.

Hey-o! Tis the season for people to talk about how the holidays were "actually pagan" and I'm on the hunt for sources about how that's really not the case, if you have any you'd recommend!

Okay, so the problem is there are so many weird "Christmas is stolen!" bullshit memes going around, it's so hard to just give you a comprehensive list of sources. Christmas celebrations have evolved as the religion has spread, and different things come from different times...

The key here is to go for academic sources. This is a question of history, and a well supported historical research is going to tell you whether they're operating from primary, secondary or tertiary sources.

So while I can't give you a simple list, let me give you a couple of examples off the top of my head and give you tips on how to investigate any the dumb claims that get passed around.

Christmas being in December: So a lot of people go for the "Christmas is in December so it can steal from [INSERT SOLSTICE CELBRATION]" is ahistorical... because we know exactly why Christmas is in December. Because the guys who made the decision argued with each other and left behind written documentation. The two big names you need to look up are  Clement of Alexandria (who pitched January 6th) and Hippolytus of Rome (who proposed December 25th). This is around the turn of the third century, and you can find both of their writings. Some folks have questioned the authenticity of some of Hippolytus of Rome's writings, but Clement of Alexandria's seem well supported. These were internal arguments about when the birth of Christ took place within the early church, and when they settled on late December. There are reasons for this, and you can read their arguments (it largely has to do with the importance of when Jesus was conceived -- they wanted that to be an important date and then added nine months to it). Importantly though, because linear time is a thing, this means Christmas was set in December before the Christianization of the Germanic and Norse tribes... so anyone who says Christmas was set to December to correspond with Yule doesn't understand the concept of "coincidences."

The Christmas Tree: The Christmas tree was invented in 16th century Germany. That's... that's just written down all over the place. Now, there are legends about Martin Luther being the first who did it -- but I'm pretty certain that's just an embellishment that got added on. There are preceding traditions where part of an evergreen was brought into the home as a part of solstice traditions (though some will claim the Egyptians did this? Which is wild -- likely misinterpreting their use of palm fronds as the same thing), but the act of taking a whole ass tree, cutting it down, putting it in your house, and decorating it? That's 16th century Germany all the way. You can rabbit hole so many sources on that one, but honestly just pick apart the citations on the Wikipedia page. Putting a branch in your house and dragging a whole tree in are very different acts.

Jesus's story is copied from [INSERT RANDOM GOD]: There are so many of these, and some are just downright disrespectful to major world religions (the Krishna version of the meme especially). The answer is... just see if what the meme is saying about the god is supported by the mythology. Like I've seen ones that says Dionysus was "born of a virgin." If you know anything about the Greek gods, you're probably already laughing on the floor. Horus gets dragged into this too, because Gerald Massey was trying to pull a "White Goddess but with Dudes." But any serious research on Horus will tell you the supposed parallels aren't supported by the mythology.

So sorry, this wasn't so much sources you can use as it is how to look for them to begin with. Because there's just so, so much. This isn't even covering cases of syncretism, where pre-existing cultural traditions got continued post-Christianization. Because it's almost always the case that if a pre-Christian practice endured post Christianization, it's because people decided to keep doing it -- not because the church was trying to "steal" it. The latter means there was some mustache twirling plan behind it, when the former means (usually) the church went "Well, they're paying their tithes and saying it's for Jesus, so who gives a shit?"

I'm just going to finish this off with linking to my podcast episode on this, along with Ocean Keltoi's great Yule video on the topic. Hopefully that helps.

so columbus day is a Big Deal in spain (... duh) and I sorta kinda absolutely abhor ✨everything✨ about it <3 so we're inventing a new holiday. What is the holiday about, how to celebrate and why is it important?

I can't think of a new holiday, so I'm gonna give my reviews on some of the holidays we have in Canada

Valentine's - Cute! Flowers and hearts, pink and red. Even if you're not in a relationship, you can give little treats and gifts to your friends and family. 9/10.

Mardi Gras - Who doesn't like pancakes? This sometimes coincides with Roll Up The Rim To Win (a yearly contest where your Tim Horton's cup might reveal a prize under the lip) because they want everyone to get their coffee in before giving it up for Lent. 6/10.

St. Patrick's Day - A big middle finger to the idea that Irish Americans and Irish Canadians should conform to the expectations of mainstream Canadian and American culture. College students have a reputation of getting too wild on this day, though. 6/10.

Easter - Very strange that we are supposedly a secular country and yet our society comes to a halt several times a year for only one religion, but also... chocolate and jellybeans and marshmallows. 5/10

Victoria Day - We can do without this one. Fireworks and colonisation. Celebrated by doing the exact same things we do for multiple other holidays, like, drinking and fireworks?? What is this, New Year's Eve??? 0/10.

Canada Day - Victoria Day Part 2: Electric Boogaloo. 0/10.

Thanksgiving - Harvest festival brought over from Europe. We had a successful growing season, let's eat! But also we eat pretty much all of these foods at Christmas, so it doesn't feel unique. 5/10.

Halloween - My favourite holiday! Costumes, candy, horror, spoopy. 10/10.

Christmas - Same complaint as Easter with our whole society shutting down for a couple days. But then there's all of the treats, like sugar cookies. And I like my little Christmas tunes, like Hard Candy Christmas by Dolly Parton. And also I'm a mom friend and my love language is gift giving so it's like... I love you, have this toothpaste, merry Christmas. 5/10.

New Year - This terrible year is over, thank God (me at the end of 2016). We could perhaps scrap the fireworks, though. 6/10.

Blog series #1

#1 Jan. 20th   

With the world becoming a very globalized place the boundaries between cultures are less strict. The widespread influence of the American culture can be seen in many countries around the western world. I have not been exposed to many diverse cultures in person, but I have read many books and watched shows about various places around the world and their ways and customs. The farthest I have ever made it from 'Home' is halfway through the next province, where other than the fact that proper highways exist and there is more French being spoken there is little to no difference that I had ever noticed. Many others and I from this region all have similar pasts in terms of family history. Arriving as immigrants from western Europe, namely Ireland, Scotland, and France, then settling across the region and spending most of the time working the land or the sea without much interruption. The many traditions and beliefs held then are still strong today and I suspect that the culture really has not changed much only to accommodate modern technologies and practices.  

#2 Jan. 22nd  

I have been thinking about how my family celebrates holidays recently, and on both sides of the family the traditions are essentially the same. All getting together for a meal, if it is Christmas a gift exchange, everyone sitting together in the living space with extended family talking about anything and everything. When I talk to other people about their holiday experiences it all seems like a similar story to that one, the way Atlantic Canadians celebrate the holiday season seems fairly universal for those of similar backgrounds. Celebrating these traditions and doing things the way we do is important, it is about spending time with family, reliving old memories and honouring those that are no longer with us, as well as creating new memories with those that are still here. Less a time about friends, more for family. The traditions have been passed down through past generations, combined with similar cultures from western Europe by our ancestors. Sharing a meal during a holiday is a guarantee and it has been for some time. The tie in of all these traditions is certainly religion, traditional holidays celebrated in a traditional way.  

#3 Jan. 28th  

There are many ways that we learn about our own culture, the most common being lived experience within it and participating in it. My experiences with my family are what shaped my own culture and personality the most. Regular family dinners and the importance of sharing them together was engrained early on and while that is relaxed slightly now due to changing circumstances it is still present. Both the immediate and extended family are regular churchgoers and the teachings there have influenced how we all act, our beliefs and how we perceive those around us. The educational system back home growing up was small schools and classes. The schools themselves were very involved in the communities and that connection persisted through high school, leaving a very community-oriented educational system. The most important influence though is entirely the time spent with my parents and their experiences that have been passed on to me. Their morals and way of life I have and likely will continue to stick to for my entire life as it is what I have always known and agree with. I do not think this is a bad thing at all as I have many important life lessons from them, and the time spent with our parents is quite impressionable and will affect most people in a comparable way.  

#4 Feb. 2nd  

I would certainly say I am not too globalized but aware of the world. I have not made it far from home, an entire five-hour drive. On the other hand, I have more awareness of what is happening in the world than most people I come across on a daily basis. I do pay attention to the news, while not the most uplifting source of daily reading I find it quite interesting to try and understand the situations from someone else’s perspective. Social media does open me up to seeing other traditions and practices, but it is not something I personally see very often. Through university and sports I have been in contact with plenty of people with different backgrounds and experiences that have been more impactful than any social media post. Personal stories and shared experiences are the most impactful and impressionable ways culture can be shared. While seeing something on TV can be interesting the biggest impact is living a new experience.  

Cultural Appropriation in Modern Witchcraft

Cultural appropriation occurs when cultural practices are taken out of their original context and misused by outsiders. Cultural appropriation is different from cultural sharing, which occurs naturally in any multicultural society. Eating at an Indian restaurant is not cultural appropriation. Wearing a bindi when you don’t understand its significance in Indian culture is.

Cultural appropriation is a huge issue in modern witchcraft. When you have witches using white sage to “smudge” their altars, doing meditations to balance their chakras, and calling on Santa Muerte in spells, all without making any effort to understand the cultural roots of those practices, you have a serious problem.

When trying to understand cultural appropriation in witchcraft, it’s important to understand the difference between open and closed magic systems. An open system is one that is open to exchange with outsiders — both sharing ideas/practices and taking in new ones. In terms of religion, spirituality, and witchcraft, a completely open system has no restrictions on who can practice its teachings. A closed system is one that is isolated from outside influences — usually, there is some kind of restriction on who can practice within these systems.

There are different reasons a system might be closed. Some systems require a formal training and/or initiation, but there is no restriction on who can be initiated. Reiki and some forms of Wicca operate this way. (All other forms of Wicca are completely open.) Some systems are closely tied to a complex set of cultural beliefs that may not be fully understood by outsiders, so they are closed to people outside of that culture. Kabbalah (Jewish mysticism) is an example of this. Some systems require a family lineage, so you must have been born into the system to practice within it. Zoroastrianism and some forms of traditional witchcraft fall into this category. And finally, some systems are closed as a kind of self defense, usually because they have been the target of persecution from outsiders — keeping the system closed is a way to preserve beliefs and practices that might otherwise be lost. African Diaspora Religions fall into this last category.

If a belief or practice is part of a closed system, outsiders should not take part in it. It really is that simple. If you aren’t Native American, you should not be performing smudging ceremonies. If you aren’t Jewish, you should not be practicing Kabbalah or working with Lilith as your “goddess.” If you aren’t Black, you should not be practicing Hoodoo. You get the idea.

On a similar note, just because a system is open does not mean you can do whatever you want with its teachings. You should still make a point of educating yourself on the system you are practicing and take care not to take things out of their original context. Some forms of Shinto are open, but you wouldn’t involve the kami in a Wiccan- or pagan-style ritual — Shinto has its own rules for ritual, which are very different from Western paganism. If you feel called to work with a cultural system you are not already part of, you need to be willing to put in the work of respectfully learning about and preserving that system.

It is impossible to appropriate a dominant culture. For example, in the United States, white American culture is treated as the default. There is tremendous pressure on all other cultural groups to speak English, dress like white Americans, and act like white Americans. White American culture has deep roots in Protestant Christianity, and these religious influences are enforced through social norms and sometimes through laws. Many businesses are closed on Christmas and Easter, and I live in an area where it is illegal to sell alcohol on Sunday mornings. White (Christian) American culture is literally being shoved down everyone’s throats all the time. A non-Christian immigrant wearing a cable-knit sweater, taking Sundays off work, or celebrating Christmas isn’t cultural appropriation, because they are expected to adopt these elements of the dominant culture.

It is also impossible to appropriate your own culture, even if you weren’t raised in it. For example, a Latinx person who decides to learn brujeria does not need anyone’s permission to do so. That practice is a part of their cultural heritage.

Dead cultures are a gray area, but the general consensus is that you cannot appropriate a system that isn’t connected to a living culture. For example, Hellenic polytheism is very different from modern Greek culture. A non-Greek person practicing Hellenic polytheism isn’t appropriating Greek culture, because that religion hasn’t been openly practiced in Greece for thousands of years. The same goes for many other types of reconstructionist paganism (paganism based on recreating ancient beliefs and practices) such as Kemetic (Egyptian) polytheism, Celtic paganism, Norse paganism, etc.

This isn’t to say that you shouldn’t still make an effort to be respectful of the cultural origins of these religions. If you worship the Kemetic gods, you should probably educate yourself on at least the basic history and philosophy of Ancient Egypt. You should probably try to be faithful to the ancient beliefs in your practice. But you don’t need any sort of initiation, because there is no direct connection between the ancient religion and modern reconstruction.

So How Do We Avoid Appropriation?

Know the difference between open and closed systems, and respect if a system is closed.

If a system is open or only partially closed, try to find a teacher or mentor who is already a part of that system. If an in-person mentor isn’t possible, try to find books and other resources created by people who are actually part of that culture.

Only use items or practices in your witchcraft if you have a good understanding of their cultural, religious, and/or spiritual significance.

If a member of a culture or magic system tells you their system is closed and asks you to stop using it, listen to them.

Educate yourself on how cultural appropriation contributes to systemic racism and other social issues.

Don’t try to sneak around culture appropriation. If you burn white sage to cleanse your space, you are still appropriating Native American spiritual practices (and contributing to the overharvesting of an endangered plant), even if you don’t use the term “smudging” or appropriate the entire smudge ceremony. If something is not yours to practice, leave it alone.

Learning about other cultures is not the same as cultural appropriation. Here’s a personal example: I live fairly close to New Orleans, and I think New Orleans Voodoo is a fascinating tradition. When I visit, I like to speak to local Voodoo practitioners and learn from them about their practice. That being said, I recognize that I am not a part of that practice, and I’m not about to start incorporating elements of Voodoo into my personal practice.

As a white woman, my track record is not perfect when it comes to cultural appropriation. When I first started my witchcraft journey, I burned white sage and worked with the chakra system. I didn’t know any better, and these things were presented to me as if they were open to anyone. But now I do know better, and I’m making a conscious effort to avoid appropriation in my practice.

I’m also trying to do better for new witches just entering the world of alternative spirituality. It’s important for us to talk about things like cultural appropriation so that baby witches know from the beginning what the issues are and why they matter.

Jewish character as adoptive parent/patriarch of a found-family that ostensibly contains children from xtian backgrounds?

@lymanjosh asked:

tl;dr: how to approach Jewish character as adoptive parent/patriarch of a family that ostensibly contains children from xtian backgrounds?

(this is about fandom but i take it fairly seriously and want to do it right!)

so i’m not jewish, and i portray/hc a (relatively important/main) character A as a Jewish man. character A is at the center of a large found-family network, and he has a number of children adopted + otherwise who come from a variety of backgrounds and who are variously headcanoned by other fandom members.

a lot of the time (mostly in a roleplay context, where other people have equal control over the storyline) i’ll be faced with the assumption that the family would operate by the xtian norms dominant in a us context (particularly regarding xmas.)

id like to push back against this, but i hesitate to portray character A as asking his children to share in his own customs; i don’t think it would be in character, since he is very very reserved + rarely speaks about his birth family in the source material, but even if that were something he did i don’t have much interest in writing about it, nor do i think it would be my place.

what’s a realistic way for this kind of family to navigate the holidays? i’ve done some reading about adoption of children from oppressed groups by white/gentile families, in which it’s generally best to preserve the child’s connection with their culture, but i’m not sure if it would be different in this context? i worry about implying that A has to let xtian norms into his home to some degree in order to properly parent his children. 

