#gif: pilgrimage

[lifemod17]

I haven't moved on from this btw. This is the definition of lives rent free in my head !!!

🎥: nkregs3 | x

Pilgrimage Music Festival || 09/28/2024

[kwistowee]

JON BERNTHAL as THE MUTE | PILGRIMAGE (2017)

[forged-in-kaoss]

[it's a terrible thought, to have and hold]

[riepu10]

"My men. Do not worry yourself, Fournier. We will return before nightfall to protect you."

[xjesslynne]

take me anywhere and the wrecked and the worried gifs coming tomorrow!

[ennaih]

Every Film I Watch In 2023:

119. The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry (2023)

[lureofthesea]

Source: auronstory

I promised Braska.

[juletheghoul]

the morning after

Gif by @pedropascalsx

Authors note: Joel has consumed me (much like everyone!) and I couldn't help but write more for these two. Hope you enjoy more Neighbour!Joel (Thanks to my bestie @wheresarizona for encouraging me and to my literal wife @foli_vora for being the best)

Read part 1 here

Pairing: Young Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: 18+ no minors, piv sex, dirty talk, creampie, fluff, flirty Joel which I think needs it own warning- let me know if I missed any!

Masterlist Series Masterlist next chapter

———

It's his alarm that wakes you both, you hadn't even realized you'd fallen asleep,

You yawn, a full body stretch around the strong wall of him behind you. You know he hadn’t meant to stay the night, but at some point the pillow talk had lulled, the warmth of him, the softness of you—neither of you stood a chance. He sighed from behind you, shutting his phone off with a groan.

“Morning neighbour.” You settle back into a comfortable position, enjoying the feeling of him caged around you.

“Mmm.” He moves with you, his hand running along the soft skin of your belly, his nose skimming along the curve of your shoulder. “Mornin’ sugar.” He presses a kiss to your skin and you can’t help but scoot back, press yourself as close as you can.

You feel it then, the hard line of his cock against the curve of your ass, sending a bolt of arousal through you.

“I gotta go baby, Sarah will be up soon, and Tommy will be up my ass soon.” Even as he says the words, his hand sweeps up from your belly, to your breast, your nipple hardening almost painfully in his palm. You pout to yourself.

“Stop teasing me then.” You arch into his touch, relishing his warmth. “You want some coffee before you go?” You resign yourself to move but he tightens his hold, rolls you onto your back and slots his hips between your thighs.

“On second thought, I think I got time.” He presses kisses to your chest, his mouth on a pilgrimage from one shoulder to the other. Your hands find the smooth skin of his ribs, on a trip of their own to map out every inch of him you can reach.

You sigh, the sound content, it’s so lovely to have him here filling up the space in your bed and between your legs.

“Time to tease? Or time to fuck me before you leave?” You roll your hips against him, arousal flowing and he groans to feel himself slotted between the lips of your sex.

“You’re gonna be the death of me woman.” He surges up to capture your mouth in a hungry kiss, his arms bracketing the sides of your head as your legs bracket his hips. His tongue dances with yours, rocketing the arousal up, into the stratosphere. He makes you feel like a teenager again, heart racing, breathless excitement.

He moves to kiss your neck, trailing his lips down until his teeth tug at your nipple and you reward him with a gasp. He soothes the delicious pinch with his tongue, ruthless with the sensitive bud, and then the other until you whine.

His eyes find yours, lively and dark and full of want.

“I have to make sure you’re wet enough to take me.” He uses his teeth again and you gasp, again he soothes. “Make sure that perfect little cunt can handle my big dick.” You pull him up, needing to taste his mouth again.

It’s all teeth and tongues, gentle and not so gentle bites to each other's lips until you feel him reach down, slot himself at the mouth of your cunt and slide in tauntingly slow, soothing the ache of emptiness.

Your cunt flutters around the stretch of him, the wet suck of it keeping him inside while he takes a breath.

“Jesus christ woman,” He sounds wrecked, forehead pressed against your cheek. “So fucking wet, so tight, gonna finish this party before we even start.” You laugh, breathless.

“Feels so fucking good Joel–I just want you here all day.” You clench around him and the groan he lets out is filthy.

“Don’t tempt me, woman, I have responsibilities.” His thrusts are lazy, unhurried and they make your mind blank. “Much as I want to stay right here.” He punctuates his words with a harder punch of his hips, it makes you cry out. “You’d like that wouldn’t you sugar, my cock buried nice and deep all day.” He lifts his head to look down where you’re joined and he moans, you know he can see himself, all glossy and slick with you.

“Yes, yes, harder–oh–” He braced himself, and quickened his pace, a wet obscene sound fills the space and it’s getting harder and harder to form a coherent thought.

“Fuck, fuck you feel so fucking good, I’m gonna come soon baby, I need you to come first.” His tone has lost its playfulness, replaced with an urgency that gives credence to his words.

You reach down and circle your fingers around your clit and that familiar heat blooms in your spine, in your breasts and in your belly. He dips his head and takes a nipple into his mouth and you burst. A shudder rolls through your body, the pleasure a wave cresting across every inch of you and it pulls him right down with you.

He comes with a cry, burying himself as deep as he can, grinding his come into the very heart of you.

“Jesus.” The word is a pant against your skin, his face is shiny with exertion, so beautiful in the golden light of the early morning. “What a way to start the day.” You laugh, giddy with joy and pleasure and he’s not wrong.

“Give me a second to catch my breath and I’ll make us some coffee.” You hold onto his face in both your hands, covering it in kisses and he smiles so wide the dimple is on full display.

“You’re gonna spoil me.”

“Only if you let me.” You keep kissing him, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him pressed up tight.

“Oh I’m fixin’ to let you.” His beard is scratchy, it tickles when he buries his face into the crook of your neck and you can’t help but laugh, lost in the euphoria of his affection until his phone trills again.

