Fairies and Things

-site:pinterest.*

anyway i go in to see paul one week in the summer of 2016, and i’m doing my usual bullshit which consists of me talking shit about myself, and paul is staring at me, and then he cuts me off and says that he’s got a new tool for helping people recognize when they’re using negative language, and gets up and goes over to his desk

and i’m like alright hit me with that sweet sweet self-help article my man, because i’m a linguistic learner and whenever paul’s like here i have a tool for you to use it’s pretty much always an article or a book or something

paul opens a drawer, takes something out, and turns back around. i stare.

i say, paul.

is that a nerf gun.

yeah, says paul.

i say, are you gonna shoot me with a nerf gun in this professional setting.

he happily informs me that that’s really up to me, isn’t it. and sits back down. and gestures, like, go ahead, what were you saying?

and i squint suspiciously and start back up about how i’m having too much anxiety to leave the house to run errands, like it was a miracle to even get here, like i’ve forgone getting groceries for the past week and that’s so stupid, what a stupid issue, i’m an idiot, how could i–

a foam dart hits me in the leg.

i go, hey! because my therapist just shot me in the leg. paul blinks at me placidly and raises an eyebrow. i squint again.

i say, slowly, it’s– not a stupid issue, i’m not stupid, but it’s frustrating me and i don’t want it to be a problem i’m having.

no dart this time. okay. sweet.

so the rest of the hour passes with me intermittently getting nailed with tiny foam darts and then swearing and then fixing my language and, wouldn’t you know it, i start liking myself a little more by the end of the session, which is mildly infuriating because paul can tell and he’s very smug about it 

Buddy you understand that if you threw a dart at a wall full of names there’s a pretty good chance you’re hitting someone/something that had/has a part in Ragnarök right

Okay but like...this obsession with the "End Times" is incredibly Christian in and of itself.

Y'all know that Ragnarok is really not a huge factor in surviving Scandinavian practices, right?

The attitude surrounding Ragnarok pretty much amounts to, "Oh yeah that was the time the gods done goofed. They're a lot smarter these days."

Generally speaking, Scandinavian Heathens don't use the myths to understand the Norse gods nearly as much as Americans do, and I think a big reason for that is because they don't have to. The myths are as ubiquitous as fairy tales over there, and Scandinavian Heathens have access to a cultural understanding that gods/spirits/ancestors are imminent and can be directly interacted with. Americans generally don't have this.

Instead, white Americans have to go through a series of mental gymnastics to get to that same understanding, because our culture is couched in Puritan beliefs. So for many of us, a Norse Heathenry that focuses on the End-Times feels far more "legit" and "real" than one that doesn't.

“No worries, I’m practicing at reminding people and you seem like a safe person to practice with”

Boom. Took the perceived blame off their shoulders and made the connection for them that being corrected = being trusted. Rinse and repeat. It’s also not a lie, correcting people on my pronouns is stressful and personally I really am super cautious about it

“oh right, thanks, [carries on whatever they were saying but with the correct pronouns this time]”

^That is the best way to handle it. Cis folks take notes.

I started following that road looking for her, occasionally calling her with my special I Come Bearing Muesli whistle (and it was a lie), and as soon as I got mobile reception I received a text from a neighbour telling me “Ton affreuse est là” (“your horrible one is here”). I turned around to go pick her up, and discovered that he had locked her in the Horny Bull Pen, aka his most securised enclosure. When Pampe escapes to his farm just to be a pest she usually hangs out with his cows until I arrive and he doesn’t mind, so it was a little joke, and it was so funny finding Pampe languishing in a high-security prison. She looked very put out and I told her she absolutely deserved her sentence. Then I opened the gate and I didn’t even need my rope, she was happy to be pardoned and to see Pandolf, and followed us readily, on the road and then through the woods to my farm, it felt so companionable, the three of us walking home together.

-I come out of my cabin dressed in a button-up and a tie for our weekly fancy dinner. Eight-year-old boy A sees me and says "she looks nice!" Eight-year-old boy B cries out at the top of his lungs, "IT'S A THEY!"

-A very young girl I'd never spoken to approaches me at checkout, hands me what appears to be a piece of abstract origami, and walks away. I unfold one of the flaps to find "peace love pride gay" written inside

-Nonbinary campers are increasingly out and visible, and they notice me (our camp director now mentions me and our other nonbinary staff member when parents call with concerns about their nonbinary kids attending camp). One spends an entire programming hour glued to my side, talking emphatically about their favorite anime while we walk down the beach together. They later present me with a nonbinary flag friendship bracelet. They're eleven.

-Ten-year-old boy who typically has a great deal of difficulty controlling his impulses and responding appropriately to his emotions asks me suddenly over dinner whether I'm a boy or a girl. I thank him for asking me and tell him I'm not either. He responds, ever-so-chipper, "well, (camp name), I like you just the way you are!"