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[plumbob-pudding]

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Surviving the Jungle with 6 Strangers | The Sims 4 Jungle Adventure (Ep.1)

In this series, six strangers are brought together by the enigmatic Obsidian Institute to embark on an off-the-grid expedition deep in the Amazon jungle. With secrets, danger, and drama lurking at every turn, this adventure will test their skills and survival instincts.

The mission is led by Pandora Cross, an ambitious anthropology professor and archaeologist determined to make her big break. This episode introduces the unique cast, each with their own aspirations and secrets, as they settle into the camp and prepare for the high-stakes archaeological expedition.

Can they work together to survive the jungle? Or will secrets tear them apart before their adventure truly begins?

Watch episode one here.♡

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Obligatory back to school snaps ✌🏿

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What should have been a half hour’s journey became double that, as the girls returned to the college with their news, their souls too heavy with grief to be dragged up the hills.

Celia Jane, unsurprisingly, was the first to break the tired sadness.

“What shall we tell them?” she asked, voice trembling with an unfamiliar uncertainty, "the village it's..." she trailed off with a muffled sob.

Lorna nodded closed lipped, "sometimes" she began with feigned loftiness, "one must do a bad deed for the greater good." She remembered Granddad saying exactly that as he carried a wailing Charlie to the fox hunt, that she was lucky to avoid as the girl. "We'll give them one last day."

"One last day?" CJ echoed perplexed, "do you mean to say we ought to lie to them?"

But any clarification didn't come as Lorna marched her way down to the entrance where the other girls waited with baited breath. One last day, it was the best thing she could do. Just one day and tomorrow, she'll tell the truth, Lorna swore to herself.

On hearing the "good news" that help was on the way, the girls hooted and squealed, hurrying to their bedrooms desperate to escape the shelter.

Quick plans were made for a midnight feast, the only thing good enough to send off their last day of this horrid experience. Soon, they all thought, save for lorna and an incredibly guilty CJ, as they tucked into the pilfered bits of jam biscuits and chocolate bars, they would be back home with their families.

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What should have been a half hour’s journey became double that, as the girls returned to the college with their news, their souls too heavy with grief to be dragged up the hills.

Celia Jane, unsurprisingly, was the first to break the tired sadness.

“What shall we tell them?” she asked, voice trembling with an unfamiliar uncertainty, "the village it's..." she trailed off with a muffled sob.

Lorna nodded closed lipped, "sometimes" she began with feigned loftiness, "one must do a bad deed for the greater good." She remembered Granddad saying exactly that as he carried a wailing Charlie to the fox hunt, that she was lucky to avoid as the girl. "We'll give them one last day."

"One last day?" CJ echoed perplexed, "do you mean to say we ought to lie to them?"

But any clarification didn't come as Lorna marched her way down to the entrance where the other girls waited with baited breath. One last day, it was the best thing she could do. Just one day and tomorrow, she'll tell the truth, Lorna swore to herself.

On hearing the "good news" that help was on the way, the girls hooted and squealed, hurrying to their bedrooms desperate to escape the shelter.

Quick plans were made for a midnight feast, the only thing good enough to send off their last day of this horrid experience. Soon, they all thought, save for lorna and an incredibly guilty CJ, as they tucked into the pilfered bits of jam biscuits and chocolate bars, they would be back home with their families.

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"Please, please, please!" Lorna pleaded for the upteenth time that morning, as if repeating the words over and over would somehow change the response she had received.

"I can't, you know well enough I can't," Alison replied, raising her head briefly from it's new porcelain home. Her flu seemed to have grown worse, pale pink cheeks greening at the corners, but there was nothing they could do, or at least nothing they could do whilst they remained holed up at the college.

"But I simply cannot go with Celia Jane alone!," Lorna exclaimed knowing well enough that she was acting quite puerile, she ought to be their leader- a good soldier but a week of having all the other girls underfoot like kittens to their mother had worn her down.

"As long as neither of you come back with a bruised eye," (the 'again' was implicit), "this mission will be a success."

Lorna had the grace to smile at that, taking the offered humour as distraction, neither of them wanted to think about what success truly meant or rather what inevitable failure awaited them.