Hi! OK, so when I first read this ask I completely read it as Magneto and was all set to give a complex and thorough Magneto answer, and then I realized I was jumping to conclusions and asked and I was VERY wrong – this is Batman! Which is also awesome. I’m not as familiar with DC but I still enjoy this premise.

So the question becomes: how does Jewish Batman handle the holidays if Robin and whoever those other found-family kids are, are Christian. How do we give them a Christmas without having to “do” Christmas ourselves? If I were in Batman’s Bat Shoes here, I’d ask the kids what it was they wanted. In other words, what part of Christmas would they need in order to feel like they weren’t missing out. And then I’d find a way to make sure they were getting to experience it. If they wanted to go to Midnight Mass, I’d ask if (Christian?) Alfred was okay taking them, or Commissioner Gordon, or some other gentile character. If all they wanted was Christmas cookies and everyone baking as a family, I’d orchestrate that without feeling uncomfortable. If they wanted to watch a movie it would depend on how overtly Christian it was vs. something like A Muppet Christmas Carol. (Note: this is going to be a big “your mileage may vary” here because of our varying discomfort with having to participate in Christmas, so I am definitely not saying all of us are comfy with secular Christmas movies.) If they wanted a Christmas tree, remember this is Wayne Manor so there’s gonna be room for there to be a Christmas tree or even a whole Christmas room that doesn’t have to be my space or my room. If I’m Batman. (Did I really just type that sentence?

Batman is so Alone TM that this post makes me lonely for him to have other Jewish characters to do his own holidays with. But. The whole time I was in grad school I was in a situation where I was celebrating all my holidays with all gentiles, and I basically did my own thing and taught them what I was doing and why, and then had movie parties. Like for Passover we had a “deconstructed seder” where I made all the seder foods as party foods and watched Ten Commandments. That way I got to feel like I wasn’t missing out. That would be a sort of secular way that the BatFam could participate in stuff like Passover without having to actually sign up to practice a different religion.

–Shira

I only have a couple minor things to add. Firstly OP, definitely pay attention to the ‘mileage may vary’ point and, as we’ve mentioned before, listen  to many Jewish experiences of Christmas from those who engage to those who are neutral to people who have negative associations and memories about Christmas. The examples Shira gave all work, as long as they fit with Batman’s wider Jewish identity and you’re aware that whatever option you go with, many Jews will feel completely differently to your character and that’s OK too.

Similarly, Shira’s suggestions for Jewish holidays like Passover are great, but this would again depend on Batman’s denomination and personal preferences. An Orthodox seder still has plenty of room to make it your own, but with a lot more do’s and don'ts. For example, (this obviously didn’t happen in 2020 but) my dad usually heads down to the local Jewish retirement home on first night Passover and leads a kind of 'highlights of the seder’ for the residents. All the songs they will remember from childhood, but shorter; all the food, but made a bit more palatable, as Shira also said; and all condensed into about 45 minutes. Your Batman might do something similar for his kids if they show interest in Passover. However, when my dad gets home he will still make sure he does seder night, even if he is by himself if the rest of the family are with my mum. It will depend on Batman’s denomination and beliefs as to whether he sees a condensed or modified seder as having fulfilled his religious obligation. 

–Shoshi

Like Ivy

Request: “Being able to see you smile, being in your vicinity, just that is enough for me.” and “Uh, here, this is for, uh, you.” I’m thinking something Christmas-y with Reid - Anon

A/N: I do apologise for procrastinating on getting this out, but I wanted to make sure it wasn’t terrible. Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate it, my present to you is the longest fic I have ever written. I had so much fun writing it so I hope you guys enjoy reading it! Happy holidays <3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAUFem!Reader

Word Count: 7.7k

Summary: Best friends yearning & best friends pining - but make it festive. Entails Secret Santa, the classic penny behind the ear and waltzing.

Warnings: Fluff, proceed with caution :)

The Cathedral of Santa Maria. Spencer had finally put his finger on it. The small glass dome encasing a building, with doors small enough to allow entrance to ladybugs who may practice religion, adorned unmistakable timely Italian architecture and ornamented pine trees, all dusted with flitters of snow. For the past week, Spencer had caught sight of the trinket each time he wandered past where it sat, as one of the few other decorations surrounding the name plate displaying in gold Times New Roman ‘DAVID ROSSI’, on the often unoccupied desk. So, he gathered that it must be important. Filing away his final stack of paperwork for the night, a silver paperclip glistening in the artificial light, Spencer made a mental note to ask the man about it the next morning. Standing from his usual office chair slouch, he stretched his limbs, feeling a series of clicks in his back as he regained his posture, only to bend back down in reach of his satchel. He made his way home giving tight lipped smiles of encouragement to the few agents sprinkled about the room, working over time. Haphazardly, he pushed the arrow pointing downwards with a cardigan clad elbow. As if on queue, his phone buzzed to the simultaneous ‘ding’ of the lift. 

I understand you’re nocturnal, but I hope you’ve gotten home by now! If not, text me when you do so, safely :) 

He didn’t realise he was grinning from ear to ear until an aggravated looking bureau member from a floor above, evidently itching to get home, cleared his throat to gain Spencer’s attention. “Sorry,” he grimaced. Noticing the button for the ground floor having already been lit up, Spencer stepped inside and stood as far away, as was possible in the small space, from the rankled looking man and his briefcase. A dimple appeared on his cheek as he remembered you, two years, three months and seventeen days ago - not that he was counting - offering him cherry scented hand sanitiser from a small bottle, and, only after he’d nodded, gently grasping the tips of his fingers to steady his shaking hand as you poured the gelid liquid into his palm. The act was so pure he chose against telling you that while alcohol based hand sanitisers reduce the number of microbes on hands in some situations, they don’t eliminate all types of germs - making soap and water the most effective way to go. Since then, you occupied his thoughts in the same way ivy grew along bricks of long forgotten towers. In abundance, in the most beautiful way. He turned his attention back to the tiny mobile he was holding. 

On my way right now. I have a date with microwaved leftovers at midnight, can’t miss it. Will do. 

The next time his phone buzzed was when he’d dozed off on the way home, using the concave pane of a metro window as a shoulder to lean against. He waited until his feet landed on the uneven pavement of his stop to open it. 

Tomorrow you have a date with a properly cooked meal, at mine. What is it that Hotch always says? That’s an order, not a request. 

Spencer’s heartbeat quickened as he read what you had written, his brain immediately carrying variables in an effort to slow it down by convincing himself that friends make each other feel this way. However, when he counted the rose flush on his cheeks and nose whenever you were around, the looks you shared which said more than words ever could and the way you held each other nearer than the distance between the sky and the ocean where they met at the horizon after close calls and mentally grappling cases, it didn’t quite equate to being just friends. Dwindling leaves clinging to their branches shuddered as scissors of winter wind pruned the trees scattered about. Spencer’s pale hands slid into his coat pockets, hiding from frostbite. On the short walk to his apartment, he admired the twinkling lights on either side of the streets, feeling as if he were a plane which had just landed upon a runway in the night. Candy canes, reindeer and eccentric portrayals of Santa Claus glowed amongst bushes and on porches, making Spencer wish you were there to see them too. It wasn’t rare he found himself wanting to share everything he did with you. Pretty things made him think of you. Eventually reaching the familiar building, tiredly, he followed wreaths and holly all the way to his undecorated apartment door. 

You? Cooking? I’ll bring a fire extinguisher. Home safe. Goodnight, sleep well. 

He kept his promise, despite seeing the time was nearing to one in the morning and being doubtful you were still awake. 

Hilarious :/ and I will, knowing you’re alive. Goodnight Spencer :) 

Spencer coveted for nights when he could tell you goodnight from right beside you, perhaps with his hand draped around your waist while yours tugged at his hair. He wanted to fall asleep to the scent of your skin and whatever soap you’d picked up from the store that week, not the quiet hum of his vintage fan. His microwave beeped, acting as an alarm to return down to earth from the clouds, presenting him with far less than gourmet potatoes. Realising he would take your burnt cooking over this any day, he settled for a sandwich.

 ∗∗∗

“Did you know that snowglobes were invented in France. They were first introduced as ‘water globes’ at the Paris Expedition Fair in 1889, and, to no surprise, the first snow globe actually contained a tiny scaled Eiffel Tower covered in snow,” Spencer lectured, almost putting the two agents who had struggled enough to get out of bed, back to sleep. The days were slow. Annual leave for a majority of the bureau was looming nearer and files kept them busy as the jet gathered dust. “Glad to hear the French contributed something, other than their opprobrium of a language, to this world,” Emily complained, from her desk. “Well, baguettes… Croissants, parachutes… Aspirin-“ Spencer was halted by the unimpressed look on Rossi’s face, as he hovered on the edge of Spencer’s table, a bushy eyebrow raised in vexation. “What’s with all this talk of snowglobes, kid?” The older man squinted at Spencer, craning his neck towards this, the way he did to suspects behind the glass of an interrogation room. “Since you brought it up,” he smiled smugly, swivelling in his chair from one side to another. “What’s the story behind the Santa Maria sitting on your desk?”

“Yeah, the eighties have come and gone, Rossi, isn’t it a bit late for repentance?” Emily let out a sly smile, walking over to also lean against Spencer’s desk with a steaming mug in hand. “It was a gift from my grandmother, handmade, I take it out every Christmas to help get in the festive mood,” Rossi explained. “Also, that was very funny Emily but now… I can’t help but recall what Garcia told me about the time you got a little tipsy and licked peanut butter off J-” 

“No one told me it was National Congregate Around Spencer Reid’s Desk Day today.” The three agents turned their heads in unison to find who the voice belonged to, Spencer’s breath hitching at the sight of you. You stood before them, an upturned magician’s hat in hand, semi-curious as to what the ending of Rossi’s sentence would have been if it weren’t for you interrupting. “Y/N!” Emily waved, flashing a smile. “You’ve taken an interest in magic and didn’t even think to tell me,” Spencer feigned a hurt look. “Spencer, I knew magic wasn’t for me after I did the card trick you taught me, wrong . Six times,”

“It was seven. Plus, the student is never as good as the teacher,” he suppressed a smile. “Or maybe the teacher just isn’t good,” you raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s a little hostile, someone didn’t get enough sleep last night,” Spencer defended himself, putting his hands in the air. His eyes held a glimmer of mischief as if to say ‘we know something that you don’t’ when they met yours. Emily’s jaw dropped. “That… Didn’t sound suggestive at all,” Rossi pursed his lips in concern, looking back and forth between the pair of furiously blushing agents. “Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t,” you winked at Rossi. Basking in the radiance of your laughter washing over him like the sun, Spencer chuckled along. “Anyway, what’s with the hat?” Emily questioned. “This,” you shook it by its brim, “contains the remaining names for this year’s Secret Santa, courtesy of Miss Penelope Garcia. I was just ordered to present it to you all. She calls it being her ‘little elf’ - I call it unpaid manual labour - but pick a name, any name,” you encouraged. You watched as Spencer’s tongue comically poked out as he eagerly concentrated on picking a name, elbow bent at a worrying angle. “I just want to say that every time I get a gift that isn’t alcohol, I’m slightly disappointed,” Emily turned to you as it was her turn to fish for a piece of paper. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you grinned at her. You watched Rossi’s expression as his eyes skimmed the name in his hands. “Oh, and Rossi, yes, there’s a budget,” you called over your shoulder, causing them to laugh as you gave them a wave. Slinking away from the comity of the bullpen, back to Mrs Claus’ lair, you retrieved the only remaining name. You paused in the hallway to double check if you’d read the glittery scrawl correctly. Spencer Reid. It was just your luck. You were prepared to engage in hand to hand combat with Garcia, seeing her office looming ahead. “Penelope. I hate you. I love you,” you kissed her cheek, placing the top hat on her curls, “but I hate you.” She recognised the tone, beaming at the implications. “Thank me later, beautiful!” She called after you as you rushed away to get started on completing the mountains of reports you had been avoiding thus far. 

The day had come to a close, a headache making a home for itself in your head. Scanning the, now, mostly empty room, you caught sight of the back of Spencer’s uncombed head. Double checking that not enough people were around to be reprimanded by HR for misconduct, you inconspicuously made your way over to him snaking your arms around his neck and burrowing your nose in its crook. “Hi,” he chuckled, amused at the sudden affection, his unoccupied hand immediately reaching to grasp one of your wrists. Spencer had followed your strict, but coffee induced, orders earlier that morning telling him not to distract you unless, one, he was dying, or two, something was on fire, because you were determined to finish the numerous write-ups you had left until today. “Hi,” you mumbled into him. “Ready to go home?” You asked sweetly, arms still slung around him, pulling your face away to get a glimpse of his soft features. Your heart stopped for a little while, at the beauty of him. He was breathtaking. You refrained from tracing the small bump of his nose with your own, and settled for admiring the five o’clock shadow presaging a hidden jaw. The part of Spencer that craved domesticity was enchanted by your simple question, the word home resounding in his head, acting as an old film reel for projections of images of the two of you together; leaving work together, going home together. Little did he know that, as if through an unnoticed telepathy, just a few inches away, the same images occupied your own head. Coming home to an empty apartment had become tedious. You allowed yourself to give into your daydreams of returning home to Spencer - with Spencer. Spencer, with his warm eyes and words that drip like syrup from his tongue. You wanted nothing more than to revel in him filling your senses once the cologne from the day had been washed away, and hear him harp on about the history of mattresses, attempting to retain questions to ask him later in your memory bank, as you capitulate to sleep. “As a matter of fact, I finished most of what I had to do last night so I am ready to go… home,” he tested out the word, to which you had assigned a brand new connotation, feeling a flutter in his chest. You quickly rescinded your arms as you peripherally detected a flock of agents returning from what you assumed was an afternoon break. Spencer suddenly missed your body on his. Having already packed your things, feeling accomplished noticing that the pile of folders on your desk had shrunk significantly, you packed Spencer’s things to save him time, aimlessly throwing the strap of his satchel over his head for him once he had ungracefully shoved his arms into a blazer. “Hang on,” you gently pulled at his shoulders to meet your height, carefully fixing his tag and creased collar. The blush on his face, at the feel of your cold fingers brushing the nape of his neck, said everything he didn’t - save a meek, “Thank you.” You smiled at him in return. “Wait,” his eyes widened, “I need this,” he mumbled, reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a large black bag, decorated in gold intricacies. He didn’t explain it, but you knew that if Spencer had something to say, he would come out and say it, just all in good time. “Now are you ready?” You eyed the thing curiously, and glanced back at him. “Let’s go,” he motioned his arms in front of him, with a small nod, letting you lead the way. 

