#Cheyenne River

[westrivereagleofficial]

Iron Lightning Baptism Posted on our website on July 25, 2023 The Wakinyan Maza tiospaye/Iron Lightning family celebrated the baptism of Mason Curley at the 38th Annual Wakiyan Maza Wokiksuye/Iron Lightning Powwow on July 4, 2023, officiated by Revs Ellen Huber and Kurt Huber of the Cheyenne River Episcopal Mission. L to R: Joe Garreau, Jayellen Curley, Chy Castro holding Mason Curley, Taison Redfox, & Lynda Charger.

Photo courtesy of Ellen Huber.  See stories like these and more — link in bio!

#IronLightning #CheyenneRiver #EagleButte #SouthDakota #WestRiverEagle

[marinaishealing]

South Dakota's Bazille is Wakinyan Cante Waokiya Wicasaon

Whether its the Bronx or the Black Hills, All Rap is Local Attributions All photos and graphic elements featured in collages copyright of Bazille, used with permission. All collages and writing by Sylvia Marina Martinez Map in featured collage created by thefirstscout.blogspot.com and used with permission I’ve always thought of rap as a form of folk music or street journalism such that it is…

[tomorrowusa]

Gov. Kristi Noem, a Trump lickspittle, is banned from 15% of her state of South Dakota. She is one of the contestants for the number two position on Trump's national ticket.

As South Dakota governor Kristi Noem vies for a top position in a second Trump White House, she appears to be more focused on shoring up her vice-presidential chances than on making allies at home — to the point that she is no longer welcome in around 15 percent of the state she governs. Over the past few months, Noem has made several comments about alleged drug trafficking on Native American reservation lands, infuriating a number tribes in the state. In February, the Oglala Sioux Tribe banned her from the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, the fifth largest in the United States, for claiming without evidence that drug cartels were connected to murders on the reservation. The ban did not dissuade her from making more incendiary remarks. In March, Noem said at a community forum in Winner that there are “some tribal leaders that I believe are personally benefiting from cartels being there and that’s why they attack me every day.” When tribal leaders demanded an apology, Noem doubled down, issuing a statement to the tribes to “banish the cartels.” In response, the Cheyenne River Sioux forbade Noem from setting foot on their reservation, the fourth largest in the U.S. On Wednesday, the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe, the sixth largest in the U.S., banned her as well. On Thursday, a fourth tribe, the Rosebud Sioux, followed suit.

So far, four tribes are banning Noem:

Oglala Sioux

Rosebud Sioux

Cheyenne River Sioux

Standing Rock Sioux

Alleged drug cartels on tribal lands in South Dakota are the local equivalent of millions of migrants illegally voting in 2020. Bullshit is not just a GOP specialty but a dedicated lifestyle.

[justsamssimsdump]

[lee-romee]

this is a great time of year to buy from native stores or donate to native organizations. you can figure out who's land you're on here, and below i've listed some (of many) businesses you can support ♡

B.Yellowtail --- jewlery, clothing, and home goods designed by Bethany Yellowtail, citizen of the Northern Cheyenne Nation and from the Apsáalooke (Crow) Nation

Cheekbone Beauty --- sustainable, low-waste beauty products from Jenn Harper, an Anishinaabe artist based in Canada

Trickster --- atheletic products from Tlingit and Deg Hit’an Athabascan siblings (Alaska)

NativeHumboldt on Etsy --- the artist, Shayna McCullough, and their fiancé make designs inspired by traditional designs from their culture; she is from the Yurok tribe and descended from the Hupa, Karuk, Redwood Creek, Pit River, Yuki, Wintun, Pomo (tribes in California), and Chetco tribe (in Oregon)

OklahomaThirtyNine on Etsy --- they mostly sell beaded work, particularly earrings, as well as some necklaces

xBeadsByMandyx on Etsy --- handmade beaded earrings, from a Cherokee veteran

food products, from wine to sauces to teas to mixes to fish to jerky and nuts, sorted by store with details beside each store

[geezerwench]

South Dakota Gov. Kristi Noem (R) is now banned from all tribal lands in the state after the Flandreau Santee Sioux Tribe voted to bar her from their reservation Wednesday, citing her repeated claims that tribal leaders work with drug cartels.

Noem sparked the controversy in March when she said tribal leaders benefit from the presence of cartels operating on their land.

“We’ve got some tribal leaders that I believe are personally benefiting from the cartels being there, and that’s why they attack me every day,” the governor said at a forum in March. “But I’m going to fight for the people who actually live in those situations, who call me and text me every day and say, ‘Please, dear governor, please come help us in Pine Ridge. We are scared.’”

[olowan-waphiya]

Tribal Leaders Sign Historic Co-Stewardship Agreement with National Forest Service in the Black Hills

“This landmark co-stewardship effort will feature storytelling in various formats at the Pactola/He Sapa Visitor Center, educating the larger public and helping current and future generations of Native People connect with their own creation stories and cultural identities.

On June 6, leaders of the Cheyenne River, Standing Rock, Oglala, Rosebud, and Crow Creek Sioux Tribes gathered in the He Sapa — the Black Hills — to sign an historic Memorandum of Understanding at the newly renamed Pactola/He Sapa Visitor Center with U.S. Forest Service officials. Together, they’re beginning a process of sharing Indigenous cultural heritage with visitors from all over the world. Leaders said that they want to see young, Native children visit the Black Hills and experience the importance of the landscape with a deep understanding of their own heritage.

Previously known as the Pactola Visitor Center, the seasonal facility welcomes more than 40,000 visitors annually from Memorial Day through Labor Day — and approximately another three million people pass through the area each year.

This effort has been several years in the making, though the process hit a snag during the Trump years. When tribal leaders initially proposed the concept to the U.S. Forest Service in 2018, the idea was heard but not taken seriously. Persistence pays, however, and the efforts of many relatives and allies eventually led the Forest Service to agree.

We hope this is just the tip of the iceberg. It’s critical that Lakota — and all Indigenous — stories and history be shared from an authentic perspective with those who visit our homelands. To that end, please stay tuned this summer. I can’t tell you too much about it yet, but we’ll soon be launching an ambitious program that can help ensure Native stories are told — and Native tribes are funded — on occupied Indigenous homelands across Turtle Island. “

Via the Lakota People’s Law Project

[westrivereagleofficial]

Letters To The Editor Policy: The West River Eagle welcomes letters up to 250 words. Letters to the editor are limited to one per month per person. Profanity, name-calling, or personal attacks will not be published, nor will letters deemed to be in poor taste. Libelous or slanderous statements will also not be published. Letters to the editor must be clear, accurate, and signed by the author. For verification purposes, letters to the editor must include full name, home address, and day and evening phone numbers. Contact information is for our purposes only – we will not share it with anyone else. Anonymous letters and letters written under a pseudonym will not be printed. Letters may be edited for length, grammar, and accuracy. Letters will be published on a space-available basis, and there are no guarantees they will be published the week they are submit��ted. The West River Eagle will not accept letters to or about political candidates 30 days before an election. *Letters to the editor are not the views of the West River Eagle staff – they are solely the opinions of the author.  To submit a letter to the editor, send an email to office@westrivereagle.com

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#westrivereagle #oglalalakota #lakota #cheyenneriversiouxtribe #cheyenneriver #eaglebutte #southdakota

[uwmspeccoll]

Indigenous People's Day

DR. HENRIETTA MANN Cheyenne

On this Indigenous Peoples' Day, we are featuring Matika Wilbur’s recent publication Project 562: Changing the Way We See Native America, published by Ten Speed Press in 2023. Wilbur (b. 1984) is a visual storyteller and member of the Swinomish and Tulalip peoples of coastal Washington. She holds a degree from the Brooks Institute of Photography alongside a teaching certificate that has shaped her style of educating through narrative portraits.  

Project 562: Changing the Way We See Native America, a book born from a documentary project of the same name, resolves to share contemporary Native issues and culture. In 2012 Wilbur set out from Seattle to visit and photograph all 562 plus Native American sovereign territories in the United States.

Wilbur’s engagement with the communities she visited resulted in the creation of hundreds of dynamic portraits and documentation of conversations about “tribal sovereignty, self-determination, wellness, recovery from historical trauma, decolonization of the mind, and revitalization of culture.” She refers to her portraiture approach as “an indigenous photography method” that includes several hours and sometimes days of interaction with the participants, an exchange of energy and gifts, and asking sitters to choose their portrait location. The outcome is a stunning collection of Native narratives and portraits.  

