#( Anita replies )

[theabigailthorn]

Shadowheart and Nocturne sure seem like to be good friends

yup, just two gal pals, hanging out, doing each other's hair in a secret back room, Platonically, fighting alongside one another, writing in diaries about one another, just as friends, sharing memories, as friends though

[vyrulent]

continued || @battermyheart

She's known men like Joe before. Anita had been born into "the life", but she had made her escape at an early age. She'd escaped a fate of young wifehood, of young motherhood. She'd made a life for herself far away from being controlled, from living within a community. She'd kept herself away, but her chosen career had brought her back to those old memories. It had brought her back to being in the presence of someone incredibly dangerous, someone with loyal followers.

"You don't have to tell me twice," she assured him. Eyes remained on him rather than the weapon in hand. She'd seen people murdered that refused the orders of the man in charge. Anita refused to be another statistic.

Assuring the officers that all was well and that she was spending her night alone, the door was shut after she'd sent them on their merry way. She was silent for a pregnant pause, allowing the officers to have distance between themselves and her door.

"See? I know how to play the game."

[booasaur]

And perry mason is canceled, not surprising but I’m going to miss Della. And there goes another wlw character

Ah, phooey. It's not a huge surprise to me, with what must have been a considerable budget to keep up with the old timey look and I've heard so little about it anywhere, it can't have been geting good ratings, but it seemed like they were intent on doing better by Della and that's pretty rare, especially in a period piece.

But at least she got about as happy an ending as she could, moving in with her girlfriend, still friends with Ham and Perry. That's something. :x

[unlimited-nobu-works]

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Congrats lovely! ❤ For your 4k celebration:

🔥P for Steven Grant

hi bb, thank you so much!!!

P for Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed) w/ steven grant:

i think for steven, pace definitely varies. sometimes he wants it slow and soft and full of love. but other times you get him wound so tight that he needs it fast— regardless, i feel like he definitely had to discipline himself to last longer bc he’s so sensitive, responsive, and easily excitable 😏

come join my 4k celebration!

[storytelers]

It's my job to know. - for anita because i love her

blue eyes flutter in his direction, a small acknowledgement of his presence. but that was all he got. a second later, she returned her attention to the computer screen in front of her, clicking and tapping on reservations in a rhytm that sounded eerily fake to anyone but those who worked in the hotel industry and knew how many useless steps these programs added.

❛⠀ i see, sir,⠀ ❜⠀ she says, bored.⠀❛⠀ but i can't provide the information you seek without a warrant or a valid statute, please return with those and i'll be happy to help you.⠀ ❜

[damien-cox]

Apenas alzó la vista cuando escuchó el sonido amortiguado del cuerpo cayendo contra el sillón cercano. No era que estuviera sorprendido; después de todo, el bar del hotel había sido una especie de refugio silencioso para varios de los que buscaban olvidar—o al menos, adormecer—todo el caos que los había traído hasta ahí. Pero el shhh y la risita que siguieron le arrancaron una ligera sonrisa, más de resignación que de diversión genuina. Se pasó una mano por la cara, como si con eso pudiera despejar el agotamiento acumulado en su cuerpo. "no estás haciendo mucho ruido," murmuró, su voz grave y arrastrada por el cansancio, "pero no sé si eso es bueno o preocupante." se giró un poco en su asiento, apoyando el codo en el respaldo mientras examinaba con curiosidad—y algo de entretenimiento—el estado en el que su acompañante había terminado. "¿cuántos fueron?" Preguntó, aunque en su tono no había juicio, solo un interés distraído. Lo cierto era que entendía la necesidad de querer perderse en un vaso de alcohol. Él mismo había pasado demasiado tiempo en el bar, dejando que el sabor quemante le entumeciera los pensamientos. No funcionó. Nada lograba apartar el eco de su apellido en los titulares, la sensación de que, por más que huyeran a las montañas, el peso del escándalo los seguiría como una sombra hambrienta. "espero que al menos hayan valido la pena," añadió, dejando caer la cabeza contra el respaldo del sofá, su mirada fija en el techo. "si vas a beber hasta casi desmayarte en un lounge de hotel en medio de la nada, más te vale que haya sido por algo bueno." su tono era ligero, casi burlón, pero sus ojos seguían teñidos de una lejana distracción, como si una parte de él aún estuviera atrapada en otro lugar.

