Peach

The punching bag jerks wildly with each strike, chains rattling overhead like they’re barely holding together. Robert’s gloves smack against the leather again and again until the echo fills the whole SDN training bay. His breath comes out sharp and controlled, but his mind is anything but. The rhythm should ground him. It usually does. But today every punch sends his thoughts spiraling in directions he can’t control. Mecha Man. The suit.

And then, like a sudden punch to the ribs: you. Your face. Your voice. The way you looked at him last night, horror and hurt mixing into something he knows he put there. His knuckles throb from hitting the bag too hard, but he doesn’t stop. Because stopping means thinking, and thinking hurts worse than the bruises forming beneath his wraps.

You’re gone.

That’s the first thing he knew when he woke up, the apartment was silent. No coffee machine noises, no sound of dog kibbles being put down. It's too silent. Beef had been lying by the front door, his little head drooping as he stared at the empty space where your shadow had been. Your shoes are gone. Your jacket is off the hook. Your scent faded from the hallway like it was running away from him too. But your keys—your damn keys—were still sitting on the counter. A message without words. You’re not coming home on your own anymore. He’d stared at them for a long time, jaw clenched, throat tight. He wanted to tell himself you just stepped out, that you needed air. But he knew better. He gave you every reason to leave.

“Why the fuck did I say that…” he mutters now beneath his breath, landing another brutal hit on the bag. It swings back violently, and he steadies it with his forearm, breathing hard. His chest burns—not from exertion, but from the memory of your face right before you stepped away from him. He can’t erase it. He doesn’t deserve to.

Why did he tear into you like that? You—who held him through every nightmare, who sat beside him when he couldn’t walk, whose hands shook when his coma dragged on. You—who stayed. You—who loved him when he had nothing left to give.

He lets the bag drift, breathing hard, and crosses the room toward the bench press. His muscles burn, his lungs sting, but none of it hurts like the silence you left behind. He lies back on the cold bench, fingers curling around the bar as if it might anchor him to something real.

Why did he want Blonde Blazer’s company so badly? Why did he chase her approval like it meant something?

It was never romantic. Not even close. He didn’t want her. He wanted what she represented. Someone powerful. Someone respected. Someone firmly rooted in the hero world he’s starting to sink out of. Someone who could tell him he still mattered, that Mecha Man wasn’t dead weight, that Robert wasn’t a washed-up relic clinging to scraps of a legacy.

He wanted validation. Stability. A direction. Something—anything—that made him feel like he wasn’t falling apart.

But now it’s obvious.

Obvious and too late.

“Fuck…” he exhales, the bar trembling slightly in his hands.

He’s becoming his father. The realization hits him like a collapsing building. The avoidance, the isolation, the way he drifts from the people who care. His father did it for years, burying himself in missions until there was nothing left for his family. And now Robert’s repeating that cycle, abandoning the one person who never once abandoned him. You.

The Polaroid in his wallet—your first date—flashes across his mind. Both of you baby-faced, smiling too wide, eyes bright like you had no idea what the future held. He still keeps it tucked carefully behind his ID, worn at the edges from how often he pulls it out when he thinks no one is watching. You looked at him like he was someone worth choosing.

You had been the lighthouse in the storm, the only light cutting through the chaos, and now that light is gone.

And he is drowning.

Deep.

Dark.

Choking on every mistake he made.

He exhales shakily and pushes the bar upward—but it wobbles. His strength falters. His arms shake beneath the weight.

“You need some help?”

The voice snaps him out of the spiral. Robert blinks, struggling under the bar he’s been holding a second too long. Flambae stands above him with a teasing smirk, arms on his hips.

“You’re not supposed to lift without a spot, idiot,” Flambae says, pointing to a Phenomaman poster on the wall: IF YOU DO NOT HAVE SUPERPOWERS, YOU NEED A SPOTTER!

Fuck off, Flambae. Not in the mood.

.

Robert stands in front of his locker, pulling on the fresh SDN uniform shirt with stiff, mechanical movements. The locker room is quiet except for the clank of metal and the faint hum of the old fluorescent lights overhead. He’s exhausted, emotionally scraped raw. The last thing he wants is company.

Of course, that means company arrives immediately.

“You decent?” Blonde Blazer calls out as she steps inside, a hand covers her eyes in modesty.

