#june pride bingo

[forpiratereasons]

meeting stede bonnet

a slow meandering through June. second prompt: trust!

day 1 | day 2 | day 3 | day 4 | day 5 | day 6 | day 7 | day 8 | day 9 | day 10

-

“Cough up, you lot,” Lucius said, sliding into the sticky booth at Spanish Jackie’s. “I was right, so that’s fifty each, thank you, I take small bills, large bills, piggy banks—”

“No way,” Oluwande snorted. “Nope, don’t believe it.”

“And yet, it’s true.” Lucius pressed a kiss to Pete’s cheek, stole a long sip of his frozen margarita. Strawberry. Pete had terrible taste; Lucius loved him.

“That’s not possible,” Roach cut in.

“Gotta say, lover, I don’t buy it either,” Frenchie agreed.

Lucius took a moment, preening, and then turned to Jim. “Jim, darling?”

Jim sighed. Rolled their eyes. And people said Lucius was dramatic—Jim went through life like they were starring as a very annoyed spy in their own biopic.

“It’s mostly true,” they said.

“It’s all the way true.”

“Mostly. Probably.”

“It’s very, definitely, extremely true.”

“It’s a little vague.” Jim waved a hand in the space between them. “It’s more like—he’s in the process.”

“But he is?” Oluwande asked. “Coming out?”

“Little rainbow pin, right there on his shirt yesterday,” Jim said, nodding. “He didn’t say anything, but I thought he was going to shit himself every time he had to come up to one of us. He had it on again today, with one of those stringy little rainbow friendship bracelets you can get in the park on Sundays.”

“Kept rolling and unrolling his sleeve,” Lucius added. “I think he sweat through his shirt, actually—he was wearing a different one after lunch.”

There was a pause as the group considered this.

“You know,” Frenchie said, after he’d tipped the remainder of his beer back, “I didn’t think Stede could even get nervous. He’s like, the most balls-to-the-walls guy I know.”

The group around the table murmured in agreement. Stede tended to recklessly throw himself into things, as if he’d forgotten they could go badly, but maybe that was why they largely tended to work out instead. Sometimes it looked like insane courage; sometimes it just looked a bit insane.

Mostly, it looked like someone desperately trying to make up for lost time.

So it’d been unnerving, really, to watch Stede flit anxiously through the shop, jittery in an old, familiar way that reminded Lucius of being twelve. Like he was trying to say something but was terrified that someone else might know.

Nevermind that Lucius had definitely already known Stede was gay as a pink flamingo—hence the fifty dollars everyone now owed him, thanks ever so.

“So what’d you say to him?” Pete asked.

“Nothing.” Lucius took another drink of the strawberry margarita; it was ghastly. “You didn’t see him, he was like a skittish little horse. I didn’t want to startle him.”

“Probably better to give him space.”

“You just don’t want him to cry on you, Jim,” Frenchie pointed out.

Jim shrugged. “I really do not, yeah.”

“I could talk to him,” Roach offered.

Pete reached a hand out for a high five. “We’ll go together.”

“Absolutely not,” Oluwande said, loud and stern.

“Nobody’s talking to him,” Lucius cut in over everyone. “No—no, do not give me the eyes, Pete, I’m serious. We’re not ambushing him on this, yeah?” Roach opened his mouth to argue; Lucius shook the margarita threateningly at him. “No. We’re going to let Stede come to us, yeah? We are all going to respect Stede’s boundaries, and when he’s ready we’re going to be chill about it so this bizarre little man has safe little gays to go to in his time of need.”

“Not sure you can describe us as safe little gays, babe,” Frenchie mused.

That was fair. Lucius soldiered on anyway.

“Think about when we were coming out, yeah? And how much better that would’ve been if we’d had people in our corner who were patient, who we could trust, who let us go at our own pace?”

Everyone thought. Jim, who would never volunteer anything in their life, still looked significantly at Olu in a jaw-droppingly sentimental thank-you-for-being-that-person sort of way. Frenchie leaned over and kissed Roach’s cheek.

“So it’s decided then,” Pete said, supportive to the end. Lucius loved him. “We’ll let him come to us.”

“When he’s ready.”

“And only when he’s ready.”

“That settles it, then. Cheers, m’queers,” Frenchie said, and everyone clinked their glasses over the table. “To trust!”

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Will you do lesbian rep with Dis and Dwarf OC/Reader? Please!

Of course, dear anon, I can do that :)

Soon

Words: 1.5 k

Characters: Dís x OC

Warnings: Implicit homophobia, hesitation, slight sadness

Prompt: Lesbian Rep

“I am not sure about this,” Sami whispered, her hand twitching nervously as she smoothed down her formal dress. “You are a princess.”

“Sure,” Dís replied with a bright smile, “and, with you by my side, I’m even a queen. Or do you think me in any way inferior to my mulish brother?”

Seeing the challenging gleam in those sapphire eyes, Sami had to chuckle despite the debilitating knot in her stomach—after all, it had been the pugnacious resilience of the dam at her side that had first caught her attention and then her heart.

“Evidently not,” she replied soothingly. “Thorin has nothing on you—he’s a mere hill compared to a mountain, he’s but a coin and you’re a treasure…”

Dís threw her head back and laughed so heartily that Sami believed that the very foundations of the Lonely Mountain must have been echoing with her joy.

“We share a complexion though, so you better not say that he’s unattractive,” Dís added with a wink before taking Sami’s shaking hand and encasing it safely in her own broad palm.

“I have never given the king much thought, I must admit,” Sami conceded with a half-hearted shrug.

She had been born on the road and had never known Thorin very well as they had lived exceedingly different lives—as a male dwarf and the heir to a lost throne, he had been preoccupied mainly with the defence and the well-being of his people while Sami had known her own, much more intimate and much less consequential struggles.

Dams were rare and precious—this had been impressed upon her for as long as she could remember and while she had never been interested in warfare, she had dabbled in different crafts in the desperate hope to escape the bane of matrimony by becoming indispensable to some master or another.

Indeed, for reasons she had not been able to fully understand at that time, the mere thought of taking a husband and bearing his children filled her with cold dread, and Sami would have done much to avoid ending up in a situation in which her only choice was to either forfeit her happiness or humiliate her parents in an unforgivable manner.

When she had not shown much talent or exceptional skill in any of the domains she had been looking into, her parents had made a desperate last-ditch effort to find her a place where she would be safe by petitioning the young prince to allow their daughter to become part of his sister’s entourage.

Sami had—until that day—been highly doubtful when it came to the unwavering faith her family had in Mahal; she had found it extremely unlikely that some remote entity would truly take an interest in someone as unimportant as she was, but—upon glimpsing Princess Dís for the first time—she was converted lastingly.

Dís had been and still was the single most beautiful being Sami had ever beheld. Regal in deportment and speech, she had a fiery temperament and a quick wit that had led to many an epic squabble with her esteemed brother.

From the very start, they had gotten along splendidly. Under Dís’ care, Sami slowly started to thaw out of the fearful immobility she had maintained all her life, terrified of disappointing or dishonouring her parents by speaking up at the wrong moment or contradicting the wrong person.

Being of the uncontested royal line of old, Dís had never known such qualms—she was an accomplished diplomat and a charming host, of course, but she didn’t hesitate to make her voice and her opinion heard either.

Moreover, they soon discovered that they shared a feeling of frustration linked to the fact that—as female representatives of their family tree—they were side-lined and pushed aside much too often in favour of counsellors and leeches who did not have the realm’s and the population’s best interest at heart.

From this helpless anger as much as from the many hours spent in companionable study, arose a deep and steady friendship and soon, Dís and Sami relied upon one another unconditionally.

Neither one knew when their complicity had bloomed into something else—more illicit and far more passionate than was conceivable for two well-born ladies—it had been a slow development that endured Dís’ wedding and widowhood, the birth of her sons, and the fateful departure of the company to reconquer Erebor, but, throughout the lonely months of waiting and fretting, they had created a bubble of intimacy and mutual solace that they were now loath to burst.

“This is a bad idea, Dís, my beloved,” Sami tried to reason with the one she had devoted her whole life to. “You are the king’s sister, the heir’s mother—you are the most precious of invaluable dams in the kingdom…and I am but me, a child abandoned to the endless mercy of your house. This cannot be how I repay Durin’s line for their generosity.”

Scoffing, Dís tightened one of her braids. “I have never had a bad idea in my life,” she declared decisively and lifted Sami’s hand to her lips. “I am my own person and I have my own mind.”

“Please,” the other pleaded, her eyes sparkling like gems slumbering at the bottom of a lake. “Remember all the practical jokes we’ve played on your brothers—your intuition is far from flawless.”

