#during my effort to be better i think i also picked up some vanity lol

[kurtbrussels]

best purchase of 2022: red vans

i can coordinate so many of my clothes now and sometimes ppl tell me i look nice 🥲

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

In addition to the "ambitious workaholic perfectionist" thing - which is a huge (and hugely significant) similarity between Paul and his mum, don't get me wrong - I think there's also the less-discussed propensity toward caregiving. It's complicated by Paul's less comfortable relationship with his more ~stereotypically feminine through a 1950s lens~ traits and his myriad other issues with Being Vulnerable, so he's more upfront about it in relation to kids and animals (and women, certainly after Linda got sick but probably predating that a bit). It seems pretty automatic for him when someone's in physical distress, thinking in particular about the horrible incident with the dying au pair in 1980. Emotional issues are more complicated, but it feels like the impulse to Make It Better, the notion that he can somehow Fix It (without, of course, acknowledging any of his own Damage or meaningfully dealing with it, lol), is very much a Thing - I think he's done this with his kids and, to some extent, Linda, but less successfully with John and HM. And I think it's really hard for him to accept when he can't fill that gap for someone or when doing so would necessitate going to Bad Places in his own brain.

(This all makes vague sense in my head, sorry if it's total rambling ridiculousness when typed out. XD)

You're so right though anon! I do think it's a bit weird when people call Paul cold and distant, completely ignoring his compassion and warmth for animals and children. I saw someone on here, don't remember who, mention they think it came from him being distrustful of people who might take advantage of him, which animals and kids wouldn't, which does make a certain sense to me.

I think you're right that Paul both wants to help but is afraid of getting into the dirty, nitty, gritty of it all.

When Stu died, Paul wasn't cold or distant; according to Astrid, his first reaction was to hug her. But I don't think Paul could have ever given her direct advice on how to deal with her grief like John did, even though Paul too had dealt with excruciating grief in the past. I also believe him when he says Magical Mystery Tour and Get Back weren't vanity projects but true efforts to bring the band back together (even if his own narcissism peaked through in the end).

I think the problem with "fixing" John is, for one thing, that John's issues were not easily explainable. Reading the Davies bio was kind of eye-opening, because John will be describing what sounds like clinical depression (sitting on the stairs or lying on the couch for hours on end thinking; not talking to people for days) and it's barely framed as an issue. He himself seems to almost frame it as a philosophical or religious thing. I'm not sure how I – and I dare say I'm relatively emotionally intelligent – would even begin to approach that, try to make it better.

Another thing I note is that Davies says that John "came alive" when he was working with Paul (that isn't to say it cured his depression but it seems like it was one of the few still enjoyable activities for him during this low point), and maybe Paul picked up on that too. Maybe him egging John on to get back to writing and come back to the studio was what seemed to work best, at least for a while.

Anyways your thoughts are so cool, I love them and keep them coming if you have more to share!!!

[otakusheep15]

SFW Alphabet - Solomon

This is for my best friend/mother as she is the biggest Solomon simp I’ve ever seen lol. Also, this is gonna be angsty cause I love writing angsty Solomon

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

He pretends to not like affection, but he’s a softie and we all know it. Really, all he needs is a hug and he’ll just melt on the spot. 

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

One word: chaos. You two as best friends cause untold destruction and cause Lucifer several migraines per day. Being besties with him also means being besties with Asmo, so be prepared for that as well.  

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He loves cuddles. Maybe it’s just the fact that he hasn’t had much physical contact in who knows how long, but he loves any form of contact. His favorite ways to cuddle is him on his back with you either laying on top of him, or on the side of him with your head on his chest. 

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

I can’t see him as the type to settle down, be he’d consider it depending on the person. And while he’s a terrible cook, he’s not half bad at cleaning and other household chores. 

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He’d be super blunt about it. Honestly, he’s scared to get with anyone to begin with since, ya know, immortality and all, so it’s been a while since he’s actually had to break it off. His main goal when breaking up with someone is to get them away from him, so he wants to make sure the way he breaks up with them will make them want to stay away. 

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Afraid of commitment. I imagine the last time he tried to commit to someone was before he became immortal, so having to watch them die made him vow to never get that close to anyone again. Then he met you, and all of that has been thrown out the window. He might try and rush things a bit, but he just wants as much time with you as possible. So, while he is afraid to commit, he’ll do it for you. 

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He’s bad at human interaction, so he might not know if he accidentally hurts you, but he’ll be quick to apologize once he realizes. Honestly, he’s better at being physically gentle since he can control that better than emotions.  

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Loves hugs. They’re one of his favorite things ever. He just finds such comfort in them, and they’re great for stress relief. His hugs are a bit on the aggressive side, but they’re still very enjoyable. 

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He’d say it on accident. And then he’d try to play it off to hide how embarrassed he is. It is pretty early on, but he does mean it with all his heart. Please say it back, he hasn’t heard it in a while. 

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He gets extremely jealous. Like, you spend so much time with the brothers and he can’t stand that. Of course, he would never admit it, but he would try everything he can think of to get you away from them. Once, he almost resorted to food poisoning out of sheer desperation. 

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His kisses differ depending on his mood, but they’re usually soft and full of passion. His favorite place to kiss you is your neck because it gets a nice reaction out of you. His favorite place to be kissed is the top of his head cause he’s secretly a big softy who wants to be babied.  

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He’s not the most fond of kids, but he’ll tolerate them. They’re are fun to tease though, especially Luke. 

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

he’s either waking you up at the crack of dawn to work on some new potion, or he’s sleeping in until past noon and refuses to get up. Regardless, you are not leaving his side. If he gets up, he’ll drag you up with him. If he wants to stay in, he’ll hold you there until he’s satisfied. 

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

He’ll usually be up late working on something or other, but he’s never up for too long. He jins you in bed when he’s done, and he’ll cuddle the crap out of you an an apology for keeping you waiting. He’s also fond of talking to you about random stuff that happened throughout the day until one or both of you fall asleep. 

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

This man is one of the most secretive people to ever exist. He wants to open up to you, honestly he does, but he just can’t. he’s so worried that all of his emotional baggage will drive you away, and he couldn’t stand losing another person he cares about. So, he keeps everything hidden. With time, he’ll start opening up if you push enough buttons. 