GREG BISKAKONE JOHNSON Lac Du Flambeau Band of Lake Superior Chippewa Indians

HOLLY MITITQUQ NORDLUM  Iñupiaq

J. MIKO THOMAS Chickasaw Nation

MOIRA REDCORN Osage, Caddo

HELENA and PRESTON ARROW-WEED Taos Pueblo/Kwaatsaan, Kamia

STEPHEN YELLOWTAIL Apsáalooke (Crow Nation)

LEI'OHU and LA'AKEA CHUN Kānaka Maoli

ORLANDO BEGAY Diné

KALE NISSEN Colville Tribes

GRACE ROMERO PACHECO Santa Ynez Band of Chumash Indians

ISABELLA and ALYSSA KLAIN Diné

NANCY WILBUR Swinomish

DR. JEREMIAH "JERRY" WOLFE Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians

RUTH DEMMERT Tlingit

MARVA SII~XUUTESNA JONES Tolowa Dee-Ni' Nation, Yurok, Karuk, Wintu

Matika Wilbur will be speaking on UW-Milwaukee's campus Thursday, November 16 from 6-7p.m. in conjunction with her exhibition Seeds of Culture: The Portraits and Voices of Native American Women on view at the Union Art Gallery November 16 through December 15, 2023. 

-Jenna, Special Collections Graduate Intern 

We acknowledge that in Milwaukee we live and work on traditional Potawatomi, Ho-Chunk, and Menominee homelands along the southwest shores of Michigami, part of North America’s largest system of freshwater lakes, where the Milwaukee, Menominee, and Kinnickinnic rivers meet and the people of Wisconsin’s sovereign Anishinaabe, Ho-Chunk, Menominee, Oneida, and Mohican nations remain present.

[zepskies]

Outlander - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: Dean Winchester has been stripped of his military rank, but he’s living happier with his new wife, trying to adjust to a new life in her tribe. What will it take for her people to accept him, especially when the battle for her heart might not be completely won? 

AN: Ready for some more Cowboy Dean? Here we go with Outlander Part 1! This is a sequel story directly following The Honorable Choice, where Dean not only saves the member of a Native American tribe, but falls in love with her. (She saves him a lot in return.) Now, he’ll have to learn how to live in her world if he wants to stay with her.

This sequel series will be 4 parts! 💜

Disclaimer: I first got inspired to write The Honorable Choice for @jacklesversebingo after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (with a tinge of Yellowstone in the mix). I’ve done a fair bit of research for this now ongoing series, both on the Native American Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s; AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Word Count: 5.3K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Suggestiveness/implied smut and spice, hunting (in the more traditional sense), angst, hurt/comfort, and romantic fluff. **Pronunciation guide at the end!

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 1: Two Worlds

Her people call this river Little Cheyenne. It’s because Big Cheyenne cuts through the land of the Sioux Indians by half, but Little Cheyenne almost meets it in the south, stretching all the way up to the Black Hills.

Mila’s tribe has always lived near this river. Its waters have bled red during battles with other tribes, and sometimes during battles with White Men.

The White Men’s fort, the one her husband came from, lies farther down in the south. The tribe had to move their village higher north along the river after Mila returned with Dean Winchester, just to be safe.

On a cloudy afternoon, Mila scrubs at a bundle of dirty clothes until they’re clean. She rinses them off in the river and is thorough about her work, but she knows she can’t be here much longer. She has a stew simmering on hot coals in her tipi…

Well, the one she now shares with her husband.

Unconsciously, she smiles. She remembers leading Dean through the tribe, to the place where she hoped he would find rest. They stopped at the foot of her tipi. 

“This one’s yours?” he asked.

She paused, giving him another small smile. 

“Ours.”

Mila continues scrubbing, though she frowns when her fingers slip through a tear in one of the new tunics she made for him (even though he keeps calling it a shirt). The tear was made by a blade, or maybe an arrowhead, she realizes. 

The crunch of feet on the riverbed’s gravel makes her raise her head and look over her shoulder. Unease prickles down her spine. She braces herself for a familiar shadow, come to disturb her peace.    

But then she relaxes. She’s being joined by two of the older women in her tribe. Mila has known them her whole life, and so she calls them tunwin. Aunt. They both greet her kindly and kneel beside her with their own bundles of clothes for washing, but Eyota, the older one, has a sharper eye. She is their tribe’s medicine woman. 

“Your husband wears out his clothes,” she remarks.

“He’s been working hard training with Šóta and the other men,” Mila explains.

“He seems to be learning quickly,” says Misae. She has a more playful glint in her eyes. “Who knew that you could catch and tame a White Man. Looks like they are no different from wild horses.”

Mila smiles slightly, but it’s not genuine. She nods in agreement. “He’s learning quickly.”

She holds her tongue from saying anything else, even though she wants to. Dean isn’t a man to be tamed, any more than she was, in his people’s eyes. She aims to change the subject. 

“Do you have any good herbs or spices for wahonpi? I’ve had the stew simmering all morning,” she asks Eyota. Not only is she a gifted healer, but Eyota is also one of the best cooks, and she knows it. She nods and straightens her shoulders the way she always does when someone asks her for advice—and even when they don’t ask for it.

“Of course, child. What you need is…”

“Goddamn it,” Dean huffs under his breath.

The jackrabbit flees from him again, or more accurately, from his terribly aimed arrow. He’s an excellent marksman…just not with a bow, it seems.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong here, and he’s not likely to figure it out. Not by the way Takoda, Šóta, and the other men are laughing at him.

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes. He knows when he’s being hazed.

These men are bare-chested warriors, each of them richly tanned under the sun. Most of them wear their hair long, half of it gathered high on their heads, or braided in some way. Šóta is his wife’s cousin, and as the Chief’s son, he wears a small adornment of eagle feathers threaded into his hair. His closest friends are Takoda and Otaktay. Both of them laugh at Dean the most, and in their language, using just enough gestures and body language that Dean knows he’s being talked about. They point at his boots and his brown Stetson hat—two of the only things he’s kept of his own that make him feel comfortable in his own skin.

Finally, Šóta goes over to him. “Good try,” he says, in his usual patronizing tone.

Dean knows he can’t punch out Mila’s cousin, no matter how bad he’s asking for it. Somehow, Dean manages to hold onto his temper.

“What’re they saying?” he asks lowly, gesturing at the two chuckle brothers.

Šóta’s lips twitch. He glances down at Dean’s feet. “They say your…shoes are loud on the earth. You give yourself away before the animal even catches your scent.”

Dean’s given up a lot of things, but his boots won’t be one of them. He wants to learn. He wants to belong here, in Mila’s world, but he also wants to stay himself.

So the men move on, mounting their horses. Dean rides with Baby at a plodding clip. Her black coat ripples with a healthy sheen. He thinks she’s come to enjoy the more natural surroundings and freer pasture of the grasslands, and he can’t deny, this part of it all feels right. The sun peeks through between the dappled leaves of oak trees, painting the ground in red, green, and gold. It’s quiet and beautiful here as Šóta leads the pack through the forest, just southwest of the village.

Eventually, he stops them between a denser thatch of trees and shrub. He raises a hand signal that Dean’s come to recognize. He raises his bow belatedly after the others though. He follows Šóta’s line of vision, and there is a deer grazing in a small clearing. A young buck.

Šóta signals at Dean. Try again, his eyes say.

Dean takes in a deep, quiet breath through his nose, and he takes aim.

He really misses his damn rifle.

Dean shoulders the sting of failure while he makes his way through the camp, leading Baby by the reigns. He drops her off at the large horse pen. There he feeds her and brushes her long coat, all while murmuring soft affectionate things. She’s still one of his only friends here.

But even she leaves him short to join her new friend, Mato. The two have become thick as thieves. Mato greets the black mare with a friendly whinny. Their noses touch in affection, and Mato playfully nips at her ear.

Dean raises his brows. “Well, that’s a little more friendly than usual. You guys start courting when I wasn’t looking?”

He walks over to Mato, who’s softened up to him in recent weeks.

“You sly dog,” Dean remarks, smirking. “Didn’t even ask me for her hand.”

Mato blows a hot breath through his nose at Dean, who has to blink, wiping his face.

“Now that’s just rude.” Still, he offers the mustang an apple from his pocket. Mato takes it from his palm, letting Dean rub his neck while he munches on his snack. “As fathers-in-law go, you lucked out, pal. See? I’m a delight.”

He wouldn’t be surprised if Baby had her first foal by spring. Dean grins at the thought, but it soon falls. If only his father-in-law were so easy to please.

His mind dwells on it as he starts making his way back to the heart of the village. Chatan, Mila’s father, hasn’t warmed up to him any better than Šóta or the other men. Tahatan is the only one of them who treats Dean civilly, and overall, he seems to be a good leader.

Dean has that thought, just when he sees the older man himself walking with a woman Dean sort of recognizes. She wears a long necklace made of blue beads and seashells. Tahatan goes into her tipi, even though Dean knows…that woman isn’t the Chief’s wife.

Dean raises his brows, but he subtly pivots on his heel and takes a different route back to his own tipi. Whatever he just saw, it’s definitely not his business.

“Honey, I’m home,” he teases.

She welcomes him into her arms, her hands traveling warmly up his shoulders. He bends to kiss her, soft and slow at first. And then deeper, sucking on her lower lip and teasing her with a sensuous tongue. She hums in surprise into his mouth, making him smile.

He’s exhausted and feeling low, but he doesn’t want to let on to her. He just wants to forget about his day, and hopefully recharge with a better night.