“Fuck–What time is it? Yes baby girl,” He answers the phone, panicking now, suppressing a hiss when he pulls out and away. “Oh god, okay okay, give me a few minutes and I’ll be right there. Tell uncle Tommy to hold his horses. Did you eat breakfast?” He’s pacing around the room, collecting different articles of clothing while you put on some clothes. “Okay see you in a minute.”

He puts on his t-shirt and opens the door to your bedroom, nearly tripping over Tucker where he lays on the floor. “Christ, sorry boy–” You both make your way down and he all but runs towards the door before turning to find you behind him. “Sorry for runnin’ out like this, can I see you later?” His hand finds your lower back, pulling you in for a quick kiss.

“Of course, I’ll be here.” You pull him down for another quick kiss and then he’s gone.

You hear him apologizing to his daughter, she’s standing on the porch, a very amused smile on her face when she tells him his shirt is on inside out. You close the door with a smile, and set about getting ready for the day.

-

Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @ezrasbirdie @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @marydjarin @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @princessxkenobi @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @dihra-vesa @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @mrs-ghuleh @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @quica-quica-quica @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @deadhumourist @felicisimor @sophiefatale2495 @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @localddreamers @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @maievdenoir @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @allthatsleftbehind @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed @swtaura @send-me-to-valhalla @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @oliviajdjarin @actuallyanita @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x @naiomiwinchester @blazedprince @rosymythologies @avidreader73 @mr-underhills-things @avengersfan25 @thesolarangel

[flymarlo]

☆˚— click the source link to find #356 gifs [268x150] of tom holland in pilgrimage ˚2017. all gifs were made by scratch so don’t edit or repost. please like and/or reblog if you found them useful.

☆ commission work: click here to view commission info.

[justreblogginfics]

Only because I said it in this voice, I had to put a visual so you knew exactly how it sounded because hot damn indeed 🥰🥰🥰

wet beast wednesday 🐻

[kwistowee]

#murder strut JON BERNTHAL as THE MUTE | PILGRIMAGE (2017)

[archivalofsins]

So, I've seen the new Amane gifs and-

Spoilers under the cut.

Big sister Shion, I think you misplaced your taser-

Again.

In all seriousness, I would like to discuss the second gif in this batch. Since at first glance, it looked like Amane arriving home to me. However, it could come off as an abduction. If she's leaving a public area or is in one. Something that's still a possibility given all the papers covering the door.

Unless, for some reason, Amane's family just hangs papers on the inside of their home door or own a business that does that. Either of these things could be the case. Since we see them working on a set in Magic, and they could put things up at home like this to remind them of certain things. That's not uncommon in familial residences, after all.

However, the papers and cards there looked to be put up for advertising purposes. Kind of like what one would see on a bulletin board just on the door. This is usually done on the front doors of businesses, which is why I said this makes it possible for this scene to be an abduction.

Now I do believe that Riyone, the one shown to use electricity on Amane in Magic, is more than likely her mother. However, I also believe her parents are more than likely divorced, and her mother was using the pilgrimage thing to kill two birds with one stone.

Q.09 Tell us your family structure.

Kazui: It’s only me now.

Amane: It was my father, my mother and me.

By explaining away her father's sudden absence and displaying to Amane that her father believes in this too. This would motivate Amane to take these teachings more seriously because, as we have been shown over and over again, Amane has great respect, admiration, and love for her father.

Q.02 Who do you look up to?

Kazui: You won’t know them even if I say, but I have a childhood friend I really respect. Sorry for just answering someone from my personal life.

Amane: My father. He’s been away on a trip for a while, but I think that’s very honourable of him.

So, if she was led to believe that her father followed these teachings as well she would try harder to be a good girl in order to,

A. Make her dad proud.

B. Be like her father.

C. Possibly see him if she's good enough.

Q.13 Who do you want to see right now?

Kazui: They won’t see me anymore.

Amane: My father. I want him to praise me for all my hard work.

Japan favors leaving the kid with the parent, which will cause the least change in the child's life. So, they tend to give custody to the parent the child is living with at the time. This is why it's become common for parents who are about to divorce their spouse to either kick the other out of the home or move without notice taking the kid(s) with them and then get a divorce.

"Parents secretly moving out and taking children with them isn’t unheard of-in fact, it’s often viewed in Japan as justified, in part because of instances where domestic violence is alleged. Such unilateral separations are legal in Japan, but if the other parent attempts to take the child back, that can be considered an illegal removal."

This would explain why Kazui and Amane were paired together as their stories may heavily involve highlighting the failings of the divorce system.

If Amane's mother did do this, then her father wouldn't have any legal right to see Amane, and her mom could just come up with any excuse for his absence she wanted. Something that divorced parents tend to do anyhow even when not given such beneficial circumstances to do it under.

"Each year, divorce affects roughly 200,000 Japanese children, double that of 50 years ago in a country where the total number of minors has plummeted. Of children with divorced parents, 1 in 3 said they eventually lost all contact with the noncustodial parent, a 2021 government survey showed. Given the system’s winner-take-all approach, spousal battles have only intensified, escalating the economic and emotional damage." X

Overall, given what we know, Amane's situation is rather complicated. However, I find it very telling that a lot of people are willing to endanger/torment a child for the safety and comfort of a bunch of adults.

Simply because this is always how child abuse and neglect has been treated by society. Especially when done by a parent. The concept itself is so abhorrent and senseless that many would rather look away from the issue entirely than confront it. Even if they must shift the blame to the victim to do so.

It's easier to go,

"Well, that kid must have done something to get that response from their parent."

Objectively true statement. Something was done to cause this. That's simply how cause and effect work. However, that something can range from things as simple as helping another person in a way they deem unacceptable

or breathing wrong.

The victim undergoing familial abuse doesn't get to pick the struggle it fucking picks them. It's Monday and their primary caretaker had a bad day at work? Guess who's getting beat again. This may be the rest of their evening or week now. Aw shit- did they get a low grade on a test?

Hope they're ready to go to the quiet room or sit at a table for seven hours to be taught this from the beginning. Because they're making their parent(s) look bad. If only they were smarter and not a complete embarrassment, then they could be having fun right now.