And so, Celia Jane and Lorna set off on borrowed bicycles into the grey morning. A morning that might have been filled with prep and tests and games just last month but that all seemed very foreign now.

The half hour's journey to the nearest village was filled with nothing but silence until they approached the village green. CJ was the first to speak, swearing something horrid that Lorna couldn't help but silently agree with- the village was no more.

Crumbling walls; decimated roofs were all they could see. And planes, German planes, green and yellow marring everything they touched. The jolly red post box, the only connection she had to her family wasn't spared, it's window beginning to rust just from a few weeks of disuse.

Celia Jane continuing her rude words, but Lorna was rather too preoccupied to give her the telling off she deserved. As they slunk back to their bikes, amongst the ruins of their only hope of salvation, Lorna couldn't be strong anymore.

And so, she cried.

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"Please, please, please!" Lorna pleaded for the upteenth time that morning, as if repeating the words over and over would somehow change the response she had received.

"I can't, you know well enough I can't," Alison replied, raising her head briefly from it's new porcelain home. Her flu seemed to have grown worse, pale pink cheeks greening at the corners, but there was nothing they could do, or at least nothing they could do whilst they remained holed up at the college.

"But I simply cannot go with Celia Jane alone!," Lorna exclaimed knowing well enough that she was acting quite puerile, she ought to be their leader- a good soldier but a week of having all the other girls underfoot like kittens to their mother had worn her down.

"As long as neither of you come back with a bruised eye," (the 'again' was implicit), "this mission will be a success."

Lorna had the grace to smile at that, taking the offered humour as distraction, neither of them wanted to think about what success truly meant or rather what inevitable failure awaited them.

And so, Celia Jane and Lorna set off on borrowed bicycles into the grey morning. A morning that might have been filled with prep and tests and games just last month but that all seemed very foreign now.

The half hour's journey to the nearest village was filled with nothing but silence until they approached the village green. CJ was the first to speak, swearing something horrid that Lorna couldn't help but silently agree with- the village was no more.

Crumbling walls; decimated roofs were all they could see. And planes, German planes, green and yellow marring everything they touched. The jolly red post box, the only connection she had to her family wasn't spared, it's window beginning to rust just from a few weeks of disuse.

Celia Jane continuing her rude words, but Lorna was rather too preoccupied to give her the telling off she deserved. As they slunk back to their bikes, amongst the ruins of their only hope of salvation, Lorna couldn't be strong anymore.

And so, she cried.

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Lorna couldn't sleep. Sheep after sheep jumped over jagged fences and still her mind whirled. Mrs. Crumplebottom hadn't been back for four days now and the rest of the girls were growing antsy- she was too but ever the soldier, she couldn't show it.

As she stared up to the dampening ceiling of the shelter that had now become a prison, the soft white fluffy sheep that had plagued her so far, began to grey and darken to those horrid uniforms that were the last thing she'd seen her brothers in. Suddenly she began to feel so very lonely, she hoped to God above, a hope like the dreams of children, that Mrs. Crumplebottom will be back soon and all will be as it once was.

Her misery was interrupted by the sounds of vomiting down below. Alison had seemingly come down with some sort of a flu and that was yet another thing Lorna had to worry about. She clambered carefully down the ramshackle ladder to offer comfort to her friend.

Things had been somewhat strained between them the past few days in the shelter. Well, if Lorna was completely honest, things had been odd for much longer than that, but today, Alison allowed herself to be a friend and Lorna could almost forget everything.

Soon the other girls started to stir and the chore of deciding what to occupy their time with began. They hadn't got the signal that it was safe to leave the shelter yet and Lorna wasn't going to allow anyone to break protocol, no matter how much they pleaded.

However, today it seemed like the girls had had enough. led by that horribly uncouth girl who'd somehow snuck away into Henford, they orchestrated a vote! Celia Jane, the bullheaded child that she was, was insistent on going into town to "explore" like the silly children in those adventure books she was much too old to be quite so taken with.

