#the vicar in white

[hitchell-mope]

Great ending to a great show.

[modormouth]

fuck it

amelia in the style of greavard from pkmn

[glitterypin]

I don't even know how to caption this, I think this collection speaks for itself, right? right.

[adventure-showdown]

What is your favourite Doctor Who story?

ROUND 3 MASTERPOST

synopses and propaganda under the cut

The Daemons

Synopsis

The Master, posing as a rural vicar, summons a cloven-hoofed demon-like creature named Azal in a church crypt. Seeking to gain the ancient titan's demonic power, he gathers a cult and then corrupts or controls the residents of Devil's End to bow to his will. Dark elemental forces begin to disturb the village on the eve of May Day: unexplained murders, a stone gargoyle come to life, and a nigh-impenetrable infernal energy dome. With the Master fully prepared to destroy the Earth, the Doctor and UNIT — aided by a benevolent practitioner of witchcraft — battle the wicked rites of a secret science wielded by an alien from another world.

Propaganda

what is the most important quality of a good doctor who story, to have a strong plot, something to say, something new to try. all of these are positives, yes, but sometimes the best doctor who stories are just fun. sometimes they feature the master pretending to be the leader of a satanic cult pretending to be an anglican priest, remote control bessie, an alien who's basically the devil, a living gargoyle, a witch, and the doctor escaping being tied to a maypole by pretending to be a wizard. truly, this is the heights of doctor who, it is beyond fun to watch, i love it so much. If that’s not enough, then surely the fact that this has THE ‘the brigs an alcoholic and mike yates is gay’ moment (anonymous)

An Unearthly Child

Synopsis

Barbara Wright and Ian Chesterton, two humble teachers during 1963, are surprised by a bright student named Susan Foreman. Confused by the contradictions in Susan's knowledge, Barbara had decided to visit her home, only to learn that the address on record is a junkyard. She and Ian decide to wait at the location until Susan or her grandfather show up. There, they discover a junkyard inhabited by her grandfather, simply known as "the Doctor", and he doesn't want them lurking about.

When the teachers refuse to leave, they discover that an ordinary police box is actually bigger on the inside. The Doctor decides they know too much about his and Susan's otherworldly origins and takes them on a journey across space and time in his TARDIS, the place he and Susan now call home.

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

[lucifer-kane]

Watching someones first Bloodborne playthrough and fooling around in my sketchbook, a little Laurence concept comes out

[sandymybeloved]

why am i so hyped to be watching the daemons tonight. i mean yes its my favourite serial but i need to like, chill

[agronian]

this bad bitch right here y’all aren’t even ready to see

[hexcrystals]

3000 - three thousand - anti-racist counter protestors forming a barrier around the beacon centre in newcastle, holding signs saying ‘geordies are of all colours’.

£12,000 raised by a local resident in hartlepool who wanted to show appreciation to the mosque after it was targeted.

sunderland residents joining a mass clean up after the riots, many wearing safc football shirts as they swept up broken glass and helped board up broken windows.

hundreds of people gathering in middlesbrough at 7 in the morning and bringing cleaning equipment to share so they could put the town back how it should be.

white people standing shoulder to shoulder with their neighbours of colour, vicars and rabbis and imams standing together to condemn the violence, folks offering to walk people of colour home or accompany them on public transport if they feel unsafe alone.

this is what working class northern england looks like. this is who we are. racists and fascists are not welcome here. they do not define us.

the riots are terrible. the people participating in them are scum. but do not write off my entire community as ‘stupid racist northeners in shitty post industrial towns’ when we are doing all we can and proving that that could not be further from the truth

[mariacallous]

God works in mysterious ways. Take U.S. President Donald Trump. He claims that he survived an assassination attempt last July thanks to divine intervention. “I was saved by God to make America great again,” Trump said in an inaugural address. His belief is shared by many Christian leaders.

In their ranks, however, you won’t find the most influential of them all: the vicar of Christ. Pope Francis clearly doesn’t think that Trump has been anointed by God and is more likely to be praying for his failure than his success.

The day before Trump took office, Francis denounced the president’s plan for the mass deportations of undocumented immigrants while appearing on an Italian talk show. “If it is true, it will be a disgrace because it makes the poor wretches who have nothing pay the bill for the imbalance,” the pope declared. “It won’t do. This is not the way to solve things.”

That wasn’t a one-off jab from the Vatican. The pope has a history of opposing the U.S. leader. Back in 2016, when Trump was just a Republican candidate promising to build a wall between Mexico and the United States, Francis said, “A person who thinks only about building walls, wherever they may be, and not building bridges, is not Christian.” Throughout Trump’s first term, he spoke out against what he saw as the president’s dangerous excesses, from spurning climate action to stoking fear in American society.

Now, nearly a decade later, the pope is back at it. “I think Francis is heading back into battle with Trump whether he wants to or not,” said Philip Shenon, a former New York Times investigative reporter and the author of Jesus Wept, a new book on the modern Catholic Church.

Francis doesn’t appear gleeful about the prospect of another crusade against Trump. “The pope is reluctant to do it, given how ugly the confrontation became in Trump’s first term,” Shenon said.

At 88, Francis is in bad shape for a grueling fight. He has weak lungs and falls ill often. Just a few days ago, he couldn’t speak at his weekly audience on account of a nasty cold. “He may worry, understandably, that he doesn’t have the energy for another go-round with Trump,” Shenon said. “But Francis doesn’t have a choice, I think, especially given the imminent prospect of mass deportations.”

For the Vatican, however, the initial casus belli wasn’t the United States’ mass deportation scheme but a provocation from Trump last December. The president appointed his close ally Brian Burch, president and co-founder of the conservative advocacy organization CatholicVote, as the U.S ambassador to the Holy See.

