#Buy Fireworks London

[showtimefireworks1]

Lighting Up the Night: How to Safely Buy Discounted Fireworks Online

Fireworks have long been a staple of celebrations, from Independence Day to New Year's Eve and beyond. The vibrant colors, dazzling displays, and resounding booms create memories that last a lifetime. However, the cost of fireworks can add up quickly, especially if you're planning a large display. To buy discounted fireworks online offers an affordable way to enhance your celebrations without breaking the bank. Here’s what you need to know to make your purchase both safe and cost-effective.

Advantages of Buying Fireworks Online

Cost Savings: One of the primary benefits to buy Fireworks Online UK is the ability to find discounts that are not typically available at brick-and-mortar stores. Many online retailers offer sales, bulk discounts, and special promotions, allowing you to get more bang for your buck.

Wide Selection: Online fireworks retailers often carry a broader selection of products than physical stores. Whether you're looking for traditional sparklers, elaborate aerial displays, or novelty items like fountains and roman candles, you’re more likely to find exactly what you want online.

Convenience: Shopping online for fireworks allows you to browse at your own pace, compare prices across different sites, and read reviews from other customers. This convenience can save you time and help you make informed purchasing decisions.

Bulk Purchasing: If you're planning a large event, buying in bulk online can provide significant savings. Many online retailers offer wholesale prices for large orders, which can be a game-changer for community events, weddings, or other large gatherings.

Tips for Safe Online Firework Purchases

Check Legality: Fireworks laws vary by state and locality, so it's crucial to ensure that the products you're purchasing are legal in your area. Most reputable online retailers will provide information about where their products can be shipped, but it's always a good idea to double-check local regulations.

Buy from Reputable Retailers: Ensure that the online store you're purchasing from is reputable. Look for customer reviews, Better Business Bureau ratings, and secure payment options. A trustworthy retailer will also provide detailed product descriptions and safety instructions.

Understand Shipping Restrictions: Fireworks are classified as hazardous materials, which mean they are subject to strict shipping regulations. Make sure to review the retailer’s shipping policies, including delivery times and costs. Some states may have restrictions that limit or prohibit the shipment of fireworks.

Safety First: Always prioritize safety when purchasing fireworks. Make sure the products you buy are certified and follow safety guidelines. This includes purchasing fireworks that are clearly labeled with the manufacturer’s information and using them according to the provided instructions.

Final Thoughts

Online Fireworks Shop UK is a fantastic way to enjoy a spectacular celebration without overspending. By taking advantage of online discounts, selecting the right retailer, and adhering to local laws and safety guidelines, you can light up the night with confidence. Whether it's a small family gathering or a large public event, discounted online fireworks can help you create an unforgettable experience. Just remember to celebrate responsibly and safely, ensuring that everyone has a fun and injury-free experience.

Source & Reference: https://sites.google.com/view/showtime-fireworks/lighting-up-the-night-how-to-safely-buy-discounted-fireworks-online

[woso-dreamzzz]

Pictures

Amanda Ilestedt x Reader

Summary: Your girlfriend visits you in London

The sun shone through the blinds directly onto Amanda's face, making it look like she was glowing.

She looked like a goddess, lying asleep in your bed with no care in the world.

With her in Paris and you in London, you rarely got to see each other in person. Both of your schedules were packed for most of the year. Amanda was always on the pitch, always with a ball while you always had a camera around your neck, snapping pictures of the men's and women's teams for Arsenal.

Your work kept you separated but on long weekends or national holidays, you were always together. Most of them, it meant that you flew out to Paris where the two of you would hit all the touristy romantic spots before curling up in Amanda's bed and watching a generic rom-com as you traded kisses.

This was one of the rare times she came to London.

It looked good on her, the English weather. She fit in well here, bundled up in scarves and a long coat with a silly hat on her head.

You smiled as she shifted in her sleep, scrunching up her nose as if she could feel the sun on her.

Absentmindedly, you reached back to grab at the camera you kept handy on your bedside table. It was nothing like your professional camera that got placed in its case as soon as you were finished with it (it was also stupidly expensive and you didn't want to buy a new one after spending so much on the one you currently had) and was a polaroid rather than a digital.

You snapped a picture.

Amanda groaned, turning more fully into the pillow as your camera spat out the picture. "It's too early."

Her voice was heavy with sleep and she cracked open her eyes to look at you.

"It's nearly noon," You replied.

"Too early," She said again," Especially, for you to be taking pictures." She reached out for your camera.

You didn't usually let people touch your camera. You were protective over all of them and got antsy when they were in somebody's else's grip.

But, with Amanda, you didn't mind.

You let her fiddle with it for a bit as you picked up the polaroid you had snapped and inspected it.

You smiled.

"Is that going on your mirror?" Amanda asked. She sat up in bed and nestled closer to you, pulling it down to properly look.

You glanced at your mirror. Everyone who was anyone in your life ended up as a polaroid along the edges of your mirror. Your mother. Your father. Your first family pet. The Arsenal girls were on there as were many of your friends.

But the most pictures on your mirror belonged to your girlfriend.

Very few people got more than one solo shot of themselves displayed but Amanda wasn't like everybody else.

She was your girlfriend, the girl you wanted to spend your entire life with.

A new picture of her appeared on your mirror every time you saw her.

Candids littered the border.

Amanda on a walk, at dinner, lazing around on the sofa. It didn't matter what she was doing, you would take a picture of her doing the most mundane of things if she let you.

"Where else would you go?" You teased, stretching and rising from bed. You slipped this picture between one of her sunbathing on the beach and one of you kissing her cheek with fireworks in the background.

"Well...I was hoping here."

You turned around, frowning. "What do you mean? You're already here."

"No." She shook her head and approached you, her hands finding home on your waist. "I mean permanently."

"I...I don't understand."

"Arsenal made me an offer," Amanda said.

"Arsenal made you an offer," You said, smiling as you reached up to cradle her cheeks, closing the distance between you both with your lips. "Are you going to take it?"

"I am."

[prettylittlels]

Over spilled coffee

(tom blyth x reader)

summary: you accidentally spill coffee over a man, can it be coincidence or just pure luck that he's sitting next to you on a 8 hour flight?

a/n: i've had this concept stuck in my head for days. hope you like it! send requests!

📖🩵🦢🌱🍵🏔⭐️

4:00 am is not my ideal time of the day to wake up to, but going to the airport makes it worth it. My flight to London is in five hours and I'm already at the check-in box, waiting for the airport staff to give me my boarding pass.

After going through customs and security checks, I decide to pass the time at a little coffee shop near my gate. I order an iced coffe and patiently wait by the kitchen island. Going back to my life in London feels amazing after spending the holidays with my family. No more gossip or body shaming me for at least a year!

The barista interrupts my thoughts when she shouts, indicating my coffee was ready. I start to walk towards my precious drink while another man does the same. As I reach the coffee cup, I realize it isn't mine, but when I try to turn around, the man with his beverage in hand blocks my view and the coffee slips from his hand. The dark liquid stains his grey t-shirt completely.

- Oh God! - I say - I'm so, so sorry, sir! -

-It's fine - he looks at me with an angry gaze - I'll just change -

- How can I repay you?- I ask full of regret - Can I buy you another one?-

The man lifts his head and I realize how gorgeous he is. I'm such a moron. He lifts his hand and waves my suggestions away. He's still looking annoyingly at me when he turns around and goes to the men's toilet. Fuck.

————————------• ♡ •------————————

The hours have passed I'm comfortably seated in the plane, window seat secured. New York to London, eight hours to relax and sl- oh no. The guy from the café is right in front of me. He observs his surroundings before settling his eyes on me.

-Oh. - He frowns at me - Hi again- he says. And I catch a subtle english accent

-Hi- I say weakly -What a coincidence, huh?-

-Sure is - responds, lifting his eyebrows sarcastically.

We don't exchange any more words until after the security talk the flight attendants give us. I can't believe I shat my chance at hitting on this beautiful man just because I wanted my stupid coffee, so I start the conversation again.

- Hey, I'm truly sorry for what happened- i say, trying to express my guilt - I see you managed to change your clothes!-

He softens his gaze a notch this time and thanks me.