Afternoon rays of sun fought their way through clouds, battling with the winter air to warm the people mingling outside as you made your way towards the crowded station. “Penny for your thoughts?” You asked, intuitively slipping an arm through his when the sun began to disappear altogether. Your cheeks grew warm as you realised your compromising position, feeling your heart rate return to its usual pace once he relaxed into your touch. “Hm?” He turned to look at you, letting his river coloured eyes unabashedly scan your face. “You look like your mind is far away,”

“What’s on my mind is definitely not very far away,” he said, quietly. That glimmer had returned. You noticed that the crease between his brows had disappeared, indicative that whatever thoughts were rattling through his brain, were good ones. You hummed a smile, content with his contentedness. “So… Hand it over,” he extended a palm a second later. “Hand what over?” You asked, genuinely confused. “A penny,” he said as if it was obvious. You blinked up at him, unfazed by the joke, as he bit his lip provokingly. All of a sudden he stopped walking, eyes still on you. “Just… Hold on a moment,” he whispered, squinting at you as he reached a hand towards your cheek. You remained still, thinking that Spencer had finally lost his mind. “Here it is!” He exclaimed, breaking out into a smile as he retrieved a one cent coin from behind your ear. “What!? You’re kidding! That was brilliant,” you beamed at him, eyes wide in bewilderment. “For a second there I thought you had gone crazy,” you teased. “Magic does that to people,” he nodded, satisfied with how impressed you seemed. “Ah, but alas, you gave me a very ambiguous answer, so I,” you snatched the penny from his fingers, “am entitled to a refund.” Spencer shook his head with a soft smile. “You might need to use that for the bus if we miss the next train,” he informed, hurriedly examining the watch on his upturned wrist. 

No trains were missed, that day, the two of you arriving at your door in time for the six o’clock news. “Here, let me take your coat,” you offered, putting it on the small rack beside the door, placing yours adjacent to it. Spencer relished in the warmth of the place, setting his things down. “So, I’m thinking we get a proper meal in us, and then you can help me decorate this dreary place,” you instructed. He wanted to let you know that anywhere you are is far from being dreary, but something told him that was far too sappy, so he settled for a simple, “Sounds good.” He took in the familiar apartment, its walls embellished in old paintings snagged from secondhand stores and books scattered about on almost every horizontal surface, in a certain disorderliness that said, yes it’s messy, but everything has its place. “Also, I hope you know that you’re only leaving in the morning so make yourself at home.” It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for the two of you; you falling asleep at his apartment out of feebleness, him at yours, and more often than not, it involved discarded games of Scrabble as the two of you settled for debating the rules instead of actually playing. Lately, he’d been craving it more and more - and so had you. Spencer would never say no to that offer, but he was taken aback. “But I didn’t pack- I don’t have-“

“Eidetic memory is slipping I see,” you giggled at his flustered state. “I told you, I kept finding toothbrushes, sweaters and socks here every time you left, so I made a drawer full of your things, since you practically live here anyway,”

“An entire drawer? I didn’t think I was missing a whole lot,” he responded, nose tinted red. “I have to water my plants quickly, before I put dinner on, but feel free to shower,” you said, still laughing quietly. “Let me help cook, first. You need someone to disassemble the smoke alarm,” he raised an eyebrow at you. One ‘KISS THE COOK’ apron and half an hour of seasoning a chicken, spilling sweet potatoes and bumping elbows later, the two of you stood back from the counter, you boasting to Spencer about how nothing had turned to ashes, and him pointing out that the oven hadn’t been turned on yet. Soon after, you put the oven on high, humming an indistinguishable carol over the shower that could be heard running from the next room. A warm, tingling feeling overcame you.

By the time you had showered, Spencer stood serving - a well timed and flawlessly cooked - chicken, wearing mitts matching the baggy flannel pyjamas keeping him warm on top of the open oven. “Smells good,” you complimented, slightly startling Spencer. He stood at the small wooden dining table, mouth agape at the sight of you. He was sure his heart was a puddle. “I like your sweater,” he praised. You glanced down slightly confused, shortly realising that your sweater, with its much too floppy sleeves, reaching a little way above your knees, was actually his. “Oh, I’ll wash it and give it back to you at some point,” you said shyly. “I was wondering where it went, but don’t worry about it, the colour looks nicer on you than it does on me,”

“Nonsense, you know that’s not true.” Soon enough, you found yourselves digging in - not before you expressed your gratitude towards food that wasn’t charred for the first time in months. You sat across from each other, your reindeer sock clad feet occasionally tapping his beneath the table. Spencer’s heart was full, marvelling at you from where he sat, wishing this could be something he could experience forever, much preferring it over a stale sandwich. You watched him intently through your eyelashes, chin resting on your interlaced hands while he taught you about how the thalidomide scandal emerging from Germany led to safer drugs in the pharmaceutical industry, the lecture prompted by an article he’d read recently. It continued into getting the dishes cleaned up, his rambling only being interrupted by your intermittent questions which incited further tangents, or requests to pass the tea towel. His voice was a ruffled silken sheet, on which you would like to lay for eternity. Admittedly, you found it difficult to focus on retaining any more information than the odd date, due to being too focused on the way his lips moved to form every word he said, hopelessly enamoured by the overly enthusiastic expressions he made to match the tone of what he was saying. Eventually, he wandered towards the living room as you stacked away the final plate, butterflies still spurring in your stomach from when his fingers brushed yours as he handed it to you.

“Spencer Reid effortlessly navigating technology, Christmas miracles really do exist, huh?” 

“Actually, I just remembered watching you choose music, instead of paying attention to the road, that one time you drove me to work,”

“I was most definitely paying attention,” you huffed out a laugh, slightly bashful at the thought of him remembering small things you do. “You hit the kerb four times! That was the day I vowed to never let you transport me anywhere,”

“I see your argument, and I raise you with the counter argument: the kerb hit me.” Sitting with his back against the couch, legs sprawled out over the rug beneath your coffee table, Spencer couldn’t hold back his laughter. After watching you disappear into the kitchen, he busied himself with reading the holiday edition of Reader’s Digest laying on the table. He recounted you telling him that you had accidentally  drunkenly subscribed to it, and never bothered to cancel the subscription, the first time you’d caught him reading an issue. You emerged a short while later, with drinks in both hands. “Bonjour monsieur, on tonight’s menu, we can either open this Merlot or, drink Capri-suns like the sophisticated adults we are. Your pick,” you said, hiding the juice pouches behind your back and noticeably waving the bottle of wine in front of you. “I have a feeling it isn’t my pick,” he let out a laugh, “so just fill a glass with enough Merlot for two,” you were on your way to get a glass before he had the chance to finish. “Your wish is my command!” You called. Spencer put down his magazine once he saw you rushing towards him with a large glass of wine in hand. “Of course you opt for Christmas Jazz over Mariah Carey,” you teased, hearing the music he’d queued floating from the withering speaker in the corner of the living room. It was the kind of music that would play in the diner of an expensive hotel, you noted. “I can change it if you’d like?” He began reaching for your phone, when you halted him by grasping his arm. “No, it’s good, I like your taste.” Spencer grinned sheepishly, taking the glass from your hand as you sat down beside him. 

Hours of conversation and decking the halls with tinsel later, with wine flushed cheeks and twinkling eyes you moved the furniture to cater for your very own dance floor. Carefully, Spencer placed a hand below your ribs, touching you like new glassware, lacing the other with yours. Your unfettered hand, replaced the weight of the world as it rested on his shoulder. You recognised the look on his face as he settled into the close proximity, it was the same look that painted yours when you admired him whilst he failed to notice. The soft glow of a lamp illuminated the man you held, making an indistinct halo of golden light appear above his unkempt hair. “I apologise for any damage caused to your feet,” you giggled, struggling to find a rhythm. “Here, follow my lead,” he looked down at your feet. “The Waltz?” Dazzled, you raised an eyebrow, a few seconds after recognising the box-like steps in unison. Spencer tried to focus on anything but your lips, glistening in the dull light, so close to his. “Mhm, I’m not exactly the most co-ordinated-”

“You don’t say?”

“That’s tough talk for someone I’ve seen fall up a flight of stairs,”

“That sounds made up, but as you were saying,” you laughed into his chest. “It’s simple because its a repeating pattern. Did you know that name of the dance comes from the German word waltzen, which means to turn, or to glide? Some say the dance itself comes from the folk music and dances of west Austria, but others debate that it’s a variation of the Volta, from the 16th century,”

“Interesting, makes sense to debate that though. I’m pretty sure volta means ‘a turning’ in Italian - although that’s mostly in reference to the turn of a new thought or idea in sonnets… I’m thinking of Shakespeare,” you chimed in. “Sonnet one-hundred and thirty being a classic example of that,”

“Of course you would know that,” you shook your head in awe, cheeks hurting from grinning too wide. The incandescence of the smile that hadn’t left his face all day was mesmerising, the honeyed expression tied together with the dimples on his cheeks and creases around his eyes. “What would you like for Christmas?” He mumbled, lifting a moment of peaceful silence. “If you pulled my name out of the hat today you’re going to have to be a lot more subtle than that,”

“Unfortunately not,” he pouted. “Don’t tell anyone I told you, but I have Rossi,” he whispered the words into your ear, neglecting that no one else was around to hear. “What do you get a man who already has everything money can buy?”

“A new wife,” you joked, causing him to scoff. He studied your visage as you pondered his earlier question, still swaying to the soft piano sounds. “Honestly Spencer, being able to see you smile, being in your vicinity, just that is enough for me,” you finally answered, tilting your head up at him. Spencer thought his knees would give way. He thought his knees would give way, and he would hit the ground with enough impact to implode through the earth’s crust. In reality, he only stumbled over his feet momentarily, regaining his composure before you noticed him slowly becoming unhinged. “If that’s the case, I wish I’d picked your name,” he managed to utter, breathlessly.

The music which continued to play was drowned out by the sound of steady breathing, you were too caught up in each other to pay attention to the world. Wordless, you looked into his eyes, his actions parallel to yours. “You look beautiful right now,” he sighed. “Of course, you always look beautiful but, you know.” You shook your head, refraining from averting your eyes from his. He wished you believed it, promising himself to never abstain from letting you know until you saw yourself the way he did. “It’s funny you say that, because I was thinking the same thing. About you of course,” you rushed out the last part, realising the potential for miscommunication. “I love seeing you happy,”

“Well, as long as you stick around, you’ll be seeing a lot of that,” he spoke lowly, on the verge of telling you about all the things he felt for you. You hadn’t realised, but you had unconsciously moved closer together. You could feel his warm breath on your skin, lighting a fire inside your lungs, as he took yours away. Spencer saw all of the signs; the signs that this was not usual for a friendship. Maybe, if it weren’t for his defeated battle with fear, and doubt, he would have told you by now that he had fallen desperately for you. Spencer knew there wasn’t a drop of insincerity behind any of the kind words you spoke into him, he understood that you were his person, but he found it difficult enough to comprehend that someone could feel this strongly for someone. So, the implausible idea that someone could feel this way about him, was one he was not even prepared to entertain. “Y/N? I, um,” he tried, wearily. You gave him a soft smile, both tired arms laced behind his neck now as his rested on your waist. He dropped his sword. Once again losing the fight against his unreasonable insecurities, changing his mind at the last second. “I need to give you something,” his demeanour changed and he vanished from your line of vision. Your heart sank, hopes of hearing him say that the love you had for him was requited, fallen. Before you got too lost in your head, he emerged from the doorway with the same black bag you’d been inquisitive of. “Uh, here, this is for, uh, you,” he tucked his lip beneath his teeth. “Spencer…” you trailed off as he handed it to you. You sat yourself on the carpet, patting the spot next to you for him to join. “I thought I should give it to you now, since I’ll be in Vegas for Christmas,” 

“Spencer, you really didn’t have to-“

“Go on, open it,” he ignored your humility. You gave him a look as you opened it - it being replaced with a look of elation as you realised what it was. In your hands, you held a scarf, long enough to hit the floor, striped in all your favourite tones. “I had to ask my mom for help with the tassels, but-“

“You took the time to make this? For me?” You exclaimed. Without thought, you draped it around his neck to tug him closer to you, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. “This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, thank you so much,” you lauded, refusing to let go of him. “I think it was last winter, we were walking back to our hotel in Minnesota during a case, and you insisted that the both of us use my scarf to keep us warm, because you didn’t have one,”

“Ah, I remember that, except it ended up being one of the top ten worst disasters in U.S. history due to the height difference, and we both ended up falling face-first into the snow,” you giggled, recalling the way you had used up most of the hotel’s hot water afterwards. “Exactly,” he matched your expression, “seeing as you still haven’t bought one for yourself, even though we lose eighty percent of our body heat through our head and neck, I thought I would take matters into my own hands,”

“Well, I love it. You’ll have to tell your mother I said thank you and that I’m sending my love,” you finally dropped your arms from around him, out of fear of crushing his shoulders. 

Once the zeroes had lined up on the twenty-four clock, Spencer sat where he usually resided on your bed, ardently admiring you as you folded away his gift. “Wait! Spencer close your eyes! Please!” You squeaked, immediately shutting the cupboard doors, realising your unwrapped present for him was hidden within. “Y/N? Is everything alright?” He asked, eyes now sealed shut. “I didn’t want you to see what I’d bought for Secret Santa,” you let out, too exhausted to form a coherent excuse. “We only got those names today - well, yesterday, now - so how did you manage to-”

“Shoot,” you cursed to yourself, knowing his unintentional profiling would lead him to the conclusion sooner or later. Spencer’s eyes slowly opened. “Okay, let’s say if, hypothetically, I had intended on giving you something for Christmas anyway, but then drawn your name today, would you, hypothetically, be able to act surprised when you receive it from me at work?”

“Hypothetically speaking, I would?” He squinted at you, stifling laughter. Your hair was slightly messy and your drowsy eyes were visible to Spencer even without his contacts in. He thought you just looked so adorable, wanting nothing more than to hold you and share your warmth. “Anyway, come to bed,” he beckoned, his voice gravelly, giving way for the day. Obliging, you shuffled towards your bed before sliding your cold feet beneath the covers. Spencer turned to face you, resting his cheek on an upturned palm. “Sorry for ruining the surprise,” you whispered, tucking the duvet under your chin, bright eyes looking through him. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he assured, treasuring the sight before him. There had been a shift in the air between the two of you. Spencer held the wine accountable, but he could sense that you felt it too, a level of intimacy that you had not quite reached during previous nights like this. “Come closer, I need to exploit your body heat while I can.” Spencer listened to your instruction, inching nearer to you, his heart rate so high he was sure you could feel it when you nuzzled your head into his chest. “Goodnight,” you felt his chest rumble. “Hang on, the night isn’t over yet,” you mumbled, “talk to me,”

“About?” He asked, amused by your grit to avoid sleep. “Anything you want,” you yawned. “You’re sleepy,” he stated, coaxing you into getting some shut eye. When you tilted your head up and continued to blink at him, he gave in. “Have you ever wondered why a lot of our most vulnerable conversations happen  at night?” You nodded in response. “Well, a study done by the University of Colorado a couple of years ago concluded that natural light from the sun actually regulates your circadian rhythm, or internal biological clock, which standardises your sleep cycle. According to their study, this sleep cycle coincides with sunrise and sunset, meaning that if you regularly expose yourself to sunlight, your body enhances its internal clock to align more closely with the natural light cycle,” 

“Based on that,” you contended, words slightly jumbled, “our circadian rhythm would vary between seasons, right? And yours would be different, since you’re a literal vampire, to say... someone who surfs down in Florida because of disparity in sun exposure?”