“How did it go today?” she asks, after he allows her to breathe.

Dean nods (and lies). “Pretty good.”

She waits for him to continue. When he just continues to hold her, she raises her brows up at him.

“Dean?”

“What? I’m workin’ on archery. Lots of progress.”

She eyes him in suspicion, and he knows he doesn’t have her fooled. Actually, she looks like she’s going to press him about it, so he releases her from his hold and goes to change out of his dirty clothes to avoid her gaze.

“Hey, uh, maybe it’s none of my business, but I saw the Chief go into some other woman’s tent today. Holding hands, bedroom eyes, the whole deal,” he says while he changes. He glances back at her and waggles his brows. Mila smiles slightly.

“Did she wear her hair in a half-braid, or did she wear a necklace made of seashells?” she asks.

Dean’s surprised that she doesn’t seem surprised, but he thinks back to what he saw.

“Uh, seashells. Yeah, she wore seashells,” he says.

Mila nods. “Yes, that woman is also his…the chiefs of my people are known to take more than one wife.”

At that, Dean becomes even more surprised. He finishes dressing and leaves his boots by the tipi’s entrance. His raised brows even out into a smirk.

“Well, okay. Guess it’s good to be Chief,” he says.

Mila’s lips purse as she eyes him narrowly. She goes back to stirring the stew with a wide, wooden spoon. Dean doesn’t see her reaction, but he does notices that something’s missing from his side of the bedding. He frowns.

“Hey, where’s my gun?” He asks Mila, who shakes her head without looking at him.

“I moved it,” she curtly replies.

Dean’s frown deepens. He touches her arm to get her attention.

“I’d rather you didn’t do that, baby,” he says. He’s made sure that she knows the basics of a gun well enough, but he doesn’t want to take the chance of her hurting herself.

“Don’t leave it out, then,” she snips back. “It shouldn’t go where we sleep.”

Dean tilts his head at her. He’s a bit confused at her tone, especially because they’ve had this conversation before.

“I have it there just in case something happens at night,” he reminds her. His pistol is really just for emergencies though. There are only three bullets left in it, and he can’t exactly go shopping for more. 

Dean realizes then that Mila’s mood has shifted. He approaches her from behind.

“What’s wrong, huh?” His hands find familiar purchase along the curve of her waist. He swipes her braid away and presses a kiss where her neck meets her shoulder. More teasingly, he asks, “What’d I do now?”

Mila remains tight-lipped, until she glances at him over her shoulder.

“Do you want another woman?” she asks.

It’s a simple question, but it succeeds in completely tripping him up. He blinks at her, incredulous and bewildered.

“What?”

She continues shredding another herb to put into the stew. Somehow, it makes the broth smell a bit worse. 

“You seem to admire the Chief for having three wives, so you must want another one too,” she says.

Holy shit, three wives? Dean wonders. The man must be a saint. Look at the hell I’m catching with one.

He can’t help but laugh, a deep belly chuckle that does nothing to take away Mila’s ire. She glares at him now, genuinely upset, and Dean knows he’s starting to shit the bed on this one. He sobers up and raises his hands in surrender.

“Sweetheart,” he says, in a placating tone.

Despite her annoyance, she allows him to hold her again. He plies her with more tantalizing kisses along her neck. He breathes in the sweet-smelling oil she uses on her hair.

“You’re more than enough woman for me. You know that, right?” he whispers against her skin. It earns her slight shudder, and he smiles. He teases the spot just under her ear, grazing with his teeth, then soothing with his tongue. She can’t help but writhe against him a bit. It stirs a well of desire in his lower belly, especially when he squeezes her hips, pressing himself to her from behind.

She tries to remain strong as she clears her throat, no doubt feeling his growing hardness against her. She starts to blush hotly.

“It’s all I can do just to make sure you stay sweet for me,” Dean says, a hint of teasing returned to his voice.

Mila finally breaks into a laugh. She reaches back to swat him on the head, but his ministrations work. Once she manages to escape from his grasp with a teasing smile of her own, she more happily serves him a bowl of stew.

Dean smirks. Fine, he can be patient. He’ll just have to wait until dessert, then. After a moment to calm himself, he sits down on the ground beside her and brings a large spoonful of stew to his lips. There, he pauses. The strange taste that assaults his tongue nearly makes him choke, but he does his best to swallow it down. The meat’s tough as nails, for Christ’s sake…

Hearing a spoon clatter against the bowl, he chances glancing at Mila. She sits stock still, her brows furrowed as she frowns. Slowly, she sets the bowl down and says,

“Stop eating.”

She looks angry at herself. Dean feels bad for her, his sympathy striking at his chest.

“What do you mean? I’m hungry,” he says, and gamely takes another couple of bites.

She just watches him. Her upset worsens while he tries and fails to cover up a hacking cough.

Finally, Mila can stand no more. She takes the bowl from him, making some of the foul broth slosh over their hands and onto the ground. She tried to make wahonpi, one of the most basic soups in her people’s culture, made from bison, potatoes, corn, and carrots stewed in the broth.

Eyota told me it was simple! she thinks in dismay. How did it go so wrong?

“It’s no good,” she says, her voice hard. “I will go to my mother and see what she cooked. She may have extra for us.”

She rises to her feet, and Dean quickly follows her. He catches sight of her tears, even though she turns her face away from him to grab her shoes. He reaches out and stops her with a hand on her arm. He tugs her back to face him.

“Hey, it’s okay. Why’re you getting so upset?” he says. “I’m not picky. I’ll eat whatever you make.”

Or maybe next time, I’ll try doing the cooking, he thinks.

“Because!” she blurts. Tears well up in her eyes and begin to slip down her cheeks, no matter how much she tries to brush them away. “Because you shouldn’t have to eat it. Because it should be good. You deserve to eat something good!”

Mila finally realizes why her mother tried so hard to teach her these things. She’s embarrassed, feeling sorry for herself, but it’s also far worse than that. Her heart hurts knowing what Dean has gone through, and what he continues to go through for her sake. The least she could do is make sure he eats well, and it seems she can’t even do that.

“Mila,” he says with a sigh. He guides her into his embrace. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

She can’t allow herself to be comforted. She pushes at his chest to look up at him.

“You think I don’t know what happens outside?” she says. “It’s a small village, and people talk when they think I’m not listening. I know what the men are doing to you.”

Dean shakes his head stubbornly. “It’s fine. I can handle it.”

“You should not have to,” she insists, resting a hand over his heart. “You have proven yourself to be a man of honor. Tahatan said it himself. They should not be this way.” 

Dean smiles ruefully. “I can handle it.” 

He bows his head and captures her lips, plying her with a deeper kiss. The heat of it grows and becomes more than a distraction, more than comfort. It strips everything else away, until it’s just the two of them again, like the night she found him at the riverbank and held him until he woke up in her arms.

What they eat doesn’t matter. Other people don’t matter. All that matters is this.

He squeezes her hips and presses her harder against him, so she can feel every part of his desire. She moans into his mouth, curling her fingers into his shirt. So he guides her down to the bedding, where he shows her what he’d rather get a taste of.

Later that evening, Mila and Dean have dinner with her parents. Her mother, Weaya, is a gracious host, treating Dean both like a guest and a proper son-in-law. She gives him a special cut of braised bison meat, not to mention extra corn and potato hash. Chatan says nothing to him and eats in gruff, stoic silence. 

Dean can tell it both hurts and annoys his wife, but he has to focus on answering Weaya’s many questions about his life—mainly about his family and the farm he grew up on. In some ways, raising crops and rearing up cows, chickens, and horses there isn’t so different from the Lakota village.  

“You must miss that place. Your home,” she says. Dean meets his mother-in-law’s eyes, pausing in polishing off the meat sauce on his plate with a piece of bread. Chatan looks up from his meal, and so does Mila, who hesitates too. He sees the thread of her concern there, behind her eyes, so Dean hides the stab of sadness that hits him every time he thinks of Lawrence. 

“Sometimes,” he admits. He looks over at Mila. “But I’m not alone. That’s what matters.”

She smiles at him softly. Dean has the urge to take her hand, maybe raise it up to his lips, but he’ll leave that for when they’re alone. He doesn’t want to upset her father any more than he has just by sitting in Chatan’s house. Tent…whatever.

He’s glad when, after almost another hour and a round of hot tea, Mila finishes chatting with her mother and stands. It means they can finally get the hell out of here. No disrespect to her parents, but with so much change happening so quickly, Dean had been able to put Lawrence out of his mind for a while. Tonight he thinks about his mom and his brother more than makes him comfortable on their way through the village. He follows Mila inside their tipi, then starts up a candle while she gets ready to rest for the evening. 

Living here is like going back in time—before the lantern, before indoor plumbing and the water heater. It’s not a huge hardship for Dean, who’s spent a lot of his life sleeping on hard, dusty ground, or military bases with less than most modern amenities, but it’s still another adjustment. 