“I stand by my actions,” Dís asseverated. “I always do.”

With a deep sigh, Sami allowed herself to let her brow sink against Dís’ shoulder; she loved the princess for her bravery and her self-assured determination, but she was also afraid that her own selfish wish to be with one so far above her own station would end up costing Dís, the king, and their fragile kingdom more than they were able to lose.

The sound of approaching steps echoed from the high walls and Sami jerked upright, staggering back a few paces instinctively—she desperately tried to ignore the hurt flaring in those deep, blue eyes she so loved, telling herself that it was all for the best if they were not caught unawares by a passing patrol or some tardy guests on their way to the feast.

“I have done my duty,” Dís hissed, “and I deserve to live my life the way I want.”

“For the love you bear your brother, in the name of your duty towards your people,” Sami begged under her breath, “do not speak up just yet. The realm is fragile and Thorin needs you by his side—a symbol of hope, of fertility, of a bright future—and we owe him our silence. For now…”

She knew and adored the scowl of impatience spreading across Dís’ beautiful face and so, Sami smiled through the tears threatening to overflow from her burning eyes.

“I will be there, by your side, the way I always have—I will not desert you to let you fulfil a destiny we had almost given up on all alone,” she promised vehemently, tucking the bead Dís had plaited into her hair under a cluster of elaborate braids discreetly. “Let the dust settle, love, and then, we’ll reevaluate our situation.”

“I am sick and tired of their expectations dictating my life!” Dís exclaimed passionately.

Throwing a quick glance down the corridor to make sure that they were indeed alone, Sami leaned forward and pressed a short but passionate kiss onto that displeased moue.

“We’ve played this game for too long not to know the rules, dear,” she then reminded Dís gently. “We cannot force them to change their mind. Don’t do it for them—do it for those you’ve almost lost and who have a right to heal and find their bearings before being ambushed with such potentially distressing news.”

“I shall tell Thorin,” Dís insisted. “I want him to know.”

“You may do that,” Sami agreed, “and I am sure the king would also recommend a path of caution and political astuteness.”

“Of course, he would,” Dís groaned. “He’s the last person who should lecture me on the obligations of wedlock. I am a widow!”

Pressing Dís’ hand tenderly, Sami pulled her down the hallway carefully. “Soon,” she promised, letting go of that hand she had held through their darkest nights as they arrived in front of the doors to the banquet hall.

Demurely, she stepped behind Dís, her head bowed and her eyes glued to the stone floor—at least on the surface, she would slip back into the role for which she had been chosen and trained.

Sami decided to do her best to keep up appearances and buy everyone more time to properly convalesce and grow accustomed to this new world they were going to build.

“Soon,” Dís repeated with much more decisiveness and fire.

The doors swung open, and the noise swelled like an ocean around them.

“Dís, my dear sister,” the king croaked, still leaning heavily on his intricately decorated cane. “And this must be your friend.”

@fellowshipofthefics here is the second entry for the Pride Bingo

As always, lots of love from me and thank you dear anon for this request!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

I am still taking prompts and pairings for this...:)

If you want this to be anon, feel free to send me a DM rather than an ask as some of these are rather sensitive and I'd want to check with you what exactly you're going for/comfortable with...

Let's go pride bingo!!!

HAPPY PRIDE, FELLOWSHIP!

June is truly a beautiful month that celebrates all sorts of love. What better way to show that off than with a bingo board?! Below is the board that has a variety of sexualities, as well as some activities that are near and dear to LGBTQIA+ community!

Many of these (I believe) can still be used in canon-verse! They don't necessarily have to be modern universe. Just have fun with them!

And of course don’t forget to send in your fics to us when you are done so we can put it in our queue using this form! Be creative!!

[multifandom-flash]

Multifandom-Flash Bingo Events

Rules:

No minimum words. Multifandom and Original works are welcome.

Any artworks are welcome.

You can combine squares from all the events.

When you post, tag @multifandom-flash, make sure to let me know: Card number/s & which rounds you wrote for.

Don't forget to add your stories to the collection: AO3 Collection Mini-Events:

Holidays in a Flash

Soulmates/BDSM/Omegaverse

If anyone wants to sign up for round 1 & 2 + Halloween/Taboo/Thanksgiving, the links are open

Round 1

Round 2

Round 3

Halloween/Taboo/Thanksgiving

Fear Flash Bingo - Sign Up

Calendar Events:

March - sign up

April - sign up

May - sign up

1st Birthday Celebration Bingo

June - Sign Up

Pour Me A Bingo

Alcohol Version - 18+

Non-Alcohol Version - under 18/SFW

Marvel Bingo

Example for Character Bingo

Example for Team Bingo

Sing Us A Pride Song

Here There Be Monsters Bingo

Calendar Event: July

9-1-1 Theme Bingo

Teen Wolf Theme Bingo (the picture below, are only an examples)

CE: August

Superstition Darwin Awards Bingo

@thebigbangblogproject

[libraford]

(I have permission to share this.)

Text- from Walking Distance Brewing Company

Happy Pride month! We are here another year to celebrate Pride with you! Thank you for your love and support through a difficult year of slander and harassment. Your support has not just kept us afloat but has made us thrive! Our inclusive community isn’t here just for Pride - we’re here all year. It's not always easy being inclusive in town. The library, community organizations, and yes, even Walking Distance have been targets. In this post, we're going to discuss the attacks against the library and against us. Last June, the library had a pride book display [1]. On July 3rd, (now ex) city councilmember Deb Groat wrote an email to the library at the request of the Union Faith Family Coalition [2]. In this email, she wrote: “I am deeply offended by explicitly sexual material on display in the children’s section of our library. Shame on you and your staff for pandering to any social agenda in displaying reading material to children.” [3] Later on in the email she wrote: “The library may well want to pass a levy in the future, or have input in a community TIF.” [3] On November 27, 2023 - Deb Groat was joined by city councilmember Mark Reams in voting for a TIF that would divert money away from the library for 30 years. Luckily, the extension did not pass. [4] According to Union County Faith Family Coalition’s founder, Mark Reams is a member. [2] Deb Groat and Mark Reams vote together to divert money from the library. Let’s move on to us. In June 2023, we had a drag show. On July 8th, Mark Reams’ wife, Leslie Reams posted on Facebook calling Walking Distance “Little Epstein Island” [5] joining in the same rhetoric spread by the Union County Faith Family Coalition, who nicknamed us, “Walking Distance Grooming Co.” Additionally, on April 15th, 2024 - while on-shift at her job, Leslie Reams called us a “den of depravity bar [that] preys on children,” and called our bartenders and customers, “pedophiles” and “drunks.” Let’s be clear. Leslie Reams, the members of the Union County Faith Family Coalition, and their followers have never called law enforcement (to our knowledge) - something we would expect and want to happen if pedophilia was happening. Law enforcement has never been called, we suspect that even they know that it’s not true. We have heard many rumors, as bad as, “Walking Distance is full of pedophiles” to more innocuous rumors that hurt our reputation. Our guess is that the same people who don’t believe we’re pedophiles, but want to demonize queerness, also know their audience and are able to tone it back to do the damage they can. We saw sales dips directly following Leslie Reams’ statements. We have heard city council members echoing similar rumors. Last summer, we had around 10 citations against the owner’s house and the business from the city and council - none of these citations asked us to remedy anything (except for the one about mowing…oops), and in fact there were instances when the local officials said that we were doing everything right, but they are only reaching out to us because they had so many calls. The year prior, Walking Distance and the owner's house had 0 citations. We’ll never know exactly how much business we lost due to the slander against us. We do know, we lost a lot. Similarly, we’ll never know exactly how much the support of our community has meant. We do know, it meant a whole lot. The support has kept us afloat, and with time, it's made us thrive. We know that we have survived to see another June. And we are ready to celebrate it, in the face of the hate. There would be no pride with no hate. Looking forward to seeing you on Wednesday for drag BINGO; Saturday for drag brunch; and also visit us on Saturday during Marysville Pride. We have more Pride events this week and month, keep your eyes peeled! And even if it's not a pride related event, we are always inclusive. Oh, and there's a city council meeting next Monday, June 10th at 7PM.

[/text]

Here's some photos of the extremely offensive library display:

They haven't given a call to action yet.

So anyways, that's what's happening in a nearby town. Marysville's pride event is this weekend and if you'd like to show up for local queers its going to be a very fun time.

I'm thinking of grabbing some of my local gays and giving them our patronage, of course. Its somewhat unrealistic to ask strangers on the internet to do take a hike all the way to Ohio for drag bingo.

