Round of applause for Gryffindork tanking her self-imposed mission in less than 48 hours. It’s not my fault, guys. Failure radiates from my very being. My friend asked me to look after her betta fish this week, and he literally died on my watch.
But in the words of a misguided Death Eater (and a really dated reference), IT’S NOT OVER YET! This seven-posts-in-a-week thing can still be a thing. I’ll just have to double up one day, which is totally doable. /delusion
Last time, a trilogy of Ghost Crises caused all sorts of rule breaking and left me wishing for several plates of ambrosia, which I then remembered is also against the rules. Basically, things are going great and everyone is really happy.
A fine time to check in with the one who started it all.
Quinn: Inspector Flanagan reporting for duty, sir.
Tewl: Well well well. So dis is da new man of da house.
Well, I just finished a six-month temp contract at an office, wrapped up my first quidditch season as a coach, and filed my tax return. That’s enough adulting for a while, thanks.
Nobody illustrates my feelings quite like Skydancer.
Sky: I’m not even adulting. I’m literally living in this library, reading books on how to talk to people and never actually talking to people.
Welcome to the formal education system!
Sky: I don’t want it.
Yes, this one is still working on her Charisma. Quite frankly, after witnessing Galadriel Evans the Skilling Machine, I’m embarrassed for her. She’s supposed to be a Genius.
Ah, my philosophy of life! I’m afraid I’ve made the title scheme painfully obvious for this generation, but I can’t ALWAYS be cryptic. Or should I say… explicitly ambiguous? 😉
Last time, stuff happened! Oh, you want specifics? Erm… I wrote that post yesterday and already, all I remember is that a baby was born.
Little Omen the alien genius! Behold the first green-on-green-on-green shot of him, and let it burn into your retinas because it will likely be the last.
Fun fact: I haven’t caught him with his eyes open yet. It’s because he’s secretly Brock from Pokémon.
Bonjour à tous!
And holy schmagoly, guys, could you be any more awesome? Last week, I tried to quit coffee and it was a real bad time. But I also got an army of simselves and a gargantuan legacy reading list, so that was cool. It seems you were all churning out some fantastic stuff while I was off in my struggle bubble, just trying to pull a chapter together. Now I’m racing to catch up so I can participate in heir polls and stuff, like a clueless citizen reading up on politics the night before an election. Oh wait, that’s also me.
I hope you’ll forgive me if the simselves don’t show up for a few chapters yet. I currently have a screenshot backlog of 2000 or so, meaning these pictures are like ten months old, and I haven’t opened the game in about as long. And I wonder why my captioning is so shoddy.
We return now to the House of the Elements, where I can say with certainty (and lots of gusto) that WINTER IS COMING! Danger lurks beyond the Wall and oops, Razor’s plants went dormant so I figured out how to grow stuff inside. It only took me twenty minutes.
Razor: It is clearly labelled “planter bowl.” How hard could it be?
REALLY HARD SHUT UP. #12yearsan00b
“Progress will continue” <— Hahaha. I love shooting myself in the foot, don’t I?
Has it been long enough for a recap? Oh, probably, but I’m too lazy to open a browser, so here’s my best estimate: after an underwhelming trip out of the country, Katana was sarcastic, Dax was a doormat, Azula was aggravatingly picturesque, Razabella were invisible (until one of them died), and the chapter culminated in the birth of a child. Come to think of it, that’s pretty much the formula for Chapters 7-9. Are you excited??
Oh, come on. I send you to France to get married and this is how you react?
Katana: The open air. It hurts my lungs.
And Dax over there?
Katana: I think he’s choking on a piece of cobblestone.
Brilliant. Also, I’m loving how Katana’s shadow is just a walking pair of pants.
It was early afternoon. Rotter had gone for a ride across town with his loyal mare, Bertha. Exhausted and saturated with their typical odour of household refuse, they made for the nearest watery oasis. As they crested the hill, Rotter heard the most enchanting melody wafting toward them from under the trees.