holidays rule!

Mother’s Day Ficlet:  “She likes it”

Well, it’s a little late in the day but here you go.  Fits into the William AU of “Swept Up” and “Paint” but you do not need to have read them.

***

She’s already left for the hospital when Mulder gets home from the grocery store.  He pushes the door open with his foot, arms paper-bags full of things she loves to eat and rarely allows – whipped cream and chocolate from the fancy end of the candy aisle, Twizzlers and regular Coca-Cola.

“Scully!” he calls and Will saunters in behind him, gravely entrusted with the detail of egg-carton carrying.

“Scully!”  William says.  It’s only relatively recently, as he’s gotten to know his school friends and their families, that he’s realized it’s somewhat unusual for his mom and dad to have different last names, and very unusual for his mom and dad to call one another by them.

“But why?” he’d asked that day after dinner at Noah’s house.  Mulder had sighed at the steering wheel and after considering a child-friendly explanation of law enforcement etiquette, gender politics in the workplace and the evolution of their particular partnership into couplehood, he’d settled on:

“She likes it.” William had nodded with a furrowed brow, as if this made sense of everything, everything he’d ever wondered.

“Just like she likes kissing me,” Mulder had added to lighten the mood of enlightenment and William groaned.

“I know, gross.”

Now he calls the name again and when William repeats it again, Mulder notes the empty echo pitter pattering back across the foyer with a sinking feeling in his chest.  His shoulders fall as he sets the bags down on the kitchen counter and opens the refrigerator, puts a hand out for Will to hand over the eggs.  Will reaches his arms out like he’s handling a bomb and Mulder pretends to almost-drop it when it’s finally handed over.

“Dad!” William scolds, not apparently in the mood for this joke.  He’s gotten a hint of what’s happened here.  “Did she have to go to work?”

It’s stoic rather than sulky, a boy who like his father, just wants to know the truth.  Mulder finds the note signed Mom and senses the disappointment rising off her squiggly letters.

“Looks like it.”

“But it’s Mothers’ Day. I’m supposed to make her pancakes.”

“I know.”

“I promised.”  

A boy who, like his mother, is haunted by his own loyalty.

“Can I stay up until she gets home?”

Mulder licks his lips and takes a deep breath as he prepares to let his son down and momentarily wonders how Scully would put this.  Though he’s the parent who spends more time with their child, he still often finds himself doing this, double-checking his decisions against her judgment.  She’s his mother and there are simply things she knows that Mulder has to learn.  It has been this way from the beginning – William would cry and only Scully could feed him.  Now Mulder usually feeds him, but it takes imagining her disapproval not to feed him cookies and Coca-Cola every meal.

He sees Will standing in his assembly line position, ready to place the Ready Whip and the strawberries and the butter on their rightful thrones.  Scully would surely want William in bed on time, getting rest for school.  But the lesson of working to keep a promise surely would mean something to her as well. Not to mention the goofy smile she tended to make around pancakes.  He’d only found out she liked pancakes the morning after he found out how much she liked his tongue inside her.  Some things, seven years of working together just don’t tell you about a person.

“We can try,” Mulder says. “But you have to do everything I say. It’s going to be tricky.”

Surprised to have gotten a yes, William’s eyebrows rise to Scully-esque heights, but his lips are straight and steady, ready to take on this unexpected duty.  And he approaches the rest of the evening with the same military style obedience.  He takes his bath early, goes down for a nap at six o’clock with minimal resistance, though he makes Mulder swear this isn’t just a trick to achieve an early bedtime.

At nine-thirty, Scully texts that she’s finally on her way home and Mulder bends at his son’s bedside. “Go time, buddy,” he whispers as he shakes the little shoulder and William shoots up out of bed, puts his robe on over his PJs (another thing he gets from his mother, this absolute reverence for formal bedwear), scrambles double-time, two feet on each step, down the staircase as Mulder takes all the ingredients out.

Mulder pulls a chair up to the counter so Will can stand on it while they mix the flour and milk and then hands William a half a glass of Coke with a straw in it.

“Just this once,” Mulder swears as William eagerly accepts and slurps.  Mulder almost tells him to slow down, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing if he could get the cup out of sight by the time she gets home.

When she gets home, she pushes the door closed quietly, turns the deadbolt full way rather than flicking it so as not to wake anyone, but still Mulder hears her sigh.  It is an I don’t know how to marry all the good parts of my life to one another kind of sigh, an I feel guilty for having anger when I’m so blessed kind of sigh, an I’ve been looking at bloody people all day when it wasn’t supposed to be my turn kind of sigh.

“Scully?”  He holds his finger at his lips and William manages to obey though the sugared-up, caffeinated, rule-breaking holiday glee on his face is at fever pitch.