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He’s really good at pretending he’s patient. On the outside he’s his same-old self, but on the inside he’s fuming. His patience tends to wear especially thin around the brothers (except Asmo). It’s a mixture of jealousy for how much time they spend with you, and anger that they refuse to make a pact with him. But he keeps it all under wraps. 

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He does remember a good bit of information, but he sucks at remembering small details. For example, he may know what month your birthday is in, but he cannot remember the actual date. Or, he would remember your favorite movie genre, but not your favorite movie in said genre. He tries his best though. 

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

He loves this one time where you tried to help him cook something. You were tired of dealing with the mess that is his cooking skills, and you wanted him to make something that wouldn’t kill you. Everything started out fine until you accidentally get some flour on him. It wasn’t much, but still. He just turns to you without saying anything before launching some flour right back at you. And then the casual baking session turns into an all-out food war. The kitchen is a mess and you two end up getting scolded by Simeon later, but it was totally worth it.  

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Oh he’s very protective. I mean, you’re a defenseless human surrounded by powerful demons who want to eat you, of course he’d be protective. He would never mean to over-bearing, but he can come off that way sometimes. He used to protect those he cared about before he became immortal, so the habit comes back with you now. He doesn’t need protecting for obvious reasons, so it’s all the more reason to focus on protecting you. 

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Surprisingly, he prefers more lowkey dates. Maybe it’s because he rarely gets any alone time with you, but he loves just chilling out together practicing magic. if you did want to go out, he would take you somewhere in the Human World to get away from all the chaos of the Devildom. 

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Obviously, his cooking could kill a man, but we’re gonna move past that since it’s low hanging fruit. Besides that, he has a tendency to by pretty cunning and he’s always planning some kind of prank. He also has a tendency to get jealous of the brothers a lot, and that can make him salty when you guys can finally hang out. 

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He used to be pretty concerned with his looks, but he’s gotten over it. He still tries to look decent since he is in the presence of some powerful demons, but it isn’t at the forefront of his mind. Although, since becoming besties with Asmo, his vanity has started picking up again.  

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Maybe yes, maybe no. He’s had to deal with loss several times over, so he could probably learn to deal with it like he did before, but you could be different. It really just depends on what kind of impact you have on him during your time together. 

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

We all know that it’s basically canon that he and Asmo have hooked up before lol. But I also lowkey think he’s hooked up with both Barb and Satan. I have no real reason as to why I think this, but I do and I’m sticking to it. I don't even ship it that much, I just think he would do something like that. 

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He actually doesn’t like someone he knows he’d get attached to. He doesn't want to go through that pain again, so he wants to remain distant. Also, he doesn’t like someone who doesn’t understand or accept what he’s been through and what he’ll continue going through. He wants someone who understands and who he can talk to about it. 

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He gets very clingy in his sleep. If he’s sleeping with someone, they can expect to be trapped in his arms until he wakes up. And if you try to escape, he just hugs you even tighter. 

[swimmingwolf59]

Together We Cry

(A/N) I’m so late omg but yay, giomis week is here!! I won’t be posting anywhere near on time (obviously), but I’ll try my best to at least get SOME of the prompts up during the week! I at least managed for day 1! XD Somehow I took what was supposed to be a fluffy and/or sexy prompt and wrote 1200 words of sadness lol, so sorry xD;; va gives me too many damn emotions

On that note, MAJOR VENTO AUREO ENDING SPOILERS AHEAD!!! I haven’t read purple haze feedback yet though (I really need to!), so sorry if this doesn’t fit with that canon! Just pretend it’s an AU lol

I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading!!! <3

(Also read this on AO3)

The first time Mista saw Giorno cry was at Buccellati’s funeral.

It was weird to think about that – Buccellati’s funeral. It felt unreal, like a nightmare, except Mista had yet to wake up. He, Giorno, and Trish were all still in shock about it; it hit Mista especially hard when he realized that almost everyone he had known before he met Giorno was dead. First Abbacchio, then Narancia, and now Buccellati too… It was hard to believe. Buccellati especially; he had seemed like such a rock, someone that would always be around in the end to tell Mista that everything would be okay.

And now nothing would ever be okay again.

Mista felt absolutely lost without them. Sometimes he found himself faced with a hard mission from Giorno and his initial thought was still to go ask Buccellati for advice. Whenever he encountered something outrageously stupid, he would whirl around, ready to shout at Narancia about it, only to remember there was no one there. The kitchen was eerily silent without Abbacchio lurking around in it, and the blatant absence of the smell of coffee made it even worse. Mista refused to go in the kitchen by himself because of that.

And based on how the others were acting, he was sure they felt the same way.

They had all flocked to Polnareff after it first happened, desperate for an adult-figure who could hold them and tell them it would be okay. Of course, Polnareff had never tried to convince them that it would all be okay, but he always sat and listened if someone needed to talk, or gave a blanket to someone who had passed out on the floor of the turtle from crying. That first night after it all happened, Mista had sat on the couch in the turtle and cried so hard that the couch was still stained with his tears. Polnareff had sat with him, a silent, comforting presence, and offered him some warm tea when he was done crying. Mista was endlessly grateful for it.

It was still hard, but he’d felt slightly better after that. He was slowly picking himself back up again, relying less on Polnareff for basic needs like food and sleep. But Giorno – Mista could tell that the young Mafia don still held the weight of their friends’ deaths in his chest.

He hadn’t cried once since that day. He’d always sit in the turtle with Mista, Trish, and Polnareff, knees to his chest, but he never shed a tear. He just shook until it seemed like he would shiver out of his own skin. Mista had always wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him in some way, but he hadn’t known how. Plus, he’d felt so destroyed himself that he doubted he would’ve been much comfort.

He always hoped that Giorno would confide in him, but he never did. Instead, Giorno seemed entirely focused on taking his rightful place as Passione’s next boss, and Mista, despite his concerns, took his rightful place at his side.

The first thing they did as rulers of Passione was find Fugo. Polnareff had done some research to find out where he was hiding out nowadays, and Giorno and Mista went there themselves to tell him what had happened. Mista felt like falling apart all over again when he saw the way Fugo’s face broke, the way Purple Haze shimmered to life by his side for a split second before he dissolved it with obvious effort.

Fugo came back with them, and he and Mista spent most of the train ride remembering and crying about their fallen comrades. And while Giorno joined in with what little anecdotes he had, he still didn’t cry.