20/06/18

Amane: Thank you very much for teaching me. ……but, though I realise it’s strange me saying this after I asked you, I must admit it’s kind of unexpected. You give off the impression of someone who wouldn’t want to get involved in things like this.

Kotoko: ……well, you’re not wrong. I’m surrounded by people who could all be murderers, so I don’t plan on going out of my way to talk and make friends. I can’t let my guard down. But I like ambitious people like you. If you want to study more, then I’m happy to teach.

Amane: I see…… You look scary at first impression, but I quite like the way you treat everyone equally regardless of whether they’re older or younger than you. You don’t just treat me like a child or anything like that.

Kotoko: Treat you like a child? Hah, you’ve got to be kidding. Back when I was your age, I was already the person I am today. I don’t have any plans to let you get away with something just “because you’re a child.” ……remember that. There, I’ve finished marking. 83%. How do I put it… Even though you act like this, it’s not like you’re super brilliant at studying or anything, huh.

Ah, they managed to fix all those things; man, that's nice. Why do they always need something (clothes, food, water, etc)? Have they thought of their parent(s) needs lately? Recognized how hard their parent(s) are trying. They have it rather good, considering some kids are out there starving. How can they be so ungrateful?

Shifting the onus of blame onto the victim is quite literally a good way to make sure the bar is always moving, and success is unobtainable. This is literally the first thing abusive parents do. Make the abuse seem like the child's fault.

"Well, that was then - this is now. You don't have to keep behaving this way. You're in a safe environment."

An objectively true statement. However, that may not feel emotionally true due to how long the individual has been in an unsafe environment, the likelihood of them changing the behavior that they learned to cope with that immediately is pretty much nonexistent.

"If they were unhappy, they'd say something. It would show more they wouldn't be doing as good at school."

No, they wouldn't; depending on the severity and duration of the abuse.

Usually, the intention of child abusers, especially parents who abuse their children, is to not get caught. They will actively go out of their way to make it look like things are as good as possible. If the kid does or says something that contradicts that they'll just punish them. So, when well-meaning people go,

"Is something wrong?"

The first instinct for a child suffering under familial abuse may be to lie. Because if they don't, whoever they are talking to may discuss what they have told them with their caretaker leading to them getting in trouble again. Sometimes parents that partake in this type of behavior will even coach their kids when it comes to lying.

"How'd you get this?" - "Playing."

"Why did you miss so many days of school?" - "I caught a cold."

"Hey, do you like it at home?" - "Yep, my life is great. My parent(s) and I do (acceptable to mention hobby here) on these days. It's a lot of fun. Why do you ask?"

For children living under these sorts of conditions every waking moment is a fucking balancing act. They either say the right thing or get in trouble because at the end of the day they're going to have to go back home. So, children living under these sorts of conditions are well aware of what happens if they act a certain way in public by the time they reach school age.

"I mean, it could be that... but it's best not to pry."

The quiet part out loud. People don't want to be bothered by it. It's uncomfortable and usually considered to not be the business of outside parties unless it's child services. So, people look the other way and get uncomfortable when it's even alluded to near them. They'll look at the kid and go well, that's bumming me out. Best to think about things that can be solved at the end of the day. I mean, that's their legal guardian. I can't tell someone else how to raise their kids.

That's just how a majority of people view child abuse/neglect. Because children are either a nice thing to have around, or a problem that should be ignored or handled. Everyone in Milgram outside of Amane has been given a good deal of the benefit of the doubt. Despite them all being older and just as capable of understanding their behavior along with the hurt it has caused while rationalizing why they did it as she is.

Amane is the only character in the series who has been treated with the scrutiny of an adult despite everything she's been through. To me, that's very fucked up. It's gotten to the point that I don't believe people even recognize they're doing it. They don't recognize they're justifying continuing to let a kid remain in an abusive environment because it makes their lives easier. Because then they'll be more comfortable.

Directly mirroring the way child abuse is pushed to the side and swept under the rug in the real world.

Because at the end of the day people only care about children when it's convenient for them. When it's easy to care, when the person they're protecting the kid from is someone they already dislike. People have no trouble pointing out these issues then. Because it's easy to talk about the pain of children or someone being younger when it helps others support or deny something they already feel a certain way about.

It's easy for one to conclude that what Futa did was wrong, that Mu, Yuno, or Haruka made a mistake because of their ages and upbringing. Yet when shown the horrendous treatment Amane has endured and her age being put on full display from the beginning... Somehow there's still room to dance around the idea of whether she should be Innocent (Forgiven) or not.

Despite being given the option to not continue to torment the youngest, most vulnerable, and consistently neglected person here, many can suddenly find a good deal of justifications to continue her punishment.

All I did was say a bad thing was wrong, how was I to know that was gonna to happen; what about what you're doing?

"Futa isn't sorry, he just doesn't want to get punished." A lot of people wanted to discuss remorse earlier and how Futa displays it. Yet, showing remorse isn't indicative of change. Plus, remorse and shame look a lot alike.

The most important thing with Futa is he not only recognized that what he did was wrong regardless of how he displays that- He, also took the necessary steps to change his behavior moving forward. In order to prevent what had happened before from happening again. He's actively attempted to show more concern for those younger than himself since entering Milgram.

Even though he isn't particularly good at communicating, he goes out of his way to attempt to check in on others and asks about them. Despite saying he can't afford to do that he's still done so. Even going to inquire about Haruka.

He can do that but despite seeing the consequences of our judgements, a lot of people are too comfortable with doubling down on some of the most disenfranchised characters within Milgram. Simply because the idea of that sort of person existing to some is a personal offense.

That's fine Milgram let's you vote on that alone after all. However, I definitely wouldn't like my name being used to excuse the mistreatment of others. So, instead of saying it's for another prisoner's sake how about we cut out the middleman and get straight to the point.

Some people within the fandom would be more comfortable with Milgram if Amane were restrained. It would give certain individuals a sense of peace of mind.