“Yeah,” Robert mutters, voice low, guarded. Great. Perfect. Just what he needs.

She peeks between her fingers, then drops her hand once she confirms he’s fully dressed. She leans casually against the lockers, arms crossed. Her posture is relaxed, but her eyes aren’t. They’re studying him, reading him like an open case file.

“Are you alright?” she asks, concern softening her voice. “Flambae said you almost died under some weights?”

“Something like that.” Robert shuts his locker a little harder than necessary. “What’s up?”

He doesn’t look at her. The more distance he keeps, the easier it’ll be. Or at least that’s what he tells himself.

Blonde Blazer uncrosses her arms and steps closer, until she’s standing beside him. “I just…” She hesitates, chewing her lip in a way that shows she’s trying to choose her words carefully. “I had a great time the other night and wanted to see—”

“It wasn’t anything,” Robert cuts in sharply, before she can finish. He tries to keep his voice steady, but it comes out rough, strained. “Don’t look too much into it. I have a partner. Or—” He swallows, throat tightening. “Had. It’s… complicated.”

“Oh. Oh, shit.” Blonde Blazer’s expression falls, stepping back slightly. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to step into anything. did I mess something up? Please tell me I didn’t ruin things for you two.” Her voice is soft, almost guilty. “God, if I messed up your relationship—”

“You didn’t.” He shakes his head immediately, jaw clenching. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me.” The words scrape out of him like they’re cutting on the way up. “I’m just… too much in my own head. Messed up a lot of things.”

Blonde Blazer exhales, relief mixing with sympathy. “Okay. Good. Because I don’t—” she gestures vaguely, “I don’t poach. And I’m not trying to get in the middle of anything.”

She hesitates, then adds quietly, “Do you want advice? Or do you want space?”

Robert drags a hand through his hair, staring down at the floor tiles as if the right answer might be carved there. “I don’t know,” he mutters. “I just know I need to fix what I broke.”

.

You didn’t even remember deciding to leave.

Your body just… moved. Like survival instinct. Like the moment Robert’s words hit you, your legs took over because your heart couldn’t handle staying in that apartment another second.

You walked out when sunrise starts to peek out—coat half on, shoes barely tied—passing Beef in the hallway. The poor guy tilted his head at you, ears lifting, tail thumping once against the wall like he wasn’t sure if this was a morning walk or the end of the world.

“Sorry, buddy,” you whispered, scratching between his ears before slipping past him. His face crumpled into the saddest confused-puppy expression you’d ever seen.

You promised yourself you’d come back for your things eventually. For Beef too. He deserved pets, and treats, and not being caught in the crossfire of two emotionally constipated adults who are his parents.

But not today.

You spent an hour in a corner booth of the only coffee shop open at that ungodly hour, staring blankly out the window, sipping a coffee you didn’t taste. You kept checking the time—not because you were excited to go to work, but because work meant you didn’t have to think.

Now you’re wrapped in a blanket on your friend’s couch, knees tucked to your chest, your phone lighting up your face with the glare of a thousand mistakes.

You scroll. And scroll. And scroll.

Robert’s name takes up your entire screen history—timestamp after timestamp—from way past midnight to… four minutes ago?

Robbie 💖🤖 Hey can we talk? I messed up i kno i messed up. I like. fucked it. everything. i didnt mean it. any of it. can u pick up. I msiss you *mssi yuou Just got out of a bar fight I might have a concusionn concushion NOT MY FU ULT Its z team R u mad at me Yea ok probably I deserve that Fuck Hey do u want tacos Ztem want tacos Do you still like chicken or the weird mushrooom one now Call me Please call me I love yo I love yuo

You exhale through your nose, leaning your head back on the couch cushion. The part that should be angry is too tired to be. The part that should be relieved is too hurt to be. You just feel… hollow.

Your friend plops down next to you, sliding a cup of hot chocolate into your hands like they’re staging an emotional intervention.

“Anything new?” she ask gently.

You show them the screen. They look at the messages, eyebrows rising higher and higher.

“He is in shambles.”

You sink deeper into the couch cushion, groaning into your knees. “…I don’t know what to do.”

Because that’s the truth, isn’t it? You don’t know.

It wasn’t a short fling. It wasn’t a messy situationship you could ghost your way out of. You and Robert… you had years. A home. A life. A dog—well, his dog, but Beef adored you like you personally invented treats.