A week into the new position, they started working out the funerals. It took them a little while to arrange them, mainly because it was so hard to find anyone they trusted to do the service. Many priests had sided with the old Passione and had either killed themselves or were in hiding when Giorno took over. Eventually, Polnareff tracked down one of the only priests in Italy it seemed who was uninvolved with the Mafia at all, and he was contacted immediately.

They buried them all together, on the same day, because Mista was sure he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t stand to go through three different funerals. He watched Abbacchio be put in the ground, followed by Narancia, and now Buccellati. Mista’s face was streaming with tears and he couldn’t even be bothered to pretend that it wasn’t.

He glanced over at Giorno beside him. Giorno was wearing a black version of his pink suit and he stood stiffly as his eyes glanced back and forth between the priest and the coffin sitting next to the final open burial spot. His hair and make-up were impeccable; Mista had caught him fussing at his vanity for nearly two hours this morning, trying to get it right. When Mista had suggested he just leave it for today, Giorno had snapped at him that he had to get it right; it was the least he could do for them.

And well, Mista hadn’t been able to argue with that, so he’d slipped in and helped him keep the rollers in place as Giorno bobby-pined his fussy curls back.

Then, Giorno had been shaking again, and his eyes had been angry but free of tears.

Now, Giorno stood stock still as tears poured down his face. It was such a shock that for a second Mista thought it must have started raining, but no, it was goddamn clear blue skies, like Abbacchio, Narancia, and Buccellati didn’t even deserve that much.

When Giorno caught him looking, he stiffened and hastily began wiping at his eyes. Mista gently took Giorno’s arms away from his face and pulled Giorno to his chest, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Giorno hesitated for only a moment before burying his face in Mista’s shirt and letting out a shaky sob.

Mista pressed a kiss to the top of Giorno’s head and whispered into his hair, “You don’t have to feel ashamed about crying in front of me. If there was any a time to cry, it would definitely be now.”

“Men…men don’t cry,” Giorno mumbled, but there was no conviction behind his words, just a distant echo.

Mista held him tighter. “Bullshit – I’m crying like a fucking baby right now, and I consider myself a man.”

Giorno snorted a little but didn’t say anything more. Mista felt his fingers dig tightly into the back of his shirt.

Later, when the service was done and everyone had filtered out except Mista, Giorno, Trish, and Fugo, Giorno squeezed Mista’s waist and leaned back to look into his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Mista cupped Giorno’s face and gently wiped the remainder of his tears away with his thumbs. “Even you need to cry sometimes.”

Giorno smiled and reached up to squeeze Mista’s wrists gently. “Just don’t tell anyone.”

Mista huffed out a small laugh and pulled Giorno tightly against his side as they followed Fugo and Trish out of the cemetery. “You got it, boss.”

[martinlawless]

VC Equipe-Flix Oral Hygiene-Propulse Autumn Cup #1

Masters 40+ E1234 Hillingdon Cycle Circuit Saturday 14 September 2019

There’s a memorable moment in the last ten minutes of this race. Yet another attempt to break has failed. The bunch eases back to see who will take on the pointy end next. But no one comes to the front. Everyone is utterly wasted. It has been a relentless fight since two or three ridiculously easy laps at the very start. ‘Total war’, as Valentino puts it.

The other notable moment was the break a few minutes earlier. It was decisive. There were so many during the race, it was impossible to see it coming. As it was, it had five top riders in it. Two of whom I know are classy TT riders. I didn’t see that it was them. If I had known, I would have buried myself to get on their express train out of the peloton. But I didn’t. Instead, I rested up having been third or fourth wheel in the previous burn up. The five riders steamed through and in the five seconds or so it took to hustle the bunch up to chase, they would be gone. And the stats show that their overall effort was only marginally greater than ours. Doable by my standards. It is definitely the only way I can score in these high standard crits. As it was, the five away inspired two others to solo off the front in the very late stages of the race. That leaves just three points positions for the bunch. I know I don’t have a chance with the quality in the mix. We enter the final bend and I’m feeling good and strong and competitive: but boxed in. In the last 50 metres, the guys who can wallop for the line and I simply cannot compete at this super high, super short effort. I cross the line at the back of the bunch. 18th. Two riders behind me. One backing off a little a bit like me. One was acting as a leadout. A few dropped.

Earlier we had lost a few riders off the back. It’s not that they were weak: but the sheer frequency of attacks meant if you gave one a go, and another followed on your heels straight after… And then another.. you’d be in the danger zone and risk being dropped. This is what happened to Steve. He was as brave as ever. Another day, he’d have been part of that winning break. But he rolled the dice too often and got caught out. Meanwhile, I gave it one unlikely go early on. Failed. And latched on to two others latterly. Failed.

Some of the extreme efforts were very intense. I had to go very deep and did say to myself that the effort required was comparable to an 8km grass track race - which is something of a barometer. It’s 26 degrees and suncream is melting into my eyes. None of this helps make things easy.

I feel like I’m in a very specific place with my racing at the mo with the Masters guys I spar with regionally. Especially, it seems, around Hillingdon. I think the standard around here is particularly high. Above me in the ranks, it’s pretty solid. One-to-one, I’d lose every time in a sprint with the 17 guys above me. I need to therefore hone breakaway skills and take my racing nous further: picking the right break, the right moment - if there is indeed one at all in a race. It’s marginal, but I can TT better than I can sprint. I also need to keep training in general, which is a balancing act (for everyone) between cycling and the real world. And I should really look at my sprinting ability. Though, to be fair, I have done a bit of that at Welwyn coaching sessions - and it’s yielded little. I think that side of me is way off. On top of it all, I need to find motivation from results like 18th place: I’m still here. Holding on. Exercising. You still get a big hit of endorphins from getting around a race. And I am competing to some degree. And, occasionally, sneaking a fortunate 8th or 9th place to be rewarded with the strange vanity of BC points. I should do more to mix things up too and vow to look harder into Masters road racing and the LVRC scene.

I also want a new bling mega bike. lol.

