Before we get on with the juicy, generation finale, we’re going to spend a little bit of time catching up with our current household.
It is the eve of Elizabeth’s teenage birthday. Everything is already going wrong.
“Have I ever had heart disease?” thought Watson aloud. “Do I ever want heart disease?”
He glanced down at the college aptitude test, up at the ceiling, and then down at the test again. He tapped his pencil on his chin thoughtfully before answering. “Eh, I’d rather not.”
It was a very difficult test. Watson passed with murky colors.
Scarlett’s head would make a great hockey puck, thought Pandora.
“Get your underwear out of my bed,” yawned Scarlett. “Three months later, and that childbirth still exhausts me.”
“Whizzer, Scarlett,” said Pandora sourly. “You kids wonder why I don’t like any of you.”
Malix and Pandora, in a stroke of uncharacteristic luck, regained their old flame. It burned so brightly even the walls oohed and aahed and then called the fire department.
Unfortunately, it made Scarlett’s new romantic pursuits slightly more awkward. “Can you guys take it to another room?” asked Scarlett.
“Can you ask your boyfriend to shave his-for lack of a better term-whiskers?”
“We prefer the term facial pantry,” said the werewolf cooly.
Elizabeth’s birthday happened to fall on the first day of spring. Elizabeth, convinced that the change in season marked a change in temperature, sprinted outside in nothing but her t-shirt and shorts. Thankfully, her fairy fire breath saved her from hypothermia.
Angus, who was feeling quite neglected after being ignored for six chapters, decided the only way to nose his way back into the limelight was to eat my favorite Sims.
Pandora, like the kickass granny we all know and love, showed him who really runs the house. (Note: Not Watson)
You’re giving cow tipping a whole new meaning, Panda.
The entire “let’s eat the legacy family” ordeal so terribly embarrassed Angus that he watched Little Shop of Horrors twelve times in a row just to be sure that he’d get it right next time.
…Good luck with that, Angus. You’re in the Sims 3. Nothing can kill you here except for the glitches.
The change in seasons overwhelmed Malix’s common sense. He owned nothing but t-shirts and tuxes, and in a rare show of frugality, he bought his outerwear from the Salvation Army dumpster.
His grandson, Tony, greatly approved. His overalls were snatched up from the same place and smelled nearly as bad as Malix’s jacket.
With our quick review out of the way, we can now focus on today’s main event: Elizabeth’s birthday party. Watson, in an act of uncharacteristic altruism, invited the whole family.
By that I mean Rose, Daisy, and Daisy’s awkward stepchild.
My feelings on the matter are pictured above.
“Goddamn vegetarians,” swore Watson. He had had a great deal to drink that evening, and was looking forward to the night’s festivities even less than he had that afternoon. There was a knock at the front door, and he shuddered. Between Daisy, Daisy’s stepchild, Rose, and Angus, Watson would rather take on the cowplant.
Thankfully, Scarlett’s boyfriend had showed up to start the party early.
In Scarlett’s bed. “Sorry about the body hair,” he apologized. “I’ve just got a lot of testosterone.”
Scarlett leaned back on the pillows and sighed. “When I don’t pick a guy who’s fucked up in the head, I pick the guy with hair on his eyeballs.”
Hairball (I think his name’s Param, but we’ll go with Hairball to be safe) left the party in a great huff and nearly crashed into Daisy on his way out.
“Watson, I nearly got run over by a werewolf, but on the upside, I brought you something!” she screeched. “I made you some carbs! I can do more than just complain now!”
“You can make me fat. Congratulations.”
“You wouldn’t be fat if you just exercised.”
“You’re preaching to the Internet, Daisy.”
Ignoring her brother’s jabs, Daisy entered the dining room and recoiled in disgust. John was twerking, Tony was playing with something vaguely resembling dirty laundry, Pandora was eating rotten pancakes, Malix was remarking snidely on the aforementioned pancakes, and her awkward stepchild was staring vacantly into the distance, contemplating popping a zit. Daisy thought she would go mad from the debauchery.
Rose, unfortunately, already had.
One glance at John’s wicked moves and she fled to the shady, still undecorated corners of the house.
It’s kind of embarrassing how sparsely decorated their house is. Like, there’s four fairly talented young adults living in it and they still struggle with their bills sometimes. I blame it on their ludicrous amounts of family drama and sexual escapades.
Just kidding, actually I’m just bad at Simming. Misc. decor over standard plumbing, holla.
Elizabeth had never met her aunt Daisy before, and was terribly stunned by her humongous hair. It nearly grazed the ceiling, and Elizabeth could have sworn she saw a dove’s wing poking from the back. Still, her father raised her to be moderately polite, so horrified niceties ensued. “It’s nice to meet you, Aunt Daisy.”
“Your father’s drunk,” whispered Daisy. “I’m afraid he might fall into the cake.”
“Good thing there’s not a stripper in there,” said Elizabeth.
Daisy gasped. “Who taught you about that?!”
“Scarlett.” The answer was always Scarlett.
“Hey, Dad,” said Elizabeth. “Can I blow out the candles now? Childhood’s awfully taxing.”
Watson pointed at the cake, and the entire party migrated in their general direction. This was not as pleasant as it seemed.
I seriously have no idea why John would say that, but he did. Maybe he’s a secret racist.
The rest of the party was slightly more jovial.
“I JUST GOT LAID, WOOHOOOOO!”
“SCARLETT JUST GOT LAID!!!” shouted Pandora. Nobody else cared to know about Scarlett’s newest, excessively hair beau, though they didn’t seem to care much about the party, either.
