her sister, Mercy (“The VVitch”, 2015)

In another post, I already explored which demonic figures Ellen and Orlok are meant to be in this adaptation: Babalon and the Beast.

There I saw a woman sitting on a scarlet beast that was covered with blasphemous names and had seven heads and ten horns. The woman was dressed in purple [lilacs] and scarlet [blood], and was glittering with gold sunlight precious stones and pearls [sunlight]. She held a golden cup in her hand, filled with abominable things and the filth of her adulteries. The name written on her forehead was a mystery: Babylon the great, the mother of prostitutes, and of the abominations of the earth.

“Scarlet beast” = Orlok, a vampire

“blasphemous names” = names of the Devil

“Seven heads” = heptagram, the seven-pointed star (Orlok and Babalon’s sigils)

“Ten horns” = ten lilac flowers

“Golden cup” = it’s the Holy grail = womb

“Filled with abominations” = sex with Orlok, necrophilia

“Filth of her adulteries” = she’s married to Thomas before God, and she’s defiling that vow on their marriage bed

“She [Babalon] rides astride the Beast; in her left hand she holds the reins, representing the passion which unites them. In her right she holds aloft the cup, the Holy Grail aflame with love and death.”

Aleister Crowley, “The Book of Thoth”

In some occult circles, this “Beast” is the Devil himself, which makes me ask: is Orlok the Devil?

Not only he’s referred as such several times in the actual film, but also the fact he was one of the Solomonari, a dark wizard, in life, a servant and a student of the Devil. We are told “the Devil preserved his soul that his corpse may walk again in blaspheme.” So… who’s actually walking in that corpse? Orlok’s soul or the Devil? Being a servant to the Devil is being a puppet to the Devil, essentially. This is pretty much what the abbess says to Thomas: it’s the Devil that makes Orlok’s corpse walk.

In another post I already talked about how Orlok prepared his own physical death, because the book containing the “maiden’s sacrifice” was found by Von Franz in Knock’s office, his fanatical servant, which is shady to say the least. The Devil is a deceiver after all (as Ellen herself accuses him of being), so making the heroes believe they are beating him while doing exactly what he wants them to do, it’s not far fetched, and even rooted in religious belief.

Why would Orlok want to die in the physical world? Because he wants his spirit to be set free, he doesn’t want to be trapped in a freaking rotten corpse, which explains why he tells Ellen she’s “his affliction”; she’s the one who trapped in that physical form when she awoke him, probably. He wants to return to spiritual form, and wants to take Ellen with him; which explains their covenant, and their blood sacrifice at the end to seal it. And Ellen was also fully aware of what she was signing for, she knew what her physical death would mean (being forever joined with him in hell, or the Underworld or whatever “celestial sphere”), and that Orlok would die too (obviously).

[futuristicsaladparadise]

The new girl

For my birthday this year, I got a new CYO. Her name is Aletheia Thomasin Seabold, but she goes by Thandie after her late grandmother. She is deaf, as is her mother, and like her mother, wants to be an artist. Her mom is a painter, but Thandie is more interested in digital art and drawing. She lives in a small apartment with her mom and there isn't a lot of money because her dad was a soldier who died on campaign when Thandie was a toddler.

She's so cute. I expected her wig to be longer and her eyebrows were too light out of the box, so I darkened them. I wanted a biracial doll and since AG hasn't done one, I made her myself.

Shamsa tried on her accessories. The pink glasses are so much bigger than Shamsa's normal ones. The headphones are huge too, but very sturdy. I'm really impressed with the quality of the CYO accessories, I just wish it didn't cost $250 to get them.

This was Thandie right out of the box:

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 117 (A Genius Idea)

Ash and Pearl arrived downstairs to find their parents. "Mommy, the lights went out and the TV, too!" he cried.

Heather nodded. "Pearl's mom checked the electrical box out back and it's totally fried."

Dylan, an electrical engineer, spoke with Heather and Anjali. "I can't keep trying to patch around the same problem. That box is done, but the city says they won't be able to get someone out to replace it until tomorrow morning."

Anjali frowned. "That doesn't help us get tonight's meal on the table."

"I have an idea, but I need some beakers and some bubble gum," Ash said. The adults looked confused. "We can make a heating system with candles and metal trays!"

"What's the bubble gum for, buddy?" wondered Conrad.

"To hold them together! Bubble gum won't burn if we use it to secure the trays on the outside, and I can make it harden faster if there's a science table here!"

The adults were all impressed by his idea, and they set to work prepping a makeshift heating station to continue cooking the food. It would take longer this way, but at least everyone would eat a hot meal tonight.

Ash worked away at a rickety old science station donated by the local middle school, while Pearl glanced around the cavernous, dark shelter. "Hurry, Ash, it's getting dark outside!"

"It's only nighttime. It's not that scary."

"My mom says nights in the Spice District can be dangerous."

Ash tried to work a little faster. "It's okay, Pearl. Our parents won't let anything happen to us. Why did you take your coat off? It's cold in here."

"I run hot! My dad says it's genetic."

Once the food was in the makeshift ovens, everyone took a break outside, purchasing coffee and pastries from the cafe to enjoy in The Soup Kitchen's eclectic courtyard.

Chatting together at a long table, Heather's mouth dropped open when she spotted a face she hadn't seen in years. "Marcus Flex! Is it really you?"

Heather's first vet tech turned at the sound of her voice, breaking into a wide smile when he recognized her. "Doc Nesbitt! No way! What are you doing in the city?"

"Volunteering here with my fiance and my son."

"Man oh man, Ash must be so big now."

"I am!" he said, speaking up across the table. "Who are you?"

"I used to work for your mother, but I've lived here since I left town."

Heather nodded. "Are you and Thomasine doing well?"

"Things with us couldn't be better. I know I was a bit non-committal and flighty back when I lived in the Bay, but Thomasine changed me. I can't imagine spending my days with anyone else but her."

Heather smiled. "That's great Marcus. Are you working? I've been worried about you since you both left town."

He nodded proudly. "I'm in marketing now and she's a mental health nurse. We lived in a real dump of a place for a while, but then one day this woman knocked on our door and offered us a bigger suite in the building for the same rent. She just wanted to trade for a smaller place, and we thought she might be out of her mind, but she showed us her ID and she's never missed paying the landlord the rest of our rent."

"No offense, but that sounds a little suspicious," said Conrad. "Paying your rent and hers to live in a crappier apartment. Only a criminal would do that."

"Rafaella keeps to herself. If she's into anything, it's never affected us."

"What did you say her name was?" Heather said.

"Rafaella Santos, according to her ID."

Heather and Conrad exchanged tense looks. "What's the address of your old apartment?"

"910 Medina Studios. Back in the Arts Quarter. Thomasine works in the Spice District on weekends and I like to stop by to give her an afternoon coffee. I'm usually there by now, but she'll totally understand when I tell her I ran into you, Doc! I really am sorry I just took off all those years ago."

Heather shook her head, trying to keep her sudden mix of emotions from showing in front of Ash and Pearl. That was Conrad's old apartment, and this Rafaella Santos was probably using an assumed name. She noticed Conrad down the table - the same wild thoughts were running through his mind.

"It's alright, Marcus. It sounds like everything worked out for the best. And if you can let me know how to get the money to you, I can finally send your share of the proceeds from the VetConnect extension you helped me come up with."

"That's kind of you, Doc, especially after I left without a word. It's been great catching up with you. Thomasine's just about ready to speak to her father again - she thinks - so we might be back in Brindleton Bay for a visit sooner than later."

"It would be great to see you, Marcus."

They got up then to head back to work, but before Marcus had left with his cafe order to go, Conrad approached him. "This Rafaella Santos - can you tell me what she looks like?"

"She changed her hair colour recently, but she was blonde before. You could tell it was straight from a bottle, though. You really think she's a criminal?"

"I think she might be a drug smuggler. I don't suppose I could convince you to wear a wire?"

"She doesn't say much. I've tried to be friendly."

"If it's who I think it is, she's not friendly."

"Thomasine wouldn't want me getting involved if she's dangerous. I'd love to help you and the doc, but we've been talking about maybe trying for a kid."

Conrad nodded. "I get it. You've given us enough to take it from here. There might be some officers scoping out the building over the next little while, until we know it's her, so if you're serious about taking a trip to Brindleton Bay to see your wife's family, maybe now's a good time. Just stay out of 'Rafaella's' way. Don't let her think someone might be on to her, and don't tell her you saw us. Oh, and, be prepared to take over the full rent in the larger apartment soon. If we get her, those contracts will void."