You press your fingers to your temple. Even remembering the look on his face hurts. Not the anger, not the frustration—those you could weather. It was the way he didn’t choose you. The way he didn’t even realize he wasn’t choosing you.

Your friend nudges your shoulder gently. “You don’t have to decide anything right now.”

“I feel like if I don’t, it all falls apart.”

She shakes her head. “Sweetheart… maybe it’s already falling apart. And maybe that’s not all on you.”

You stare at Robert’s last text.

I love yuo

It’s pathetic. It’s heartbreaking. And it’s him—messy, reckless, self-destructive him. The version of him you’ve held together a hundred times.

Your friend softens. “Do you still love him?”

You swallow. The answer sits heavy on your tongue.

“…Yeah. I do.”

“But,” she says gently, “are you okay staying with someone who makes you walk out of your own home at six in the morning?”

That question stays hanging in the air between you—heavy, sharp, and horribly true.

.

The next day feels like someone pressed “repeat” on your life—same desk, same boring civilian job, same lukewarm office coffee. You clock in, sit down, and do your best impression of a functioning human being. You keep your phone face-down on the desk, notifications popping up every so often, tiny vibrations against the cheap laminate surface. Each time, your stomach twists. You don’t check it. You already know who it is. Robert, or some version of him—hungover, apologetic, desperate, spiraling. You’re not ready to read any of it. Not today.

Curiosity is a murderer of cats. And unfortunately for you, you are a very nosy cat.

So you cave.

You drag the phone toward you, unlock it with a thumb that feels heavier than it should, and take a long sip of lukewarm coffee as the notifications load.

Except… It’s not Robert. It’s Chase. That’s’ unexpected.

You’d only met Chase a handful of times in the early days of dating Robert. Back when Robert still smiled easier, before the weight of his father’s death slammed into him so hard he shut down every soft part of himself. Chase had honestly been a lifeline during that period—kind of an accidental older brother figure, a grounding presence that nudged Robert toward something healthier. But grief scattered everyone differently. Robert pulled back. Chase respected the distance. And then you were the one still checking in, making sure Chase knew Robert was breathing, eating, not completely self-destructing.

They only recently reconnected, and only because Chase was the one who suggested Blonde Blazer help push Robert into the SDN team. A change of scenery. A purpose. Something stable. Something that clearly… wasn’t.

You open Chase’s message.

Chase (Track Star) Hey, can you sneak us into the apartment later? We’re trying to set up a little celebration. His mech’s getting rebuilt again and he hasn’t committed war crimes while working with the Z-Team, so that’s a win. Only if you’re cool with it.

Oh, Chase.

You exhale through your nose, head dropping slightly. Trust him to ask for something utterly impossible at the worst time.

Sorry, I can’t I’m… not staying there for a while.

You stare at the sent message, the bubble glowing with the ugly truth of it. It takes Chase less than a minute to respond.

Chase (Track Star) …Ah. You okay? He’s been a disaster since last night. Not my business, but— Do I need to whoop his ass like I used to when he was a kid? I swear to god I’ll do it. Old man strength is still REAL.

You two end up chatting—a quiet, easy back-and-forth that feels like a weird pocket of normalcy in your chaos. He asks if you’re okay, you lie and say you’re fine, and he doesn’t call you out on it, which you appreciate.

A quiet laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it—soft, unguarded, the first one you’ve had since everything fell apart. You can almost picture Chase typing it, jaw clenched, trying to be gentle and absolutely failing.

You start typing a reply—

But your phone buzzes again, nearly vibrating out of your hand.

Chase (Track Star) OH SHIT THE MECH IS GOING CRAZY TTYL

You sit upright, eyebrows shooting up. Of course. Of course the damn mech picks now to have a meltdown.

what?? is he okay??? please text back when you can.

Then all you can do is stare at your phone, heartbeat shifting between worry for Chase, worry for the mech, and—goddammit—worry for Robert. Every second of silence feeling heavier. Because no matter what happened last night, no matter how hurt or angry you are, the thought of Robert hurt—again—makes your chest tighten.

Even when you’re trying to step away, the universe refuses to let you stop caring about him.

.

