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whumpacabra · 8 days

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Barfight

Choking, violence, attempted stabbing, homophobic language, ableist language, racial slurs, threats, knife mention, neonazi mention

[Directly follows Night Out]

Alister knew this skinhead. East’s first impression, wary and poisoned by a whisper he dismissed had been correct. (No one ever talked about what Alister had done to end up in prison. Somehow it now made sense why.) Ice in his veins had East frozen where he stood, but with his hearing implants he could clearly understand their conversation across the bar.

“Fuck off.”

“What? No ‘hi Andrew, long time no see’?”

“No. I’m not talking to you.”

“You are right now.”

“He told you to fuck off, prick.” Tomas’ grumble was soft, but it made Andrew prickle. East flinched in sympathy with Tomas - the skinhead’s glare was venomous.

“Don’t talk like that to customers, Tomas, it’s bad for business.” East saw him slide money across the bar. Tomas glared at the cash, frozen. Andrew’s condescending voice was laced with an unspoken threat. “Don’t tell me you forgot my usual, did you Tommy?”

There was a tense moment where Tomas and Alister shared a look, but the barkeep eventually relented, turning away. (He didn’t touch the money, leaving it in the counter.) Andrew got more comfortably embedded in Alister’s space, leaning back against the bar as he spoke.

“I don’t blame you - for selling the boys out. You did what you had to do, right?”

“You don’t know shit, Andy.” Alister took a deep swig of his liquor. “I don’t want anything to do with them anymore. I’m not coming back.”

“Really? C’mon, like I said - I don’t blame you. None of us do. Let’s get out of this shithole and go - ”

“I’m not fucking around Andy. I’m done.” Alister set his drink down harshly, glaring at Andrew. From this angle, East couldn’t see the newcomer’s face, but he could see the coil of tension building between his shoulders.

“You’re one of us - ”

“I was. I’m not anymore.” Alister’s voice dropped to a desperate whisper. “Just fuck off, please.”

“Hey - he said fuck off!”

East’s heart nearly lept out of his chest as Tierney, in his drunken confidence, shouted at Andrew from across the bar. His steps were surprisingly steady as he wove between tables, but he stopped a few paces away. Even he could tell Andrew was looking for a fight, disgust and hate in his eyes.

“You’re fucking pathetic, Al. Hanging out with gypsy homos - ” Andrew paused, looking down at the hand on his shoulder, surprised to see East beside him.

(He had used Tierney’s shout as a distraction to slip between the booths and make his way to the bar. It only took a few short steps to be close enough to grab him.)

“You’re in that gypsy homo’s seat, dickheaded cunt.” East’s voice rumbled low, cold and threatening. It was a role he knew well. He would lie to himself, that he didn’t feel the familiar rush from when he played the role of the Wolf. But unlike his victims, Andrew only looked up at him with disgust, swatting away the hand and stepping away from the bar. (Away from Alister.)

“The fuck did you just call me?”

“He called you a dickhead.” Tierney took East’s cue and sidled up to the other side of Alister’s seat. “And a cunt.”

“You sure know how to pick ‘em, Al…” Andrew scoffed, still posturing as he looked between the trio. East turned back to the bar, taking a swig from his beer. (He was going to need it, hands shaking with adrenaline.) “Fine. Fuck you too, then. Enjoy your new friends - ”

Things seemed to happen in slow motion, but all at once.

Andrew slapped East’s ass. Whether it was intended to be purely provocative or inappropriately teasing had no bearing on East’s reaction. It was a fluid movement, turning on the balls of his feet, taking a step to Andrew’s right. East’s other leg hooked behind Andrew’s, sweeping him off balance. The skinhead started to raise his arms in defense, but East was too strong and too fast. He caught both of Andrew’s wrists in one hand, and used his opposite forearm to press down on Andrew’s throat. Their momentum did the rest, the bar deathly silent save for Andrew’s gurgling gasps where East had him pinned down on a table.

East was surprised - mostly that he was so aware of what he was doing, and who he was doing it to. This wasn’t a panic reflex, thinking Smith was back from the dead. He wasn’t seeing ghosts or caught in a memory. East looked down into Andrew’s pale eyes and saw fear. He was here and now, putting this punk in his place.