No matter how easily broken that will be by whatever prisoner decides to act up next during the intermission in response to their verdict.

Despite everyone in Milgram showing little or no fear of Amane and Mahiru literally saying this,

Q.13 What do you think of Amane?

Shidou: Us adults need to do something for her. I can’t do anything while looking after the injured right now so I have to leave it to someone else, which is bothering me.

Mahiru: I would’ve loved to play a lot with her if she was doing better.

So, it'd be nice if people stopped using Mahiru as an excuse to hurt another prisoner that she has admitted to liking numerous times.

Q.10 Which of the other prisoners do you get along with?

Kazui: Shidou-kun, Mikoto and me all smoke together, so I think we get along well.

Amane: If I had to pick someone, then Yuno-san and Mahiru-san.

Plus, this is simply rich; looking back on all these people discussing the safety and care of children to compare it to how they're acting now. Justifying continuing the mental suffering of a child simply because it appears narratively convenient to them. You're going to meta vote the kid twice, really? Okay, go ahead.

That's the sort of place Milgram is after all. A place that says children only matter when they can fit into the framing most convenient to the one speaking. It doesn't matter if Amane is tortured blatantly on screen, it doesn't matter if she's having a rough time. Because a bunch of people have already decided that coddling adults who should damn well be able to protect themselves is more important than a child's safety.

Not surprising or disappointing, that's just the natural way of things in society.

I mean you might as well, I don't know-

Ignore the consistent signs of familial abuse happening around her, ostracize her because the idea makes you uncomfortable, avoid her like a plague. Put her in the corner because children are meant to speak only when spoken to.

Oh...hm that sounds familiar-

Lol, fuck kids though am I right? The only time people decided to care about Satoko, and her lived experiences, was when she was a teenager. Maybe if Amane was a few years older, then her lived experiences would matter. For now, though, nah-

Moving on! I'd also like to discuss two other gifs; the close-up of the baton with rope attached and the attempted flag twirling. Given what we've seen I believe that Purge March will be retreading what we are shown in Magic except subtracting Amane's idealized view of things.

It was implied that this was her ideal at the end of Magic through this image-

A scene that brings to question all of the presentation of Magic. That made me wonder if this is how things went or just Amane's more idealized retelling.

Star pointed out the absence of anyone in front of the stage in her post Sunday. However, there's another thing that's odd. The thing we see before the credits roll isn't everyone standing together as they are in the end but Amane by herself brandishing her wand-

However, unlike when she first brandished it her chibi form her wand moves from her left hand to her right back to her left again before the fake credits role at the end of Magic.

This also happens directly after everyone just mysteriously disappears like right before this she was dancing with just Yuri and Riyone-

Since we noticeably see Yuri isn't holding anyone else's hand and Riyone doesn't seem to be either. So, where did Gachata and Gozake go? Then when they are back in the credits it's like this-

Instead of Amane being in between Yuri and Riyone like she was before she's between Gozake and Riyone.

Since she did this when no one else seemed to be present this could mean a variety of things. One that she may have used the wand more than once, two she did a routine of some sort which she just finished, or even denote handedness meaning her left hand is more than likely her dominant one.

Considering how her routine begins with the wand in her left hand and ends with it in her left hand. However, I don't know enough about baton twirling to say. Plus, every video I've found on it has emphasized starting with one's right hand regardless of dominance. So, this is odd.

(Star here! Given the religious aspects of Amane's circumstances, it could also be something to do with the stigma left-handed people have/had. They might have forced her to use her right hand for things. A prime example of this is the gif of her attempting to spin the flagpole. This could indicate that Amane was forced to use her right hand, resulting in a loss of motor skills you wouldn't get when using your dominant hand. Further backing this is the fact that in the close-up gif of Amane twirling the baton, she starts with her left hand and then transfers it to her right)

Adding to that in baton twirling people are specifically trained to use both hands and it's widely accepted that one is meant to start with the right. Though the baton is usually meant to be the length of one's dominant hand.

X

X

Video on Baton Measuring: X, X

Outside of giving us a possible idea on her handedness- This also adds more depth to this answer given by Amane in her first written interrogation-

Q.14 Do you listen to music?

Kazui: I guess I do from time to time. It’s all super old music though, so I don’t think you’ll know it.

Amane: I don’t particularly listen to it for fun.

Because if Amane is majorette which has been all but stated, she would listen to music predominantly to practice her routines. This would give more depth to her pairing with Kazui as well. Since they've both been heavily related to the performing arts in some way.

Baton Twirling routines: X, X, X, X, X

What Amane appeared to be doing in the new gif using the baton with the string: X

(What Amane appears to have attempted with the flag toss: X)

Back to how Purge March may be the same events just less idealized.

If you look at these frames-

Notice that the way the flagpole lands on Amane's head and how the impact affects her mirrors this scene of Gachata flicking her forehead.

(This time, it's Star typing something! Gunsli was busy for a bit so I was headed to write this up o7

Taking this and the gif of her desperately trying to make her way through the water to grab the flag in front of her, it's likely they are going to use the switch from flagpole to baton as an allegory. Specifically, to better illustrate the timeline of events/order of circumstances.

Though, to expand on this, the flag may also represent the idea of everyone living happily together that Amane refers to in Magic. The baton, however, represents the ideologies surrounding the cult her family is involved in. If this is true, then it could also be visual shorthand for the idea of Amane changing her priorities.)

With that I think we're done here. There's a lot of interesting things about Purge March and I think it's going to follow up on Magic well. It's making me more and more excited for Double. Milgram has been very hush-hush about Amane and Mikoto. So, their songs might just end up speaking more than any of the others so far.

[maryannecrimsworth]

Stubborn

Gif belongs to @tvandfilm

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9

Guide for tormented hearts

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Selective Mute Reader

Warnings: self-destructive behavior; violence; flashback

Summary: You had a nightmare --- you got poisoned. And Wednesday insists on taking care of you.

