#I literally cannot describe how odious and ugly these characters are or how small their roles were

[marmorada]

I open tumblr to the Day of the Dead tag.

I see people shipping Rickles and Steele.

I close tumblr.

[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.