Robert wakes to the sharp smell of antiseptic and the steady hum of medical machinery. His vision comes back in slow, blurry layers, shapes melting together before sharpening into something clearer. The first thing he registers isn’t the pain blooming under his ribs.

Royd is propped on a couch by the wall—bandages wrapped around his thick arms and forehead, clothes dusty and torn. Robert barely has time to process the sight before he shifts his gaze and finds Chase standing near the bed, arms crossed like he’s been stationed there for hours.

“Welcome back,” Chase says, voice rough enough to scrape the ceiling.

“How long was I out?” Robert mutters.

Royd answers before Chase can. “Fourteen, maybe fifteen hours.”

They fill him in on the mech incident—Royd talks about the astral pulse, or rather, the lack of it. How he tried. How he failed. There’s defeat carved into every line of the man’s face, and no matter how Robert tries to reassure him—tell him it isn’t his fault, that he did everything he could—Royd doesn’t stay to hear it. He picks himself up, shoulders heavy, and leaves the room with quiet, dragging steps.

And suddenly, it’s just Chase.

Chase sighs and drags a chair next to the bed, dropping into it with the heavy thud of someone who’s both tired and fed up. He studies Robert for a long second before shaking his head.

“What the hell is going on with you, Robert?”

Robert doesn’t even pretend not to know who he means. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated,” Chase repeats slowly, as if tasting the word. Then he snorts. “Yeah. Sounds like code for ‘I fucked up.’”

Robert scrubs a hand over his face, careful of the wires. “I did,” he admits quietly. “I messed up. Bad. I said things I shouldn’t have. Took it out on them. All this pressure, the mech, the media, SDN, the team—fuck, even Blonde Blazer. I just… lost it.” His throat tightens. “And they left. They didn’t even take their keys.”

Chase leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You know,” Chase says finally, “when you were a kid and your dad would disappear for days, you used to pretend you didn’t care. But you did.”

Robert looks away, jaw locking.

“You’ve always been terrified of becoming him,” Chase continues softly. “But the way you fix that isn’t by running from the people who love you. Who stuck by you when nobody else did? When you didn’t even like yourself.” He shakes his head. “You don’t throw that away because your life got complicated.”

“I didn’t… I never meant to hurt them,” he whispers.

“I know,” Chase says. “But you did. And unless you want to lose them for good, you need to get your shit together. Not for the mech. Not for Blonde Blazer. Not for the damn city. For the person who’s been with you all this time.”

Chase lean closer, lowering his voice. “You think they stayed with you all these years because it was easy? Dude, nothing about you has ever been easy.”

A rough, humorless laugh escapes Robert. “Thanks.”

Chase rolls his eyes but keeps going. “They stayed because that’s love. Because you’re worth the work. Because when you’re not spiraling and self-destructing, you’re one of the most loyal, stubborn, big-hearted idiots on earth.”

Robert looks down at Beef, fingers tangling in the fur. His voice cracks. “I don’t think they’re coming back.”

“Yeah,” Chase says gently, “not if you keep doing this.”

“You wanna fix this? Then stop chasing the idea of being Mecha Man and be the goddamn man. Be present. Be honest. Stop hiding behind guilt and fear and other people’s expectations.”

Robert presses the heel of his palm to his eyes. His breath shakes.

“I messed everything up,” he whispers.

Chase squeezes his forearm. “Then fix it. It’s not gone-gone, Robert. They’re hurt. There’s a difference.”

A pause.

“And for the record? If you two ever get in this kind of shit again, I will whoop your ass.”

"Good morning, Grandma Rose," The young woman greets her grandmother with a warm smile and kiss to her cheek. 

"Good morning, Jenny," the elderly woman smiles, her eyes lighting up seeing her youngest grandchild, the one she's always been closest too and the only one who name hasn't left her mind. All her other grandchildren were familiar faces that didn't visit her as often as Jenny does.

"How are you feeling today?" Jenny asks taking a seat across from her at the small table in her room.

"About the same," she replies. "How's your mother?" 

Jenny's mother, Caroline, is Rose's second child and her first daughter. Her uncle, Rose's oldest and only son, died a few years ago from an illness and her younger daughter died when she was just a baby.

"She's good, she's hoping to come see you next week," she informs her though she knows she won't remember it by time tomorrow comes. "She found something for me to show you," she reaches into her handbag, pulling out an envelope. Opening the envelope, she takes out the three photos that are inside and lays them on the table facing Grandma Rose. "Mum found these in the attic and thought you might like them."