Some reader's characteristics: R has anxiety disorder, selective mutism, and is a really unique type of outcast. Reader's background it's derived from my Wednesday fic, The Hunt.

"What do you mean ‘I fell asleep’?” You stood up abruptly, your nails craving into your own skin. "Did I transform?"

"Stop." She ignored you completely. "Stop scratching." She tried to reach you, but you flinched, backing off while your forearms started to bleed.

"Please, tell me." You pleaded, the readiness and burning crawling up to your face. "Are you sure I didn't turn into the Alp?"

"Yes."

You laughed. You laughed brightly and loudly while your hands went up to your neck.

"Stop it." Wednesday grabbed your wrists. "Stop laughing, stop scratching."

"Wednesday." Your voice made her look up at you: your lips closed in a content smile as your eyes shone, locked on hers. "I slept."

"You had a nightmare." You tried to move again but Wednesday immobilized you by intervening your fingers. Her grip was strong and, surprisingly, her touch was not cold. "Possibly a vision. Tell me what you saw."

"I saw my mother, the Hexe." You swallowed dryly, the burning spreading to your throat and mouth. "And someone just like you."

"Like me?"

"Is there any witch in your family?"

"My mother. My grandmother. My aunt."

"No, someone older, from the pilgrimage times." You breathed out, freeing yourself and scratching the back of your neck with violence. "Someone who was condemned in a witch trial."

"Yes." Wednesday whispered, her face frowning as her thoughts grew faster. There were a few cuts in your neck by the time she looked up again and grabbed your hands. "Goody Addams."

"She saved me." You choked, being stopped from moving again. "Can you please—"

"No." She was holding you tightly, her fingers closing around yours with as much intensity as her eyes were targeting you. "You need to calm down."

"I'm not nervous, I am itching." It was unbelievable that Wednesday was stronger than you. "There were larkspurs in the dream, I think I'm reacting to them."

"Larkspurs?" Wednesday's eyes widened abruptly, her expression so suddenly explicit that shocked you. You've seen her scared before, fragilized, with tears in her eyes; but, this time, her gaze was fast. Quick and wild, like she had to act immediately. Like there was an imminent danger  "We need to go." 

"Wednesday." You held her back, your hands now gripping her tightly. "I'm okay."

"You are not."

"I am."

"We need to go." She ordered after pushing you one more time. "Obey before I—"

"No." Your voice was firmer. Firmer than she had ever heard. 

Stubborn. How stubborn you were. Wednesday had to bite her tongue in order to not yell at you.

"I fell asleep!" You said suddenly, as if it mattered, as if it explained your stupid, reckless, destructive behavior. You smiled at her as if the wounds growing on your skin weren't burning. As if they couldn't make you scratch until...

"It doesn't matter, you have to—"

"I haven't slept since my father…" You whispered. "Wednesday, I—"

"We need to go!"

"I don't want to!"

You were grasping her. Your hands were so tightly closed you could feel her sweat, her fighting, her skin against yours. Her fingers, entwined with yours, started to absorb your warmth. The heat, the poison you were feeling --- that had spread all over your body and system, intoxicating you, burning you --- somehow, reached her too. It was the only possible explanation for the redness in her cheeks and the gleam in her eyes.

You let her go and stepped back suddenly. "I don't want to go. I don't want you to go."

Surprisingly, you were the only one moving away.

"I..." She stepped closer, her voice now matching yours: low, whispered, honest. "We have to go."

'We'. It was strange. Strange, odd, exquisite. It couldn't sound worse in Wednesday's voice, and yet, it made you smile. .

"Larkspurs are poisonous." She shook her head and lowered her gaze abruptly. "If you have ingested any particle of it, in any way, it will…"

"Oh, don't worry, I've become resistant to poisoning."

You could hear Wednesday gritting her teeth. 

"What does it take for you to listen?" She hissed. "I have my axe with me."

"I have one too. Viking kind." You were not kidding. You were smiling at her. "What's your plan, boss?"

Wednesday rolled her eyes.

"Just follow me." 

So you did.



X



"I know you said it didn't matter." You followed Wednesday through the hallway, stepping closer to her as she wandered through your brother’s cabinets. "But it matters to me. A lot. And I don't know how you did it."

"We'll talk about it once you stop scratching yourself." Between glasses, bottles and jars, Wednesday reached a small bag with dry oats. "Found it." She headed to the toilet and you followed.

"Ravens can build bridges among the worlds." Wednesday entered the restroom, quickly turning on the bathtub faucet. The water started to drop as she handled the bag carefully. "Maybe, maybe you…" Your mind was spinning. Your mind was spinning and your body was burning and there was not a single part of your skin that wasn't red and bruised.  No matter how hard she tried, Wednesday couldn't make you stand still until the bath was ready. "Why would Goodwoman Addams contact me?" You shook your head, barely noticing Wednesday's approach. "Why would she save me? She should hate me, I'm Hexe's son." Your eyes were lowered, frowned, your attention was in your mind, in your own head. You didn't notice Wednesday's fingers traveling up your shirt. "The Larkspur field. Why would she be there?"

A cold wild suddenly hit your chest – you flinched and crossed your arms, stepping away unconsciously. "Can you talk to her?"

"I need you to take your clothes off." Her words made you look up. 

Your coat was in her hands, and half of your shirt was unbuttoned.

"Oh." You hid your exposed skin. "Why?"

"The bath will help with your itching." She explained, pacing over to you again. She stood a few steps away from you, and remained still, watching you as you watched her. "Do it. What are you waiting for?"

"Why…why would you…" You muttered, holding your shirt even tighter. “Why are you doing this?” Her eyes rolling met your confused expression. She didn't move for several seconds, in an attempt to figure whether you were able to understand it by yourself or not. You were not. 

“Because that’s what friends—”

“No.” It was your turn to step closer. “Why are you not answering me?”

“It does not matter, not now.”

“It’s a mystery, of course it does.” You were leaning over her slightly, curiosity pulled you closer as she watched all the bruises over your skin. “For you it always does.”