He undresses down to his pants and settles down to the bedding and furs, waiting for his wife. She kneels beside him after undressing down to just her shift. He lays on his back with an arm tucked behind his head, and he watches her unbind her long, dark hair, undoing the braid from the bottom strands. She has this concentrated look on her face, like her mind is far away, even though she’s right here next to him. He threads his fingers through her loose hair while she works, giving her a smile.   

“You okay?” he asks. 

Mila pauses. She lets her tresses escape from her fingers and reaches for him, laying her hand on his chest. Dean holds it there and finally allows himself to press a kiss into her palm. 

I’m sorry, is what she wants to say, but she knows he’ll only reply, For what?

So she lowers down and slips into his warm embrace, as if this can make them both forget the day. She rests her cheek over his beating heart. 

“You will never be alone,” she promises. 

Dean quirks a smile. Instead of answering, he brushes her cheek tenderly with his hand, and he closes his eyes. A few deep breaths later, and he finds sleep.

The candle slowly flickers out.   

On most nights, Mila falls asleep before Dean, and so his light snores don’t bother her. Tonight, even though she’s tried, she can’t tune out his rumbles. Or maybe it’s her own mind she can’t tune out.

She carefully maneuvers out of his hold and slips on her shoes. Maybe the moon will give her clarity tonight. 

She pushes open the front flap of the tent and steps out into the cooler air. She looks up at the moon’s white-blue glow, a wide crescent peeking out from between two large clouds. A strong breeze tugs at her hair and flutters her lashes when she closes her eyes. She crosses her arms when goosebumps spread across her tan skin.

“What troubles you, Kimmímila?”

The voice is steady and male, and all too familiar. Still, the intrusion startles her. Her eyes fly open wide and she jolts, inhaling sharply. She frowns when she realizes it’s him. 

“What are you doing? It’s late,” she says.

He steps out from the shadows with his pipe in hand. He smells strongly of tobacco. Her father and uncle smoke as well, but she doesn’t like it herself. She’s glad Dean doesn’t either.  

“Easing my mind,” he says, raising his pipe. “I see you’re up to the same thing.”

Mila shakes her head. She returns her attention to the moon. “Go. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Are we not friends, Mila?” he says. “Can’t we talk and share like we used to?”

His voice is disheartened enough that it earns her gaze. She sighs at him. 

“I am sorry, but I can’t give you what you want,” she says. “Don’t test me anymore.”

He pauses with his pipe in hand. It drops to his side, and he takes measured steps closer, until he’s looking down at her. Even with the litheness of his form, he’s still taller and broader than her. His long, dark hair is half pulled onto the top of his head, threaded together with a beaded leather string she made for him when they were children. He has used it ever since. The rest of his hair lays loose down his back, brushing his arms. 

“If you actually loved him, it wouldn’t be a test,” he teases.  

He tries to touch her cheek, but she guides his hand down. She shakes her head and steps away from him. 

“This isn’t a game,” she says. “You know I mean what I say.”

His anger and frustration surfaces, with a sharp exhale of breath and the crunch of his dark brows.

“You would choose the Outlander over your own people,” he accuses.

Mila’s gaze is firm as she heads back to her tipi. If he will not be reasonable, then she will make it clear enough to hurt. 

“I choose him over you,” she says. 

Then, she slips back inside.     

The shadow outside remains, just long enough for the moon to become clear past the moving clouds. 

In the morning, Mila goes to her uncle, Chief Tahatan. She finds her parents there in his tipi as well, all of them sharing breakfast. Her aunt passes around more bread and wojapi, a sweet mixed berry sauce, while her father is resting a broken ankle. He’s complaining again, even though it happened over a week ago now. 

“If you hadn’t let the horse buck you off, you wouldn’t be hurting,” she says sharply now. She’s become annoyed with his griping. “Or better yet, you can finally admit that you’re beyond the years of breaking young stallions.” 

Chatan is the Horsemaster of their tribe, and has been since Mila was a little girl, inheriting the position from her great uncle, the former chief’s younger brother. Mila knows, however, that Chatan is getting too old to do the harder work. Many years have meant many battles too, and they’ve taken their toll on his bones. 

An idea grows in her mind, and she goes to sit beside her father. She applies the poultice Eyota gives Weaya for him, before rewrapping his ankle.

“Father,” she begins, imploring him gently, “perhaps Dean could help you care for the horses.”

Chatan eyes her with a frown. “Your husband already has his hands filled with training.” 

“Šóta and Takoda can’t do it all themselves, and Dean has experience with breaking young horses,” she reasons.  

Chatan ignores her and hefts himself to his feet without her or his wife’s help. He leaves with her mother on his heels, even though she looks back at her daughter apologetically. You know your father, her eyes say. 

Mila frowns at his back, both frustrated and upset. When they’re gone, she heaves a sigh. She remains determined though. 

She goes to Chief Tahatan next. He sits in his chair of whicker and wood while he smokes his pipe. Her aunt has gone to help the other women harvesting chokeberries and wild onions. Mila will go there soon, but first, she has business here.

“Uncle,” she says. 

He makes a sound of acknowledgement, crossed between a grunt and a groan. He knows what's coming. She kneels at his feet and touches his hand in a sign of humbleness, reverence, and familial love all at once. 

“Uncle,” she repeats. “Dean has done nothing but try to please Father, but still, he’s being stubborn…will you talk to him? Please?”

Tahatan sighs deeply. “You must understand your father, child. The decision you’ve made affects us all.”

“I do understand, Uncle. But the truth of it is, none of you have given Dean a chance to prove himself.”

“His chance is right now,” Tahatan says, his tone more stern. “Have I not been gracious? Did I not allow him to stay and live among us?”

“Yes, but you continue to judge him in your mind, like everyone else,” she says. The Chief remains quiet. She moves to stand before him, holding his gaze directly. “Let us perform the Huŋkápi.”

Huŋkápi. The Making of Relatives. Her people first created the tradition to make peace between Lakota and rival tribes, like the Ree. It can even be used to unite extended families within the tribe, especially in times of marriage. There is no better time for it, she thinks. 

The Chief shakes his head. “Kimmímila.”

“Is he not my husband?” she says. “In the eyes of our people, this is the joining of two families, and accepting an outsider into our tribe. That is exactly what the ceremony is for.”

“He has no family,” Tahatan snaps. “It is not exactly the tradition.”

“Then let us make it new,” she argues.

Tahatan hesitates. He shakes his head and rubs at his chin in a gesture of long-suffering. He thanks the spirits that he never had daughters. While he loves his niece, he has never envied his brother. 

“I will think on it,” he says. 

Mila frowns, but she tries her best to accept this, for now. She thanks him respectfully and leans in to kiss his cheek. Tahatan grunts an acknowledgement and watches her go with another shake of his head, despite a small smile. Between her and his sons, they will keep adding years to his life. 

On her way out of the Chief’s tipi, she runs into her cousin, Šóta. He walks with all the comfortable cockiness of a rooster among his harem.

“Good morning, sister,” he greets, even as he playfully pulls at her braid and tosses it into her face.

She flicks it away and meets him with an irritated frown. She’s in no mood to be teased, especially by him. “You’re still a child.”

“Ho-ho, hey now,” he chuckles, and he cuts off her path by standing in her way, crossing his arms. “Watch it. When I become Chief, don’t think I’ll let you talk to me so disrespectfully, my sister.”

“Just because you will be Chief one day does not make you wise,” she says. Her voice is as sharp as the snap of a blackberry vine. “And don’t call me sister. You have lost that right.”

Šóta finally becomes serious; he realizes that she means what she says.

“What are you talking about? What have I done?” he asks, more earnestly.

“It’s what you haven’t done,” Mila snaps. “If you were a good leader, you would take your father’s words to heart when he accepted my husband into our tribe. If you were my brother, you wouldn’t let the men mock him. If you were a man at all, you would do what is right. You would be guiding him right now, instead of letting the others ‘train’ him.”

She storms away from him, leaving Šóta feeling irritated, but also with an uncomfortable feeling beginning to churn in his gut. 

Mila moves brusquely through the camp until she reaches the clearing edged by the forest. There the horses are fenced in. They’ve been given their food and water for the morning, so they’re rather frisky as they clop around and graze.

She looks for Mato. Baby is no doubt with Dean today, so the Kiger mustang keeps to himself underneath a large sycamore tree. His tail flicks when she approaches, and he turns to her with a sound of greeting. She allows her hand to run along his dun-colored coat as she draws closer.

“I need you, my friend,” she whispers. 

She holds his snout, pressing her forehead against his as she squeezes her eyes shut against the burn of frustrated tears. Mato bumps her shoulder with his nose, softly whinnying. She smiles, sniffling, and rubs his cheek. 

“Let’s go for a ride.”

AN: Well, here we go! Sorry for ending on some angst, but here we've got the pieces in motion for a fun-filled, four-part sequel. 😂💜 Dean and Mila are both struggling in their own ways while he tries to navigate this new world he's trying to live in.