Of course, Lorna would hear nothing of it, but on this occasion, it seemed like her voice didn't matter and a plan was made for a trip to town tomorrow. Even staring at CJ's swollen eye from the "accident" didn't comfort her as it usually did.

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Lorna couldn't sleep. Sheep after sheep jumped over jagged fences and still her mind whirled. Mrs. Crumplebottom hadn't been back for four days now and the rest of the girls were growing antsy- she was too but ever the soldier, she couldn't show it.

As she stared up to the dampening ceiling of the shelter that had now become a prison, the soft white fluffy sheep that had plagued her so far, began to grey and darken to those horrid uniforms that were the last thing she'd seen her brothers in. Suddenly she began to feel so very lonely, she hoped to God above, a hope like the dreams of children, that Mrs. Crumplebottom will be back soon and all will be as it once was.

Her misery was interrupted by the sounds of vomiting down below. Alison had seemingly come down with some sort of a flu and that was yet another thing Lorna had to worry about. She clambered carefully down the ramshackle ladder to offer comfort to her friend.

Things had been somewhat strained between them the past few days in the shelter. Well, if Lorna was completely honest, things had been odd for much longer than that, but today, Alison allowed herself to be a friend and Lorna could almost forget everything.

Soon the other girls started to stir and the chore of deciding what to occupy their time with began. They hadn't got the signal that it was safe to leave the shelter yet and Lorna wasn't going to allow anyone to break protocol, no matter how much they pleaded.

However, today it seemed like the girls had had enough. led by that horribly uncouth girl who'd somehow snuck away into Henford, they orchestrated a vote! Celia Jane, the bullheaded child that she was, was insistent on going into town to "explore" like the silly children in those adventure books she was much too old to be quite so taken with.

Of course, Lorna would hear nothing of it, but on this occasion, it seemed like her voice didn't matter and a plan was made for a trip to town tomorrow. Even staring at CJ's swollen eye from the "accident" didn't comfort her as it usually did.

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First days had always held with them a certain apprehension. A cocktail of nerves and anxiety spilling down one's throat, hands wringing, brow heavy with sweat. It's commonplace for all but not for Lorna. At least not usually; things were so very different now.

They met up with Ms. Crumplebottom on the platform, as she had said in her letter. All dressed in their identical grey frocks and matching red bows, the straw boater doing little to shield them from the fatigued September sunlight.

The rest of the girls made feeble attempts at friendship during the hour's journey to the school. Hellos and how do you dos that Lorna ignored (especially from one particularly friendly Irish girl). Fraser had said not to worry but she'd never been one to let them tell her what to do.

Thankfully, the school day passed rather uneventfully, save for an incident with a horse and troublesome student that Lorna knew to steer clear of. In fact the only thing of note that did happen, the only she could include in her letters back, was getting chosen as form captain.

The other girls were sure to be jealous, they usually were, but Lorna couldn't care much about that when she couldn't be sure that she'd see Charlie and Fraser again.

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First days had always held with them a certain apprehension. A cocktail of nerves and anxiety spilling down one's throat, hands wringing, brow heavy with sweat. It's commonplace for all but not for Lorna. At least not usually; things were so very different now.

They met up with Ms. Crumplebottom on the platform, as she had said in her letter. All dressed in their identical grey frocks and matching red bows, the straw boater doing little to shield them from the fatigued September sunlight.

The rest of the girls made feeble attempts at friendship during the hour's journey to the school. Hellos and how do you dos that Lorna ignored (especially from one particularly friendly Irish girl). Fraser had said not to worry but she'd never been one to let them tell her what to do.

Thankfully, the school day passed rather uneventfully, save for an incident with a horse and troublesome student that Lorna knew to steer clear of. In fact the only thing of note that did happen, the only she could include in her letters back, was getting chosen as form captain.

The other girls were sure to be jealous, they usually were, but Lorna couldn't care much about that when she couldn't be sure that she'd see Charlie and Fraser again.

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There's something to be said about change and time and fate: wise words strung together to explain that horrid, yet inescapable destiny that plagues every person as the clock ticks closer and closer to adulthood. Just as the warmth of a nest abandons the baby bird and the softness of her mother's fur leaves the poor kitten, adulthood seems nothing but an empty chasm of loneliness.