“Not when you are in pain.” She ended the distance between you two, grabbing your shirt and undressing you in a unique, fast motion. She grasped your wrist right after, dragging you to the bathtub. “Why are you always so mulish when it comes to ceasing your own wounds?” She immersed you into the oat water before sitting on the edge of the tub. “It's almost as if you want me to smother you until everything stops.”

“I-I…” You stuttered. “Sorry.” You whispered, lowering your face, your shoulders diving deeper into the water. You were hiding, your whole body was now submersed. “I got used to it.” You kept avoiding her gaze, but Wednesday noticed it nonetheless: she noticed how your smile disappeared, she noticed how the frown between your eyes faded away, she noticed how your bruised skin turned pale as you tried to speak. “I've always had to do it in a hurry.” A tear fell from your eyes; you did not wipe it. 

You weren’t able to say anything else.

“So the werewolves wouldn’t track you.” She spoke after several seconds of silence; you nodded slowly at her words. “Still, I thought Hank would teach you to act more carefully.”

“No.” You whispered. “He can’t stand it. Me.” Your head rested on the wall beside you, you were as far away from Wednesday as possible, your eyes also distant in some diffuse corner of the room. “I can’t let him.”

And silence again. You remained still as Wednesday’s brain tried to understand your speech: as she tried to interpret every small feature, gesture and breathing; as she tried to discover what was wrong with you, what has been done to you.

“You can’t let him do what?” She finally inquired: you did not make sense. 

What has happened to you?

“Take care of me.” Your eyes closed in a tired, beaten expression. “The last person who did it…” Your voice disappeared, so did your breathing and any sign that Wednesday could catch — you stopped, as if the memories that crossed your mind stopped your world and your own body; you said nothing, did nothing and saw nothing. You were closed inside your own mind. 

Who did it? 

Wednesday reached her hand out to you, but you moved before her fingers could touch your wet, bruised skin — you shook your head suddenly, moving towards her as your hands grasped the edge of the tub.

“You saw it.”  Your gaze was watery, but intense and motionless. It froze her while you spoke: “The mere act of speaking to me is dangerous. Anyone can become a target.” You shook your head again, and your countenance changed completely: you got agitated, fast, messy — scared. “Rachel became. Hank became. And now you…” You breathed out: moving around frantically, soaking Wednesday’s clothes as you huffed and sank completely into the water. 

You were hiding? Were you closing yourself inside your mind again? Inside your own memories?

Why can’t you just talk to me?

You did not go back up. Minutes passed and you remained still: motionless under the water, only bubbles came out to break the silence that conquered the room. Your silence. 

Wednesday had to grab your arm and lift you up in order to keep you from drowning. 

“Stop!” She roared at you while you gasped for breath; her hand pulled you closer, higher, away from the water and closer to her. “How many times do I have to say it?”

“You understand this more than anyone!” You whispered, eyes still closed, heavy breathing hitting her face, words sending shivers down her spine. She did understand — and you knew she did it because you saw it. You had been inside her mind, you saw and knew her, but she didn’t. She doesn’t. For her, you were confusing, chaotic, unpredictable. And to watch you being like this — reckless, doleful, in pain — made her mind rush as much as her body; the mystery intrigued her brain as her hands closed around you, as she held you like your life depended on it. On her. She felt like it did. “I’m trying to give you a choice.”

A choice? There wasn’t a choice — there was not. How could it be? How could someone choose to let you drown? To let you sink into the water, into yourself, without pushing you back up? Holding you like this, keeping you from isolating yourself, from abandoning everything, making you resist and fight, endure and survive your worst fear — it wasn’t a choice. For Wednesday, it was an urge. She had to. She had to do it with you. She could not do otherwise — she could not watch you sink.

“Goody Addams contacted you.” Wednesday’s grip became tighter. Her hands were as out of control as her voice: it became harder, firmer, without any intention or composure.  “That’s the proof that my choice has already been made.” These words made you look at her. 

You were not crying anymore — you were fighting against it, resisting it. Your neck moved with dry, repetitive swallows, you held the tears back as Wednesday’s kept staring at you, holding you. Part of you did not believe — but a part did. A part screamed to you to not let it go. Not this time. 

You cleaned your throat and pushed the memories away. You have to reminisce, but not about her. Not about Rachel. She was long gone — no, you had to remember your mother. Your father. The Hexe and the Bard. The Circe and Orpheus. The witch and the poet. 

It was hard. Too hard. 

You had never talked about him.

“So I must tell you.” You spoke, and her fingers finally freed you, even though she hadn't distanced herself. Her body was still towering over you, eyes down in a curious, stoic expression: watching you while you moved silently in the water. You were gathering your words: she could tell by the way you twisted your lips and closed your eyes. “The tale.” You said suddenly. “Hyacinthus. My father used to tell me every night.” 

Apollo. Hyacinthus. Zephyros. 

You swallowed dryly as the names kept repeating inside your head.

“He said that the Hexe wasn’t supposed to be my mother. He didn’t love her.” Your voice was sharp, hurried, choked. “He didn’t love her but she did. She was obsessed with him. And when she realized that he loved someone else, she…” Tears were falling down your face one more time, but, somehow, your voice was firm. Low but steady. Deep and enamored. It sounded warm, although melancholy. It made your lips smile at the memory of your father, and it made you cry at the reminder you would never meet you again. 

You stood quiet for a second, rubbing your eyes as you smile sadly. 

Wednesday tried to cope with your state: her mind tried to connect your words with your expressions, tried to figure out what you were feeling — and what happened to make you feel like that. But she had no idea — you were smiling and crying at the same time. She could not read you, so her mind remembered the Greek tale instead. 

“She did just like Zephyros.” Wednesday guessed.

“And my father died like Hyacinthus.” You shook your head again, your wet hair falling over your forehead, the smile now fading away completely. “The larkspur field. He died in the larkspur field he planted himself. Surrounded by the flowers that grew with his blood, by the flowers that grew because of Hyacinthus’ blood—” You choked. “Why was Goody Addams there?”