And how do you think he's gonna react to the "mystery man" trying to win her back? 😬

Pronunciation Guide:

Šóta ("sho-tah") Chatan ("chat-tan") Tahatan ("ta-hat-tann") Otaktay ("ogh-tac-tay") Weaya ("we-ayy-ya") Takoda ("ta-koda") Mato ("matt-toe") Misae ("mee-sah-eh")

Next Time:

But she feels a shadow at her feet as she ventures through the village. They are getting bigger as a tribe, harder to move when they need to, and it’s more mouths to feed, but it’s also a good thing. Despite all the challenges the past few decades have brought, their people are enduring. 

However, she pushes these thoughts to the back of her mind when she feels a prickling down the back of her neck. It’s followed shortly by the strong hand that closes on her wrist, and the man that calls her name. 

She gasps and whips around. He is there, gently shushing her. She glares at him and tries to pull her hand out of his grip. 

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

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[whencyclopedia]

Arapaho

The Arapaho are a North American Native nation originally from the Red River Valley in modern-day Manitoba, Canada, and Minnesota, USA. They migrated south in the early 18th century and established themselves in modern-day Colorado, Montana, Nebraska, Wyoming, and points south. They are associated with the Plains Indians culture and have long been allies of the Cheyenne.

The Arapaho adopted an agrarian lifestyle early, which was then modified when they were introduced to the horse by French traders. Able to travel further on hunts now, they gradually became a nomadic people and, pressured by the Ojibwe expansion in the Great Lakes region, moved south. Scholar Adele Nozedar writes:

When the settlers first came upon them, the Arapaho were already expert horsemen and buffalo hunters. Their territory was originally what has become northern Minnesota, but the Arapaho relocated to the eastern Plains areas of Colorado and Wyoming at about the same time as the Cheyenne; because of this, the two people became associated and are also federally recognized as the Cheyenne and Arapaho Tribes.

(25)

The Arapaho speak the Arapaho language (part of the Algonquian language group) and continue to practice their traditional, animistic, religion today as they did in the past, although many now blend the ancient spiritual beliefs with Christian rites and rituals. They were among the Plains Indians who participated in the Sun Dance (which they referred to as the Offerings Lodge) in the 19th century and still observe the ritual today at the Northern Arapaho Reservation of Wind River in Wyoming.

Like other nations of the Great Plains, and elsewhere, the Arapaho clashed with the Euro-American settlers migrating west in the mid-19th century. Allied with the Cheyenne and Sioux, Arapaho warriors took part in the Colorado War (1864-1865), Red Cloud's War (1866-1868), and the Great Sioux War (1876-1877), among other conflicts. The Southern Arapaho were camped with the Southern Cheyenne under Chief Black Kettle (l. c. 1803-1868) when they were attacked by US cavalry in what is now known as the Sand Creek Massacre (29 November 1864), which only strengthened their resolve to defend their ancestral lands against invasion by White settlers from the United States.

Even so, by 1868, both the Northern and Southern Arapaho understood the futility of continuing the fight against overwhelming forces and agreed to move onto reservations (which is one of the reasons so few Arapaho were present at the Battle of the Little Bighorn in 1876). The Southern Arapaho were relocated to Indian Territory (modern-day Oklahoma) while the Northern Arapaho were moved to the reservation of the Shoshone, their traditional enemies, in Wyoming.

Like the Pawnee, the Arapaho were allowed to continue to observe the Ghost Dance, initiated by the Paiute Nation in 1889, after the US government prohibited other nations, notably the Sioux, from doing the same. The songs and rituals that accompany the Ghost Dance enabled the Arapaho to retain much of their culture, and both Northern and Southern Arapaho continue these traditions today.

Name & Nation

The name Arapaho was given to the people by European colonists who mispronounced the name given them by the Crow nation – Alappaho ("Many Tattoos"), which the people then began to apply to themselves. They originally called themselves Hinono'eino ("the people" or "our people"). The Cheyenne referred to them as Hitanwo'iv ("People of the Sky"), but the reason for this is unclear.

In the 18th century, the Arapaho nation consisted of five bands, each with their own dialect of the Algonquin Arapaho language:

Beesowuunenno (Big Lodge People)

Hanahawuuena (Rock People)

Hinanae'inan (Arapaho Proper)

Nawathi'neha (Southern People)

Haa'ninin (White Clay People - better known as Atsina and Gros Ventre)

The Gros Ventre split from the other bands in the early 18th century and were later regarded as inferior by the Arapaho. The Arapaho nation was then defined by the four remaining tribal bands, who separated into the Northern Arapaho and Southern Arapaho with the northern band holding the position of the "mother tribe" responsible for the safekeeping of sacred objects such as the ceremonial flat pipe.

Southern Arapaho Woman's Leggings and Moccasins

Uyvsdi (Public Domain)

Continue reading...

[primordialsoundmeditation]

Let us know peace.

For as long as the moon shall rise,

For as long as the rivers shall flow,

For as long as the sun shall shine,

For as long as the grass shall grow,

Let us know peace. ~ Cheyenne Prayer 💕

#greenwitchtea #greenwitch #forestwitch #harmnone #peace #love

Green Witch Tea

[justsamssimsdump]

[therealslimshakespeare]

Marcella Ryan LeBeau is a member of the Two Kettle Band of the Cheyenne River Sioux Tribe and lives in Eagle Butte, South Dakota. Her Lakota name is Wigmuke Waste Win (Pretty Rainbow Woman) Her great-grandfather, Chief Joseph Four Bear (Mato Topa), signed the Fort Laramie Treaty in 1868. Her grandmother, Louise Bear Face, was related to Rain In The Face who took part in the Battle of the Little Horn.

Marcella served as a nurse in WWII becoming a 1 st Lieutenant in the Army Nurse Corps. The army service took her from the USA to Wales, England, France, and Belgium. Since receiving the French Legion of Honor Award on June 6, 2004, in Paris France, on the occasion of the 60th Anniversary of D-Day, Marcella has been requested to participate at many Veterans’ events, speaking of her military experience in World War II. Marcella served one term as District 5 council representative for the Cheyenne River Sioux Tribe. She is also honored to speak to the youth at elementary, high school, and college venues when she is invited.

In 1992 and 1995 Marcella and her son, Richard went to Glasgow, Scotland with interest in the return of the Ghost Dance Shirt that was taken from Wounded Knee in 1890. After negotiations, the ghost shirt was returned by the Kelvin Grove Museum. George Craeger, with the Buffalo Bill Wild West Show, sold some artifacts to the museum and donated a Ghost Shirt. It’s now held at the Heritage Cultural Center at the South Dakota Historical Society in Pierre, South Dakota.

After retiring as the Director of Nursing from the Indian Health Service in Eagle Butte, Marcella, and her granddaughter, Bonnie opened a machine quilting shop located in Eagle Butte. They make a variety of quilts. The main feature of their shop is the star quilt frequently used by the Lakota people for honoring and naming ceremonies, memorial give-aways, etc. which are traditional of this area’s native people.

Marcella having raised a family of eight children is an advocate for the Lakota language and culture, youth, veterans, elderly, upholding treaties, and wellness.

Credit: text & photos from wisdomoftheelders.org

[bumblesimagines]