- I'm sorry too, I shouldn't have reacted like that -

- It's understantable, I would have done the same thing- I smile at him - All good?-

He flashes me a flirty grin. - Everything's good.-

- Good! - I feel relieved - So, London? -

- Yes, work -he answers - I'm staying for a few weeks and then I'm travelling to Birmingham-

-Oh, that's nice - I say- Do you have family there?-

-I do, actually. What about you?-

-I live in London, I'm coming back from my parents house-

-Great - we stare at each other awkwardly - So, what do you do?-

-Oh, I'm a writer - I tell him - You?-

-I'm an actor!- he cheerfully says

-You do look familiar- I laugh - Sorry, what's your name?-

-Oh, right. My name's Tom. Tom Blyth.-

-You played Billy the Kid?- I ask, surprised by his words

-Yes, I did- he smiles appreciative.

-I loved that series! That's why I thought I'd seen you before. Oh, I'm Y/N, by the way. Y/L/N.-

- I haven't heard of you yet, Ms. Y/L/N - he observs

-It's because I'm in the middle of publishing my debut book, actually- I admit.

-When's it gonna come out?- a different accent slios out. Brooklyn, I think.

-Probably in October-

-I'll be waiting for it- he smiles.

The chemistry between us sparked like fireworks. It was so easy to talk to him. We spent all of the flight talking and discussing over things we loved. I didn't want this moment to end.

————————------• ♡ •------————————

The eight hours flew by very quickly, in my opinion, and it was time to say goodbye to my seat-mate.

-I had so much fun today - he tells me - I'm glad you spilled that coffee over me-

-You're funny. But I'm glad, too.-

We grin sweetly at each other, and I was about to part from him when he started talking once more.

-When can I see you again? - he asked, and I'm sure I fell for him right there.

-Anytime you'd like-

————————------• ♡ •------————————

Almost a year went by and we're in very difficult circumstances. Tom has become the interent boyfriend after starring in the new hunger games prequel. And I have sold over 5 million copies of my book in 2 weeks, making my way into a New York Times' bestseller. Life couldn't get any better.

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

🔥During the Great Fire of London ...

The First Doctor was busy saving George, Helen, Ida and Alan Mortimer from the flames.

The Fourth Doctor was urging the warring factions of Republicans and Royalists to stop fighting and focus on saving the city, but got blamed for starting it.

The Fifth Doctor and his companions were making a run for it.

Iris Wildthyme was hanging around watching it.

And the Master was setting off fireworks from the roof of a private member's club next to St James' Park.

(Doctor Who and the Invasion from Space, The Republican's Story, The Visitation, Excelis Dawns, Dismemberment)

Whoniverse Facts for Friday by GIL

Any purple text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[azulock]

Hi!! please can you do Reo🎆 for the New Years event thing?? Thank you!!

Hi nonnie! Reo is aaaalways a must, here is to hoping Reo gets free from his toxic relationship this 2024

Reo will have no qualms about spending money to have a great New Year's eve. After all, what's the good of that football money if he don't spend it? He's buying you both new clothes and accessories in either silver or gold colors. I mean, you can't turn the year in old clothes, right? He's also gonna get you both entrance into some fancy party on the top of some high-rise building up close to the London Eye so you get the best view of the fireworks. You may be surrounded by music, fancy food and rich people but all he cares about is you, and being a romantic, he wants a kiss right when the clock strikes midnight. You'll get to watch the fireworks wrapped in his arms, drinking expensive champagne while way high up above the city!

[fayes-fics]

Kinktober Drabble #9: Gags

Kinktober Masterlist

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni, gags, oral sex (m to f), vaginal sex, mild d/s undertones.

Authors Note: Unbetaed. Closer to drabble length this time, woohoo go me etc. Hope you enjoy <3

He is taking you hard on the oval staircase of Hastings House in London. Upstairs from Daphne’s sophisticated ball, you snuck away from.

“I’m quite certain your brother-in-law Simon wouldn’t approve of this use of his stairs,” you murmur breathily, clinging to his shoulders, the last word elongated as he spears deep.

“Then don’t tell him,” is Benedict’s witty riposte into your ear.

He changes angle and hooks both of your legs over the crook of his arms. It’s so blisteringly good you won’t last long; his cock drags on just the right spot. A long moaning curse slips out of you unbidden, echoing up the curved stairwell. 

“Shh,” he hisses.

“I can’t,” you slur, eyes rolling back, body going limp with pleasure.

He suddenly stops his movement and, still buried deep inside you, moves his arms. You watch as he peels off his white silk gloves, turning them inside out and making them into a ball. 

“Open your mouth,” he orders quietly. 

You do as you’re told. 

He feeds his gloves into your mouth, watching you bite down, cupping your jaw. Turned inside out, they taste like him, his skin, and oh god, if that doesn't make you salivate.

“We both know you’re incapable of keeping quiet, so now you don’t have to,” he smirks.

You nod and look expectantly at him, waiting for him to resume. Instead, he pulls out of you suddenly and ducks down a few stairs, burying his face between your thighs and ploughing his tongue heavily against you.

Your muffled curse with his name barely makes a sound.

“Oh, that’s just perfect,” he breathes, his words smothered amongst layers of your dress. “Scream as loud as you want, my love; no one will disturb us now,” he assures in a whisper.

You moan, drool, and yell against the makeshift gag as he lashes at your clit with his tongue. Wordlessly pushing you hard and fast towards a heady climax. When three of his now naked fingers thrust into you, you can’t control your movement or tumbling over the abyss, writhing against his firm hold. You cry out as he suddenly pulls away, wanting more, to draw it out into something magnificent. It’s then he plunges his cock back into your fluttering channel, and fireworks explode behind your eyelids. Oh fuck, that’s precisely what you needed.

“Come on, my love, keep going; come again right now; I want to feel it,” his soft growl against your cheek is something hot and sinful. 

You breathe heavily through your nose, making keening noises against your gag, knuckles white as you grip his waistcoat, hanging on for dear life as he pounds into you harder, knowing you are so close again almost instantly. 

He clamps his mouth against your neck and allows your skin to absorb his groan as you break again, and you take him over with you, pulsing hard and heavy.

“Oh, that’s it, my darling, yessss,” his voice a desperate mumble against your heated skin, his teeth sinking in just a little, sure to leave a visible mark, as he emptied inside you.

He lays atop you for a few moments, panting, before holding your jaw and asking you to open your mouth. Slowly he pulls out the gloves he gagged you with.

“Oh darling, these are ruined,” he chuckles as he assesses the damage. “But it was worth it. I will buy all the gloves in London if you’ll sneak away with me at every event and do this.”

Your mouth feels dry and woolly, but you still manage a smirk and whisper in his ear. “You could just fuck me when we get home, Mr Bridgerton.”

He pouts as he pulls up slightly to refasten his trousers. “But where’s the fun in that, Mrs Bridgerton?” 

You roll your eyes but shoot him an affectionate head shake as he helps you to your feet. “Besides, who said I’m not going to do exactly that as well?” He whispers silkily, kissing the back of your hand and leading you back downstairs to the ball.

Benedict taglst: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat

[ravenbloodshot]

fr thats why i have mixed feelings on kpop even after being a fan of a few groups and as much as we are being forced to hear about kpop groups everywhere, like we cant escapr their constant promotions they arent helping western artists if anything theyre trying to overule america. do u think itll ever calm down? i mean the groups are literally everywhere. on every brwnd name there is and most normal folk like myself cant usually afford to constantly buy expensive merch nor tour the country just to watch new groups do the same thing as other groups.

if kpop was less about quantity i think it would intruige me more to get back into it but its become overboard in recent years and prices are going up on almost everything. so if i were to even go and see one group lets say ateez in london, it would probs cost me 300-400 maybe more quid as a whole trip. when you add ticket, hotels, merch, lightsticks, those round picture banner things, hotels, train or plane tickets. music is becoming less accessible by the days. i do feel bad for new groups cause bts and blackpink hoarded the spotlight for yonks now other groups are coming abroad and its sometimes hit or miss if i like their songs. for example i prefer ateez to skz music but i still wouldnt justify investing so much to go and see them if their only venue is maybe wembley and or glasgow or wherever they tour.

i feel like groups are so detached or almost out of touch with themselves and what they expect from their fans and listeners or even general music groups. didnt surprise me that ateez were chosen for coachella, blackpink had already done it for gg's that didnt surprise me either. but how is people who have their own lifestyle to afford going to afford kpop investment? we all know the shitty seats are the cheapest but its still a no from me. sighhhh entertainment generally shouldnt be this difficult. i have similar issued with football and frankly its eventually off putting like i want to like something, do i like it? for a while then comes the huge costs it takes to really be into the groups or clubs or other forms of entertainment.