“Fuckin’ hell dude…” Tierney’s breathy whisper broke the silence, eyes shifting uncomfortably between the pair and Tomas, watching wide eyed behind the bar. Andrew was starting to run out of air, struggles growing weaker but more erratic.

“East - East, let him go.” Alister had never sounded so small, so ashamed. “He’s not worth it.”

(East knew well how long it took to strangle someone to death. Andrew wasn’t even unconscious yet.)

“I don’t know, prison wasn’t so bad the first time.” East was in his comfort zone - putting on a show. Playing the monster. He looked back down at Andrew, easing the pressure on his throat enough that the man didn’t lose consciousness as he dropped his tone. “Follow in your hero’s footsteps and go find a hole to die in.”

He released Andrew, stepping back as the skinhead sank to the ground, gasping for air. East watched him, now knowing better than to turn his back.

“You’re fucked - you know that?” Andrew’s voice was reedy and thin with strain as he struggled to his feet, hands tentatively probing his bruised throat. “I’m - once the cops find out - you’re so fucked. Assault absolutely violates whatever bullshit probation you’re on.” He gagged and sputtered between his words, wheezing. “You fucking hear me?”

“I do. Now get out of here before I reconsider.”

“What? Apologizing to me, you fucking maniac?”

“Before I reconsider going back to prison for assault or for murder. Now get, the fuck, out.” East took half a step forward, satisfaction warm in his chest when Andrew flinched away. (This was when the Wolf was safest - posturing and threatening victims for the entertainment of others.) Andrew started to shuffle back, turning away. He had a hand in his pocket - getting brass knuckles or a knife, if East had to guess.

“I’m going - I’m going, you fucking psycho.”

East nodded, purposefully turning away. He was curious - was it a knife or knuckles? Two quick steps and something slashed the fabric at the top of his jacket. Knife it was.

East turned heel and caught Andrew’s knife hand, a squeeze at his wrist forcing the blade to drop into East’s waiting hand. A quick jab to his nose sent Andrew reeling back, East’s hold released to examine the knife while the wanker whined about his bruised and bloodied nose.

“You hold it wrong.” East demonstrated, holding the knife upside down in his hand as Andrew had held it. “This kind of stabbing isn’t effective - not with a moving target. You want it like this.” He flipped the knife around, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. “See? Smooth. Much more control in your slashes.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Andrew panted, exasperated disgust across his face. East narrowed his eyes at the bastard - he was scared of East, sure, but he was too proud to leave without the last word. East squared his shoulders, appraising Andrew the way he did a cut of beef at the deli.

“I’ve killed better men than you.” East took a step forward, Andrew took a step back. “I’ve killed worse men, too. But you - you might just be the most cowardly, pathetic, whiny little bitch I’ve ever had the chance to relieve this earth of.” Another step forward, another step back. “Go to the police - go to your skinhead brothers and tell them how you were beaten and bested by some Sinti son of a bitch who didn’t consider you worth the time it would take to break your fucking neck.”

Andrew had backed into another table, flinching away from it even as East stepped into his face. He knew that look on Andrew’s face well. The fear. The shame. The rabbit-like panic from being cornered and hurt and humiliated and helpless.

(It was an expression he had worn many times.)

“Get the fuck out.” East spat, leaning back enough for Andrew to scramble toward the door. Half frustrated with the memory of his own weakness and half sure the bastard needed some extra motivation, East threw the knife after Andrew. It landed solidly in the doorframe, of course - he wasn’t trying to kill the guy - but with the curses Andrew screamed, you would have thought he had been stabbed.

The door bell chimed, window panes rattling as the door slammed behind Andrew and he ran into the rainy streets. The bar was silent, save for the prattle of the television program and the rumble of thunder outside. East stalked to the door, taking the knife from the frame and inspecting the knick it left behind. Not too deep. He walked back to the bar and took another swig of beer.

“Sorry about the door, Tomas. I can pay - ”

“Don’t worry about it.” The barkeep said, a smile stretching across his face as he laughed. “Don’t you worry about paying me anything ever again.”

The bar seemed to release the breath it had collectively been holding, laughter and chatter erupting from the patrons. Tomas poured East another drink, while Tierney and Alister looked at him with wonder and gratitude respectively.

