The Dates Are In For Fandom Trumps Hate 2024!!!For Those Of You Who Don't Know, This Is An Auction To

The dates are in for Fandom Trumps Hate 2024!!! For those of you who don't know, this is an auction to support non-profits. You can participate by donating fanworks, fanlabor, or by bidding in the auction. I am hoping we get some more Justified participation this year!

Creator Sign-ups: February 5th-19th Browsing: February 29th-March 5th Bidding: March 5th-9th

If you need more info, head on over to their FAQ https://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com/FAQ

FTH 2024 Auction Calendar

We blinked, and it's 2024, and our EIGHTH year of running this auction. 2024 has all the same problems as last year but more — but we also have a lot to be hopeful about, and a lot of good projects worth supporting and fighting for.

You can look at this page (also linked in our header) for the list of this year's supported nonprofit organizations. We'll be posting more detailed profiles of each of them in the coming weeks. Below is the full calendar for this year's auction.

February 5th: creator signups open

February 19th: creator signups close

February 29th: browsing period begins

March 5th: bidding opens

March 9th: bidding closes

March 16th: proof of high bid donations due

March 21st: proof of 2nd chance donations due

Back in 2021, as we were pulling together the fifth FTH auction, we joked together behind the scenes about how great it felt that the name of our auction was no longer quite as on-the-nose as it had been in our first few years. But it's 2024, and in all likelihood 45 will be back on the ballot: just one of the many sobering and scary things we're facing down this year.

But for the past seven years, we've had the privilege of watching thousands of fans -- yes, literally thousands -- dedicate their time and money and energy to the twin projects of sending support to some amazing organizations while building and strengthening community ties within fandom. Now, more than ever, that kind of community-building is essential.

We hope you'll join us, and join one another, in sending much-needed financial support to these amazing organizations and in putting more joy and beauty out into the world in the form of fanworks. These are dark times, but when we join together we can make them a little brighter.

(What is Fandom Trumps Hate anyway? Read our FAQ.)

2024: Call for new fandoms!

Hey everyone! Ahead of the signup window for FTH 2024 we wanted to try to get a feel for new fandoms since last year.

We've seen a handful of new things cross our dashes in the last year, but aren't sure how widely popular they are, and there will be other things that have huge followings that we don't intersect with and thus don't have a feel for them.

While you can write in any fandom you want, we try to put the most common 100 or so fandoms on our drop-down list every year, and of course that is ever-changing.

We know of a few new fandoms that popped up in 2023, but we need your help to round out the list. Reply or reblog this post to suggest fandoms for our list that are new in 2023. We’re mostly looking for brand-new-in-the-past-year fandoms, but if there’s an older one that just got an influx of new fans (maybe due to a new adaptation etc), check out tags from last year and feel free to suggest it if it’s not already on our radar.

Lock, Stock, and Barrel

Hello hello and welcome to this six-sentence story, where I decided to use the word of the week, STOCK, in six different ways. This one is more than a little odd, and the definition of “that escalated quickly” but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! This was it, the end of her long reign, the reason she was to be dethroned before reaching her silver jubilee, a single out of stock item. It wasn’t…

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The mouse pic LOL!!!!

"menstruation is punishment for original sin" is a fairly common doctrine (altho in my experience it's usually more implicit than just baldly stated like that)

anyway this implies that of all the animal kingdom, humans are not UNIQUE in sinning, but are joined by bats, the elephant shrew, and the spiny mouse species Acomys cahirinus. (according to my 5 seconds on wikipedia at least)

Broken, But Still Good

Been saving this one for the FTH 2024 posting. The dates are out! Fandom Trumps Hate 2024 creator sign-ups are February 5th-19th. Even if you don't sign-up, pop over to https://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com/ and reblog the auction calendar. Summary: Tim has a little too much to drink, and reveals more than he intended to about his mental state to Raylan Givens of all people. If only he could get Raylan to drop it... TW: PTSD, Drinking, for a complete list of content warning, check this out on AO3! I am AnneMcSommers over there, and the fic has the same title!

Tim had gotten drunk before, hell, he had drunk enough to kill a lesser man, and could still pass a field sobriety test because he had one hell of an alcohol tolerance. Well, he THOUGHT that he had one hell of a tolerance, but that was before he started drinking from a mason jar out in Harlan.

Tim had had homebrews before, who in a warzone hadn’t tried whatever shit they tried to pass off as alcohol, but could double as paint stripper?

Tim had not however considered that moonshine in a county that had been making it since prohibition would be a special kind of drunk, and he wouldn’t have admitted to anyone that he had gone far past his limit.

Raylan had all but poured him into the car, and Tim held it together all the way to his apartment even as the alcohol continued to hit him. He kinda wished that he was one of those people who puked, because at least then he could have thrown up before leaving the bar, so he wasn’t more drunk getting out of the car, than getting into it.

