This is the grinch post
Dec. 24th, 2010 04:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valarltdThis is the post for those hating Christmas, not celebrating and grouchy.
We'll start with some anti-Christmas fanfic and go straight to the Eric Idle vid
X-Men under the cut
The First Noel (The Retail Muzak Remix)
Remix Author: Angel
Original Story: The First Noel by Titti
Summary: Erik is not impressed with American holidays
Rating: PG
Fandom: X-Men Movieverse/Comics
He hated Christmas. The stores had hung endless holly, too reminiscent of Weinachtsabend, and played
warbly carols over their loudspeakers. He still flinched every time someone played “O Tannenbaum,” the
sung German causing bad memories: of the camp, of being torn from his mother, of the experiments and of
the perils of his escape.
He was twenty now, not a child any more. He had a job and an apartment in America. But his mother’s
Goldeneh Medina was not so shiny. It was hard to make a living. He had a lover, and only wished he could
support his Charles in the proper style. Charles Xavier came from money and had left his wife and
infant child to be with him, Erik Lensherr, penniless immigrant. No sacrifice he could make would be too
great in the face of such love.
He scowled at the people buying small presents for their loved ones: handkerchiefs, a sewing box, socks.
It seemed extravagant and silly to give an expensive item on one day. Had he wished, he could have made
all the gold and silver fly to him, stuffed it in his pocket and carried it home to shower his beloved.
Erik shoved his hands in his coat pockets and walked out of the store without the soap and washing powder
Charles had sent him for. He walked the cold and windy streets to the flat they shared. It never got
cold enough to snow in San Francisco, but it did get miserable.
Being cold always made him hungry. He knew it was a psychological reaction, a memory associated with the
death-camps. He paused at a sidewalk vendor and bought a hot pretzel, handing over the nickel with the
careless generosity of a man whose money never stayed long in his hands.
He ate as he walked home. A small gesture brought the coins from gutter and sidewalk grate winging to him.
He sometimes made a whole dollar on the walk home from work that way. Everything helped.
Charles was waiting when he opened the door. “I have something for you, Erik.” He smiled, almost shyly,
and held out a small box wrapped in white paper.
Ignoring the proffered gift, Erik removed his coat and hat, poured the loose change out on the hall table and
glowered at his lover. “I’m Jewish. No time of the year reminds me of this more, yet you insist on trying
to make me conform to the customs of Christians and humans.” The contempt for both scalded Charles’ ears.
“Your religion doesn’t matter. Look at the paper.”
Erik looked more closely at the box. The paper was white, with a whiter design of bells. He took the box
and opened it. Only as he opened the box itself, the wedding paper cast aside, did he realize Charles had
been holding his breath.
“An iron heart?” Erik raised an eyebrow at the odd piece of jewelry..
“To remind you of the power you have over me.” Charles fastened the pendant around his lover’s neck
and stayed to kiss him. “I love you. You draw me to you. Always.”
“And I you, my Charles.” Erik returned the kiss, the cold metal of the necklace warming against his skin.
If you ask, I might tell of The Dress, where a gift was so awful it bypassed bad and went straight to family legend.
We'll start with some anti-Christmas fanfic and go straight to the Eric Idle vid
X-Men under the cut
The First Noel (The Retail Muzak Remix)
Remix Author: Angel
Original Story: The First Noel by Titti
Summary: Erik is not impressed with American holidays
Rating: PG
Fandom: X-Men Movieverse/Comics
He hated Christmas. The stores had hung endless holly, too reminiscent of Weinachtsabend, and played
warbly carols over their loudspeakers. He still flinched every time someone played “O Tannenbaum,” the
sung German causing bad memories: of the camp, of being torn from his mother, of the experiments and of
the perils of his escape.
He was twenty now, not a child any more. He had a job and an apartment in America. But his mother’s
Goldeneh Medina was not so shiny. It was hard to make a living. He had a lover, and only wished he could
support his Charles in the proper style. Charles Xavier came from money and had left his wife and
infant child to be with him, Erik Lensherr, penniless immigrant. No sacrifice he could make would be too
great in the face of such love.
He scowled at the people buying small presents for their loved ones: handkerchiefs, a sewing box, socks.
It seemed extravagant and silly to give an expensive item on one day. Had he wished, he could have made
all the gold and silver fly to him, stuffed it in his pocket and carried it home to shower his beloved.
Erik shoved his hands in his coat pockets and walked out of the store without the soap and washing powder
Charles had sent him for. He walked the cold and windy streets to the flat they shared. It never got
cold enough to snow in San Francisco, but it did get miserable.
Being cold always made him hungry. He knew it was a psychological reaction, a memory associated with the
death-camps. He paused at a sidewalk vendor and bought a hot pretzel, handing over the nickel with the
careless generosity of a man whose money never stayed long in his hands.
He ate as he walked home. A small gesture brought the coins from gutter and sidewalk grate winging to him.
He sometimes made a whole dollar on the walk home from work that way. Everything helped.
Charles was waiting when he opened the door. “I have something for you, Erik.” He smiled, almost shyly,
and held out a small box wrapped in white paper.
Ignoring the proffered gift, Erik removed his coat and hat, poured the loose change out on the hall table and
glowered at his lover. “I’m Jewish. No time of the year reminds me of this more, yet you insist on trying
to make me conform to the customs of Christians and humans.” The contempt for both scalded Charles’ ears.
“Your religion doesn’t matter. Look at the paper.”
Erik looked more closely at the box. The paper was white, with a whiter design of bells. He took the box
and opened it. Only as he opened the box itself, the wedding paper cast aside, did he realize Charles had
been holding his breath.
“An iron heart?” Erik raised an eyebrow at the odd piece of jewelry..
“To remind you of the power you have over me.” Charles fastened the pendant around his lover’s neck
and stayed to kiss him. “I love you. You draw me to you. Always.”
“And I you, my Charles.” Erik returned the kiss, the cold metal of the necklace warming against his skin.
If you ask, I might tell of The Dress, where a gift was so awful it bypassed bad and went straight to family legend.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-12-24 10:13 pm (UTC)of this damn holiday and my refusal to promote itof my religious beliefs and when it's finally gone I "get" to go find myself a new job.And can I just say that to everyone who says, "Can't you just enjoy the sentiment?" No. I can't. Because the sentiment is "If you don't conform then you aren't worth my time. If you don't love MY holiday, while I completely ignore yours, then there's something wrong with YOU." And you know what? Fuck that.
no subject
Date: 2010-12-24 10:22 pm (UTC)I've come to grips, because Christmas is my family's tradition and I'm in a mixed-faith marriage. We do the religious stuff for the solstice and the gifts and food today.
I was very conflicted about Christmas and St. Patrick's Day for several years.
Oddly, I don't find myself hating Christmas like I used to.
no subject