"I'll talk to Thomasine, but I'm glad I could help. Thanks for the heads up, Lieutenant Gordon."

As Marcus turned to leave, Conrad's heart started racing. If his instincts were correct, Ximena had been hiding out in the last place he'd lived in San Myshuno all along.

Now Conrad felt just days away from finally catching her. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: Pay no mind to Ash's reindeer hat in the "genius idea" pop up. I sent them on the rabbit hole family volunteering event immediately after staging their Christmas Day photos. Didn't even think about changing their clothes since it was a rabbit hole. But then this pop up ended up dictating storyline so that's why he's wearing it in the inset but not at the lot.

Also the goal was empathy, but with Ash's genius trait and the pop up we got, he had the choice to solve the problem himself or call for help. Since his phone's been confiscated due to creepy pranks, there was really only one choice. His empathy bar didn't budge but his responsibility and mental increased. So his empathy is in low green territory at the moment (better than red!) and I'm hopeful he won't roll a douche trait. Since he's still got a ways to go until teenhood, I've got more time to play around!

NOTE 2: Second-save Marcus and Heather instantly became the best of friends while they reconnected, which is clearly because they're finally certain Ximena's within reach, all thanks to him!

[mysticmemos]

I love Thomasin’s journey to freedom in The VVitch. From the start she was blamed for things that weren’t her fault and you can see how ingrained the hypocrisy of christianity is into their lives. When her brother noticed things about her it was her fault, when her father sold their silver cup it was her fault, when the twins never did their chores it was her fault. Her father succumbed to pride, her mother to envy, her brother to lust and the twins to sloth. She was the purest member of her family, yet they blamed her for their own sins. Thomasin had likely been dealing with this long before the witches preyed on her family, yet when they did she was blamed for that as well and accused of being a witch. Some people believe Thomasin didn’t have a choice to sign Black Philip’s book because she was manipulated by outside forces for so long. That she traded one master for another, but I don’t see it that way. Her family, who had already succumbed to cardinal sins, were exiled from their village and moved out into the middle of no where. The witches likely would have preyed on her family anyway but they saw Thomasin as an opportunity so they gave her an in. Thomasin signed Black Philip’s book and for the first time she tasted freedom from the hypocrisy of christianity. When a master offers freedom, freedom from subservience, freedom from hypocrisy, freedom from from blame, is he really then a master? No. When a master offers freedom, he is not a master, he is a liberator.

[tieflingfingers]

What and who: Astarion tries his first attempt at close quarters. Thomasin isn't happy about it. Summary: Thomasin awakes to find a silhouette hovering over her. Between blades, blood, and bickering, Astarion tries to find a way to feed himself without breaking the mild trust they have. Warning/Content: Re-write of first bite scene, character lore, and Astarion character study. Adjacent to horror/angst/humor/the seed planting of fluff. Vague mentions of abuse/trauma. Part of campaign remix, but can also be read as one-off. Word Count: 4,925 Ao3 Link

In the depths of the Dales, where agriculture and pillagers roamed free, lived a forbidden courtship. Proof of peace and harmony sprout from its bud. It was the birth of a child. One whose cheeks were pink and supple like her human mother. Like her mother before her and those before them. Skin stained shades of raspberry as though she, too, was grown from the same acre of land. Soil rich enough to build a lineage of women feminine yet sturdy. 

Paternal instincts didn’t come naturally to the infant’s father, but not out of his own volition. He was a drow softer than the Underdark would foster. Intimacy was prohibited. The gentle touch of sun-warmed flesh even more so. Only a handful of meetings left a legacy he’d never know. A daughter bathing in light not afforded to him whilst he was swept back underground.

But, living on farmland proved rich with experience. The child braided ribbons into her hair to keep strands out of her eyes while tending crops. Hours under the sun left imprints on her skin that mirrored her mother. Skin decorated by a labor of love. Speckled and peachy against silver tints.

"There’s so much to see in every plane, Thomasin,” her mother interjected between lullabies.

Perhaps her parents were both stricken by their own nagging wanderlust. Thomasin heard countless stories of travels beyond her young comprehension. Stories of a drow that defied Lolth. Not by mighty bloodshed, but a gentle demeanor. The defiance of a man wanting nothing more than freedom. Details that were mulled over so often, he began to feel more like a fairytale. His character evolved with the human’s fallible memory.

Some evenings, the drow was heroic against his raiding caravan. Other times, he simply was a man whose fingers ached for acceptance. All of it, all of him, muddled together, fed Thomasin like breadcrumbs. They were memories she could cling to, even if he existed only through anecdotes and physical letters left behind. He was folklore.

-

Lifetimes away from her original roots, Thomasin became the conduit of their dreams. She’d witness the vastness of their plane. Places where adventures never ended. But, her mother never truly warned of life’s woes. How merciless it could be, even when fruitful.

Thomasin spent the evening concocting medicinal magic. They were common procedural spells that ward off inflammation and voided the need of stitches. As content as her new companions were, it wore the half-elf down, and so she retired to her tent earlier than the others.

It wasn’t long until she was tucked away underneath a makeshift blanket. Sleep hadn’t always come naturally, so she took advantage of exhaustion. Her dark hair sprawled around her head like a halo, strands entwined and unfurled from restless slumber. But, no matter how hard she tried, her mind remained partially tuned in to life outside her tent.

Thankfully, it was nothing more than banter around a campfire. They rejoiced in comradery fueled by dinner whose foundation was primarily red wine. It eased tension. Let their playful jabs and jokes wash off their backs. This possibility of protection comforted the half-elf a bit.

So, Thomasin remained in her nest. At forty-five years of age, she figured fatigue stemmed from her human half. The same that made her frame worn yet strong. Travel brought city inclines, grassy hills, and crouching through thistle in the name of foraging. But, no matter how much she pushed herself, she was constantly decorated. 

Easy on the eyes. It was a habit, more than anything. A default state of being.

Curated fashions were collected over years. Gifted, stolen, sewn, swapped, and saved. Pigments made cheeks looked pinched and sparkles smeared over scars from unfortunate scraps. Her hips were wide when seasonal harvests were plentiful. Her posture bordered between straight and feminine. It was as though every aspect of her persona had been created from decades of standing in front of a mirror.

Starting this new journey, as involuntary as it may be, she was thankful for what piece of home she carried. The belongings of an abandoned home still packed in her bag after getting abducted by mind flayers. Scarves made of fine stolen silk, whose weave snagged. Books with split bindings lovingly re-bound by bundling pages until whole once more. Their contents ranged from fictional anthologies to sappy romance to guides of edible flora.

Residing next to potions, bottled perfumes soaked into cork tops. Her violin slept in the corner. Its body had been as plucked, popped, and rewound as hers. Simple blessings.

Eventually, noises dwindled. Those outside finally laid to sleep. The forest began to rustle louder, as though it had been waiting for their commotion to cease. To be able to exist in its most natural state. It harmonized. Branches creaked and native berries were plucked by gusts of wind. Whenever the unknown awoke Thomasin, she reminded herself of her mother’s saying.

“We are a guest to nature. The nocturnal world has always lived with us, just as the light does."

What she lacked to consider, was the nocturnal entering her den.

Cast shadows were almost tactile in their density, hovering atop her skin. An ever faint sensation. One that resurfaced her hypervigilance born from syndicates. And, for a split second, she caught a glimpse of the greyed silhouette above.

Dread set in.

Before her was a tale as old as time.

Domineering men proving she was just consumable company.

There was no hesitation in her reflexes. No need to identify who it was. No time. Words fled from her lips in rapid succession. The spell, readily accessible, flowed from an unnatural tongue. It was a series of broken common, deep, and high drow. Unintelligible horrific statements. The whispers trickled in a river of flowing smoke, its blue haze snaking its way into the figure’s skull.

As the weave infiltrated their thoughts, it illuminated streams that spilled down the planes of their face. Down their cheeks like painful tears and pouring from an agape mouth as though squeezing the last remnants of a well’s ground reserves. 

In a full blown panic, the figure gasped. Thomasin wouldn’t prolong the forced terror, but she knew even a single second of torment felt like hours. The pressure entangled within her foe’s temples and dragged its ephemeral claws around an already battered brain.