Tim had made it a whole two steps towards the door, before he completely lost his shit. A car backfiring always put Tim on edge, but on that night, it had taken him right back, and he was unarmed. Before he had known what was happening, Raylan had a hold of him.

“It’s alright, Tim, you’re alright, you are in Kentucky, and it was just a car Tim. I promise, it was just a car,” Raylan soothed, and Tim was too drunk to keep himself properly upright, but he was not too drunk to realise he had fucked up somehow.

“It’s okay,” Tim had slurred. “I’m good, I’m good,” he had tried to reassure Raylan, but the more he spoke, the more worried Raylan had seemed to look as he walked Tim to his door. “Really Raylan, I’m okay. I can still shoot straight, really. I could shoot straight if I had to.”

Raylan had just frowned, picking up Tim’s housekeys when he dropped them. “Really, I could,” Tim had promised as Raylan unlocked his door.

It felt like Tim had blinked, and they were in his room, Raylan putting a glass of water on the nightstand, helping Tim with his buttons.

“I could shoot straight,” Tim had insisted, and Raylan sighed.

“You told me Tim, it’s okay now, go to sleep.”

Tim had known, KNOWN, that Raylan didn’t believe him, and said it again louder. “I can still shoot straight Raylan.” Tim had stumbled forward, and Raylan caught him, even as he clung to the man’s shirt to keep himself upright. “I can still shoot straight, Raylan, you gotta believe me, I can handle it, I can still shoot.”

Raylan had looked really sad as he answered, “I believe you Tim, now why don’t we get you to bed, and we can talk more about shooting in the morning, okay.”

Tim didn’t remember going to bed, but he did remember how he had woken up the next morning with his head pounding in a way it hadn’t since high school, the sun far brighter than it should have been if he had woken up like usual.

When Time had seen it was 11 am, he’d have leapt out of bed if he hadn’t seen the note. Tim had squinted at in in the bright light coming through his windows but managed to make out that he had been called out of work sick, he was to drink the water, take the aspirin, and eat something.

Tim’s stomach had twisted, and if he had been able to throw up, he would, because FUCK. He had taken the aspirin, drank the water, and headed into the bathroom to drown himself in the shower, where he stayed until the water went cool.

Remembering the night before was brutal, and he had thought he would get a reprieve before he had to deal with the shitstorm he created, but opening the bathroom door to the smell of eggs cooking let him know he wasn’t so fucking lucky.

Raylan had made eggs, toast, bacon, and Tim had been glad it went down without coming back up. He had finally managed to get Raylan out of his apartment after the man made about half a dozen subtle and not so subtle references to the night before, and if he weren’t so mortified it may have been touching.

Tim had spent the better part of a week doing everything he could to avoid Raylan, who seemed bound and determined to discuss things. Art had not, to Tims knowledge at least, seem to have clocked what was going on exactly, but that if Raylan didn’t drop it eventually, then it was going to become a thing, and that was the last thing Tim needed, for Art to be worrying about him MORE than usual.

To Tim’s eternal relief, Raylan had eventually dropped it. Everything was fine for a few weeks, back to normal, or at least close to it, and then they went to pick up a suspect at the no tell motel. The guy was huge, and shoved Tim faster than Tim was able to pull his weapon. Tim took header down an entire flight of stairs, and even he had to admit he got off easy given that he had missed most the stairs and just kind of dropped from a floor up.

A mild concussion, and a broken arm, it wasn’t much but it was his shooting hand and Tim was going to be out of commission for two months while it healed. Tim was antsy before the doctor even finished. “How long before I can go back to work?”

“Full duty, you are looking at two and a half, three months depending on the physio,” the doctor reeled off like it was nothing.

“Three months, for a broken arm?” He had broken it like three or four times as a kid, and it had not been three months.

“Two months for the cast, and then time after that to regain the muscle strength and dexterity. Ten days off as a minimum to start for the concussion, then we can re-evaluate and see if desk duty would be an option. If you press too hard though, it could be longer.”

Tim was trying not to freak out. “When can I get out of here?”

“In an hour or so, if you have someone to take you home.”

Tim froze, and he had never been more relieved to hear Raylan Givens voice. “His ride is already here.”

Raylan helping him up top his place was a little too close to what happened a few weeks back, and as much as Tim wanted the man to leave, there really was no way to kick someone else out of your place who was trying to help you.

Tim was saved by Raylan’s phone ringing.

It was Art, Raylan was needed in Miami for an old case ASAP, something about a retrial, but Tim was fuzzier than he wanted to admit. Raylan had gone through the whole thing, but all Tim got from it was that Raylan was going gone for a week at least.

Raylan stilled at the door, and Tim knew that he was going to dread whatever came out of the man’s mouth next.