A smile graces Rose's lips as tears build up in her eyes looking at the photos with so much love that it makes Jenny feel emotional. 

The first photo was of a young woman who couldn't be much older than Jenny is now. The second photo is the same woman with a handsome man, on what looked to be their wedding day, instead of looking at the camera. They were gazing at each other with so much love and adoration it makes Jenny's heart melt. The third photo was the same couple, a little older, with a baby girl sitting on the woman's knee, and a boy who couldn't be more than 10 standing beside her as the man stood behind her with one hands on her shoulder and the other on the boys shoulder.

"This was my mother, Y/N," Rose tells Jenny as she picks up the photo of the woman. "This was before she met my father. Her first husband died in the war. She was only 23. They weren't married more than 6 months. It took her a long time to want to love again and then my father came along. He was a widow himself, with a son, my half-brother Charlie. Do you remember your Uncle Charlie?"

Jenny smiles fondly remember the elderly man that always snuck her treats as she grew up. He had passed five years ago. "He was a lovely man. You both never spoke much of your parents. How did they meet?"

"My mother always said it was fate," She says, her eyes moving to the photo of the married couple as she picks it up. "They met back in 1925..."

Y/N was growing frustrated with Adam, her older brother, as she stands in the only suit shop there is in Small Heath, Birmingham. The 34-year-old didn't want to be here in the first place but of course Adam needed a woman's opinion on the suit that was currently being tailored for him. She doesn't understand why he needed a new suit when he has plenty at home. He told her he didn't have a date or that he wasn't going any where fancy, that he just needs one and that should be enough of an explanation.

Leaving Adam to be tailored, she looks around the ready made suits to see if she could find one she likes for him. Nothing in particular catches her eye. They all looked the same to her but she was no expert on fashion. If it hadn't been for their older sister, Edith, growing up, she wouldn't know how to dress herself appropriately, let alone someone else. 

"You would have been better off bringing Edith instead of me," she calls to Adam moving the suits along the rack, "Or better yet that girl you fancy. That's why you want the suit, isn't it?"

"You really thought you were my first choice to bring with me?" he teases and winces after the tailor purposely pokes him with a needle. "Edith was busy with her children."

Edith is almost forty and pregnant with her and her husband's 8th child. Y/N is lost on how Edith could do it, popping out babies all the time. Edith's oldest child, a boy who's 17-years-old, the youngest, a daughter, is 2-years-old. She's due to have her 8th baby in two months. 

"And the girl I fancy, is out of town for the week," Adam continues. "I know you don't understand this because you haven't put yourself out there in 10 years, but this suit is going to help me finally ask her on a date."

"Is the suit going to ask her for you?" she teases her brother, earning a chuckle from the tailor. 

"For your information my dear little sister, suits give a man a certain confidence like a woman with a beautiful dress that was made just for her," he states confidently. "And at least I'm trying to date. You're almost 35, with no husband and no children, you're a spinster." He winces again as the tailor pokes him even harder this time.

"I'm a widow actually. You're the one who's never been married," she growls at him coming to where he's standing. "Why is it okay for you men to sleep with any woman you want and not have to consider marriage or having a family? But when a woman my age isn't married with children, we're spinsters and unlovable?" She ignores the smirk on the tailors face as she directs her glare at her brother. "You know what, you're on your own."

She turns on her heel and goes to storm out the door when she bumps right into another person, almost knocking herself back on her bottom. Lucky for her, the person's hands find her waist stopping her from falling backwards. "I am so so-"

She is cut off when her eyes connect with eyes so vividly blue that she could drown in them. 

"Sorry," she finishes barely above a whisper, as though the air in her lungs have gone. 

"Don't apologise," he tells her. "Are you all right?"

She nods unable to find her voice. She's never met a man with such beautiful eyes. She feels herself enchanted by them. When he removes his hands from her, a coldness settles over her. It wasn't until then that she noticed how warmth she felt when he was touching her. 

Finding her voice, she decides to introduce herself, holding her hand out towards him. "My name is Y/N L/N."

"Thomas Shelby," he introduces himself taking her hand in his, the warm feeling returning to her. "Call me Tommy."

"Mr Shelby!" the tailor calls to the man in front of her. "I won't be a minute."

