let love in events

Anyway, I’ve decided that the Humanz album is far too black for the Gorillaz ungrateful ass fanbase so, I’ll be taking that, thanks.

anonymous asked:

Can you do a scenario where the Mc comes home and Asra gets spicy?

MC comes home shivering from head to toe from the unforgivable rain that they could not avoid.

Hearing the sudden sound of the door closing, Asra immediately comes downstairs to greet them. His cheeks burn a shade of red when they see MC clothes clinging to their form in the right places. He could see some parts of their skin through the clothing.

Asra helps remove their cloak and once discarded wraps his arm about their back, guiding them upstairs without saying much of anything except giving MC a few cheeky glances from time to time.

MC thanks Asra for helping them and expected him to leave to give them some privacy but are surprised to see Asra helping them remove bits of their clothing. 

He starts from their tunic, loosening the knot around MC’s waist, his warm hands move up to unbutton the collar. As he unclasps each button he lips tenderly kiss the patch of skin that is revealed to him. Every once in awhile Asra will lock eyes with MC as he continues to plant kisses on every inch of their skin.

As the tunic is completely removed and thrown onto the floor, Asra wraps his arms around MC’s waist, his kisses getting more heated and desperate as he gets closer to their chest.

MC giggles at the sensation and it momentarily stops Asra’s actions, his magenta eyes shining with a mischievous glint.

“What’s so funny hmm?” Asra presses his face in the crook of MC’s neck.

“If you wanted my attention so badly you should have asked.” MC smiled down at Asra, their delicate hand brushing through the white curls in contempt.

“You have no idea what effect you have on me MC,” he whispers, “You drive me crazy and I can’t stand being far away from you,” Asra smirked at MC, “Plus I can’t help myself. When I see an opportunity, I take it.”

MC rolls their eyes and shakes their head at Asra’s silly response. Before they could retort back, Asra pulls them for a heated kiss. It was warm and very welcoming. Over and over Asra kissed them as if they were his source of air and every so carefully pulled them with him to the bed.

When the two pull back, panting and out of breath Asra pins them to the bed and leans over them until his lips are mere inches from theirs.

“I will warm you right up MC and more.” Asra spoke in his husky voice.

Oh god 

MC wanted this more than ever and being this close to Asra was a gift from the gods.

I finally hit 1.8k! Thank you so much for sticking with me, I decided to do another blog rate as a celebration! :D Why not 2k, you might ask. The answer is I would probably be busy by the time I hit 2k. So, yeah, 1.8 it is. (lol)


  1. Must be following me, as this is for my followers, but new followers are more than welcomed to join too!
  2. Reblog this post, likes will be counted as bookmarks. If this doesn’t get 30+ notes, not counting my timezone reblogs, I’d pretend that nothing happened ;w;)
  3. Send me an ask, preferably not on anon, about anything you want; your day, your favourite dessert, your crush, or how cute your dog is! I really want to get to know you guys :D **put [br] somewhere in the ask so I know it’s for blogrates!

ps. If you are have your original content (studyblr/artist/edits) please type in your tag so I can check it!
pps. If your studyblr/fandom blog is a sideblog, please let me know it too.

For example: [br] (study/art blog @……) Heyo dude congrats for your milestone! Today I shouted ‘Hey hey hey!’ to my crush and they still ignored me. Should I go ‘Oya oya oya’ instead? // My original content is #mine

(Okay, 900 followers later and I’m still bad at giving examples. And please don’t do this in real life xD)


URL: eh??? | nice nice | what a cutiepie | the amazing url | GOD TIER

ICON: default | not mah jam | great | cute af | already saved it in my laptop

DESKTOP THEME: default | a lil’ bit difficult to navigate | cute! | whoa amazing!! | *finger guns* where the f is the code

MOBILE THEME: default | good | a e s ™ | 11/10 would recommend to friends and family

ORIGINAL CONTENT: couldn’t find any ;w; | ok good | I’m lovin’ it | LIKEY LIKEY LIKEY | tEACH ME SENPAI

FOLLOWING: no but you’re still awesome ^^ | just hit follow! | yES | forever


Thanks in advance for those you decide to participate in my little event! And please don’t let this flop!

Love y’all

Pat x

*I will tag all of these with #1800br, feel free to blacklist it*


Keep reading



“But I must admit I miss you terribly. The world is too quiet without you nearby. I go to bed early and rise late and feel as if I have hardly slept, probably because I have been reading almost the entire time. In the evenings I play cards, but my mind is never on strategy but on you. With you away, it is as if all the letters in my life are scrambled into an anagram, and I will not be able to put all the letters in order and make sense of anything until you return. I never want to be apart from you again, Beatrice, except in the restroom, at work, and when one of us is at a movie that the other does not want to see.
I’ve made a reservation at our usual place for root beer floats after your homecoming performance. There is something I very much want to ask you, but I will not do in a letter.”


ff-sunset-oasis  asked:

Kit & Olaf ❥. thank you!!

