#i live in england

[iwilleathisheartinthemartetplace]

My aunt's taking me out for a drink at some point. Do you think I'd be able to get in bars just by being with her and wearing enough makeup, or do I need a fake ID? I'm almost 17, so I'll be able to drink legally in just over a year anyway.

[heechanes-fiancee]

Heard a gunshot from what sounded like a shotgun/hunting rifle and now I'm too scared to sleep

[trans-buckleyy]

unpopular opinion: I'd rather the weather be too hot than too cold

strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree

[ashleyeveerson]

Haven't been able to think about anything other than the victorian/edwardian/WW1 twink and his 80's punk almost-boyfriend for a week, send help

[heartorbit]

back to our yuri programming

[renonv]

Told y’all I would finish these two pages one day

[ego-meliorem-esse]

July 13th, 1917

Be it from a sense of paternal concern or simply patriotic duty, Arthur made sure to leave his soldiers in the charge of an older Corporal and made his way to the quite pathetic excuse of a medical section where his son was left to rot.

Arthur had heard about the attack. He had been informed the day prior.

He had seen war and famine and sickness, but never like this. Arthur wasn't young, in any sense, and what wonders and strong political oppinions young men had, had left him a long time ago like a ship leaving the harbour in a hury to claim new land. This though, had left shock echoing within his tired, millenia old frame. He wasn't used to this.

Arthur made his way through the trenches with soldiers from every corner of the globe instantly stopping whatever they were doing prior and saluting him as if etiquette and rank mattered in hell. As if it was more importaint to greet the Higher ups than to survive long enough to even write a letter back to family. Arthur did understand that though. Routine and rules were the only thing keeping these poor and wretched souls from being consumed by thoughts of an imminent death.

The path to the section where Matthew was held was quite straightforward and quite familiar. He had marched to and from it hundreds of times and had a sort of automatic rithm in his step. Arthur made his way to the small and damp room with a fast pace indicative of familiarity, only to stop in his tracks in the shabbily built doorframe at the sight that awaited him in the corner.

Matthew sat in the corner of the sad makeshift medical section of the trenches, his back firm against the cold, damp wall.

His once-piercing blue-grey eyes were now clouded over with milky white cataracts, rendering him completely blind. The newly used gas had stolen his sight. His skin, once tanned and healthy, now bore the sickly pallor of a much older man who had endured unimaginable suffering.

Matthew's uniform, discarded in favour of his worn down undershirt, was now a tattered and stained relic of his time in the trenches. The not-white-anymore shirt clung to his emaciated frame as if decency still mattered in hell. The physical toll of the war was clear on his body. Not that Matthew would have to worry about seeing that any time soon. His hands, which had once held a rifle with resolve, now trembled even while resting on his thighs.

Despite his physical and emotional anguish, Matthew remained seated upright, his back pressed against the unforgiving, stained wall. A testament to his resilience if there was any left, a silent protest against the horrors that had taken his sight and left him broken in body and spirit.

As he sat there, his spirit reduced to a hollow shell, Matthew's face bore a mixed expression of utter defeat and complete indifference. His lips were drawn into a thin, lifeless line, and his cheeks were gaunt from the weight of his suffering. His blank, unseeing eyes stared into the abyss, as if waiting for answers and also hoping they'd never arrive.

In that moment, Matthew was not a representation of Canada; he was a young man who had been scarred and broken by the senseless brutality of war. The trenches around him buzzed with activity, but he remained isolated in his silent world of darkness and despair. The young medics job was done. He had patched Matthew up and left him to his own misery. Matthew was grateful.

Arthur stood there silently under the doorframe for what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few seconds. A strange and unfamiliar twinge of emotion plucked and pulled on his conscience. He hadn't felt guilt in quite some time. This feeling was reserved for drunken nights spent in solitude with the doors to the room he resided in firmly locked so that his sliver of self-deprecating emotion wasn't witnessed by any but himself, while he drunk himself to unconsciousness.

He preferred the emotional solitude to this.

Arthur had believed himself to be capable of most things. Especially conversation and confrontation. He was quite good at those as centuries of existence had proved. He believed himself quite skilful with words. Most of the time he knew what to say and when to say it without it resulting in unwanted and unforeseen consequences, while still making sure his opinion was heard.