“Precisely,” he raised his eyebrows, “I’m impressed you’re still paying attention, you look like you’re already dreaming.” Spencer nudged your forehead gently with his own, causing you to breath out a laugh. “Alright, so how does all of that relate to being more vulnerable at night?”

“It relates in the sense that the rise and fall of the sun reflects in our physiological, as well as emotional behaviour. During the day, we’re a lot more active, and at night, we become more relaxed and receptive. Hence, since your mind is at ease, all the thoughts and emotions that might have felt jumbled up during the day become clear, making them a whole lot easier to express,”

“Mhm,” you managed, eyelids growing heavy. “Do you… have anything to say now,” you whispered drowsily, eyes now closed, “that you can’t say during the day?” Spencer couldn’t handle it anymore. He was already so fond of you but as his hand settled to rest around your waist, feeling your warmness, he believed his ribs could collapse from the way he felt inside. As you dozed off, gradually, winter became less cold in his arms and dreamscapes of his tea leaf eyes. “And, she’s asleep,” he whispered, minutes after silence, into your hair, “but to answer your question, yes,” his lips planted a chaste kiss on your forehead, “I love you.” Of course, unbeknownst to him, you weren’t asleep just yet.

∗∗∗

A couple of days went by, and as more time went on, the less certain you became as to whether Spencer had really even said the words, wondering if the whole thing was just a fatigue driven hallucination your lovesick mind had conjured up. Waking up beside him the next morning however, tangled in a warm cocoon of cotton and limbs, had left you feeling giddy, smiling like a fool with heart shaped eyes as he attempted to feed you the waffles he’d made - which the two of you gulped down far too quickly than sanctioned, to avoid being late for work. When you didn’t succeed, and the clock had beaten you by ten minutes, you both wrestled past evocative looks from the rest of the team for the remainder of the day, JJ even singing something about the two of you ‘sitting in a tree’ . The soft, shared, smiles and light brushes of fingertips when he handed you coffee in the mornings left you wanting to concede; let him know that you would walk on burning coal for him, the more logical side of you reminding you that professing your devotion to him over an open case file consisting of a double homicide, three days before Christmas, was far from ideal. Spencer wanted the kind of love only the poets could express. This had become evident the evening you took him to a midnight screening of ‘Un homme et Une Femme’. You recalled leaning into him to translate, catching sight of his welling eyes glimmer in the dim lit theatre. Believing his love should be celebrated, you decided to withhold the unsurfaced feelings a little while longer.

Later that week, you all gathered around the BAU tree, a small framed picture of Derek decidedly hanging from one of its upper branches after Garcia had to be heavily persuaded, and eventually bribed, to not place it at the top, arguing “But he’s my star.” Spencer snuck behind you, subtly placing a hand on your back to glide through and place Rossi’s gift under the tree. “I want to let you know that I’ve been practicing my ‘surprised’ face in the mirror,” he discreetly whispered against your neck, making you roll your eyes. “Okay super sleuths, I know we’re all itching to fly away for a break, but hold your reindeer, because we are yet to kick off our annual Secret Santa,” Garcia excitedly exclaimed, shuffling in with two large sparkling bags. “I thought there was a budget?” Rossi quirked. “Yes, sir,” she looked smug, “for you.” The team shared smiles at Rossi’s perplexed look. “So, who wants to start us off?” Garcia chirped. With that, the festivities were under way. You held tight an abnormally large heat sensitive mug, which you were sure would also reveal a promiscuous image once warm - a gift from Emily, who gave herself away by insisting it would help your caffeine dependency - watching as the others tackled ribbon wrapping paper. You threw an impressed look Spencer’s way, that glint of knowing something the universe doesn’t returning to your eyes, when Rossi opened a small portrait of what looked to be a Venetian cathedral, the Santa Maria to be exact. Once the banter and excited chatter had died down, everyone turned to the recipient of the final gift, neatly labelled Spencer Reid, enveloped in brown paper and tied with deep purple ribbon. Penelope looked as if she were about to pass out. Spencer’s shifting eyes landed on JJ as she mouthed a small ‘you’re up’, causing a smile to tug at his lips when he eyed you gazing at him with the soft look he adored. Your eyes lingered on his hands as they swimmingly untied the mauve knot and tore open the paper to reveal a large leather-bound journal. He examined the old looking thing,  trailing his fingers along the convoluted golden details of the artistic interpretation of a moon calendar adorning its umber covers, partially covered by thin leather straps. His mouth was slightly agape, shaking a little at how well you knew him, clumsily catching the matching novelty pen before it slipped out of the wrapping and onto the floor. You had picked it up at a forlorn occult shop after it had caught your eye while looking out of place as it lay surrounded by large crystals. Knowing in an almost divine way that it should belong to Spencer, you had bought it. He couldn’t help but look at you briefly, communicating a silent gratitude. “This is amazing,” he ogled, “I love it.” Your heartbeat was in your throat. He was yet to find out you’d filled the first page for him.

Shouts of Merry Christmas, long hugs and season’s greetings were thrown around the room before, one by one, everyone slowly bade their goodbyes. While helping JJ clear away torn reds and greens of gift wrapping, you caught sight of Spencer, ears and cheeks scarlet, with his nose buried in his new, opened, journal.

“We are asleep until we fall in love," you looked up from Leo Tolstoy’s one thousand page book and recited to me, once. Since you walked into my life, I’ve been wide awake. You know that I’m never far away, but this is for the days you need to let out some of what you hold in, without saying it aloud. 

I love you too, Spencer.

Spencer read and re-read the words until he was sure he could recite them like the Lord’s Prayer. It was commonly Spencer who remembered small details and remembered paltry quotations, but this time, it was you. Sitting in the glow of the afternoon sun, one October, he had been reading War and Peace, and couldn’t help but share the line with you as you sat across from him, chewing through a much smaller number of pages and reading a collection of poetry. The woman he had been so captivated by, admiring from afar that day - and all others, felt the same way he did. In disbelief, he began breathing manually. Making sure he was deciphering the cursive lettering correctly, he scanned the page again. While his eyes were definitely not deceiving him, they remained glued to one word. Awake. The havoc caused in his heart by the train of thought hitting him so brutally, rivalled only Gare Montparnasse. You must’ve heard his confession nights ago. It was the only explanation for the ‘I love you, too’. You most definitely were awake. Profiling tendencies overcame him. With his basic background of graphology, he could make out that the last line had been written in fresher ink than all the others, confirming his hypothesis. For the first time in a while, his mind was quiet, the uncertainties which fought to float in, unable to make their way through as if the thee simple words you’d handed him were a barrier for them. He needed to talk to you.

Walking quickly towards the elevator, an overwhelming wave of anxiety crashed over you. You had subconsciously been avoiding Spencer for most of the evening, second-guessing whether or not you’d heard him correctly, whether he’d even meant the words in the way you’d interpreted, wondering what you would do if this friendship were to ever end. However, a more hopeful side of you contended to quiet those thoughts. He had to feel it too. There was no room in which you hadn’t shared a longing look. The feather touches, and dancing. So badly did you want to believe that he thought this too. A slender arm appeared through the closing elevator doors, tugging you back to reality, causing you to jump before quickly pushing the open button. “Spencer! You could’ve lost an arm!” You yelped. “It’s okay, I have two of them,” he huffed. He avoided your eyes for a moment, before inhaling half of the oxygen in the small lift and turning towards you. “I wanted to say thank you, for this,” he held up the book, “it’s gorgeous, and sort of… exactly what I needed - and not just the book itself but what you wrote… inside it,” he nervously looked at you. “Did you- do you mean what you wrote?” His tone of voice syringed into you a drop of hurt. “Spencer, I never want you to think that I don’t mean it,” your let out in a shaky voice, gently grasping his elbow. You visibly saw his body ease, a smitten smile replacing the lip being chewed at. His throat bobbed as he gulped before he spoke again, heartbeat in his ears. “I want you to know that I’m in love with you, Y/N. I don’t want you the way I want a best friend, I want you in a-” he sighed, clenching and unclenching his fist trying to find the words, “I want you in a way that means I want to fall asleep beside you, and wake up to you the next morning, for as long as the sun rises. I want you. I want you - no, need you, the way the tide needs the moon to rise and fall, I want you-” he swallowed, furrowing his brows at his feet, “I want you, like this.” Hazel eyes fluttering shut was the last thing you saw. Large hands lightly caressed your face, one travelling behind your ear, brushing your neck to delicately tangle in your hair. After years of wondering, you finally knew what his lips felt like on yours. His nose bumped yours lightly as you tasted his soft lips, their slight chap reminding you that winter had kissed them first. Your hands wrapped around his wrists, before one settled on his tilted jaw and another hid in his chestnut hair. He felt warm, everywhere you touched setting electricity through him. Even after you pulled apart, his arms remained on either side of your face, holding you like you were fragile. His breath fanned over your face, as you shivered, the fluttering in your stomach unsubdued. The elevator had long reached the ground floor, causing the two of you to bashfully laugh concurrently. You thought to yourself that Spencer’s crimson flush and wide grin was a sight you would lose sleep to gaze at. “All this time, I’ve been missing out on that,” you teased, watching him shyly bite his lip as he waited for you to say something else. “I’m very glad you said all of that because I’m very much in love with you, Spencer Reid, and, if you’ll let me, I want to love you, the way people love in all the books you’ve lent me,” you told him. At that, he was sure his heart was yours, fearlessly. So, making afternoon plans and debating which train to take, neither of you really caring as long as you were in the other’s company, you finally stepped out of the elevator, oblivious to the mistletoe that was hanging within it, but more than mindful of what was to come. 

Do most Muslims and Jews in America celebrate Christmas? If I asked one to name three Apostles, would they be able to do so? Which day off do you have every seven days?

I think you’re a little confused about your point here.

I do everything in my power to not celebrate Christmas but it’s still the day my office is closed so I’m not gonna go unlock the doors and sit down and do work on one of my five annual holidays - I think America’s a great big piece of shit but I’m still not going in on the Fourth of July or President’s Day. If I had the option to work on Christmas for overtime I would take it in a second, and that is in fact the reason that I worked every thanksgiving, christmas eve, and easter I could while I was in food service (christmas was the one single day a year the coffee shop closed and I would have worked christmas too if they had let me). I fucking *hate* Christmas, it’s not a celebration it is an overwhelming and inescapable obligation that non-christians are pressured into by society and its shitty ugly sweater parties.

Like. You came to the wrong atheist on this one, I am the war on christmas. I want christmas abolished.

How is “you are expected to celebrate a holiday for a religion that you don’t believe in and culturally shamed if you don’t participate” a point in your favor for the cultural christianity of atheists? Me and Sarah got just as shit on by our girl scout troop for not singing christmas carols at the old folks home *regardless* of what non-christian beliefs or non-beliefs we held and we got just as yelled at by our seventh grade english teacher as Areej and did when she didn’t want to do the Christmas-themed spelling sheet. (Also high fives to Sarah and Areej because we were the three argumentative fucks who annoyed the shit out of our school counselors in the 8th grade until they offered a kosher/halal/vegetarian pizza option at least once a week)

*

I could probably name three apostles but I’d have to check my copy of the Jesus Christ Superstar soundtrack to be sure.

Does Judas count as an apostle? “Heaven on their minds” always makes me say “holy shit” so that’s gotta be a hymn, right?

Paul Simon - that’s two right?

What’s your point? That Christians and Non Christians learn about some parts of Christianity? I can also name some of the pillars of Islam and a few of the ten commandments along with a few gods and their importance in the Hindu pantheon. Turns out that religion comes up kind of a lot in world history and literature classes. (For the record I can name significantly more characters from the Greek/Roman/Norse pantheons than I can name characters from the Bible, that doesn’t make me culturally Hellenist)

*

I’ve got both the Sabbath and Sunday off.

Personally I’m grateful to early labor activists who worked hard for the concept of the five-day work week but I’m a much bigger fan of the 4-4 model. Also if you want to figure out some way to trade so that I’ve got friday and saturday off instead of sunday I’m down.

But you wouldn’t accuse a Jewish person of being culturally christian because a ‘worship’ day they don’t observe is part of the schedule that most people doing their job have off.

The “well if you were a principled atheist you would work weekends” thing is bullshit. I’m a worker, I work when my job says I have to. I advocate for more holidays and shorter working hours for everyone and I think that it’s bullshit that vital services that I can’t access during the work week are inaccessible to me during the very few non-working hours of my life. Do you know how fucking *amazing* it would be to see a doctor on Sunday? That would be great! I mean, it would be better if my boss didn’t yell at me and cut my pay for taking time off work to see a doctor during the work week, but if I can’t have that then “seeing a medical professional on a day that doesn’t require me to sacrifice part of my paycheck” is also appealing.

Santa Claus and the Nature of Belief

I doubt anyone will read this thing, but here's my not-so-little essay: God is as real as Santa, and Santa is as real as God, and I don't say this in a negative way.

Every holiday season I end up reflecting about Santa and the nature of belief as a whole.

We tell our kids to believe in Santa, and generally we try to protect that belief for as long as we can. A frequent theme in Christmas movies is the kid or adult that don't believe in Santa Claus, but by the end of the movie their faith is restored and magic can be sensed everywhere.

And I wonder, what was all that truly about.

Yes, Virginia. There's a Santa Claus

This is the most reprinted newspaper editorial in the English language, and one of the most important pieces of Holiday lore in North America.

Virginia O'Hanlon was the daughter of a coroner's assistant, Dr. Philip O'Hanlon. In 1897, at eight years old, she asked her father if Santa Claus existed. Her father recommended that she send her question to "The Sun", a very important newspaper from New York City, which ran from 1833 until 1950. This was her original letter.

For the surprise of everyone involved The Sun responded the question of the little girl. As far as I can see there was no utterior motive. The paper ran the editorial in the seventh place on the page, below even one on the "chainless bicycle". But it was noticed by the readers. It became almost a legend.

What is important about the story is that the author of the editorial was Francis Pharcellus Church. This man was a war correspondent during the American Civil War. He saw pain, death, misery and despair.

"The Rest of the Story", a radio program that presented little-known or forgotten facts of History, described Church as a hardened cynic and an atheist who had little patience for superstitious beliefs. Initially, he didn't wanted to write the editorial. He even refused to allow his name to be attached to it.

His other writings typically espoused hardened cynicism, skepticism toward religion and superstition. Yet, his most memorable work celebrates faith.