Our Flickering Light

Part 3

Request: Yes or No

~~~

"Ugh! What the fuck is that?" 

Snorting softly to himself, (Y/N) glanced up at Ellie. She'd hardly wiggled out of her sleeping bag yet, her tired squinted eyes staring down at the brewing coffee with a small scowl. Her lip curled slightly and she flipped the lid back over to cover the bubbling black coffee, a soft huff escaping her before she dramatically fell back onto the ground, still bundled in her sleeping bag, and rested her head on her backpack-turned-pillow. Joel shook his head lightly, pushing his rolled-up sleeping bag into the truck bed and securing it. 

"Get up, Ellie." He called, earning a defiant groan in response. Joel rolled his eyes and sighed quietly, stepping over the dozing girl and crouching by the brewing coffee. He poured some steaming coffee into his thermos, swirling it around in thought before bringing it to his lips and carefully taking a sip. Smacking his lips and nodding approvingly, Joel poured the remainder into a spare cup and stood up with a soft grunt. He spared Ellie a glance, nudging her back with the front of his boot and stepping over her again to offer (Y/N) a cup. "You like coffee?"

"I haven't had it in a long while, actually." (Y/N) revealed softly, biting back the urge to yawn. He blew softly into the cup, feeling the steam rise and caress his face, warming his skin from the early morning chill. He pressed his lips against the cup and took a small sip of the black coffee, his nose immediately crinkling at the bitter taste that invaded his taste buds. Joel chuckled and continued to drink his coffee as if it were the sweetest thing in the world while Ellie sluggishly got up. 

Reluctantly drinking the rest of the coffee - and debating if he should've just chucked it away for the sake of his tongue - (Y/N) watched Joel move around their temporary camp, collecting the remaining things on the ground and packing them away in the trunk. He rinsed the cup and put it away along with the rest of their utensils before shuffling through some bags until he found an apple and a small bottle of water to give Ellie for breakfast. She accepted it without a word, eyes still squinty with sleepiness and her movements clumsy as she climbed into the truck.

Joel carefully drove them out of the forest and back onto the road, the smell of coffee from his thermos slowly filling the inside of the car and making Ellie crinkle her nose. She finished her apple in no time, chucking the stem out the window and wiping the juices off her lips with the sleeve of her shirt. "Smells like burnt shit," Ellie commented, unscrewing the cap of her water bottle and drinking from it. "Is that seriously what those Starbucks in the QZ used to sell?"

"Well, theirs was a lot fresher than what Bill saved up but, yeah, this is what they sold," Joel murmured, making eye contact with Ellie through the rearview mirror and loudly slurping from his thermos again. A quiet giggle slipped from (Y/N), his head snapping back to the map in hand when Joel glanced at him. "Eyes on the map."

"Mhm," (Y/N) giggled again, tracking the road they were on with his finger until he found the road they needed to turn onto. His seat shifted slightly when Ellie grabbed onto it, her head peeking over his shoulder to observe the map he held. "So, it's... 76 West and 70 West for a while."

"Huh... where in Wyoming did you say your brother was?" Ellie asked, strands of her messily tied back hair tickling (Y/N)'s temple.

"Last contact came through a radio tower close to Cody," Joel answered, sparing the map a glance. (Y/N) and Ellie scanned the map, looking for Cody in the sea of cities, towns, and street names. Cheyenne, Casper, Lander, Jackson, Pinedale, Fort Bridger... ah, there it was. Nestled along the Shoshone River and at the foot of some mountains sat the small town of Cody. It sat decently far from where they were. (Y/N) tapped on it on the map to show Ellie, her brows instantly lifting.

"Man, that is deep up in there," Ellie blew a raspberry. "And if he's not there?"

A flicker of a frown appeared on Joel's face. "Then... odds are he'll be near a settlement, probably close to another city out there. Ain't too many of 'em in Wyoming." He responded, and (Y/N) turned his head to look at him, catching the quick grimace. He'd never been told much about Joel's younger brother, only a few scarce facts here and there. Tommy Miller was Joel's younger brother whom he'd always recalled with a fond look. They'd survived the first years of the outbreak together before parting for reasons Joel never seemed too keen on recalling. He remembered Tess mentioned Tommy having been briefly involved with a Firefly, hence Joel wanting to locate and take Ellie to him.

"What's his name?" Ellie suddenly asked, sitting back in her seat properly and peering at Joel curiously. "Your brother's, I mean."

"Tommy."

"Younger or older?"

"Younger."

"Why isn't he with you?" 

"Ellie." (Y/N) piped in warningly, moving slightly around in his seat to look at the girl. His eyes flickered down to her waist and he arched a brow at the lack of a seatbelt. Ellie pursed her lips and slid back against the middle seat, tugging on the seatbelt until it reached its end before clicking it in. Smart ass. (Y/N) couldn't help but chuckle and roll his eyes, shifting back around to catch Joel taking quick glances at him. The ends of his lips shifted upwards slightly in the form of a thankful smile before his eyes flickered up to the rearview mirror to catch sight of the awaiting girl. He sighed, tapping his thumb against the steering wheel.

"Tommy's what we used to call a 'joiner.' Dreams of becomin' a hero. So he enlisted in the army right outta high school. A few months later, they ship him off to Desert Storm. It's what they called that war- it doesn't matter. Point is, bein' in the army didn't make him feel like much of a hero. Cut to 12 years later, the outbreak happens. He convinces me to join a group makin' their way up to Boston, which I did to keep an eye on him.. keep him alive. It's.. where we met Tess. And that whole crew, we-" Joel paused, taking a sip of the last few drop of coffee in his thermos and swallowing thickly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat at the mere mention of Tess. (Y/N) reached out, brushing his fingers over Joel's knee comfortingly. "For what it was, it worked. Then, Tommy meets Marlene. She talks him into joinin' the Fireflies. Same mistake he made when he was 18. Wants to save the world... pipe dream. Him, the Fireflies, all of 'em, delusional. 'Course, last I heard, he quit the Fireflies, too. Now he's on his own out there... and I gotta go get him."

A momentary silence followed as they took in the new information, the vulnerability from Joel by opening up about his beloved family member, about his past, even if just a brief mention. Ellie spoke first, softly as she stared out at the long road ahead of them. "If you don't think there's hope for the world, why bother going on? I mean, you gotta try, right?"

"You haven't seen the world so you don't know," Joel said with a hint of a bite. "You keep goin' for family. That's about it."

"I'm not family." Ellie pointed out quietly.

"No, you're carg-"

"You're the hope, Ellie." (Y/N) chimed in, his fingers running over the worn edges of the map in his hands. "Even if whatever the Fireflies have in store doesn't work, you're still immune. Your existence is evidence that we can evolve, that we can survive. Or at the very least, future generations have a chance at immunity. Humans have been around for hundreds of years. We evolve and change with time. Who knows how many people are like you, Ellie? Who knows how many there will be like you in the future? I... don't have family. My mother is dead, my stepfather is probably dead, my fathers.... but I have you two now. So, I keep going for both of you and the hope that comes with your immunity." 

Another silence, this one a more stunned one. (Y/N) gazed down at the map, looking at nothing in particular while their stares burned into the side of his head. He carefully folded the map so it wouldn't take up so much space and lifted his head, glancing at the time on the barely visible clock. "You should get some sleep, Ellie. We woke up pretty early." He said, setting the map on his lap and looking out into the vast openness around them. 

"You should get some sleep." Joel butted in softly. "You were up all night." 

"I'll try." 

                    ︽        ︽       ︽       ︽       ︽       ︽

The soft sound of the car door closing roused (Y/N) from his slumber, a quiet yawn leaving him as he pushed himself up in his seat. He adjusted the seatbelt digging into the side of his neck and took a quick survey of his surroundings, noting the station they were parked at and the view of tall buildings in the distance ahead. He glanced at the backseat where Ellie lied curled up, using her backpack as a pillow again and sleeping soundly with a line of drooling trickling down from her parted lips. He released a huff of amusement and glanced at Joel as he settled in his seat and started the car. 

"Stopped to get fuel." He told him, driving back onto the road and continuing toward the city. (Y/N) hummed quietly and took a peek down at the map still resting on his lap, searching the road they'd been on before he fell asleep until he found a name. Kansas City. He knew hardly anything about Kansas City besides the sports team his stepfather had often rooted for, but it seemed decently big based on the map. Joel glanced at him a few times, each glance lasting longer than the last until (Y/N) finally noticed. 

"What is it, Joel?" 

His lips pursed, arm propped up on the windowsill, and fingers lightly scratching the side of his head. Joel sighed quietly, taking another glance at him. "You're family, you know. I know we never spoke much or anythin' but you are family to me. I... care about you. Tess cared about you, too. I... listen, I ain't good with words but-"

"I get it, Joel." (Y/N) smiled gently, a warm feeling settling over his chest. He felt his cheeks tingle lightly with heat and looked forward again, fingers toying with the edges of the map. 

He watched the penned chickens, a handful of chicken scratch in his hand waiting to be tossed and gobbled up by the feathered animals. He hated the sight of them when they were ill. Sluggish, tired, barely moving. His chickens were always so alive, always acting up and getting into trouble, but now the four of them barely clucked. (Y/N) sighed quietly and sprinkled some of the chicken scratch in front of the rooster, Sir Plucks. The glutton pecked at the ground but made none of his typical moves to greedily defend his food. He simply ruffled his wings in a tired manner and made soft, quiet noises. 