🤷‍♀️

I've never bought a kpop album in my life. I've never bought an album of anyone's whatsoever. What's the point when one can just listen to it for free on YouTube/Spotify?

But, yeah. It's all overpriced, reused concepts and albums. Ateez makes pretty good music imo, Stray kids music isn't my taste so I also agree with you on that.

Thanxx, Fireworks, Guerilla, Bouncy, Rocky etc.... Ateez put out that fire, their new comeback is a miss though

The only song I like by stray kids is Lee know's and Bangchan's song "Drive"

[showtimefireworks1]

Buy Discounted Fireworks Online for Your Next Celebration

Find more info at: https://t.ly/1Ebmt

[herrlindemann]

KERRANG! - Review of the 16.05.2002 concert in London

Four years ago, on a grisly Wednesday night in November, Rammstein played their first UK gig at the Finsbury Park Powerhaus. A dimly-lit-pub-cum-venue in one of the less salubrious  parts of North London, it was a far cry from the arenas the sextet were used to playing back in Germany. Not that Rammstein were going to let such trivialities as a tiny stage and low roof stand in the way of their poker-faced sturm und drang, though.

In front of an audience that numbered no more than 200, Rammstein pulled out all the stops: the explosions, the flaming suits, the spurting dildoes. The audience — a mixture of Goths, Euro-metal fans and the merely curious — had doubtless seen this sort of things before. It’s just unlikely that they had seen it — or, in the case of the pyrotechnics, felt it — as such close quarters. It’d be a stretch to say that nobody went home disappointed. No one, however, went home unscorched.

In the four years since that Powerhaus show, Rammstein haven’t changed a great deal. They’re still getting themselves on fire and strapping on prosthetic knobs. They’re just doing it in front of more people. The London Arena, a huge, soulless shed that looks like it’s been borrowed from some down-on-their-luck Eastern Bloc State, located in the shadow of Canary Wharf, might only be a few miles across the capital from Finsbury Park, but it’s a world away in real terms. This is the first time Rammstein can really show the UK what they’re capable of when they’ve got the space to spread their wings.

And by Christ, do they spread their wings. Over the course of their 90-minute set, the band will, among other things, don flaming helmets, shoot fireworks over the heads of the audience and set their singer on fire. It’s safe to say that a large percentage of the crowd are here to see the visuals as much as they are to hear the songs.

The downside of this, of course, is that the support bands are comparatively inconsequential. Raging Speedhorn and American Head Charge — tonight’s twin aperitifs — couldn’t be more different. Where Speedhorn are crop-haired oiks with guitars cranked to 12, Head Change are more menacing, more theatrical, more — yes — American. Speedhorn are street thugs who don’t give a f**k whether the industro-Goth-metal massive likes them; Head Charge are an abject lesson in studied chaos who most definitely do. Speedhorn race around the stage as if imaginary Pitfalls were snapping at their backsides; Head Charge merely stalk it. Speedhorn makes a noise like a sack of spanners hitting the ground at 100mph; Head Charge sound like Ministry’s offcuts buffed-up for the nu-metal generation. Both get an equally moderate reception from the Rammstein fans in the rapidly filling hall, but Raging Speedhorn — thanks largely to their balls-out lunacy — win it on points.

But this is unequivocally the headliner’s show. A decade into their career, and Rammstein remain the oddest rock stars around. In a few days time, their new single ‘Ich Will’ will gatecrash the UK Top 30; an impressive effort considering the sheer incompatibility between a band of German-speaking 30-somethings and the British record buying public. But it’s here, onstage, bathed in the light of six UFO-shaped pods hanging from the ceiling, that Rammstein work best. On record, the likes of ‘Link 2 3 4’, ‘Rein Raus’ and ‘Du Hast’ — all aired tonight, all virtually identical to their studio counterparts — are brusque and stentorian; metal machine music that marches to the beat of a military heart. With the added benefit of, say, a trio of guitars that spurt out 20-feet long jets of flame, they’re turned into the sort of bombastic, all-encompassing arena anthems that Kiss would sell their back catalogue for. The fast that they’re sung entirely and unashamedly in German — not now, or ever, The International Language Of Rock ’N’ Roll — only deepens the sense of glorious ridiculousness.

It’s impossible to accuse Rammstein of not having a sense of humour. You wouldn’t get, say, Scott Stapp of Creed sodomising his bespectacled keyboard player during a song called ‘Bück dich’. Similarly, the sight of Till Lindemann — the man with the strap-on — goose-stepping sternly across the stage in boots that shoot out waterfalls of sparks indicates a man not unaware of his band’s earnest reputation. And Lindemann’s legendary flaming coat, unveiled during ‘Rammstein’ itself, was, is and always will be nothing short of f**king impressive.

Ultimately, though, it’s the spectacle rather than just the songs that has drawn people here. And, as 10,000 people gorge themselves stupid on the columns of flame that appear on the stage as the band prepare to take their bows, that spectacle couldn’t be in better hands right now.

[bisexualchrissycunningham]

Let’s talk about what hellcheer and stali’s idea Valentines Days look like.

I think both Eddie and Chrissy’s v-day is a lot more low-key than some might assume because they’re always relatively affectionate and open with each other about how in love they are so I’d imagine they aren’t as ostentatious as some other couples. Stali? Complete opposite. They both go all out for one another. May or may not include pyrotechnics in their v-day festivities.

Excellent question, anon!

I think you're right on both fronts. Eddie and Chrissy would be very low-key about Valentine's Day. Eddie was probably the guy who railed against how commercial it was before Chrissy, then the first time she softly says, "Actually, I think it can be really romantic…" he instantly starts making elaborate plans and picks fights with whatever friends might accuse him of selling out (I'm thinking our beloved unnamed Corroded Coffin member!) She makes sure he keeps it small and intimate though, starting with a home cooked meal - he cooks for her, she makes dessert. They'd exchange mixtapes and homemade cards with little "Free Hug/Bubble Bath/Weird Kinky Sex" coupons inside cause they're corny like that. They'd end the night with some very intense emotional sex.

For Steve and Kali.. hoo boy. For their first Valentine's Day, Steve would buy out Melvad's entire stock of decorations and chocolates (ok, Joyce would actually put a limit on his purchase but it would still be way too much) and decorate his entire house with all the hearts and at least 2 giant stuffed bears carrying boxes of chocolate hearts. This would be before taking her to Enzo's, for a reservation he had in place six months beforehand. He would have wanted to plan for after dinner too but Kali insisted that was her part.

Assuming Kali has reached a point where she can be fairly vulnerable with Steve (I think that would be her biggest hurdle in the relationship), I think she would go waaay overboard creating an illusion for them both, maybe of a place Steve has talked about wanting to visit with her (maybe her home in London, maybe Tuscany or some tropical beach somewhere). She will have practiced sustaining it beforehand but it still exhausts her to the point she passes out and sleeps for like 14 hours. Steve of course goes into a full-blown panic, getting Dr. Owens on the phone and demanding he fly to Hawkins. Once the doc got the story of what happened out of him, he would assure him she just overtaxed herself and needed the rest.

He would be prepared with her favorite food, water, warm blankets, cold compresses, literally anything she could possibly need upon waking up.

The next year, Steve buys fancy fireworks and burns himself trying to spell her name with them.

Injuring themselves in the name of grandiose displays of love clearly becomes their thing.