Out into the moonlight, Astarion stumbled from the mouth of her tent. He had flung himself backward, landing square on his palms. He stared back at Thomasin, but it was apparent he was still recovering from the sudden retaliation. He appeared disillusioned. Frightened in a way that made her uncomfortable.

Thomasin scuttled to the entrance with ragged breath. A small dagger embedded so deep within her fist, her knuckles grew white and sharp. Although her blade had become a beacon of last resort rather than an eager desire. Chips and wear along its metal mumbled its victims, but that couldn’t defy the obvious shaking of her hands and the memories of every time she’d fallen victim, herself.

In the darkness, the light from her cryptic illusions mellowed until both elves peered at one another in shades of livid grey. Before her, Astarion was shivering in place. Jaw slackened and back hunched. He knew he had to simply endure. Magical cruelty was unyielding, but the clutches of the Weave always dissolved before he did. 

Thomasin recognized her chance to approach. Survey the feigning of undeath she figured he existed within. His humanity, stunted. Stagnant. She peeked her head out further like a writhing animal curious about a writhing beast. As though her quills plunging him into fright was an act of wry mercy. 

Astarion’s knuckles appeared speckled in shades of bruised plum. Its fruit’s tender exterior tumbled, prodded, and thudded against the dirt before truly ripening. His heavy breath revealed the sheer discomfort his posture took to maintain. It was as though his frame ached under the weight of its growing hunger. They were wordless pleas of pangs. Pains of a pallid complexion.

Eventually, Astarion melted into his body once more. Pupils no longer dilated and dissociative. No longer forlorn. As his fingers eased from their strained grip into the grass, his gaze flicked back up to hers. It reeked of exhausted predation.

“Gods—shit,” he muttered. “It’s not–”

Thomasin’s intuition begged for civility. Her history beckoned her to protect herself through any means necessary. It boiled to a froth from her gut. Words clamored to be free, vitriolic in her throat. Syllables bashed against her teeth. But, she ground them down until the unbridled anger condensed into something meek. Uncharacteristically so. 

“Astarion- Please. You promised,” Thomasin whispered.

His eyes trailed down to the dagger she still held tight. 

“You don’t have to use that. Blades among friends is never the answer, honestly” His voice cracked. “An old-hat solution. Passé, even.” 

“I-” She looked around the camp with bleary eyes. It was still. Oblivious in each tent’s drunken slumber. “Is this from all that dessert wine you found? Fucking hells- you have ten seconds to plead before I wake the others.”

“Ten seconds?” The elf swallowed his distress, struggling to smooth its ridges with his usual temperament. “Going back on a promise?  I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I’m not some kind of- oh, I don’t know.” His hand twisted about in the air in search of answers. “A ne’er-do-well? I thought we were better acquainted than that.” 

His lilt was slithering back into his grasp. He even let out a light titter.

“Thomasin. Darling. You’re beautiful, but I am no ill-intentioned monster.

Astarion shifted to tend to the impact upon his wrists, wringing his hands around sore joints. Thomasin watched him repress every line of dialogue that would fail to placate her. But, there was overcompensation in his eyes. After their tumultuous days, little strength was left to press down the fatigue he forcibly polished like an ever rotating stone wheel. He was stuck with the excess. Nothing but powdered iron and rust.

The elf’s ears drooped at the unnerving silence between them. He caught her hesitance. But, even her reluctance to strike couldn’t mask the sheer adrenaline coursing through her. And before he knew it,  Astarion found himself pulled by his linen shirt collar.

His back slammed against crackling wicker. It was the mat flooring of her tent. Wavering between fragility and disorientation, he found himself straddled and pinned by the half-elf’s knees. One restrained his forearm whilst the other dug into his open palm. His fingers curled under the crushing weight.

“Absolute bitch- I need that!” Astarion hushed himself, but not before hissing through his teeth. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

Next was the fine point of a dagger nestled between his jawline and jugular. Any quick movements would prove deadly to Astarion, if he wasn’t careful, but the act of unrelenting threat grew muddled. It wasn’t her voice that faltered. Nor her commitment. It was the droplets that hit the elf’s face under her. Gravity pulling what laid along her lashline with little consent.

“What were you thinking? Sneaking up on me? Inside my tent? I wanted to consider you more than some… tawdry dandy… The lack of tact. I’m not afraid to end you where you lay, you know. Those weren’t falsehoods I spoke of.”

“Wait- There are few things I have a difficult time wording,” Astarion uttered. “Nothing awful, terrible, of course. I wouldn’t dare ruin the company we keep. Sometimes actions are more via–”

The microscopic tilt of Thomasin’s hand shoved the blade deeper against his neck, cutting shallow within the flesh. She was terrified, but couldn’t allow herself to voice it. Every word of his tasted like milk and honey. If only there weren’t gall in his heart and fraud in his deeds.

Astarion gasped and pulled his shoulders upward as though he could make distance between them. “Ah! Easy there. No need to spur a horse going full speed. Listen-”

A huff jut from his nostrils. His eyes closed to shield himself from the consequences. Each sentence raced behind the next, detailing the confession that finally caught up with him. The reason for his comeuppance. 

“You remember that ghastly sight we saw on our walk earlier? That hog . You remember the one, yes? The one with those curious little wounds on his neck.” A weak laugh fluttered out, making the wound sting more. “Exsanguinated. Perhaps… the stories of creatures going bump in the night aren’t entirely as they seem. That-Perhaps… Perhaps! Just maybe, vampire spawn live amongst you just as your peers.”

Astarion opened his eyes to witness her reaction, although it was not as extravagant as he expected. It was quiet contemplation wracked with desires. For mercy. Possible bloodshed to solve it all.

After years of prowling, he was left to his own devices. No masters or gods to tell the elf what to do or how to act. No higher powers to blame. No scripts for the circumstance. No one to pick up the pieces.

“I could have guessed as much,” she finally spoke up. “You lack subtlety, I fear.”

“Look. I won’t be saccharine about all of this. I am not in this state of being out of choice . I-There are powerful people in Baldur’s Gate, you know this. Cazador resides in the high mansions of the city, maintaining his control through slavery. I was only lucky to be plucked from his clutches.” 

The muscles in his face struggled to maintain a calm. His dignity, visibly pained.

She paused, recognizing the name from word of mouth. The rare occasions she associated with the upper echelon, where her escorting brought forth gifts of fresh seafood, fresher furs, and the freshest hearsay. She was suddenly grateful she’d never accepted invitations to the grand castle in the sky.

“Do you survive off animals?” she asked.

“Typically, yes. I’ve existed under strict rules for as long as I’ve been riddled with this disease.” 

He averted his eyes and recalled the list of his master:

“‘First, thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures.

Second, thou shalt obey me in all things.

Third, thou shalt not leave my side unless directed.

Four, thou shalt know that thou art mine.’”

Astarion’s glanced and lit up at the sight of her expression softening.

“Though… quenching my thirst has proven difficult out here, “ he continued. “Every day I grow weaker. It gets more and more difficult to fight beside you all and hide such ailments. Aha… Color me… desperate.” The admission was bitter to taste.

Thomasin unsheathed the blade’s tip and pressed her thumb against Astarion’s wound. The gentle touch did not heal, but rather pondered over the damage. It was a souvenir of who she once was.

Astarion didn’t let his guard down further. He couldn’t. She had no reason to spare him the quickened death of a dagger through his chest. The obvious answer was self-preservation. Yet, she was suddenly tender, despite her weight heavy atop him. He let out a weak laugh. The reality was, he was still alive.

“Vampirism seems to have an odd relationship to the city streets,” Thomasin said. “I came across your kind every so often, but rarely did we speak. I imagine murdering the harlots would put a damper on your ability to blend into flophouses…” She grabbed his jaw, turning his face to assess the gnarled scar on his neck. The trauma of a blistering bite. Under it was an elf he once was. “I suppose part of me wanted to encourage whatever humanity is left inside you.”

“I… Well…” he mumbled, uncertain the comments called for offense or flattery.

“...Did you want to feed off me?”

He inhaled sharp, nodding his head in her clutches. “Yes! Yes, I would, very much so. Not a drop more than you are willing, of course .”

“Will… I turn?”

“No, I am merely a spawn. Transforming you into some thrall isn’t in my…  vampiric wheelhouse.”

Thomsin felt coziness in the unconventional path. Dangers were plentiful and often more perilous than the man sitting before her. What was more indulgent than snake oil? The grey morals that provide true, unfiltered respite. The enticement of taboo relief. A thought that would later morph into regret if she didn’t take the chance. She yearned to finally relax. To finally feel something. Or nothing. Anything.