So I think I would just like to call attention to it- if this is happening in our area, its probably happening in yours too. If you were thinking of attending a drag show but were on the fence about it, I think you should. They're a fun time.

Being involved in the queer community can be as simple as attending a drag show. Or going to a silly queer-focused event. Or supporting a queer-owned business. Every little bit of support for your queer community counts!

[zepskies]

The Honorable Choice - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I thought this idea might be a good fit for this @jacklesversebingo prompt.

Disclaimer: I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 4.6K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Racism/racial slurs, attempted sexual assault (not successful), protective Dean, angst, some violence and some action.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 1: Pride & Prejudice

June 1872

Dean hears some of his men shouting, along with the telltale cracking of bone that would make a less seasoned soldier wince. He spares a look to Benny, his Lieutenant, and sets down his glass of whiskey.

Dean’s path takes him brusquely out of his office and toward the stables. He grabs his gun and his hat on the way there, setting the latter on his head.

Is it too much to ask for one night where he can drink in peace?

Dean comes to find a young woman being detained by two of his men, Kline and Novak. Roman sports a bloody nose and his eye is already beginning to swell. The woman fights against their hold.

Even under the pale moonlight, Dean notes the way she’s dressed: a deer skin dress cinched at the waist, over thin pants and shoes. He surveys her tan skin, her black hair that blends into the night, twisted into a long braid, and the anger in her dark eyes.

“What have we got here?” Dean says. He stows his gun in its holster as he approaches her, resting his hands at his belt.

“I caught her breaking into the stables, Captain,” Roman says. He prods with a hiss at his busted nose while trying to stem the bleeding. That’s going to be a bad break.

She remains tight lipped, stubborn. 

“Probably doesn’t even understand English. Savage bitch,” he says. Dean shoots him an impassive look to cover up his annoyance.

“Put a cork in it, Roman,” he orders. Then, he focuses back on her. “You’re a Lakota, aren’t you?”

Aside from their main mission here in the Dakota Territory, the Colonel has been fixed on fighting back against the Lakota Indians, especially after they sabotaged the supply line last month.

The proud tilt of the woman’s chin is her only answer to Dean’s question. Her gaze drags down his form with disdain, like he’s the savage. His mouth twitches mirthlessly. 

“The Lakota rear up their own horses pretty damn well. Why would you want to steal one of ours?” he asks.

She glances away from him, first at her feet, then over at the camp’s latest “guest.” Dean, Benny, and a few of his men wrangled up a horse a few days ago. He’s a beautiful Kiger mustang with a nasty mean streak. He barely got through a trim this afternoon, and almost took a chunk out of Rufus when he tried to brand the horse.

The Colonel ordered them to tie the horse up to a post just outside the corral—no food or water for three days. He’d turned to Dean with a firm set to his face and issued a single order.

“Break him.”

Now, Dean catches the furtive look the Lakota woman gives the horse, who flicks his tail. The animal stares right at her, as if into her eyes.

“Oh, don’t tell me you here for him,” Dean says with a chuckle. “That thing’s a little too much for you, sweetheart.”

That earns her attention, steely and unimpressed.

“He is too much for you,” she says. Her voice is smooth, and would even be pleasant, if not for the circumstances. “He is one of ours. You will never break him.”

Dean's eyes widen a fraction. He glances back at the mustang.

So that's why she's here, he thinks. She's trying to mount a rescue. Dean feels a twinge deep inside, but he can't allow himself to care about that. They've collected a strong horse that will be a good support for their objectives here, once he's broken.

“Ah, well see,” Dean says, tipping his Stetson up to meet her gaze. “That’s kind of our specialty.”

“Sir, should we take her to the stockade?” Novak asks. He seems reluctant to do so to a woman, even an Indian, but he’s always been good at following orders.

Dean opens his mouth to reply, but another voice cuts him off. Colonel Asmodeus Sanderson steps out and takes a look at their captive.

“Not the stockade,” he says, with that Southern drawl that betrays his Kentucky roots. “Not yet.”

He approaches her with a slow, calculated gait. His hands gather behind his back. Dean gives her credit for looking Sanderson in the eye. She seems rightly wary, but not afraid.

“We won’t hurt you. I give you my word,” the Colonel says, “if you’ll lead us to your people’s camp.”

He takes a hold of her chin, turning her face this way and that, like he’s examining a dirty animal, and all that he’ll have to do to make it clean. She spits in his face.

Dean bites the inside of his lip against a smile. She’s got as much fight in her as the mustang. However, he has to school his face back into stoicism when Sanderson rears back in anger.

The harsh smack rings out in the clearing, along with the woman’s cry. Dean doesn’t allow himself to outwardly react, but inside, his spine tightens as he fights his instincts.

Only Kline and Novak’s hold on her arms keeps her upright. She pants for breath, but again, she meets the Colonel with a face that doesn’t give away anything, despite the reddening mark on her cheek.

“The post,” he barks. “Three days. No food or water.”

Dean is kept busy by his duties. He makes sure the camp is running in order, accepting shipments of supplies and ammunition, among other things. Cas Novak is in charge of the stables, caring for the horses and putting them through their training. Jack Kline is young and strong and a good assistant, along with others in his unit.

Right now, Dean and Benny are going over the plans with Colonel Sanderson for continuing construction on the railroad, from here to the Black Hills. It’s a path that cuts straight through Sioux territory—the bands of Dakota and Lakota Indians that occupy the land.

“The natives are fightin’ us tooth and nail,” Sanderson says. “But maybe our guest will be able to help us…negotiate.”

Dean remains quiet, ignoring yet another uneasy twinge in his gut. He didn’t join the army to fight the Indians. He doesn’t always understand their way of doing things, but he understands why they fight—to protect their land, and to protect their own. It’s the same reason Dean fights, when he has to.

He joined the army because…well, it felt like the right thing to do at the time. His father had been a Cavalry Major, and he’d died an honorable death, now about a decade past.

Has it really been ten years? Christ.

Dean wipes his brow. Even with the windows open, the office is humid and smells like ass. He glances outside, where both the mustang and the woman are tied to their posts under a sweltering sun at high noon.

Not for the first time, Dean wonders what his dad would think of him now. 

After the meeting, Dean and Benny fall into step together to inspect the camp. The summer sun shines hot on their blue uniforms, and occasionally they raise their hats to mop the sweat from their brows.

Things are running as usual, but many of the men’s eyes occasionally turn to the posts. Dean’s attention wanders there too without him realizing, catching on the woman’s dark hair. It shines even blacker in the sunlight, like a raven’s wing. He knows the shade because his dad used to have a feather kept in his journal, like a bookmark.

“You okay, brother?” Benny asks. Dean realizes what he’s doing, and his attention returns to the task at hand. Get it together.

Always forward, never backward.

“Just fine,” Dean replies. Benny gives him a knowing look.

“A bit unsavory, ain’t it?” he says. “Keeping her chained up without even a lick of water.”

“The Indians are getting smarter, bolder. They’re ambushing our men, going after our supply lines, and now, stealing our horses,” Dean says. “This is strategy.”

Benny shrugs slightly, making a sound of agreement. Dean hesitates, his gloved fingers flexing against his sides.

“If she was a man, you guys wouldn’t give a shit about putting a bullet through her head,” Dean says.

Benny’s gaze shifts downward. He doesn’t reply, but he concedes the point all the same.

They continue their route, and Dean keeps the rest of the conversation on the work at hand.

Mila has gone far longer without drink, but the sun is particularly unforgiving today. She’s prayed and prayed for even one cloud to glide overhead and shield her for a while. It’s not much better for her companion. He paces in place, occasionally tugging his head against the rope that binds him to his post.

She makes a clicking sound at the horse, getting his attention. She calls him by his name, and his ears flicker in her direction. He offers her a short whinny in response.

“I see you, Mato. I am with you,” she says in her native tongue. She hopes the sound of her voice will soothe him. He looks tired and hungry, but his eyes flick hard and untrusting on any man who comes near him. His spirit isn’t broken.

“Hey! Shut the hell up over there,” Roman shouts at her from where he and Cas are taking a short lunch break. Cas gives him a certain look, crossed mostly with annoyance.

Mila resists the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she closes them and tilts her face back to the sun. In a way, it feels cleansing. Maybe it can wash away the stench of the White Men’s hands on her body, manhandling her, checking her for weapons.

She spends the rest of the day watching the camp. One of their leaders, the Green Eyed One, called this a fort. It does look fortified, with tall walls made of thick wood constructed to form a cage—whether to keep others out, or to keep the men and horses in.

