devil be gone


“No one ever thinks chicks do shit like this. A girl can only be a slut, bitch, tease, or the virgin next door.”

  • malec: Good content™ husbands throwing a party together :) magnus saving the day #blessed
  • saphael: who put The Straights on my screen and what even is raphael doing?? ...ya biting the wrong person?? simon?? one day apart from snipping at one another and y'all are making stupid decisions, i raised you better than this

anonymous asked:

You don't deserve Boris back. He doesn't deserve someone as hateful and ungrateful you.

B̶̥͈̻͔͖̱̖̝͍͈̀̀͞ ̠͇͎̮̰̕͠͠͡O͏͏̛͉̲͓͓̰̳̬̠̝̳̝̦̩̻͎̤́͝ͅ ̷͍̘̹̳̘́R̪̮̥͚͙͙̮͚̝̟͙͉͈̘͟͟ͅͅͅ ̘̮̫͖̞͢͜͠I̴̧̦̙̙̞͚ ͟͏̖̪͉̘͔̯͎̗̙̺ͅS͏̲͚̗̠̼̳̠̘͍̖̫̘̦͟͟ ̶͢҉̸̭͚̙̝̳̖̪͕̘̞̖̰̖ͅ?͏̨͇̪̖͓̳͖̩͕̺̣̩̘̲̯̰̘̳ͅ

Blind Date

Member: Zhong Chenle x reader
Genre: Fluff
Word Count:1,300

Sorry for not posting this sooner, but I hope you like it~ Thank you for requesting <3

Originally posted by cosmicgxys

“Y/N I’m finally back~” Chenle lazily said, letting his bag slide down his arm, and stretching his arms out for you so come over and hug him. You smiled and hugged him tightly;you were waiting for him to come back from school in the practice room him and the other boys practiced in. You were the only one there because everyone left to go to the store and buy snacks.

“Anyway, how was sch-” You started, but  you heard someone opening the door. Quickly, you pushed Chenle away from you, making him fell to the ground.

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Mary isn’t dead.

So I re watched the scene is HLV where Mary shoots Sherlock to see if I could compare the two in any way, and boy did I find something interesting.. Whilst Sherlock is in his mind palace in his last few seconds, Molly speaks to him:

But isn’t what happened to Mary exactly like how it happens in the movies?  There was a big spurt of blood and she went flying.

 Molly also mentions to Sherlock that he has three seconds of consciousness left before he blacks out.

So if Mary got shot in the same spot as Sherlock (I think), then shouldn’t they both have around the same amount of consciousness left??? So why does Mary get one minute and thirty-four seconds of consciousness??

Simple. She’s faking. She’s not dead, she just wanted to burn the heart out of Sherlock.

In the behind the scenes video of TST it is shown how they make the gunshot wounds look real using ‘blood bags’. More specifically they said, “The special effects team made sure their hits would definitely draw blood.”

Now, how hard do you think it would be for a trained assassin to buy/make one of those?

being realistic, i doubt the devil is truly gone for good. but what i want is for him to be gone long enough for kara to gain some perspective. i’d like the distance to help her dive into her work, both being a reporter and supergirl. i want to see her realize that okay sure, maybe she misses him sometimes, but not as much as she expected to. she’s okay, better than okay actually. she realizes that she was with him because he was simple, fun, an alien like her. but deep down she knew it was only surface affection, and long run he didn’t have anything to offer her. and if/when he returns, i want her to be able to look at him and say that she wishes him well, but she doesn’t need him. she has her family, these people surrounding her who truly care, who truly know her and have her best interest at heart. and that’s all she needs.

Welp, here’s my contribution to the “Bendy and the Ink Machine” fandom. I don’t really like horror games, with the exception of Fran Bow, but….the fan song “Build Our Machine” by DAGames was SO CATCHY that I couldn’t resist the urge to draw the little demon. All credit for the game goes to TheMeatlyGames.

Also, I felt bad I wasn’t uploading because of my focus on schoolwork. So here you go!☺️


He woke me sometime in the darkness and made love to me, slowly and tenderly, not speaking. I watched stars winking through the lattice of black branches overhead, and fell asleep again with his comforting weight warm on top of me.

All The Devil’s Men

XIII. A Capable Wife

[First] [Previous]


“A capable wife who can find?
She is far more precious than jewels.
The heart of her husband trusts in her,
and he will have no lack of gain.”