“How’d you fuckin’ do that? Huh? You gotta teach me - that take down was smooth as butter.” Tierney’s rambling praise settle light and warm across East’s back. He rolled his eyes at the half drunk requests for sparring lessons, giving Alister a glance.

“Thank you.” He mouthed, a shaky relief in his eyes as Tomas laid out shot glasses of hard liquor for the three. East smiled, toasting with the others. He could push his personal worries and guilt aside - it was hard to feel panic in his throat when it burned with the best vodka Tomas could find.

[Directly before Bared]

(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)

Taglist: @stargeode @sacredwrath @genuineformality

#whump #choking #violence #knife #threats #ableism #homophobia #racism #neonazi mention #freelancers #also yes Andrew is referring to tierney specifically. given the conflations between Irish Mincéirs and nomadic Romani in the UK.#‘beans is this a power fantasy bc of all the white supremacist Jackass you’ve had to deal w lately?’ maybe. idk.#East deserves a little power fantasy. as a treat for the both of us.#anyways. punch Nazis but don’t let them make themselves martyrs. they find power in ‘being proven right’ about being hated by the Bad Peopl #so make sure they’re aware of how deeply pathetic and laughable they are #also as an aside I’m pissed abt the ‘Nazis can’t be punk’ sentiment lately. you can’t no true Scotsman your way out of your due diligence #to keep tabs on your community and who you associate with. skinheads started as a punk counter-social movement that got co-opted by nazis s #badly that we call nazis skinheads to this day. if you let one nazi in the bar it becomes the nazi bar. don’t give an inch.#on a lighter note. well. getting the Hell presentation over w today wish me luck o7

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thismustbetheblog · 2 years

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#dublin #ireland #irish #Mincéir

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rrrick · 5 months

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Joseph Philippe Bevillard - Mincéirs

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dykepuffs · 6 months

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Got reminded about Tinkatink-Tinkatuff-Tinkaton today and just... Christ.

I thought we were better now about slurs and accidental* racism in media, even media that we like?

But there's a Pokemon that is known for stealing scrap metal and getting into fights, that's so hostile that public services can't run in areas where it congregates, it's moveset in all forms starts with "Pickpocket" - And call it "Tink" - That feels like too many coincidences, all around the nucleus of the stereotypes of Nawken, Scottish Gypsy Travellers, Mincéirs or Irish Travellers, Romany Gypsies and Romani people as a whole.

(Note on language use: I'm using Traveller with a capital T throughout this, to mean collectively the nomadic peoples of the UK and Ireland, which includes both Romani and non-Romani people. Mincéirs are an Indigenous people of Ireland who also live in significant numbers in the UK, and Nawken are a nomadic Scottish people with distinct culture and language different to settled Scots language and Scottish people)

First: "Tink" and "Tinker" is a common slur for Travellers and especially for Nawken and Mincéirs in the UK and Ireland, especially in Scotland, Ireland and Northern England. It comes from the historic profession of tinsmithing - mostly cold-working tin and sheet metal to make small items like water jugs and plates - Which is an archetypal "traditional Traveller profession". It's not the kind of slur that anyone particularly reclaims, especially "Tink", and is still very much a modern term of abuse that usually presages violence.

It's still used innocuously as a verb- Like "He tinkers with old radios and classic cars" but it's not something that can be used as a noun, calling someone "a tinker" or even more so "a tink" is unambiguously offensive and a term of racial abuse. Old white people might call a mischievous small child "a little tinker" but that is in the same way as white people will say "a little sa*age" - they're saying "This child is like the Uncivilised (racialised) People" (Closely related- This is also why I have zero sense of humour about white gorjers describing themselves as "feral" in any context - Unless you have actually been the focus of a moral panic about "feral kids" then please, don't)

(Also, yes, Tinkerbell is a somewhat dodgy name. Who would have thought that the same racist Scottish guy who wrote awful stereotypes of Native Americans and First Nations people into his fantasy might also use a term of abuse along with common racist tropes about Nawken - That they're angry, tricksters, and nebulously magical-mystical - in creating another character, and then Disney the notably racist corporation that made the notably racist adaptation of the book just kept it.)