She identifies the Colonel as their chief, of a kind. Green Eyes is second in command, followed by the Bearded One with a strange voice. Even the scruffy Blue Eyed One has some authority, mostly over the Child Faced One. There are too many others to rank them all, but she knows the Loud Mouthed One is arrogant, even after she broke his nose. The way he carries himself, he clearly thinks he has more power than he actually has.

In her mind, Mila conjures up different plans of escape. All of them fall short in some way. The men didn’t find all of her weapons; a small knife is hidden deep in her boot. She could saw at her binds within an hour, but even with Mato to carry her out and away, the problem is escaping this camp without alerting the men. Without getting shot.

She has three days to think.

That night, the moon refuses to give her clarity. Her stomach is too empty, her throat too dry, her tongue thick in her mouth. Her attention shifts in and out of consciousness, until the sound of boots crunching in the dirt trills unease down her spine. More alert, she sits up straighter.

The Loud Mouthed One. The one they call Roman comes to taunt her, offering her water, then drinking for himself instead. He comes closer to examine her. He has a small bind over his broken nose.

“You know, you’re a pretty one,” he says, taking another cold sip as his gaze drags over her form. “For a wild thing.”

His face nears hers, clean shaven, though his thin smile reminds her of a rattlesnake. Dread and repulsion churn at odds in her stomach as she realizes what he's really here for. It doesn't matter if he truly wants her, or just wants to pay her back for his face. Either way, he means to take her here in the dirt.

She looks away, not wanting to let him see her fear, or the dread tightening her stomach, rising into her throat. He winds long fingers into her hair. At first the hold is gentle, deceptive. Then it's tight against her scalp. She hisses in pain when he tugs her head back and forces her to look at him. Her breathing quickens as she tries to pull away.

He draws in close to try and claim her in a kiss, but she head-butts him, hard.

He cries out and stumbles back, his flask falling to the ground.

He angrily grabs her and hauls her up to her feet. He pushes her hard against the post and unbuckles his belt, just to stuff it in her mouth. With his free hand, he begins to undo his pants.

She refuses to cry out, even though she spits out his belt and fights him, trying to kick out his knees.

Suddenly, the man’s body is ripped away from her. Mila loses her footing and falls to the dusty ground, sliding against the wooden beam she’s tied to. The wind is knocked out of her, but when she raises her head, she watches with wide eyes as the Green Eyed One beats the other man into the dirt. It doesn’t take much, just a few well-placed fists.

Roman lies there catching his breath, and he spits a wad of phlegm and blood. His left eye will match his nose, that’s for sure.

Green Eyes looks angry and disgusted. He huffs and puffs while staring down at his subordinate. He pushes back his short brown hair and points an ungloved hand at Roman.

“Get back to the goddamn barracks. You’re gonna be mucking out stalls until shit’s coming out of your ears,” he growls.

Roman doesn’t argue, though it’s obvious that he wants to. He just picks himself up, makes a show of straightening up his open uniform jacket while catching his breath. He walks past Green Eyes with a resentful, angry look. Green Eyes watches him until he disappears inside.

Then, he turns to her. His gaze softens somewhat, but it’s still unreadable. He crouches down in front of her, resting his arms on his thighs. Mila’s gaze briefly falls to his hands. They’re calloused, the hands of a laboring man. He carries himself like a warrior.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

It’s not what she expected. Mila eyes him warily when he moves closer. She presses her back against the post until it hurts her spine. He raises up his hands placatingly.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

“That is what your Colonel said,” she says. Her voice cracks with dryness. “I didn’t believe him either.”

His lips flicker at a rueful smile. It wrinkles crow’s feet around his eyes, breaking his stony face.

“Fair enough.”

He reaches for his belt and retrieves a flask, similar to the one his subordinate carried. He extends it out to her.

“It’s water, unless you prefer whiskey. I know I do,” he says.

She raises a brow at him, but hearing the sloshing inside the flask, her thirst takes over her wariness, and even her pride. She tentatively leans forward. He brings it closer so she can press her lips to the opening. Despite his Colonel’s orders, he lets her drink as much water as she’s able. When she’s done, he pockets the flask and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

That, she will not give him. Names are sacred to her people, and this man, while seeming to have a shred of honor, isn’t worthy.

“Don’t wanna even tell me your name?” he says. He nods slightly. “Okay, well, I’m Dean. Captain Winchester, to this band of delinquents.”

He gestures around the camp with a dismissive hand. Mila only watches him. She’s never seen a White act like this, breaking his leader’s rules, being…kind.

What a strange man.

But if he had any real convictions, he would untie her and let her go, along with Mato. She won’t hold her breath.

Dean’s brows raise up toward his hairline, and his full lips form a pout. Realizing he’s not going to get anything more from her, he lets out a tired huff and straightens up.

“Well, goodnight,” he says.

He finally leaves her alone, but she can’t help but follow the swaggering path of his bowed legs and heavy boots. They carry him away and back indoors.  

A strange man.

By the morning of the third day, Dean is ready to do what he does best. Or at least, one thing he does best.

He’s no stranger to horses. He grew up on a farm in Lawrence, Kansas, where he and his brother would help take care of the animals. Dean was older, so he helped his father till the land and train the horses. Sometimes he and Sam would sneak off and race their favorite ones, until their mom called them back for dinner.

In fact, part of what earned Dean his rank in the U.S. Cavalry was how well he could command a horse. His own is resting in the stables.

Today, he’s getting in the ring with the mustang.

…Well, not right away. He lets a few of his guys go first to tire him out. Even after three days of no food or water, the horse is living up to his bad attitude. He bucks each of them off after just a few seconds in the corral. Dean can tell it’s becoming a kind of game for the horse. His dun-colored coat shines in the sun, his brown socked legs kicking up dust and manure as he brays angrily at whoever tries to mount him.

Dean notices the Lakota woman watching with an amused smile on her face while she sits with her hands tied to her post. She’s enjoying the show, like she knew this would happen. It seems to give her energy every time another man is thrown off the horse and limps out of the ring.

Dean shakes his head. Pitiful.

He puts two gloved fingers to his mouth and whistles the entire clearing to attention. He saves Kline the chance to bruise his spine and pats him on the shoulder. Dean steps into the corral and positions himself into the stirrups, wrapping the reins around his hand. The horse is breathing hard, but he’s not done. He’s still got fight in him. Dean sees it in his brown eyes.

“All right, mustang. You’re big and bad. I get it,” Dean says lowly. “But I don’t scare easy. Gimme your best damn shot.”

Cas and Benny give him wary looks from where they stand outside the gate.

“Hold onto your hat, Cap,” Benny mutters.

Dean adjusts his hat and rests his gun on the post for safe keeping. He wants to feel as natural as possible, like it’s just him and this horse, out back in his family farm. He holds on tight to the reins. He’s fully prepared for how the mustang takes off at a galloping clip around the ring. He twists and bucks, but Dean claps his thighs tight and holds on for the ride.

The horse gets smarter.

He runs for the water trough just outside the ring. He slams Dean against the side of it once, twice—and manages to throw him off, with Dean landing right in the water trough.

He bursts out from the dirty water, sopping wet and spluttering in anger. He looks over at the horse trotting around, whinnying and tossing his head like he’s laughing. Dean can’t help it. His anger fades, and he smiles.

This guy’s got some brass balls, I’ll give him that.

The Lakota woman laughs. Dean hears it and his head swivels toward her. She bites her lip, but she knows she’s been caught. Despite his injured pride, Dean’s lips curve with a smirk. Just gonna laugh at me, huh?

“I see things are going well,” comes a familiar drawl.

Dean’s face falls as he looks up and finds Colonel Sanderson. Dean pulls himself out of the trough and tries to squeeze some water out of his uniform. He clears his throat.

“Well, uh, it’s going, sir. Just gonna take a little more time than I thought,” Dean says. He quickly reclaims his hat from the ring, giving the mustang a smart berth. After he climbs back out, he goes over to the post where he left his pistol.

“Hold him steady,” Sanderson barks out the order, but not at Dean. The other men wrangle the horse back into the pen, where Sanderson climbs up and mounts the horse himself.

To his credit, he stays on longer than even Dean thought he would. The mustang gallops and circles. He tries slamming Sanderson on the sides of the corral, tries bucking him and bucking him, but the man clings on, even when his hat falls into the dirt.

The horse is exhausted. He eventually stops in the middle of the ring, panting for breath, his legs shaking slightly. Dean straightens at attention.

So does the Lakota woman, he notices. She looks worried, her brows furrowing.

Sanderson swipes a hand over his graying hair and moustache to collect himself. He raises his head with an arrogant smile.