[wickedscribbles]

Tempo, Chapter Thirteen

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x AFAB Reader (Second Person Perspective), she/her pronouns

Rating: Explicit

Tags: fluff, illness/caretaking, smut, sub Sherlock, PiV, cowgirl

Word Count: 5K

If you like what I write and can afford to do so, please consider buying me a coffee! It would be much appreciated.

New Year's Day is a quiet affair. John and Mary bring baby Rosamund to Baker Street, and Sherlock is delighted to see her with Karl Popper in tow. Your heart aches in a strange way to see him gravitate towards her, though he seems hesitant to actually hold her in any way. You and Mary are quick to assure him about the durability of children.

The night of New Year's, you'd danced with him to whatever cheesy song they'd had on the broadcast countdown, in your sock feet. You have to lean up to be able to kiss when the countdown reaches zero, and you can feel him smiling against your mouth. Fireworks echo, deafening, all over London. There is nowhere in the world that you'd rather be than in his untidy little flat, dancing to a song you don't know, letting him pitch and sway you like the sea. His lips are your guiding point, his hands the lighthouse.

And you are home.

—---------

Returning to work is the last thing you want to do. The brief respite from your regular onslaught of numbers and accounts has felt far too short, your desk even lonelier than you remember it. But you have bills to pay, a flat to return to, even if you're there as little as possible these days. You'd spent that whole week from Christmas to New Year's with Sherlock, aside from a day where he went home to visit his own parents. Your flat seems miserable in comparison, unoccupied and dull.

There's nothing lived in about it. It's just a place you come back to at the end of the day. Depressingly, it's starting to remind you of your office. With that thought in mind, you stop over at a shop after work one evening and take the time to buy some wall decorations, relieved when it makes the place feel less like a box.

Your lessons, too, are due to resume with the start of the year. Your hands needed time to heal after that moment of self-neglect. Though you'd watched Sherlock perform on your Stradivarius in wonder, he hadn't insisted that you do any of your own practice in your week together.

Unusual, you think. Perhaps that means he's going to double down on your studies after such a long break. You're not sure if you're looking forward to that or dreading it. Bit of both, maybe. You already have instructions to go over all your songs, starting with the easiest and working your way to the hardest.

At the coffee pot Wednesday morning, there's a thick murmur of conversation. At least five people are standing round, preventing you from getting to where you want to be.

That's unusual. And annoying.

"Oh, did you hear?" Michelle pipes up when she spots you lingering in the hall. "God, you're not gonna believe it – the CEO stepped down over holiday."

You feel your eyes go wide. "He – what?"

Someone else nods, eager to chip in. "Just resigned, said he wanted to 'move on to other interests'. Must be nice, eh?"

Eventually you pour your coffee, your mind buzzing. There's no way the CEO would quit. Not when he owned a company this massive. Someone would have to persuade him, threaten him, even, to do something like that.

You think of how he'd grabbed your arm, his harsh voice.

But honestly…you're glad he's gone. Maybe now you can stop holding your breath until the end of every shift. You wonder if Sherlock already knows the news – probably. He's got his finger on the pulse of so much, and –

Hold on, hold on. Did he have something to do with this? No. He couldn't have. Sherlock's a detective, he doesn't go around making threats. And even if he did, he wouldn't be able to budge someone as big as your CEO.

But his brother could.

When you return to your desk, coffee in hand, there's a blank piece of paper sticking out from under your keyboard. As you flip it over, you have to allow yourself a smile.

You're welcome, it reads. A late Christmas gift. –MH.

You decide you do like Mycroft after all. A little.

—-------

Are we still on for lessons today?

A long pause.

Can't, sorry. Case came up. Tomorrow? –SH

Alright, if you say so.

Tomorrow arrives.

Helloooooo

Mr. Brilliant Detective Man

I need you to teach me the violin or rail me senseless, whichever suits your fancy

I'm not in. Does Friday work? – SH

Your heart sinks. He's never blown you off before. And why now? Why would he wait until everything felt almost perfect between you to start this?

You tell yourself he's being honest. That there is some sort of incredible, all-consuming case he's absorbed in, because you know how he bloody well gets. Laser focused on one thing and one thing only, and at least he had the decency to tell you he wouldn't be in.

But then Friday arrives, and so do you, violin case in hand, to 221B Baker Street. There's no sign of Sherlock or Mrs. Hudson, who seems to have resumed her affair with Mr. Chatterjee. Swallowing hard, you hesitate outside the flat, stomach twisting with anxiety.

Okay, calm down, it could be a case.

Or he could be avoiding you.

…Or it could be drugs.

Shit shit shit.

When was his last screening?? You're supposed to be keeping an eye on this, supposed to be watching. In a panic, you pull up Molly Hooper's number, hoping against all hope that she answers. The line rings once, twice, three times.

"Hello?" She says at last, and you could deflate with relief.

"Hi, Molly, so sorry to bother you," you reply in a rush. "It's just, erm…do you happen to have the results of Sherlock's, you know. His screening? This week?"

"Oh, let me see…"

A brief pause. Some shuffling.

"He hasn't come in yet. He's normally in on Thursdays but he put it off. Said he'd be in by the weekend."

You thank her, saying your goodbyes.

Some tiny insatiable overpanicked part of your brain is fucking convinced he is in there right now doing a line of cocaine. It takes everything you have not to kick in the door. Instead you knock, heart in your throat, and let out a heavy breath.

Nothing. Nothing. Then, footsteps. Finally, the door opens a crack, and the face peering out at you is not what you'd expected.

He's ill. Hair untidy, face pale, eyes and nose rimmed red, ill. Looking awful and a bit grumpy to see you standing there. You’re no expert on addicts, but at a glance, he doesn’t seem like he’s been taking anything stronger than the cold medicine you can get down at Boots. Wearing pyjamas and a scruffy blue dressing gown, Sherlock looks like he’s just rolled out of bed.

"It's not Friday," Sherlock says thickly, frowning. (He even sounds awful, all raspy and hoarse.) "Told you. Now bugger off before you catch what I've got, thank you."

"Hey, wait –"

You slide your foot in to stop the door from closing.

"First off, it is Friday," you start. "Second – God, Sherlock, if you were ill why didn't you just say?"

Exasperation sinks into your tone despite your best effort. Guilt creeps over his expression, which in turn strikes the same feeling in you. Even if he’s been keeping it from you, he had a reason. You could do without him stepping around the truth, but that’s something the two of you will have to confront in your own time. There’s nothing to be done about it now that it’s happened except to acknowledge that it has and move on from there.

“I’ve told you,” he continues, though there’s no venom to his tone. “Didn’t want you coming in and catching whatever godforsaken germ’s traveling across half of London.”

“Could’ve said that.”

“Then you would’ve ended up here even sooner. The earlier in the week you came, the higher your risk of exposure.”

“You ought to have known I’d end up here regardless,” you say stubbornly. His motives are sweet but entirely unnecessary. “I’m not afraid of catching your cold, Sherlock Holmes. Now let me in the damn flat.”

With an irritated growl, he steps aside, relenting.

And – oh. The flat is clean. Not in a flux state of untidy/passable, as you’ve known it for as long as you’ve known Sherlock, but clean. Right down to the surface of the coffee table, which is missing its usual rings. All the sheet music seems to be sitting in one folder, pinned under his violin case, and there’s hardly a stray speck of dust in the place. It smells strikingly of lemon disinfectant in here, and you take in a deep lungful. I could get used to this.

“Did you hire a housekeeper?” you muse, craning your neck to peek into the kitchen. It’s sparkling. You’re fascinated.

“No,” he says shortly. “Hard to find any that wouldn’t balk at what’s being kept in the refrigerator, I’m sure.”

“So you just…cleaned. For fun.” You place a hand on your hip.

“I don’t want you to –” Sherlock clears his throat, hoarse “ – don’t want you to get ill. But the likelihood of keeping you away for longer than a week was poor. So. Tidying. It was awful. Do people really do this all the time?” He gestures, exasperated, around the place.

“They do.” You laugh a little. “And yes, I agree. It’s boring as all hell, isn’t it? Cleaning the same things over and over just so they can collect new dust. Then you die.”

“Cheerful way of putting it.”