Strava link: https://www.strava.com/activities/2707766672

[zzzwaitwhereami]

When I first viewed this condo, I was happy to see that the previous owners had updated the kitchen. And they did a good job of it using high-end finishes, granite, slow-close cupboards and under-cabinet lighting. It's a 1984 building and I've since seen some of the neighbouring units with their original kitchens and let me tell you, it is not cute. It's an outdated formica, oak and linoleum eyesore. My one neighbour Kathy has been over a couple times and the first thing she always does when she comes over is walks into my kitchen, stands there and murmers to herself: "Ohhhhhh... your kitchen is so nice. So nice. I hate my kitchen. I really hate it." Lol! So, I'm very grateful for my kitchen.

During the 2 week period between taking possession and moving in, I had contractors do the ceilings (popcorn removal), paint and put in new flooring. So everything was looking nice, except... the bathroom. The bathroom was still in it's original state with a hideous golden oak vanity, and the world's worst linoleum. Now some linoleum is just fine, nice even, but this linoleum was decidedly not. The old-fashioned pattern of it I could have lived with for a while, but the colour had changed from what was presumably white, to a gross yellow. I'm not sure if it was just age, or the chain-smoking of the previous owner, but it was yellow and dirty looking. When I first moved in, I decided a good scrubbing would do wonders. Well, it did not. I tried everything: (not at the same time, pretty sure that would have created an atomic bomb) oven cleaner, ammonia, vinegar, baking soda, full strength bleach for a 30 minute soak and then a hands-and-knees scrub with a brush. No deal. It was most definitely CLEAN. But it still looked dirty. Uggh, so annoying! There were some chips in the linoleum too, which always made it look like there was dirt/debris on the surface. Back when I was coordinating the interior updates, I had asked the contractors to at least do the bathroom flooring, but they pointed out to me that if they did that now, and then later I replaced the vanity, or shower, then I'd have to do flooring again... ack! Good point. I definitely don't want to pay for flooring twice. Without any additional reno time and no more budget, I decided then I'd just live with the bathroom for a couple of years and save up for a full bathroom reno down the road. So I cleaned and cleaned and never ever did the flooring look any better.  Sigh.  I could totally feel Kathy's pain about her kitchen cause I was the same with my bathroom. I can live with it, but man it bugs me quite frequently. I had a handyman come by a few months later and I asked him as well, is there anything quick & cheap we can do, even just glue a newer piece of linoleum over the old ugly one? It doesn't have to be perfect, anything is better than the current state. He hummed and hawed and then said no, because then the toilet has to come off, they'd have to lift my laminate transitions that I just had custom stained and put down as well as the baseboard trim.. ugggh. Okay that sounds expensive and not at all "quick & cheap". Fine. I guess I'm stuck with it for a couple years.

About a month ago, I yet again found myself thinking "dammit I hate this dastardly bathroom floor" and I decided to do some inquiring online, surely I cannot be the only one needing a quick fix for hideous linoleum!! Surely. So I googled about and came across a few ideas and solutions, the first one being paint. I was a bit uncertain about that solution, doesn't seem to me like it's going to adhere properly, but there were quite a few people saying they'd successfully done it. But then I saw others saying they'd laid down self-adhesive vinyl tiles, right on top of old linoleum. I checked out their stories, the pictures (which looked great) and how they went about it, and this seemed like something that might work for me. So, after more reading, I found some inexpensive but cute vinyl tiles on Amazon that would go with the rest of my decor and measured all the nooks and crannies of my weirdly shaped bathroom to arrive at the square footage I'd need in tiles. (They're 1 foot by 1 foot). 4 days later, I went to the post office to pick up my 6 packages of floor tiles, and it was a bit of a miss on my part as I thought being vinyl they would be light and fairly easy to carry home from the bus. NO. Not light. Not easy to carry home!! I stopped at every telephone pole and rested the box up against it to relieve my screaming arm muscles. A lady on the street stopped to ask if I was okay. lol Yes, thank you. I'm okay. I'm just a moron. Anyway I got them home and was very pleased to see the tiles looked exactly like they were pictured on the website.

In the meantime while I was waiting for the tiles to arrive, I thought to myself, if the floor is going to look decent, then I better tackle that hideous oak vanity. Those are by far the 2 ugliest things in the room, and with those two improvements, it'll all look much better. So I cracked out the sander (yes I own a sander, that's right) and over the course of the weekend sanded the oak vanity, primed it twice, put 4 coats of paint on. I painted the baseboard trim as well while I was at it, and that was a nice improvement too. The vanity looked so much better, now I was even more eager to get to the flooring! Of course, there's always some prep work involved, so I vacuumed, de-greased, and fully dried the existing linoleum. There was silicone from the shower surround to the linoleum that was ugly and also, nothing sticks to silicone, so what am I going to do about that? I did more googling and then ended up cutting & scraping it away, bit by bit, with a box cutter and a plastic scraper. I also had to time this all properly because not until all the trim paint was dry could I wash/de-grease the flooring, but then once that's dry, I can't use the shower until the flooring is fully in and the new silicone down.... anyway, I thought maybe it would take me 3 hours on Sunday to get it done, instead 6.5. I didn't realize how many weird corners and edges and toilet and cursed bi-fold closet door in the bathroom I'd have to carefully cut the tiles around, and that was more time-consuming than I'd anticipated. So, while I was sore & tired at the end of it, it turned out looking SO much better than before that it would have been worth it even if it took triple that time and effort.

Before (egads!!):

After (so much better!):

I'm so pleased with the end result! Again, this isn't a high-quality, test-of-time solution. This is an inexpensive quick fix to tie me over for a couple years until I do the whole bathroom properly. But, so long as the tiles stay glued down and don't fall apart on me, I can probably deal with it longer than 2 years if I need to. :)

[ruleandruinrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, SIDNEY!

You have been accepted for the role of RITA JAKOV. Admin Bree: The competition for Rita was tough, and our attention-loving tailor would smile to know it. But not as much as I smiled while reading your application, Sidney—really, it only got better with every word you wrote. It was your para samples that really sold me above all else, though, the way you portrayed her insecurities, vanity, and constant pursuit of perfection, ever-elusive. It was so intriguing to look inside her pretty little head and see what goes through it every time she looks in the mirror, and where it all began. This application was beautiful, so genuine I felt as though my Rita might jump off the page. Congratulations! You have 24 HOURS to send in your account. Also, remember to look at the CHECKLIST. Welcome to Ravka!