Although she’d never admit it to herself.

After short deliberation, the half-elf freed Astarion and positioned herself beside him. A shaking hand tucked her weapon back into its sheath. Her knees pulled into her chest. And, as she was about to consent, a noise escaped her throat. A whimper. Biology voicing its disapproval.

“Ah-What should I do?” she whispered.

“Just… let me take the lead. You sit pretty.”

Astarion sat up and gathered what energy he had left. He groaned and articulated his fingers, instructing his limbs to cooperate once more. Gradually, he oriented himself behind her with a slow stalking grace and encouraged her shoulders to rest against his chest.

It was as though a spark livened him. Not a sensation of excitement from pocketing coins or fulfilling lewd fantasies. This felt different. The vampire never had the luxury of an artery so willing and gifted. Wrapped in a bow, so to speak. Yet, he had an epiphany. 

Every fiber of his being had subconsciously prepared itself for another death. His master professed this fate. He could already hear the joyous cackling Cazador would make upon finding his withering starved body in the forest. It was everything he promised upon escape.

Even if he wished to disobey, Astarion had never fed upon a victim nor been taught to. Rodents' bodies were compact, whereas living speaking anatomy had nuance. In fact, he’d only witnessed feasts from a distance with palpable envy. One could recall wounds, but where would be best to bite? How could he ensure she was preserved, leeching life without the inevitable corpse on his hands?

Astarion proceeded to mimic those dining in the halls of his home. The decorum was different, but that wouldn’t matter. The elf proceeded to wrap an arm around her waist for support and gently brushed aside long strands of hair. They ran down her clavicle like a cascading curtain, revealing her neck.

"How much will it hurt?" she asked. 

Seconds went by. No answer. He was enamored by the mere concept of a meal. Stone still, ferality awoke within his brain, although he eventually snapped back into reality. He felt like a starving animal careening toward rats for sustenance. He was.

"It's only a pinch. A nick. Just…” His words trailed off, voice low and heavy. “Just relax yourself against me. I'll keep you steady.”

"What if you go on a count? I breathe in and out a few times?”

“Sure- Yes. Let us count.”

There was impatience in his tone being strangled. The elf was fueled by tunnel vision. Unshackled hedonism. Still, he played along.

“One.” 

“Two.”

And not a syllable more. 

Thomasin’s flesh being punctured felt like the hissing of an unkempt fire. Dried kindling snapping and sparking against moisture in the air. She yelped. The wound in her neck pulsated in a way she'd never experienced, uncomfortable and siphoned. Excitement of the unknown had all but culminated into panic.

But, if there was one about the half-elf, it was that she was stubborn. Her nails dug into his shirt, pawing at the linens for his cold embrace. They searched for any semblance of safety. Through creases and cuffed folds, they landed at his wrist and etched a codex into his skin.

Astarion's body began to writhe against her in pure intoxication. With his hand guiding her head, he rose to a kneeling position, fulling taking control of the dance macabre. The footwork proved messy, but style was far from his mind. Never had the finer tastes in life been so abundant. Every sense was sharpening. Every emotion, ecstatic. 

The elf’s eyes had nearly glazed over until a pain brought him back. It was Thomasin’s nails. He realized her composure was crumbling.

"Keep counting, love,” he managed through a tongue coated in the blackened blood pooling at his lips.

Diving back into her neck once more, Thomasin finally let go. The pain that once seized her neutralized. What now resided was a bloodless calm. Their hearts raced at uneven beats, momentarily syncing until they passed one another. Hers slowing whilst his engorged with borrowed life. He ventured into an aggravated fervor at the expense of a bard’s descent into the dirt. The oozing ebb and flow of building delirium. An amalgamation of every misstep and the bottles of whiskey that couldn’t quite wrap them in creature comforts.

She did as she was told and crept into a languid submission, head rolling any way his body contorted hers. 

Back to counting. 

Two. Three. Four.

The numbers coinciding felt more like concepts than measurements.

Five. Six. Seven.

Internal dialogues began to devolve. Abstraction. It washed over her. Abrupt and startling like tumbling into a cold lake. Although its cool waters rejuvenated where her soil never knew rain. Repose began to blossom.

Eight. Nine. Ten.

Thomasin clutched onto him as a safety net. She ran her fingers along his shirt. They trailed over every stitch, discovering mending he’d sewn by hand. Bumps and valleys. 

By now, the sounds of his neglected appetite were fading into the ether. Numbers had lost meaning and she had to find new ways to remain grounded. First, it was the threads. Then, the slowing repetition of her heartbeat. They were the last ways of documenting how unsubstantial seconds passed by.

Time was trivial in the face of the physical.

Sensations lured her forward with warm euphoric dreams and brighter visions of the past. For a moment, she couldn’t identify the emotion heavy in her chest. Whether they were death’s temptation. But it wasn’t long before she realized they weren’t all acidic.

They were shades of colored wax she used to liven monochromatic children’s books. They were the light noise of tin cans tickling your ears as they clinked down cobblestone walkways. The mythical society of dust particles floating indefinitely against a window’s evening light. The stray fuzzy knits of her favorite sweater and the lingering scent of perfume from hugging close friends. 

They were the protective glow from oil street lamps guiding her way home. The giggling and tingles of bubbles popping from steins of beer. Fogged mirrors from steaming rooms with a hot bath and the way sounds muffled when sunken into a wooden tub. Stories told under the covers, fairytales to romantic confessions, until everyone fell asleep to dwindling candlelight.

These all lived in a hypothetical mist that rolled in. More of a fog, like those she experienced during her childhood winters in the Dales. How she’d begun the exchange with Astarion was unimportant. Details melted into something viscous. Consumed how the two had even met. 

Her fingers were still moving as far as she could understand. The atmosphere felt heavy against their journey, but they operated as their own entities. Their coordination, unsteady, persisted out of habit. The stripped down basics. 

Repetitive motion. Color. Air. Pressure. Darkness. Enveloping darkness.

“Stop,” she mumbled. “Please.” Words seemed warped from her lips, unsure she had even spoken them aloud. They felt incorporeal.

Hunched over her, Astarion was coursing with vitality he’d didn’t know how to tolerate. His fangs were hooked and mania was the only voice in his head. It wasn’t until he noticed her shallow gasps of air in his arms. How her muscles no longer fought against him. The desire to simply finish her screamed at him, but he found the strength to pull himself off. 

The elf’s grin framed his pointed teeth in their glory. He chuckled in his daze, unsure if her pathetic grasp for life were to be laughed at or pitied. She was food. An object. For once, he didn’t share that feeling. 

Astarion scoot back to let her head rest in his lap so he could revel in his dinner. Although, his fantasies couldn’t help be bombarded with the reality of her death on his hands. It all conflicted. Anxieties had been buffered by his bloodied delectation.

He slapped her cheek twice, printing her blood against her flesh in a hasty spattering. 

"C'mon. You haven’t lost that much.”

To no avail, the elf snapped his fingers over her shut eyes. He jostled her side to side. Pressed his hand against her neck, hoping to calm the flow unleashed. Soon, he noticed thin ribbons of red staining both of their clothes and caught himself staring  at the blood wet between his fingers.

“Wake. Up. Don’t make me start asking gods for favors.”

Despite a faint pulsing thump against his hand, her responses were absent. Even looking at her made him uneasy. He wondered if holding his gaze for too long would unlock parallels between him and this random young woman. A thought that would anger him if not for being appeased by his leeching. 

Suddenly, he considered her backpack and yanked it to his side, digging around for anything of use. He needed to stop the escalation. A potion. A salve. A deity with a worrying sense of humor.  

Within, a diamond shaped bottle glittered. One he recognized. It was commonly consumed among mortals for hangovers, bar fights, or the lucky escape from an owlbear. The concoction healed minor injuries and illnesses in a foul swoop. Thomasin’s sickness was more dire than half a bottle, but it was still a victory to toast to.

Astarion tucked a pillow between his thigh and her head to create elevation. And, with a gentle tug by the pad of his thumb, he lowered her bottom lip. Its glittering elixir slowly but surely ran down her throat.  

“Aha, wonderful. There you go. Watch your pretty little head.”

It took a minute or so, but Thomasin’s eyes finally flickered open. She had been unceremoniously thrown back into the realm of the living, where she lay in a veil of crimson strewn across her face. The land smelled of iron much richer than she remembered. But, her comprehension of her surroundings faltered.