Common stereotypes in the UK and Ireland of Travellers is that we're violent, and thieves, and especially that we steal scrap metal and live in scrapyards, or that our trailers are always surrounded by scrap metal and fly-tipped rubbish. Ambulances, fire engines, and notably taxis often refuse to attend to Traveller sites. Common stereotypes of Travellers everywhere, and especially of Roma, is that we're pickpockets.

From Bulbapedia's Tinkaton article:

"Tinkaton is intelligent and has a reckless personality. It swings its hammer at rocks to send them into the sky, aiming to hit flying corviknight. This Pokémon will also steal anything that it wants and take it back to its dwelling. It has been observed using its hammer like a bed to sleep on."

And from the violet pokedex:

The hammer tops 220 pounds, yet it gets swung around easily by Tinkaton as it steals whatever it pleases and carries its plunder back home.

From Wikipedia's Tinkaton article:

Highly intelligent and daring, they steal items to bring back to their lair, while using their hammer to launch projectiles at their natural prey, the flying Pokémon Corviknight. As a result of this predatory behavior, Corviknight has been unable to provide a taxi service to humans within the region where Tinkaton is found.

From the scarlet and violet pokedex entries for Tinkatuff:

This Pokémon will attack groups of Pawniard and Bisharp, gathering metal from them in order to create a large and sturdy hammer.

These Pokémon make their homes in piles of scrap metal. They test the strength of each other's hammers by smashing them together.

I don't have a great conclusion just it's annoying to see all the talk of Tinkaton being a fan-favourite whilst totally missing the really unfortunate implications of the name, which get worse when paired with the description.

Small Edit: The reason this has made me so miserable today was hearing about a friend's son, who is 8 or 9, and Nawken, and who'd been playing pokemon at school this week with his classmates and they somehow got it into their heads to start calling him Tinkatink and leaving crushed cans and forks and stuff in his desk. Little kids like nothing more than finding a loophole that lets them say a Bad Word (see also "But miss, I was just calling her a female dog! And was asking if her cat smelled bad! I wanted to know what CUNTry he was from hahaha" etc) and this seems to have fallen into the loophole.

#tinkaton #tinkatuff #tinkatink #pokemon

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apocalypticavolition · 9 months

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Let's (re)Read The Eye of the World! Chapter 25: The Traveling People

It's time for another chapter in my reread, and that means spoilers. Spoilers here, spoilers there, spoilers everywhere. Hell, let's have a spoiler for my post: we're going to be talking about slurs at some point this chapter! If you don't know why that is, go read the books. If you do know why that is but you haven't read the whole series, go read the books. Or just stick around if you like spoilers. Anyway.

This chapter starts with the leaves on the vine icon because this chapter introduces us to the way of the leaf. As such, the Tuatha'an will remain associated with it going forward; just about any chapter where they're a big deal will have them!

Perrin was sure she was hunting for the rest of the pack, though she denied it angrily when he suggested as much, denied being afraid of the wolves that paced them, denied worrying about the rest of the pack or what it was up to. She denied, and went right on looking, tight-eyed and wetting her lips uneasily.

Note to self: Remember that as far as Egwene is concerned, these last three days have been spent in constant terror of the wolfpack deciding she's the next meal.

She took a deep breath, and Perrin was wondering if she would succeed in bullying Elyas the way she did him, when he realized she was standing there with her mouth open, not saying a word. Elyas was looking at her, just looking, with those yellow wolf’s eyes. Egwene stepped back from the raw-boned man, and licked her lips, and stepped back again. Before Elyas turned away, she had backed all the way to Bela and scrambled up onto the mare’s back.

Yeah, she is genuinely not having a good time. And frankly, Elyas doesn't want her to, so that's kinda shitty of him. This is really the first part of the adventure where Egwene's living in the kind of discomfort that the boys were with Moiraine after she destroyed the ferry.

In every dream he remembered there was a point where he straightened from Master Luhhan’s forge to wipe the sweat from his face, or turned from dancing with the village girls on the Green, or lifted his head from a book in front of the fireplace, and whether he was outside or under a roof, there was a wolf close to hand.

