Yall remember that one keek where Ash tired to revive Luke’s penguin and Michael pokes his head out the window to look what he’s doing and then Ash boots the penguin into the pool…..damn good ol times

anonymous asked:

I love the new update, not because the new champion or the fixes but because Ash now says 'f*ckers' instead of muppets (even to is censored lol) ... but now I wante them to let Kinnesa say f*ck instead of 'frag'

What? WHAT? Naaaaaaah. Nope. Nah.

I’ve seen a lot of unbelievable stories while running this blog, but this is by far the most out-there yet. I’ve gotta check this myself.

me: *Boots Paladins up*

me: *Plays like normal*

me: *Has a good time*

me: *Goes to sleep*

me: *Wakes up*

me: *Boots computer up*

me: Oh shoot right. The Ash thing.

me: *Boots Paladins up again*  

me: *Picks Ash immediately because no one instalocks tanks*

Ash: I’m leading this vanguard you f*uckers


-Yui 🐦

Obliviate // BTS’ Rap Monster

In which memories come and go like the fleeting breath of summer, and a broken promise to stay is rekindled four years later.

Angst, Hogwarts AU.
Word Count: 9.5k.

What if the clouds could be born a different colour? Purple, green, pink, ruddy brown, a ferocious red. The faint blue of the ocean at four in the morning when boats drift quietly with the sea sirens; the brilliant, almost heartbreaking yellow of leaves swaying in the autumn wind. Anything but white. White, with its expanse of absolute nothingness. White, with its detestable habit of passing through life without a shadow. It’s the colour that contains everything lost, abandoned, and forsaken at once; a regrettable paradox of what is ultimately empty and everything.

“I forget a lot of things when I look at you.”

Such is a pity, you sometimes think, that from the multitudes of colours which exist, from the rainbow of vivid hues that bring the universe to life, the clouds were cast off with the ugliest shade of them all. Ugly, because it is empty. Because it is something that comes with no warning and leaves without ever saying farewell.

“What my name is, how to breathe, even the fact that a whole other world exists outside of you.”

Because white, like so many other things that exist in this world, is so easily forgotten by those who once held it dear.

“I forget so much, but you know what? I don’t mind. Because as long as I’m with you, then I know everything will be alright.”

Keep reading

Outfit of the Day

Dress: @ironfistclothing
Belt: Victoria Lovelace the Brand
Bag: @killstar
Jewellery: @rogueandwolf @thecryptofcuriosities and Alchemy England
Shoes: Bat Royalty by @ironfistclothing
More details on my Instagram (ReeRee Phillips)

anonymous asked:

Lucifer meeting with a modern-day prophet. What happens when they start falling for each other (as I have been burning with curiosity about how you would write Lucifer).

Lucifer is walking through the snowy streets of Munich at three am when he hears the sound, ringing like church bells and reflecting off every fractal of ice in the air. It shoots through his spine and pulls his heartstrings taut as a lyre. He stands stone-still on the sidewalk, cigarette burning down to ash between his fingers, boots sunk ankle-deep in the snow, and listens. Someone is singing.

He ducks down an alleyway wedged between a church and a pawn shop and slips onto the next street. A young woman is standing under the yellow glow of a streetlamp, bundled up in too many skirts and scarves to count, singing with her her face tilted towards heaven. Snow catches in her lashes and her fingers curl through the air, aching for the divinity just out of reach. Lucifer knows the hymn, an old Protestant folk standard in the original German. But he’s never heard it like this before.

He pulls a handful of euro coins of out his pocket and throws them in the hat at her feet, and the jingle breaks the spell. He eyes flick open and she turns to Lucifer, who is standing very close, watching her with hands in his pockets.

“Dankeschön,” She says, regarding him with wary black eyes. Lucifer smiles back. He can see grace glittering on her skin, feel holiness radiating off her body, smell the heavy fragrance of frankincense and myrrh caught in her hair. 

“I usually find your type behind a church pew,” He says in her language.

“God’s church stretches beyond parish walls and encircles the entire world. Besides, hymns are better use to those you can’t find in a cathedral.”

Lucifer grins. Definitely a prophet. She speaks in a low, soft voice that warms him and soothes something in him that he didn’t realize was restless. Her round cheeks are scrubbed pink from the cold and for some reason Lucifer is bewitched by this little display of humanity, this fetching insight into her fragility.

Her breath catches and flutters in her throat for a moment, then words come tumbling out.