OUT OF CHARACTER ALIAS: Sidney! PREFERRED PRONOUNS: She/her. AGE: Twenty. TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: I’m in EST for the summer! I’ll have a lot of free time this summer since I’m home. I do have a part time job this season, but it is just that: part time! So it really shouldn’t interfere and I’ll certainly be able to check in daily and I’m usually always around to plot. As for when the fall semester starts, I go full time and work part time, but I’m usually pretty good at keeping up with things. I can usually respond to threads within 1-2 days and am usually always lurking lol. On a numerical scale, I’d say 7-9/10 in the summer and 6-8/10 during school semesters!

 IN CHARACTER DESIRED CHARACTER: Rita Jakov. Rita - Short form of Margherita. In many languages, it translates literally to pearl, but most notably black pearl in Persian. Antonia - A name of Roman origin given to the women of the Antonius family. Literally translated, it means priceless, praiseworthy and beautiful. Jakov - A family name of many different origins, but most commonly referred to the Hebrew origins supplanter, or “to trip up or overthrow.”

 WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER? To be perfectly honest, Rita stole my heart from the moment I read her teaser. But I will admit, I was hesitant back then because there were so many lovely teasers being released and once bios dropped, I was swept away by so many different characters! But I’ve come to the conclusion that I was wrong to be apprehensive! She’s everything I could have wanted in a Grisha character. And there’s already so much development in her past that I’m really excited where the current events in the plot will take her! What stood out for me most was this quote: “—the type of woman who was loved by all who knew her but understood by none.” I’m not sure if I see a little of myself within Rita or if I’m simply one of the many who love her, but I want to explore her nonetheless. She’s soft and kind and gentle underneath it all—which is deeply rooted in her home life and the way she was raised—but her time at the Little Palace and around fellow Grisha has really shaped and molded the tough exterior she now sports. 

A walking puzzle, doe-eyed and hopeful, she entered the Small Science late to the game, picked from the bunch last and she’d been treated as such. But it didn’t take her long to find her footing, to live greedily, to choose beauty above all else. And I think that’s what I find so interesting about her! Most characters who want to paint the world in watercolors, who want to remove all of the Earth’s blemishes, have a selfless ambition. They have a mission and it is to make the world a better place for everyone, but that simply is not Rita. She’s been spoiled rotten by her own abilities and so have those who dare to cover up their indiscretions with the flick of her wrist or the tug of her finger. And though some may call her obsessive, or shallow, or downright empty and see those qualities as a sign of weakness, I see it all as unprecedented and true strength. Even after years of trying desperately to offset and ultimately fix such savagery, with her delicate hands capable of contorting even the ugliest of beasts into magnificent beings (in other words, putting a mere bandaid onto a gunshot wound), the world has revealed itself for what it really is, ugly and wrought with pain. But if her time at the Little Palace has taught her anything, it is that the beauty she so wishes could cure disease and heal the wounded can corrupt just as wholly as darkness can.

There’s something so appealing to me about her. She’s a gentle soul with an affinity for the finer things in life, from what she reads to what she wears, and most importantly, how she looks. But waging a war against all things odious and vile and egregious, and claiming her cause as righteous one has left her disappointed, hollow, rotten. Perhaps it is time for her to embrace these monsters and this darkness; time for her to find the beauty in the pain and the elegance in destruction.

 WHAT FUTURE PLOT IDEAS DID YOU HAVE IN MIND? ONE: Nothing gold can stay. It has taken Rita years to understand that beauty is temporary. It is a quick fix, a vain indulgence to cover up what truly lies beneath: rot. She was not raised to believe this; in fact, she was raised to be that quick fix, that vain indulgence. She was meant to be admired, but never really touched for all things lovely and charming seem to be the most vulnerable; they seem to bruise as easily as does a peach. And so she remained unattainable, just out of reach. Not out of fear, but necessity. Beauty is temporary, this she’s learned. But to those around her, it is demanded. I really love this quote from her bio: “monsters so love to be made to look as though they’re anything but.” It really resonates with me and gives me lots of thoughts on Rita as a person. I don’t want to change her; I love her the way she is: magnificent and dangerous with beauty literally resting at her fingertips, ready to be put to use, but she’s grown so much and not all for the better. In a way, I think she attributes a lot of the cruelty and pain she’s come to witness as her fault because what she offers does not last. It is almost as if she herself has become a drug, one she is not only addicted to (of which she will most likely never recover), but especially to those she’s tweaked and toned and tailored. And it is that very reason that I believe she’ll struggle with continuing on as this so-called magic wand of Ravka. They demand she erase their deformities away, but monstrousness always has a way of creeping back in even bigger and badder than before. So I’d love to explore the inner turmoil she will inevitably have. Simply put, all she’s ever wanted was to beautify all the ugliness she’s seen, only to discover beauty, something she can control, offer, and give willingly, can corrupt even the purest of things. And perhaps, it is time she take a good look in the mirror. Does she still see the same little girl who turned a village into a kingdom? Can she even recognize the face staring back at her? And more importantly, I want to find out what it means if the answers are no. 

TWO: Superficial, at best. Shallow, vapid, vain—she has been called it all, and much, much worse. Hatred follows around the conventionally beautiful like a lion stalks a gazelle, strategically and thirsty for blood. Rita has always prided herself on her looks, that much is clear. Even before she left her home to join the Second Army, she saw beauty wherever she went. Whether it was pure imagination or wishful thinking, it did not stop her from charming elegance out of everyone and everything around her. Don’t you want to be beautiful? A young Rita would ask and the adults would laugh, tossing their heads back in admiration for the wildly imaginative Jakov girl, with long golden hair and perfectly sun-kissed cheeks. I would love to explore what lies underneath. There are so many layers to a girl like her, each one more complex than the rest, but she’s changed herself so much over the years, claiming each adjustment—each nip here, each tuck there—was done in the name is seeking absolute perfection. And she found it for a time. She became so achingly attractive, so superbly beautiful people almost feared her. They gazed at her from afar with a look one can only describe as wonder. And maybe that’s why she turned her efforts outward instead of in, choosing to perfect those around her as best she could. She’ll claim it was selfless, but a part of me wonders if she only did that so she’d be surrounded by beauty as well. But what are her true motivations? Does she even have any? Or are all her desires, her wants, her needs really that hollow? Some say beauty is skin deep and what matters is on the inside, but Rita has tweaked and remade and even created her skin more times than she can count, over and over, and each time is somehow more beautiful than the last. But what if that’s all she is? What if that is all she’s good for? As her bio states, she’s never fought in a real fight, never wielded a real weapon. I want to see her amount to more than just outer appearances. I want to know what’s underneath it all because, if one day, she is called to fight and she isn’t prepared, her treasured beauty will be the first thing to suffer. So I’d love to explore her maybe getting more physically strong, and learning a little about beauty as a strength within. 