“You see, gentlemen. Any horse can be broken,” he says. He kicks the horse with his spur. “Move along, mustang.”

To everyone’s amazement, the horse obeys him. He moves forward at a slow clip. All the men applaud, even Dean, belatedly.

“There are those in Washington who believe the West will never be settled,” Sanderson continues. “The Northern Pacific Railroad will never breach Nebraska.”

His gaze draws over to the woman. Her eyes are filled with tears as she watches the Colonel makes his rounds.

“A hostile Lakota,” he says in derision, “will never submit to providence.”

She stares back at him with steel in her watery eyes.

Dean doesn’t realize his jaw is clenched tight until he feels the strain in his jaw. He forces himself to relax, with his hand on his dampened belt.

“And it’s that kind of small thinking that would say this horse would never be broken,” Sanderson says. “Discipline, time, and patience. That’s all you need to level a wild thing.”

Just then, the horse stops abruptly.

“Mustang?” Sanderson asks in warning.

Dean tenses. He knows what’s about to happen.

“Sir!” he calls out.

But it’s too late.

The stallion revs and charges, bucking even wilder than before. He swings his head and rears back high on his hind legs with a powerful bray. Sanderson yells in fear and strain, but he stays on the creature’s back.

The horse’s angry eyes take on a darker shade of conviction. When all four of his hooves hit the ground, he finally bucks hard enough to get the Colonel off his back, though he still clings to the reins near the animal’s head. He comes face to face with the horse’s crazed eyes. His own are wide and full of terror.

Hot breath heats Sanderson’s face. Then the horse swings his head and tosses the man out of the ring. In the process, the horse falls on his side and shatters a section of the wooden beams that fenced him in.

While he shakes his head and gets his hooves under him, Dean and Benny help the Colonel up to his feet. His uniform is a wreck, and now, with a bruised body and likely a couple of broken ribs, the man is fuming.

Kline and Roman wrangle the horse’s reins and keep him more or less in place. The Colonel shoves Dean and Benny off of him. He reaches for his gun at his belt and aims it at the mustang. Dean goes rigid in shock, but he knows he can’t interfere. If he does, it could warrant some major discipline.

The Colonel pulls the hammer back on the revolver, but before he can pull the trigger, the sound of cutting rope and a feminine yell breaks the silence in the clearing. The Lakota woman pulls the Colonel’s arms down, and the gun goes off into the ground. Her elbow comes up quick to strike the man between the eyes. He careens back into Benny, who catches him.

Meanwhile, the woman swings up onto the mustang. She grabs a stronghold by the neck and barks something in her native language. It spurs the horse onward, and he breaks through the crowd of men at a gallop.

Dean watches with widening eyes and furrowing brows. “Shit!”

He runs to the stables where he finds Baby waiting for him. Her black coat ripples as she stamps impatiently.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he beckons. He leads the mare out of the stable, and after grabbing a coil of rope from the supply bench, he mounts her smoothly. With a subtle kick of his heel, she picks up speed to follow the mustang and his rider.

They’re already approaching the gate where the men are quickly trying to close it. There’s still a window of opportunity for escape, but not only is Dean on their heels, Roman also stands on a pile of crates filled with iron parts that are due to be shipped out in the morning for continued construction on the railroad. Roman holds a rifle. He trains his weapon on the woman, taking deadly aim.

Dean’s jaw clenches and his brows furrow. He knows then, in the breadth of a few seconds, that he has to make a choice. If he does nothing, both she and the horse are as good as dead.

Sam used to call him reckless, stubborn as the horses he spent long hours taming.

Right about now, his brother is probably right.

Dean reaches for his gun, aims, and shoots within the span of those seconds. Roman goes down before he even knows what hits him. His chest plumes with blood after he slides down the crates and flops heavy to the ground. His eyes stare unseeing at the crisp blue sky.

The mustang tears through the narrow opening in the gate, and Dean isn’t far behind. The woman is an excellent rider, far better than he expected her to be. She clings to the horse’s neck and mane, and she doesn’t even use the stirrups. She clings on when the horse leaps over rocks, and when she notices Dean tailing her, she urges the horse at an even faster gallop.

Dean’s face furrows with determination. Baby is built for speed too.

He gives her a little kick with his heel. “Come on, Baby. Go!”

He’s able to keep up with the mustang just a few yards behind, even when they reach rougher terrain, going further up and into a canyon. He follows them through every curve and dip, guiding his horse just as much as she's guiding him.

Dean takes his rope in hand and turns it above his head, but his attempt to lasso the mustang's neck fails; the woman saws straight through the rope with her knife.

"Damn it!" Dean mutters.

He's forced to let go of his frayed rope when he and Baby nearly careen off the edge of a cliff. His heart settles high in his throat as he grits his teeth, but he pulls back on the reins hard and leans in the opposite direction. Baby's able to bank left, saving them from a long way down to certain death.

They continue up the narrow path the mustang has trod ahead. It carves around and through the mountain.

Dean mentally grasps for a plan, aside from just keeping up. Without even a bit of rope, he doesn’t know how he’s going to slow the woman down without hurting her or the horse. He doesn’t want to have to use his gun.

Eventually, the canyon breaks into a patch of desert, and then, grassy plains and tall forest trees. The mustang begins to tire and slow to a stop. His rider murmurs soothing things to him, stroking his neck. She turns back to look at Dean over her shoulder in dismay. She knows she’s caught.

“All right, sweetheart. That’s enough,” Dean says.

He sidles up next to her and intends to grab the mustang’s reins.

That’s when her swift kick comes, dead in his forehead.

AN: And here we go! 😅 Feels right that November is Native American Indian Heritage Month. 🫶🏽 For that reason especially I've done my best to do the Lakota people justice, even in this little series and complete work of fiction.

There's a lot packed in this first chapter, and yep, I did borrow a bit of scene from one of the best scenes in Spirit as an homage. From here on out, we're literally going off road...

Next Time:

Dean falls out of his saddle with a yell, landing hard in the grass. The impact knocks the air out of his chest and his hat off his head, not to mention the pain that rattles down his back.

“Son of a bitch,” he wheezes, while trying to get back up.

The woman jumps down from the mustang’s back and all but leaps on Dean. Straddling his waist and grabbing a fistful of his collar, she lets out a battle cry and raises a small knife at him. It’s probably no more than two inches long.

Dean may be on the ground with a smarting forehead, but he’s still got the upper hand. He grabs her knife-wielding arm and whips out his pistol from his belt. Her eyes widen, and she stills above him. The gun lies between them, aimed for her chest. They’re both breathing hard.

Dean has a problem.

Looking into her eyes, soulful and brown, the slope of her nose and her full lips, parted with shock… 

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

Series Masterlist

Jacklesverse Bingo Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms

@foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @roseblue373 @this-is-me19

@emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @kaleldobrev @spnwoman

@thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @pieandmonsters @globetrotter28

@adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka

@chevroletdean @agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24

@ladysparkles78 @solariklees @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley

@sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow @mimaria420

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @ajjustice

[merlinbingo]

It's June, and June means exactly one thing:

PRIDE!!!

We wanna see parades! Queer marriages! Coming outs! We want hugs and love (or not love, if that's more your jam) and acceptance!

Give us questioning characters, and characters who've never questioned at all! Give us pride flag cloaks and first kisses and people saying here, this is me, this is who I am!

Be proud, my loves. You deserve to be!

(Plus, a sidenote on remix: if you wish to use your remix as a bingo fill, please wait until after author reveals before filling out the bingo fill form! Also, we realise the April/May bonus theme was perfect for remix, so if you wanna claim that badge with your Camelot remix work, go right ahead!)

Round three is now up and running! You can sign up HERE!

Please use this form to let us know about your fills.

We look forward to having you join us!

[guardianbingo]

Guardian Bonus Bingo Amnesty Period

Welcome to Guardian Bonus Bingo!

Over ten weeks, we’ll post five prompts (one prompt every other Sunday). You’ll have two weeks to fill each prompt, plus an amnesty period at the end for any prompts you might have missed. Fill all five to earn a bingo!

Bonus Bingo Prompts:

B (June 9-22): Pride

I (June 23-July 6): Swelter

N (July 7-20): Frustration

G (July 21-August 3): Starlight

O (August 4-17): Answer

Amnesty Period (August 18-31): Any previous fills you missed (you can even post fills for all five prompts during this period if you want to)

Remember that prompts are meant to be inspiration only. Follow them as strictly or as loosely as you’d like. The point is to have fun and create fanwworks!

This is a low-stress fest, so there are no min/max length/content requirements and pretty much any new creation counts as a fill. Full info is available in the FAQ.