“Do you know how irritating these stains are going to be to get out?” Astarion said, taunting her, egging her on to get a reaction. 

Thomasin’s body suddenly flinched. A ragged titter. The half-elf was at least somewhat responsive.

“Wasn’t it wonderful though?,” she whispered, nearly inaudible. 

Astarion’s ears perked up. Crisis had been averted. He was prompt to pull a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the remaining evidence of bloodletting. With fresh water from her canteen, he soaked the fabric swatch and grazed it over her shoulders, chest, and neck. It wiped away what streamed down her arms. What dripped down her back. A courtesy of aftercare, wringing the tainted water into a bowl between each cleaning. 

Once she acknowledged she, too, was alive, she resigned herself to slumber. His touch was oddly gentle. Comforting. The mindless task allowed him to think clearly for the first in centuries. Although he was unsure what to do with said thoughts. Knowing what he was feeling had become impossible over the years. Trusting them, even more so.

The longer he studied her face, the more he considered it helped repress the urge to kill. It forced him to humanize his prey. A concept he wasn’t privy to. A new novelty. 

The elf ran his hand along her cheeks and admired her freckles through backhanded compliments not spoken aloud. He traced along the thick scar across her nose, pressing into the curl of her lashes to reveal her blinded eye, and conjured stories of how it came to be. Then, his trail took him up. The space where her fringe often fell and covered her forehead. 

Right atop her brow, a tattoo had been intentionally hidden. The pattern consisted of four shapes laid in a row, overlapping one another in mashed thieves cant. Its black ink had faded. Damage that could only come from years of sun and forcible scrubbing.

“Everyone in Baldur’s Gate is owned by someone,” he mumbled, twisting his head every which way to decipher the tattoo’s meaning.

Eventually, he grew bored of solving her mysteries and situated himself in the corner of her tent. From the sullied water bowl, he wiped his own face with a dampened cloth, sneaking self-indulgent licks of what was left on his forearms. Only then did he notice he was shaking. 

But the only person that could judge him was comatose. Her chest gently rose and fell with each rickety breath, but she would awake in the morning. For now, he'd keep an eye on her. What if she choked in her sleep? Stopped breathing altogether? He would be blamed.

It wasn’t difficult to busy himself in the confines of her tent. He was used to much more unwelcoming atmospheres where dangers lurked. Threats much more vile than him. 

As he rid of incriminating stains, the water bowl grew dark and rich. What the elf had cobbled together was a fine wine of his own. Stealing an empty glass bottle, he began to store the liquid away for a rainy day. A treat for later.

Even engulfed in his usual unease, he couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe it was amusement. Maybe fatigue like before. Disbelief, even.

One thing was certain.

By the gods, he was rightfully fed. 

[artielovesfilm]

The VVitch Review

One of the most important things about this film is its emphasis on being fictional. Eggers does not seek to validate the witch hunts that form the basis of his film by letting it masquerade as truth; in  fact, despite the fantasy focus of the film, he continues to demonstrate how the witch hunts demonised innocent women through the treatment of Thomasin by her family. For the crime of being a young woman, Thomasin is accused of the deaths of her siblings, abused and even labelled a whore by her mother due to her brother’s curiosity about her breasts. Thomasin’s mother is consistently the driving force in accusing her own daughter, showing in a damning light how women were forced to turn on one another, even those close to them, to protect what they loved. This leads her to put pressure on Thomasin and near constantly oppose her, preparing her daughter for the world she would have to grow up in. Thirteen years old, and yet Thomasin is made to carry the burden of her family’s future, whether it be her marriage to bring them out of poverty and back into the good graces of the community they were forced from or their demise, which we see play out. This is the message the film conveys, that Eggers does so well at telling through his incredible vision; misogyny is at the heart of the witch hunt, unable to be separated, and at no point during this film are you allowed to forget it.

Anya Taylor-Joy is phenomenal in this film. She plays the role of Thomasin so perfectly I couldn’t imagine anyone else doing the same, capturing the self doubt that comes with being so vehemently accused by those who you love and supposedly love you. The disappearance of her baby brother right from under her nose, something she herself cannot explain, feeds the deep-rooted threat of witchcraft within her, encouraging her to doubt herself despite knowing her own innocence. This is why she spooks Mercy, telling tales of her own witchcraft and going into detail she can hardly understand herself. She falls under the spell of her own lie, half convincing herself of her own guilt, self-flagellating with nothing to punish herself for. She is used as a scapegoat by her father, leading to a great deal of her mother’s accusations, and this too plays a great role in Thomasin’s internal blame. This blame is what finally leads Thomasin into the throes of the witches; not the temptation of butter or pretty dresses, but the hopelessness of knowing her family died blaming her for crimes she had no hand in committing.

Thomasin is the victim of this story from the start, drawn into the circle of the witches because everything is taken from her. After killing her mother in self defence and knowing her whole family was convinced of her supposed witchcraft, what is there to keep her from ‘sin’? If she is already damned by her family’s words, which is more than enough for other girls and women to be hanged or burned or drowned, why should she resist all the tempting offers ‘sin’ could provide? I also must once again emphasise that, in this film, Thomasin is thirteen years old. She is a child, grieving her entire family and driven mad defending herself from accusations of witchcraft. Young women and girls were drawn into conviction of their own evil, whether they lied to save those they loved or were drawn into religious psychosis. Even in fantasy, Eggers explores this fantastically. In reality, they wouldn’t find solace in a witch coven; if they weren’t murdered, they could perhaps attempt to survive alone or with other accused, but that’s the beauty of a film. Here, we can soak in an impossible guaranteed like-mindedness, and believe that, at the very least, Thomasin gained freedom, and the spoils of crimes she did not commit.

I truly believe this is Robert Eggers’ best work, and I do not say so lightly. I truly don’t believe that any other director’s take on period pieces can rival Egger’ total dedication, and his style is so wonderful that I’m certain that he will (if he hasn’t already) be cemented as one of the greats. His use of fantasy to portray honest but often ugly aspects of life is near unique, and is rivalled by beautiful cinematography in an almost direct opposition. He is one of my favourite directors for a reason, and I’m incredibly excited for his next film.

[seasalteds]

❀ you’re not from around here, are you? i figured because you totally just missed THOMAS 'TOMMY' JANEWAY walking by. don’t tell me you don’t know who SHE is? they kind of look like MADISON ISEMAN and i could be wrong but i think that they might be TWENTY EIGHT years old right now. they’ve been living in palmview for the last FOUR YEARS. and i don’t know if anyone has ever told them this before but they kind of remind me of ELEANOR SHELLSTROP from THE GOOD PLACE. if you stick around the town long enough you might catch them in action working at LINK IN BIO as a BARTENDER. you see this town isn’t really that big of a place, some folks like to call them the ERRANT FLAME of palmview! they took a liking to the name too after a while, go figure. oh crap, they must have heard me yapping. they’re coming this way. i got to warn you though, rumor has it they can pretty IMPETUOUS at times. i wouldn’t take it too seriously though, from the times i’ve spoken to them they seemed pretty VIVACIOUS to me. we see each other all the time since they live in that THREE BEDROOM apartment beside me over in MANGO BAY LOFTS 4C. i better leave you to it. it was nice meeting you!

stats.

full name: thomasin philomena janeway.     nickname(s): tommy, thomas.     age: twenty eight.     date of birth: may 28th.     star sign: gemini.     sexuality: bisexual.     hometown: seattle, washington.     occupation: bartender at link in bio.     favourites: skateboarding, surfing, late nights, apple juice, sky blue, bugs, the beach, card games, taking edibles and going to the aquarium, spicy food, novelty lighters, rock climbing.

personality.

extroverted, up for anything, and a fair way off the rails, tommy is the girl you call when you want to get the party started or distract yourself from whatever awful crap is going on in your life. she doesn’t do the serious stuff, making sure everything is always dusted in a nice layer of nonchalance and sarcasm, but she’s a yes person. want to get a spontaneous tattoo? yes, absolutely. want to go to the bar? what time are we leaving? want to go skinny dipping in the ocean at night? yes, her top’s already off. life with her around is fun, but is that all it’ll ever be? tommy’s deep seated desire for human connection is directly at odds with the coping mechanisms she’s developed to keep people at arm’s length emotionally. she can fall into bed with anyone, drink at a bar for hours with anyone, fall asleep on a stranger’s couch three times a week, but the second it gets real she’s gone. maybe that’s why, when it comes to the people she does love and care about, she’s got a penchance for codependence. if tommy lets you in, it’s for life, because the only thing she fears more than responsibility is abandonment. that gives way to a clinginess and neediness that embarass tommy so badly that, if you were ever somehow privy to it and left anyway, she would deny your entire existence simply to escape the humiliation.