The poisonous, former flowers dedicated to the Spartan Prince, to the deceased Apollo’s lover, your father’s favorite plant — it was beautiful, scented and dangerous, after all. The larkspur would keep any unwanted visitor away from your little cottage — no dangerous animals, no dangerous people, only you and your vatter. Only the two of you in your poisonous, secretive garden, in the larkspur field. 

“You should ask her yourself.” Wednesday broke the silence abruptly. 

You frowned. 

“I…” Her gaze faltered before yours. Your teary, deep eyes now held an intensity, a purpose and willingness she had never seen before. “I will make you sleep, Y/N.”



X



“This is…surprising.” Tyler touched the wallpaper of his new cell. Of his new room. It was new, clean and perfectly normal. It seemed like it belonged to a normie teenager — not to a monster like him. Not to a prisoner like him. “I….”

“You didn’t like it.” Hank sounded sad. 

“No!” He turned to Hank immediately. “That’s not it! I liked it, but I…you said it was a camp.”

“It is.” 

Tyler’s eyes widened. “Uh…It is not?” He stepped around his new room, feeling light for the first time in months, his wrists and neck tingled from the lack of metal surrounding them. “What about the guards?” He whispered the question. 

“Not really necessary.” Hank flopped down on the couch. “Wow, I could sleep here for ages.”

Tyler frowned. 

“Will you explain to me what's happening?”

“You already know.” He laid on the sofa, stretching and placing both hands behind his head. “It’s in the letters.

“No, it is not.” Hank finally looked at him, face completely blank. Tyler stepped closer in an attempt to change it. “What is this place? Who owns this place?”

Hank chuckled. His silence made Tyler get closer, moving towards him until only an inch kept them apart.

“Ask your new little friend.” He grumbled as soon as he noticed his approach. “I’m sure Aretha will appreciate it.”

“I don't think she knows where Rachel is.” Tyler smiled suddenly. “Her corpse, I mean.”

“Why?” Hank sat up, his eyes not moving away from Tyler for not even a second. “Would you like to join her?”

“Threats do not fit you, Hanky.” His voice made Hank grit his teeth. “Does your brother know she’s here?”

Hank stood up: he faced Tyler with an exquisite posture — closed fists, puffed chest, furious gaze, locked jaw. It didn’t quite seem like him, and, yet, it was how he looked every time Tyler behaved like this. His hot, fast and faltering breathing made the Galpin smile. 

“It’s wonderful to be free, don’t you think?” Hank whispered. “It would be a pity to lose it.”

“Is his mother as wicked as yours?” Tyler asked, his grin growing wider. “Is she a demon like you?”

Hank remained quiet. 

“Oh.” Tyler laughed mischievously. “Oh, no.”  He whispered into Hank’s face: “No one's been worse to Y/N than you, no?”

Hank tried to move away, but Tyler’s hands clenched his body. 

“You—”

“Tell me the truth.” Tyler’s eyes flashed. Hank knew that look. “Tell me.” His hands went up to his neck: the air was taken away from Hank’s lungs as he stared into Tyler’s eyes. Hyde’s eyes. “You’re a monster like me.”

Tyler’s grip closed around his neck — Hank gasped quietly as his body burned in flames; he tried to avoid the Hyde’s gaze at all costs. 

“TELL ME!”

“YES!” Hank yelled, his voice so deep and raspy that it barely sounded human. It wasn’t human. “Yes.” He grabbed Tyler’s wrists, his touch burning his skin. “And you shouldn’t do it.”

A loud snap came from below, Tyler grunted and winced as his body tried to transform. Tried and failed. His limbs snapped until he had no more strength and he fell to the ground, shivering in pain, dread and sweat. 

Hank was still holding him.

“You should not touch me.”



X



The tires scraping the soil created a painful noise along with the radio screeching. In the region surrounded by trees, tall plants and inhospitable hills preventing the arrival of any kind of signal and external communication, the old, battered and noisy car crossed the green sea in darkness. No lights on, no map at hand: the driver had been down that same road many times before, Hank knew what he was doing. But, this time, he had no intention of going back. With each passing second, meters and meters were left behind: the camp distanced itself, and a relieved smile drew closer to the faces of everyone inside the car.

Time, amidst the night, was a fuzzy and archaic concept; for Hank, who counted his own heartbeats as his foot sank on the accelerator, the seconds dragged by as if they were hours. For you, the blood trickling down the side of your shirt created an illusion of slowness: your body trembled, weighed, your eyes insisted on closing, and before you could notice, all your effort to stay awake had worn away hours. It was too fast, so fast that time didn't even seem to be moving; the only thing that proved to your mind that the moon was moving over the sky, that the night was deepening as the car went on, were Rachel's restless movements beside you. 

The girl, despite the free seat between the two of you, moved incessantly toward you; her leg, her elbow, her shoulder, her head - she moved and pressed herself against you to make sure you wouldn't fall asleep. To make sure that the time didn't pass too fast.

To her, every hour was like a minute, and every second that was not filled by her own voice was wasted time. She needed to keep talking - you needed to keep answering her. Even if the content of the book in her hands was insensitive, and her readings and assumptions could offend you and Hank.

She started to read out loud another chapter.

"Geez, can you shut up and hold still for a fucking second?" Hank barked from behind the wheel. "My ears hurt, literally. Go sleep!"

"Nope. If Y/N’s staying up, I'm staying up too." The girl fought back, sitting up on the back seat and staring at Hank's nape. "Besides, I'm helping him to reach his dreams."

You laughed.

"Dreams?" Hank's voice sounded like a roar, but there was a smirk on his lips. "Which dreams?"

"Oh, well..." Rachel moved dramatically, blinking to you before starting her monologue. "Make a living out of his music, live a terrible, deep, beautiful love story, have a family with the most disturbing creature of this world!" She went on and on, every word receiving a different hand gesture. "Everything, Hank! If Y/N gets better, he can reach all of his dreams."