There’s a mystified look on her face, a surprise-party kind of face as she decides whether to be flattered or livid.  She bites her lip, deciding whether she wants them to see her smile yet.  Mulder is not the only one who can read her this easily. William bursts into a giggling fit and almost falls off the chair so Mulder scoops him up.

“What… is this?” she asks. “It’s ten-thirty.”

“Pancakes!”  William squeals.  And then she allows the smile out of its toothy cage.  “And soda!”

She gives Mulder a look but he knows the various temperatures of her anger, and this is soft-boiled reproach at worst.

“Good, I’m starving,” she says and comes to kiss Will on the forehead.

“Set the table,” Mulder orders as he puts him down, greedily wanting a moment with her to himself, if only to make sure he’s not in too much trouble.  There are some Mother’s Day gifts he’s hoping to give as well, later.

“How’s he going to get up for school?” she says softly as he puts an arm sideways around her waist.

“You’re more important than school.”

“Mulder,” she says and it’s an I like this Mulder, a my life is good Mulder, an I love you Mulder.  He kisses her and pulls her a little closer round the front, wedged between him and the counter.  She puts her arms around his neck, hands reeking of Purell, as he kisses her.  

“Scul-ly!” William moans, thoroughly grossed out.  She laughs, but stays huddled beneath Mulder’s arm, her face on his chest.

“I told you, she does this all the time, it’s way out of line,” Mulder says.  “Can’t keep her hands off me.”

William comes to tug her wrist toward the table, sits her at the place he’s set for her. One of his plastic Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle plates, an unevenly folded napkin. Mulder catches her wiping the corner of her eye.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” she asks Will.

“Dad says you like it.”

She furrows her brow as she looks back at Mulder.  He serves her the three best pancakes and bends to whisper.

“Don’t worry.  I haven’t told him anything else you like.”

She pushes him away as three silver-dollar sized Alien-face pancakes land on Will’s plate.  Mulder can practically see the Coca-Cola metabolizing – he’ll be falling asleep at the table within a half hour.  But that’s plenty of time.

“Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. Just like I promised.”

“Thanks, Will,” she says but she looks at Mulder, and he knows she’s going to like what he has for her too.

Fan fic voice

Does anybody else get that thing where, when trying to write something for a new fandom, it’s hard to switch out of the “voice” that you use for your primary fandom? Like, I totally Little Women voiced my first few newsies fics, and now I’m trying to write something that isn’t Newsies for the first time in forever, and it’s like there is this urge to have everybody talk like rough and tumble turn of the century New York orphans.

everything you need to know about polish history can be summed up by this little fact:

there is a national/religious song, in which there are two versions of the last verse depending on Poland’s political situation

so we either ask God to bless our fatherland or we ask him to return it to us

4

Prompt #1. Being caught under the mistletoe with Gally.

For: @purityimagines

You throw your hair into a high ponytail, before walking down to the main floor of the homestead. It’s Christmas Day, and Newt has the place decorated from top to bottom. It’s your first Christmas in the Glade, and even though you don’t remember anything from your past, you know that you were wishing for snow. It doesn’t snow in the Glade though, nor does it rain, it’s always sunny.

You sigh, and bump into Newt, “You really out did yourself Newt!”

“Thanks Y/N!”

“You seem cheerier than usual,” Minho pipes in.

“It’s Christmas, I’m supposed to be cheery,” You roll your eyes.

“Try telling that to Gally,” You mutter a ‘shut up’ in response, and walk over to your best friend who’s sulking in the corner by the stairs.

“What’s wrong with you?” You ask, sinking down next to him.

“Alby’s all about order in the Glade, and everybody doing their jobs, not a single shuckface is doing anything today.”

“Oh come on Gal, it’s Christmas!”

“And how do we know that? Last time I checked, the creators didn’t send us any calendars, how do we know it’s Christmas today?”

“Even if it isn’t, it’s the thought that counts!” You say, throwing your hands up in exasperation, “Be more festive Gal!”

“Maybe this’ll help!” You hear a voice call from above you, you two look up to see Minho, at the top of the stairs, dangling a mistletoe above you. You stare at him wide-eyed, and Gally shares your expression, “Come on! It’s tradition!”

“Shuck it,” You say, leaning in for a kiss, Gally is taken aback at first, but he soon reciprocates. You pull back at the sound of wolf-whistles coming from the rest of the boys.

“Well, I guess there is one this I like about this Christmas,” Gally mutters, before giving you one more peck on the lips.    

