Matcha 🍵

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ About Me ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Hi! I am Amy and I'm from the UK. I have been playing The Sims since The Sims 2 and have been obsessed ever since. I love family and legacy gameplay. My most favourite drink in the world is a Matcha latte hence my user <3 and I'm currently aspiring to be a software engineer!

With the nature of my stories there will be some triggers and content warnings ⚠️

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ Challenges / Stories ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

The Alcott Legacy - Chrono ✨Recent.

Winter, 1893

Clara turned one in the spring. She learned to walk by holding onto the kitchen chairs, laughing every time she fell. Eveline followed her everywhere, afraid she’d disappear if she looked away for too long.

Henry worked late most nights. Not chasing anything new. just fixing, adjusting and trying to make something behave the way it was supposed to. He said less than he used to, but when he smiled at Clara it felt real.

The fire happened in winter. A spark and then a flash of smoke, walls scorched dark where it shouldn’t be.

Eveline remembers standing in the doorway with Clara bundled against her chest, watching Henry stare at the damage like it had taken something from him that couldn’t be rebuilt.

Autumn, 1892

The leaves have started to turn, and the air carries that soft chill. The house smells like smoke and damp soil.

Clara is six months old now. She sleeps best when it rains, her tiny hand clutching the edge of her gown like she’s afraid the world might slip away if she lets go.

Henry’s back in the workshop most nights. He swears he’s close to perfecting his design, though Eveline suspects it’s not perfection he’s chasing, just distraction.

She paints in the quiet moments between feedings, when Clara’s asleep and the house creaks under its own weight. These days, the canvas never looks quite how she means it to. The colours all feel too heavy.

Spring 1982

It rained the entire day she was born.

Not the harsh kind of rain that beats against the glass, but the steady kind, the kind that makes the whole world feel suspended, holding its breath.

Henry had gone pale long before the midwife arrived. He stood at the foot of the bed, hands shaking. Eveline didn’t hear them, her world narrowed only to the clock ticking on the mantle, the creak of the floorboard. Pain ebbing and flowing until, the first cry.

Clara.

The name came easily, as if it had been waiting for them.

Autumn, 1891.

The air's colder now. The mornings smell like wet earth and smoke, and the leaves outside their window have started to curl at the edges.

Henry's latest design sits unfinished on the workbench. He says he'll finish it when he "feels right again." Eveline doesn't press him; she's been tired too, a different kind of tired.

The doctor came by last week and smiled, the sort of quiet smile that always means change. "By spring," he said.

Eveline spends her afternoons sewing small things she can't quite picture yet, soft fabric, tiny buttons, lace that catches the sunlight. She hums to the rhythm of Henry’s hammering. Every so often, he'll stop, listen, and smile to himself.

In the evenings, when the fog settles over the fields, they sit by the fire with one hand on her belly.

"There’s a heartbeat here", Eveline writes in her diary, "small but steady."

Summer 1891.

The mornings come earlier now. Sunlight filters through the thin curtains. Henry's already outside when Eveline wakes. She hears the soft whir of gears and the occasional sharp curse from the workshop.

He says this invention will change everything. Something to ease the burden of labour, to give them more time to live instead of just survive.

When it finally runs, it's only for a few minutes. The sound is a low hum, steady, until it isn't. A hiss of smoke, a flicker of light, and then silence.

Henry doesn't speak for the rest of the day. That night, Eveline wipes the soot from his face and tells him it's only the beginning.

Spring, 1891.

The rain hasn’t really stopped since they arrived. It slides down the windows in slow, crooked lines.

Henry says it’s a good omen, that the land is soft and ready for planting. Eveline isn’t so sure. The cottage still feels half-finished, more echo than home. But when the fire catches and the kettle starts to hum, she almost believes him.

At night, he sketches strange little machines by candlelight, gears and pulleys and things she can’t name. She watches his reflection in the window, the flicker of ambition in his eyes, the way the light moves across his hands.

“One day,” he says, “this will all work.”

Inventor Mr Henry Alcott pictured with his new wife Eveline on their wedding day. Circa. 1890

Unfortunately my save file for The Osborne Legacy has gotten corrupted and it is unplayable.

Fortunately I only managed to get 2 decades in however my poor beloved sims are lost. 🥲I am going to keep the posts but the tag won't be updated anymore.

I am going to create a new save and a new Decades legacy, I will be renovating it so it won't be ready but watch this space.

Henry grew up to be a dashing young man with a lot of resemblance to his mother.

He still very frequently met up with his favourite cousin Marilyn, she of course would let him know of any gossip she found.

One evening at the bar Robert met himself a young lady with the name Maria Diaz.

After many drinks and conversations, he asked her to dance in which she accepted.

Robert found himself enjoying the company and had not felt these emotions when he late wife Margaret passed away many years ago.