Feel free to post creations on the platform of your choice, including in the AO3 collection. If you @ this account, we’ll happily reblog your fill.

[feedists4fat-lib]

🌈Growing with Pride: Celebrating Our Queer Feedist Community 

Join FFL for an inclusive gathering where we celebrate our identities and our stories. Growing with Pride is more than just an event; it's a space where LGBTQIA2S++ feedists can come together to connect and share.

Saturday, June 8

11AM PT / 2PM ET / 6PM GMT

Register here: https://bit.ly/FFL-PRIDE

Queer Feedist Bingo: Test your knowledge, discover new facts, and engage in friendly competition.

Community Connections: Forge connections with members of the queer feedist community. 

Celebrating Queer Chefs: Celebrate the culinary talents of queer chefs. From delectable dishes to innovative creations, we'll shine a spotlight on the contributions of LGBTQIA2S++ folx in the culinary world.

Embracing Our Multiple Identities: Join us for an engaging discussion where we explore the intersectionality of our identities. 

Reading List: Explore books that celebrate queer narratives in the world of food and feedism. 

All Queer Feedists Welcome: We welcome feedist folx of all gender identities, sexual orientations, and expressions. 

Mark your calendars and come join us for a celebration of pride, diversity, and deliciousness! Together, let's grow with pride and nourish both body and soul.

Register here: https://bit.ly/FFL-PRIDE

[goldenheart-week]

Goldenheart Week 2024 FAQ

What is this?

Goldenheart Week is a celebration of our favorite gay knights, in both their movie and comic incarnations. We're hoping to encourage new fanworks of all kinds!

When is it?/Why those dates?

We will be reblogging tagged posts from June 27 - July 3, 2024. June is Pride Month, June 30th was the Netflix release date for Nimona (and is the midpoint of Goldenheart Week), and July is Disability Pride Month.

Are there prompts?

Yes! Here they are along with the tagging system. Credit to @candyskiez and everyone who filled out our survey for some good suggestions, and thanks to everyone who voted in our survey to finalize the list.

What can I make?

You can make or write basically anything: haikus, limericks, 100 word drabbles, ficlets, long fics, traditional art, digital art, gifsets, cosplay, embroidery, etc. If you have an existing WIP and want to use a prompt for a new chapter, that's fine too.

Is there an AO3 Collection?

Yes! It will open just before the start of Goldenheart Week and will stay open indefinitely.

How can I help?

@zyrafowe-sny would love graphic design support and someone else with blog access to reblog tagged posts during Goldenheart Week. Signal boosts are also always appreciated.

Are there any other Nimona fandom events?

Yes! Beta reader sign ups for the @nimonabigbang are open through July 28th, and final fics and fanart will be revealed in September. Reach out if you have other event ideas/plans — we're always happy to signal boost! @zyrafowe-sny could probably be talked into helping run another theme day/week, bingo, AO3 prompt fill, AO3 fic exchange, or something else after the Big Bang is over.

What about...

Feel free to send asks if you have questions! We'll also be updating the FAQ as needed.

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

05/30/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins; Taika Waititi; Rachel House; GuzKhan; Police Menacing Max: Pride Month; Tell Tale TV Awards Reminder; Emmy Considerations: #Emmy4ConONeill Day; June 3 Fuckery with AdoptOurCrew; FanSpotlight; Mermay; Love Notes; Daily Darby/Today's Taika

== David Jenkins ==

Well, Chaos Dad Chose violence today.

Source: David Jenkins' Twitter

== Taika Waititi ==

Rita's new Music Video came out at midnight last night, and I was planning on just having this one picture, but now I gotta put in the whole video so you can see Taika in his Laundromat glory.

Source: Rita Ora's Instagram

Source: Kiaora29's Twitter

== Rachel House ==

Rachel out with friends <3

Source: Rachel House's Instagram

== Guz Khan ==

Quick Guz Khan sighting!

Source: Guz Khan's Instagram

= Reminder to Vote =

You can vote for the Tell-Tale TV Awards every day! Please do! Let's get OFMD and Rhys and Ruibo an award! Vote here.

Source: SaveOFMD Crew Instagram

= Upcoming Emmy Considerations =

Today 5/31/24 is the push for #Emmy4ConONeill! You can get useful graphics on the Our Flag Means Fanfiction linktr.ee or make your own! The biggest goal is to make #Emmy4ConONeill Trend! Rhys is up next on June 1! and Taika on June 8!

== June 3 Fuckery with Adopt Our Crew ==

Our friends over at @adoptourcrew will be pushing #DontStreamOnMax with any other relevant hashtag (#OurFlagMeansDeath, #SaveCoyoteVsAcme) on June 3rd during the Stockholder Meeting! Feel free to come out for the fuckery if you can!

Source: AdoptOurCrew Instagram

== Max Menacing: Pride Month ==

Thank you to @patchworkpiratebear for sharing these, there's lots of posts you can go to and polite menace max on for trying to make money off of pride month after cancelling OFMD and other queer shows. Feel free to hop onto your favorite platform and "unleash hell".

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/reel/C7mTElVseN1/?igsh=MWVubW8wM3lzZmZseA==

Tiktok: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGeVFwdJb/

Twitter: https://x.com/StreamOnMax/status/1796211911052161511

==More Under the Cut==

== Fan Spotlight ==

= Cast Cards =

Tonight's cast card is our very near and dear Jes Tom! Thank you so much @melvisik for making sure they get their spotlight!

== MerMay ==

Today is the final day of Mermay! Have you filled out your Bingo cards? If you've done any please be sure to tag @bizarrelittlemew! I've really enjoyed this month's prompts and so many wonderful submissions for them! Thank you again Ida for putting this together!!

= xoxoemynn =

Our dear friend @xoxoemynn put together a fic for Mermay 2024! Please check it out below!

= Snejpowa =

Oh you glorious person you, @snejpowa this is going to make me cry. The intensity in those eyes, and the detail, my heart 😭 

Day 30: Nine Guns

= Blueberreads =

Huzzah! The absolutely brilliant and delightful @blueberreads is keeping us fed with more MerMay Pixel gifs!

Day 30: Nine Guns

== Eros The Artist ==

The lovely, creative, and talented @erostheartist has done it again! This time with Izzy and the color teal prompt. I love the swallows, lovely connection to Izzy.

Day 26: Teal

= Spencer Does Art =

Poor Edward.. I love the dripping eye make up on this one it really is haunting. Thank you as always to the fantastic @ spencerdoesartt on IG!

= Stjernegaupe =

More vector art from the lovely @stjernegaupe. I saw Calypso's Birthday on Samba's Instagram stories the other day! Congrats!

Day 17: Have you ever been sketched? / Day 18: Calypso's Birthday / Day 19: Rowboat / Day 20: High On a Rocky Ledge / Day 21: Sandwich

== Love Notes ==

Hey Lovelies. It's finally here, it's Friday! I know this has been a bit of an up and down week for everyone, so please remember to take a break this weekend and get some much needed rest. I'm running behind on all the things today so I'd just like send you some love notes from the wonderful @ TheLatestKate. If you don't already follow her, please head over there and do so because she brings me so much peace when she posts. Happy Friday crew, <3

Source: The Latest Kate's Tumblr

== Daily Darby / Today's Taika ==

Well, couldn't resist the Taika lean back and stare gif tonight, my contribution of ridiculous pairings is poor Rhys and the anal beads (and not knowing what they are).

Darby Gif by the absolute ultimate Rhys Rhysource, @wastingyourgum

Taika Gif by one of the best folks @eddie-redcliffe

[queenofbaws]

! Pride Month Challenge 2024 !

Well hi there, everyone! With May winding down to a close and June just around the corner, it's about that time again...the time where @jadedsunshine, @unicornaffair, and I host our yearly create-a-thon! 🥳

What's the Pride Month Challenge, you might find yourself asking? Well, this year it's a little bingo game we've put together, featuring some classic tropes. The aim of this particular game? Make something!!! Anything! Just get those creative juices a-flowin' and see if you can snag a B-I-N-G-O along the way!

This challenge is open to everyone and anyone who wants to take part, whether you know the three of us or not! We're going to be using the tag #pridemonthchallenge2024 for the stuff we create, so if you decide to join in on the fun and games, feel free to stick that tag on whatever you make, too! If you're interested in more details, you can check below the cut or reach out and ask ;)c

Either way, happy almost-pride, and happy creating!!!

I don't write fic - can I still participate?

