#( 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!

[ve1ljumpers]

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.⠀ ❜

[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

[bkhorang]

"la porcelana china es demasiado delicada... y cara" es lo primero que se le ocurre comentar tratando de sonar seria, pero basta con ver la expresión en el rostro ajeno para que una pequeña sonrisa comprensiva. "sólo hay que limpiar, dudo que pueda pegarse— pero no vayas a recogerla con las manos" aconseja mientras mira a su alrededor tratando de hallar algo que les sirva. "¿no te cortaste?"

cruza mirada con la primer persona y no duda en cambiarla de inmediato a la de un cachorrito espantado. "¿qué hago?" pregunta señalando con disimulo a la taza rota en el suelo, rogando por ayuda. "se me cayó…" explica suspirando con mucho dramatismo. "la llevaba a secar y– pum" usa sus manos para simular una explosión.

[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.

[dismaltouch]

tag dump <3

[vyrulent]

"glad to hear that," she told him as she remained snuggled in at his side. it was a rarity that anita found herself tucking into a lover. she wasn't the type to seek out these moments. hell, there had been times that she had given thought to being asexual, but she innocently, ignorantly believed that one had to despise sex to be asexual. she could never deny herself those feelings that came before, during, and after so she'd thrown away that idea long ago. eyes fell to a close and a yawn slipped free of her before she playfully added, "if you're gonna steal anything, there's weed in my sock drawer. i'd prefer you steal that than all my junk."

he smiles at that. he likes the sound of that, likes hearing that maybe she might have just had as much of a good time as he had. he likes the soft press of her there against him. a warmth falling over him. "wouldn't want want to be that rude." he jokes with a small breath of a laugh. sleeping over, with a woman in his arms was always something of a pleasure. attachments were never his thing. but leaving some kind of impressive was the important part.

[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."

[booasaur]

You have me more than intrigued me. Do you know if anyone is posting Della Street scenes from Perry Mason? I gave up on HBO awhile ago but I may have to reup if this one proves engrossing enough. How procedural is the show on the whole? I love a good period mystery.

I couldn't find any scenes, of Della herself or of the ship(s). It's especially hard to find stuff about just the HBO series when the original was so iconic.

The show as a whole is....the first season started off as the most stereotypical cliched version of modern reboots as you could find, a dark, grim slow origin story where the thing the character is known for only happens near the end.

I'm not sure how much you know about the original series, well, we'll put aside the books, but the actual first show started airing all the way back in the '50s and it was really popular, and Della Street was a badass even then The show ended a few years later but was so popular, the same actors came back for a series of TV movies that basically acted liked more episodes, all the way from 1985 to 1995. So I guess the modern era isn't the only one doing these reboots. :P

But anyway, the original show was more of a classic procedural, each ep would have Perry, a defense lawyer, defending a client and figuring out a way to prove their innocence and get them off. The new HBO series has had one case a season so far, and there's no real guarantee that Perry'll be able to successfully defend their case, the tone is more cynical.

It is a pure mystery per season, though, as much as it may look like it's more a character introspection. It's a lot more realistic in terms of racism, sexism, and of course, with the changing of Della to a lesbian, homophobia. Perry himself is suffering PTSD after the war, he starts off as a private investigator so we see how it comes to happen that he becomes a lawyer.

Della's too main a character to do all her individual scenes, but I'd actually uploaded some of these short scenes for my friend (who then went back to watch the whole show herself) but maybe this will give you a good idea of what the show's about:

Season 1

1x01 - Della's first appearance: https://streamable.com/idap23

1x03 - This is when I first started to really like Della: https://streamable.com/pys6gf

1x03 - Again, being so awesome, I literally made a clip of this back when this first aired and made my friend watch, who forgot about the show again till this season: https://streamable.com/ezhcsu

1x04 - The first time we find out Della's into women, with her gf Hazel: https://streamable.com/uvzwpx

1x05 - Another sweet scene with Hazel: https://streamable.com/qi83ft

1x07 - Della with her friend Hamilton: https://streamable.com/dm6ezq

I didn't do every scene where Hazel was mentioned or appeared, though there's not much more.

And now in season 2:

2x01 - Della first sees Anita: https://streamable.com/yyttvi

2x01 - An extension of the scene above: https://streamable.com/lli2b1

2x01 - Della gives Anita a call: https://streamable.com/6b2enu

2x02 - Anita takes Della to a boxing match: https://streamable.com/7jm5mt

These last clips are the ones I used to make gifs from so they're not necessarily the full scenes. There are also obviously so many more scenes of Della in all, so if this does pique your interest, I'd go ahead and just watch the whole show, at least from season 2 onward. It's gotta be available to watch in places you don't have to pay. >_>

2x03 - Anita visits Della at the office: https://streamable.com/rl6870

2x04 - Della's still upset about their previous client's suicide, she meets up wiith Anita and they go on a trip: https://streamable.com/siiaw4

2x04 - Della waking up https://streamable.com/vws9kw

2x05 - Anita and Della's scenes this ep https://streamable.com/brv422

2x06 - A bit of Anita and a lot more Della individually, just figured it'd add more depth:

- Part 1: https://streamable.com/nur5ht

- Part 2: https://streamable.com/4h6m7p

2x07 - No Anita this week, but we did get a scene with Ham https://streamable.com/2x3xvv

2x08 - Not much Anita this week either, but a lot of good scenes of Della

- Part 1: https://streamable.com/csgm23

- Part 2: https://streamable.com/tu8h33

[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.

[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".