"Come on, buddy." He murmured. Bill hadn't even shouted at the damned bird for weeks, the visible pity for it only solidifying its incoming doom. At least he'd restrained himself from talking about cooking them. "You need to wake us up every morning. You're our alarm, remember?"

The hens were no different. Eggatha, Henrietta, and Pecktunia huddled together, slow in their pecks at the food around them. They'd often push and shove over food, pecking at each other and circling his feet for more. They only stared at him when they finished, their once jerky movements dimmed with their lack of energy. He reached out, running his hand over Pecktunia's soft, feathery back. She'd always been his favorite. The neediest out of the four, always trying to follow him out of their pen and the first to greet him each morning and evening. 

"Hey, kid." The gruff voice of Joel greeted him and the chickens startled, their feathers puffing and heads turning to take in who they considered a stranger as soft squawks left them. (Y/N) straightened at the sight of Joel and dumped the rest of the chicken scratch where the chickens could reach it before wiping his hand on his pant leg and getting up from the ground. 

"Hi, Joel." He greeted, carefully stepping around the girls and slipping out of the pen. Joel eyed the chickens inside, his lips quirking into a faint grin when the rooster puffed his feathers at him again. His eyes slipped away from the animals and the serious, almost stern look returned to his features. 

"Heard about your chickens," He started, nodding toward them before lifting his hand and offering a book. "I, uh... I thought a new book might cheer you up. I wasn't sure what you'd like and we ain't got many options in the QZ but... here. I hear the author's good- was good, at least. If you don't want it, that's fine-"

"Thank you, Joel." (Y/N) smiled brightly, taking the book into his hands and brushing away some of the dust that had collected on it. American Gods by Neil Gaiman. His first official gift since the outbreak, and it'd come from Joel Miller of all people. A fluttery feeling invaded his stomach and he dug his teeth into the inside of his cheek, looking back up at him. He moved forward, enclosing Joel in a swift, quick hug. "Thank you... it means a lot."

He still had the book. He'd taken it from his bedroom shelf after Joel and Ellie's arrival and packed it into his backpack, both for entertainment and the memory it carried. Possibly the beginning of Joel viewing him as more than someone he happened to know outside the Qz, as more than the kid of his friends. But he knew for certain it'd been the moment Joel Miller stopped being just his fathers' friend to him. It was silly, stupid even. Joel was much older than him, a middle-aged man who'd be nearing his sixties in a few years and had enough burdens resting on his shoulders. A man like Joel had already experienced most of what life had to offer: he'd had a kid, found and lost love, made and lost friends, joined and quit jobs. After everything he'd gone through, he'd likely enjoy living the rest of his life in peace and solitude without some twenty-nine-year-old bothering him.

"Damn," Joel cursed softly, straightening up in his seat. Rows of abandoned cars were scattered across the road leading into Kansas City with a large truck blocking the road right before the bridge. It almost looked strategically placed, blocking anyone from entering or leaving the city. Or perhaps Bill's teachings on 'trust no one and question everything' were too engrained in his head to let him think clearly. Joel's brows remained in a fixed furrow, his eyes darting around to take everything in. He stepped on the brake, the corner of his lip quirking when Ellie's body rolled off the backseats and thumped loudly on the floor. 

"Asshole." She hissed, roughly grabbing the back of his seat and wiggling herself out of the tight space. Ellie huffed, blowing strands of hair out of her face and glaring at Joel through the rearview mirror as she picked up her backpack. (Y/N) dug his teeth into his bottom lip and snorted softly, adjusting his seating position and tugging his rifle onto his lap to check the rounds it had while Joel climbed out of the truck to inspect the area. "Where are we?"

"Kansas City." (Y/N) answered, rubbing his finger into the rough texture of the strap and watching Joel crouch down in front of the truck to peer underneath into the tunnel. "Home to the, uh.. Chiefs, I think. They were a football team from back in the day. Apparently, they weren't any good but people still rooted for them." 

Joel stood up, the frown on his face enough to tell (Y/N) they'd need to switch course and choose a different road. He hummed quietly and shifted his rifle around to expand the map out on his lap, feeling the car dip slightly as Joel got back in. He craned his neck to look at the map, his finger pointing to the road they were on and backtracking until they found another connecting road. Joel clicked his tongue and leaned back in his seat, staring forward in thought. "Screw it." He murmured. "We can jog right around this tunnel, take the next ramp, and we're back on the road. Minute tops."

The moment they entered the city, an uneasy pit settled in (Y/N)'s stomach, rising to his chest with a heavy weight that demanded attention. He'd seen deserted towns and cities before, sure, but something was gravelly off about Kansas City. No signs of infected or FEDRA or the people that once occupied it. It'd been years since his stay at the Baltimore QZ, and back then, he'd heard of the Kansas City being among the QZs up and running. If the QZ had fallen, there'd be signs of it, signs of infected roaming around ready to add them to their numbers. 

"(Y/N), eyes on the map. We need to find the highway." Joel's voice snapped him out of his racing thoughts.

"Right, sorry, I... I don't like this place." (Y/N) exhaled sharply, fumbling with the map and trying to track down the road they were on. So many roads, so many names. Why were maps so difficult to read? "Didn't they have a QZ?" 

"Is that it?" Ellie's voice prompted Joel to step on the brakes again, the abrupt stop lurching their bodies forward and making the seatbelt dig into (Y/N)'s stomach. He grunted softly and tore his eyes away from the map to look at the abandoned, ghostly entrance to the QZ. The doors were wide open but no signs of FEDRA or its residents having fought back against any infected. No bodies, no vehicles. "Where the fuck is FEDRA?"

"Hey!" A voice called out, bringing their attention back onto the road in front of them and toward a man staggering out onto the road. (Y/N)'s eyes dropped down onto the side he clutched. No blood. (Y/N) tucked the map away between his seat and the gear shift, his hands moving slowly to grab his backpack from the floor and slide it back on. "Please! I need help!"

"Ellie put your seatbelt on," Joel instructed sharply, fumbling for his own seatbelt and clicking it on. Ellie leaned back in her seat, her eyes jumping between the three of them as she clicked her seatbelt in and pulled her backpack onto her lap.

"Aren't we going to help him?"

"No." 

Stepping on the accelerator, Joel held on tightly to the steering wheel and made a direct beeline for the man. The man cursed and ran out of the way, shouting up to someone standing on the fire escape ladder who proceeded to drop a cement block down on them, successfully hitting the windshield but not enough to shatter it completely. Their luck proved shortlived when a row of barely visible spikes on the road popped all four of their tires and a man sprang out from the alleyway, gun in hand, and aimed at them. Joel swerved out of the way, crashing through the window of a convenience store. 

"Jesus," (Y/N) exhaled, unbuckling his seatbelt. 

"Ellie, you okay? You not hurt or nothin'?" Joel questioned, unbuckling his seatbelt as well and grabbing his rifle from the backseat. Ellie exhaled shakily and offered breathless answers before yelping at the sound of gunshots firing through the air. (Y/N) tossed the car door open and jumped out, ducking down to open Ellie's door and help her out. Her hands clung to him tightly, her body trembling like a leaf in a storm. 

"Get down." He whispered to her, feeling her flinch at each gunshot as they crouched down behind the truck, using it as a shield to protect them from the bullets.

"Give us your shit, you make it through this!" Raiders. (Y/N) had his knowledge of them, of their ruthlessness and greediness in taking anything and everything they could. A group of them had attacked them once, twice before back home. It'd been the first time (Y/N) had used his rifle on another human. The first time he'd shot at someone and hit his target. View them as infected, Bill had told him once, and it makes it a whole lot easier, kid.

"You see that hole, Ellie?" Joel panted, nodding toward the hole in the wall and swallowing thickly when Ellie nodded. She squeaked softly when a bullet shattered the window above them, her widened eyes full of fear. "When I say go, you crawl to that wall, and you don't come out until I say, okay? Look at me, Ellie! They're not going to hit you. You stay down, you stay low, you stay quiet." 

"Okay," Ellie whispered shakily. (Y/N) shifted carefully to get into a crouching position, turning his back to the two and eyeing the shelf beside the truck. He held the rifle tightly in his hands, setting his finger over the trigger and taking in a deep breath. The gunshots eased, signaling the men were reloading.

"Go!" At Joel's shout, (Y/N) darted forward to hide behind the shelf and lifted his rifle, aiming at the second man and taking a shot. The bullet whizzed past the man's head and he quickly ducked down behind a car. The gunshots between Joel and the first man continued until Joel took a third shot at them and the man collapsed onto the ground. 

"You motherfuckers!" The second man shouted and (Y/N) made use of his scope, turning his attention onto the first man's body and waiting. He watched a hand reach out toward the leg of the man and he pulled the trigger, a loud curse leaving his target when the bullet no doubt left a hole in his hand. 

His focus on his target was quickly disrupted when the door behind them swung open. He whirled his head around to look at the third raider who made a beeline for him but Joel charged toward him, slamming the back of his jammed rifle into the jaw of the man. The two got into a scuffle, falling onto the concrete floor and wrestling around. A cry full of rage and pain came from in front of him and he turned in time to spot the wounded man staggering toward him, one arm lifted toward him with a pistol. Before he could pull the trigger, a gunshot rang out from behind him, hitting the man square in the chest. (Y/N) turned to find Ellie with an all too familiar-looking handgun in hand, her widened eyes following the man as he collapsed on the floor with a wheezy, pained gasp. (Y/N) reloaded the rifle and put the withering man out of his misery.