label.

tommy is the errant flame, that little spark that you just can’t quite get under control. with a glint in her eye and a shining smile, it’s hard to stay mad at her for long for her many indiscretions – but don’t get me wrong, when you’re as uncontrollable as tommy, it’s still very easy to make enemies. she burns bright, some days leaping out of control and others just enough for a simmer, but that fire is always there, blazing hot and simply waiting for some fuel. her flame keeps others warm, it brings them joy and cheer, a mesmerising show that you can’t take your eyes off of, but it destroys, too. it can singe and sear, causing pain to others just by straying too close. when people see the true tommy, sometimes they don’t like what they find. 

biography.

trigger warnings: abuse tw, violence tw, alcohol tw, doctors tw, hospitalisation tw, injury tw.

i. tommy was an unwanted and unexpected child. born to a superstar mother who graced the covers of vogue and a filthy rich father who had more offshore accounts than friends, the janeways were already perfectly happy before she came along (or their version of happy, anyway). they’d had one son, tristan, who was planned and perfect. he completed their trio and was destined to inherit the earth… unfortunately when he was two, that pink line appeared on the pregnancy test her mother took, and the rest is history.

ii. her parents told the world she was unwell when she was born. that they adored their new addition but she simply couldn’t handle the outside world. the reality was that tommy had been relegated to a set five rooms of their grandiose house, told with spite and malice that she was sick and she would make other people sick if she tried to get out. sure, the rooms were massive, and the kind staff her parents paid played games with her, brought her whatever food she wanted, and provided world class tutoring, but she knew something was missing even as a child. she knew something was off.

iii. the resentment from her family only grew and it became evident as she got older, but tommy’s desperation to see the outside world grew with it. she began venturing further and further from her five rooms, much to the chagrin and rage of her parents, and it all culminated one night in an event that shocked even tommy. she had reached the front door of their house, an impossibly massive thing that was flanked by two very polite gentlemen who referred to her as ‘miss janeway’, when her brother appeared out of nowhere. by this point she was sixteen and him nineteen, he had a promising rowing career ahead of him and was, by no means, small. he body blocked her and when tommy showed the first embers of her fiery spirit and attempted to push past him, he punched her in the jaw. hard.

iv. she remembers waking up in the hospital, only able to consume liquids through a straw, her jaw wired shut. looming over was her mother, holding a piece of paper in her hands. piece of paper is probably downplaying it, actually, it was a 20 page document that outlined what would happen from here on out. the janeways would give tommy her freedom, they would cover her university fees, and then they would pay her a single lump sum to stay away from them forever and never speak of this again. she was a kid, a scared little kid with no other options, so she signed it. that day, sixteen year old tommy made the decision to give up on the idea of a family for good, and the next two years of her life were spent waiting for college.

v. moving out day came swiftly and she made sure to pick a school that was far, far away. on the day she arrived, she got to her dorm room and her roommate, a bright eyed brunette with a blinding smile, offered her a shot of vodka. ’this is going to be the time of our lives, tommy! cheers to it with me?’ and so began a life of hedonism, overconsumption, and absolute. fucking. debauchery. it was both a coping mechanism and a result of being locked inside when she should’ve been watching terrifying psas in a high school classroom. she’d been released, and nobody was ever going to cage her ever again.

vi. the one thing tommy had inherited from her family, or her father at least, was his intelligence. she had an eye for numbers, even if she didn’t really like them, and was able to painlessly complete her degree thanks to it – even if she spent half the time hungover and was more used to using her skills to count cards, not better her life.

vii. she knew she had no home to go back to after graduation. whilst others were greeted in their caps and gowns by their families, tommy had no one, and she moved out of her apartment that year alone. that was okay though! the world was her oyster, she could go anywhere she wanted, and for a couple of years she did just that – travelling not only around america, but europe, australia, and even some parts of asia.

viii. but deep down, in the pits of her soul that could never be exposed to another, she missed human connection. or craved it, at least, since you couldn’t really miss something you’d never even had. she rolled into palmview when she was twenty four, not thinking much of the place at first, but quickly… something seemed to compel her to stay. the air was light, the sun shone brightly, and the beach… the beach! she couldn’t get enough, and so she stayed. and bought a surfboard.

ix. her money wasn’t endless, however, and living in the mango bay hotel was slowly beginning to lose its lustre. not only did she need a job, but she needed a real place to live… but in typical tommy style, both of those things seemed to simply land in her lap. both ace’s ad and a perfectly timed sign in the window as she was walking past link in bio meant in 24 hours, tommy’s life had suddenly course corrected. maybe it was the universe’s sick little way of repaying her for all those years of torture, maybe she really was just a lucky girl, either way she was set.

x. she’s now been in palmview for four years and it’s much easier to ignore the itch to run away when you’ve somehow put down tentative roots. friends, a roof over her head, a steady flow of cash, but most of all? freedom. problem is, all those years of running didn't exactly fix the problems beneath the surface, and it's only a matter of time before they make an unwelcome appearance.

[svnnyd4ys]

updated update of the Xavier (SFTH) family tree!!

@not-an-idiot thank you very much for your help with this!!! i made this post because there have been quite a few developments to it and it's nice to have it all in one post :))

here is the overview, and then we'll dive deeper into each branch/backstory on the tree! (long post under the cut because i cannot stop rambling about this stuff, it's so interesting)

----

BUS: Celia is just a random name, but felt fitting! 'Big Dick' has always been a nickname of the family's patriarch, Arthur. He is also the main source of any sort of 'powers' within the family, as he is able to time travel/project his consciousness across space and time (much like his daughter, Thomasin).

He has some kind of immortality deal going on, and he dedicates his books to his great-great grandson, Samuel Babb-Dailey (aka the protagonist from Beetroots & Murder).

TOO BIG TO BE A JOCKEY: Jonas Langbook is the youngest of Celia and Arthur's 3 children, and he is also the manor owner from Too Big To Be A Jockey. He's the family 'embarrassment' but the parents favour him, because he reminds BD of himself. he did not 'earn' the manor, in fact- it was a gift.

Despite his flaws, Jonas loves his nieces and in fact, often has Samantha visiting as she often struggled with leaving the house, (his sister was always the same, little did they know it's a side affect of the visions) and so this encouraged her in doing so, and helped her build her confidence. Jonas would also teach both Sally and Samantha how to ride, and one night, Samantha was out in the stables, and that's where she met Egbert for the first time (but more on that later).

PRISCILLA'S FINAL PETAL: Earl is both his name and title- he moved to Germany from England because he wanted to stay as far away from Jonas as possible. (because he's a dick)

He met Annabelle at a German flower shop, they got married, had Priscilla etc. but much like his brother, Earl struggles to keep his eyes on one thing, and he ends up meeting one of Thomasin's friends, Lily, when he is visiting Celia on her deathbed. (something something, their entire relationship has been built upon important people in their lives dying).

Unfortunately, Annabelle dies, but Lily's there to comfort him, and be a good mother figure for Priscilla. How wholesome!

MARIGOLDS, BLUEBELLS, AND HUGH: Annabelle is the daughter of Inga and Hugh (aside, i've not watched this play in ages, so like i'm not saying they're romantically involved or anything bc i don't remember it much at all, so they could've just adopted her etc.), and she's always loved plants. So much so that when she and Earl first move into their estate, she insists on planting all sorts, for example, buttercups.

THE LEFTENMOST WINDOW: Thomasin is the middle child and only daughter of Celia and BD. From a young age, Thomasin has struggled with fatigue, headaches and leaving the house. Alexander was one of the Langbrook's 'Hallboys' and was Thomasin's only friend for most of her childhood.

They got married at ages 19 & 20 respectively. BD had a lot of respect for Alexander, but Celia would often try to break the pair up. At age 15, Thomasin had her first traverse across the astral plane, and told no one, apart from her father. When the Boer war broke out, Samantha and Sally had both already been born, but Alexander still had no idea.

He only found out when one night, he heard a voice he thought that he'd never hear again.