A/N: AND THAT’S ALL LOVES! 12 Days of Book Boys is over! I know I couldn’t get to all the request, but I tried to post for as many different prompts and character that I could. I know there were a lot of Harry Potter ones, but it was because it was my newest fandom and I had a lot of inspiration for it. Thank you for those who requested and read my imagines. So until next year! Happy holidays! xoxo

Masterlist // Rules List // To-Do List

4

≧◡≦ ♡

Karfreitag (Good Friday) and the prohibition to dance

Karfreitag (Good Friday), the day when the big Christian confessions in Germany commemorate the crucifixion of Jesus Christ, is a national holiday in Germany, protected by law. As Good Friday is one of the ‘Silent Holidays’, special rules apply. These rules are known as ‘Tanzverbot’, the prohibition to dance. It means that public events with the purpose to play music and dance are generally prohibited. But also festivals with alcoholic drinks or sports events are not allowed. Concerts are also illegal unless they serve for the purpose of ‘religious or spiritual elation’. Music must not be played in pubs and restaurants. The regulations vary from state to state and tend to be stricter in the catholic south and more liberal in the formerly East German states.

Some antireligious, freethinking, and humanist groups frequently criticize the prohibition to dance as anachronistic and irreconcilable with the separation of religion and state. The state should not dictate what to do or to let be on specific dates. However, polls over the last couple of years have consistently shown that this is a minority opinion of about 1/3 of the population. More than 50 % vowed to keep these regulations, which vary slightly from state to state, in place. The discussion is brought up every year on Good Friday because it is the only remaining silent holiday day where the ‘Tanzverbot’ applies all day long in most states (exceptions are Berlin, Bremen, Hamburg, and Schleswig-Holstein). On all other silent holidays, the rules don’t apply all day long, but are limited to to certain hours of the day.

jewish hermione:

  • setting the time turner back 24 hours on holy days, so she could avoid working on days of rest and prayer
  • eventually enforcing no-homework days on the holidays; a rule at the muggle schools she used to attend
  • making sure quidditch practices were never held on saturdays, for the jewish students who chose not to work on shabbat
  • educating the teachers and even dumbledore on the importance of equal representation over the winter holidays
  • that year in the great hall, a menorah was set on a table next to the christmas tree
  • all students were invited to join in prayers, and they each took turns lighting the candles
  • in the following years, figures from many different religions were present in the great hall over the holidays and their respective holy days

(part 1/?)

anonymous asked:

Zhora claims she won't reblog shit from "toxics" to give us "validation" but the dumb bitch will spend a lot of time and energy talking about us, secretly stalking our blogs and even learning about our fun little anti-HS petty holiday "rules" in order to purposefully try to ruin them by trying to crowd the tags with crap even though she's blocked everyone she's trying to annoy so we couldn't see her whack ass attempt at sabotaging it. She spends more time on "toxic" blogs than "toxics" do.

She should catch on that nothing she would ever do would give me “validation”. I am valid. Period.

disconnected | l.h.

Who knows if Luke’s texting mistake could lead to something great.

+masterlist

disconnected

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Chapter 8

Character key:

Luke
(y/n)
Ian
Ashton


Friday, December 24th
(10:00am)
Merry Christmas Eve, Luke!

(10:01am)
Someone is chipper for a Friday morning.

(10:03am)
Because it’s CHRISTMAS EVE!!!

(10:04am)
I see someone has had an attitude change.

(10:06am)
Well, I have someone to thank for that.

(10:08am)
And would I happen to know that someone?

(10:09am)
I think you might.

(10:15am)
[Thank you]

(10:16am)
[You’re welcome]

Keep reading

Quick morning gesture.

Funny since I came back from holidays I construct my sketches differently than before.

Then I realized that I was unconsciously trying to imitate gesture of other artists or still following other rules .

And holidays made me forget all about this. Just drawing with my own theory and straight angular lines.Everything is much more easier now.

anonymous asked:

ereri making gingerbread houses

“I don’t think it’s supposed to look like that,” Levi said gently, cupping the back of Eren’s neck and rubbing gently. The gingerbread house Eren had wanted so badly to make looked more like a goopy pool of gumdrops and cardboard. 

When Eren stiffened, Levi quickly tried to change tactics. “I mean, uhhh, I’d want to live there if I was a gingerbread man?” It came out more like a question than he wanted.

“No you wouldn’t,” Eren said, turning around to stare at Levi. He was laughing, white frosting coating his fingers and his tongue stained red from the peppermint candy canes.   

“No,” Levi agreed, wrapping his arms around Eren and pulling him closer. “But I do want to kiss you.”

Eren hummed, bringing up a thumb to smear white icing on Levi’s lips. “Will you look at that, turns out this icing is good for something.”

Their kiss was sweet and slow, and tasted only a little of gingerbread cookies.