Proverbs 31:10-11

For months, it had been a joke. It was her needle for Pastor Richards, a shield between herself and the reality, and now Ada had said the words and made them real and they burned like acid at the back of her throat.

Finnbar had gone remarkably silent. He finally moved from the door, not quite so primed to flee, but he wasn’t looking at her, either. He was looking at photographs she had on the wall, from the early days of the town, before it was a town. She still couldn’t see clearly, but she knew what each was by the frame. One was just of her and Ester, a shovel over Ada’s shoulder, the pair of them standing on the plot that became their house. It was the portrait next to it that Finnbar settled on.

One of her and Rebecca, sixteen and fourteen years old, in their Sunday dresses.

Keep reading


10 Movies Marie Antoinette would’ve enjoyed:

Gone with the Wind (1939)
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953)
Cleopatra (1963)
My Fair Lady (1964)
Evita (1996)
Titanic (1997)
Moulin Rouge! (2001)
The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
The Other Boleyn Girl (2008)
Anna Karenina (2012)

Chase, Alexander Hamilton x Reader


Word-count: 1,320 (I can’t write drabbles for shit.)

Warnings: Lowkey–midkey cursing. The usual.

Note: Day one of the #hamwriters Write-A-Thon! Hello there! Day one was AU, so I did something I’ve been wanting to do for so long and combined two of my great loves. I had actually been planning this for a while, and it wasn’t meant to be a Write-A-Thon entry, but I just decided why not? We’re celebrating the same thing (1k followers holy shit I still can’t believe it). 

This one is kind of dumb. It’s platonic-meets-angst, which for some reason I really dig writing why. I might write a sequel just to balance it out, but who knows? 

So let us all collectively pray to the gods that I get through this week with consistency, because the lord knows I can be flaky as shit. 


The halls were empty in this particular area of the castle, which you didn’t exactly understand as to why it was so (it was a perfectly good corridor), but now it served as an advantage. When you were running from Burr, Jefferson, or Madison (or in this case, all three of them), the more secluded a space, the better.

You couldn’t exactly recall how and why you got yourself into this predicament, but you knew, however, that it had something to do with that pile of Transfiguration assignments that you may or may not have turned into practice dummies for your Charms homework. (Turning inanimate objects into canaries.) The pile of Transfiguration assignments that may or may not have belonged to three certain people, namely Jefferson, Burr, and Madison. And you may or may not have done the aforementioned Charms practice on purpose, with full knowledge as to whom the aforementioned pile of Transfiguration assignments belonged to, but it wasn’t like you were about to answer those questions now, were you?

Your frantic walking slowed as you neared the end of the corridor, finding what you were looking for in the first place; the tapestry. Merlin bless whoever thought of installing that thing. Even if it was dodgy old Slytherin.

Ignoring the hammering of your pulse in your ear (for whatever reason, you couldn’t begin to fathom), you wrenched aside the tapestry, steeling yourself for roughly five hours of solitude as you waited out the relentless search party that was no doubt hunting for your blood by now.

Only to find that the space was already occupied.

“Hamilton,” you said, surprised. The seventh year looked up at your abrupt appearance, eyes wide in surprise. He appeared to be reading something. An eyebrow went impossibly high up your forehead. “What are you doing here?”

“Studying,” He was not lying; a cursory glance around told the story quite clearly. Books and tomes were lying around in assorted piles, and crumpled bits of parchment littered the ground not occupied by what looked like half the library and Hamilton himself. “What are you doing here? “

At his words, you remembered the very reason why you had to go into hiding in the first place. You shoved him aside, nearly sending a nearby stack of tomes asunder. Hamilton cursed, loudly, and you shushed him.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” he asked, his glare sharp and had you been a lesser woman you would have backed down from the force of that thing, but you were you and Alex was Alex and you knew him well enough by now (six years in the same house and with relatively same group of friends would do that to you) to know that while he would probably skin you once this was over, he was for the most part harmless.

You gave him a look. “Hiding,” you said, like it was obvious. This only angered Hamilton further, and he was about to speak again, but you heard the distant rumble of footsteps and slapped a hand to his mouth, effectively silencing him. “Not exactly the time for questions, Alex.” you said, voice barely above a whisper.  “I’ll explain when we are out of relative danger.”

Relative dang—“


The footsteps were a lot closer now, and among them you heard voices.

“Where the devil has that girl gone now?” Burr.