Burch, like many far-right Catholics in the United States, is a fierce critic of Francis. He has accused the pope of “progressive Catholic cheerleading” and castigated him for creating “massive confusion” by allowing priests to bless same-sex couples. He has also lent his support to Francis’s enemies in the church, including Carlo Maria Viganò, a traditionalist archbishop who was excommunicated in 2024.

This has all been in service of a radical political project. Burch was instrumental in fueling the rise of a conservative Catholic movement aligned with Trump—call it the church of Trump. Membership includes Vice President J.D. Vance, a Catholic convert, as well as other high-profile members of the new administration such as border czar Tom Homan and White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt.

Although U.S. conservative Catholics like to flaunt their faith, they have little respect for Francis. “They have long cast him as an enemy, a champion of liberal values they deem anathema to traditional Church doctrine,” said David Kertzer, the Pulitzer Prize-winning author of The Pope and Mussolini and The Pope at War. “And from what I can tell, it is U.S. wealthy Catholics who are the world’s primary funders of anti-Francis Church activities.” To top it all, Trump sent one of them to be his man in Vatican City.

As payback for the Burch appointment, Francis made a shock appointment of his own—naming Cardinal Robert McElroy as the new archbishop of Washington, D.C. A dedicated supporter of migrants, McElroy is among the most vocal anti-Trump clerics in the United States. He wasn’t the pope’s first choice, but circumstances changed his mind. “Last fall, word in the Vatican was that Francis had settled on a far less confrontational choice for the D.C. job,” Shenon said.

Confrontation now looks inevitable. Unsurprisingly, the first two weeks of Trump’s return to power have already given way to a war of words between the church and the White House.

On Jan. 20 and 21, the president signed a raft of executive orders cracking down on immigration. Two measures concerned the church directly: the suspension of refugee resettlement programs, which the church has long participated in, and the lifting of restrictions on U.S. immigration agents entering places of worship to round up undocumented immigrants.

The U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops immediately issued a statement in condemnation. Bishop Mark J. Seitz, who chairs the conference’s Committee on Migration, spoke to CBS News and sounded the alarm on the new administration’s immigration policies. He argued they went “against some of the basic tenets of our faith, frankly, the fundamental right of every human person that needs to be respected, no matter their origin, no matter their situation.” Seitz added that Francis “certainly is paying attention.”

The Trump administration didn’t turn the other cheek. Homan, who oversees deportations, struck a defiant tone in an interview for Newsmax, declaring that Francis “ought to stick to the Catholic Church and fix that because that’s a mess.” Vance, meanwhile, took aim at the bishops, accusing them of cupidity since the church receives money from the U.S. government under its refugee admission program. “The U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops needs to actually look in the mirror a little bit and recognize that when they receive over $100 million to help resettle illegal immigrants, are they worried about humanitarian concerns? Or are they actually worried about their bottom line?” Vance said to CBS News.

Vance’s remarks rocked the church. Even Cardinal Timothy Dolan, who is close to Trump and led a prayer at his inauguration, was incensed. “That’s just scurrilous. It’s very nasty, and it’s not true,” he said in rebuke to Vance on his weekly radio show. “You think we make money caring for the immigrants? We’re losing it hand over fist.” Dolan later expressed his solidarity with migrants in a video posted on the Good Newsroom. “The church I love should not be blasted for simply obeying the Bible and caring for those immigrants who came here through this clumsy, fractured system.”

In recent days, the Trump administration has made another move that affects the church: drastically slashing the foreign aid administered by the U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID). As a result, Catholic Relief Services, an international humanitarian organization, stands to lose up to $750 million in grants from USAID, according to the National Catholic Reporter. Michael Czerny, a cardinal close to Francis, has condemned Trump’s USAID cuts, saying that millions will die as a result.

Francis has not directly commented yet, but relations between the White House and the Vatican are likely to worsen fast. The Trump administration shows no signs of contrition, but it should beware. The Catholic Church has a history of coming out on top against the merciless. During the second half of the Cold War, for instance, it supported the Solidarity movement in communist Poland, eventually leading to the fall of the regime in 1989. Three years earlier, in the Philippines, the church was instrumental in the People Power Revolution that toppled the brutal dictatorship of Ferdinand Marcos.

An ailing Francis might look like an easy target. But, unlike other heads of state, Trump can’t browbeat him. The reason is simple: The president has no leverage on the pope. He can’t slap tariffs on Vatican City, nor can he threaten to annex it and turn St. Peter’s Basilica into a hotel.

As he nears the end of his life, Francis is focused on shoring up his legacy. He just released his autobiography and is still determined to make his voice heard about the world. He won’t stand attacks from the MAGA movement, and neither will the Catholic Church.

Ultimately, therein lies the cardinal sin in the Trump administration’s reckless attitude toward the Vatican. They are turning their feud with the pope into something bigger: a feud with the church itself.

Francis might not be pope for long. And while U.S. conservative Catholics are hoping that they can influence the outcome of the next conclave, this is dubious. Francis has transformed the College of Cardinals. Nearly 80 percent of those who will elect the next pope were appointed by him. Many come from the global south and are in broad agreement with him. As such, Francis’s successor is likely to look unfavorably on Trump and Vance—all the more so if the church finally picks an African pope, who would put Africa’s economic development at the heart of their agenda. Cutting foreign aid and disparaging the vital work of charities around the world won’t be something that the next pope would forgive easily.

MAGA’s antics against the Vatican may well come back to haunt them. They think in soundbites. The Catholic Church, as the phrase goes, thinks in centuries.

[hitchell-mope]

Geraldine has the final line.

[definitelynotabirthblog]

A Church Birth

Word count: 2800

Summary: a homeless young woman gives birth in a church on a cold night with the help of a vicar

TW: mention of bowels opening in the context of childbirth. Otherwise a bog standard if inconvenient birth fic.