Was he forced to write this thing? Why someone so contrary to blind faith and superstitious beliefs would try so hard to protect and legitimate the beliefs of a young girl? We will never know the answer.

Santa as a metaphor for God.

Mr. Kringle is not concerned for himself, if he was he wouldn't be here. He is in this regrettable position because he is willing to sacrifice himself for children. To create in their minds a world far better than the one we've made for them. If this is, as Mr. Collins suggests, a masquerade then Mr. Kringle is eager to forfeit his freedom to preserve that masquerade. To subject himself to prosecution to protect the children's right to believe. If this court finds that Mr. Kringle is not who he says he is, that there is no Santa, I ask the court to judge which is worse: A lie that draws a smile or a truth that draws a tear.

Miracle on 34th Street

To believe in something even when it doesn't make sense or when you don't have proof. This is a frequent theme in Santa movies. Many use Santa as a commentary on the nature of faith and use him as metaphor to the Christian god. No one took it so far as the 1998 remake of Miracle on 34th street.

The final proof on court that Kris Kringle may not be crazy is that since the US Department of Treasury can put "In God We Trust" on US currency with no hard evidence, then the people of New York can believe in Santa Claus in the same way.

The "Hogfather" and Terry Pratchett

I wrote this essay because I recently read the "Hogfather" by Terry Pratchett, and he basically wrote the best argument for faith and belief that I've ever seen.

First, there's this dialogue exchange:

"There are many who say this... person does not exist," he said.

He must exist. How else could you so readily recognize his picture. And many are in correspondence with him.

Well, yes, of course, in a sense he exists..."

In a sense everything exists

But this one takes the cake. This dialogue is between Susan Sto Helit and her grandfather Death, the best character in the book mind you. This is after they save the Hogfather, the Discworld version of Santa.

Susan: Thank you. Now...tell me...

Death: WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF YOU HADN'T SAVE HIM?

Susan: Yes! The sun would have risen just the same, yes?

Death: NO

Susan: Oh, come on. You can't expect me to believe that. It's an astronomical fact."

Death: THE SUN WOULD NOT HAVE RISEN

Susan: It's been a long night, Grandfather. I'm tired and I need a bath! I don't need silliness!

Death: THE SUN WOULD NOT HAVE RISEN

Susan: Really? Then what would have happened, pray?

Death: A MERE BALL OF FLAMING GAS WOULD HAVE ILLUMINATED THE WORLD.

Susan: All right, I'm not stupid. You're saying humans need...fantasies to make life bearable.

Death: REALLY? AS IF IT WAS SOME KIND OF PINK PILL? NO. HUMANS NEED FANTASY TO BE HUMAN. TO BE THE PLACE WHERE THE FALLING ANGEL MEETS THE RISING APE.

Susan: Tooth fairies? Hogfathers? Little—

Death: YES. AS PRACTICE. YOU HAVE TO START OUT LEARNING TO BELIEVE THE LITTLE LIES.

Susan: So we can believe the big ones?

Death: YES. JUSTICE. MERCY. DUTY. THAT SORT OF THING.

Susan: They're not the same at all!

Death: YOU THINK SO? THEN TAKE THE UNIVERSE AND GRIND IT DOWN TO THE FINEST POWDER AND SIEVE IT THROUGH THE FINEST SIEVE AND THEN SHOW ME ONE ATOM OF JUSTICE, ONE MOLECULE OF MERCY. AND YET YOU ACT AS IF THERE IS SOME...SOME RIGHTNESS IN THE UNIVERSE BY WHICH IT MAY BE JUDGED.

Susan: Yes. But people have got to believe that, or what's the point—

Death: MY POINT EXACTLY.

And it continues...

Death: THERE IS A PLACE WHERE TWO GALAXIES HAVE BEEN COLLIDING FOR A MILLION YEARS. DON'T TRY TO TELL ME THAT'S RIGHT.

Susan: Yes, but people don't think about that. Somewhere there was a bad...

Death: CORRECT. STARS EXPLODE, WORLDS COLLIDE, THERE'S HARDLY ANYWHERE IN THE UNIVERSE WHERE HUMANS CAN LIVE WITHOUT BEING FROZEN OR FRIED, AND YET YOU BELIEVE A BED. IT IS THE MOST TALENT."

Susan: Talent?

Death: OH, YES. A VERY SPECIAL KIND OF STUPIDITY. YOU THINK THE UNIVERSE IS INSIDE YOUR HEADS.

Susan: You make us sound mad. A nice warm bed...

Death: NO. YOU NEED TO BELIEVE IN THINGS THAT AREN'T TRUE. HOW ELSE CAN THEY BECOME?

Belief makes us human

It doesn't matter which religion is the true one because no one is. At the same time, all of them are.

Religion is about humans in the past finding patterns in the chaotic world, and trying to survive through it. By believing there's a order in the world, they were able to bring order to their communities and to their personal lives.

Belief is part of our nature. It's our way of understanding the world, of making sense of it all.

These characters and stories in a sense are very much real. They are metaphors for the forces we struggle with in our daily lives, the eternal hardship that is to be human

They don't have to be absolutely real to mean something. Think about your favorite character. They aren't real, but what they represent, best, what they represent to you, this is very real.

Listen, I not advocating for complete abandonment of logic and reality. Today we have a very serious problem with people who completely disregard facts and cults. They consume fake news, they believe in stupid pseudo-science and by refusing critical thinking they put others into danger.

And then there are the Christian fundamentalists, that by all talk about "Religious Freedoms", they really meat forcing their belief system in others and control what people can or cannot believe.

Facts and logic are very important. Always believe in the Science. And, I can stress this enough, Critical Thinking is ESSENTIAL to escape con artists and charismatic cult leaders.

But you can force people to live by only what it can be proved. We aren't robots. There will always be a hole that rationality alone won't be able fill. A deep existential hole that If left unchecked will destroy you bit by bit.

I'm not saying "You need to convert" or "You need religion". But there's clearly something way deep and transcendental in these rituals and stories.

I don't really believe in God and the supernatural. I say that as a gay men who had a lot issues with my overly religious parents. But the gods and these rituals and stories clearly mean something, and I think we shouldn't dismiss the living experiences of these people as just mere superstitions, be then christians, muslins, jews, Wiccans, neopagans, hindus, etc.

Belief certainly brought something to their lives, and certainly they know something we don't.

If your faith makes you happy, if it helps you bring order to your life, if helps you appreciate the world better, if it doesn't force you to discriminate, your faith is completely and integrally valid, and you don't have to prove it to anyone

Please read this with an open mind and heart. I want nothing but for you all to experience eternal love.

He who has ears to hear, let him hear. | Matthew 11:15

“Psy-Group offered its avatars for influence campaigns, boasting that they could plant the seeds of thought in people.” - Article by Ronan Farrow on how psyops work. I think it’s important to read this because it can help you to understand how celebrity/political platforms (of BOTH parties) can potentially be a part of this type of system (knowingly or unknowingly).

This is going to be a harsh reality for the entire swiftie community, but I need to get this out there. As someone who woke up every single day for a year wondering what Taylor and other celebrities were up to, I’m here to warn you guys how detrimental stan culture, idolization and gossip are to your psyche. You are not free if you wake up every day wondering what is going on in someone else’s life - I repeat, YOU are NOT free. You become enslaved to your devices, post notifications, certain blogs and solving hidden easter eggs, thus making Taylor your personal savior. You are chained to a story that you don’t even know the full truth of. You sit here waiting for a coming out, and if it does ever happen, I promise you it’s not going to bring you the fulfillment you truly need. She’s a mirrorball trying to please everyone, and it keeps you wanting to follow her and buy her music. This is how the music industry operates through Taylor’s gift, and it can become extremely unhealthy if a fan decides to dive deep into her life and career. You become dependent on her to bring you happiness, acceptance, love, truth, and more, when you should be dependent on God to bring you this. He loves you and desperately wants you to come home!

The hours I spent dissecting music videos and reading blind items I could’ve been gardening, working on my own craft, cooking, cleaning, dancing, studying, reading, hiking, and so much more. That is true freedom! It’s living in the present and noticing the beauty of your surroundings. I’m grateful for the time I had on here because it lead me to realize that the media is very deceptive, so my quest for truth began. The answer threw me for a loop, because 6 months ago I would have been the LAST person to talk about God/Jesus. When my mom would bring it up in the past, my body would physically reject her and my thoughts immediately turned hateful, like my mind would be begging her to stop talking. Talking about God use to trigger me, but now I can freely speak about Him with such peace and clarity.

The devil is real, guys. Most evil masquerades as light, promising your true personal desires. I mean, how else would you deceive masses of people into darkness? Through false light. He’s messing with this fandom so much and it breaks my heart seeing how obsessed he’s made us with celebrities. They can’t fill the emptiness within you, only Jesus can do that. When Adam and Eve chose to rebel, one of the main internal consequences of this was being separated from God. Only when people are walking in union with God do they find their meaning and purpose in being alive, because God created us to have a purpose. How many of you are depressed? Have been suicidal? Have body image issues? Are insecure? It’s because you have a veil blocking you from seeing the beauty in God’s creation that is you. You need to let go of whatever deception is holding you back. Die to it and be made new - it’s a truly beautiful, eye-opening metamorphosis.

As people grow, they seek meaning from money, pleasure, status, mysticism, religion, self-actualization, and anything else from which they think they might find fulfillment. Guys, we suffer from an identity crisis! My identity is no longer in Taylor, my sexuality, politics or whatever this musty world has to offer. My identity is in Christ alone, because Jesus is the only one who can save you from death. I’ve experienced healing from depression, anxiety and fear firsthand, so please don’t try to view me as some nut forcing religion down your throat. Sure, I still have some off days, but they pale in comparison to how I used to feel. I’m filled with so much joy and freedom now, and this is a feeling I want everyone to experience!

God doesn’t care for religion, all He wants is a relationship with you through His word. He wants to give you wisdom and understanding of how this world really operates, but you have to repent (turn away from you old life) and follow Jesus to get there. We are all imperfect and in need of a savior; humbly acknowledge it. Ask God to reveal Himself to you. Listen and stay present in your surroundings. Think of memories in your past that stick out to you, because they can help reveal your purpose. God has you remember certain things for a reason, mainly so that it can lead you back to Him.

Again, I am not here to paint Taylor as some kind of maniacal mastermind, so please don’t think I am hating on her because I’m not. How she cares for her fans, friends and family reveal a character most people need to adopt. I care for her and pray for her daily, but knowing what I know now, I can’t justify watching this intense idolization from her fans go by anymore. You’re stuck in a trance and aren’t even aware of it - trust me, I know from firsthand experience. Listen to the words of this old Christmas song she self-wrote about Jesus years back.

I want nothing but the best for you. I hope whoever reads this knows my intentions come from a place of love.

Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed, which is idolatry. | Colossians 3:5

Formerly, when you did not know God, you were slaves to those who by nature are not gods. | Galatians 4:8

This saying is trustworthy and deserving of full acceptance: “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners” - and I am the worst of them. But I received mercy for this reason, so that in me, the worst of them, Christ Jesus might demonstrate his extraordinary patience as an example to those who would believe in him for eternal life. | Timothy 1:15-16

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here! | 2 Corinthians 5:17

Blog Post #4

Hello bloggers and welcome to another blog post! This will actually be my final blog post; I am so glad that you guys have decided to read my blog! This week I will be comparing holiday songs from America and from Mexico. The song that I have chosen for America is a classic Christmas song, called “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” by Brenda Lee. For the Mexican culture I have chosen another Christmas classic, “Feliz Navidad” by José Feliciano. I will start by talking about Christmas traditions that are common in Mexico, and then I will go on to talk about Christmas traditions in America. Eventually, I will also talk about how religiosity differs in both Mexico and in America. 

The image above is from a parade held on December 12th when a religious feast is held and there are many festivities. Some of the festivities are fireworks, parades, and musical performances. The feast day is called Our Lady of Guadalupe, and is a big deal in Mexico.

Linked here is “Feliz Navidad”, which is the holiday song I chose for Mexico. The phrase Feliz Navidad literally translates to “Merry Christmas” in English. The lyrics that are in Spanish literally translate to ‘Merry Christmas and a happy New Year”. Mexicans celebrate the feast day of Our Lady of Guadalupe up until about two weeks after Christmas. A day called Noche Buena is even more important for Mexicans than actual Christmas Day, however. For Latinos, it is important to celebrate the birth of Jesus, according to this website. Noche Buena is December 24th, which is Christmas Eve, every Latino country has different traditions. Some go to mass at midnight, some eat a large meal, and some might even open gifts on Christmas Day. Many Catholics also celebrate Christmas, which is a very important holiday because of the birth of Jesus. 

Pictured above is a Christmas tree farm, which is a common Christmas tradition among many American families. Many families go together to a Christmas tree farm after Thanksgiving to find a tree to cut down and eventually decorate with ornaments before Christmas rolls around.

Linked here is the song “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree”, if you would like to take a listen. The lyrics “later we’ll have some pumpkin pie/and we’ll do some caroling” show the Christmas spirit of Americans. Many American families, mine included, love to celebrate Christmas by eating a large meal at some point in the day. The line about pumpkin pie signifies the fact that Americans eat a large meal, as pumpkin pie is a popular desert around Christmas and Thanksgiving. Although not all American families are the same in how they celebrate Christmas, the large majority do eat a large meal and open Christmas gifts. Most Americans are Protestant, which means they do celebrate Christmas, but likely in a somewhat different way than Catholics do.

The image above shows a big thing for Mexicans on Christmas, which is tamales, made by wrapping a filling in a corn husk or some other type of leaves.

In Mexico, the primary religion is Roman Catholic while in America the majority are Protestant (with the second largest religion being Catholicism). People with religious beliefs tend to be more interdependent than those who are non-believers are. Having more religiosity tends to have more positive experiences in relation to well-being, such as having more friends, less illness, and more happiness. As I learned in my cross cultural psychology class, Protestants are more likely to have a fundamental attribution error. A fundamental attribution is a cognitive bias that makes it hard to take a situation into account when necessary, and also is an over-reliance on dispositional attributions (which determine the cause of behavior to be rooted within the person). On the other hand, Catholics are mostly in the middle when it comes to dialectical thinking, which is the ability to hold opposing thoughts and accepting contradictions within the same thought process. Catholics also tend to be more interdependent than Protestants, although not by much. It makes sense that Catholics are more interdependent (even by a little) than Protestants, since Mexicans tend to be more interdependent and Americans are more independent. 

