were rooting for you

The Girl Who Pushed Tyra Banks (And The Internet) Over The Edge
Since Tyra Banks yelled “We were rooting for you!” on America’s Next Top Model, it’s become one of the most iconic moments in reality TV history, and one of the most inescapable GIFs on the internet. Now, more than a decade since Banks flipped on contestant Tiffany Richardson, the former model hopeful reveals what viewers didn’t see, how she feels about Banks, and how far she’s come.
By Michael Blackmon

The volume is turned way down. Like the sound on an old tape. The voices are there. You just have to listen. — Genrika Zhirova

She has an Axis II personality disorder, which means technically, she’s a sociopath, incapable of caring for others. But the thing about Shaw is, she does care, enough to save my life. —Root

At least the itching is almost over and it was so worth it! Amy was so nervous to draw on me she practiced on a sticky note first

I asked her to draw “however she thinks Shaws arrow looks in her head”
And to write 4A wherever she thought it would look best with the arrow.

She’s so sweet and was just awesome to do this and also you’re welcome here is shaws canon arrow shape according to Amy Acker bc she literally drew this off the top of her beautiful head

Of all my sins

      Jerome had always knew that you were a big part in his life; and as much as you were his source of pure happiness, you were also his one rigid root of weakness. The joker never planned to find love along his bloody path, but to his delightful surprise, he did. He found you, and you were his other half: funny, intelligent, beautiful, kind, and you accepted him, and you saw him. You saw him for who he really was; and for that, he could never truly express how much you mean to him.

      Jerome was frustrated- exasperated, even! He could easily slit a knife across anyone’s throat, no questions asked, no remorse in the odious act; but when it came to you, he flinched. He cringed merely thinking about the vile act. For loosing you, he knew he would loose apart of himself; maybe even the whole. He valued you, he cherished you, he loved you; but he was angry. For a man who has something to love, has something to loose. And the fear of loosing something could be another phrase for weakness, and Jerome did not like that at all.

         Jerome sighed, sitting atop the dresser in your room. “You make me weak, (y/n),” he told you simply. Your head shot up, eyes flickering with concern. 

        “What do you mean?”

        “I love you. I love you too much!” he chuckled. “I’m supposed to be this great, invincible killer, right? I’m not supposed to love anything; anything but my work. Then there’s you. You’re my… well, my weakness,” he told you. You nodded, knowing Jerome was never an expert at expressing his feelings, and took the statement as a sincere one. He sighed once again, striding his lithe shirtless body towards you. “What am I gonna’ do with you?” he smirked, taking your hand in his, looking down at your nimble fingers in admiration. His soft, piercing eyes jumped back up to yours. He then lent down, pressing his plush lips onto yours; and you could feel the tenderness in the kiss, and the silent, sweet melody soar throughout the atmosphere. His other hand went to your lower back, pulling you in closer as your lips slowly, deeply moved in sync with one another. He felt the curve of your body, the tenderness of your flesh. And in the gentle ardent moment, your hand traveled to the nape of his neck, lightly tugging at the red strand’s of hair in an affectionate caress. Jerome then forced himself to tear his lips away from yours, resting his forehead against yours as your eyes reconnected in a sweep of warmth. “You’re my weakness; but you’re my weakness, and you’re mine , and I’m okay with that,” he whispered, smiling. “I love you, (y/n).”

i thought of angels
choking on their halos

(get them drunk on rose water)

fallen angels who rip the feathers from their backs and devour them hungrily, scrambling for every last shred of their former lives and trying to cram it back into their bodies, panicking when grace starts to bleed from cuts in their skin, slurping it from their veins, desperately trying to force themselves back into what they once were. all the band-aids in the world won’t hold divinity into your bones.