A Winter's Dawn

This statement may or may not be true, but either way its declaration is largely anecdotal, and only acknowledged when it's perceived as beneficial to them, i.e. a job, a scholarship, a new boyfriend's Pocahottie fetish, or as an excuse for why it's ok for them to wear a headdress while half dressed and drunk on Halloween or at a concert, festival, or sporting event.

These folks will go weeks, months or years without considering their Native ancestry and it's certainly not a part of their everyday lives.

That's why they don't care about the tragedy of missing and murdered Indigenous women, treaty rights, or extreme poverty in Native communities.

While not a “full blood” others with mixed ancestry can and do embrace their Native roots and a sense of ownership takes place.

When they see race based mascots or ridiculous Native caricatures, they don't see some remote extinct group being "honored." They see that they personally are being mocked, and know they are not a buckskin pantied sexbot, or a silly redskinned stereotype.

They know Natives are alive, human and real because they are Native. They also understand that the land and water and our ceremonies must be protected, because it is theirs as well as their grandparent's, and children's, and children's children.

They are not just descendants- they are Native. As such they will seek out the truth of their heritage and you will find them thirsting for knowledge about their people, culture, language, and ways. They become part of the whole- from tiospaye to Oyate."

This statement may or may not be true, but either way its declaration is largely anecdotal, and only acknowledged when it's perceived as beneficial to them, i.e. a job, a scholarship, a new boyfriend's Pocahottie fetish, or as an excuse for why it's ok for them to wear a headdress while half dressed and drunk on Halloween or at a concert, festival, or sporting event.

These folks will go weeks, months or years without considering their Native ancestry and it's certainly not a part of their everyday lives.

That's why they don't care about the tragedy of missing and murdered Indigenous women, treaty rights, or extreme poverty in Native communities.

While not a “full blood” others with mixed ancestry can and do embrace their Native roots and a sense of ownership takes place.

When they see race based mascots or ridiculous Native caricatures, they don't see some remote extinct group being "honored." They see that they personally are being mocked, and know they are not a buckskin pantied sexbot, or a silly redskinned stereotype.

They know Natives are alive, human and real because they are Native. They also understand that the land and water and our ceremonies must be protected, because it is theirs as well as their grandparent's, and children's, and children's children.

They are not just descendants- they are Native. As such they will seek out the truth of their heritage and you will find them thirsting for knowledge about their people, culture, language, and ways. They become part of the whole- from tiospaye to Oyate."

The site above has a great starting list with books I've been meaning to read, as well as videos and articles.

2S roles vary by Tribe/Nation, as I understand it.

Some fictional book recs with 2S rep:

"Love Beyond Body, Space & Time" A collection of Indigenous sci-fi and urban fantasy short stories focusing on Indigiqueer and 2S characters by various authors.

"Between Earth and Sky" Series by Rebecca Roanhorse An an epic fantasy series inspired by pre-Columbian Americas. It's a great mixture of clashing politics, prophecy, and fantastic characters. There is a large cast with different genders and sexualities, including characters within cultures outside of a binary gender system. (The first novel is Black Sun)

For example, here is the outside of the train station:

If you thought that they were only outside the station, think again!

The last dinosaur has a crab, because the region is known for seafood.

You can even buy coffee emblazoned with dinosaurs!

And that's not even getting into how you get to the nearby Fukui Prefectural Dinosaur Museum. Behold, the Dino-Liner:

And if you're like, man I don't know how the museum will top all of these dinosaurs, boy do I have news for you.

And then you get to the cafe:

But, eventually, it was time to head back to the train station...on the dino bus.

but dick always took a sort of special pleasure in splitting a pomegranate in half, then in fourths, peeling back the pith and plucking the seeds. he would run his nails through the bed, and as the seeds fell from the fruit into the palm of his hand, juice ran down his fingers, trickling over his arms like rivulets of flavour, like crimson contentment, like a fucking baptism.

dick used to be a rather angry person. that was what jason had learned, had committed to memory. he realized soon enough that his predecessor held little ill will towards him, the seed of anger due to everything robin being planted over with time. but he was furious at bruce, at alfred for not taking his side, at himself for not forcing bruce to listen to him. his bright, blinding smile could burn, his eyes could shatter ships in bottles.

yet those afternoons, those highlights of jason's month. those days when dick ruffled his hair like it was easy, like it wasn't costing him a piece of his willpower to do so, god those days were azure. dick took him to the library, to the zoo, to the ice-skating rink, in attempts to fathom out jason's interests. he failed to realize that jason's favourite afternoons were these, sharing a meal in dick's apartment, watching with idealistic rapture as dick peeled mangoes with his teeth and ate pomegranate seeds like candy.

jason was never any good at it. his fingers weren't as nimble as dick's, short and stubby with youth where dick's were long and limber, artist's hands, stained with fruit juice and markers and never, ever blood. (they both had callouses lining their fingers, rough and uneven and in almost the same places.) even now, jason grumbles in frustration as he accidentally rips off a chunk of the fruit with his over-large hands.

"you have to be gentle with it," dick says. dick himself had become so much more gentle, so much more tender since he'd left. dick as jason remembered him was a pounding jugular vein, an oil-painted explosion, a fucking storm amongst men. he'd tempered after jason's death. jason came back to a brother who never forgot what he did, never hesitating to draw his escrima and strike, never withholding his sharp tongue. never forgetful but,,,,,,willing. willing to shelve his reservations and talk through intel and eat fruit together, like the old days.

dick still peels pomegranates with the ease of a scarf in the wind. jason has to take care not to crush every seed he plucks. the juice runs down his fingers like damned blood, but it isn't like jason's hands aren't already stained red. it isn't like jason hasn't already been to hell, and it isn't like jason hasn't already come back.

he's back now, his anger flaring louder than dick's ever did. but he's sitting here, peeling pomegranates with his brother, eating the seeds without a single hint of fear because, despite all evidence to the contrary, jason is undoubtedly, unquestionably alive.