i get that americans love their cultural imperialism, but it really does piss me off that june is āinternationalā pride month just because something happened in the united states.
in aotearoa, june isnāt our pride, itās theirs. marsha p johnson and sylvia rivera are their historical figures, not ours. the phrase that āyou owe your rights to Black trans womenā is true there, but here we owe our rights to (mostly) MÄori historical figures. i have the freedoms i do because of the legacy of an entirely different set of people operating in an entirely different context at entirely different times.
But because of american cultural imperialism, most queer people in Aotearoa donāt even know our own queer history. Carmen Rupe, Ngahuia Te Awekotuku, the Dorian Society, Gillian Laundon, Georgina Beyer, and the Wolfenden Association are some of our queer history. We should know their names! we should know what they did for us! but because of the power of the american imperial machine, we donāt.
our national pride month should be july, the month that the Homosexual Law Reform Act passed in 1986. our two largest cities hold their pride festivals in february and march, respectively. american queer history has very little (or nothing, depending on who you ask) to do with our queer history. anecdotally, from my own queries, queer youth in aotearoa know more about american queer history than our own.
anyway, happy pride, americans. iām truly sorry that most of you donāt see the negative impact your nationās culture has on the rest of the world. and to the rest of the world reading this, try searching for your own country and cultureās queer history, donāt accept the american narratives as your own. we deserve our own histories divorced from the cultural hegemony of the USA.
No one in the elite school trusts him. In fact, they fear him. So when a girl dressed in all black asks him for help in a case that could finally make him trustworthy again, he says yes, against his better judgement.
After all, he is already a monster.
*******
Hi guys!
This is my first fic ever on Tumblr! Whooo!
I got this fic idea from @starcourtdaydream
She made the amazingggg moodboard too! So make sure to check her out!
And I couldn't be prouder that I'm starting this during Pride Month. Happy Pride!
*******
Silas was used to being ignored.
Feared, even.
After what he had done, and after everyone had realised what he could do, he didn't expect anything else.
So what Enid was saying, doing, even, made no sense.
"Listen to me, Silas, for once. Please. Just once. You're the only one that can talk to her. Maybe she'll respect you, or something."
The clearing near the woods was quiet enough and so eerily beautiful that no one ever came by. That was convenient, because Silas wanted to be left alone. This was better than the wide berth everyone at school gave him.
He stared at Enid.
"Please, please, Silas. Please." Enid begged.
He put his camera down on the rock next to him.
"So let me get this straight." He started.
Enid shuffled.
"We've been in school for... what? Six weeks now? You haven't talked to me. Even once." He pointed out.
"You know Iā" Silas put up a hand.
"And the first time you talk to me, it's because you want me to ask some girl whether she killed a boy."
There was an awkward silence.
Enid opened her mouth, then closed it, her dyed hair fluttering faintly in the wind.
"Silas... I'm sorry. But you know I can't... people will..."
Silas sighed. "They already know I'm your brother, you know. But if you don't want to speak to me, Enid, just tell me to my face."
He watched as her mouth opened, closed, then opened again, her blue eyes flashing with guilt. It was probably for the better. Having a brother like him was enough to put her already shaky reputation at risk, and she had worked so, so hard to get people to focus away from the fact that she hadn't wolfed out yet.
She never said it out loud, but Silas knew.
It didn't make it hurt any less.
"...I'll do it."
Enid perked up. "Really?! Thank you soā"
"I'm doing it for your vlog. That's all."
"Oh."
Silas picked up his camera, slinging it over his shoulder by the strap and ruffling his hair.
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