The letters brought her comfort, or at least that's what she told herself for lies were all the Germans had spared them nowadays. Seeing that "Dearest sister" when Fraser was feeling sentimental (if a little mocking) or the "To Lorna" when Charlie didn't have the time (for he never did, at least not for her). She was lucky to get that much. Many people didn't.

Still she spent every night wandering the grounds, walking up and down the endless corridors, sinking her bare feet in the mulchy grass, begging to feel anything but this. Longing to be seven again when wars were just scary stories with dragons and knights, something so fantastical that it seemed impossible and Charlie and Fraser, her steadfast knights, seemed forever.

As she read the cramped, barely legible words over and over, fingers blackening at the tips as she stroked the words, she suddenly began to feel a prickling in her neck.

If she weren't a proper sort of girl, a girl that perhaps believed in magic and superstitions-like those circus folk Mother hated- she would have thought it a sign, a harbinger of hell or something of the sort. But she wasn't that sort of girl. Perhaps she ought to have been.

She allowed herself a singular gasp and a much too generous second look at the darkening sky heavy with planes-German planes (and German bombs though she declined to focus on that) before shrugging on the familiar Form captain uniform and marching the other upper sixth girls all down to the shelter. Her face, like any soldier, remained unmoving, uncaring, unafraid, even as Alison kept trying to catch her eye.

It was only when they were all safely hidden at depths even the bombs wouldn't dare dive down to, that she allowed herself to breathe. The silent, dank box provided an unusual comfort. It was so strange how war made everything turn topsy turvy, her bedroom a danger but this basement with the wooden beds they'd nailed together just last week, a safety.

The rest of the girls played as they ought to. They were children and she was not. She couldn't be, not now, not when they all needed her.

Ms. Crumplebottom caught her eye and pulled her to the side.

"The sirens are not working," she said, voice trembling, hands shaking even in the heavy woollen robe she donned. "I must go warn the village, the planes will get to them soon enough."

Lorna nodded without complaint, hearing the implicit instruction to look after the rest of the girls.

"Yes, Headmistress. Will do," she added, trying and failing not to see Charlie and Fraser doing the same. It's funny, she allowed herself to think, they were all living remarkably similar lives yet lives still so very separate.

[plumbob-pudding]

There's something to be said about change and time and fate: wise words strung together to explain that horrid, yet inescapable destiny that plagues every person as the clock ticks closer and closer to adulthood. Just as the warmth of a nest abandons the baby bird and the softness of her mother's fur leaves the poor kitten, adulthood seems nothing but an empty chasm of loneliness.

The letters brought her comfort, or at least that's what she told herself for lies were all the Germans had spared them nowadays. Seeing that "Dearest sister" when Fraser was feeling sentimental (if a little mocking) or the "To Lorna" when Charlie didn't have the time (for he never did, at least not for her). She was lucky to get that much. Many people didn't.

Still she spent every night wandering the grounds, walking up and down the endless corridors, sinking her bare feet in the mulchy grass, begging to feel anything but this. Longing to be seven again when wars were just scary stories with dragons and knights, something so fantastical that it seemed impossible and Charlie and Fraser, her steadfast knights, seemed forever.

As she read the cramped, barely legible words over and over, fingers blackening at the tips as she stroked the words, she suddenly began to feel a prickling in her neck.

If she weren't a proper sort of girl, a girl that perhaps believed in magic and superstitions-like those circus folk Mother hated- she would have thought it a sign, a harbinger of hell or something of the sort. But she wasn't that sort of girl. Perhaps she ought to have been.

She allowed herself a singular gasp and a much too generous second look at the darkening sky heavy with planes-German planes (and German bombs though she declined to focus on that) before shrugging on the familiar Form captain uniform and marching the other upper sixth girls all down to the shelter. Her face, like any soldier, remained unmoving, uncaring, unafraid, even as Alison kept trying to catch her eye.