Thank you so much for reading my blog post this week! I hope you all have enjoyed reading about what I have found within the cultures of America and Mexico. I have really enjoyed getting to do all this research on both cultures and being able to discover new music along the way. While there will not be any more blog posts, I will still always be on the lookout to find new music. Thank you all again for joining me along the way and reading what I have to say! Peace, and stay safe out there! I will see you on the other side :) 

Sources: 

https://www.gviusa.com/blog/how-christmas-is-celebrated-in-mexico/

https://www.vix.com/en/identity/526577/why-noche-buena-is-way-more-important-than-christmas-for-hispanics

https://www.mommynearest.com/edition/boston/article/5-best-christmas-tree-farms-near-boston

https://www.gviusa.com/blog/how-christmas-is-celebrated-in-mexico/

My journey to/with Judaism

***This is a super long post, it’s the FULL story, not a brief overview, but it would mean the WORLD to me if you read it***

Upbringing: very much Not Jewish™️

I was born into a Catholic family. I have a goyish last name. I was baptized as an infant, and my parents took me to church each week as a kid.

In kindergarten — back when I still went to a secular private school — one of my best friends was Jewish. He told me all about the traditions his family did...told me all about the kippahs they wear, and how they had their own game called dreidel for this holiday they celebrated, called Hanukkah. (Of course this convo was at a basic-kindergarten-level of knowledge.) When I came home from school I was fascinated with Hanukkah, (this is cringey to admit but my 5-year-old self tried to integrate the traditions together and so in order to do this I drew up a “Christmas dreidel” complete with Santa Claus’ face on one side, a present on another side...you get it)

And that is when I was promptly put in “parochial” schools. I went to Catholic school from 1st grade to 12th grade. I went through Holy Communion and Confirmation like all the other kids did. My elementary soccer team’s mascot was an Angel. My high school’s mascot was a Crusader. Our high school was located on Rome Avenue. I went to a Catholic youth conference. I considered becoming a nun because I was single all throughout high school.

Growing up, around Christmastime we would always travel to visit my grandma, and she would always say we’re “German Jewish” — but I would write her off. In my mind, I was like, Yeah ok like 1%? .....It felt like my grandma was acting like one of those white people who takes a DNA test and says, “Look! We’re 1% African!” So I would dismiss her and remind her how we’re Catholics and she would drop the subject.

Falling away from Xtianity: my first 2 years of college

My freshman year I changed — politically — as I was only conservative in high school because of the ‘pro-life’ agenda being shoved down my throat. I really aligned more with liberal and leftist policies and views, though. Once I became open to new political ideology, I began to question my theological beliefs.

I always had a strong connection to God. My whole life. But I struggled with connecting to Jesus, Mary, the saints, and so on. So obviously my freshman year of college I began to fall away from Catholicism.

You see, Catholics are “bad at the Bible” as I like to say. Other Christians do a better job of teaching and analyzing the writings. They actually require school-aged children to memorize Scripture passages. Catholics mostly just teach the same stuff over and over. Jesus, Mary, Joseph, blah blah blah. Catechism, liturgical calendar, blah blah blah. Parts of the mass, fruits of the spirit, blah blah blah.

So since I was already doubting Catholicism, its corrupt leadership, and its mindless traditions.... I thought maaaaybeeee I would find purpose, truth, clarity, etc. in plain-old Christianity. But I couldn’t have been more wrong.

The other Christian churches I went to baptized people (which is a BIG LIFE DECISION) on the spot. For example if a newcomer felt on a whim that they wanted to be baptized, the church would do it right then & there. No learning, no planning or preparing, that was it. They promoted blind faith and circular thinking. I began to realize these were both normal attitudes and cognitive patterns within any and every Christian community that I encountered.

Even the Christians who exhibited curiosity mostly just asked questions in order to be able to understand, and then accept, the doctrine as truth. Questions never ever challenged anything.

Oh and let’s throw in the fact that I’m bisexual. Homophobia, transphobia, biphobia (and more) are rampant in the church. So needless to say, with all my observations about the lack of logical thinking in the church (and considering my sexual orientation) I fell away. I stopped going to church unless my family made me when I was home from college.

Enter stage right: Judaism

In retrospect I happened to have a lot of friends in my sorority and my favorite fraternity on campus who were Jewish (the frat happened to be a traditionally-Jewish one). Thought nothing of it at the time. Fast forward to junior year when I met this cute guy on Tinder. He’s now my boyfriend and we’ve been dating for over a year. He didn’t tell me this on Tinder, but when we went on our first date, he revealed that he’s Jewish and wanted to make sure that’s something I was ok with. Clearly I had no problem with that. I wasn’t too into Christianity anymore but I still identified as one (and I was still surrounded by Christian friends in my sorority) so I told him I was Christian/raised Catholic and asked hypothetically if he would be comfortable with a “both” family. He said yes.

We started dating during an October, so of course Hanukkah came up soon. There was a mega challah bake at our local Chabad, which he took me to, and we had a blast. From then on I decided I wanted to show him how supportive I was of his Jewishness. (The last girl he dated dumped him after 3 months BECAUSE he was Jewish... so I felt that I needed to be supportive)

We started going to shabbat services and dinner every week. We did Hanukkah together (we bought our first menorah together, he taught me how to spin a dreidel, his mom bought me Hanukkah socks...lol). At some point in our relationship I told him I may have Jewish ancestry from my grandma but it’s distant and my whole extended family is Christian so it really wouldn’t even matter. I don’t remember when I had that conversation with him.

Eventually, after another few months of Shabbat services and Shabbat dinners, Pesach came around.

We went to the first seder together. The second seder is what changed everything.

Deciding to convert

At first I wasn’t sure if I belonged at this second seder. My boyfriend had always brought me to every event. I had never attended anything alone at Chabad before. But I went anyway. Throughout the night I felt increasingly comfortable. I had never felt more like I was a *part of something* than I did at this seder.

I sat near a friend who I recognized. (He knows I’m raised Catholic.) Then he & his friends welcomed me. We all took turns reading from the Haggadah, we drank the four cups of wine together, and we laughed together as I had maror for the first time.

Then the familiar faces left to go home, and one of them even went to another table to sit with his other friends whom he hadn’t had a chance to see yet that night. Naturally I thought I was alone again. I almost left, but something tugged at my heart to stay until the very end of the second seder. Something told me to keep going and keep taking in this wonderful experience.

The rest of the night consisted of many songs (most likely prayers, in retrospect) I did not know. Everyone stood to sing and we all clapped to the rhythm. I knew none of the words but I still clapped along, alone at my own table. Then one of the boys — the one who had been sitting with my friends and I earlier — motioned at me to come over and join his other friends. I approached this new table full of people I’d never met, feeling awkward as ever, and they not only hoisted me up to stand on the table with them as they chanted, but they also included me in their dance circle. (no, I don’t think it was the Hora, we just spun around over and over. lol.)

This was the first night I felt at home with Judaism. Going through the Jewish history with the Haggadah, remembering the important occurrences and symbolizing them with various foods, ending the night by being welcomed into the community... it was transformative. After attending shabbat services for months and learning about Jewish values, it changed something in me when I observed Pesach for the first time last year. I knew this path would be right for me. I felt as if my soul had found where it belonged. The Jewish history, traditions, beliefs, and customs resonated with me. It all just... made sense.

I told my boyfriend I wanted to convert. I wrote three pages of reasons. But I sat on the idea of converting and did nothing for a while. I did do some more research on Judaism, though, as I continued to attend services each week.

The exploration stage

I began to actually research on my own time. If converting was something I was genuinely considering, it was high time I began actively learning as much as I could possibly learn. It was time to dive deeper than just attending the weekly services and googling the proper greetings for Jewish holidays.

I started digging deeper into Judaism and Christianity so I could compare and contrast the two. I needed to understand the similarities and differences. And BOY are they different. That was surprising at first, but the more I learned about Judaism, the more I loved how different it was from the Christianity I was indoctrinated into.

Not only are the values and teachings of each religion vastly different, but the Tanakh (which is “The Old Testsment” in Christian Bibles) actually contradicts:

The entire “New Testament”

The gospel books specifically

The Pauline letters specifically

How did I realize this? Some bible study of my own, but mostly through online research. And, of course, I would have gotten nowhere without the help of Rabbi Tovia Singer and his YouTube videos. He debunks everything there is to debunk about Christianity.

Here were some things I came across when researching:

It confused me how the four Gospels didn’t align (like, major parts of the story did not align at all...and supposedly they’re divinely inspired...but they don’t even corroborate one another?)

It confused me how the psalms we sang in church were worded completely different from the true wording in the Bible (essentially the Christian church is taking tehillim and altering it to benefit Christian dogma and Christian rhetoric.)

It confused me how we read in the Bible that Jews are ‘God’s chosen people’ and yet in every Catholic Church, every Sunday, there is a Pauline letter being read which depicts proselytization of Jews, as if Jews are lost and need Christians to save them. As if Jews would go to hell if they fail to accept Jesus.

It confused me why we would pray to Mary and the saints, because praying is worship, and worshipping anyone but God themself is idolatry.

It confused me why Christians make, sell, and use graven images. Idolatry. Again.

It confused me why Christians give absolute power to humans. For example, if you crawl up the same steps (Scala Santa) that Jesus supposedly crawled up before he died, you automatically get “saved” because *some old men who have no divine power* said so (they have a term for this and it’s called “plenary indulgence” lol).

It confused me why Jesus was believed to be the messiah considering he had to have biologically been from the line of Joseph. Wasn’t Jesus supposedly conceived without any help from Joseph? Wouldn’t that render Jesus, uh, not messiah by default? Even if he was from Joseph’s blood, he still did not complete all the tasks moshiach is supposed to fulfill. And even if he DID fulfill all the tasks required of moshiach... we still would not worship a messiah as he is human and not GOD.

These were all new thoughts I developed this past year between Pesach and Yom Kippur. New questions that challenged everything I thought I knew. It was like teaching a child 2+2≠22 but rather 2+2=4.

Hillel

This fall, after the High Holy Days, my boyfriend began attending shabbat dinners at a rabbi’s home. His new rav lives in the community and it’s exclusive to be invited, so I never imposed. We do Shabbos separately now (with some exceptions, we do it together sometimes).

I continued to go to Chabad with one of my friends who knew I wanted to convert. But one month, she couldn’t come at all, and I felt a little judged there anyway.

So I began going to Hillel a few months ago. And I honestly have found a home there.

From Hillel’s Springboard Fellow reaching out to me and taking me out for coffee to get to know me... to running into my sorority & fraternity friends at every Hillel event (shabbat or otherwise)... From getting included in various clubs like the women empowerment group and the mental health inclusivity group... to being the only college student to participate in Mitzvah Day (hosted by Hillel) with the elderly and the local Girl Scout troop... I feel truly welcome. I’ve started to attend every week. I even talked briefly with the rabbi about having Jewish lineage and wanting to convert.

Discovering new information

I went home to be with family during Thanksgiving break. My grandma flew in so she was there when I got home. She stayed with us from then until New Years (and she’s actually moving in with us next year.)

Of course, now I have a Jewish boyfriend, Jewish friends, and I’ve done extensive research on Judaism. So this time I had background knowledge when she inevitably said... “You know, we’re German Jewish!”

I inquired a little. I asked her what she meant. How is she Jewish? I know my uncle took a DNA test this year and came back part Ashkenazi. But I needed a deeper explanation than DNA.

She revealed to me that her mom’s mom was Jewish. We believe she married a Christian man. Together they had my great-grandmother, who I believe was Christian. She had my grandma, who had my dad, who had me.

And I immediately felt like that changed things. At first I was (internally) like, Now I definitely need to convert! But then I was like, Wait, does this make me Jewish? Am I Jewish-ish? ...Can you be considered Jewish if you’re only ethnically Jewish but not raised Jewishly? ...Can you be Jewish if your dad is your only Jewish parent? ...Can you be Jewish if your dad never had a bris or a bar mitzvah?

I joined a bunch of Jewbook groups, began learning the Hebrew calendar & holiday schedule, and found some folks who assist with Jewish genealogy. They did some digging for me and apparently I descend from the Rothschild family. THE Rothschild family.

Who is a Jew? Who “counts”?

This is something I’ve been muddling over.

At Hillel, at my school at least, most people are pretty Reform. They’re very liberal with their definitions of Judaism (they believe in patrilineal descent and not only matrilineal descent).

They accept me and see me as actually Jewish ...and the ones who don’t... they at least see me as Jewish-adjacent, an “honorary Jew” or an “ally to the Jewish people”.

My boyfriend, however, still sees me as Not Jewish.™️ (For context he’s Reform but he’s trying to become as observant as possible) I know he only thinks this was because of how we began our relationship and because of how I was raised. But I’m very confused here.

Do I count?

Do I not?

Do I count *enough* but still need to go through a formal conversion process?

So...now what?

I don’t know how to navigate this odd journey but I have felt for a while that I have a Jewish neshama and I feel a strong need to affirm it. I just don’t know how or what is appropriate. Do I learn Hebrew? Sign up for a trip to Israel/Germany/Poland? Put up a mezuzah? Or go toward the other end of the scale, and head down a path of a formal conversion/reaffirmation process?

Thank you in advance for your responses and thanks for reading. 🤎

burnin’ up a fever

This is my secret santa fic for @stansbooty for the @stoziersecretsanta.  I hope you like it!!

But I swear I thought I dreamed her…

The song was playing through a shitty speaker in the 1950s style diner.  Richie was tapping his fingers impatiently on the table while playing Angry Birds with one hand.  He had been waiting for more than thirty minutes for his friends to show up.  It was Christmas Eve and he could feel his stomach grumbling for some nourishment.  He hadn’t eaten since breakfast.  His mom and Stan had sternly warned him that he would feel this way after not eating for several hours.  He didn’t want to listen.  Though, he never listened to anyone.  

Bev had put a peanut butter and banana sandwich into his backpack (she was as sneaky as hell) and he had eaten it two bites.  Ordering a strawberry milkshake, he began tapping his foot on the ground and huffed when he ran out of lives in his game.  The doorbell chimed but it was a couple that Richie knew from school.  They laughed almost too loudly when they saw him sitting all alone in a huge booth meant for seven.  They never do this to me.  Is this a trick?  He bit his lip hard and felt tears pricking at his eyes.  God, what a fucking loser he was.  Here he was waiting for his friends like a fucking idiot.  

It had been snowing nonstop for the past few days and Derry had become even more unbearable since that fateful summer four years ago.  Maybe that’s why none of them wanted to see him.  They were all starting to pair off.  Bev and Ben.  Bill and Mike.  Stan and Eddie.  He was all fucking alone.  He had his parents and they would never let him forget them.  

Maggie and Wentworth Tozier were particularly smothering when they could they be.  His mom would always smudge his glasses whenever she kissed him on the cheek when he was leaving to meet his friends.  His dad always gave him a long hug whenever Richie was feeling upset about something.  His parents always knew even if he didn’t.  Sometimes, his friends would come over to his house and his mom would bake some of her famous chicken alfredo but left two plates aside for Stan and Eddie because she knew all of their reasons and never questioned them.  She treated them like her own kids.  All of them.  Though, she was a little more fond of Stan because of how long he and Richie had been friends.  Twelve years and Richie still hasn’t told him how he feels.  His parents know all about his hopeless crush and it always aches worse around the holidays.  Especially Christmas.  