Frankly, I cannot imagine a scenario where I was suddenly capable of communing with animals, learning from a dude who had all their badass reflexes, and getting protected from the forces of darkness in my dreams and not immediately jump at the chance for more. Am I crazy or is Perrin?

Still patting the dogs, Elyas studied the stand of trees. “There’ll be Tuatha’an here. The Traveling People.” They stared at him blankly, and he added, “Tinkers.”

Hoo boy. So uh... Hmm. Jordan's Tuatha'an are based on a lot of real people, and that's good. Further, they're stereotyped in ways that the real people are but demonstrate that these aren't accurate or cool. That's also pretty nice. People use slurs against them, and that's not nice but it is accurate. Too accurate, since the term used is not some fantasy term Jordan made up but one that real haters use against real Irish Travellers, the Mincéirs. It's admittedly a far cry from say, having everyone describe the Sharans with the n-word or something, but it's still just... not awesome. It's been like ten thousand years, why are we using the same old slurs? I'm gonna call the Tuatha'an just that, and occasionally the Traveling People if I feel the need to mix it up. Won't change the quotations though; that shit's not cool.

Oh also, while Perrin's just the ignorant country boy who drops non-PC terms, Egwene is the gal who relishes the stereotypes. I can finally stop smacking him with a rolled-up newspaper and move on to her. Bad Egwene!

The Traveling People were going about work that was disappointingly everyday, cooking, sewing, tending children, mending harness, but their clothes were even more colorful than the wagons—and seemingly chosen at random; sometimes coat and breeches, or dress and shawl, went together in a way that hurt his eyes. They looked like butterflies in a field of wildflowers.

You know what's funny? For all of the genre's obsession for having everyone run around wearing brown leather outfits or gray fur coats, actual medieval Europeans were gaudy as all hell. We just don't see it in movies because the average viewer would find such portrayals of "the dark ages" unrealistic. The Tuatha'an having a real world aesthetic that we should be seeing more often is very nice.

“Then we seek still,” the gray-haired man intoned. “As it was, so shall it be, if we but remember, seek, and find.”

Sadly, the Tuatha'an will only do one of those three. They don't remember what the song was and they've idealized it to the point that they'll never actually find it, even when the Dragon Reborn is singing it to bring green back to the land.

“They don’t even know what the song is; they claim they’ll know it when they find it. They don’t know how it’s supposed to bring paradise, either, but they’ve been looking near to three thousand years, ever since the Breaking. I expect they’ll be looking until the Wheel stops turning.”

There's a really interesting... misconception? heresy? IDK... that a lot of the common folk of the setting have that everything good about the AoL is genuinely lost forever, even though they live in a cyclical universe. At some point, whatever inspired the song would be found again and the question is whether or not their people will still exist in a recognizable form by then (since the various Roma, Mincéirs, etc. don't seem to be on an epic quest for a song here five ages later, the answer is sadly "No"). Saying people will be looking forever for history is needlessly hateful.

Or do some people genuinely think that the Dragon and/or the Dark One broke cyclical time and that linearity will reign supreme? Is that where the belief comes from?

After a minute Perrin knew who the fellow reminded him of. Wil al’Seen, who had all the girls staring and whispering behind his back whenever he came up from Deven Ride to Emond’s Field. Wil courted every girl in sight, and managed to convince every one of them that he was just being polite to all the others.

Sadly Perrin, you're not Miss Marple, so your conclusion that this complete stranger is actually just of the same archetype as somebody from your beloved little village life is nowhere near accurate. You're just jealous no one ever looks at you this way. Also, your arc would be a lot more interesting if you did have Miss Marple's superpower.

Dammit Perrin I'm supposed to be giving Egwene shit this time.

Aram’s smile slipped, but when he looked at Perrin it came back again, even more sure than before. “They will not harm you. They make a show to frighten away danger, and warn us, but they are trained according to the Way of the Leaf.”

But Elyas just said the dogs would have tried to bite the gang under some circumstances Aram, and I'm sorry but he's the dog whisperer. I doubt very much y'all can actually train dogs not to attack at all. It's the same kind of delusion that makes certain kinds of vegans think they can convert carnivores.

Least it matches with Aram's inevitable descent into madness and fanaticism.