❥: Who is more likely to plan something big for Valentine’s Day?

If you have ever studied a foreign language, then you have likely noticed that the words and phrases you recall most easily are often the ones that have caused you the most trouble. If, for instance, you memorize the Russian word babochka as part of a list of various animals, you may remember later that it means “butterfly.” If, however, you mispronounce the word as babushka while describing your butterfly collection and consequently find yourself confined to a drab and sinister room in a Siberian gulag, you are unlikely ever to forget either the word for butterfly (babochka), the word for grandmother (babushka), or the fact that it is unwise to inform members of the Novosibirsk Entomological Society that you have on multiple occasions captured various elderly women in nets before depriving them of oxygen, jabbing pins through them, and preserving them under glass.

Olaf has never bothered to learn a second language – after all, he likes to point out, there’s no point to a code if a bunch of foreigners understand it too – but when it comes to his running list of Things Kit Snicket Doesn’t Like, the entries that stand out are the ones he’s gotten wrong.

Kit Snicket doesn’t like chocolate, no matter how nice a confectionery he steals it from.

Kit Snicket doesn’t like red wine, no matter how expensive a bottle he orders from the mustachioed waiter at the bistro across the street from the theater.

Kit Snicket especially doesn’t like roses, no matter how many times he apologizes for sending her into anaphylactic shock with a surprise bouquet on her writing desk.

Kit Snicket likes bold tattoos and soft clothes and fast cars and old poetry, and as they crunch in tandem over the crust of snow that blankets the park, the collars of their coats turned up against the bitter February wind, Olaf reassures himself that this time, he won’t ruin it.

On his way across town, he passed a dozen candy shop displays of heart-shaped boxes, five liquor stores (one of which he had not yet been forbidden from entering), and more sidewalk flower stalls than he cared to count, but he remained resolute– a phrase which here means “had already learned those particular lessons, and chose not to earn himself a refresher course.” A trip to the tattoo parlor had seemed too forward. He knew better than to guess at Kit’s size in any of the boutiques in the Garment District, regardless of how many times Esmé insisted that he could “just do it by eye, honestly, Olaf, it’s not that hard, find something that would fit me, look at the tag, multiply by three, and there you have it.” His bank account couldn’t have covered so much as a hood ornament on the kind of cars Kit liked, and anyway, the last time he’d brought her one of those, she’d marched him straight back to the dealership and loomed over him, cross-armed and narrow-eyed, as he reattached it to its carbon fiber mount at the front of the first automobile he’d ever been unable to hotwire. 

Which is how he comes to find himself empty-handed and freezing, armed with nothing but a poem, trudging uphill in the dark beside the girl of his dreams on Valentine’s Day.

“Remind me again,” huffs Kit, her breath clouding the air in front of her, “why we’re doing this?”

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

“And it’s an outdoor-only thing?”

“Well, no, but I…” Olaf can feel a flush creeping up his neck toward his face. Maybe she’ll think it’s rugged and outdoorsy, he tells himself. Because of the cold. Vikings had red cheeks, and everyone thinks they’re handsome.

“Then what is it? You thought the restaurant was bugged? You can only say it if you’re five degrees from hypothermia? What?”

“I’ll tell you at the top of the – ” 

She shoots off ahead of him, scrambling the last few paces before turning to grin down at him, blonde hair whipping in the wind where it’s escaped from her red wool cap. “Come on,” she shouts gleefully. “I’m at the top! You wouldn’t go back on a promise, would you?”

Not to you, he wants to say, never to you, but there’s an order to these things. Reaching the brow of the hill, he draws even with her, gasps in a frigid lungful of air, and makes a sweeping gesture toward the sky. “‘The night has a thousand eyes,’” he begins in his most resonant baritone, “‘and the day but one’ – ” 

Kit’s eyes are brown. Like most people – but unlike the night, Olaf notes, quashing a burst of nervous laughter – she has only two of them, and they both begin to widen, as if she’s realized what he’s trying to do.

“Olaf, you – ”

“‘Yet the light of the bright world dies with the dying sun.’”

“Olaf, I know the po–”

Of course she knows it, of course she knows it, she’s the one who gave him the book where he found the damn thing in the first place, but he plows ahead, racing to finish before his nerves fail him. “‘The mind has a thousand eyes, and the heart but one.’” His own heart is pounding in his throat as he approaches the final, crucial line. “‘Yet the light of a whole life dies when love is – ’”

Olaf.” Kit’s hands are warm, the kind of warm he can feel even through the thick wool of her gloves as she reaches up to cup his cheeks, but then she’s kissing him and he forgets that he’s ever been cold.  

It’s not how he planned it. It never is.

But this time, he’s gotten it right.