Better. She wasn’t talking about the wound on your rib; she was talking about you, about your silence. It was not the first time she had talked about it.

"There's nothing wrong with him, Rachel." Your brother retorted right away.

"There's something wrong with all of us, Hanky." Her voice was tense: bossy, loud, sharp like it used to be when she talked to Hank. "Here, listen" She opened her book again, leaning on you while she read it for Hank. "Social phobia? Check. Panic disorder? Check. PTSD? Check. Eating disorder? Check." She made a quick pause, expecting his silence to become a sermon. "Oh, here, Paranoia and Delusional Disorders. Now I can get a name for what you're too."

"Oh, fuck you!" Hank turned around immediately, grabbing the book from her hands and throwing on the empty seat beside him. "Sleep, you little mouthy brat."

"I’ll see you in my nightmares, you big beary dumbass." She hissed back, her curses hiding the smirk on her lips — the one that only you saw. "Hey, boy." She whispered to your shoulder, leaning over you and embracing you warmly. "You good?" Her hands traveled slowly to the wound on your rib, touching the bandages carefully, checking if they were still dry. "Holding up?"

You shook your head, stroking her hair as she laid down on your lap, arms and legs crawled in a fetal position, hiding herself from the lights of the empty road.

"We'll find a place soon." She whispered. "And we’ll rest. Don't worry."

I am not. Your smile told her — your whole calm, content expression showed it to her. 

And she believed in you. 

Rachel moved fastly to give you one last hug and then she laid on your lap again, ready to sleep — ready to give her body a rest after fleeing through the woods, through the L/N’s Camps. After running around carrying you, pressuring the wound on your torso as the werewolves chased you. 

After taking you to safety until Hank returned, white skin soaked in blood, bright, blue eyes instead of brown ones — his demonic, natural figure drove all furs and hunters away, leaving you three alone. Safe. 

The path  was now clean to freedom — clean to liberty and love, clean to your small, made-up family. Clean to a life, not only survival. 

Clean for the night.

Your last night with Rachel.

[drsonnet]

حجاج من البوسنة (بوشناق) يغادرون إلى مكة

Bosniaks (Muslim citizens of Bosnia) were departing for pilgrimage to Mecca. -Austrian vintage postcard

Bosnian Turks departing for pilgrimage to Mecca

Austrian vintage postcard

[leidensygdom]

What first made you interested in drow?

OHHH so-

It was a bit of a coincidence really! I started RPing in RP forums way before I got into TTRPGs. RP forums (in Spanish communities, at least) more often than not had original systems and worlds, which often drew inspiration from here and there. This forum was your usual sort of medium fantasy steampunk mix, with a few typical DnD races. And I ended up as a mod. They wanted to develop some areas of the continent that weren't defined, and I was assigned a chunk of land that was mostly just a frozen wasteland, and was told to fill it with something. (Here's a lil stupid graphic I made for it, the region was named Saintserre)

So I went through the races in the setting and saw these funky cave-dwelling elves that had never been used or mentioned once in the entire setting. And I was like, "okay cool, I think I will grab these! They can live underground where it isn't as freezy!". The description for them in the forum was just a paragraph long, and it didn't mention basic details. Another mod told me "did you know they're matriarchal?" and I was like "no but that sounds cool!", and grabbed that detail. And thankfully, no one in the entire forum actually decided to mention they are usually evil. They had expected me to do them evil, but... I just didn't know that was the usual flavour for drow, and I came up with something very different.

They were religious in a weird sense. They adored the sky and attributed constellations a lot of meaning. The sky, as something distant to them, was seen as sacred and made some of them pilgrimage to the surface, just to observe it and make predictions. These beliefs came from the times they had been in the surface and found solace in the night sky, given how the light was painful to their eyes. The society was experimenting some huge magic advancement related to crystals though, which were a bit taboo to use, and there was this whole "tradition vs progress" thematic to it.

Now, the reason crystals were taboo was because drow came from a much more advanced society that used crystals. They had used and abused them for everything: Even defying death. The city had a growing population of crystal-like liches (named watchers), which at some point, turned against the living population as crystal-corruption ran rampant. The few survivors fled the city, and for months, they travelled under the deadly cold with the night as their mantle (which was a reoccurring thing in their history), which reinforced their astrological beliefs. They decided to forbid and burn any knowledge they had on crystal usage, wanting to avoid the catastrophe from happening again, and left the crystallized city behind, forgotten and filled with aberrations. I hinted slightly at this lore in the forum with this fun little gif (my first gift ever!), which spells "We are watching". I wanted to use these creatures for something >:3c

I started to build a bit about this reveal with the first character that was made in this region, which was interested in the lore. And then, well, the forum died down due to admin drama and we didn't get to it. But I was happy with the worldbuilding I did, so I packed my ideas and put them in another forum, wanting to explore them further. And my next time using drow, I told myself "what if I explore what happened in the crystal city BEFORE the catastrophe?", and my setting Gharmyra was born. Which is the one for my DnD campaign!

... And then someone told me to read Salvatore's books, I gave the first three a read, and I was like "huh what the fuck. Nah" and ended up never dealing with "canon" lore for drow.

(This got lengthier than expected but I just really wanted to share what was my first experience with drow! I remember this setting fondly)

[thespanishgarden]

Spanish Word Wheel - El Peregrino

El Peregrino | La Peregrina - Pilgrim

• The pilgrims were from England.

• Los peregrinos eran de Inglaterra.

• She was dressed like a pilgrim.

• Estaba vestida como una peregrina.

Note: "Peregrino/a" is used to refer to a person who is undertaking or has undertaken a pilgrimage to a religious holy site. However, the word is also used to refer to the "Pilgrims" who were English settlers who arrived from the Mayflower and founded Plymouth Colony in Massachusetts in 1620...thus leading to the eventual creation of Thanksgiving.

To everyone who celebrates, I hope you all have a wonderful, warm Thanksgiving with your friends and family!

[Gif not mine]