2.9 Blood Allies

Sooooo as much as I want to rant about the reasons for my absence, I am literally so busy that I don’t have time to think about things before I write them down (hence that questionable use of “literally”) or else I will never ever get this chapter done until I am old and grey and unable to formulate sentences and UGH here’s a picture to better illustrate my point because university is a goddamn pain goddammit

F my life. So so much.

But then there’s also this stack, sitting exactly at eye level every time I am writing a paper, because Origin was having a sale and HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO RESIST?

Deep breaths… moving on.

Yeah, Lionheart still exists. What up.

Lionheart: Did you just say “what up”? Not only is that completely out of context, it’s also the epitome of uncool.

You’re lucky you’re a little pipsqueak or I’d—

Oh hey, he grew up.

Larka: Ants are such a pain, you know?

Lionheart: OMG SPRINKLERZ.

Talk about out of context.

This is one of those screenshots you will only ever see in a legacy. I don’t want to ruin it with a caption, so just feast your eyes and pay particular attention to Lance’s manly profile.

Apparently, Tomahawk now has two IF’s. Jergens (pictured left, being a majestic figure skater) has all the functionality of a statue, and this imposter named Buttons or something showed up in Tommy’s inventory.

Tommy: Oh Butt-Tins, you are my new best friend. It’s as though we’ve been together our entire lives.

Jergens: But… but… remember that time I incarnated as a creepy doll-child? Wasn’t that fun, Tommy? …Tommy?

Toy Story 4 in the making. You’re welcome, Pixar.

Meanwhile, Katana’s expertise in the kitchen (read: she makes salad sometimes) garnered some rare parental praise.

Ara: I would like to thank you for cooking meals so we don’t starve. That’s pretty swell of you.

Katana: Gosh, Mom, that means so much to me. I’m going to put those words in a special box right next to my heart and treasure them forever.

Ara: Really?

Katana: LOL no. I’m charging five bucks a pancake from now on.

As part of the kids’ desperate search for personalities, Tomahawk put his Athletic trait to the test.

TV Dude: Turn back now, kid. You don’t want this life.

Tommy: What are you talking about? I’m just loving these cheater squats. Gonna have a great ass in no time, then I’ll invest in some yoga pants and—wait, that’s not right.

Lance baked stuff because yeah, I’m subscribing to gender stereotypes.

Lance: Right, and that’s why I’m named after a dude. A Pokémon Champion, no less.

Hey, you are named after a pointy metal implement. This family is the definition of heteronormativity.

To better get in character, she went digging through the costume chest.

Lance: What should I be? Steampunk pickle or a zombie hotdog?

Halloween culture is my favourite. But when you’re Arabella’s daughter and a total priss, there’s only one costume you can truly pull off…

Lance: Ugh, that is so not period appropriate!

Lance: Oooh, but this is! A beautiful gem for a beautiful princess!

More like a radioactive space rock that glitched and into the most expensive cut. –.- Yet another thing we’ll have to pawn off on the civilians, and to make matters worse, Razor’s stuck with the “nauseated” moodlet it gave him when he had it. Funtimes.

Katana: Come to me, my fishy friend!

What fi— Oh, I honestly thought that was a fleck of dirt on my screen. But good going, Katana. Real nice job.

This gal has a lot of Chris and Tuesday in her. Hot Repairlady in the making?

Larka: Hell yeah. Dat ass.

I could say the same to you, Buttflower.

Ara is boring as all get-out, and I don’t even remember her latest witty title. I suspect she’s been reduced to web generators for plot and character after the sheer volume of crap she’s churned out.

Ara: Okay, here we go… “The Voyagers of the Flame,” featuring Benito Schmollinger the widowed lawn bowler and Calliope Francois the one-legged fairy queen.

Grey Wind: How about Calliope’s noble steed, Grey Wind?

Shut up, you needy little fuzzball.

And on that note, let’s all start hating on Grey Wind.

Tomahawk: Nawww, aren’t you just a big fuzzy yeti? How ‘bout you go fetch me a sno-cone?

Grey Wind: Buzz off.

And Tommy did just that, because he had something very important to attend to.

Tommy: Wowee Lamington, I’m gonna be a teenager! Any words of advice?

Lamington: Liquor before beer, always piss down a slope, and don’t ever take no funny-looking pills from a guy with an eye patch.

Tommy: Thanks, buddy!

And now let us see how this munchkin-faced wizkid turns—

Erm, I may have a thing for pretty boys. And half smirks. But let’s leave it at that.

(He rolled Good Sense of Humour, by the way.)

Poor, oblivious former me put a lot of work into this house before deciding it would eventually be flattened. I’m actually too lazy to delete these screenshots quite fond of Lance’s room in particular, so here’s a short tour.

I made a little corner for the cat, so naturally everyone BUT the cat hangs out in it. Stop looking so pleased with yourself, Grey Wind you old fart.

And another corner for this over-studious brat, who put up such a fuss when I bought her a computer that we had to trade it in for a $5 tea light.

Lance: Worth it.

Here’s Katana’s room. I was going for quirky and exotic. I succeeded in achieving creamsicle.

Fortunately she doesn’t spend much time in here because she’s too busy being a shit disturber.

Or should I say, a shrub disturber.

Katana: TROLOLOLOLOLOL

Incurring the wrath of the deadly mantis.

Razor: How dare you trample my tomatoes and squish my squashes? Have you no respect for their tragically fragile lives?