“And I don’t usually find your type in such untroubled places.”

Lucifer arches an eyebrow, even more intrigued.

“You know what I am?”

“And who. I can see the true nature of all God’s creatures whether they want me to or not. It’s a gift.”

Silvery tears are starting to gather in the young woman’s eyes despite the courageous set to her mouth, and Lucifer finds himself troubled. Usually he relishes mortal fear, and someone actually recognizing him while he walks abroad in the human world is a genuine treat, but for some reason he feels compelled to comfort her, to draw her out and look upon all her softness and bloom. He wants her to trust him. So he makes his voice as gentle as possible.

“It takes a keen sort of insight to see through my glamour. If you’re sharp enough to see that you should be able to tell that I don’t wish you any ill will. I don’t have any demonic hordes waiting in the wings and I haven’t come to try and strike a deal for your soul. This is in all earnestness a chance encounter.”

The young woman still looks skeptical, so Lucifer rolls his eyes and lifts his hand up through the air, and as he does so, the crucifix necklace tucked into the prophet’s shirtfront rises of it’s own accord to hover before her face.

“You’re already spoken for, dear. There’s little I could do to you even if I wanted to.”

To his delight, she doesn’t seem frightened, only transfixed as she watches the golden crucifix catch the light.

“Amazing,” She breathes.

“I can do more than that, if you’d like to see,” He murmurs as the crucifix lowers itself into her outstretched palm. “But I’ve got to ask. What gave me away?”

The girl takes a deep breath, her breath turning to steam in the air, then straightens up and examines him more closely. To Lucifer’s surprise she approaches him tentatively and reaches out with a shaky hand to press her fingertips against his chest. As soon as this initial contact is made, all the rest of her fear melts into curiosity, and she began to circle to him, muttering to herself in wonder.

“The shadows don’t sit on you right, and you’re radiating heat, even in this weather. I smelled burning as soon as you walked over here, like a woodfire.”

“When your earthly body is a construction to house your celestial being, you can keep the heat on all the time if you want,” He chuckles. He turns to face her, and her cheeks grow even pinker as she realizes how close they are. Still, she doesn’t draw away, only reaches out to touch the silver serpent pinned to his lapel as though it holds the secrets of his existence.

“Tell me your name,” Lucifer says, and it’s the prophet’s turn to chuckle.

“No, Morningstar, I will not. You have no good use for it.”

Lucifer reaches out to touch her face, and thrills at the electricity of God’s blessing crackling around his fingertips.

“I could call you by it,” He says, and she looks at him with eyes full of wonder. Lucifer leans in to kiss her, their cheeks brushing and breaths mingling, but the girl pulls herself out of his arms suddenly. She does not look frightened or scandalized, only sad.

“Why not?” Lucifer asks, and the prophet empties her tips into her pockets and screws her hat back on her head.

“Because you don’t love me. You love He who lives in me. And that is your tragedy.”

He is stunned, too stunned to protest when she kisses his cheek.

“You can keep chasing echoes of God’s handiwork or you can surrender yourself to the real thing. It’s your choice. It always has been.”

With that she turns from him and starts down the cobblestone street. As the hymn resumes and then fades behind him, Lucifer curls his fingers into fists, and suddenly, he feels very cold.

Chapter Twenty-Three

A Conflicted New Home

Previous Chapter

Ship: Kylo Ren x Reader

Rating: M

You heaved the last box of files into the new headquarters, dropping it at your feet clumsily as dust filled the room. You coughed, looking around at the cold, metallic room. 

This was your new home, you supposed. The room was filled with soiled machinery, a window showcasing the tundra outside that brought little light to the room. In the few days, you had stayed on this new, unfamiliar planet, you had discovered that there was little sunlight. Most of the days were filled with the eerie atmosphere of the night. You hadn’t deciphered whether the chill to your spine was because of the frigid temperature or the uneasy feeling you were being watched over. 

Keep reading

1. The ocean is not as wide as it seems. It is dark and it is brave and it is everything you ever wanted, once, but it only takes six hours to cross. You will hold it between your thighs on a grey October morning. You will keep it pressed to the roof of your mouth, swallow it down like an aspirin. You will look at the surface of the water and stretch out your shaking fingers and beg for an answer, and the water will show you nothing but your own reflection.

2. Just because you opened your mouth when you kissed him does not mean he can pull anything out of you. It does not mean you are gaping like a wound, that you are bleeding all over the carpet. You are still whole. You are still holy.