Samantha is around 6 years older than Sally, and during the Boer war, acted as her main caretaker for a while due to Thomasin's migraines becoming worse and getting more frequent. Sally's always been the more rambunctious of the pair, and at ages 15 and 9 respectively, the two of them travel to Jonas' manor.

Sally is always up and about, running around the stables, talking to the farmhands, whereas Samantha is usually reading inside, or sitting on the hay bales.

One night, Samantha falls asleep outside on one of those days, and who wakes her up? None other than the son of one of her uncle's friends, Egbert Babb-Dailey. 3 years later, the two of them are getting married and then the First World War breaks out, leading to Samantha's powers to develop.

(i've made so many TLW posts that go further into these ideas, feel free to check them out!!)

BEETROOTS AND MURDER: Samantha and Egbert have two children (they were both born later on in their lives, as they struggled to conceive), however, when their children are quite young, Samantha and Egbert pass away in a house fire, the cause of which is unknown.

Samuel 'Big Dick' Babb-Dailey is sent away to live with Cyrus and Summer Setchell (get it?). He has repressed all memories of his life before moving to Somerset. All he remembers is that he quite likes fire. The only connections he has to his past are the dedications in the sex books some random guy writes and then drops off at his parents house. This has led to him also getting the nickname 'Big Dick' and quietly resenting the man. He also has no idea about his sister.

The fire gives him back some memories of his past, but all he can really remember are their names.

THE PILOT'S FINAL FLIGHT: Martha is Egbert and Samantha's second child, and instead of being sent away like her brother, her aunt Sally insisted on taking her in. (possibly because she's aware that it's more likely for Martha to develop the visions than her brother, and she doesn't want her to suffer alone the same way Samantha did).

For most of her life, Martha actually didn't seem that affected by anything. She was more like Sally than Samantha and Sally began to wonder whether or not she'd taken in the right sibling, but then when Martha was 16, she became afflicted by terrible migraines.

Months after the migraines started, Martha awoke in a cold sweat, and explained that she had a vision of a horrible fire and the name Samuel. That was her first ever future dream, and the last time she ever had one... Well. Technically.

Martha and Leyland meet for the first time because he's (attempting) to buy flowers for his mum, but really has no idea what he's doing or what she'd want. Martha has some knowledge of flowers, because her 'Aunt' Priscilla had gifted her several books, so she assisted him in picking the best ones. From there on, the rest was history.

They got married, Leyland graduated and joined the RAF Research project, all whilst raising their son, Michael. When Leyland's mission goes horribly wrong, Sally begins to take up most of the childcare, allowing Martha to develop a drinking problem. There comes a point where Sally refuses to help her anymore, so Martha is left alone to raise Michael for good.

Years go by, Leyland doesn't return, Martha's not had a dream in years and Michael just seems angry. (In my mind, he's inherited more of Arthur BD's traversing powers, than the future dreams)

And then Martha starts to hear him calling to her, and Michael goes into the astral plane to save him, and all is done.

THE NEIGHBOUR'S UNDER THE BED/DARK MOONS OF SLOUGH Samuel becomes a single father to James and Penelope, who are twins. The pair are mostly raised equally, until Penelope develops her future dreams at age 9 and this majorly scares Samuel. (reminds him of worse times).

With this, Samuel focuses nearly all of his attention on James, bringing him to every football match and providing attention and support, whilst completely ignoring Penelope.

At first, James did feel bad for his sister, and would try and get his dad to pay attention to her, but eventually, just ignoring her and going along with whatever Samuel was doing was easier, and also felt better.

James' first future dream came when he was 15, and Samuel was much more prepared this time. Penelope would watch in envy, and the boys would ignore her completely.

He eventually meets his Martha at one of his matches (Penelope was there too, she always was) and the pair go on to get married, and have Johnny and Janae. After the kids were born, Penelope left and moved to Slough.

When she heard that Janae had also developed future dreams at the same age Penelope had, she came back. Over the years, she'd managed to make a soup which helped to repress the headaches, so she would send batches over to help her family.

does this make sense? hopefully xx

[crazycoke-addict]

In Scream (2022), during the opening scene. While Tara talking to ghostface whom was definitely Richie. She mentions movies like Hereditary, The Babadook, It Follows and The Witch. Since she has more knowledge in elevated horror than slashers. However these movies have deeper meaning to Tara than we thought. The Witch, The Babadook, Hereditary is about family grief and loss. The Witch is about the family suffered a loss of newborn. The Babadook is about a mother and son grieving over a father/husband.Hereditary is about the family suffers the loss of two family members. In each movie, after the grief and loss, the family themselves start to become strained themselves although it appears it happened more earlier.

In Hereditary, Annie talks about how he suffered from sleepwalking and almost was going set her children on fire but her eldest son woke up which resulted her to wake up as well. Since than, their relationship has been strained since. In The Witch, the family was banished by the community due to religious dispute. I'm not too sure about The Babadook but there could be something there. In Scream, Tara's family started to strained the day when Sam found old diaries from their mother, Christina. The diaries reveals the truth about Sam's father being Billy Loomis. Sam confronts her mother not realising that Tara's father is standing behind hearing all of this.Tara's father leaves the family than later on when Sam turned 18, she ends up leaving too. I think while watching these movies, Tara felt like somebody understood how she felt without knowing her.

When Sam returned after hearing about Tara's attack. Her guilt and remorse on what happened since she believed she is responsible to her sister's attack has similar to the two older siblings, Thomasin from The Witch and Peter from Hereditary. Thomasin was supposed to looking out for the baby but during playing peek a Boo, the disappears or wandered into the forest. Thomasin felt responsible than later is accused of being a witch by her own family. Peter went to a party where he had to take his little sister Charlie. Not knowing the cake had nuts which Charlie I'd allergic to. Peter drives fast during it Charlie puts her head out. Peter is startled by a dead deer and swerves the car where Charlie hits her head on the pole. While Carpertner don't deal with the loss of a family member passing away. They are grieving over the relationship once had and how Tara had to grieve over the loss of her father and Sam who walked out on her all those years ago.

Hereditary, The Witch and The Babadook all feel like there's this curse upon the family like it's in the bloodline. Hereditary parallels more with Scream (2022), the bloodline in question is actually from the female itself. Annie's mother was the leader of cult that Annie wasn't aware of where the cult member targeted her family to caused distressed and vulnerable on the first born. In Scream (2022), Richie and Amber are doing something similar to Sam. Since their plan is to frame her for the murders by having her get a psychotic breakdown like what happened to her father and grandmother years later. Since, Thomasin was accused as a witch and Peter had to broken. Sam's identity and hereditary on if she might become like her father is similar to all of that. It's in a way of saying that Sam is cursed herself. Another movie I haven't mentioned is It Follows.

While I don't know the full detail of the movie, I know it is about a girl who hooks up with a guy where later on she is stalked by spirits that only she can see. This is message about sexual transmitted disease. The only parallel I could connect Scream (2022) to It Follows is the fact that Christina had Sam when she was teenager which is frowned upon since people see it as throwing your life away. Since we don't know when Sam saw the hallucination billy loomis. He represents the ghosts in It Follows where they don't leave the main protagonist alone. Sam can't use someone like how the main protagonist from It Follows could do to get rid of Billy Loomis. It is to say that Sam is the sexually transmitted disease to her mother.