Stan doesn’t pull away from Richie because he wants to because he has to. Celebrating Hanukkah is endlessly important to Stan and his family.  And their religion.  He’s seen his best friend picked on because of it.  Henry Bowers was just one of the several assholes who thought picking on someone for their religion made them bold and intimidating.  It just made them cowards, Richie sourly thought.  

Speaking of sour, his strawberry milkshake is starting to taste like sour cherries that have been bad for weeks.  He made a face and moved it far away from him on the other side of the booth.  He huffed out a frustrated sigh while blinking and gulping down a few years.  The doorbell chimed again and he looked up again, hopefully.  Golden curls and a stoic face.  A fanny pack with a perpetually stuck grimace on the face.  

Where are the rest of his friends?  Stan and Eddie were walking through the door and Richie’s pulse was picking up tenfold.  No, a hundredfold.  He was going batshit crazy.  His hands were shaking and tears were starting to come down his face.  Oh, shit, Rich, stop being a fucking baby, he told himself.  A small but determined voice squawked, “Why the fuck is only Rich here?  Bill told us that the rest of them would be here.”  Scratch that, he needed to fucking throw up.  Especially when he saw the worried frown on Stan’s face.  Their eyes met and his insides twisted.  Eddie took one glance at Stan and within a millisecond looked at Richie too.  He asked, “Did our friends set the three of us up on a fucking date?”  Other patrons were starting to look at them and the snooty couple from minutes before were laughing hysterically at the situation.  Fucking assholes.  Now, Richie was biting the inside of his mouth, working himself into a nervous wreck.  This was a fucking date, wasn’t it?

I’ll crawl home to her…

This song was mocking him like a mistletoe hanging in the doorway of his house.  He wants to kiss him them both so much that he’s on fire.  They still hadn’t made it to their way to the booth.  Richie could feel a string attached to his two loves but he could feel them pushing against it.  Eddie was still scowling in his direction, his nose red and cheeks burnt, most likely due to the rage seething underneath and the cold Maine weather.  Stan’s face was unreadable as ever but his lips were pursed slightly into consideration.  He whispered something in Eddie’s ear and Richie’s insides were twisting all over again.  Richie began fiddling with the rings on his fingers and noticed that he had bitten his nails down to the nubs.  Anxiety is a bitch.  He looked over to see that Stan and Eddie had their pinkies intertwined and the hot chocolate Richie had drunken earlier was starting to come up as his throat.  He loved seeing them happy but without him in the middle, to touch Stan’s cheek and mess with Eddie’s hair, it made him hopeless all over again.  

Why then did the rest of his friends decide to trick him into having a date with his two crushes? Oh, yeah, because the universe was fucking cruel.  Stan and Eddie had finally made their way over to him but they hadn’t taken a seat yet.  Typical.  Their pinkies were still locked together.  Richie’s eyes probably looked like saucers behind his thick-ass glasses.  Stan softly spoke up, “Rich, your glasses are always smudged.  Do you even see anything out of these?”

Richie smartly replied, “Of course, I can see, Stanley.  It’s impossible not to see that handsome face.”  Technically, without his glasses, he could only see blobs in front of his face but the blush on Stan’s face was worth it.  Of course, Eddie scoffed before Stan could speak again, “Richie, stop flirting with Stan, you know you fucking suck at it.” Richie put a hand on his heart in mock offense, “Eds, you’ve wounded my pride.”  He flopped over dramatically on the cushioned booth.  He could feel Eddie’s eye roll and then they both plopped themselves right across from him and Richie was burning again.  Burnin’ up like a fever, burnin’ up like a fever...damn, hot chocolate coming up his throat again.  Insides twisting up like a million knots. 

Before he could raise his hand up to call the waitress, Stan reached for his hand that was still on the table and Richie froze in his tracks.  He saw for the first time that Stan’s nose was tinged rose-red on the top and he had his favorite blue scarf on because his body temperature always ran a little lower than everybody else’s.  His matching knit cap was hiding his gold curls but there were very much visible still.  But his hands were free from his mittens and he was holding on to Richie’s hand like a lifeline.  Eddie was eyeing them with an expression that Richie couldn’t quite read.  He could always see what Eddie was feeling.  He made it clear on every occasion.  Richie dumbly said, “I just wanted a hot chocolate, Stan.  What’s wrong?”  He and Eddie were giving each other looks again.  They were speaking a language entirely unknown to Richie.

The snow outside was glistening underneath the sky.  He forgot he had been here for a few hours.  It was now dark and inching closer to Christmas.  He remembered Mike had made him chocolate chip cookies to give to Richie’s parents and his heart was all warm again because he could be at least looking forward to something tonight.  Wallowing in his self-pity, watching shitty Christmas movies, and eating a dozen cookies, while complaining about it in the morning.  After a while felt like months, Stan asked him, “Do you want to have dinner with me and Eddie?”

Richie breathed out, “Tonight?  I thought this was already a date.”

Eddie quipped, “It’s not a fucking date, Tozier.”  Richie’s heart dropped again and he plastered on a fake smile and replied, “Of course, it is, Eds. Why else would you have to come here?  You wanted to see me.”  Eddie wrapped his arms around himself and his pink sweatshirt rid up a little bit and Richie gulped while he could still feel Stan’s eyes on him when his voice clearly hummed out, “Rich, it’s just one dinner.  It’s not going to hurt anybody.” Of course, it’s going to hurt somebody, Stanley.  He’s been alone in this diner for two hours before anybody showed up to see him.  Eddie told him, “Stan brought dinner.  He knows how much you love that pizza place a few blocks over.  And those goddamn cheese fries.”  Richie’s eyes were starting to water again and he mumbled, “What about their peppermint hot chocolate?”  Stan’s stupid little nose was still a rose red and he handed over the food and hot chocolate to Richie and Richie said, “So, it is a date.”  Eddie grumbled again but he softly smiled when Stan wrapped their pinkies together while Richie shoved cheese fries into his mouth before speaking with his mouth, half-full, “I’m such a sad bitch.”

Eddie snorted in disgust and Stan raised an eyebrow before telling them, “This  whole thing was actually my idea.”  Richie froze all over again but for a totally different reason this time while Eddie spluttered in frustration though the blush on his face was evident when he quietly let out, “Stan, I told you to keep that a secret.” “Well, we both like him, Eddie, so what’s the point of hiding it from him anymore?” 

“Because it’s Richie!  I shouldn’t like Richie!” Richie cut in, “Wow, thank you, Eddie Spaghetti.  I feel really fucking great about myself right now.”

Stan was grabbing onto his hand again and then a second later, interlocked their fingers together and Richie could have melted right then and there.  Wow, this day was a rollercoaster.  

He was shoving cheese fries into his mouth again and Stan was staring at him with the fondest expression on his face even Eddie had a slight smile on his face while watching Richie.  This date was the weirdest and the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to him.  He put his feet up on the table to display his mismatching socks and sipped his peppermint hot chocolate and it burned but Stan’s smile burned brighter.  Wow, all of them together was going to be something spectacularly brilliant, right?  Eddie was listing off reasons that what Richie was doing was unsanitary but Richie could feel the affection creeping into his voice even though he was talking a million miles a minute.

Richie asked them, “So when’s the next date, boys?”

Cultural Christianity, Christian Appropriation, and Derailment

Periodically, I discuss the concept of cultural Christianity, the dangers of authors mucking with folklore that is not theirs, and what you have to guard against when you’re a part of a culturally Christian society.

And every time I do, like clockwork, Christians come in and say “but what about [non-Christian nation appropriating Christianity], hmmmmm????? That’s just as bad!”

So let’s talk about all of it.

Cultural Christianity

For starters: What is cultural Christianity?

Cultural Christianity is the fact the Western calendar is primarily built around two things: farming, and Christianity

Our dedicated time off that is mostly guaranteed to all workers are Christian holidays. Easter, Christmas, Good Friday. The time between Christmas and New Year is also prone to being off and this also in some dominions has Christian events.

And yes, I know that most of these holidays actually have pagan roots. Christianity co-opted them and thoroughly Christianized them, to the point their re-paganization only really started in the 1800s… by people who were also culturally Christian, and often wrote whole books on Christianity on top of their neo-pagan beliefs.

It’s how Christmas is considered a “neutral, secular” holiday, when it’s celebrating the birth of Christ. It’s how the concept of “other religions” exist, let alone the fact they have to ask for time off for their own holidays that count against their personal vacation time, when Christians often don’t have to do that. It’s how you see more churches than mosques or synagogues in the West by a very large factor.

There are very few places in the West that are not, on some level, culturally Christian. Some very insular communities might be able to escape a lot of the trappings of Christianity, but still. The government mandated days off are mostly Christian things. 

Cultural Christianity means everyone who was raised in a culturally Christian society has a Christian lens. They are aware of Christianity, its holidays, its general story, its values. 

This translates to them having to unlearn all of this and learn a whole new framework when they begin researching other folklore (Native religions, in my case, but this also applies to other religions such as Judaism and Islam) cause other folklore/religions do not have the same holidays, values, or even relationship to the deity in question.

Christian Appropriation

So in a non-Christian society, it is possible to appropriate Christianity. Because the same factors that have Christians appropriate everything else in the West are at play with a different dominant religion.

This mostly shows up in Japanese media. Japan has Shinto/Buddhism as a dominant religion, and you’ll often hear anime or manga artists say they simply picked Christian imagery because it looks cool.

And I agree this is disrespectful! It is really not fun to watch sacred imagery of your beliefs be used because “it looks cool” and I would love it if all appropriation of others’ beliefs ended.

But that often isn’t the focus of the posts getting these comments.

Derailment

This is twofold.

1- Very few places where Christianity isn’t the dominant religion exist.

Because Christian nations colonized most of the planet, there are a lot more culturally Christian places than you probably want to admit, if you’re the kind of person who pulls “but what about the appropriation.”. This includes a lot of Africa, a lot of Southeast Asia, a lot of Oceania, a lot of South America, basically all of North America, and basically all of Europe. 

You might disagree with how they practice Christianity, but they are still Christian. This means they are culturally Christian. Just not your culturally Christian.

But, as I mentioned in the previous section, appropriation can happen. It just doesn’t happen much in the English speaking world, and I am speaking to the English speaking world. Specifically, the Western English speaking world, which is very much culturally Christian.

The places where Christianity isn’t the dominant religion, however, is mostly composed of non-white people, specifically Arab, South Asian, and East Asian. So these “but what about where Christianity is appropriated” often end up sounding like “why aren’t you persecuting people of colour”, which sounds like trying to justify racism against people over there to me.

2- You are trying to say you are as much of a victim as us, when you are not

If you live in the West, you are culturally Christian unless you have grown up very deeply entrenched in a non-Christian community.

You have grown up with a wide, wide, wide variety of Christian stories, Christian based stories, Christian values/worldviews-as-default told to you your whole life. Some of it has been terrible, some of it you disagree with, but by and large, every story has some infusion of Christianity to it. Some of the most popular fictional texts are deeply religious things, like the Chronicles of Narnia.

You have not had your religion forbidden from being practiced, to you personally.

You have only seen true appropriation in very recent times, because of the influx of non-Western media being imported.

You have not had your sacred places constantly, consistently infringed upon and destroyed for reasons like “an observatory” or “a pipeline” or “a dam” or “a mine”.

You may have dealt with misunderstandings and miscommunications but you have rarely had somebody fundamentally misunderstand what Christianity is (Jesus as lord and saviour, died for our sins, we should try to live a more godly life and a good life to get into Heaven and get eternal happiness).

Native people have not had any of those luxuries, and it has mostly been culturally Christian people who have taken what is ours and turned it into what they wanted it to be. 

We have Christian pagans (paganism was founded and codified in the Victorian era, so no, it’s not “ancient wisdom” but more Victorians—who were definitely culturally Christian—interpreting everything to prove Christianity as more universal than it was*) peddle dream catchers and calling themselves medicine people and burning sage to the point it’s endangered, all trying to claim they’re “following Native practices” when they’re not.

So when I’m speaking to somebody in the Western world, 95% of the time I will be speaking to somebody culturally Christian. 

*When you start to track the “studied ancient mysteries” things, you either find types like the Theosophical Society that wildly appropriated Hinduism and Buddhism to fit their own ends and often put in messiah figures into them to show how there’s a Christ everywhere on the planet, or you start to dive into people who took Christianized recordings of folklore who may or may not have sipped some “older religions are better for noble savages reason” juice.

It’s very often racist and pulling from records written down by missionaries who had a vested interest in modifying the folklore in question, or from people who’d already been Christianized, so its validity is questionable.

Beginning to Unlearn

If you want to learn more about cultural Christianity and how to be more respectful of non-Christian belief systems, take a look at the this post and the folklore tag in general. Those are great starting places for you to do deeper research into whatever marginalized belief you’re looking to use.

I’d also suggest earnestly learning about other belief structures’ customs, challenging your assumptions of what is neutral and universal and the proper way of doing things. You might find a lot of surprising things that you weren’t expecting, even just looking at Abrahamic religions.

In the end

When I’m speaking to somebody who wants to use Native folklore, I’m going to assume they’re culturally Christian and educate them accordingly.

I am having a conversation to Christians about the appropriation of Native culture and how not to do that.

I am not going to suddenly change topics to make Christians comfortable by proving that I’m a champion for them, because frankly, they shouldn’t be dangling respecting Natives if only they interrupt themselves to prove they’re properly educated on Christian issues. Because that demand is once again centring Christianity above Native people.

I am talking about Native issues, not Christian issues.

I do not accept derailments that are thinly veiled racism or persecution complexes based off “what if”s that have not actually happened in the West. I acknowledge they happen elsewhere, and that’s tragic. I am not the person to talk about those details. I’d rather pass the mic to Christians in the area and let them speak. They are not Western Christians’ shields to use as they will. They have a voice, as well.

I am not going to coddle people who feel that Christian values are diminishing from society because we need room for more than just Christian values and Christianity does not have a monopoly on being a good person.

I am talking about Christians appropriating Native American beliefs.

And if that makes you uncomfortable, to hear Western Christians have protection, insert their own dogma into too much, and have unlearning to do—without being able to tack on a story about how no, really, you’re a victim in the West—then you have more unlearning to do. I’ve given places to start learning above.

We are talking about Native issues right now.

And I will not stop calling Christians out for their religious-based colonialism.