3. There is nothing more crystal-pure than the way she grabs your hand on the way to the bathroom. Keep it in your memory, the way her eyes shine like sparklers and she is laughing and you can feel her breath on your neck. Keep it as clear as dewdrops on a spiderweb. Keep it as sharp as a diamond.

4. You won’t go to hell for smoking that cigarette. Or two. Or damn, even the whole pack. Sometimes it’s okay to not want to breathe.

5. You also won’t go to hell for not calling your father, but you really should. When you first met him, you couldn’t even hold your head up without the strength of his hands behind you. Your head is high now, shoulders square, but he was still the first one to love you without a reason. Don’t forget the scuffed shoes, the scabbed elbows, the smell of dead petunias and the newly-cut grass. Don’t forget where you came from.

6. There will be the friends you make on the quiet, breezy walk across the lawn back from class, and the friends you make on the bright, dizzy, gravel-in-your-mouth-and-blood-under-your-fingernails walk back from the bar. They will all be lovely, and they will all be important, but pay attention to which friends will stay with you and scrub the vomit and the glitter into the kitchen sink when it’s all over. Pay attention to the ones who take you swimming on a thursday morning, the ones who dance with you even when the lights are on, the ones who’ll skip a lecture just to sit and watch cartoons wth you. Pay attention. Don’t you dare blink.

7. Just because he was drunk and didn’t mean it doesn’t make it okay. Okay? Okay. But you’re okay. You’ll be okay. Even if you have to never stop drinking for a week, even if you have to have a fistfight with your cabinet, even if you sometimes start to panic because you can’t see the stars. They’ll come out again some other night. You’ll see. And you’ll be okay.

8. Everything has a color. Every sentence, every shot of gin, every dead-end dream and half-remembered promise. The night you spent in Edinburgh and danced with a boy in a crown: flush and full and pulsing violet. The morning of the first snow, when it looked like the whole town had been sprinkled with sugar: silver as a bell. A kiss on the cheek from the boy who beats you at every board game: coral pink like the tender underbelly of a crab, scuttling across the shore. The way she plays the piano: periwinkle, soft and slow. The way you laughed, the way you all looked at each other, the way you forgot you were ever in pain: gold and gold and gold and gold. Everyone warm and happy. Everything bathed in sunlight.

9. You won’t find redemption at the bottom of a bottle; you won’t find hope in the ashes crushed under your boot. Not that it will stop you from trying, but maybe you should start to look somewhere else.

10. Home is relative. You can find home in between rows of bookshelves, in the dying light of an alleyway, in the cracks in the sidewalk, in the echo of someone’s heartbeat. One day, you will seek refuge in a graveyard; the next, on the floor of your friend’s dorm room. Just live your life sunset to sunset. Trust that you will always find a place to rest your head.


12. Cover everyone you meet in kindness. Pull it around their fragile shoulders like a blanket, hold it close to their chest like it will make them bulletproof. It is the only language that every person can speak. A lot of the time, it’s the only language that matters.

13. Crying out for help is not, and has never been, a sign of weakness. Your voice is a weapon, is the pin of a grenade, is a blade between the ribs. So scream. Howl. Tear your throat to ribbons with the sound of your own anguish. Let them hear you coming for miles.

14. Sometimes it’s enough to just sit at the foot of his bed, lay your head on his shoulder, take his hand and not let go until light starts spilling through the window. Brush a strand of hair off the back of her neck. Bring him a soda and a shy smile. Turn on her nightlight before you close the door. Sometimes, it’s enough just to be there. You are enough for just being there.

15. You are young, you are brilliant, you are full of unbridled danger and mercy. So go. Buy the ticket. Get on the plane. Don’t look back over your shoulder because all you’ll find there are the skeletons of what could have been. Set fire to everything you’ve come to regret and watch the smoke trail behind you as you leave.

You are ephemeral. You are blessed. You are endlessly destroying yourself and creating yourself anew.

And for whatever you have done, you are forgiven.

All of it.

—  15 Things I Learned in 2015
Into the “Blue”


“No offense, Boss…but is the music REALLY needed?”
Below Ash’s dangling boots, which hung from the side of the Blackraven helicopter, passed sand. Lots…and lots…of sand. 
Well, this WAS Vacuo, of course…that was what it was known for. That, and Dust, and bandits.

And Ash was about to go head straight out into that same location to try and get some work done. One of Vacuo’s Long Range Desert Patrol groups had asked for HK help, and so here he was. 