Tommy nods towards the man, before looking back at Y/N. "It was lovely to meet you, Ms. L/N." 

"It was lovely to meet you too, Mr Shelby," she agrees.

He gives her a small polite smile and moves past her to go towards the tailor. She watches him for a moment, taking him all in, from the way he walks to how he stands, to his mannerisms when he speaks and listens. She didn't know him at all but there was something about him that drew her in and it wasn't just his beautiful ocean blue eyes. She finds herself wanting to know him and everything about him. Little did she know that he was feeling the same about her.

It was at this moment, her brother, fully dressed joins her. "I'm sorry for what I said. I'm just worried for you, sister. I don't want you to end up like mother when father died. I don't want you to end up alone."

"You don't need to worry about me," she tells him as Tommy's eyes connect with her own. She feels her heart skip a bit and her breath catch in her lungs but manages to look away from the handsome man, with his high cheek bones, plump lips and beautiful eyes.

Her brother notices what's happening and lets out a small groan as he pulls her out of the suit shop "Of course the first man to take your fancy after 10 years is none other than Thomas Fuckin' Shelby."

"You know him?" her gaze snaps to Adam as they walk towards their shared home. 

"How do you not know who he is?" he answers with his own question, looking at her like she's grown three heads. "Everyone from Birmingham knows who he is." 

"We're not from Birmingham, are we?" she scoffs. "So who is he?"

"He's the fuckin' King of Birmingham. Leader of the Peaky Blinders." 

"Well, that just makes him even more interesting," she mumbles more to herself as she gazes back towards the shop, hoping to see another glimpse of the handsome gangster.

"Your Great-Grandfather had quite the reputation in Birmingham, even in London. A lot of people would say he was ruthless, cold, demeaning and a lot of other bad words and he was those things but he was also very smart, caring, loyal and he loved my mother completely. She was his Queen and he treated her like one. Everything he did was for us and the rest of his family," Grandma Rose explains after telling the story of how her parents met. "You look him up on that computer thing you have, but don't believe everything you read. The coppers had it out for him and tried to make him out to be the worst human being they had met. But there was also someone out there much worse than him."

"Do you think about them often?" Jenny asks her.

She nods, "All the time, more so now since I'll be joining them and Charlie soon."

"Hopefully not too soon," Jenny smiles sadly. The thought of losing her Grandma Rose breaks her heart.

Rose reaches out to hold her granddaughters hand. "I want you to keep the photos. They would love for you to have them. You look just like her."

"My mother? I know." She gives her hand a gentle squeeze, hearing the words Rose always told her, more so now that she was losing her mind.

"No, not Caroline. My mother, Y/N. You look just like her but you have my father's eyes. Those beautiful blue ones that could drown someone in them," Rose smiles and stands up from her chair. "I love you Jennifer, don't ever forget that."

"I won't," Jenny says as she helps the elderly woman into her bed. "I love you too, Grandma Rose." She places a kiss to her cheek and goes back to the table, looking at the photos once more as she picks them up and puts them back inside the envelope. 

Jenny looks back to her grandmother who's already drifted off to sleep and smiles. She goes back over to her and places a kiss on her forehead before leaving the room, closing the door behind her. The first she decides to do as she leaves the rest home is to look up Thomas Shelby, her great-grandfather.

TOMMY SHELBY MASTER-LIST | MAIN MASTER-LIST

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Generation Two: “Why ever leave?”

You were raised to believe that “home is where the heart is.” And because of this, you rarely venture into the outside world unless given a really good reason to do so. You choose not to leave your parents’ home to pursue your own path at the same time that a lot of others do. Video games and programming became your passion while holed up in your basement bedroom, and thankfully your career of choice doesn’t require a lot of socialization. Leftover pizza, anyone?

Traits: Lazy, Slob, Geek

Aspiration: Computer Whiz

Career: Tech Guru (eSport Gamer branch)

Rules:

Win a GeekCon competition while cosplaying

Master programming and video gaming skills

Play the guitar as a hobby (no skill requirement)

Order a pizza delivery or something on Zoomers every night of the week

Never move out of childhood home until parents have died

Generation Three: “Top of the World”

Being raised by a parent with an affinity for keeping close to home never quelled your sense of adventure and love for the outdoors when growing up. After a trip to Komorebi with a few friends during your highschool you find that there is more to the world other than your hometown and there’s more people to meet along the way. Being made a single parent at a young age only helped to build the desire within you to remain free of the clutches of a conventional job or relationship. And so, you devote your heart to reaching the peak of Komorebi and sharing to the world your process of getting there.