[thecther]

HEY, i think i just saw ELISE JAMES walking down the strip. stop by to catch up and you’ll learn the TWENTY ONE YEAR OLD is working as a CASHIER AT BLOCKBUSTER and lives in MAGIC BEACH MOTEL. given they are FORTHRIGHT but OBSESSIVE, it’s likely that they ARE NOT a vampire. i bet you can find them tearing up the dance floor to THE AIR THAT I BREATHE BY THE HOLLIES and you’ll know why they’re called THE CHAMELEON.  ☾ .⭒˚ thomasin mckenzie. cis woman + she/her. bisexual + gemini.

elise james was almost an only child for all her life - until her little sister decided to show up when she was fifteen and she felt like it all changed. perhaps she had a jealous streak or maybe she just saw that her parents were happier with the baby than they were with her.

they'd never seen eye to eye. they would scold her - apparently she had been a little mean at school but elise had no problem saying what was on her mind - how could it be mean when it was true? she thought differently and instead of them understanding it, they reprimanded her time and time again.

her little sister seemed to be the best baby, that's what her mother always used to say and elise would roll her eyes. it was most likely not an attack on her but it felt like it. however, her sister was just a baby and the one thing she couldn't yet beat her in was academics.

elise studied hard, being awake until 3am learning things in advance so she'd have more of an understanding when it came to the class - people her age stayed up doing nothing until that time, right? at least she was being productive. she was the top of her class and would react badly when she wasn't (she cried when she got a b in english literature once).

her parents were proud of her accomplishments and even more proud when she would go on to study physics and a prestigious college. it was funny how the ivy league one of the family could feel like the black sheep, so out of place in the family structure.

it was there where she met her best friend. elise loved the student lifestyle more than anything else. her parents called her less as they were more preoccupied with her sister and she found interactions by going to events and club nights to meet people. her and her best friend seemed thick as thieves and she was so glad she met her.

still, the stidying sude of being at college was boring. elise would understand the assignment, no problem, but would see little meaning in completing it. she decided to drop out after becoming bored but that meant telling her best friend and her parents what she was doing and for some reason, she just couldn't.

she may or may not have come across some paper clippings of a dead girl in the library one day and seen her 'out'. she looked kinda like her, right?

the next best thing was to propose a girls trip (people went on them all the time, right?). they would save money by staying at a motel, much to her best friend's horror but young people did it all the time. they were only meant to stay there for a week but now it's two, elise is showing no need to go back and things are beginning to get tense. they fought about her newly found love of eyeliner, the way her hair's slightly lighter but was met by 'it's vegas!'

her best friend is convinced something more is going on with elise but what will their stay reveal?....

[adamwatchesmovies]

Jojo Rabbit (2019)

Jojo Rabbit walks a delicate line. One scene is laugh-out-loud, darkly comedic. The next is soul-crushing. When you look at it on paper, it shouldn’t work. On the screen, it’s memorable, tender, hilarious and insightful - a picture like none other. There are some who will find it tasteless but for the rest, it's one you'll be compelled to revisit.

In the final years of WWII, Ten-year-old Johannes “Jojo” Betzler (Roman Griffin Davis) dreams of serving in Nazi Germany's army like his absent father. While at Hitler Youth Camp, Jojo follows the advice of his imaginary best friend, a child’s rendition of Adolf Hitler (Taika Waititi). After an accident cripples him, he is sent back home. There, he discovers his mother (Scarlett Johansson) is harbouring a Jewish teenaged girl (Thomasin McKenzie).

This film excels at exposing the hypocrisy of the propaganda necessary to keep the Nazi machine (and similar systems) going. Jojo is only a child and even he has difficulty understanding how Elsa can be a demonic creature with horns and wings that drinks blood and can mind control good German boys, is cripplingly fascinated with shiny things and also an enemy the Nazis will easily eliminate. To him, she looks just like a normal girl. None of the interactions they have confirm her as dangerous.

The characters of Elsa, Jojo and his mother are all played relatively straight. Everyone else is a living contradiction. Rebel Wilson plays Fräulein Rahm. Despite being unmarried, she boasts having given birth to 18 children for Germany. How that’s possible, who knows. Her unreleting enthusiasm for the Nazi cause is bizarre considering her job at the Hitler Youth camp is to teach the girls there to dress wounds, take care of the injured… and have children. Not particularly exciting compared to the boys, who get to play with live munitions and enjoy the outdoors. The next noteworthy contradiction within the film is Nazi Germany’s attitude towards children. We’re told they’re the future, that the world will belong to them but as the tide of war shifts, we see the kids become be extremely disposable in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it bit of off-sceen gruesomeness. The whole thing is topped by Taika Waititi’s portrayal of Hitler. Self-described as a Polynesian Jew, even if Waititi wasn’t directing and writing, his casting would feel like a smart, subversive inside joke. As the film begins, this Adolf Hitler is Jojo’s best friend. Once the boy starts questioning what the authorities have been feeding him, Hitler becomes increasingly hostile and comical. He’s more “so pathetic you’re glad you can laugh at him” than “funny because it’s so wrong to see Hitler doing this” kind of funny.

Lest you think this film does not take what happened during WWII seriously, understand that key scenes make you forget all about the fanciful imagination of Jojo’s world and bring you back to reality. The scenes with him and his mother, for example, are surprisingly grounded. You can feel the exhasperation Rosie must feel as her son makes all of these statements about Adolf Hitler, the Nazi cause, Jews and Germany. How frustrating it must be for her to endure what she hears. She could tell Jojo what the truth is, but he's a child. He doesn't understand what's really going on and doesn't understand that admitting the truth out loud could have serious consequences.

Though there are some big, memorable laughs within Jojo Rabbit, the dramatic revelations are so sobering that the drama/comedy split doesn't feel like it's down the middle. Said revelations only come in during the latter half of the movie, however, so they hit you when you least expect it - and hit you hard. This is not the kind of movie you easily forget precisely because it makes bold, bizarre-sounding choices. Though there is a chance you'll be so off-put by "Jojo Rabbit" that it won't be your cup of tea, every move that's being made has been carefully considered and the themes used throughout make it a picture I don't hesitate to recommend. (February 10, 2023)

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 28 (The Trouble With Marcus Flex)

Heather received great news from the developers of VetConnect when they agreed to help her build the PetConnect extension. They believed it would be successful and might even give her enough to buy out the Landgraabs, but for now, she just had to get it finished.

At work the next morning, she thanked her problematic vet tech, Marcus Flex, for the idea. But ever-flirty Marcus took it as something more.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Heather pulled back immediately. "Half the clients who walk in here might fall to a puddle at your feet when you kiss them like that, but I'm your employer, Marcus."

"I'm sorry, Doc. I thought-"

"I should fire you. I can't because you kissed me and it'll look personal, but this is your last chance. Pull your socks up around here, or you'll have to find another place to work."

He was twenty-one years old and noncommittal by nature, but he finally started paying attention in his evening classes and began to pull his weight around the clinic.

Then one day, a girl came in with her family’s German Shepherd, Jax. She wiped tears from her eyes as she signed him in.

Instantly, Marcus was taken with her, approaching her and her dog with more trepidation than Heather had ever seen in him. "Hi, uh, my name's Marcus Flex. I'm sorry to see you looking so sad, but we'll take care of your dog and make him feel good as new."

"My mom was supposed to bring Jax for his annual check-up today, but she just died of heatstroke from the heat wave," she said gloomily. "I miss her so much."

Marcus wanted to reach out and comfort her, but his boss was watching nearby with a stern glare. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Miss...?"

"Thomasine Chopra."

Heather poured herself an espresso and smiled at Thomasine and her pet. "How are classes going at Deadgrass Isle High School, Thomasine?"

"We took a few weeks off to mourn my mom. Dad took us to the city to distract us, I think, but I couldn't sit through math class so I'm grateful. Needless to say, my last year of classes will start a little late."

Marcus looked away, flustered.

"I'm so sorry," Heather said. "When I heard about your mother's death I couldn't believe it. I can't imagine what you're going through."

"The card was really sweet, and Jax loves his Buttercups. Everyone in town's been great, and they've made things a little bit easier."

"Well, Marcus will take extra good care of Jax today, and I'm always here if you or your family need anything. Not just for Jax."

Heather's endlessly flirtatious vet tech had caused her as much grief as he'd proven he wasn't entirely hopeless. She couldn't help but think he needed guidance, and while they closed up at the end of the day, Heather warned him to wait for Thomasine Chopra. "I don't care if she's 18 already. If you think your feelings mean anything this time, keep your distance until graduation or I will fire you."

Marcus nodded, still a little shell-shocked by his new affections.

Could Heather continue to manage motherhood, the Landgraabs, and her clinic? ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: When Heather opened her clinic, Marcus was one of the sims she could hire and I went for it immediately because I love playing with premades. But then Marcus became an obnoxious NPC who made out with every single customer constantly because the Romantic Aura Action Plan had been default activated in Brindleton Bay. It all gave unflirty Heather a negative 'witnessed crass moment' moodlet EVERY TIME. So I finally decided to give him a storyline with the intention of moving him into the save file so he'll age naturally, make nooboos, etc. Somewhat unfortunately this is the only unmarried sim Marcus wanted because I also hadn't adjusted my age gap romance settings after playing the Ultimate Decades Challenge in my last save, so YA and teens could flirt etc.

All this to say I promise I won't let Marcus become a complete toad. Since I love my premades, I'm plotting a decent arc because this save did him a little dirty.