probablemente no admitirá cuantas horas pasó en el bar del hotel, mucho menos cuántos cocteles consumió durante el momento que estuvo ahí pero su lenguaje corporal no puede mentir. se deja caer contra uno de los sillones del lounge del hotel casi en peso muerto. abre los ojos para comprobar si hay alguien más presente. "shhhhh" se lleva el índice a los labios, soltando una risita. "prometo que no voy a hacer mucho ruido" arrastra un poco las palabras con algo de gracia pues intenta evitarlo a toda costa, apoyándose en los codos para observar mejor de quién se trata.

[obsessivelollipoplalala]

(fun & lighthearted ask, if you’re up for it) Had Freddie and Jim lived long enough to see gay marriage become legal , who would have been best man at their wedding? Roger or Brian? 👀 I’m leaning Brian because Freddie would have been his when he married Anita 😏

Lol it's hard to say. A part of me thinks he wouldn't have chosen any member of the band to avoid any conflict or weird feelings

[dzgrizzle]

In 1977, Vincent Price starred in a one-man-show where he played openly gay Oscar Wilde. The show was condemned by anti-gay activist Anita Bryant. When asked about her condemnation, Price replied that Wilde had already written a play about Anita: “A Woman of No Importance.”

[damienstoker]

𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐂𝐇. always coming back when you think it's dead. damien taylor didn't exactly hate the hunter . . . anita just irritated the fuck out of him. the demonic possession spells was still considered a rumor and he planned to keep it that way. the washington native was aware of the trail of bodies his possessor has left; it used to weigh on his conscious every night. instead of looking for some way out, damien resorted to drugs. the moment a negative thought crossed his mind, he'd take whatever substance in his reach. it made dealing with the carnage a little easier.

touring was the only way to keep akuji at bay. he'd take positions as a fill in musician when the other members of stoker got sick of touring. @executiioner just so happened to come right before a stoker gig. her height was drastically different than his own. he practically towered over her at 6 foot 1. despite anita hating the music, she fit right in. the scowl that remained on her face was the dead give away.

damien just so happened to be fetching himself a drink right before the show, bumping into the sore of the monster community. who just got served vanilla vodka . . . the stoker mastermind snickered as he leant against the bar. requesting two shots of tequila over ice. his dark brows furrowed at how quick anita was to press for a confession in this interaction.

"𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖋𝖋 𝖒𝖞 𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖘𝖙?" damien scoffed as he was handed his drink, bringing it to his lips to take a sip from it. "𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧' 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐭."

already stoned, the alcohol sent a familiar buzz to his system. a buzz that would make him be able to tolerate her presence a little longer. "and here i thought you actually wanted to see me play." the bassist whined with a pout.

[vyrulent]

the sound of her name echoing across the expanse of sleep pulled her back towards the waking world. the warmth of sleep was ripped from her as she opened her eyes. for a moment, the world was a blur, but she could see his face. a sleepy smile touched her lips before she spoke up. "hey you... you're still here... and up early."

the morning feels like it comes too quickly. he hates having to drag himself out of the bed. careful, trying not to wake her as he reaches for his pants on the ground. he considers if he should leave or stay. they had talked about breakfast. but he's sure it wouldn't matter one way or another. he turns to look down at her, zipping up his pants before he leans with one knee on the bed. he takes the chance. not sure way, but in a low voice he calls out her name. basing his decision entirely on whether or not she opens her after the first few calls.

[dismaltouch]

tag dump <3

[vyrulent]

x || @w3atherwitch

"..."

The stranger looked familiar. There's something about her that Anita feels to be familiar, but she just can't put her finger on it.

"Have we met before? You look so familiar."