“It means that no man should harm another for any reason whatsoever.” The Seeker’s eyes flickered to Elyas. “There is no excuse for violence. None. Not ever.” “What if somebody attacks you?” Perrin insisted. “What if somebody hits you, or tries to rob you, or kill you?”

It's nice that Perrin starts out dismissive of the Way of the Leaf since he'll be the one most tempted to convert to it. It's another thing that kinda feels left by the wayside: while he throws the axe away after mutilating someone, he ends up selling his enemies into slavery (which is definitely a kind of violence) and then 1v1ing his nemesis and killing Lanfear. It feels like he should have picked up another approach after all his prevaricating.

“You try telling that to some farm wife who’s just found out her son or daughter has run off with you Tinkers,” Elyas said wryly.

I might trust his dog-related opinions, but not the rest. People run off with the Tuatha'an because they offer some kind of hope and purpose in a world that is rapidly approaching a critical point of decay. The Way of the Leaf may be a weird philosophy in a world being invaded by the forces of darkness, but like the Whitecloak philosophies or the promise of becoming an Aes Sedai or a Warder, it's something. Gives those people who feel like they have spiritual needs something to focus on, which they're sorely lacking in a world with no organized faith. (I'll rant about that later though.)

Perrin sat back down slowly, still feeling awkward. “What happens to somebody who can’t follow the Way?” he asked. “A Tinker, I mean.” Raen and Ila exchanged a worried look, and Raen said, “They leave us. The Lost go to live in the villages.”

Having worked with Jehovah's Witnesses and heard one of them talk lovingly about his adult son except with the occasional mention of the fact that he was apostate and thus they were never going to be associates again, I have absolutely nothing but contempt for this kind of behavior. It's realistic, but... argh. It's fucked up and evil. Literally the worst part of the Tuatha'an.

Perrin’s eyes shot open. “The Waste? The Aiel Waste? They were crossing the Aiel Waste?” “Some people can enter the Waste without being bothered,” Elyas said. “Gleemen. Peddlers, if they’re honest. The Tuatha’an cross the Waste all the time. Merchants from Cairhien used to, before the Tree, and the Aiel War.”

This is actually also a weird detail, really. Peddlers and Cairhienen merchants had reason to (silk), and gleemen might at least be able to profit off of entertaining Sharans or coming back with exotic tales or performances. But the Tuatha'an don't have much to get out of boiling in the desert for weeks or months on end to visit the trader towns and the Sharans certainly don't want their kids being recruited. I guess the Sharans hadn't been particularly developed at this point in the story and Jordan didn't notice the oddity he'd created when he got to them.

Elyas sat up, his pipe almost falling from between his teeth. “A hundred miles into the Waste? Impossible! Djevik K’Shar, that’s what Trollocs call the Waste. The Dying Ground. They wouldn’t go a hundred miles into the Waste if all the Myrddraal in the Blight were driving them.”

They would if a Forsaken was driving them, and that's what he was doing. I always forget that Ishamael was active two years before the main story; it feels like it should be much more recent. That said, I suppose even he needed time to narrow down the candidates.

He sighed heavily. “She called us the Lost. I never knew before how much they loathe us.”

I don't think they have much feeling for you one way or another, to be honest. They just have some historical facts, and... since she was a Maiden of the Spear, she wouldn't even have the full story. More early installment weirdness? Or do the Clan Chiefs and Wise Ones let the rest of the Aiel know a little of what's up to justify why they never interact? (Also not super cool of them for enforcing apostasy after this many generations, just saying.)

He was trying to imagine what Aiel girls were like—going into the Blight, where only Warders went that he had ever heard

Yeah that story hasn't been accurate in the last thousand years or more.

Awkwardly he patted her hair. Rand would know what to do, he thought. Rand had an easy way with girls. Not like him, who never knew what to do or say.

Bro, she spent the last three days assuming she was wolf food and the night before that thinking she was going to die in a city of the damned after spending that day being chased by the armies of darkness. You should at least be able to work out that her crying has something to do with that and that her motivation to dance with a pretty boy is mostly an attempt to have something normal happen. Since she's crying specifically with worry about Rand and Mat (no that's cool Egwene, don't name your former mentor specifically), it would still be an inaccurate assumption, but like... Something.