---------------

Reverend Thomas Callahan tipped the electric kettle and poured boiling water over his teabag. As he stirred the steaming, amber liquid, the metal teaspoon clinking on the side of ceramic mug, he gazed out of the window in the small kitchen attached to his church, St Barnabas. It was November 5th and winter had ushered itself in rather prematurely in Reverand Callahan's opinion. Just two weeks ago, the village had been enjoying the last lingering rays of an Indian summer. Yet today, though it was barely 5pm, the milky glow of the moon had crept over the village as dusk fell, casting pointed, angular shadows of gravestones over the churchyard. A cold breeze picked up dead yew leaves and made them pirouhette beneath the window pane. Grey clouds scudded across the bleak sky, warning of the imminent storm. The reverend poured milk into his tea and lifted the mug to his lips, watching the wind drive the thick flurries of snow diagonally. As he sipped, a particularly strong gust forced the back door of the church open with a bang. He sighed.

Cupping his mug in his hands for warmth, he made his way to the door. He used his entire body weight to force the door shut, twisting the lock after.

"Lord, keep us safe tonight," he murmured, clutching his tea. He stared at his alter, his thoughts swimming.

He was a young vicar and St Barnabas was his first parish, its village his first flock. More than half of local residents attended services on Sunday's - most out of obligation than devotion to the Lord, he had concluded - but few reached out to him for guidance and prayer between services. Privileged enough to be privately educated by wealthy parents, he was painfully aware of his naivety, and had hoped that being posted to a poorer, rural community would provide him with the experience needed to advise and councel. He had come to understand that he was regarded with a mixture of amusement, novelty and affection - but not respect. He had not earned those stripes yet.

Physically he supposed that he was handsome enough. He had a head of thick, mocha-coloured hair, olive eyes framed with perfectly symmetrical eyelashes and peach-coloured skin. His lips were soft and pink, his front teeth crooked, but he was blessed with a warm smile that made his eyes shine. At six foot one inch he was tall, healthy man, muscular without being ripped, with a small, stubborn podge of stomach fat. He hadn't been oblivious to the occasional attractive young women taking a second yearning glance at him when he had explored the local towns, but his cluelessness at navigating such situations prevented him from pursuing them. As he walked away, frustration simmering inside him, he would often feel the aching throb of an erection tenting in his trousers.

A rap at the front door stole his attention from his reverie. He set his mug down and strode along the pews, shoes squeaking in the otherwise silent building. The night had drawn in now. Who could possibly still need the sanctuary of his church?

Thomas opened the door and peered out. The flurries he had noticed in the kitchen were now falling at blizzard speed as an inch-thick layer blanketed the churchyard, the wall and the lane beyond. Pinpricks of orange light in houses across the snow-covered village green sparkled, but the temperature outside was now close to freezing. His breath was visible in thick white puffs as he took in the sight before him.

A young woman. Her face was so pale it looked translucent, with fearful blue eyes and teeth chattering in the icy air. Her knotted blond hair cascaded around her shoulders which were covered in a shapeless coat the exact colour of moss. She wore thin leggings on her legs and a dirty pair of boots which looked like that they had trekked through mud. Thomas recognised her - she had been loitering outside the church after the previous two Sunday services but had darted away the second he tried to approach her.

"Can I help you?" he enquired, first looking past her to check she was alone, and then looking directly into her scared eyes.

She nodded and tried to talk, but either due to the cold or nerves, she was unable to speak, her mouth forming the shape of a word but without sound.

"It's too cold to dither out here," he said, assessing the situation. "Would you like to come in? Then maybe I can help?"

She nodded. He opened the door wider and she bowed her head before scurrying past him like a frightened mouse.

When they were safely inside, Thomas turned and looked at the young lady. She was young, barely out of her teens, and very petite in stature. Her scruffy clothes had a musty smell and were torn in places as though had been living rough. The hollowness of her cheeks, her pale face and her wet hair gave her the look of a drowned person. As the warmth of the church hit her, any remaining stamina she had was lost as she staggered, fell against the wall and slipped towards the ground. Thomas caught her frail body in his arms by reflex and supported her the last few inches towards the floor. He knelt down beside her.

"What's your name?" he asked kindly.

"Willow," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Do you think you could stand up again, Willow? You can come and warm up and then maybe I can call someone for you."

Willow opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, her face contorted and she cried out in pain. Her hand instictively travelling to her abdomen which was protruding from her slender frame despite the oversized coat. Her tortured eyes locked onto his, pleading for help. Compassion flooded through him and he did not hesitate as he scooped her up, one arm supporting her skinny shoulders and the other under her knees. Breathing through his mouth as the smell of the motheaten coat wafted upwards towards his nostrils, he carried the sobbing girl down the aisle and into his office, gently lowering her on the sofa he normally reserved for comforting the bereaved. As her cries reduced to muffled whimpers, he sat down next to her and placed his left arm around her shoulders. Desperate for solace, she leant her body against him, and he found himself drawn into an awkward embrace with her, holding her close as he comforted her. Finally her breathing steadied.

"How can I help you, Willow?" His arm remained around her shoulders.

She looked up at him, frantically shaking her head, eyes begging him to understand.

"You're obviously scared and in pain... and not very well? Do you need to see a doctor?" he asked, concerned.

"I... I... maybe..." she said shakily, her head still pressed against his shoulder.

"Maybe?"

"I-I don't know..."

"Maybe if you told me what is wrong, I could help you decide if you need to see a doctor. But you just collapsed in my church. I think seeing a doctor would be a good plan." He looked at her unkempt appearance. "Where have you been staying?"

"Wherever I can."

"Wherever you can?"

She nodded.

"I'm very sorry to ask this but are you homeless?"

"Only for the last two months."