He has his arms crossed, appraising you from across the room. From the tired, drawn expression on his face, you venture a guess that your first observation wasn’t far off the mark. Perhaps he has just rolled out of bed. Sherlock watches you with light green eyes missing some of their usual clarity.

“Are you alright?” you ask softly. Taking a few steps toward him, you’re amused but not surprised when he backs up an equal amount.

“Fine,” he responds.

“Then why are you keeping away from me? I told you I don’t care if you give me whatever disease you’ve picked up.”

He wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Perhaps you ought to.”

You step forward again, and it feels somewhat like cornering a wild animal. This time, he doesn’t move, though you can see he wants to. Running a hand through already tangled curls, he only watches you, weary.

“Why?” Your tone is challenging. “What terrible plague have you been struck with, oh weary man? Tell me.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes so hard you fear they’ll get stuck in the back of his skull. “It’s a cold, you antagonist. Is it so awful of me to not want you to have one?”

“Is it so awful of me not to care?” You keep going until you’re right in front of him, gazing up at his obstinate, flushed face. “I’ve been worried about you.” Resting your fingers on his cheek, you find it warm. Sherlock closes his eyes. “And I’m just – I’m glad that this is a problem I can help you with.”

“What do you mean?” he murmurs. Then, seconds later, “Oh.”

You say nothing, uncertain if it would upset him to lay out your train of thought right here. He takes your hand in his and laces your fingers through, squeezing, meeting your glance with another guilty expression.

“I see. It was one thing to delay lessons without a given cause, but with what you know about my history of drug abuse, you grew suspicious.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Please don’t feel the need to apologize,” Sherlock says, his voice sounding somewhat strange with its new rasp. “I should’ve just told you, as you said. Should’ve been honest.”

“Sweet of you to try and spare me, though.”

“Don’t believe anyone’s ever used that word in reference to me before,” he chuckles. “It’s a bit unnerving.”

“Mm,” you hum, burrowing your way into his dressing gown for a hug. Just like his skin, it’s incredibly warm in here, despite the bitter January chill. “Better get used to it, then.”

Sherlock sighs, defeated, wrapping his arms around you. Something deep in your chest aches just to be held like that. You were being honest when you told him you didn’t care if he gave you whatever he had – you’ve been through worse. All you’d wanted was to know if he was alright, and now that you have that confirmation, you’re okay with whatever happens next. And anyway – you have enough paid time off work that if you needed it, you could use it, should anything befall you.

“You look tired,” you tell him after a long moment. “Go back to bed.”

He gives one last protest about you staying here, but there’s almost no energy behind it. As if it’s all being done for appearance’s sake, rather than out of any real desire to keep you away. You watch him curl up under the blankets, get comfortable, and fall asleep almost at once.

Seeing Sherlock asleep is…bizarre. After so long together, you know he’s watched you sleep more times than you can count. Yet every time the situation arose, you’ve always been the first to nod off. Today, though, it seems he can’t keep his eyes open a moment longer. Atop the blankets, you lie next to him for a time, fascinated. He’s folded up on his side in a sprawl of limbs, curled in a loose ball.

His face looks so much calmer. Not burdened with the responsibility of always thinking, judging, observing. Just…at rest. At ease.

“Hey, you stubborn arse,” you whisper, reaching up to brush a loose curl out of his face. “Look at me if you can hear me.”

Nothing. He’s really, truly out of it, mouth open, face pressed to the pillow. His breath soft and deep. As you watch, he wriggles deeper into the blankets before settling with a sleepy sigh.

Okay…good.

“I’m in love with you,” you breathe, your heart thudding painfully against your chest. “As much as I wish I wasn’t. As much as I wish we could just do whatever it is you want. This casual…whatever this is. I can’t. I know I’m in love with you because I’ve been in love before, and I’m scared senseless.”

You blow out a harsh sigh, holding out one shaking hand before clenching it tight. Bracing yourself to keep going.

“Love hurts. Love’s fucking hard. It’s every bit as complicated as you already know it is, I won’t lie and say it’s all rainbows. The last time I loved someone, they…they ripped me apart. I’m still learning how to put myself back together.”

You feel your lip wobble, fighting tears, even as you’re smiling at how stupid you’re being. He’s not even awake to hear this. This little confession is all for you – to help you get this weight off your chest.

“But I want to try again, despite all that. You make me want to try again, even when there are days when you’re being strange or closed off. I don’t care. In the end you’re you and you’re worth it. I love you, and nothing’s going to change my mind. So there. That’s all.”

Thank God, he’s slept through it all. For a few minutes more, you watch him, letting the complicated volley of emotions steep in your heart and in your mind. If only you could work up the nerve to say all that to his face, to fight through the arguments he’d no doubt raise about all of it being too much to handle. Even after John and the issue being laid to rest, you feel like he’ll never try again.

Leaning down, you brush your lips to his forehead. You work carefully to extract yourself from the covers so you don’t disturb him, tiptoe from the bedroom, and close the door. Your plan is to put the kettle on, get comfortable on the sofa, and not think too much about everything you’ve just told your sleeping not-partner. If that’s even possible.

—--------

In the dark of the bedroom, after you’ve left for the kitchen, Sherlock lets out a deep breath. He presses his palms to his eyes, as if to keep all the complicated things he’s heard from circulating in his mind.

This is far worse than he thought.

—------------

It’s early evening by the time the bedroom door opens, and you’re well into a novel rooted from one of his bookshelves. Sitting cross legged on the sofa, you look up in delight to see him emerge, giving him a small smile. Though it’s been odd to spend time in the flat without him, the experience is far from unpleasant. 221B has been a place of comfort to you for some time, and the hours pass quickly.

“Well, look who's decided to join us,” you say, placing the book aside. “You hungry?”

Sherlock shrugs. “Not really.”

You decide not to press him. Instead you unfold from your place, stretching a little, not realizing how stiff you’ve gone from hours staying in one spot.

“That’s alright. Mrs. Hudson dropped off some soup earlier – she knows you’ve been holed up in here ill too, you know.”

He huffs out an indignant sound at that. “Really don’t need her getting ill, now, do we?”

“That we don’t,” you agree. “All the same, she’s dropped off enough supplies to medicate a small army. And mulligatawny.”

“I’ve no doubt – the woman thinks I’m incapable of walking down the street and purchasing my own cold supplies.”

“Well, you know how mums are.”

Sherlock pads over to where you sit – still keeping a fair distance, you notice. The nap seems to have done him some good. At the very least, he looks less like he’s going to fall over at the first lapse in conversation. More alert, more like himself. You can’t help grinning as he hesitates, finally settling at the far end of the sofa, cupping his elbows in either palm. His glance grazes you, up and down, as if even eye contact is something he has to be careful with.

"How're you feeling?" You pick up your favorite mug, the one with the chip in the rim, and take a sip of water. "You look better."

"Bit better," he answers, absentminded. "Tired. Er, sore. Throaty. Annoying cold things."

Still he watches you, saying with everything except words that he'd very much like to slide over and be touching you right now. How stubborn can one man get? Or maybe it's a matter of not knowing if it would be the right thing to say. Either way, it melts your heart, and you can't bear the distance any longer.

“Oh, c’mere, love,” you say, trying and failing to keep the amusement out of your voice. “You’re not the only one who can tell when one of us wants something, you know.”

His face arranges itself into a rather unthreatening scowl. “If you get ill…”

“Then it won’t be anything new to me,” you finish, content as he crosses the distance and settles to recline across your lap. “Promise. I’m a big girl. Pinky swear on it, if that’s what you want.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

You only smile in answer, watching as he turns to get comfortable. He buries his face in the material of your jumper, closing his eyes like he missed being able to touch you so freely. One of his arms snakes its way around your waist, somewhat awkward in this position, and you lean up to help him get situated. You'd forgotten how many positions one has to contort into in the name of physical contact, when it comes to cuddling. Sometimes it's worth it, though.

He makes the smallest content sound, settled there against your stomach, and your fingers reach down to tangle in his hair. Lightly scratching at his scalp, reaching for your phone to scroll through as the minutes wear on, early evening fading into night. God, it feels so domestic it could rot your teeth. Both of you are so at ease with one another without the need to say a word, quiet and calm.