[rafecameronssl4t]

Forced marriage au request: I know it was purely a transactional marriage and he finds her annoying, always acting cold but maybe you could write about him going soft, starting to feel something towards her. being a bit confused and feeling protective of her 🥺

Foreign feelings || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: THANK YOU GUYS FOR 2K FOLLOWERS AHHHH LOVE EACH AND EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOUS

Warnings: mention of blood,

Word count: 1,840

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

Rafe’s voice slices through the air like a knife, its sharpness reverberating down the long, empty hallway. You sit in the armchair, your eyes fixed on the TV screen, pretending not to hear him. But his presence is impossible to ignore. The steady rhythm of his footsteps grows louder, the sound bouncing off the cold marble floors, each step punctuating his rising anger.

He finally comes to a stop beside the armchair where you sit, tension radiating off him. “Get up,” he commands, his voice cold and unyielding. The chill in his tone sends a shiver down your spine, but you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge him. Your gaze remains glued to the screen, as if the scene playing out before you could somehow drown out the tension crackling in the air.

“No,” you reply, your voice firm, laced with quiet defiance. You don’t bother to look at him; the anger radiating from him is palpable enough. His scoff is filled with derision, the sound grating against your nerves. “I said get up. I’m not asking, I’m telling you,” he spits, his words sharp as glass.

Reluctantly, you drag your eyes away from the screen and turn to face him. The sight of him only intensifies the knot of irritation in your chest. His jaw is clenched, his eyes flashing with barely restrained fury. Something has clearly set him off, and by the look on his face, it’s bad.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work? What are you doing here?” you snap, suspicion lacing your tone. It’s rare for him to come home in the middle of the day, especially with this kind of energy. Your eyes narrow, trying to gauge the storm brewing beneath his composed exterior.

“Yeah, I’m supposed to be at work,” he snarls, “but instead, I get a call from your mother asking about your whereabouts because you can’t seem to pick up your damn phone.” His voice is rising, the anger simmering just below the surface. You roll your eyes, dismissing the seriousness he’s trying to impress upon you.

“My phone was flat. I was charging it in my room,” you say with a shrug, your tone indifferent, as if that alone should explain everything. To you, it’s a non-issue, not worth the confrontation. “Why couldn’t she just call Anita? Or literally any of the staff?”

Rafe’s eyes narrow, his frustration bubbling over. “Did you forget that today is a public holiday? No one is here,” he snaps, his words dripping with condescension. His hands drop to his hips as he lets out a loud, exasperated sigh, trying to rein in his temper. “She wants to see you at her house, now,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. The demand in his voice is clear—this is not a request.

You open your mouth to argue, to push back against his orders, but the words die in your throat. There’s no point in resisting when he’s like this—volatile and unyielding. “Fine, just let me get my shoes,” you huff, annoyance prickling at you as you stand up. He steps aside, giving you space to pass, but as you brush by him, you hear his muttered curse, low but unmistakable.

“Fucking brat.” The words hit you like a slap, stinging more than you care to admit. You pause for a fraction of a second before continuing your stride, your back stiff with indignation. “I heard that, you prick,” you call out over your shoulder, your voice sharp, the anger simmering beneath the surface finally finding an outlet. You don’t bother to turn around; you’ve already given him enough of your attention.

~

You let out a sigh, the weight of the situation pressing down on you as you shut the door of Rafe’s car. The air outside is thick with the late afternoon heat, but it does little to warm the chill that runs down your spine as you gaze up at your parents’ house. The grand facade looms before you, imposing and uninviting, its elegant walls holding more secrets than comfort.

You wonder, not for the first time, why your mother has summoned you here so urgently. The unease you feel is only deepened by the knowledge that nothing good ever comes from such unexpected calls. As you begin the walk towards the front door, you glance back over your shoulder at Rafe. He’s leaning casually against the bonnet of his car, his arms crossed over his chest, eyes focused on his watch as if your family drama is just another inconvenience in his day.

His indifference grates on your nerves, and you roll your eyes, turning away from him. He isn’t coming inside, leaving you to face whatever awaits you alone. The door opens before you even reach it, your parents’ butler standing there with a solemn expression. He nods curtly, directing you to the drawing room where your mother waits. His silence feels like a warning, but you push it aside, forcing your feet to move forward.

The house is eerily quiet, the only sound the soft click of your heels against the polished floors. When you reach the drawing room, you pause for a moment, hand resting on the door handle. Steeling yourself, you push the door open and step inside. The room is dimly lit, heavy drapes partially drawn against the late afternoon sun.