THREE: A lonely person. I hate to be that person who keeps going back and quoting the bio, but I can’t resist! “She became so beautiful it hurt.” This sentence alone, if it were all I had to describe Rita, I think it does it perfectly. If you throw away all the cliches—most notably: beauty is pain—and you focus on the meaning behind it, I think you’ll find Rita Jakov. I see her as a strike of lightning, wondrous and loud and capable of decimation. People look to her and gape; they stare; they lust after her; they long to have her, to own her, to be her. But for all the effort she puts into making other people happier with themselves, she cannot find happiness within. It is a lonely road, this one she’s walking down. It may be beautiful and pristine and lathered in honey and sweet-little-nothings from passersby, but at the end of the day, she is still alone. The moments she relishes, the ones she wishes would last an eternity are inevitably fleeting. So I would love to explore her desire for friendship, love, etc., wherever it may be found. And furthermore, I think her desire to find love, to be loved could be preyed upon, if you think about it. Rita has never been desperate; everything has come easily to her simply because of the advantages the conventionally attractive receive, but I believe she is the perfect candidate for some hardcore manipulation. She could easily get swept away in the affection from a person, believing it to be true. Deep down, I think she hopes for all the glances and stares to mean that people truly love her, but there’s such a monumental difference between love and adoration. The latter has kept her fed for so long now; for years she took praise and pocketed it. She held it close and revisited it any time the decay began to creep in. Perhaps it kept her sane, perhaps it is what drove her mad. But either way, it is all she can see now—in everywhere she looks, in everyone she sees. I would love to see and explore her lack of ability to relate to those around her. It is almost as if she has been wearing goggles since the day she was born. And for a while, all they showed her was the magnificence and grandeur she was capable of. But her vision has changed. Or more importantly, the world has demanded she see its truth. Her goggles have been forcibly cracked and putrefaction has settled in; and it is ravenous, this decay. It isolates her; makes her second guess herself; steals her confidence like a thief in the night. People: they have always been what she has loved most, but now they seem to only cause her pain and heartache. But I believe that longing companionship will remain. In fact, I think it is what will keep her grounded in these new uncharted waters of despair. As of right now, she seems to be trapped in a cage of destruction, alone and incapable of connecting with anyone, provided with only one weapon to defend herself: beauty. And so many others demand she use it constantly, and with reckless abandon. And they will take until nothing of her is left.

 WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO HAVE YOUR CHARACTER DIE?: Yes. It would probably depend on muse mostly, if I’ve lost it or something. And if it would help further along the plot!

 IN DEPTH IN CHARACTER PARA SAMPLE(S): She watches her closely, taking note of her every move: the way her hand sits perfectly still as her fingers do all the magic; the way her mouth points downward, slightly agape whenever she touches up her eyes; the way each and every little thing she does makes her more perfect than the moment before. Rita has always thought her mother was beautiful, with hair as silky smooth as honey and perfect, unblemished olive skin. She has always been a sight for sore eyes, turning head wherever she goes—men, women, it made no difference. All eyes were on her. 

“You’re beautiful, Mama,” a tiny little Rita gushes atop her mother’s lap, elbows resting atop the counter, eyes trained onto her face through the mirror. Her hands gently cupped at her tiny chin and she watched her mother, absolutely mesmerized. 

“Thank you, baby,” she smiles, eyes never leaving her own reflection. She has a tiny jar resting between the index finger and the thumb of her left hand, and she dabs her middle finger into the maroon concoction. It stains her fingertip and Rita’s brows furrow with confusion. 

“What’s that?” Disbelief is apparent in her tone, but it only elicits a light-hearted chuckle from her mother and a small shake of her head.  

“Shadow. For the eyes,” she raises her arm and sweeps the tip of her finger gently along one of her eyelids, then does the same to the other. The color is now smeared along her skin and she pauses for a moment, only to wipe away the remaining color from her fingers. And then she returns to her lids, spreading the shadow smoothly, evenly until all that remains is a soft glow of red. Her green eyes pop against the contrast of the colors and Rita gasps. 

“How did you do that?!” She whips her head around and gazes up with absolute wonder at her mother and her appearance, jealous of her beauty and wishing she could take it from her. Turning back, she faces the mirror and leans in, observing her own face and takes note of at least three shortcomings—something no nine year old girl should ever do. 

“Here,” her mother interrupts her thoughts, gesturing for her to hop up onto the table. Rita does as is suggested and her mother leans to her left and rummages through her trunk. It’s filled with at least thirty jars of all different small shapes and sizes, each one a different color and texture, but all are complementary to her mother’s skin tone, of course.  

“Let’s try…” she trails off as she searches, clinking and clanking within the box until she clicks her tongue and looks back to Rita, “this one.” It’s magenta, but more purple than pink and it’s reminiscent of Rita’s favorite dress in the way it shines when it hits the light. 

Slowly and carefully, her mother executes the same routine she had done on herself, dipping her finger into the now uncorked jar and then sweeping it gently along Rita’s eyelids. She wipes away the remaining shade, but quickly returns to spread it out evenly. Rita sits as patiently as any child can when far too excited and her mother has to scold her at least three times before she finally does sit still. 

They follow the same routine. First, her mother applies on herself, then chooses the perfect color for Rita. It is never a match, never the same colors. “Each woman has a different palette,” her mother grasps her wrist lightly and holds her arm up side-by-side to her own. “Your skin is much lighter than mine,” this time her tone hurts; it’s edgy and clipped and filled with a hint of jealousy. But Rita quickly excuses it away. Perhaps all women are jealous of one another, she thinks. Just as I was jealous of her moments earlier. 

But it is a very dangerous thought, a dangerous way to excuse the bad behavior of a parent. No mother is ever supposed to resent their child, let alone scold their daughter for having fairer skin or being prettier. But Yekaterina Jakov was no ordinary mother, and she will do anything to make sure her daughter is no ordinary girl.  