~ Lesya

dipping my toe into clown lore

@clusband my ode to u

i was gonna make a much longer post about this but i have a really important exam in the middle of august so I'm too anxious to focus on anything else but i wanna spout some clown lore that’s gonna appear in my fic

see below for information on the human carnival festival, its ties to saturnalia and the feast of fools, and how i think purplebloods share similar practices.

warning: mentions of violence 

i’ve been digging around the web to learn more about the carnival festival that is celebrated globally in human culture. why do we go apeshit with cool costumes and indulge in our base desires during this holiday? what the fuck is it even for? 

turns out, it’s rooted in religion! who knew dressing in skimpy outfits and partying would be tied to god. i knew, that’s who. here we go - 

carnival seems to be a christianized version of saturnalia, a festival thrown by the romans to celebrate their god saturn. in much the same fashion as modern times, it was a big party with lots of fun and food and gambling and maybe a human sacrifice thrown into the mix, complete and total meltdown of morality, nothing too spicy. people also gave gifts and allowed their slaves to be seen as equals during this holy day. a person is nominated to be the king of saturnalia to oversee the festivities and act as the event organizer. this role might have also been used to instigate whimsical activities, because according to wikipedia (i know, crucify me for using it as a source): ‘His capricious commands, such as "Sing naked!" or "Throw him into cold water!", had to be obeyed by the other guests at the convivium: he creates and (mis)rules a chaotic and absurd world.’ 

but wait, there’s more! remember that human sacrifice i mentioned? yeah, it’s the king of saturnalia. At the end of 30 days from the start of the festival, their throat is slit on the altar of saturn. According to James Frazer:

We are justified in assuming that in an earlier and more barbarous age it was the universal practice in ancient Italy, wherever the worship of Saturn prevailed, to choose a man who played the part and enjoyed all the traditionary privileges of Saturn for a season, and then died, whether by his own or another's hand, whether by the knife or the fire or on the gallows-tree, in the character of the good god who gave his life for the world.

saturnalia, and in particular the role of the king of saturnalia, has been compared to yet another holiday - the feast of fools and all that it entails. it’s not totally understood what the feast of fools was originally meant to celebrate or how it was done, because historical texts kinda slacked on being historical and there were a lot of people who condemned this practice and consequently talked a lot of shit that may not have been true. this festival seems to have started off as a relatively harmless celebration within the church where men of lower rank would switch roles with the higher ups, possibly to symbolize humility and bringing down the mighty. 

the role reversal is very similar to what was done during saturnalia. furthermore, saturnalia was followed by the celebration of the calends of january, where a lot of the same sort of customs were upheld - slaves allowed to be free during festivities, homes were decorated, gifts were exchanged, etc. it seems that this is where christmas stems from. anyway, the theme of “power, dignity and impunity ... [being] briefly conferred on those in a subordinate position” is a common theme among all of these holidays. once again, it’s not really clear where the feast of fools came from or why it was created, but the influences are all there.

historians propose that the theme of role reversal among all of these holidays might be a mockery of those who were displeased with social order. by displacing those who were in power and partaking in the madness during these festivals, it was probably a message to people to show how crazy society would become, and that this was the future they would find themselves in, if everything was switched. or, here’s another theory by Victor Turner:

The order we are mocking is important but not ultimate; what is ultimate is the community it serves; and this community is fundamentally egalitarian; it includes everyone. Yet we cannot do away with the order. So we periodically renew it, rededicate it, return it to its original meaning, by suspending it in the name of the community, which is fundamentally, ultimately of equals, and which underlies it.

anyway, back to the feast of fools. humans were and always will be baboons, so while the feast of fools was largely condemned by the rest of the church, rich civilians were like ‘dudes lets get funky’ and started partying. i can’t summarize what follows well enough, because here is a great description from oxford bibliographies:

While the liturgical Feast of Fools struggled for survival inside the churches, unrelated festivities of bourgeois confraternities of fools outside the churches burgeoned. Dressed in motley costumes with ass’s ears, secular fools had their own distinct traditions of parades, comic performances, and mimicry. Subsequent scholarship largely confused the two traditions, prompting considerable misreading of the older ecclesiastical records and contributing to the mistaken but widespread view that the Feast of Fools was little more than a disorderly clerical revel.

sounds familiar? very much like saturnalia, y'all. history constantly repeats and reinvents itself a la stealing cultures and rebranding it as a new thing. 

somewhere in this absolute mess of history developed yet another tradition that is eerily similar to the king saturnalia - the role of the lord of misrule. a peasant or sub-deacon would be randomly appointed to preside over festivities, and it seems to have been during christmas. ALL of these things converge and influence each other and all happen around the same time (like decemberish), which is why it’s so hard to make sense of what’s what. anyway, wiki says that the lord of misrule “was an officer appointed by lot during Christmastide to preside over the Feast of Fools”. since the feast of fools became bastardized by secular influences, the holiday became one of revelry and weird shit going down. The lord of misrule called people to disorder, just like the king of saturnalia. thankfully, i can't find reports of the lord of misrule being a human sacrifice.

so where am i headed with this? i think this all SCREAMS purpleblood antics. 

as a spin-off from this post, imagine a festival where all purplebloods on alternia gather in the ancient city where the grand highblood once ruled. the lord of misrule is chosen among the clowns that were left abandoned in the city due to their mental instability. this role is immensely sacred to the clowns, because they revere the unstable purplebloods and would gladly follow their commands. as i said in that linked post, the unstable purplebloods are considered to be particularly blessed by the messiahs and are seen as prophets and guides. the chosen lord of misrule cannot really command the festivities because of their degenerated mental state, so there are priests appointed to interpret their word (like Chahut). 

the clowns bring captured lowbloods with them to the festival, and for this short period, they are allowed to be treated as equals. unbeknownst to them, they will eventually be sacrificed. their blood is used to paint the new clown initiates during the initiation ceremony at the end of the festival, in much the same way Chahut baptized mc during her route. as a final blessing to the clowns and to mark the end of the festival, the lord of misrule is sacrificed, and their blood is spilled on a sacred altar that runs down into a pool of purple blood left over from past lords. i dont know what this would be for yet. maybe the initiates have to drink from there, like how eating bread and drinking wine is considered consuming the body and blood of christ. maybe it symbolizes them growing closer to the messiahs. 

i’ll probably come up with more lore, but here it is for now. 

A Taste Of Christmas, 4/6

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 4/6.

Pairings: Metacrisis Nine x Rose.

A/N: Sequel for The Summertime Of Our Lives. Written for doctorroseprompts' fall fic bingo and ficmas challenge. Fall fic bingo: Jack O' Lantern, Fire, Crunch, Hike, Road Trip, Book, Mask, Blanket, Hug. Ficmas challenge: Chestnuts, Coal, Naughty and/or Nice. Tagging @thebookster on her demand.

“Christmas is a time when you get homesick - even when you're home.” - Carol Nelson.

CHAPTER 4:

“Have you ever been told the story of Jack O’ Lantern?” The Doctor and Tony were sat under the large tent the human Time Lord had built with sheets, chairs and even the couch. He had used a Time Lord trick to make it look bigger on the inside. They could fit an entire room in this tent. Instead, they had put cushions and blankets on the ground. It was the greatest tent Tony ever had. The only one he ever had. Once he had built one in his bedroom. His nanny had found him, lectured him and forced him to clean his mess. He never ever did that mistake ever again. He didn’t want to be lectured for having fun. Which was happening every time he was having fun. They all seemed to forget that he was a kid and, as such, he needed to have fun so he could grow up as a decent man. However, fun wasn’t in their dictionary. As the only Tyler male, he was the inheritor of Pete’s empire and he had to behave. Tony loved coming over at Rose’s place because she had little respect for those conventions and was showing him the real side of life, the one where you were having fun and still could grow up as a decent person. She had told him stories about her childhood in the Estates of London – that were far more dangerous and devastated in this universe – and how she had fought to become an ordinary woman until the Doctor swept her off her feet. She had had her ups and downs but she had had fun. Tony wished he could have such a life. He could only live it through Rose, through the Doctor who always had amazing stories to entertain him. Something Jackie hated about him – among all the other flaws she was finding in him. But it was only because he had stolen her daughter’s heart. That was what Tony’s nanny was saying. “That’s our watchman’s nickname,” chuckled Tony. “But you don’t know the real story.” Tony leant forward. The Doctor was holding his sonic screwdriver under his chin like a torch. It was partly lightning his face and giving him a scary look. Tony was fascinated. The Doctor had tried to explain Christmas, had messed the story up and talked about Halloween instead. Another tradition they weren’t celebrating in this universe. “Jack was a farrier in Ireland a long time ago. He was known for his greed, his nastiness and self-centredness but also for his love for alcohol. One night, he was in a pub and jostled Satan, the big bad boss of all devils. Satan tried to convince Jack to work for him to keep his soul but the farrier was cleverer than that. He asked for one last drink before accepting the deal. Satan turned into a six pence coin to pay for the drink. Jack pocketed it with a silver cross: Satan was trapped. The cross was a powerful artefact against him.” No need to go into details for that one. Religious were a dangerous path to go on and since they didn’t seem to exist in this universe, the Doctor refused to be the one bringing them in. He wasn’t a believer. Neither were Rose and Jackie, the two only other persons beside him to have known about religions with their good and bad sides. “That’s rubbish.” “That’s not over.” “So Satan doesn’t stay trapped.” “Of course not. Jack convinced him not to take his soul in the next ten years. Satan and Jack met again after those ten years. It was on a road of the Irish countryside. When Satan asked for Jack’s soul again, the farrier asked him to pick an apple from the closest apple tree. Satan climbed on Jack’s shoulders and clung to the branches. And Jack carved a cross on the tree with his knife.” “And Satan was trapped again.” “Yep.” “Did they make a new deal?” “Yeah. But this time, Jack hadn’t been that lucky. The day he died, he was refused the gates of Heaven, of the good afterlife and the deal he had made with the great Devil prohibited him the access to Hell, to the bad afterlife. He was condemned to wander endlessly in-between those worlds. Satan tossed him a bit of burning coal that Jack placed in a carved turnip he used as a lantern to find his way in the dark until the end of times.” “I thought we were celebrating Christmas in this house. Not the time to carve pumpkins.” “But we’ve met Jack O’ Lantern once.” Rose sneaked in the tent and settled down beside the Doctor. She put cornets full of roasted chestnuts on the ground between the three of them. She had been roasting them on the chimney’s fire that was burning bright to keep them warm in the house. The Doctor picked a chestnut and crunched it happily. There were small pleasures that were similar to what he knew in their universe. It was making it easier to live here. “You did?” “Yep. A long time ago. When we were traveling.” “That was with Captain Jack.” The Jack of this universe was a totally different person. He was a geek with big glasses, a serious problem with people and had an impressive intelligence. Their Jack wasn’t an idiot but compared to this one, he would have felt like it. No one was as clever as the Doctor. It didn’t mean they couldn’t get close to his superior intelligence. “We decided to go on a hike.” “You decided that it was a good idea!” “I wasn’t the one who spent the night in a dance club getting drunk!” “Obviously, you were refusing all the plans Jack was making up!” “It only consisted on getting wasted and… ahem.” “I never did the second part. It was only Jack.” “Anyway, we did that hike.” “That turned into a complete road trip by foot because you lost our vehicle.” “I never lost my vehicle.” Tony burst out laughing. At least, the Doctor and Rose were cute when they were arguing. There was never the threat of them splitting up or doing worse than just arguing. They loved each other too deeply to even think about splitting up. This was beautiful and Tony hoped to live something like this one day. Stupid tales would say his father. Pete didn’t believe in these things. After all, his real Jackie had died when the Doctor came in his world for the first time and the one he had gotten to replace her was too wild and independent for his liking. “Anyway, we were walking through a forest. Night was falling. There was a thick mist and we were getting lost in the woods. And there was this soft glow traveling in the dark. A silhouette carrying a carved turnip and looking for its way just like us.” “I’m still convinced it was Jack playing a trick on us.” “Maybe. Or maybe not. We’ll never know.” “You could write books, you know? With all the bullshit you say.” “I could, and they’d be serious books. Books of knowledge. Humans have a couple of things to learn, especially in this universe.” The Doctor was a show-off, Rose was lecturing him on his Mr-Know-it-all attitude and Tony was laughing. He was the happiest little boy when he was around them. They took care of him like he was their child but also like their equal. He was so glad to have gotten the right to spend all his holidays here, away from the pressure his family was putting on him. He wondered if his big sister ever had to go through this pressure. From what he had heard, she was living her life freely and didn’t have the intention to change it. He wished he could be as free as her. If only he wasn’t the successor of Pete Tyler… “Come on, you two. It’s bath time.” “I can take my bath alone, thank you.” “Well, one of the two is going to the bathroom, the other helps me with the dinner.” “Bathroom occupied!” exclaimed the Doctor. He crawled out of the tent and rushed upstairs. Rose wasn’t surprised to see him reacting this way. The Doctor wasn’t a man to cook. Sure he knew how to cook and he knew that very well but he also considered it as too domestic for him and refused to use his incredible talents. Even if it was to satisfy his wife’s taste buds. What a selfish man sometimes. He felt forced to take Tony’s place when he found out that they weren’t done by the time he was out of the bathroom and pretended to be unhappy about it. Rose was aware that he was faking it all. This man was spending his time pretending things he wasn’t really thinking. Like the day he had called her a stupid ape. She had taken it badly then, but now, she was reading between the lines, seeing behind the mask he was wearing to protect himself in society. The Doctor was a complicated man and she was the only one able to understand him and to love him for who he really was. “Are you being nice to be sure to have gifts on our Christmas celebration?” “I prefer being naughty to unwrap the delicious present I have under my eyes.” “You, naughty boy.” The Doctor chuckled and Rose swayed her hips in a coquettish way and a gasp escaped her lips when he dropped what he was doing to pull her close to him. His hand grabbed her arse, his lips brushed her pulse point and she held her breath, not knowing what to expect from him now. “Who is being naughty now, Rose Tyler?” His voice was hoarse and Rose adventured her hand on the hard bump of his pants. She smirked. She wasn’t the only one to be naughty today. The hoarseness of his voice indicated how aroused he was feeling right now. She squeezed his groin, heard the muffled groan and was taken by surprise when she sucked on the tender skin of her neck. They didn’t go to the end of this naughty game. Tony was giving them an idea of what life with a child would be. Rose wanted to be a mother. This wish had grown more important with the birth of Tony. She had taken her big sister’s part to heart, and over the years, she had wanted a kid of her own. She just didn’t want to push the Doctor into this. He wasn’t ready. And what would it be like to have a Bad Wolf/Human Time Lord child? Certainly an interesting mix. “What’s going on, Rose?” The Doctor was in bed, lying on his side, his head casually placed on his hand, and he was watching Rose getting ready for bed. All evening she had been distraught by thoughts he couldn’t decipher. Something was bothering her. She joined him in bed and snuggled against him under the blanket. He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her in for a hug. “Nothing.” “Don’t nothing me.” “Nothing to worry about.” “You won’t convince me.” Rose sighed, “Fine. It’s a thought I have casually. It really nagged at me with Tony’s birth but your question that day…” “My question?” “When I told you there’s three of us.” “Oh.” The Doctor could be very stupid at understanding her sometimes but this was pretty clear. What she wanted was a family. She had been alone for so long in this world and she wouldn’t have filled this need or expressed it if a version of him hadn’t been trapped with her in this universe. “It’s too early for you. Forget it.” “Rose Tyler,” he looked at her straight in the eyes, “I’ll be more than honoured to have a family with you. Now, or later.” He kissed her lips tenderly. She was astonished that he was so willing to have a family with her, so honoured that this man who had no ties and no home was now feeling comfortable enough to settle down and have children with her, a woman he loved passionately…

To be continued...

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