“Agrippa only knows.” Jefferson. There was a thud and a yelp of pain. “Buggerbuggerbugger, what in the name of?—“

“Thomas, stop kicking the shit out of things.” Madison. You stifled a laugh.

“Boys, she’s not here.” Burr said, ever the voice of reason. “The essay is due tomorrow, and if we start it now, we’ll get it done by morning.”

There was running again, mingled with the sound of Jefferson’s complaints, and when the last patter of feet left, you felt yourself begin to breathe easy.

“Fucking hell,” you mumbled, rubbing at your forehead. That caused you more stress than it should have. “Remind me never to cross those lads again, Alex.” you said, getting up and dusting off your skirt. “As fun as it is, I don’t think I can survive all this unnecessary anxiety.” You threw Alexander a wink, and threw aside the tapestry. The halls were clear, and you were free.

“Just a minute,” You heard a frantic scrabbling and then Alexander was on your tail. “What the hell did you get up to now?”

“Nothing extreme, don’t worry your old head Alex. You know I value it so; who else is going to drudge through my Potions essay?” you said flippantly, waving a hand in his general direction. Alex was taller than you (not by much, mind, but still), but you were the faster one, and you chuckled at how he struggled to keep up.

“’Nothing extreme’; that’s bullshit and we both know it.”

You were a bit of a prankster, some would say. (Others would call you rabid (those others namely people like Jefferson and Burr and Madison), but who gave a rat’s shit about them? No one, really.) And no one knew better than Alex, who, while for the most part went along with your oftentimes elaborate schemes, held himself with a propriety that warranted the occasional wariness. You knew it was all for show, and he knew it was all for show, but Alex was a good actor, and what kind of actor didn’t go along with the precedent?

“I turned their Transfiguration essays into birds for Charms.” you said at last, sick of the game already. You were both nearing the Great Hall, and the smell coming from it meant that dinner was finally served. “Happy?” You faced him for the first time since the alcove, eyeing the stacks of books in his arms without pity. That was something he could deal with on his own. (Had you been in a kinder mood, you would have helped him, but boy, could Alex grate on your nerves.)

Alex looked indignantly impressed. “You’re most definitely daft in the head, but damn, you can be absolute genius sometimes.”

You grinned, grabbed a few of his books. He was forgiven. For now.

“He’s leaving in a few weeks,” Rebecca said, causing you to look up from your Astronomy homework for the first time in two hours.

You raised an eyebrow at your friend. “Who is?”

“Alexander.” Rebecca looked at you plainly, and you knew exactly what she meant. But you weren’t going to say that.

“So?” you said, returning your eyes to your star chart, where you had been labeling constellations. It was due in three days and you had only just now started.

“Don’t act dumb, Y/N.” Becca said, rolling her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t,” you said, not looking up, but the tone of your voice pretty clearly getting the message across. I don’t want to talk about it.

But Rebecca was almost as stubborn as you were. “Be that way, fine. But the next time we go into Hogsmeade and he’s got his arm around another pretty girl, don’t bitch about it—“

“Stop, Becca. Stop.” you said, slapping your reference book closed. Rebecca barely even flinched. “I know he’s leaving. A lot of them are leaving. We’ve had this conversation enough times. Stop.”

He was graduating in two weeks, no doubt with top marks, if his test scores were anything to go by. He’s leaving. Him, and Lafayette, and John, Hercules having long since left, being a few years older than the rest of you.

He was leaving in two weeks. You’ve spent six years—the first two brushing shoulders and the rest wreaking havoc together—getting to know him and getting known by him. That was enough.

He was leaving in two weeks. There was no time to entertain silly little crushes when you have to say all your goodbyes.

(Tag list: @alexanderhamllton, @manuelmiranduh, @daveeddiggsit, @hamilbye, @diggs4life, @hamilsquad-writings, @imwritingmywayout, @jamiiton, @jordanfishest, @lauradreyfussy, @musicalmiranda, @myalexanderhamiltonjustyouwait, @ourforgottenboleros, @protecting-my-legacy, @sarsarmadden, @secretschuylersister, @sunshinemiranda)

The Flame (Is Gone)//cover
Eric Letendre
The Flame (Is Gone)//cover

Here it is, everyone! The Final Project™

a cover of The Dear Hunter’s “The Flame (Is Gone)” from their fifth studio album, Hymns With the Devil In Confessional.