The Sims 3: Stunticon Edition
I blame this entirely on my sister. She's the one who started a house of Left 4 Dead Sims, and then Team Fortress 2 Sims. Even though I have no interest in playing either of those games, it made me want to run out and buy The Sims 3 JUST to make Decepticon Sims. I started with a house full of movie characters to get the hang of it, and once I thought I was a pro, I made a Stunticon house. I don't care what anyone says, it's nearly impossible to keep track of seven Sims at one time.
Yes, seven Sims. My sister's Team Fortress 2 house was something of a sausage fest, so I decided to throw in some chicks to even things out and spice it up a bit. Central (Motormaster's wife) and Fastback (his daughter) are both OCs who might make some appearances in future fics of mine.
I didn't want to deal with any bromance or tomfoolery, so Motormaster and Central are married, and Dragstrip, Dead End, Fastback, Wildrider and Breakdown are their kids.
Disclaimer: Despite the name similarity, Fastback is not my Mary-Sue-self-insert. If I were anything like Fastback, I'd probably be in jail right now.
Enjoy!
Warning: Image heavy
Motormaster looks about right, cranky before I've even hit 'play'. Dragstrip is probably thinking about how awesome he is, Breakdown oh god the trees are looking at me, and Fastback's just chillin.
Dead End came out way more emo than intended, but otherwise he looks alright. Wildrider takes after Motormaster, and Central looks ambivalent.
Home sweet home! (oh my god I am terrible at house layouts)
The first thing everyone does is take off and inspect the flowers. Well, except Motormaster and Dragstrip, who are contemplating their respective awesomeness.
Hey, what's Motormaster doing in the bushes?
Scaring the slag out of his wife. Someone isn't getting that Husband of the Year award!
It doesn't take Breakdown five minutes to discover COMPUTER GAMES.
Dragstrip
Dead End isolates himself in the living room and reads. No one is shocked.
The rest of the family (Breakdown is still on the computer) plays video games. Motormaster should probably not bother, because he is losing pretty badly. Something to get used to: Fastback dancing in the background.
Motormaster and Central do some spousal flirting, while Dragstrip hones his l33t skills.
It doesn't take them long to start arguing. He's complaining about good people of all things, which doesn't jive well with Central.
Motormaster: "Dammit woman, shave your goddamn legs!"
Things calm down a bit. Fastback: still dancing.
Motormaster: "You better make me a goddamn chicken dinner tonight, woman."
Central: "Not unless you take out the trash, dear."
Wildrider has had enough! He starts yelling at... nobody. Carry on then.
Fastback checks out her bad self, a la Dragstrip. She is ready to BREAK SOME HEARTS.
Central makes dinner. It's not chicken.
Motormaster: "Are you sure you gave birth to this upstart!?"
There is a lot of arguing in this family.
There is a mad rush to get dinner. It's kind of hard getting seven people to cooperate when they're converging on one tiny item. In the confusion, a plate of dinner somehow wound up on the floor.
Immediately after eating, Fastback resumes dancing. Priorities!
Dead End: "I'm a sensitive artist."
No one in this family cares, sweetie.
Motormaster: "No son of mine is some pansy artist."
Yes, seven Sims. My sister's Team Fortress 2 house was something of a sausage fest, so I decided to throw in some chicks to even things out and spice it up a bit. Central (Motormaster's wife) and Fastback (his daughter) are both OCs who might make some appearances in future fics of mine.
I didn't want to deal with any bromance or tomfoolery, so Motormaster and Central are married, and Dragstrip, Dead End, Fastback, Wildrider and Breakdown are their kids.
Disclaimer: Despite the name similarity, Fastback is not my Mary-Sue-self-insert. If I were anything like Fastback, I'd probably be in jail right now.
Enjoy!
Warning: Image heavy
Motormaster looks about right, cranky before I've even hit 'play'. Dragstrip is probably thinking about how awesome he is, Breakdown oh god the trees are looking at me, and Fastback's just chillin.
Dead End came out way more emo than intended, but otherwise he looks alright. Wildrider takes after Motormaster, and Central looks ambivalent.
Home sweet home! (oh my god I am terrible at house layouts)
The first thing everyone does is take off and inspect the flowers. Well, except Motormaster and Dragstrip, who are contemplating their respective awesomeness.
Hey, what's Motormaster doing in the bushes?
Scaring the slag out of his wife. Someone isn't getting that Husband of the Year award!
It doesn't take Breakdown five minutes to discover COMPUTER GAMES.
Dragstrip
Dead End isolates himself in the living room and reads. No one is shocked.
The rest of the family (Breakdown is still on the computer) plays video games. Motormaster should probably not bother, because he is losing pretty badly. Something to get used to: Fastback dancing in the background.
Motormaster and Central do some spousal flirting, while Dragstrip hones his l33t skills.
It doesn't take them long to start arguing. He's complaining about good people of all things, which doesn't jive well with Central.
Motormaster: "Dammit woman, shave your goddamn legs!"
Things calm down a bit. Fastback: still dancing.
Motormaster: "You better make me a goddamn chicken dinner tonight, woman."
Central: "Not unless you take out the trash, dear."
Wildrider has had enough! He starts yelling at... nobody. Carry on then.
Fastback checks out her bad self, a la Dragstrip. She is ready to BREAK SOME HEARTS.
Central makes dinner. It's not chicken.
Motormaster: "Are you sure you gave birth to this upstart!?"
There is a lot of arguing in this family.
There is a mad rush to get dinner. It's kind of hard getting seven people to cooperate when they're converging on one tiny item. In the confusion, a plate of dinner somehow wound up on the floor.
Immediately after eating, Fastback resumes dancing. Priorities!
Dead End: "I'm a sensitive artist."
No one in this family cares, sweetie.
Motormaster: "No son of mine is some pansy artist."