Traits: Cheerful, Unflirty, Adventurous

Aspiration: Extreme Sports Enthusiast

Career: Self-employed (Vlogger, with Get famous use the drone to create videos and upload them through the video station)

Rules:

Have a two-night stay at a rental in Mt. Komorebi as a teen with friends and explore the town

Become a single parent as a young adult

Master rock climbing and snowboarding skills (snowboarding is optional)

Totally optional but you can compete the simmies collection

Reach the peak of Mt. Komorebi

Get the Adrenaline seeker lifestyle

Generation Four: “Work away the pain”

Let’s be honest: you had a pretty good upbringing. Even though there were some rough patches, you know that your parent did the best they could to raise you alone. But, deep down, being alone is the very thing you fear more than anything. So, you cover it up with work. You work 10x harder than anyone else in your family probably. But deep down you still crave stability and so as a desperate attempt to fill the emptiness that drives you, you marry a close friend only to find later that your spouse hasn’t been faithful. Eventually, you break down and take things lightly with the help of your family. They teach you how to have a healthier outlet for your frustrations. Who knew flower arranging was so relaxing?

Traits: Insider, Romantic, Perfectionist

Aspiration: Academic

Career: Lawyer (Private Attorney branch)

Rules:

Master Research and Debate Skill and Charisma Skill

Earn a degree of Language and Literature from Britechester University (you can stop aging while in University)

Reach level 5 of the flower arranging skill, start when you’re an adult

Marry first GF/BF as a YA

Turn blind eye to spouse’s cheating

Eventually divorce spouse; never remarry

Get the workaholic lifestyle and try to lose it later in life

Generation Five: “Struggling in Los Simgeles”

You come from a broken home. Growing up, you witnessed first-hand the havoc that infidelity can bring on a family. You determine from a young age that you will pour your soul into forging close relationships with your spouse and children. The city draws you, and it is there that you decide to make your home. However, despite your best efforts as an actress later in life, tragedy claims one of your children long before their time. You wear a shroud of sadness from then on, but find that the love of your remaining child(ren) and your ability to immerse yourself into your roles might just pull you through in the end.

Traits: Gloomy, High maintenance, Vegetarian

Aspiration: Super Parent

Career: Actress

Rules:

Master acting skills

Reach level 10 acting career

Live in an apartment from YA

Have twins

Get nominated for your works (I would add winning just as an option here because we know the game is kinda dumb)

Lose one child to death

Visit child’s grave at least once per week; leave their bedroom untouched

Generation Six: “Living with a broken heart”

You lost a sibling at a very young age and witnessed your parents’ grief while still trying to process it yourself. Rather than trying to pick up the pieces, you let the sadness consume you. And at the same time you have this whole 'This bloodline ends with me' thing going on because of what you've went through. At first you have been recruited to become a secret agent, but after finding out how corrupt the system is, you decide to screw it because if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em! Am I right? Theft and criminal activity become appealing to you, and eventually you give yourself over to that lifestyle. Even though you’re more at home in your contemplative solitude, you take comfort with a woohoo buddy who eventually gets you pregnant/or you get pregnant. So now you're wanted criminal caring for a child that you have no idea how to take care of. But there’s a surprising side to you; the raging in your heart is only calmed by the time you spend painting.

Traits: Kleptomaniac, Loner, Genius

Aspiration: Painter Extraordinaire

Career: Secret Agent (Villain)

Rules:

Run away from home as a soon as you become a teen & never speak to parents again

Do not “inherit” any money from parents

Paint as a coping method

Develop mischief and logic skills

Create a club of sims who are kleptomaniac

Pull a heist: Steal at least 10 items over the course of the generation

Have a woohoo buddy that results in pregnancy

Completing your aspiration is not necessary

Generation Seven: “Here to make a difference”

There is only one word to describe your childhood: lonely. You knew from a young age that the parent you lived with took no pleasure in your company, and you’ve always felt that you were the “mistake” that resulted from a careless decision. As a result, you pour effort into building relationships with those who truly care about you, and even attempt to mend relationships with those who don’t. You have a core group of people who mean the world to you, and you spend as much time with them as you can. Becoming a teacher was an obvious choice, as it provides you with the tools you need to reach others. And while you’re a social creature by nature, you never turn down the opportunity to curl up with a good book.