Your mother’s back is turned to you, her posture rigid as she stares out the window, her reflection a ghostly figure in the glass. “Did you not think I wouldn't notice?” Her voice cuts through the silence, sharp and cold, freezing you in place. A shiver runs through you as your body tenses instinctively at her tone.

“Notice what?” you ask slowly, the words cautious as you take a few steps into the room. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach as you approach her, the air thick with unspoken accusations. You move towards the armchair, lowering yourself into it with deliberate calm, though your heart pounds in your chest.

Your mother doesn’t turn to face you. Instead, she lifts her teacup with a graceful hand, taking a delicate sip before setting it back on the table beside her. The soft clink of porcelain is the only sound that fills the room, heightening your anxiety.

“Oh, don’t act stupid now, dear,” she says with a chuckle, the sound low and mocking. The corners of her lips curl into a smile, but it’s anything but warm. It’s the kind of smile that sends a chill down your spine, a predator’s grin before the strike. You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry as you struggle to maintain your composure.

~

The metallic taste of blood filled your mouth as you bit down on your trembling lip, trying to keep yourself from breaking down completely. Your vision blurred, the tears that you had fought so hard to hold back now clouding your sight as you stepped out into the harsh afternoon sun.

Rafe was still where you had left him, leaning lazily against the bonnet of his car, his expression one of bored impatience. He barely glanced up at the sound of your footsteps crunching against the gravel. But as you drew closer, he turned his head, his eyes narrowing as he took in your appearance.

“Finally, haven’t got all fuckin’ day—” Rafe’s words trailed off as his eyes narrowed, his irritation quickly giving way to something else, something unfamiliar. Concern? It felt foreign to him, this sudden urge to care about what was happening to you. His eyes widened slightly when he saw the state you were in—your eyes red and swollen from crying, cheeks streaked with tears, and most telling of all, the angry redness of a handprint still visible on your skin.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice softer now, laced with a concern he wasn’t used to feeling, especially not for you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to answer. But you couldn’t bring yourself to answer. The tries you had tried so hard to keep from falling fell, and the sobs that had been building inside you came rushing out, unstoppable and raw.

Your hands flew to your face as if to hide from him, from the world, from the humiliation and pain that you couldn’t bear to show. Rafe hesitated for a moment, wanting to tell you to pull yourself together. But something in the way you crumpled in front of him, so broken and vulnerable, made him pause.

Without a second thought, he closed the distance between you, his annoyance evaporating as he pulled you into his arms. The gesture surprised him as much as it did you. His hold was firm yet gentle, one hand cradling the back of your head as the other wrapped around your waist, anchoring you to him.

It was as if his body moved on its own, instinctively knowing that this was what you needed, even if he didn’t fully understand why. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soothing, a contrast to the cold, distant tone he usually reserved for you. His fingers tangled in your hair as he tried to calm you, his touch surprisingly tender as he stroked your back, letting you cry against him.

For once, his usual rough edges were softened, and all you could feel was the warmth of his embrace and the steady rhythm of his breathing, grounding you in the midst of your anguish. As you clung to him, your tears soaking into his shirt, Rafe found himself torn between confusion and something deeper. This wasn’t how he was supposed to feel—this protectiveness, this need to shield you from whatever had hurt you.

You were supposed to be an inconvenience, a pawn in a game neither of you had wanted to play. But now, with you trembling in his arms, he couldn’t ignore the tightness in his chest, the way his heart ached at the sight of your pain. He had always prided himself on keeping his emotions in check, on maintaining that distance between the two of you. But now, as he held you close, something inside him was shifting, softening in a way that scared him.

He didn’t want to care, didn’t want to feel this pull towards you that was growing stronger with every passing second. Yet here he was, unable to pull away, unable to stop himself from wanting to protect you, even if he didn’t fully understand why. Rafe didn’t say anything more, didn’t know what to say as you continued to cry against his chest.

The world around you faded into the background, leaving just the two of you in that moment—one filled with pain, but also with a strange sense of comfort. For the first time, Rafe allowed himself to be vulnerable too, to let down the walls he had so carefully constructed. And as he held you, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was more to this marriage than he had ever let himself believe.