You glance down to see if he's dozed off again only to find him gazing up at you. The look on his face is one of such fierce, gentle affection that you almost forget how to breathe. How long has he been watching you like this? What is he thinking about? Sometimes you have no idea, and that's infuriating. Especially when he can read you so easily at times (yet seem clueless in others).

"Thank you," he says eventually, drawing your attention back after you break eye contact. "For checking in. For – staying. Despite the risk."

"I wouldn't let you stay here sick on your own," you reply at once. "No one deserves that."

A grin, half-hidden in your jumper. "As I keep telling you, love, I'm not dying. It's some hardy variety of London cold being passed around."

A shiver down your spine at love. Slipped so casually from his mouth, like it belongs there.

"That doesn't mean I don't want to look after you. That's what –" the word partners sticks in your throat " – friends are for. We check in on one another."

"I don't see John driving in to chuck supplies at the door of my flat," he jokes.

"No," you muse. "But then again, John doesn't shag you either, does he?"

The air changes, thickens. Sherlock swallows as he gazes up at you, and the look on his face is one of familiar, unspoken need. Even tinged pink with cold, you can tell what he wants to ask for. You've put an idea in his mind, made a suggestion, and it seems that Sherlock isn't quite sick enough to stop thinking about the last week you spent together.

You can't stop dwelling on the absence. Going back to your work, back to your regular life, had felt so much harder without having him there to touch you every day. It'd felt damn near like a honeymoon after so long spent waiting to fuck one another. Over the holiday break, you'd made up for lost time, only to spend the first week of dreary January isolated again.

"He doesn't," Sherlock says, and even in the two quiet words you can hear the change.

A pause. The two of you breathe together, your fingers still tangled in his hair, his eyes bright and begging on your own.

Then: "Please fuck me."

He says it so plainly that it takes you half a second to process the request. You would've expected some stepping around, some stammering. Though his cheeks are dark with a blush, he'd just said it. As if it's something he's been considering long before you arrived. Guess that week alone had given him plenty to think about, too.

"Sherlock…" you bite back a nervous laugh. "Are you sure? If you're ill, you should be resting, and I don't want to –"

"I'll let you do the work," he cuts in. "However you want it. Just – I've missed you, missed feeling you, and with this damned cold I haven't done a thing in ages –"

"You haven't even wanked thinking about me? Aww."

He huffs, frustrated, cheeks still pink. Your glance down tells you everything you need to know about how much he's missed you. His cock strains against the loose pyjama bottoms as much as it can, and you reach down to grab it.

"Alright," you decide, decidedly more than thrilled at the thought of being in charge. "But you have to do as I say, down to the letter. Understand?"

Sherlock is quick to nod, scrambling up into a sitting position.

"Bedroom, mister."

—---------

In what feels like seconds you find yourselves tumbling onto the blankets, the door shutting in a rush as you go. You walk him backwards, somewhat proud that he trusts you not to let him fall, confidently going where you lead. The moment he feels his legs hit the bed, he falls back, hands going to remove his shirt. You stop him with a firm tap to the wrist.

"Leave it on."

Looking somewhat surprised, he does as you say, moving back to make room as you join him on the mattress. You move to lie beside him, entwining your legs with his. He scoots back, breathing heavily, eyes focused on your mouth. This is the point where he'd have his tongue in your mouth, exploring every sensitive place, biting your lips. You can understand why he wouldn't now.

With a pang of regret, you scramble to think of what you could do instead. Eventually you settle on dipping your mouth to the hollow of his throat, delighting when you find that sensitive place behind his ear. His arms come up to wrap around you, hips arching into nothing, tracing delicate circles as you take your time to build the heat.

"Sensitive here, aren't we?" you say in his ear, and he shudders for you.

"Please keep going." His answer is small, his neck bared for you, and you can't resist.

Sliding one hand down to palm his bulge through his trousers, you comply, drinking in the ragged moan when you experiment with scraping your teeth over his neck. Your fingers sneak under his waistband, and he clings to you, trying not to make a sound, all hoarse gasps and shuddering breath.

"Sweetheart," Sherlock utters in a low whine. "Just like that."

"You're not even inside me yet, love," you tease, and his answering groan plays in your mind for the next week.

You take him out and stroke him, sucking lightly on his earlobe with every flick of your wrist. Shameless, Sherlock meets you with his hips, rising off the bed, the sound of it wet and sloppy.

Right as you hear him start to get desperate, you pull your hand away, lifting your hips to take off your trousers and pants. Sherlock stares at you like he's never wanted anything more than he's wanted this, wanted you. By the time you're astride him, you think the look of blazing desire on his face is the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen.

You rub the head of his cock around your glistening slit in slow circles, grinning when he chants your name, begging, pleading. And when you grant your mercy, spreading your folds and taking him to the hilt, you don't think the sound of his voice has ever been sweeter.

Adjusting to the sensation of having him inside you after a week away, you beam down at Sherlock, memorizing the wrecked look written across his features. As if you're holding everything he needs in the palm of your hand, if only you would move, let him have it.

You know the feeling.

"Please," he whispers, rutting his hips forward. "God, please, move, need to feel you, need to come, I – "

Raising an eyebrow, you place your palm flat against the smooth expanse of his hip.

"Need to? Oh, we're being presumptuous, aren't we?" You squeeze around him, knowing he feels it, watching his nostrils flare. "Remember who's in charge."

"You are," Sherlock's quick to answer. "You are, and you're doing remarkably. Once again I've failed to realize how well suited you'd be for a role, and I –" you've started rolling your hips in little, lazy circles, making it hard for him to think " – I'm s-sorry. You're gorgeous when you're being dominant and you have no idea how close I am to coming inside you."

"I think I do," you say wryly. "And you're so pretty when you're lying here, taking what I give you."

"You're going to make me come," he chokes out, the words a blur. "S-so close." His eyes never leave your body, glued to your breasts as they bounce and jolt with each thrust.

"That's the point, isn't it?" Devilishly, you ram your hips down faster, watching his eyes roll back in helpless bliss.

"Oh f-fuck you're going to make me come I'm right there please don't stop don't stop –"

In another flurry of urgent words and whispered warnings, he does exactly that, spilling deep inside you. He tilts his head back, back, collapsing against the pillows with a golden sound of rapture as you ride him through every wave.

When he's finally had enough, you pull off him, crossing your legs to avoid – well. The mess. Or the worst of it, anyway.

"Tomorrow," Sherlock says breathlessly. "Tomorrow, I am going to taste you until you forget what walking feels like. You phenomenal creature."

A quick thrill of arousal shoots its way into your core at that promise. You try not to let it show on your face as you wobble off the bed, leaving him there dazed with his cock out.

"I look forward to it."

—-------

When you’re all tucked away later in the hush of the bedroom, burrowed beneath his arm, you feel him lift your fingertips to his mouth. There’s something familiar about the gesture, and it reminds you of the first time he’d bent to kiss your budding calluses so long ago. It’d made your heart leap then, and so it does now, even when you’ve grown used to him touching you like this. Even when the affection comes easy now, despite his insistence that all this isn’t what you want it to be.

“Your hands are almost healed,” he murmurs, sleepy, gruff. “Why did – why did you overplay? There’s no benefit. You know that.”

You’re silent in the utter darkness, thinking of what answer you could provide.

You hurt me and I needed to take my mind off it. I couldn’t bear a moment alone with my thoughts because they all pointed back to you on the sofa when you couldn’t bloody look at me. I thought I was losing you and I panicked. It was stupid.

“I don’t know,” you say instead, the words bitter in your mouth. “I’m sorry.”

His huff of a sigh is warm on your skin. “Please don’t do it again. I don’t want you playing to the point of pain. Alright?”

“Alright.”

“Good.”

You feel him shuffle closer, pressing his lips to your temple, and a wave of affection ripples through you. Together, you succumb to sleep like that, your heads bent close, one of your arms thrown around his shoulder.

[ivlymonii]

Comfort on New Year's Eve (Fengqing oneshot)

“Why did I ever agree to this?” 