Ab. So. Lutely!!! We've done this challenge for a few years now (we've missed a year or two for weddings and other life stuff, whoops!), but in the past we've had people doodle, sketch, draw, make edits, create props or other physical art, and even curate playlists! The three of us are writers, so you're very likely to see fic or ficlets from us...but you? Oh. Oh, you can do whatever your heart desires!!!

Are there word limits/expectations for a finished product?

NO!!! :D Zero. Literally zero expectations. We aren't putting together an exchange, we aren't holding a competition, we're just trying to get the spirit of creation in the air. That's it! So whether you're writing 50 words or 5,000, whether you've made a rough sketch on a notebook page or fully lined/colored a scene, you're good! You're so good. As long as you've made something, you've earned a stamp on that bingo card, baby!!!

What if I don't want to do something fandom-y? Can it be OCs/original work?

OF COURSE!!! 100%. You don't even have to ask!!! Show the world your OCs! Tell the world about your story's worldbuilding! It's all fair game :)

What if I don't want to post what I made?

Don't sweat it! Again, this is...the farthest thing from official. This is for fun, and this is for the sake of making something. Sharing your work can be nerve-wracking - don't feel like you have to! We'd love to see you playing along with us, of course, but as long as you've made something that you're proud of, you've earned that stamp! No ifs, ands, or buts!

Is it cool if my creations aren't necessarily pride-themed?

Totally! We host this challenge during pride month because (1) it traditionally works better for the three of us than NaNoWriMo because of our schedules, and (2) we're queer creators ourselves! But if you're feeling a prompt and can't find a way to make it relevant to pride, PLEASE don't sweat it! As I've been known to say (and then get laughed at for saying), this challenge is no rules, just right, Outback Steakhouse :P

Let's say I get a bingo...what do I win?

:) Nothing. <3

Wait, really?

:) Really <3 Hehehe, in all seriousness, this challenge has been a fun way for us to sit down, take our minds off of life and our bigger projects and just...make some fun stuff! In our humble opinion(s), being able to point at a finished piece and say "I did that! I made that!" is its own kind of reward. The bingo board itself is really more for bragging rights ;)c Which, of course, we encourage wholeheartedly. Nothing wrong with a little bragging!!!

We hope to have you along for our month-long adventure! Again, we're going to be using the tag #pridemonthchallenge2024 for our own stuff, so if you'd like to use that tag - or tag any of us!!! - in whatever you end up creating, feel free!!! We love seeing what everyone comes up with, and this challenge is always so much more fun, knowing other people are taking part! <3 Hope to see you along for the ride!

*The bingo board was made by the lovely @jadedsunshine 🥰

[i-did-not-mean-to]

can we get some Curumo x Aiwendil for the pride bingo?💕

I'm thinking gay rep/coming out/first date, maybe demisexual or demiromantic Curumo, also proud parent Aulë and/or Yavanna🏳️‍🌈☺️

Of course, my dear friend...

The Burning Bush

Words: 2.3k

Characters: Aiwendil x Curumo (Yavanna x Aulë), Background Angbang

Warnings: I have no experience with writing a demi-character, so this is a shot in the dark...

The first indication Curumo got of how different this day was going to be was the broad, knowing grin on Aulë’s face as he stormed into the forge, uncharacteristically late and a little flushed. His apprentices guessed—quite correctly—that it had been his revered wife who had kept him and avoided making any comment that might have ruined his mood.

The next clue was the insistent chirping of birds just outside—usually, the stench of fire and the loud ringing of hot steel being hammered into shape made the sensitive beasts flee as fast and as far as they could.

Nevertheless, he was entirely focused on his work and on the delicately interwoven design he had been working on in secret for so long; this time, he was sure, he would surpass Mairon and impress their master with the undeniable genius and quality of his craft.

“Curumo,” Aulë called as he walked along the workstations slowly, inspecting every single object his apprentices were working on. “I think someone is waiting anxiously to speak to you.”

Instantly, the young Maia’s eyes flitted to his rival—Mairon was a beguiling and annoying mystery to him—but his peer didn’t waste a single thought or glance on someone he deemed to be so woefully inferior. Rumour had it that he had found someone who had intrigued and interested him enough to get him to drop his haughty façade and invest a little more than his usual sneer into their communication.

Curumo could not deny that the mere thought made him feel weak and nauseous with envy—had Curumo himself been different, he would readily have believed and accepted that he was infatuated with Mairon, but, as things were, he was not sure if it was not merely his own pride and insecurity that drove him to desperately crave the approbation, admiration, and even affection of the Maia Aulë treasured and respected the most.

In a way, Curumo didn’t want to have Mairon or even be him—he wanted to surpass him, he yearned to humble him, and a wicked part relished in the idea of making the proud, arrogant, aloof bully bow to his skill and authority.

“Curumo?” Their master tapped a pair of heavy pincers against his workbench impatiently. “Don’t you want to go out and check on this? I’d rather not have you distracted at work.”

Bristling, Curumo wanted to bring to Aulë’s attention that he had had no prior knowledge of any interviews he was meant to attend and thus could not be discountenanced by their imminent occurrence, but he simply nodded and kept his peace as the whole forge had turned to him in curiosity.

Curumo liked being the centre of attention; of course, he would largely have preferred to awe his fellows with the supremacy of his output in the forge, but he was not above taking this moment in the spotlight when it was handed to him and so, he held his head high as he strode out of the workshop at a steady pace to deal with this unwelcome interruption.

“I am going,” Aiwendil muttered, half-heartedly swatting away the birds and other critters that dogged his every step to make sure that he could not turn around and dash off to hide in the deepest parts of the forest.

He had sought the counsel of his Lady Yavanna who had encouraged him warmly to seek out a private conversation with the object of all his desires.

For many cycles of the flourishing shrubs in their care, Aiwendil had been nurturing a seedling of stubborn hope and fragile affection within his own heart, sheltering it from the blazing fires of the forges and the icy winds of the turning seasons.

True to his nature, he watched and waited, unsure whether the tender sprout would find fertile soil, enough sun, and clement rains to keep it thriving and growing.

Many a time, he had almost hoped that adverse conditions would stifle it or that it would wither on its own. This state of nervousness and anticipation was embarrassing and distracting, and it would surely have been best for everyone involved if it just faltered and dissolved like premature blossoms nipped in the bud by a sudden cold.

Much too quickly though, that nascent crush took over more of his conscious thoughts than he wanted to admit.

Moreover, he couldn’t deny that the constant worry sapped him of all energy which made him feel excessively guilty as he owed it to Lady Yavanna to pour his heart, soul, and essence into their tremendously important work.

How humiliating it had been, at first, when she herself had called him to her side so she could investigate why one of her favourite Maiar had seemed so distracted and mysteriously saddened to her lately.

In halting words of intermingled apology and confession, Aiwendil had ultimately taken heart and had entrusted his most shameful and yet most cherished secret to her benevolent wisdom.

“These smiths always have their heads in some sulphurous cloud,” she had joked while pruning a young tree that—much like Aiwendil’s love—had grown too fast and too recklessly. “You have to lure him out of the forge and ask him directly whether he wants to accompany you to Manwë’s celebration.”

She had shrugged indulgently. “Being a smidgen oblivious to these things is, unfortunately, more common than you would believe—even amongst the most powerful and wise.”

Far was it from Aiwendil to doubt his Lady’s words or refuse her sage counsel and so, he had summoned all his courage and asked her leave to walk over to where Curumo was certainly absorbed by his daily tasks to offer him that fragile, tender-leafed heart of his without subterfuge or flowery dissimulation.

In spite of this decisive burst of initiative, doubt still gnawed at him from the inside like the pervasive rot that some dark power had implanted into the roots of their most beloved trees to weaken and fell them without a single blade having to be lifted against them.

While Aiwendil loved with all the reckless fervour of ivy sprawling across every space it could encroach upon, Curumo had always struck him as distant and even cold.

His favour was given reluctantly and to a chosen few only.

Even though Aiwendil could hardly understand how such a thing could be possible and what tremendous control over mind and body such a stance must demand, he could respect and accept the reticent nature of one who seemed so fair and honourable in his starry eyes.

Great, imperious, and often impatient, Curumo had indeed proven to be a good friend and a wise counsellor—he knew many things and enjoyed the confidence and the trust of the Valar and did not hesitate to share his knowledge and insight with even the least articulate and studious of his peers.

Lately, Aiwendil had been able to make a few remarks that had been witty and pertinent enough to win him a fond smile or a conspiratorial wink from Curumo and—shameful as it was to admit as much—these rare moments of complicity had been enough to coax the hesitant buds of his own infatuation into full bloom.

Every kind word, every approving smile, and every shared joke watered the frail growth until its vines constricted Aiwendil’s heart almost painfully.