A grunt of pain from Joel grabbed his attention and he moved quickly, slamming his foot into the guy's side to knock him off Joel before pressing his foot against his chest and aiming for the head. Joel gasped and coughed for air, bringing his hand up to his throat and pulling himself up into a sitting position. "Wait, wait, wait! My mom isn't far away! We could trade! Plea-" The raider's desperate babbling stopped, his youthful face covered in blood and brain that seeped onto the concrete beneath him. (Y/N) released a heavy, tired sigh, his eyes wandering over the limp body below him. Too young to be recklessly swinging around guns and running at people. Too young and too dead to know any better. 

"Get back in the wall and open the door," Joel told Ellie, taking the gun from her trembling hands and watching her weakly nod. The girl turned on her heel and slipped back into the other room, her soft grunts and the sound of something heavy being dragged echoing into the room. (Y/N) slipped the rifle's strap over his shoulder and approached Joel to get a closer look at the gun.

"Bill gave it to Frank for protection."

"She took it without permission," Joel muttered, sucking his teeth and slipping the gun into the waistband of his pants. (Y/N) grabbed his arm before he could move, his fingers raising to gently grab Joel's chin and tilt it so he could take a peek at his throat. He spotted the slowly forming bruising but found no other signs of any real damage. He released Joel's chin and lifted his gaze to look back at the older man staring at him.

"She also saved me from getting hurt, Joel. The day's gonna come when she'll be out on her own and it'll be better for her to be caught with a gun she knows how to use rather than with nothing." He told him softly, giving his arm a squeeze and stepping around him to walk toward the office door. He pushed it open and stepped inside, waiting for Joel to follow before shutting the door and watching them push the long desk back up against the door. 

Setting her backpack on the table and shuffling through the contents, she pulled out a flashlight and handed it to Joel. "What now?" She asked, zipping the backpack back up and slipping it back on. 

"We go up and hopefully spot a clear route out," Joel responded, walking toward the back door and turning on the flashlight as he peered into the darkness. Once checking it was safe, he looked at them over his shoulder and raised his brows. "Stay close."

The dark hallway led them out into an alleyway, the distant sound of a car nearing them reaching their ears. Joel and (Y/N) exchanged a look and (Y/N) carefully moved Ellie to keep her between them as they quietly stepped out into the street and ducked behind a car. They waited behind the car, listening to two vehicles pass them by and the sound of a man shouting for one of the deceased. Joel crossed the street, slowly opening the door to the building and nodding to them once he checked it. (Y/N) gave Ellie a light nudge and she sprang forward, hurrying over to Joel and dipping inside with (Y/N) hot on her heels. (Y/N) shut the door behind them, mindful of keeping the noise minimal before following Joel as he led them through the building. They could hear the sound of screeching tires when the vehicles sped off, likely returning to wherever their camp was. 

"If they have cars and guns and so many men, what are the chances they're from a community? Survivors that stayed when their QZ fell?" (Y/N) quietly spoke, squinting through the dim dust-filled air. Joel answered with a shrug, taking them into another building and motioning for them to settle down and rest. He pulled back a bit of the newspaper stuck to the windows and looked out, remaining by the window as the sound of multiple vehicles speeding down the roads got closer.

"Are we okay in here?" Ellie asked, fidgeting with her fingers and glancing between them, her eyes still wide with worry. (Y/N) frowned and reached out to wrap a loose arm around her shoulder, She smiled weakly and let her head drop onto his shoulder, her shoulders sagging when a heavy exhale escaped her. 

"For a little bit, maybe. Looks like they're checkin' out apartment buildings first. But they'll be comin' through these places soon enough." Joel stepped away from the window, giving Ellie the space to peer out of it herself. His features returned to that familiar fixed brow and scowl he always wore, his eyes lifting from the ground to look at (Y/N). "There's a building close by, maybe four blocks away. As soon as we don't hear a truck, we move. Thoughts?"

(Y/N) blinked owlishly at him, his brows lifting at Joel's curious gaze. "Uhm," He began, clearing his throat. "Yeah, yeah... the- uhm. Nightfall's probably our best bet, to be honest. They'll get tired eventually, and even if they still send out men, they'll have to use flashlights so we'll see if they're coming or not. Easier to move in the dark, anyways." 

"Yeah, you're right." Joel nodded, lowering himself down into a seat with a soft grunt. Ellie stepped away from the window and carefully plopped down on the dusty floorboards, bringing her knees up to her chest and resting her arms over them. She sighed softly, her eyes flickering toward the window when a truck passed by before slowly wandering back to Joel. (Y/N) leaned back against the table beside Joel, closing his eyes and rolling his head back, feeling exhaustion take the place of adrenaline. 

"Are you okay?" Ellie asked softly.

"I'm all right." Joel paused, swallowing thickly. (Y/N) peeked down at him, watching him purse his lips and motion vaguely with his hand at her. "Are... are you okay?"

"Yeah." Ellie smiled. Joel nodded, swiping his tongue over his lips and dropping his eyes onto the floor. He stared at it, shoulders rigid with tension, and (Y/N) doubted his body didn't ache from the tumble he took when wrestling with the young man. (Y/N) breathed out through his nose and tilted his head down to look at him, his hand reaching out to tentatively run his fingers over the top of Joel's graying waves. Joel flinched, barely noticeable but enough for (Y/N) to retract his hand.

"What's on your mind?" (Y/N) murmured, feeling the skin along his neck and skin warm with embarrassment. 

"I..." Joel trailed off, his lips pressing together tightly as he slumped back in the creaking old chair. He cleared his throat, fingers grazing over the top of his hair and eyes resuming their staring contest with the floor. "I didn't hear that guy comin', neither of 'em. You could've gotten hurt, real hurt, and Ellie wouldn't have had to... you know?"

Ellie's arms tightened around her knees. "But, it's a good thing I did, right?" 

"You're just a kid. You shouldn't know what it means to... it's not like you killed him. But... shootin'... I know what it's like... first time you, uh, hurt... someone like that." Joel said shakily, the hint of guilt laced in his voice making (Y/N) frown. The older man's gaze jumped up to (Y/N)'s face briefly, and then swiftly turned toward Ellie. His jaw clenched and unclenched before he spoke again. "If you, uh... uh... I'm not really good at this."

"Yeah, you really aren't." (Y/N) couldn't help but snort at Ellie's words, bringing a hand to his mouth and whispering a soft apology when Joel huffed at him.

Joel cleared his throat again. "What I'm sayin' is... it was my fault. You shouldn't have had to.. and I'm sorry." 

Ellie stared at him, her mouth twisting up as tears flooded her eyes. Joel grimaced, watching her desperately wipe at her eyes and nose with the sleeve of her jacket before the tears could start rolling. (Y/N) pushed himself off the table and walked toward her, crouching down beside her and curling his fingers around her hand. Ellie sniffled, tightly squeezing his hand in return. "It- It wasn't my first time." She revealed quietly. (Y/N)'s brows softened and raised slightly, his lips parting with his sharp, quiet inhale. Jesus.

(Y/N) tilted his head toward Joel when a bullet clattered onto the ground and rolled near them, noticing the handgun he held as he stood up from the chair and kneeled by Ellie's other side. She watched him curiously and lifted her brows when Joel offered her the gun, carefully taking it and glancing up at him.

"Show me your grip," Joel instructed, resting his arm over his thigh. He met (Y/N)'s gaze, the ghost of a smile appearing on his lips before it disappeared when he addressed Ellie again. "Finger off the trigger." 

Unable to resist the urge, (Y/N) smiled widely as he watched Joel instruct Ellie on how to properly hold her gun. A warm, sweet sensation spread across his chest when Joel shook the gun in Ellie's hand and she giggled, keeping her grip tight on it just as she'd been told. They were sweet when they got along, and entertaining when they didn't. Like a real... family. (Y/N) liked the sound of that.

[flagwars]

Native American and First Nations Flag Wars: Round 1

This tournament focuses on the flags of indigenous groups of the United States and Canada in honor of National American Indian Heritage Month. Thank you to everyone for your submissions! I think this is going to be a fun tournament with some great flags!

Round 1:

1. Huu-ay-aht First Nations vs. Miccosukee vs. Mashantucket Pequot Tribe vs. Teslin Tlingit Council

2. Nez Perce vs. Pimicikamak Cree Nation vs. United Keetoowah Band of Cherokee Indians vs. Cahto

3. Anishinaabe vs. Clatsop vs. Métis vs. Upper Skagit Indian Tribe of Washington

4. Cherokee Peace Flag vs. Peguis First Nation vs. Haisla vs. Chief of the Secwépemc

5. Jatibonicu Taino Tribal Nation vs. Missisquoi Abenaki Tribe vs. Colorado River Indian Tribes vs. Nisga'a

6. Chinook Nation vs. Hopi Nation vs. Mi'kmaq (horizontal) vs. Pawnee Nation

7. Northern Cheyenne Indian Reservation vs. Ahtahkakoop Cree Nation vs. Cowasuck Band of the Pennacook-Abenaki People vs. Tłı̨chǫ

8. Inuvialuit vs. Seminole Tribe of Florida vs. Mohawk Warrior Society vs. Eel Ground First Nation

9. American Indian Movement vs. Navajo vs. Natchitoches Tribe of Louisiana

10. Secwépemc vs. Pine Ridge Indian Reservation vs. Arctic Athabaskan Council

11. Tahltan Nation vs. Blackfeet Nation vs. Musqueam

12. Santa Ynez Band of Chumash Mission Indians vs. Haudenosaunee/Iroquois vs. Poarch Band of Creek Indians

13. Haida vs. Piapot First Nation vs. Ninilchik

14. Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami vs. Kitchenuhmaykoosib Inninuwug First Nation vs. Arapaho

15. Mi'kmaq Nation vs. Lax Kw'alaams Band vs. Pascua Yaqui Tribe

16. Cherokee vs. Ute Indian Tribe vs. Robinson Rancheria of Pomo Indians of California