Mu Qing asks himself as he stares up into the night sky, the loud noise of people partying behind him echoing to where he was standing on the balcony. 

Mu Qing sighs and takes out his phone, unlocking it and staring at all the messages that his mother had left him. 

Mama

Mama: 我個乖仔點啊? 喺大學讀得開唔開心啊? 識咗新朋友未啊? (sent 11:27 pm, Hong Kong time)

Mama: 新年快樂啊! (sent 11:27 pm, Hong Kong time)

Mama: 媽咪今個新年離唔到英國探你真係對唔住啊, 我喺香港好忙, 連新年過嚟搵你嘅

`​​時間都無,但喺你生日嘅時候我一定嚟探你!媽咪應承你! 希望你可以你可以原諒媽咪啦! (Sent 11:28 pm, Hong Kong time)

(Translations:

Mama: How’s my good boy? Are you happy studying at the university? Make any new friends?

Mama: Happy New Year! 

Mama: Mami is sorry she can’t come to England to see you this year, I’m very busy in Hong Kong, and can’t even make time to visit you on New Year’s, but I will come to visit on your birthday! Mami promises you she will! I hope you can forgive Mami!)

Mu Qing stares at the last message, his mom hadn’t made it to England to visit him for New Year’s this year, but she’d promised him that she’d make it for his birthday.

The thought that she isn’t there for him this New Year’s made Mu Qing feel… sad? Ever since he was born, Mu Qing always celebrated New Year’s with his mother, making niangao, going to the park to look at the lanterns at night, playing with fireworks at night, those were all the things that they did together, and though it wasn’t much, it made Mu Qing happy, and the fact that his mother was there with him made it ten times better.

But ever since he started college in London, he hasn’t been able to see his mother much, and while she still visits him for New Year’s, Christmas and his birthday every year, the fact that she isn’t here this year just made Mu Qing feel awful.

He wipes away some tears forming in his eyes and takes a deep breath.

It’s just one year, Mu Qing, she’ll be here for your birthday. He tells himself. 

But that doesn’t make it any better.

Mu Qing tries to wipe away more tears forming in his eyes and looks towards the sky once again. 

“Hey.”

A voice rings out from behind him. Mu Qing turns around to see Feng Xin, carrying two cups of what he assumes is tea and looking at him curiously.

“What are you doing out here?” Feng Xin asks. 

“Could say the same for you.” Mu Qing responds, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. “What are you doing here?” 

Feng Xin sighs and leans on the railing of the balcony.

“It was too chaotic in there, had to come out to take a breather.”

“What? Can’t take a bit of noise?” Mu Qing teases him. 

“Hey-” Feng Xin opens his mouth to protest, but stops himself when he sees that Mu Qing is shaking slightly. 

“Hey, are you cold?” 

“No.” Mu Qing says, voice trembling. “I’m fine.” 

Feng Xin sighs. “No, I can see that you’re shivering.” he takes off his jacket and drapes it over Mu Qing. 

“Hey, what are you-” Mu Qing flushes a bit when he feels the jacket being put on him. “I don’t need this.” he glowers at Feng Xin and hands the jacket back to him.

“No, you do.” Feng Xin puts the jacket back onto him and shoves the cup of tea in his hands. “You’re gonna catch a cold if you don’t cover up.” 

“Quit mother-henning me.” Mu Qing rolls his eyes and takes a sip of the tea. The tea is warm, not too bitter, and warms him up the moment it touches his tongue, and he could feel the warmth spreading from his stomach to the tips of his fingers. 

It reminds him of his mom.

Tears start forming in Mu Qing’s eyes again and he wipes them away. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Feng Xin asks him, concerned.

“Of course I’m okay, what makes you think that I’m not okay?” Mu Qing says dryly, but there’s a tremble to his voice and Feng Xin notices that Mu Qing’s eyes are red and there are tear tracks running down his face. 

“Yeah I’m not buying it.” Feng Xin says. “What’s going on?” 

“I said I’m fine, don’t you have better things to do?” Mu Qing rolls his eyes, trying to appear as apathetic as possible. 

“No, no I don't.” Feng Xin says and scoots closer to Mu Qing. “You can tell me what’s wrong.” 

“I told you already, there’s nothing wrong-”

“Mu Qing I will literally not let you leave this balcony unless you tell me what’s wrong, right now.” Feng Xin says firmly, and locks Mu Qing’s wrist in a tight grip. 

“What the- let me go!” Mu Qing tries to yank his arm out of Feng Xin’s grip, but to no avail. 

“I told you, I’m not letting you go until you tell me what’s wrong.” 

Mu Qing struggles to get out of Feng Xin’s grip, and he tries and tries for a long time but to no avail. He eventually gives up and just sighs. 

“Alright, fine.” he sighs in defeat. “I’ll tell you.” 

“Hm.” Feng Xin says, satisfied, and lets go of Mu Qing. 

Mu Qing takes a deep breath. “You know how my mom always comes visit me on New Year’s Eve?” 

“Yeah, I know, she won’t stop fussing over us.” Feng Xin sighs fondly, reminiscing about Mrs Mu’s last visit to their campus, where she fussed over how Feng Xin and Mu Qing kept their dorm room and cleaned and reorganized everything. 

“Yeah well, she didn’t come to visit this year.” Mu Qing hangs his head low, trying to not let Feng Xin see the tears in his eyes. “She promised that she would come on my birthday, but I’m still kinda bummed that she didn’t come for New Year. She always comes to visit, yet this year, she didn’t come. I know it’s silly and kind of stupid, but I haven't seen her in so long and I miss her, you know what I mean?” he sniffs and wipes the tears away. He uses a moment to muster up the courage to look at Feng Xin, fully expecting him to laugh at him or otherwise be weirded out, but once he raises his head, Feng Xin’s expression is unreadable. 

“Don’t, I already know what you're thinking.” Mu Qing turns to the side, expecting Feng Xin to burst out laughing. 

But what he didn’t expect was for Feng Xin to wrap his arms around him and envelope him in a tight hug. 

Mu Qing is startled at first, but eventually melts into the hug and wraps his arms around Feng Xin’s waist. 

“Mu Qing, it’s okay to miss your mom.” Feng Xin says as he rubs circles on his back. “It’s completely fine to be sad about your mom not coming to visit you on New Year’s. You can talk to us about it. Xie Lian, Shi QingXuan, me… We’d all listen.” 

Tears spill out of Mu Qing’s eyes and he cries into Feng Xin’s shirt, but his mouth can’t stop morphing into a smile as he cries, and once he faces Feng Xin, he’s fully smiling. 

That sight makes Feng Xin’s heart leap. 

“I-I know, thanks.” Mu Qing wipes the tears away and looks down. “Feng Xin, there’s something I need to tell you.” 

Feng Xin’s breath hitches. “What is it?” 

Mu Qing takes a deep breath. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but since we’ve known eachother long enough, I might as well tell you..”

“10!”

“What do you mean?” Feng Xin asks nervously. 

“It’s kind of stupid, and you might hate me for it.” 

“9!”

“But,” Mu Qing prepares himself. “I think it’d be better to just tell you instead of hiding it.”

“8!”

“Feng Xin,” Mu Qing begins, staring into Feng Xin’s eyes. 

“7!”

“I have a crush on you.” 

That takes Feng Xin by surprise, and he is frozen for a split second. “W-what?” he says weakly.

“6!”

“It means that I like you, romantically.” 

“5!”

“And I would like you to be my boyfriend.” 

“4!”

Feng Xin has to pinch himself a few times just to make sure he isn’t dreaming. “You’re serious?” 

“Yes.”

“3!”

“Well then,” Feng Xin puts a hand on Mu Qing’s cheek. “I’d like to.” he says as he stares into his eyes. 

“Oh.” a pretty blush floods Mu Qing’s face. “Well then would you want to-” 

“Yes.” 

“2!” 

Mu Qing raises a hand to caress Feng Xin’s cheek, and takes a deep breath. He dives in, lips fitting onto each other perfectly, and touching as soon as the crowd chanted 1. 

“Happy New Year, Feng Xin.” Mu Qing smiles as he presses his and Feng Xin’s foreheads together, fireworks going off in the background. 