“You can do it,” his faithful friends chirped and rumbled beside him, “you can fan those dignified embers into roaring flame. Your patience and benevolent modesty must prevail upon his own secret misgivings or doubts. Worry not, we are with you.”

Thus encouraged and supported, Aiwendil stopped outside the forge just as Curumo strode out, his face a mask of scowling disapproval and haughty impatience.

“Hello,” Aiwendil squeaked, betraying his nerves by the way his voice cracked in the middle of the word.

“Good day to you,” Curumo replied with a minute frown, “has something happened?”

He knew the small, furtive Maia to be exceedingly discreet and unobtrusive, so naturally, he was worried that some major catastrophe or emergency had brought him so far from his Lady’s sphere of influence,

“No…” The reply was slightly delayed and definitely hesitant. “It’s about the festival.” “What about it?” Even as he spoke the words and saw Aiwendil’s sweet face fall drastically, Curumo became aware of how harsh and querulous his question must have sounded. “Is there a problem? Do you need help with anything?”

“No.” This time, Aiwendil’s answer was fast and hard as a stone cast with all his might against an unyielding wall. “I…I wanted to ask you whether you would like to accompany me.”

“We are all expected to appear,” Curumo commented uncertainly, “and I’d surely never neglect my duties by not showing my face at such a momentous occasion.”

A pained groan escaped the other, making Curumo all the more anxious—he should have been in the forge, working on his project, instead of making a fool of himself by entirely missing the point if Aiwendil’s indulgent distress was anything to go by.

“Verily, it surely is so,” Aiwendil conceded, “but I wanted to invite you to spend the day by my side and share a meal with me, apart from our peers and friends maybe?”

Curumo had heard of such meetings—Mairon, it was said, indulged in them quite frequently—but he had never expected to partake in that particular kind of unnecessary folly himself. As he looked into the huge, hopeful eyes of someone who only knew selfless care and patient kindness, he found that he was not categorically opposed to the idea after all.

“Do you know what you are insinuating, little one?” he inquired, just to make sure that he had not, yet again, misinterpreted the situation by letting his own doubts and desires override his better judgement and knowledge.

Blushing, Aiwendil nodded slowly. This was the first time that he had ever dared to make such a request and he was terrified of the implications and potential consequences, but, now that the moment of truth had come, he stood his ground stubbornly.

He was very aware of the risk he was taking by petitioning someone whose form was too similar to the one he had chosen for himself while their essence was just a smidgen too divergent from his own sweet, gentle nature.

If Curumo was to react negatively to this invitation, Aiwendil might well be ostracised, punished, or worse for his trespass against the customs and unwritten rule of their kind—it followed quite naturally that, with everything that was on the line for him, he desperately hoped and wished that this would not be the case.

“So be it then,” Curumo heard himself say; a ripple of surprise and discomfort disturbed the calm self-control of his mien as he realised that he had not consciously decided to accept this invitation before the words had left his tingling lips.

Maybe this was a petulant attempt to show Mairon that he really didn’t care about the secret rendezvous the dismissive fire spirit apparently attended, or it was a despairing effort to overcome the natural disinterest that was as much part of his innermost truth as his sharp, calculating mind or his powerful, persuasive voice.

Either way, he had agreed to spend the day with one he thought of with a strange, melancholic mix of unfair disdain and unbridled envy more often than he let anybody, least at all Aiwendil himself, know.

Aiwendil caressed where others struck and his kindness was as enduring and steadfast as rock and iron—at first glance, his effaced, nervous way of comporting himself might make anyone believe that he was weak-willed and charmless, but that was not so.

Curumo was ashamed of how long it had taken him to realise just how precious that little wood creature was; as a matter of fact, that initial realisation had only led to a slew of others—all of them humbling and none of them humiliating—which he earnestly treasured and recalled whenever he felt his own pride and vanity get out of control within his untameable breast.

Far from being dull, Aiwendil—once he had gotten comfortable with another soul—could reveal and share fascinating secrets about the world they lived in and his benevolent awareness of all things living and thriving had oft nourished Curumo’s uninterrupted musings about existential questions for many a mingling.

“I…Oh, all right,” the young Maia now stammered, his face lighting up with a glow that seemed to combine the familiar light of the Trees and yet sublimated it into a unique gleam that could not be found anywhere else.

“You are aware that I am not…I am not used to this kind of togetherness. I do not want to disappoint you,” Curumo exclaimed passionately—how could he clothe into words those elusive skills, demeanours, and instincts he suspected were underdeveloped or even entirely lacking in him if he had no way of knowing what the presence of those traits would even feel like?

“Worry not,” Aiwendil promised, laying a comforting, reassuring hand on Curumo’s shivering forearm. “All things grow according to their season, their kind, and their own undisclosed destiny—I know, respect, and welcome that. I’ll let you return to your work, and I’ll see you very soon, I hope.”

As if he was afraid that his courage would fail him, he sauntered away quickly, blending into the bushes surrounding the forge like one of the critters that followed him everywhere he went.

There were too many things Curumo didn’t know and couldn’t predict to count them, but—as his eyes followed Aiwendil until he could no longer make out anything other than the softly swaying leaves of the distant trees—he felt warm and comfortable and that had to be enough for now.

@fellowshipofthefics Here is my first entry for the June Pride Bingo :)

As always, lots of love from me and special thanks to @cilil for submitting this beautiful prompt!

[khaoray]

Everything's okay, but they took Yuriko. Let me save her at least. I beg you. Lee Ha Nee as Park Cha Gyeong & Park So Dam as Yoshinaga Yuriko Phantom (2023) | Dir. Lee Hae Young

@asiandramanet june bingo: colour @kdramaspace pride bingo: wlw & physical touch @userdramas creator bingo: rainbow & layout

[storyofmychoices]

(Attempt 2... tumblr deleted the first when I tried to edit it???)

I just wanted to take a moment to shout out all the people who dedicate their time and energy into hosting events for the fandom. I almost didn't make this post because there are SO many people that I'm afraid I'm going to forget some, so if/when I do, please feel free to add on and tag them! I don't want anyone to be left out. I know how much time it takes to run events so I'm so appreciative of all those that do!

2024 Monthly Challenge hosts:

@lilyoffandoms , @jerzwriter, @stars-are-within-me, @oh-so-youre-a-nerd, @ladylamrian , @peonierose , @thosehallowedhalls *

Thank you for taking the time to host one or more monthly challenges. I always love seeing how each person's vision comes to life in the way they host. It has been a wonderful year. Thank you for all your help!

*Cee, sorry I missed you on the original post, but thanks for letting me know! The June Challenge blog got deleted when you deactivated and I could not remember who hosted 🙈 Love you though! Thanks for hosting and for letting me know I missed ya! 💖

Choices Pride:

@choicespride , @songsaboutgirls / @peonyblossom

Thank you for making this fandom an inclusive place where all can feel represented and appreciated

CFWC:

@choicesficwriterscreations, @liaromancewriter, @jerzwriter, @lucy-268, @lorirwritesfanfic

Thank you all for your time and dedication to CFWC (past and present). I know it is a labor of love and one that is very much appreciated!

Other Fandom Events:

@choicesprompts, @angelasscribbles and @dcbbw For all the amazing monthly themes and events you host, and Thank you again Angela for @choicesholidays

@lizzybeth1986 and @sazanes for ALL the incredible appreciation days and weeks you host for some of Choices most beloved characters

@cadybear420 (Aiden Appreciation), @hsslilly-blog (HSS Pride + Halloween), @ih8harley (HSS Halloween + Trunk or Treat), @oh-so-youre-a-nerd (non canon exchange), @peonyblossom (reading bingo), @jerzwriter (Tobias Appreciation), @kinda-iconic and @bloodboundismylife (Choices Horror Fest), @liaromancewriter (Sienna Appreciation), @moominofthevalley (AAPI Month)

Thank you to every person on this list, and every person who supported or participated in any and all of the events above! I know I'm sure to have overlooked someone, please know it is not intentional. I hope that whoever I missed gets tagged by someone else so you know that you are very much appreciated!

@choicesfandomappreciation

[fellowshipofthefics]

HAPPY PRIDE, FELLOWSHIP!

June is truly a beautiful month that celebrates all sorts of love. What better way to show that off than with a bingo board?! Below is the board that has a variety of sexualities, as well as some activities that are near and dear to LGBTQIA+ community!

Many of these can still be used in canon-verse! They don't necessarily have to be modern universe. Just have fun with them!

And of course don’t forget to send in your fics to us when you are done so we can put it in our queue using this form! Be creative!!