"Only? That's a very long time to be sleeping rough."

She shrugged.

"I'm in touch with a few local hostels. I could ring around and see if I can get you a bed for tonight."

"They won't take me."

"Why won't they?"

"Because... because..." She burst into fresh floods of tears. Within seconds, her cries turned into fresh bellows of pain as she rocked her hips back and forth. "Oh, please help me. It hurts, it HURTS!"

"Willow, please tell me-"

Another noise noise erupted from her, this time low and primal, not unlike a roar. Thomas watched as the pain seized her, calculating whether he should comfort her or call for help first. Her knuckles were white as she clenched the sofa, her agony clear in her eyes as she growled her way through whatever was causing her body such torment. Acknowledging that this was a medical emergency that he was unequipped to handle, he reached to his pocket for his phone. He sighed with exasperation as he saw he had no bars, the sigh turning into a panicked moan on noticing the red light on the router.

"I think I need to call for help," he decided, rubbing Willow's arm in an inadequete effort to offer reassurance. "But I have no signal and the WiFi is down. Probably because of the weather. It means I need to leave you but I'll be b-"

"NO! Please don't go!" she gasped, scrabbling for his hand. "Please, no! You can't leave me!"

As the pain ripped through her body, there was a audible pop, immediately followed by a squelch, as though someone had sat in a puddle of water. Willow immediately pulled her hand to her crotch, relief evident in her face as the pain began to ease once more. Thomas was very confused now. What was wrong with this lady, this scrawny, malnourished young thing sat in his office, who had collapsed in his church, was intermittently wracked with such intense pain it rendered her barely able to speak, seemingly had no one on this earth to help her and was allegedly homeless but not immediately requesting medical help?  He looked at her as she shut her eyes, taking whatever brief respite had come her way, the awkward curve of her abdomen distending under her coat. Suddenly he understood just what that audible pop and squelch of liquid was.

"Willow, are you pregnant?"

She gazed at him. "I know it's a sin vicar."

"Let's leave sin at the door for the moment. Is the baby coming?"

"I've been having bad pains all day and... and... I think something has just come out of me."

"I think it is just the fluid that cushions that baby. Do you understand why I'm going to have to leave you do get help?"

Another contraction reared itself before she could reply. Willow threw her head back, her face twisted as the spasms of her womb coasted across her body. The animalistic noises that erupted from her sounded more bovine than human. Thomas knew he needed to establish just how far away from delivering this child she was. As the contraction eased again, he took Willow's trembling hand in his.

"Willow, is the baby coming right now?" he asked, his eyes finding hers.

"It feels like something is coming out of me."

He sighed.

"Do you mind if I have a quick look at you... er, down below?" He blushed. "If the baby is coming now, I will have to catch it."

She hesitated and then nodded.

He knelt down on the floor and positioned himself so he was directly in front of her.

"Do you want to take you bottoms off for me?

Willow kicked off her dirty boots and then, in one slow awkward movement, slipped her leggings and drenched knickers over her skinny hips and past her knees. Thomas helped her pull them over her ankles and threw them on the sofa beside her. Instinctively, she opened her legs for him, showing her unshaved mons. She was positioned with her hips too far back to see anything more than the top half inch of her slit.

"Do you think you could shuffle forwards for me so you're perched towards the edge of the sofa?" he asked anxiously, gesturing for her to shuffle forwards.

She awkwardly scooted her bottom towards him and then reclined as best as she could.

"And maybe you could just lift your legs up for me?"

As she gripped the back of her thighs and pulled them towards her chest, finally exposing her pussy to him. Staring at the site displayed before him, his eyes took in her jewel-like clitoris nestled between her stubbled labia. Between them was her vaginal opening and peeking at him from underneath, her puckered rosebud. Unable to see anything that looked like a baby emerging, Thomas breathed a sigh of relief.

"Phew. Thankfully I can't see anything. So-"

Willow roared as a contraction hit, her breaths coming in shallow and ragged gasps. Her tender asshole bulged and her rectum emptied right there onto the edge of sofa. Her vulva bulged outwards as her labia started to separate. A dark, wet mass appeared just inside her vagina, fluid dribbling out from around it in rivulets onto Thomas's knees. Adrenalin surged through him as he realised there could be no leaving Willow to get help, as she was about to birth her baby right there into his arms. He looked around frantically for something clean to deliver the baby onto and quickly grabbed a couple of spare sweaters he had on top of his desk. As he eased one under Willow's buttocks, her breathing started to ease and the pain lessened once more.

"What do I do?" she trembled, panic welling over in her voice.

"I'm a vicar, Willow, not a midwife," he laughed nervously, looking up at her over her spasming belly.  "I think you need to keep doing what your body is telling you to do and I'll catch the baby when it comes."

"I need to push. I can't stop it."

"Then push, if that's what your body is telling you to do."

As though on cue, Willow started grunting her way through another contraction. Her pussy stretched more with each torturous push, until a dark, two inch portion of head was visible as the contraction peaked. When it eased off, the head slipped back inside, her inflamed lips closing over it. Willow threw her head back exhausted, but seconds later she was bellowing again as her baby appeared once more at her opening. Thomas wondered just how much stretching it could take as the now lemon-sized portion of head continued to be driven outwards. A memory of a film he saw came to him, where the birth attendant used gauze to support the woman as she pushed out the biggest part of her baby. He pressed the sweater he put under Willow against her perenium. She writhed and shrieked on the sofa as she neared a full crown, her legs flailing around Thomas's head.

"Oh, help me! Oh God in heaven!" she screamed, her panicked, frantic hand reaching between her legs for Thomas.

"Please, just breathe Willow," he said, pressing on her taint with one hand and taking her hand with his other. "The head's coming out now. I think this is the worst bit."