“Now, Rita, you mustn’t let anyone see you without your face.” 

“Without my face?” The girl stares up at her mother, wide-eyed and quizzical. “But I always have my face.” 

“No, Rita. This is your face,” her mother holds up her arm, encompassing the girl’s face entirely with her hand as she speaks. “This is what you show people. Nothing less than perfection.” 

Rita turns back to look into the mirror, her eyes scanning every perfect corner of the visage staring back at her. She takes note in the purple on her eyelids, at the rose petal pink lacquered onto her plump lips, at the dark charcoal black outlining her azure hues. She didn’t look like herself; she was nearly unrecognizable, but at least she was beautiful. 

—————

She sits in front of a mirror, her mirror, the one she uses every single day. And today is a day like any other. She rises early despite her protests, bathes and begins her morning routine, though it seems more like a ritual—like she’s praying to a deity. The god of beauty, but Rita is painfully unaware of the sacrifice Aphrodite demands: nothing too extravagant, only your soul. And so it starts with a tug here, a lift of her brow to give her more of a perfect arch, and it ends with a face she barely recognizes. But it’s one they will demand to see. They’ll gawk and stare and whisper as she walks past, secrets of lust or promises of hatred, it makes no difference. At least they will be discussing her. They’ll be envious of her beauty, of her grace and everything in between.

Tentatively, she reaches into the familiar wooden chest. It was her mother’s; a gift for her eighteenth birthday. She’d spent a fortune to send it to Rita, even left it filled with supplies, and now it was her most prized possession—aside from its contents, of course. But the sentiment behind the gift was left unanswered. Her letter had been left unanswered as well. It wasn’t that Rita couldn’t find the words; she knew exactly what she wanted to say to her mother if she had the chance. She wanted to yell and cry and scream. She wanted to blame her mother for it all, to rest the weight of the world’s transgressions atop her shoulders so Rita would no longer have to bear it alone. But the solution lies at the surface, not within. Simply, Rita did not want to waste her time. There would be no use in writing a nasty letter to the woman who left her ill prepared to face life; her efforts could be put to far better use. Her time was precious, highly sought after and she needn’t waste it on those she no longer cares about. As far as she’s concerned, both her parents have died.  

Slowly, she twists the cap off of her new favorite shade: a subtle pink sherbet. But as she places the finishing touches atop her lids, a tiny thought pops into her head. This would look better if my eyes were green today. And it takes no more than that mere suggestion. She sets down the tiny jar, twists the cap back on and then focuses her fingertips attention toward her blue hues. But in time, and with a few blinks, the ocean calmly morphs into a beautiful pasture—subtle and serene and most importantly, green. That’s better, she thinks, a smile forming along her rosy lips. But there’s a tiny wrinkle in her nose whenever her reflection squints back at her. Quickly and with wild determination, she brushes away the small crease in her skin with the pad of her finger, a look in her eye as if she’s an artist laying magnificent waste to a fresh blank canvas. A few swipes of her paintbrush and the wrinkle vanishes completely.  

It’s an uphill battle, this war against imperfection, but it is one she’s spent what feels like a lifetime waging—and winning. But it is dangerous, this ability she possesses. The ability to erase, to change, to intensify. Beauty lies in wait atop her fingertips, never truly admitting the immense power that comes along with such a form of defense. And those around her, those who wish to erase, wish to change, wish to intensify; they submit willingly, and Rita obliges them with absolute delight.  

But what of herself? Who defends her against this beast she has created, this monster that lies within? No one ever warned her that the most dangerous enemy is yourself. It doesn’t show in the way she looks, the way she dresses, or even the way she carries herself. All they see is beauty, is perfection, is transcendence—so that is all she sees, too. She sits in front of this mirror, day-in and day-out. She adjusts, she tweaks, she changes completely. Each morning she rises, each day she is reborn anew. What remains? Nothing, she thinks. I am no one. 

She sucks in a sharp breath and closes the box in front of her, locking it tightly and setting it into the drawer on her left. But she isn’t finished. She realizes this when her eyes land back on her reflection. Her hair, it glistens in the morning light; it shines as the trees whip in the wind, blocking the sun every now and then. But it doesn’t look perfect. Not with these brand new green eyes. Brown looks best with green, she thinks. Maybe a light chestnut. Slowly she reached into the top drawer to her right and retrieved a small brush made of bone. With the other she pulled out a familiar tiny jar filled with crushed cinnamon. Bringing the jar up and over the crown of her head, she tapped the side of it lightly, letting the light brown flakes descend atop her blonde hair. She follows this by running the brush through her curls, and the color bleeds from the flakes. It blends and molds into her natural hair color, changing right before her eyes until every last strand has been made anew.  

Perfect, she thinks, but takes note of her brows once more, too light and mismatched to the color of her hair. A frustrated sigh escapes her slightly parted lips. And therein lies Rita’s biggest and longest lasting problem. Her work is never finished, and there always seems to be room for improvement. Perfection—which her mother always told her is of the utmost most importance—does not last. There will always be far more ugly than there is beauty. 

 CHARACTER HEADCANONS: 1. Rita is a Libra. Born September 27th on the precipice of fall. Strengths of Libras: cooperative, tactful, kind, giving and highly sociable. Weaknesses of Libras: Prone to self-pity, detest confrontations and/or fights, can carry a grudge and harbor unmentioned hatred quite easily. Being born under the air sign of Libra, it has bestowed upon Rita a great love of people, especially those who pique her interest. She loves when things go smoothly and appreciates the gentler things in life such as peace and harmony. She whole-heartedly detests violence and consequently injustice. Seeing those around her suffer has always brought her great pain and perhaps this is where her love of beautification and tailoring stems from.

2. Rita’s personality falls under that of the ENFP type, which makes her The Campaigner. “You can change the world with just an idea.” While this applies to many different people who fall under this same personality type, for Rita, it happens to be true. Her idea: douse the world in elegance and decadence. And for a while, she did just that. ENFPs are sociable creatures; they strive being the life of the party and the center of attention. Rita loves to be both. She must grab the attention of an entire room when she enters. And each person within that room must take an interest in her. Otherwise she has not succeeded. ENFPs struggle to connect with those around them, despite their craving for social interaction. This stems from their inability to see the world as anything but complex, like the hardest puzzle known to man, and Rita is determined to put it together—piece by disgusting piece. Rita also struggles with their emotions and compassion; deep down the two conflict immensely. But most importantly, ENFPs like Rita, spend so much time looking for a deeper meaning to life, to their existence, that they forget to enjoy what is happening around them. Though in Rita’s case, perhaps she’s spent too much time noticing, and therefore learned too much and lost a touch of her innocence—of her beauty—along the way.