Katana: Holy shit, Dad. Are you gonna cry over it?

Razor: Of course not.

Razor: *sniffle*

Razor: Right. *ahem* And now I shall ground your bony ass.

Katana: Dang it.

But she isn’t fooling anybody. As per this expertly captured evidence, Katana is a masochistic weirdo.

Speaking of weirdos… (How’s that for a segue into ANY picture on this blog?)

Tommy: Gosh, how am I supposed to concentrate in this chaos?

Star: Gee, I don’t know, how about you go home?

Sure thing. But while we’re here, let’s take note of Star’s rapid descent into crazycatladyhood. From left to right they are Dexter, Bella, Georgie, Duchess, and Jax, and they are the children she never had. Except that she has children. I don’t know.

Said children are growing up rather dapper and with some token Langurd genetics. Rafael has Tewl’s eye colour and Dumbo ears.

And Jackson is basically Star as a child, if she were a boy. You might even spot the bimple pox if you look real close. Or maybe it really is dirt this time.

Tomahawk continued to make a nuisance of himself, unloading his every insecurity on a clearly very troubled woman.

Tommy: I just get this urge to go running in a red unitard sometimes, you know?

Star: Please, feel free. The door is right there.

And thus emerged a trait incompatibility that makes no sense to me.

Tommy: You try too hard to impress people.

Star: You’re too easily impressed.

Duchess: Shouldn’t you guys be, like, best friends then?

Tommy & Star: NO!

We can see when we’re not wanted, so decided to go creeping on the other relatives. This is Ripper and Cleopatra’s kid, Julie. She looks exactly like her degenerate father, but I like her. Maybe because I’m automatically impressed by women who can pull off short hair. *is bitter*

Julie: Hello there, friend. You look oddly familiar.

Tommy: That’s because we’re related in all kinds of creepy ways. Genetically, we might be brother and sister.

Julie: That’s fascinating.

And this is Sylvester, her brother.

On that note, I declare the Langurd cousins too boring for further documentation.

But I should mention that the “degenerate” completed his LTW. Not that we get any points for it, but it just goes to show that I set him up real good for the future, right? …Right?

Afterwards, I thought I’d watch the public school doors for Weston Jolina-Sekemoto, the potential spouse I’ve been grooming since birth.

Unfortunately, this breeding experiment has gone terribly wrong.

So it’s back to traditional mate-finding methods. I.e. corporate small-town matchmaking.

Tommy: Ommmmm… I sense my soul mate is waiting just behind these doors!

Sadly, no. The town is so Langurd-infested that Tomahawk had only one option: Starr Ansaari-Landgraab, who is certifiably hideous AND shares a name with Tommy’s godawful aunt. World’s best prom date?

In other news, I finally installed Showtime and immediately spent all the family’s money on new objects. As it turns out, Lance is a very impassioned performer.

Lance: No man, I just lost an earring.

And Tommy is a bundle of spindly limbs and failure.

Tommy: One day I will conquer you, steely mountain. One day…

I will find my way, I can go the distance
I’ll be there someday if I can be strong
I know every mile will be worth my—

Lance: Give it up, broseph.

Tommy: Lance? Uh, how long have you been standing there?

Lance: Long enough to know you’re a pansycake.

Tommy: Oh, umm…

Lance: But you’re not as bad as Katana! I mean have you seen that loser?

Tommy: Omg I know, right?

Cue sibling bonding over the mutual mockery of a third sibling. Oh man, I know this family dynamic way too well.

Lance: Gosh Tommy, I’m just so glad you’re not Katana!

Tommy: You, too!

Foreveralone </3

But actually these two bond over other stuff too. They’ve been pretty buddy-buddy since the China trip.

Tommy: And for my final trick, I will read you to sleep with Mom’s latest novel!

Lance: Well that oughtta be easy.

Tommy: My work here is done. Big Broseph checking out.

Tomahawk wasn’t the only Langurd on a mission that night. Arabella returned to Crystal Springs in search of her elusive unicorn, but all she found was—

Keg: Surprise, motherfucker.

Ara: Not at all the steed I am looking for.

Eww.

And Razor was determined to pawn off the Tiberium.

Sandi: I don’t trust this. It’s probably a bomb.

Razor: For god’s sake, just take it. I’ve had this nauseous moodlet for like three days…

Sandi: No, I don’t like the sound of that.

Razor: Ffffffffffffffff—

Razor: Okay, how about I make you a deal?

Sandi: Huh?

Razor: If you think about it, your son is not only my nephew on two different levels but also a descendant of the Langurd bastard line.

Sandi: Why the fuck would you bring that up?

Razor: Now I know I can’t change his name by legal means like my father did to you, but there’s this thing called MasterController and wouldn’t you hate it if little Anwar had to go through college with a name like Dixon Butts or Pat McGroin…?

Sandi: You are heartless and immature.

Razor: Precisely. So let’s try again: want this hunk of poisonous space rock?

Sandi: For me? You shouldn’t have!

Razor: Suckerrrrr.

And so the moodlet was finally history.

Tommy: Tut tut, father. You should listen to Lamington next time.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Goodness me, that was a trek. I’d love to stay and chat, but seeing as I have about 12398012983 different things to do, I am going to sit in a corner eating Cheerios and chocolate chips and do absolutely none of them.

But don’t worry, I’ll be back to catch up on everyone’s legacies and comments after I fail my finals!

Love to all and Happy Simming,

-Sam