Willow panted, her swollen vulva circling her baby as she drove it out of her body. As the contraction peaked, the head teetered on the raw lips of her pussy before the pain eased again and her body pulled it back inside her canal. There it sat, just visible between her stinging labia.

"You were so close then," Thomas said, squeezing her hand. "One more push like that and I think the head will be out."

Gathering her strength again, Willow bore and pushed the infant out of her fatigued body once again. It popped out with a gushy splash, amniotic fluid and blood splattering the floor and pebbledashing her inner thighs. Thomas balanced the damp, slimy head in his hands, watching as the child's brow furrowed, its mouth opening in a silent cry. Gradually, it turned to Willow's thigh.

"The head's out. Push again."

With one last effort, a dribble of fluid and a groan, the wriggling baby tumbled into the world. Thomas caught its slippery body in his shaking hands and carefully lowered it onto his knee. A baby boy. He cried lustily, feeling the chilly air on his skin for the first time. Thomas wrapped the little boy in his sweater and looked up at Willow. Her entire body was shaking, her face shining with sweat.

"Willow... Willow, you've done it!" he gasped, gazing down at the newborn.

She gazed down at the vicar, whose eyes were meeting hers from between her legs and reached her arms out. As if he was handling the crown jewels, he carefully settled Willow's firstborn son on her breasts. Tears of relief and exhaustion leaked down her pretty pale face, her chest shaking with sobs as the baby was comforted by the warmth of her trembling body.

"Thank you," she whispered to Thomas, her lips brushing her baby's head.

"You did it all yourself, you wonderful girl," he replied, the emotion crackling in his voice. He gazed over at his desk and looked at the router, the green light shining. "And would you believe it, I can finally ring for help!"

[ruthlessrogeroverhere]

my interpretation on roger 🫡

i’ve seen a similar post on here i’ll tag who i was inspired by, but i just wanted to share one of my interpretations about roger and perhaps an explanation as to why he acts why he does, this isn’t canon at all it’s just my interpretation and thoughts and i’m aware the killing of the sow is meant to interpret how boys were taught to treat woman as the female pigs were the only female things on the island.

( tw for SA mention and racism )

alright so we know roger is a part of jacks choir, described as a “quiet furtive boy” (this will be important later), who we don’t see much of until chapter 4 when he’s with maurice and the littluns and towards the end of the book. during the killing of the sow, we all know roger pushes his spear into the pigs ass which the boys all find funny; “a phrase which was received uproariously” but why? 

this book was set in the time when the book was written, around 1940-1950, and as we know roger is in a presumably strict catholic choir with jack and the others. around that time period, the church held a lot of power over people and especially schools. this then meant that vicars, priests and other people of the church were extremely respected people. because of this as im sure we’ve heard in instances before, child sexual abuse was in fact alarmingly common and unreported in the church, especially back then when churches had so much power. i’m sure you can see what i’m trying to imply here but it’s a possibility that jacks choir could’ve been in the same unfortunate situation.

now, when i said roger is described as a “quiet, furtive boy”, this could represent how kids that had succumbed to sexual abuse acts in the church were told to stay silent about what was happening, and/or turn a blind eye when it happened to other people. then with the killing of the sow, what roger did isn’t normal and clearly isn’t something that should be the first thing that comes to mind when you see a female pig. this could mean that an adult had told him that that stuff was okay, thus why he did what he did. sexual abuse victims often also become angry and develop personality disorders because they’re confused and scared and they don’t understand what’s happening to them, this also would further explain roger’s ‘sadistic’ behaviour, and inability to communicate a lot. 

i’d like to add in something about simon too, how he’s in the forest and watches the killing of the sow take place but doesn’t do anything. in my opinion, this heavily represents seeing something take place (sexual abuse in the church) but being taught to stay silent because it’s the ‘right thing to do.’ 

alright this is the second part of my essay which is my other interpretation which in my opinion could lead roger to act the way he does. throughout the book, roger is described as having a dark complexion, but sometimes it’s hard to tell whether golding is talking about dark nature-wise or in skin colour. sometimes throughout the book though you can tell he’s of a dark complexion such as; “the swarthiness of his skin” “a dark face appeared” and the fact he’s so dark he doesn’t tan. taking this into account i personally am very convinced roger isn’t white. in chapter 4 when roger throws stones at henry, it quotes “round the squatting child was the protection of parents and the school and policemen and the law” also in the time period when this was set, it was common for policemen to pick on kids that aren’t white because they hold a prejudice against them, the same of which could’ve happened to roger pre-island. it doesn’t say anything else which could have a meaning to racism anywhere in the book but it’s just an interpretation i thought of, that roger could’ve been subjected to racial profiling before the island thus another reason as to why hes ‘uncommunicative’ and rather aggressive. 

thank you for reading this! again i’d just like to remind that this is just an interpretation, none of this is canon and it was just a thought of mine id like to share! this was inspired by @shaky-b0n3s post 😎😎

[plaguewormart]

Tw child death

Vincent is a good liar.

No one thinks the pope would be a good liar. No one excepts the vicar of Christ on earth to be able to twist his words and mask his expressions. A lying pope? Even the idea is sacrilegious.

Vincent uses this to his advantage. He’s not proud of it. He kneels until his scarred knees ache and prays until the rosary makes his fingers bleed. He asks for forgiveness. He repents in bruises and scratches from where his fingers dig into his own skin. He might not be forgiven, but he will be punished - even if he has to do it himself.

Lying is second nature to Vincent. He lies about his past, he omits details and reconfigures stories. He speaks of children in his parishes, the way they played or sang, their smiles and excitement. He tells people that he isn’t sure what they’re up to now.

Lie. Vincent lies. The bodies of children lay 6 feet under the ground. Sometimes he sees their blood on his hands. He hears their cries.