To spice things up, Elizabeth blew out the candles.
That’s more like it. Except for Rose, but she’s Rose. She doesn’t get excited unless someone’s getting beat up. Watson’s not terribly enthusiastic, either, but blame it on the alcohol.
“Did you all just pull those blowhorns out of your butts?” asked Elizabeth with a squeal.
Daisy’s awkward stepchild nodded solemnly.
Elizabeth celebrated with a renewed excitement.
Adolescence, while granting some considerable beauty and others considerable acne, was especially unkind to Elizabeth. “Is that some kind of fairy thing?” asked Daisy, bewildered.
“This is worse than when she aged up cross eyed,” sighed Watson.
“I JUST GOT LAID!” shouted Scarlett.
“SHE JUST GOT LAID!” shouted Pandora.
“Erm, your granddaughter’s a giraffe,” pointed out Malix. Pandora didn’t notice.
At that moment, Daisy’s awkward stepchild remembered to celebrate. She did so by blowing a vuvuzuela into Watson’s butt. “My cheeks are deaf,” said Watson.
“And you’re drunk,” snapped Daisy.
“You can look now,” said Elizabeth. “Wow, puberty sure went by fast.”
If I were an asshole in a wife beater, this story would start referring to her as Sugar Tits.
“You aged up beautifully,” said Scarlett with a smile.
“Great, cool,” said Watson, who had just realized that John had never seen him drunk before and was probably having a great laugh in Watson’s direction. “Can I get to the cake?”
“Sure, Dad,” said Elizabeth.
She’s pretty mild for a Belue heir. Let’s hope young adulthood gives her some whacked out trait.
Unfortunately for Watson, the rest of the party shoved him to the back of the line. John flashed him an apologetic glance as he made his way to the table. Watson sighed. John’s eyes outshone the sunniest day, but how exactly was Watson supposed to tell him that?
He downed another shot and grabbed some cake.
“Wow, Aunt Daisy, Aunt Rose, and that weird girl left pretty fast.”
“Left us plenty of carbs, though,” said Scarlett through a mouthful of cake.
“Do you think it was because they didn’t like me?” said Elizabeth. “I guess I’m pretty boring.”
“No,” interjected John. “You’re fashionable.”
As Watson stepped up to the table, everyone promptly rose and stared in vague, outlandish directions. Watson looked around helplessly, then plopped down in his chair. John leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Meet me upstairs when you’re done. PS: Brush your teeth.”
“Is my dragon breath that bad?” Watson whispered back.
“Smaug’s crying in his grave.”
“Must be pretty awful then,” said Watson, enthusiasm thoroughly undeterred. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
John nodded and left.
“Close to what?” asked Elizabeth.
“The finish line,” said Watson, frosting adorning his upper lip. “I’m just about to pass go.”
“This isn’t a game of Monopoly.”
“Hey,” said Scarlett. “You’re a mature teenager now. Would you mind doing the dishes?”
Elizabeth sighed and retreated to the kitchen, a stack of putrid dishes in hand.
“Go get ’em, tiger,” said Scarlett, and Watson smiled up at her.
“Thanks, Scarlett. For everything.”
“Thanks yourself,” she winked. “But enough with me. This night’s about you and lover boy up there”-she lowered her voice considerably-“and I will be thoroughly disappointed in you as a human being if you don’t get laid tonight.”
“Aye, aye, captain.” Watson grinned. “I’ll try my best.”
Scarlett saluted him as he shoved his cake to the other side of the table, straightened his shirt buttons, and marched directly to his bedroom.
John sat on Watson’s bed, and smiled wryly at Watson as he walked in. Watson gulped. “Hey, John. What can I do for you?”
“We’ve been living together for nearly a year now, Watson.”
“And I’m a pretty perceptive guy. I’m a journalist, okay, a paperboy, but still. I see things other people walk on past. Like you. Some people, like Elizabeth’s mother, just walk on by you, but you made me stop. You’ve caught my attention since the first day I saw you.”
“And you caught mine,” replied Watson. He was suddenly as sober as he had ever been.
“I felt like I could trust you with my life, and I was right.”
Watson’s smile melts into warm butter. “I used to live on logic, but you’ve taught me to live on-”
You’re making me gag, Watson.
“That’s what I said,” said Watson uncomfortably. “Love.”
“That’s exactly the word I was getting at, Watson! Love, love, LOVE!”
“You can’t trivialize it like that,” admonished John. “Love’s serious shit, except when you’re laughing.”
“Yes.” Watson’s grin cracked his face in half. “It really is.”
“I have a crazy idea,” said John. He cocked a thick eyebrow. “Let’s get married.”
And suddenly Watson’s lips found John’s and they were kissing, glorious kissing, with hands innocently touching shoulders and faces, and eyes squeezed shut for fear of ruining the beautiful, untouchable moment. Watson wanted it to last forever.
Somebody cleared their throat.
Scissor Sisters – “Fire With Fire”
A/N: And that concludes Generation Four!! I had to end it on a cliffhanger, because, well, I thought it’d be fun for a change. I hope ya’ll enjoyed the return to old school Belue style, because I absolutely loved writing it. Especially the last three quarters. I just love Scarlett and John, though, so anything with them in it is GOLDEN.
There’s no heir vote for this next generation, because so far Elizabeth is Watson’s only child. Since you guys voted on a crazy ass plot-ish thing for next generation, things are going to get even crazier.
Party on, John!