Arthur had no words forming as he stood in that doorframe. If Arthur was a good man, his reasoning would be that he felt such strong empathy and sadness that words wouldn't be enough to express the sorrow he felt at that moment. If Arthur was a good man he'd run to his son, assure him that this wouldn't happen ever again and that he was safe. If Arthur was a good man he would fall on his knees in front of his oldest son and beg for forgiveness.

Arthur wasn't a good man.

He could admit to his shortcomings, but to act on them was not in his nature.

So he stood there for another 5 or 6 minutes watching his son shallowly breathe in and out, hearing the boys lungs struggle to keep up with his muscles contraction and need for air.

He must have made a noise, as Matthew's head tilted slightly to the left, almost looking at Arthur but definitely not seeing him. Arthur looked back at him.

The room was quiet, save for the desperate plea of Matthews lungs to be put out of their misery.

Sensing nothing after a few moments, Matthew turned his head back towards the blank wall ahead.

Arthur silently turned his frame around and slowly started walking the path he had taken to get here. As he took a few steps, he released the breath he didn't know he was holding.

How he longed for that whiskey bottle and that dark room where he could lock himself in and slowly drift out of consciousness instead of facing his own mistakes.

Arthur definitely was not a good man.

[fictionadventurer]

Maybe the problem with Christian fiction is that it's non-denominational. People are just "Christian", with no effort put into showing what practicing that religion looks like for them specifically. No indication that there are other Christians who could have different beliefs. No wrestling with differing ideas and the struggle of how one should live out their Christian faith. And that makes it unrealistic and unrelatable.

[zivazivc]

Meta & Flint, the freaks who named their daughter Oblivion.

Don't let their looks fool you, they are actually good parents. (Maybe "okay" parents, they did let Liv run away with her boyfriend they never met and his band at 15. (But she was responsible and called them to explain her decision and that she already talked with the school and will be taking special exams at the end of every semester, so it's all good lmao.))

In my AU the Techno/Rock Trolls are the largest population of mixed trolls. They live concentrated along the shore between the Rock and Techno Kingdoms and also extending north into the no-man's-land on the map. This whole area is simply referred to as "the Shallows". They have their own communities and villages there which are located partially on land or exposed reefs/rocks and partially in the water.

Liv grew up in one of those villages. Her parents own a small apartment carved into a cliff side above the ocean. Personally they prefer walking over floating/swimming, and they can't stay in the sun for too long either (they all inherited sun sensitive skin from their Techno sides) so this way they're mostly on land and also aren't in direct sunlight after noon.

It's a modest home but I imagine they must have the prettiest sunrises.

Despite the Shallows having their own communities they still belong under the Rock Kingdom which doesn't really care about them or their different needs much, so a lot of the trolls living there are very anti authority.

[squea]

dear ea stop making all ur worlds so american like even the ones that are meant to be inspired by other parts of the world are so so american. bring us attached houses. cramped neighbourhoods. or just houses that dont have an entire football fields worth of space around it. awkward flats above shops and houses that are seperated by alleyways. no matter what my sims feel so fortunate to have such a huge plot of land even if their house is small like its so isolating 

[newlacesleeves]

okay i was thinking about this last night as i was going to dunks but like it's so true that new england's relationship with dunks is unparalleled like i lived in florida for 10 years and they didn't know how to make a medium regular but every time i went home I'd ask for a medium regular and get it made perfectly every time no question

[lordacne]

looking at the northern lights in my garden

[myfckingnameisnuwanda]

Found some Needles-coded shit out in the wild (Ф ▽ Ф)

[kan-be]

everyday is a fruk day here but today is especially so 🥳

[alicentsgf]

Today some girl put a pic up of her at the eras tour at wembley on ig and said 'this is no longer kens mojo dojo casa house, this is barbies dreamhouse' and im aaaware this is a joke. Haha. Hilarious. and maybe im overreacting but oh my god WOMEN PLAY SPORTS. WE PLAY SPORTS. SPORTS = MEN IS STUPID. STOP IGNORING THAT WE EXIST. it is something so intergral to who we are as human beings we have raced each other and played our little games with balls, sticks, bats, etc since the dawn of time and it is not !! gender specific. it pisses me the fuck off how constantly i still see sport treated as a male space exclusively. Womens football was BANNED in england for 50 yrs and we have fought so fucking hard to be seen and now when theres finally progress and the women are playing games regulary at wembley, people say ignorant shit like this. the two genders are not 'football fan' and 'taylor swift fan' in fact.