He tells himself that he’s fine. It’s a lie. He sees broken bodies behind his eyelids. Nights are spent repeating names of the ones he failed to save.

Sometimes he isn’t sure wether the blood staining his white cassock is real or not. It’s the truth. He’s asked about the stains. He says he doesn’t know where they come from. It’s a lie.

Thomas asks why he isn’t eating. Vincent blames a stomachache. It’s another lie. The truth is that he doesn’t deserve the food. The large amounts of fresh vegetables and meats disgust him. Living in excess when others have nothing. He hates it.

God, he wishes he knew how to tell the truth. To receive the support and love he knows would be so easily shared. He imagines it sometimes - falling into Thomas’ arms, being hugged after a sleepless night, his tears being gently wiped from his face.

He can’t bring himself to do it. He’s always been strong. He can manage it. He doesn’t need help.

He lies to everyone, but none more so than himself.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

In terms of wizarding fashion is it more traditional wizards that are wearing the robes outside of a professional setting? Like are the Weasley kids all wearing wizarding robes around the Burrow or do they don muggle clothing for leisure wear?

I talked a bit about what I think wizarding fashion would look like more or less throughout the decades here.

There is this article from Pottermore as well:

By and large, wizard clothing has remained outside of fashion, although small alterations have been made to such garments as dress robes. Standard wizard clothing comprises plain robes, worn with or without the traditional pointed hat, and will always be worn on such formal occasions as christenings, weddings and funerals. Women’s dresses tend to be long. Wizard clothing might be said to be frozen in time, harking back to the seventeenth century, when they went into hiding. Their nostalgic adherence to this old-fashioned form of dress may be seen as a clinging to old ways and old times; a matter of cultural pride. Day to day, however, even those who detest Muggles wear a version of Muggle clothing, which is undeniably practical compared with robes. Anti-Muggles will often attempt to demonstrate their superiority by adopting a deliberately flamboyant, out-of-date or dandyish style in public.

(From Pottermore)

Which gives a general indication.

That being said, I wanted to do a more proper rundown since we know they're not really frozen in time considering Ron's Yule ball dress robes were "out of fashion". So I did some outfits rundown for various characters on various occasions to get the mental image of how common muggle clothing is in wizard fashion and who's wearing robes vs muggle clothes and when:

Formalwear

Formal robes are worn in all formal occasions by both men and women:

“What?” said Ron, looking horror-struck. “Dress robes!” repeated Mrs. Weasley. “It says on your school list that you’re supposed to have dress robes this year... robes for formal occasions.”

(GoF)

however; his dress robes didn’t have any lace on them at all — in fact, they were more or less the same as his school ones, except that they were bottle green instead of black.

(GoF)

“Hi,” said Padma, who was looking just as pretty as Parvati in robes of bright turquoise.

(GoF)

Malfoy was in front; he was wearing dress robes of black velvet with a high collar, which in Harry’s opinion made him look like a vicar. Pansy Parkinson in very frilly robes of pale pink was clutching Malfoy’s arm. 

(GoF)

Mrs. Weasley was wearing a brand-new set of amethyst-colored robes with a matching hat. A moment later Bill and Charlie stood up at the front of the marquee, both wearing dress robes, with large white roses in their buttonholes; 

(DH)

I assume the cuts of the robes are different, and that women's dress robes tend to be longer, which is true according to the books:

tried to sell Hermione wizard’s dress robes instead of witch��s

(HBP)

So wizard robes and witches dress robes are designed differently. I assume robes for daywear do have different cuts for wizards and witches but there are some unisex designs (like Hogwarts robes).

Daywear

Most wizards seem to wear casual robes in their daily lives and are unaccustomed to trousers and find them odd or uncomfortable, especially the older wizards who are unfamiliar with muggle culture:

“Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these,” said the Ministry wizard, and he brandished the pinstriped trousers. “I’m not putting them on,” said old Archie in indignation. “I like a healthy breeze ’round my privates, thanks.”

(GoF)

Hogwarts Professors also wear robes on a daily basis:

Lockhart, wearing lurid pink robes to match the decorations

(CoS)

Snape whirled about, robes swishing behind him, and stormed out of the ward.

(PoA)

Professor McGonagall had broken away from the spectators, marched straight up to Professor Trelawney and was patting her firmly on the back while withdrawing a large handkerchief from within her robes.

(OotP)

Dumbledore, of course, is more extreme in his robes choice:

He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots.

(PS)

Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, his sweeping silver hair and beard shining in the candlelight, his magnificent deep green robes embroidered with many stars and moons.

(GoF)

For the most part wizards seem to wear full muggle outfits only when trying to fit in among muggles like in the first example in this section or Dumbledore's plum suit from HBP:

This younger Albus Dumbledore’s long hair and beard were auburn. Having reached their side of the street, he strode off along the pavement, drawing many curious glances due to the flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet that he was wearing. “Nice suit, sir,” said Harry, before he could stop himself

(HBP)

Mr. Weasley was sitting at the table, checking a sheaf of large parchment tickets. He looked up as the boys entered and spread his arms so that they could see his clothes more clearly. He was wearing what appeared to be a golfing sweater and a very old pair of jeans, slightly too big for him and held up with a thick leather belt. “What d’you think?” he asked anxiously. “We’re supposed to go incognito — do I look like a Muggle, Harry?”

(GoF)

So it seems most wizards own at least one "muggle passing" outfit for extensions in the muggle world (to varying degrees of success depending on their muggle knowledge):

There was Mad-Eye Moody, looking quite as sinister with his bowler hat pulled low over his magical eye as he would have done without it, his gnarled hands clutching a long staff, his body wrapped in a voluminous traveling cloak. Tonks stood just behind him, her bright bubble-gum-pink hair gleaming in the sunlight filtering through the dirty glass station ceiling, wearing heavily patched jeans and a bright purple T-shirt bearing the legend THE WEIRD SISTERS. Next to Tonks was Lupin, his face pale, his hair graying, a long and threadbare overcoat covering a shabby jumper and trousers. At the front of the group stood Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, dressed in their Muggle best, and Fred and George, who were both wearing brand-new jackets in some lurid green, scaly material.