The “Boss” (Ash’s contact for this op, head of one of the many mercenary groups that were all over Remnant, more specifically the Diamond Dogs) just snorted and adjusted his eye patch slightly. 

“My bird, my rules. You ain’t riding for long anyway.”
As if on cue, the pilot called out “This is Pequod, arriving shortly at LZ.”

“Theres your cue.”

Ash looked down and out into the sand again, noticing…something. One tiny speck of grey against the red-white sands. A car, of some kind. 

The helicopter decended, hovering, kicking sand in every direction.

“Good luck down there, Vulcan!”

Ash nodded, and leaped off the side and into the sand.

Ashlyn Harris’ Live Chat


Fan: Ashlyn whose your role model?

Ash: “Snooki in her prime. hahahahaha kidding.” 

Fan: Are u getting a puppy? 

Ash: "No puppy for me. I’m an aunt to blue. That’s enough. He’s nuts. I play with him and send him’s perfect“

Fan:  Talk about ur tattoos, how’d u pick what to get/how you pick an artist to permanently ink ur body? 

Ash: "I don’t pick it, they pick me. :)" 

Fan: How do you keep your hair from looking great all the time?

Ash: "My hair. Omg yes! I have dreads.”

Ash: “Let’s see… I don’t wash or brush my hair. It’s pretty simple. Oh and I spray it with salt water.”

Fan: The keeper stuff is… (person referring as lit, awesome, great)

 Ash: “Yea are you guys loving the (Keeper|Harris) shirts?" 

Ash: "Get excited because it’s only the beginning! We have more stuff in the works ;)”

Fan: Can we see a pic of your closet? 

Ash: “My closet is shoes and hats. Lol.”

Fan: What was it like hugging Taylor Swift on stage Ash?

Ash: “Omg I love Tay Tay. She’s so 💃”

Fan: Boots or flip flops? 

Ash: “Boots all day”

Fan: Favorite country you’ve visited? 

Ash: “Australia”

(Fan telling Ashlyn how her injury story and how she came back from hers helped the fan to get over hers and come back)

Fan: Can you comment on the LGBT movement and the role that athlete role models play in that? 

Ash: “For me it’s simple. Just be you." 

Ashlyn: “Don’t place labels on anything. I want you to all know I will always be honest with you. We are ALL in this TOGETHER.”

Fan: What inspires you the most to keep pushing yourself? 

Ash: "Everyday I strive to be a better person and player. In that order." 

Fan: What are you hopeful for in 2016, Ash? 

Ash: "I’m hopeful to be happy and healthy in 2016." 

Fan: Can you play a musical instrument? 

Ash: "I sing a lot and I’m terrible. But I can rap" 

Fan: Are you afraid of the dark?

 Ash: "I’m afraid of being alone. I don’t like it.”
Ash: “I love future. He’s killer.”

Fan: What is your favorite meal? 

Ash: “Mac and cheese.”

Fan: Will you rap us a song someday and post it on SQOR. 

Ash: “For sure”

Ash: “Thanks for all the support. I wouldn’t be where I am without you all. Truly grateful. Xoxoxox”

This is everything I could put together from the live chat, I don’t know if it is in order or not.

About the Ali photo, the fan made a mistake, she apologized to Ashlyn and she was cool with it. (You can read about what really happened here)

Sources: @nutellAHarris24  @waitsydney @cajohnson15

An unkempt attire accompanied an equally ragged, and worn appearance of the Dunmer as he crested the hill, and cast a bleary-eyed gaze rife with fatigue upon the encampment below. Focus came and went, exhaustion proving itself an elusive prey to hold captive given not only the rigors of the evenings prior, but the trip itself to the Ashlander’s territory. Ash caked boots scuffed the terrain below, carried by a pair of legs that scarcely could withhold the weight of the man, let alone the addition of a burdensome load of the satchel he’d thrown over one shoulder, and despite his exhaustion and desire to crumble, and be reduced to some piteous wreck down in the ash, he soldiers onward.

His approach remained slow, and steady and for all intents and purposes given his state of being, wholly unthreatening. When he’d crossed the threshold of the camp’s perimeter and found himself set upon the curious and, understandably, wary pair of guards that had been stationed on that end, Varynoth’s pack was willingly offered to be searched, to their heart’s desire. When he addressed the duo it arrived with the scratchiness of a dry, burning throat, amidst wincing that speaking had induced.

“I need a guide.”