It was only when they were all safely hidden at depths even the bombs wouldn't dare dive down to, that she allowed herself to breathe. The silent, dank box provided an unusual comfort. It was so strange how war made everything turn topsy turvy, her bedroom a danger but this basement with the wooden beds they'd nailed together just last week, a safety.

The rest of the girls played as they ought to. They were children and she was not. She couldn't be, not now, not when they all needed her.

Ms. Crumplebottom caught her eye and pulled her to the side.

"The sirens are not working," she said, voice trembling, hands shaking even in the heavy woollen robe she donned. "I must go warn the village, the planes will get to them soon enough."

Lorna nodded without complaint, hearing the implicit instruction to look after the rest of the girls.

"Yes, Headmistress. Will do," she added, trying and failing not to see Charlie and Fraser doing the same. It's funny, she allowed herself to think, they were all living remarkably similar lives yet lives still so very separate.

[plumbob-pudding]

There's something to be said about change and time and fate: wise words strung together to explain that horrid, yet inescapable destiny that plagues every person as the clock ticks closer and closer to adulthood. Just as the warmth of a nest abandons the baby bird and the softness of her mother's fur leaves the poor kitten, adulthood seems nothing but an empty chasm of loneliness.

The letters brought her comfort, or at least that's what she told herself for lies were all the Germans had spared them nowadays. Seeing that "Dearest sister" when Fraser was feeling sentimental (if a little mocking) or the "To Lorna" when Charlie didn't have the time (for he never did, at least not for her). She was lucky to get that much. Many people didn't.

Still she spent every night wandering the grounds, walking up and down the endless corridors, sinking her bare feet in the mulchy grass, begging to feel anything but this. Longing to be seven again when wars were just scary stories with dragons and knights, something so fantastical that it seemed impossible and Charlie and Fraser, her steadfast knights, seemed forever.

As she read the cramped, barely legible words over and over, fingers blackening at the tips as she stroked the words, she suddenly began to feel a prickling in her neck.

If she weren't a proper sort of girl, a girl that perhaps believed in magic and superstitions-like those circus folk Mother hated- she would have thought it a sign, a harbinger of hell or something of the sort. But she wasn't that sort of girl. Perhaps she ought to have been.

She allowed herself a singular gasp and a much too generous second look at the darkening sky heavy with planes-German planes (and German bombs though she declined to focus on that) before shrugging on the familiar Form captain uniform and marching the other upper sixth girls all down to the shelter. Her face, like any soldier, remained unmoving, uncaring, unafraid, even as Alison kept trying to catch her eye.

It was only when they were all safely hidden at depths even the bombs wouldn't dare dive down to, that she allowed herself to breathe. The silent, dank box provided an unusual comfort. It was so strange how war made everything turn topsy turvy, her bedroom a danger but this basement with the wooden beds they'd nailed together just last week, a safety.

The rest of the girls played as they ought to. They were children and she was not. She couldn't be, not now, not when they all needed her.

Ms. Crumplebottom caught her eye and pulled her to the side.

"The sirens are not working," she said, voice trembling, hands shaking even in the heavy woollen robe she donned. "I must go warn the village, the planes will get to them soon enough."

Lorna nodded without complaint, hearing the implicit instruction to look after the rest of the girls.

"Yes, Headmistress. Will do," she added, trying and failing not to see Charlie and Fraser doing the same. It's funny, she allowed herself to think, they were all living remarkably similar lives yet lives still so very separate.

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Do you still have the link for the 1890 infant outfit? Thank you so much!

hey i answered this here :)

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Britechester Spirit Day was right up Jasmine's ally - having been a cheerleader in high school these collegiate rallies were her type of fun. She and her girlfriends made their way to the event and mingled with the other students, all of them involved in some kind of college sport.

Jasmine was feeling flirty, and she noticed a group of guys horsing around. She went up and began to engage them in the usual titilatng banter. One of them seemed particularly interested, and Jasmine was feeling satisfied. But she never expected him to ask her if she wanted to ditch the rally and head back to his dorm... and who was she to say no to such a spicy opportunity.

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one of my favourite shots so far, uni is doing the most so i haven't had as much time to play. Slowly getting there though