(OotP)

Tonks who is more familiar with muggle fashion, clearly knows what to wear better than the Weasleys. That being said, we do see wizard-produced muggle clothes; like Tonks' Wierd Sisters T-shirt and Fred and George's jackets. So, it is accepted in the WW to wear "muggle-inspired" clothing in terms of cut, but with magical flare when it comes to materials or prints (which are way more colorful and whimsical).

Harry, who was raised in the muggle world, still wears muggle clothes on the breaks up to 5th year at least, but is very used to robes by this point:

“What?” said Ron, looking amazed (Harry wanted to stamp on Ron’s foot, but that sort of thing was much harder to bring off unnoticed when you were wearing jeans rather than robes).

(OotP)

We also know Ron owns at least one pair of jeans in DH:

“D-diffindo,” she said, pointing her wand at Ron, who roared in pain as she slashed open the knee of his jeans, leaving a deep cut. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Ron, my hand’s shaking! Diffindo!” [...] “It’s no wonder I can’t get it out, Hermione, you packed my old jeans, they’re tight.”

(DH)

But Hermione packed said pair for him with the expectation they'll be hiding in the muggle world potentially, so I'm not sure if you could count it since it is implied Ron owns just one pair of jeans that actually fit him. It could be his one jeans for a muggle excursion or a comment on the Weasleys' finances, 🤷🏻‍♀️.

Wizards sometimes mix and match muggle and wizard clothes, like with the jumpers Mrs. Weasley knits.

So, while it seems most wizards do own some muggle clothing for when they go into the muggle world. We mostly see the Wesleys (and even Harry) in robes and cloaks even when not at school, but sometimes they are combined with muggle-inspired clothes (since they are clearly wizard-made due to color and pattern choices):

When he’d found his scarlet team robes and pulled on his cloak for warmth

(CoS)

‘Tm sorry, sir,” said Harry, emphasizing the last word as he stowed his wand inside his robes.

(HBP) - on a weekend.

“Keep it safe till we work out how to destroy it,” Harry replied, and, little though he wanted to, he hung the chain around his own neck, dropping the locket out of sight beneath his robes, where it rested against his chest beside the pouch Hagrid had given him.

(DH) - when on the run

More examples of mix and matching muggle-inspired clothes appear later in this post.

But to your question, I'd say the Weasleys probably don't wear muggle clothes around the Burrow usually. They don't seem that knowledgeable about muggle fashion. Molly and Arthur seem to only own the one set of muggle clothes for going into the muggle world. Their children do seem to own some muggle-inspired jackets and shirts and jumpers, but they are probably worn with robes more often than with jeans.

Workwear

For Potions, Herbology, and other manual labor there are work robes that are worn by Hogwarts students and teachers alike:

Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.

(CoS)

First-year students will require: 1 . Three sets of plain work robes (black) 2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear 3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar) 4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings) 

(PS)

So, contrary to the Pottermore article (which I suspect was written to justify the movies' choices a bit), it seems "robes" are the go-to for working around and not muggle trousers for most wizards and witches.

Sportswear

Yawning and shivering slightly, Harry climbed out of bed and tried to find his Quidditch robes.

(CoS)

They were robes for Quidditch and sports.

Professional wear

Ministry personnel wear either robes:

“Morning, Reg!” called another wizard in navy blue robes as he let himself into a cubicle by inserting his golden token into a slot in the door.

(DH)

The man’s scowling, slightly brutish face was somehow at odds with his magnificent, sweeping robes, which were embroidered with much gold thread.

(DH)

Or more muggle-influenced suits, as shown by Fudge:

Fudge took off his pinstriped cloak and tossed it aside, then hitched up the trousers of his bottle-green suit and sat down opposite Harry. “I am Cornelius Fudge, Harry. The Minister of Magic.”

(PoA)

This is an example of mixing muggle-inspired wizard clothes with more traditional cloaks. Umbridge also does this with her pink cardigan over more traditional robes:

squat, with short, curly, mouse-brown hair in which she had placed a horrible pink Alice band that matched the fluffy pink cardigan she wore over her robes.

(OotP)

But it's clearly not quite muggle fashion as they mix and match muggle-inspired and wizard clothing. Again, these more muggle clothes are still wizardwear and have the typical whimsy of wizard fashion when it comes to colors (like the bright green scales of Fred & George's jackets) and fabrics (scales on the aforementioned jackets & Umbridge's fluffy cardigan is probably more extreme than the muggle version of it because wizards are extra like that).

Hats

Wizards are often mentioned wearing hats (mentioned in many of the quotes I brought up and other quotes I didn't copy here), in contrast to muggle fashion in the 1990s where hats were largely out of fashion. So when imagining wizard fashion in formal or professional settings, imagine a matching hat to the robes they are wearing. Hats in daywear seem to be quite common too, especially among older characters.

As you can tell, I love talking about wizard fashion.

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

‘You left me for Mary?’

On the one hand, it’s obvious why Ed is upset by this. It is framed as a betrayal, an infidelity, directly in conflict with what Stede and Ed shared previously, however briefly.

But I think there’s a little more to this.

Ed’s angry. Because to Ed, Stede left him for a lie. Stede’s sexuality is complex, but however it can be defined, it does not involve a cis woman. Ed knows this. He knows this. You only have to observe the incredulity on Ed’s face when Anne Bonny says Stede kissed her. He is flummoxed and bewildered and so, so hurt by learning Stede returned to Mary.