“Fuck.”

Tim didn’t want to ask but felt obliged. “What?”

“I just got this new house plant,” Raylan explained, turning towards Tim, and Tim knew what came next.

“If you’re gonna be back in a week, shouldn’t it be fine,” Tim asked. He didn’t know much about gardening, but he thought it was a weekly thing.

“Usually, yes, but it’s this stupid tropical thing, it doesn’t get watered, it gets, misted or whatever, every day. I didn’t want the damn thing, and now I am gonna kill it. Shit, is there any chance you could water it?” Raylan asked, and Tim wanted to say no.

He felt like shit, his head was swimming, and getting over to Raylan’s to mist a fucking plant was going to be nightmare. Tim made the mistake of looking at Raylan, who was pulling full puppy dog eyes. Tim opened his mouth to say no, and said, “Ya, sure. Just leave the instructions by the plant.”

Raylan gave him a wide grin, and Tim felt a little better than he had five minutes ago, as he took possession of Raylan’s spare key.

“Thank you, Tim, really, I appreciate it,” Raylan told him. Tim regretted saying yes before the door was even closed.

Some days it took two hours for Tim to get out a bed, but he did, because he wasn’t going to be the reason Raylan’s plant dies. So, he got up and made his way across town, on the bus at first, so that he could mist Raylan’s plant.

There was a spray bottle, and “spray 6-8 times” until moist” written on a napkin with marker, in Raylan’s handwriting. The plant was ugly as fuck, and Tim had not idea why the man wanted it to live, but he had told Raylan he would water the plant, and he was going to water the fucking plant, even if something that hideous shouldn’t be allowed to thrive.

Two days before Raylan got back into town, Tim slipped getting out of the shower, hit his arm, and ended up back in the hospital needing surgery, or so he was told when he woke up.

Raylan was the one who did the telling, because apparently Tim had been out of it for a few days. They were talking a few minutes before the reality of what happens hits Tim.

“Fuck, Raylan, I killed your plant,” Tim said, interrupting the man mid-sentence.

“It’s okay Tim, really,” Raylan replied, and it was too quick for it to be genuine.

Tim doesn’t think Raylan really got it. “No, it’s fucked up. I fucked up. Fuck, I can’t work, for who knows how long now. I can’t get out of a shower without hurting myself, and now, NOW, I can’t even keep a plant alive. What fucking good am I?”

“Tim, you’re good. I promise you, even if you can’t shoot, you’re worth something, you got me?” Raylan’s voice was rough with something, but Tim couldn’t get past his own mistakes.

“I still killed your plant,” he argued.

“It’s plastic,” Raylan replied, and Tim blamed the drugs for not quite getting it.

“What?”

“The plant, it’s plastic,” Raylan explained, and Tim wondered what they had him on.

“I don’t understand, why the hell would you get me to water a plastic plant?”

Raylan was kind of red, and as it spread to the man’s ears, Tim realised that Raylan was blushing. He had never seen Raylan blush before.

“You were so upset, that night. You know, about being able to do something, and I wanted to make sure when I left you, that you had something you could do, and watering my plant was the first thing I could think of, but I didn’t have one. So, I, uh, picked up one at that dollar general, but it was plastic.”

“You really think I’m that pathetic?” Tim asked, and he regretted it immediately. Fucking drugs.

“No, I don’t. I think you’re great Tim, not just cause you can shoot, or do the job, because you’re funny, and sometimes you’re the best part about being in Kentucky. I just wanted to do something to make you feel better.”

“Sounds like you’re sweet on me,” Tim joked, uncomfortable with the praise.

Raylan blushed again, but the sarcastic comment didn’t come.

“Raylan, are you sweet on me?” Tim asked, and he was half joking, half serious.

Raylan kept his eyes on his boots. “It doesn’t have to be a thing. Despite popular opinion, I can control myself. I’m sorry for lying to you, you know, about the plant. I’ll just, uh, make myself scarce.”

Tim considered pinching himself to make sure he was awake, but despite the drugs, he was still feeling enough to know that this was real, and this was happening. Raylan was leaving, fuck. Tim reached out to stop the man from leaving and pulled at his sore muscles. He stopped, letting out a pained gasp.

Raylan was back the bedside in an instant, leaning over Tim. “You alright, you need me to get a doctor?”

Tim reached up and cupped the back of Raylan’s head, pulling him down into a kiss. Raylan pulled away, looking unsure. “Tim?”

“Never occurred to me you’d feel the same way,” he admitted, feeling his own face go warm.

“Darlin,” Raylan started, “I think you underestimate just how pretty you are.”

Tim ignored the pain, pulling himself against Raylan with his good arm and drawing him into a searing kiss.

Tim’s arm was still broken, but all of a sudden, the whole thing didn’t seem so bad after all.