“Happy New Year, Mu Qing.” Feng Xin says before diving in for another kiss from his boyfriend. 

originally posted on AO3 under the name of "ikixingyii".

the original fic on AO3

[whatsjenniupto]

Dear Paris, I'm Trying Very Hard to Like You. Honest.

At no point have I ever wanted to go to Paris. Ever.

To be fair, I am one who tends to see what everyone else wants to do and go the opposite direction. Crowds? Bandwagons? Popular Opinions? Nah. Not for me.

I'm sure this attitude has played into my lack of desire for Paris. That, and the fact that French refuses to stick in my head.

But then I saw the hand-off from Tokyo to Paris at the end of the 2020 Olympics. I have never wanted to see Paris so much.

Fast forward to pre-Paris 2024. I was all signed up for the early ticket release. This was going to happen. I was going to the Olympics in Paris.

And then I couldn't get my log in to work and forgot to try again before my window closed.

And then my reason for being in Europe into July got cancelled.

My dreams of Paris 2024 were dying. I tried to accept this. I don't really care if I see Paris. It's fine. I can watch way more Olympic coverage from my house.

This lasted for two days of the Olympics.

I had been in London during the Olympics and knew how different the city was during the Games. I knew that if I was ever going to do Paris, it needed to be now during the Games. It was also at this point that I learned I was getting reimbursed for a trip I took a group of high schoolers on earlier in the summer. All of a sudden, I went from having already purchased a trip to Europe, I cannot purchase two -- SERIOUSLY, JENNIFER. YOU MAY NOT BUY TWO TRIPS TO EUROPE THIS SUMMER. To wait...could I get to the Paralympics?

AIRFARE IS $600?! Lodging for $340?! As in, most of this trip is less than that other trip's reimbursement?!

We're going to Paris!

Still unmotivated by basically all of Paris, I planned for a Paralympic event every day and filled in the remainder of my time with Parisian sights. The goal was to one and done Paris. Up first, I was going to put every single travel experience of my life to good use and beat jet leg into non-existence so I could land in Paris, drop my backpack at my flat, and head to a Fan Zone to watch the Opening Ceremony.

I searched for a fan zone that was close to a metro and a grocery store so I could grab dinner. The winning location was the Mairie du 11e arrondissement. After delays due to baggage, flat access, and dinner purchase, I finally got to the fan zone after the ceremony had started. The fan zone was pretty busy with all the seating already in use, so I opted for sitting on a fence right outside the fan zone, joining a group of others who had the same idea.

There was plenty of police presence within the fan zone, keeping tabs on what was happening in the area around them. I kept tabs on my surroundings and my main discovery was that Paris smokes everything they possibly can. As we neared 11pm and the lighting of the cauldron seemed quite a ways off, I started weighing my options. I had sunrise plans in the morning. How late did I want to stay out?

Looking around as I debated, I saw a man surrounded by police, getting a full body search on the other side of the very small corner park. The man who had been sitting next to me for the last 2+ hours.

Huh. Welcome to Paris.

Cauldron has been lit. I do not even care if I only have to wait 5 more minutes to get fireworks. I'm out.

[crimerecords-info]

November 5 - Guy Fawkes Night in the UK (Guy Fawkes Night)

Guy Fawkes' Night is a traditional, but not public, annual holiday in the UK on the night of November 5.

This night marks the failure of the Gunpowder Plot, when a group of Catholic conspirators tried to blow up the British Parliament in London on the night of November 5, 1605, during the throne speech of the Protestant King James I, when, besides him, members of both houses of Parliament and supreme representatives of the country's judiciary would have been present in the House of Lords building.

Guy Fawkes tried to set fire to barrels of gunpowder in the basement of the Palace of Westminster. One of the accomplices warned the royal Lord William Parker, 4th Baron Monteagle about the planned explosion and told him not to come to the palace building the next day. And he warned the king, and the next day Guy was arrested and taken to the Tower.

In the UK, fireworks and bonfires are lit on this night, where an effigy of Guy Fawkes is burned. And the day before, the children beg for coins "for a great guy Guy" to buy firecrackers.

In addition to Britain, Guy Fawkes Night is also celebrated in some of its former colonies — in New Zealand, South Africa, the province of Newfoundland and Labrador (Canada), parts of the British Caribbean Islands and Australia.

Read more in the post "Guy Fawkes Night"

Article on the topic "Gunpowder conspiracy".

*Translated using an electronic dictionary. The original text in Russian and much more on the criminal topic can be selected on the main page of the site - http://crimerecords.info/

[showtimefireworks1]

Fireworks for Sale Online: A Sparkling Opportunity

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Buy Discounted Fireworks Online offers a convenient, cost-effective, and informative way to prepare for celebrations. By choosing reputable retailers and adhering to safety and legal guidelines, consumers can enjoy a dazzling display that adds excitement and joy to their festivities.

[awesomeforever]

"Hearst Magazines and Yahoo may earn commission or revenue on some items through the links below." LUNAR NEW Year is here, and as you might already know, it’s the Year of the Rabbit. To commemorate the holiday, Allbirds has released two new pairs of shoes—one for kids and one for adults. And you’ll want to scoop up a pair for every member of your family. Men's Limited Edition Wool Runners allbirds.com $110.00 Shop Now For the adults, Allbirds has revamped their wool runners to be in a limited-edition color palette of hazy beige with a deep red lining, red-and-white laces, and a pair of rabbit ears on the top side of the tongue with a golden sun on the underside of the tongue. The nod to the 2023 Lunar New Year is subtle enough that you could happily wear these all year round (and even into next year). Smallbirds Limited Edition Wool Runners for Big Kids allbirds.com $70.00 Shop Now Anyone new to Allbirds should start with their wool runners. We love them for both walking and running because they’re not only comfy but also moisture-wicking, made from sustainable materials, and keep odor at bay. Plus, they’re stylish enough to be able to go from your morning run to the office with no sweat (literally). For the kids, Allbirds has a complementary shoe that leans a little more into the bunny theme. Like the adult shoes, these are wool runners that have the little rabbit ear and sun emblems on either side of the tongue and red-and-white laces. But these kicks have a fluffy white upper that actually resembles a sheep’s fleece or a rabbit’s cotton tail. Allbirds has these shoes available for both toddlers and older kids. To ring in the Year of the Rabbit in style, you’re definitely going to want to snatch up a pair of these shoes before they’re gone for good. You can pick up these shoes from the Allbirds website for $110 for the adult version and $70 for the kid version. Shop Now You Might Also Like The 16 Best Men's Gifts From Oprah's Favorite Things 2022 The Best Hair Growth Shampoos for Men to Buy Now 25 Vegetables That Are Surprising Sources of Protein Jan. 22, 2023 marks the beginning of the Lunar New Year also known as the Chinese New Year. Here's what to know about the widely celebrated holiday. Chinese New Year, also known as the Lunar New Year or Spring Festival, is celebrated at the second new moon following the Winter Solstice. (This year, January 22, 2023.) The festival marks the end of winter and the beginning of a long-awaited spring! According to the Chinese Zodiac, 2023 is the Year of the Rabbit. So what does the Year of the Rabbit have in store for us? And will it be calmer than 2022 (The Year of the Tiger)? Let’s find out! Was I Born During the Year of the Rabbit? The Chinese Lunar New Year 2023 is a few days away. Here's what to know about the festive holiday and how you can celebrate the Year of the Rabbit. From Hong Kong and London, to Bangkok and Melbourne, people rang in the Year of the Rabbit in 2023 with parades, prayers, and festive fireworks. Bunny-themed duds, authentic Chinese soup dumplings, and special edition presents that are sure to bring good fortune in the new year. Ring in the Year of the Rabbit with these best Chinese New Year Greetings and Lunar New Year wishes for loved ones, family, friends and co-workers. Even Mickey and Minnie don their finest new red clothes. These ultra-warm garments will make your cold-weather travel much cozier. Our top pick is the Quince Australian Merino Wool Crew Sweater. If your kitchen could use a lil makeover, you've come to the right place. We asked interior design experts to spill on what's new and trendy for 2023. source