The hurt runs much deeper than Stede’s single act. Stede has colluded with society’s norms after appearing to reject them, social mores which actively hurt someone such as Ed - I trusted you.

Ed knows he lives in a comphet society, even if on the fringes, within a pirate subculture with differing norms and values. It’s the reason why Ed attacks the wedding party. It’s the reason why he keeps the cake-toppers and attempts to imprint a version of himself over the top of the bride. Ed tries desperately to erase the smooth-faced, upper-class white woman, the perfect companion to the smooth-faced, upper-class white man. The thing he can never be. It’s what society upholds as correct sexual, emotional and moral behaviour. We hear the words of the vicar at the wedding on the ship clear as day: ‘The natural condition of humanity is base and vile. It’s the obligation of people of standing, such as yourselves [white, hetro, upper class] to elevate the common human rabble through the sacred transaction of matrimony’.

Ed cannot belong to a man like Stede. Ed is too male, too brown, too low-born. He is part of the ‘rabble’. After painting himself upon the bride, he pushes both figures out of the broken window into the sea. To kill the thing that can never be, the ‘base and vile’ want within him. A want that is condemned. And by pushing the bride figurine into the sea, he foreshadows the death of the man who would ever think such a love and life could be his. Himself. It is a truly desperate moment of self-loathing.

But Stede does come back. His actions did not occur in isolation. He is as much a victim of a comphet society as Ed, despite some of the privileges being white and upper-class bring. He rejects finally the comphet grand narrative lie of his upbringing and returns to the truth of his heart and being.

Stede finally tells the too male, too brown, too low-born Ed that actually, he is endgame for him. Not within a society which will crush them, but in a world they can build and create for themselves.

This can be whatever we want it to be.

Eventually, eventually, Ed heals enough to listen and believe a little, and see enough of a future in which he can simply be loved by Stede and love Stede in return.

Which is one of the many, many reasons this show will break and remake my heart forever.

[totallynotpochacco]

Ough I can’t wait for when you start Elden Ring it’s so good!

I was wondering if I could request some headcanons for Andrew Kreiss x Hunter reader that’s super friendly (kinda how Mike Hunter is canonically a friendly hunter) but they especially dote on Andrew and has a super soft spot for him?

Andrew is a little scared of Hunter in the beginning though because they look not very human? (They’re humanoid but they kinda have some animal like features like a long furry tail and animal ears + antler like horns (is it obvious that they’re slightly influenced by vicar Amelia? Sob))

Please and thank you! - 🔮

Also what Overwatch characters would you write for if it’s okay for me to ask?

I’m so sorry I got to this so late but here we are! I dunno if you saw but I did answer your question in this post! Also yesss the Bloodborne reference!! I love Amelia, I hated fighting her cause she was just too pretty!!! <3 Oh btw I just got Andrew’s train conductor skin which I have been trying to pull for, for like ages..

Also this is heavily influenced by Amelia because she’s just an icon

Andrew Kreiss with a friendly Hunter!Reader who just absolutely adores him!!

On one hand, he really enjoyed the attention

On the other, he really didn’t know what the fuck was going on

He saw you around the manor from time to time, but you looked human, at first..

With your pretty lace veils and white clothes that seemed to be adorned with matching accessories. He couldn’t really deny he’d been watching you with a description like that.

But when he finally got to be in a match with you he was terrified.

You were quite tall, and very wolfy-ish.

He’d thought you’d be out for blood but boy was he wrong.

Really wrong, when he saw all the other survivors dangling off of you.

Andrew wasn’t sure he could trust this. It all seemed far too nice. Especially with the way you waved him over, and seemed to show extra attention to him.

Brushing his hair out of the way with a claw and keeping him close with your tail. Or even giving him small kisses to the forehead that he refuses to admit are his favorites.

“Hey! Put me down!” Andrew yelled,

Fussing about being picked up by his teammate Kevin.

“Oh come on! Stop being a baby, their friendly this match and your the only one not having a fun time!” The cowboy retorts back, not listening to him.

Andrew stopped struggling in his arms, clearly given up and was taken to the others who were messing with the snow.

He was weary of you at first, you seemed nice, lovely too, but knowing his luck you’d probably just target him or find him disgusting. But that couldn’t be any farther from the truth.

You liked Andrew, he was sweet, and somewhat straight forward. He had purpose even if he didn’t know it.

You saw the cowboy make his return and waved them over with a smile. The mercenary peeked up from his position, being wrapped up in your tail for warmth before settling back down. Along with memory who had been building mini snowmen around you both.

“Guess who I found!” Kevin exclaimed, setting Andrew down in front of you.

Andrew hit the snowy ground with a thud, instinctively backing up into Kevin’s legs. Which made him panic a bit more.

In an attempt to soothe him, you reach a hand over to brush his hair back into place and gently graze his cheek with your knuckles. He turns his head away as you do this. Cracking an eye open to watch you, a blush spreading to his ears.

Heart pounding, and thoughts racing he didn’t even notice you drag him towards you and entrap him in your arms.

Kevin whistled before realizing his friend is finally ‘gettin some’ in his words. And bowed his hat in respect, moving to help memory with her snowmen.

Andrew’s daze seems to break when he you nuzzle into his head, puffs of warm air hitting him nicely.

“You’ve got to stop being so paranoid. I’ll mistake it is for you not liking me.” You mumble.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean too.. I just..” Andrew couldn’t finish, his words dying in his mouth. Thoughts all jumbled up and chaotic while he tries to focus on your warm touch. Self soothing in your arms.

When he was calm again, he hanged there limply, watching the serene winter wonderland in from of him. Content to an extent.

———————————————————————-

I watched Naruto while making this and it took me about two days to even make a dent.

It’s also really cold where I am and I think I’m turning into an ice cube😔