He took a deep breath and looked around uncertainly. “They are alive,” he said finally. “Good.” She scrubbed at her cheeks with quick fingers. “That is what I wanted to hear. Good night, Perrin. Sleep well.” Standing on tiptoe, she brushed a kiss across his cheek and hurried past him before he could speak.

This though... I can't help but feel that she's stopped crying almost on cue and that makes the whole thing feel weird and borderline manipulative on her part. I don't think that's the mood Jordan was going for really because her motivations have been pretty understandable so far. I'm gonna guess that she stopped actually crying before she asked Perrin to say they were alive and his voice is deep enough to seem comforting even though his behavior doesn't seem to reflect that at all? Egwene is definitely reeling, so my plan to give her more shit this chapter didn't really pan out. Oh well, there's always next time - but of course, before we get to that, we'll be seeing Rand and company again in Whitebridge. See you then!

#let's read #wheel of time #wot #robert jordan #wheel of time spoilers #wot spoilers #perrin aybara #egwene al'vere #elyas machera #raen #ila #aram

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dragynkeep · 2 months

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while it has been a while, thank you for the links for shelta vocab. my great grandmother often spoke it around me when i was very little but stopped when i grew older. my grandma died before i was born and my mom refuses to talk about it at all and same with all her siblings and there is no one left on her side alive beyond them. while i don't call myself mincéir, it's nice to know more about my heritage, if that makes sense and its hard to find shelta resources, so ty so much. -ira

It's great that you're reconnecting with that side of your heritage, and I'm sorry about your nan passing like that. It's sad when people don't want to talk about it but I also understand the grief and pain that comes with it.

#traveller #answered #luke.txt

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daniemililly · 1 year

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A post about the things women deserve for International Women's Day. Content note for all the things women put up with in this system

I've had a lot of cis, mostly het men treat me like a non-person over the last few years because I made sexy photos they liked. I've had my boundaries pushed and ignored. I've had so many of them say I hated all men because I said I was fed up with all the shitty messages from some men. I've had to deal with their belief that I owed them whatever they wanted, that my disinterest in them was to be tested, that I should have to hear about and see their genitalia without consent, that I should have to listen to their problems and make them feel better without even knowing them

When you are a woman in public, you are seen as a Non-Player Character in the narratives of many cis het men who see themselves as protagonists because stories have always served them and shown us women to be merely objects for them to rate, be mothered by, and fuck

Cis women and trans women and those who are sometimes women and those who are women-adjacent and women-aligned or are perceived to be women, have to steel ourselves to exist and be seen. We have to take it on faith that to make art, to wait tables, to work in a shop, to do sex work, to have a hobby, is to need to protect yourself from attack, and this only becomes worse when you're not white, or you're queer, or you're a Mincéir, or you're any other kind of marginalised

Women should get to exist without fearing for our bodily integrity, for our lives, for our sanity

Women should get to exist without being traumatised again and again, rarely to receive help because we don't even allow ourselves to admit there's anything wrong

Women and those perceived as such deserve to go to the hospital and have our pain taken as seriously as a cis man's pain more often is. Pain should not be the default condition of being a woman, but it so often is

Women and those who need them deserve to be able to get an abortion without having to jump through needless hoops — Free, Safe, Legal, and Local

Women and all people who have experienced sexual assault and abuse should get to tell their stories without fear for the decorum of our society

Women and all people should have access to whatever hormone balance feels right for their bodies without having to plead their case and wait years for their distress to become intolerable — on demand and without delay

Those who get periods should have access to menstrual leave, free period products, and IUDs

Women, for whom care work most often falls to, should not be made to feel like their work has no value, and should be fairly compensated,. Communities should be supported in building networks of care, so that care doesn't become to responsibility of any individual to do on their own

Neurodivergent people perceived as women and girls should have access to care and support as early as many perceived as boys do

Women deserve to be compensated for the years of oppression, of being forced out of jobs due to marriage, pregnancy, and age

Women should be compensated for the years of being treated as incubators, for the forced labour in religious institutions, for the abuse at the hands of powerful and not so powerful men

Women deserve psychological support for processing trauma acquired from living in a world where they have been made less than

Women and those perceived as such deserve the freedom to travel to any part of the world as safely as any man

Women deserve access to toilets, to sanitation, to food

Women deserve to live.