Traits: Good, Geek, Bookworm

Aspiration: Friend of the World

Career: Teacher (Professor branch)

Rules:

Attempt to mend relationships with estranged grandparents and parent

Maintain a club of “besties” from YA onwards

Have a movie night with club once per week

Master the charisma and wellness skills

Marry a club member

Read at least 10 unique books over the course of the generation

Have at least two biological children and adopt at least one child

Volunteer with family at least once a week

Generation Eight: “Archaeology is my passion”

Growing up, you were constantly surrounded by family and close friends who loved you. But you desire more than just the daily interaction with your family. Exploring the jungle is your passion and so is digging up old relics. You eventually create a store where you sell the things you have collected from your journey. Even though starting up your own business means you have to live with your parents longer than most of your friends, you don’t mind because it means you’re close to the people you love. In fact, closeness and similar interests cause you to fall in love with someone who accompanies you during your trips to Selvadorada, and they don’t mind that you can’t yet afford a place of your own. In your “spare time” (hah!), you enjoy photographing places near and far, searching for that perfect shot. Between trying to run a successful shop and your photography hobby, you’re not able to spend as much time with your children as you like. But that’s okay; you’re out there living your dreams.

Traits: Cheerful, Self-Assured, Cat Lover OR Dog Lover (player chooses)

Aspiration: Archaeology Scholar

Career: Self-Employed (runs a store)

Rules:

Live with parents until they die while trying to get retail store off the ground

Have a child as a YA with a Selvadoradian local

Marry the father/mother of their child once parents die

Master archaeology skill, and photography skills

Must take at least one photo in every world

Generation Nine: “Business-minded and musically-inclined”

Your parents worked hard for every penny that they earned, but you were just left feeling like they didn’t care about you as much as the expensive relics in their shop. Your grandparents are your closest friends while they’re still alive. After all, they practically raised you. As a young adult, you desire the family you feel you never had and start a family quickly…only to find out that you’re married to someone you don’t love as much as you should. You have a “responsible” 9-5 interior decorator job, but you also possess real musical talent. Even though you would never consider leaving your job, investing in your music is something you do quite regularly. You eventually remarry after finding real love, and enjoy the rest of your life mediating a mixed family. Will you find true happiness amidst the wealth and your demanding job?

Traits: Creative, Ambitious, Clumsy

Aspiration: Musical Genius

Career: Interior Designer

Rules:

Become good friends with one or both grandparents

Marry and have at least one child; divorce spouse

Later remarry and have at least one child (think “Yours, Mine & Ours”)

Master violin and piano skills

Achieve level 5 of either the singing or guitar skill

Hire and keep a butler

Eat out at a restaurant at least once per week

Generation Ten: “To the stars”

Objectively speaking, your life is great. You never really wanted for anything as a child. The overactive imagination that you possess lends itself perfectly to your love of space. You create a group with people who love the same things as you. The stars fascinates you, but more than anything you desire to find true love. So you find one in your club. You and your significant other would do anything just to discover the worlds unknown to simkind. It was your dream together. But when your significant other suddenly dies while tweaking with the rocket ship when you were young adults, you were devastated. You couldn't finish the rocket ship that you and your loved one had started. As you mourn, drinking becomes your method to quiet a broken heart and provide a false sense of peace. But at a time when your hope begins to lag, your decision to adopt a child despite your own childlessness is the final push you need to persevere. You eventually create the rocket ship and go to Sixam, bringing the love of your life's urn and placing it there as their final resting place. You go back to earth, and live the rest of your life in peace as you have succeeded in creating your own bittersweet ending following a long line of sims with odd stories: some happy, and some not.

Traits: Hot-Headed, Genius, Erratic

Aspiration: Nerd Brain

Career: Astronaut

Rules:

Master rocket science, handiness and logic skill

Find true love at a young age, significant other dies through electrocution

Successfully travel to Sixam and place the urn your beloved there

Adopt a child or children

Retire from the astronaut career and spend the rest of your living days writing 10 stories about you and your ancestors