[demonic0angel]

Can we get Young Justice's perspective in the ghost maze?

Part 1, part 3

"Why did we fall in love with ghost royalty again?" Kon asked.

"Because she's small, cute, and cuddly?" Tim replied dryly.

"Less whining, more butt kicking!" Anita snapped. "Slobo, can you—"

"Don't even mention it! Let's get these monsters and then we kill her bastich of a brother!" He said, before he lifted up by a harpy with a yelp.

"I'm not sure we can kill him," Suzie said with a sigh. She screamed at the kidnapping harpy, making her drop Slobo. Bart raced around and picked him up before he fell, just as he ducked, as Cassie flew overhead and punched another harpy trying to come near.

"Any moment now!" Cassie screamed at Tim, as the hydra started approaching them again, finally finding its way back to them through the maze with its heads poking over the walls.

"I deserve cuddles after this," Kon continued to complain. "Lots and lots of ghost cuddles. And hot chocolate and chocolate chip cookies."

"Great, now I'm hungry, along with bruised, tired, and annoyed," Anita said, before she commanded a stray dinosaur bird thing to go away.

"Got it!" Tim shouted when he finally solved the puzzle and they all ran through the open door. This time, it was a pit full of snakes and the fliers of the group immediately grabbed their non-flying members and rose off of the ground. Kon in particular, sighed as he had to carry Slobo and Bart, who were already squirming.

They carefully flew down to let Tim solve the puzzle and then they quickly escaped, just as the manticore broke down a wall and rushed at them. They slid inside of the other puzzle room, locking the doors behind them. Harpies and other flying monsters still flew around in the sky.

"I hate this," Suzie said. "The Ghost Zone is terrible. Dani's brother is even more terrible."

"Speaking of Dani," Cassie said, looking up, "Look! She's in the stands!"

They all looked up, where they could now see Dani waving at them frantically. She was dressed in royal clothes and looked worried for them.

"Oh thank goodness! She's okay!" Anita said with a sigh of relief. "I thought her brother kidnapped her."

Tim hummed. "I'm pretty sure if that was true, we would've already seen her tearing her way through this maze for us."

Kon cracked his knuckles. "We have to get to her. This entire thing is a test for us, isn't it?"

Cassie nodded. "That's right. Alright, you guys, game faces on. Dani's counting on us and if we want to prove ourselves to her brother, we have to win this with flying colors! Even the Justice League is here, watching us! We have to prove to them all that we're heroes who can fight for the ones we love!"

Bart put his hand out. "For Dani?"

"For Dani!" They all agreed before immediately rushing out to solve the puzzle and take down the monsters and obstacles around them, determined to prove the adults wrong and show Dani that they could definitely be worthy of her!

In the stands, Danny looked at Wonder Woman and sighed. "Couldn't you have taught her to be less inspiring? I want them to lose."

[vyrulent]

"No. You misunderstood," Anita clarified, "There's a difference in drinking a glass of wine and getting completely sloshed. That's what I meant..."

In truth, Anita couldn't judge. She lived above a bar every where she went usually. It made for easy travel between getting home and getting torn up from the floor up.

But he answered her question. So it seemed he didn't make a habit of getting drunk. So where did the memory loss come from?

"Have you ever had a brain injury?"

"Oh, that's a difficult question..." Nicolas said sitting back to think about it. It was a kind of calculus he had never considered. He drank one victim a night typically, maybe slightly less. And if he could get away with it, every one of his victims was drunk, if not on stronger drugs. But even when he found some barfly to drink from, his victims had had more than just one beer or one glass of wine. Did all those drinks add up for Nicolas? How did one account for the indirect dilution of the blood?

"Every night" he admitted. That seemed a simple enough answer, and an honest one. He could describe the effects on him without having to get tangled in concrete numbers. "I'm French, you must understand, a glass of wine with dinner would be barely a minimum for people where I am from. I drink just enough to take the edge off, most nights. I'm not so drunk I'm falling over sick or anything like that" he assured her. Then frowned and amended it with "Mostly".