#iwd2023 #international women's day #cw abuse #cw misogyny #cw harassment #cw assault

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sixty2 · 1 year

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Mincéirs (Irish Travellers) by Joseph-Philippe Bevillard (Juror’s pick)

‘In 2009, I started photographing Irish Travellers at a horse fair in Ireland. I gained their trust, and they invited me to photograph their families and other clans. I was intrigued by their nomadic lifestyle so I decided to visit their caravans, halting sites and roadside encampments. In March 2017, Irish Travellers were formally recognised as an ethnic group, yet today they are still facing racism, discrimination, hardship by society and high suicide rates’

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principleofplenitude · 1 year

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Today, nearly half a billion people qualify as Indigenous. If they were a single country, it would be the world’s third most populous, behind China and India. Exactly who counts as Indigenous, however, is far from clear. A video for the U.N. Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues begins, “They were always here—the original inhabitants.” Yet many peoples who are now considered Indigenous don’t claim to be aboriginal—the Maasai among them. According to Maasai oral histories, their ancestors arrived in Tanzania several hundred years ago from a homeland they call Kerio, likely situated near South Sudan. Conversely, being first doesn’t seem to make you Indigenous. A handful of Gaelic monks and then the Vikings were the first people to arrive in Iceland (they settled there earlier than the Maori arrived in New Zealand), yet their descendants, the Icelanders, are rarely touted as Indigenous. Farther east, modern-day Scandinavians can trace most of their ancestry to migrations occurring in 4000 and in 2500 B.C., but it’s the Sami reindeer herders, whose Siberian ancestors arrived in Scandinavia closer to 1500 B.C., who get an annual entry in the “Indigenous World” yearbook. In place of firstness, a U.N. fact sheet lists self-identification as the key criterion. This doesn’t quite work, either. It is true that some surprising candidates have gained recognition through activist self-designation, such as the Mincéirs of Ireland. (The Mincéirs, sometimes mistakenly called “Irish gypsies,” may have separated from the settled Irish population only several hundred years ago.) Other such groups have been denied recognition. In 1999, when Basters, mixed-race descendants of Khoi pastoralists and Afrikaners, read a statement at a U.N. forum about Indigenous affairs, hundreds of delegates walked out in protest. At the same time, many people are called Indigenous without their knowledge or consent. If it is neither necessary nor sufficient for the Indigenous to be indigenous, what fills the conceptual space? A natural candidate, worryingly, is primitiveness. As several recent books show, centuries of colonialism have entangled indigeneity with outdated images of simple, timeless peoples unsullied by history. In “Beyond Settler Time,” Mark Rifkin observes that popular representations freeze Indigenous peoples in “a simulacrum of pastness.” In “Prophets and Ghosts: The Story of Salvage Anthropology,” Samuel J. Redman describes how efforts to document dying Indigenous cultures often centered on a search for “an idyllic, heavily romanticized, and apparently already bygone era of uncorrupted primitive societies. Indigeneity is powerful. It can give a platform to the oppressed. It can turn local David-vs.-Goliath struggles into international campaigns. Yet there’s also something troubling about categorizing a wildly diverse array of peoples around the world within a single identity—particularly one born of an ideology of social evolutionism, crafted in white-settler states, and burdened with colonialist baggage. Can the status of “Indigenous” really be globalized without harming the people it is supposed to protect? [...] A politics built around indigeneity, many organizers fear, can reify ethnic boundaries. It encourages people to justify why their ethnic group, and not another, deserves particular resources and accommodations. It weakens domestic ties, which are otherwise critical for oppressed minorities. But it also contributes to one of the stranger consequences arising from a rhetoric of indigeneity: its co-option by far-right nationalists. As peoples like the Maasai have lost confidence in the rhetoric, ethnic nationalists worldwide have come to embrace it. Writing for a Hindu Right propaganda Web site in 2020, a columnist observed, “In the game of woke, we Hindus actually hold all possible cards. We are people of color. We come from an indigenous culture that is different from the organized religions. . . . How could we not be winning every argument?”

“It’s Time to Rethink the Idea of Indigenous” from New Yorker

#reading list #new yorker #indigenous #politics

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