3. Rita’s character alignment falls under that of neutral good. People that fall under such an alignment are people pleasers; they enjoy helping out those around them, from king’s to peasants, but remain indebted to none. Rita is exactly that. She has always believed, like most like-minded neutral good characters, that law & order are important just as chaos & order are too. And she believes one cannot exist without the other, but rather enjoys in indulging in any of  them. Whether it be following the rules, or bending them to her whims; succumbing to an irresistible desire or denying one’s urges for the greater good, Rita has done it all. And she will again. What she does value however, is freedom above all else. She is a bird, meant to fly and to soar and to roam the earth passionately. But being the true neutral that she is, she always seeks to find a balance. To work hard and play hard. 

4. A girl’s first true love is her father. Papa’s little angel, he would whisper softly. Even today, if Rita closes her eyes, relaxes her thoughts and takes a deep breath, she can almost feel his lips as they graze along her temple. She can feel his strong arms hook under her arms and lift her high above his head. If she concentrates hard enough, she can remember him. The way he smelled, like a gentle rain on a warm, sunny day. The way he felt, like a protector with arms made of steel. The way he loved, with his whole heart. But Rita can never remember his face; she can never see it when she closes her eyes. He is more of a blur rather than a memory, not a complete picture, but a perfect trope of a loving and caring father, if there ever truly was one. He died when she was very  young, around four or so. And I attribute most of her issues, even if she claims to be and seemingly looks perfect. They say a father’s love is like no other, especially when it comes to men loving their daughter’s. A girl needs her father; she needs one man in her life that she can trust. If not, pretty little angels with hair as bright and as yellow as the sun do not turn riper with age. They turn rotten. 

5. I am what you made me. Some say a girl’s best friend is her mother, and if Rita were asked, she would probably say just that. She’d claim she learned everything from her: how to dress, how to act, how to be. Her mother was her teacher, her guide post, and it was her responsibility to shape Rita into a fine young woman. And instead, she created a monster. A beast instilled with the belief that beauty is paramount and should be held in higher regard than anything else. Perhaps it’s due to the fact that she had to raise her all by herself, but something tells me Yekaterina Jakov couldn’t and wouldn’t have done any better. She sees Rita as the perfect girl; mysterious and beautiful: everything it took her far too long to figure out how to be. But everyone knew just how easily Yekaterina collected pretty things, hung them on a shelf and only admired them from afar. And after her father died, this left Rita with no other way to receive adoration or praise or love. One could single-handedly blame Rita for her vanity, her shallow heart, but they’d be remiss to overlook how big a hand her mother played in the woman she became. What sort of woman—what sort of person can you become when your mother treats you as if you are just another collectible? It has been years since she’s even seen her mother, not since she moved to the Little Palace, but still, she’s developed a strong hatred for her the more ugliness she sees, and distantly, if she spends too much time lingering on the fleeting thought of her mother, she wishes Yekaterina had better prepared her for the world instead of handling her with gloves meant to only hold delicate things; it didn’t prepare her for reality.

6. Likes: Rita loves the smell of fresh flowers, the taste of a sweet wine and the warmth of the afternoon sunlight on her face. She has an obsession with lace and silk, specifically the way the latter feels against her skin. Her favorite color is purple, especially when paired with greens and yellows. 

7. Dislikes: Rita detests waking up early, favoring as much beauty sleep as she can get. She hates the way it sounds when people chew with their mouth open, even more so if they begin to speak. Getting dirty, sweating and the stench that follows are just a few of her least favorite things, as well as any sort of physical training or activities. Not to say she’s lazy, but over exertion is not something she enjoys. And lastly, she cannot stand cheap fabric or bad fashion sense. 

8. Romance & sexuality: I know it has been explicitly stated that Rita is pansexual, and while I love that despite her vanity and obsession with how things look, she can look beyond a person’s looks and decidedly find someone attractive based on pure personality, I still think Rita’s sexuality and her experience regarding sex is something that should be explored. Has she ever had sex? I don’t think she has. She may have had encounters of sexual nature, but they have never reached their full potential, so to speak. Perhaps it is difficult for her to give herself wholly to someone the way one must while having sex, or maybe she’s saving herself, waiting for the right person to come along. And in reference to my last plot point, I think it’d be interesting if her first time was given to someone under the ruse of love. Yet another piece of her stolen and tarnished and given back mangled: her heart. And furthermore, Rita’s heart is severely entangled with her sexual desire, and quite possibly cannot engage in one without the other.

 EXTRAS: I didn’t have all the time in the world, but I’m just gonna put a few quotes and things here that remind me of Rita! I would have made a mockblog, but again, not enough time. :/

Quotes that inspired me for Rita: “Her eyes were pearls, which gave her great beauty, but meant she was blind. Her world was the colour of pearls: pale white and pink, and softly glowing.” - Neil Gaiman (x)

“Beauty is transformed over time and not without destruction.” - Terry Tempest Williams

“How soft and gentle her name sounds when I whisper it. It lingers on the tongue, insidious and slow, almost like poison, which is apt indeed. It passes from the tongue to the parched lips, and from the lips back to the heart.” - Daphne du Maurier (x)

“It’s hard to show people everything, you know? You never know what they’ll do with it once they have it.” - Nick Burd (x)

“They won’t tell you fairy tales of how girls can be dangerous and still win. They will only tell you stories where girls are sweet and kind and reject all sin. I guess to them it’s a terrifying thought, a red riding hood who knew exactly what she was doing when she invited the wild in.” - Nikita Gill (x)

“I burn, I freeze; I am never warm. I am rigid; I forgot softness because it did not serve me.” - Catherine M. Valente (x)

Gifs and such that inspired me for Rita: One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

 ANYTHING ELSE? Thank y’all for even reading ANOTHER app from me tbh! Love + appreciate y’all so much and I’m just so happy I got to dive into Rita as well. Oh, also! My fave book is Catcher in the Rye.