Rita Castillo-Locksley

“I wonder if you’ll still be telling me that when our little one reaches the terrible twos.” She chuckles softly and reaches up a hand to stroke Robin’s beard. “You two are my world and I won’t ever let either of you forget that.”

9. Erotic or sexual roleplay is fine only with mutual consent. No illegal, non-consensual, or taboo content that violates platform or legal boundaries. Keep it strictly IC, I am engaged OOC.

10. RP should be enjoyable for everyone involved. Please keep it that way.

7. Adult roleplays can involve romance, violence, and darker topics.
8. OOC drama, manipulation, or passive-aggressiveness is not tolerated. Keep things respectful, chill, and adult.

5. Don’t control my character or dictate outcomes unless previously agreed upon. Avoid using OOC knowledge IC.

6. Aim for quality over quantity, whether that’s a paragraph, a few solid paragraphs or a more detailed novella style. Use good grammar and spelling, unless otherwise agreed upon.

3. What happens in character stays in character. Do not confuse a character’s actions or feelings with those of the writer.
4. Be transparent about your roleplaying preferences, boundaries and overall availability. I respect that availability may change.

Account Rules:

1. The writer must be 21 years old or older to interact and/or write with my writer.
2. Always have clear out of character consent before initiating darker, sexual, or triggering themes with my character. Respect my characters limits, triggers, and comfort zones.

Rita Castillo

#OUATRP / #WhyWomenKill.

Seasons 1-7 (OUAT) Season 2 (WWK).
Single Ship (Ship in bio).
Storyline Based Writer (21+).
Mainly writes on the timeline.
DMs open for: plotting, OOC talk.
Lewd content may appear on timeline.

Written by #Visceralscribe.

Rita hummed softly. “Of course I remember. You made me feel happy and alive. I enjoyed the warmth of the gentle moments and the fun that we had. How about you?” She asked him with a warm smile.

𝘡𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘩 𝘖𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘻

Juice’s younger sister. Bartender. Dreamer. Hacker. Defiant. Flirty. Loyal. Problem solver. Sweet talker.

❝Strength is nothing more than how well you hide your pain.❞

Mature & triggering themes. Sex, drugs, gore, violence. MDNI. Descriptive.

SOA / MayansMC

Ramblings of #Riven

𝘈𝘭𝘦𝘺𝘴𝘩𝘢 𝘖𝘤𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘢

Whatever makes you happy, do that.

Libra. Nestor's sister. Lover and when necessary fighter. Real estate agent. Spiritual gangsta. Ride or die.

Mature & triggering themes. Sex, drugs, gore, violence, etc. MDNI. Descriptive.

SOA / MayansMC RP. Crossovers.

Ramblings of #Riven

Rita smiled as she kept her eyes on their son as they travelled towards the beach. Feeding their son once on the way as she giggled softly. He was so adorable. A few times, she sneaked some kisses to her husband’s cheeks.

“How about the beach? We can get some yummy yummy ice cream.”

Beach Vibes 🌴🌊

Cannot wait to spend the summer with @xqueensbandit.bsky.social #sexypants and our son! 🩵

“Technically you’re my baby and I speak to you about our relationship. But, you’re right.”

She went to the til to pay for the products that she had brought. Feeling relaxed, loved and cared for.

“All yours.” She pressed a loving kiss to Robin’s cheek as she looked down to their son. He was watching them. Rita chuckled and stroked Roland’s cheek. “One day you’ll have a lady… or a man, Roly.”

Rita blushed. “Wedding talk.. charming.” As she wrapped her arms around him, right there, in the middle of the mall. Her mind wondering to the grand day. It would be amazing. “I can just picture the wedding photos. The way the venue shall be and how the seating arrangements shall be made.”

— but it would look amazing on you. Plus, we all should get things here, not just me. I know Roly probably wants a toy… or something to eat.”

— deeply from her past. You can move on and be happy in the present. But: wounds of abuse may never go away.

This? This was her accepting the wounds.

“Thank you.” She hummed, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Holding up a black tie for him.

“I wonder if you’d wear this? You don’t have to —

A small smile graced her lips as she registered the response from her husband to be a good one. Not only did he take in her look but she could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew where this was coming from. Sometimes, things take time. Rita always came around. Simply, she just hurt —

I hope he will like my outfit. It might not seem much, but it took a lot for me to wear something like this again.

— to gauge her husband’s attention.

“What do you think…?”

— for the outfit, she approached her husband and her son. A sharp pang in her chest. Her insides clenching.

She used to be so strong, so confident. But now? Now the smallest bit of self confidence made her inside curl.

Letting out a small cough as she ran her hand over her tummy, trying —

— in hand, her little black bow and the dress that reminded her of trees and strength and stillness. Of coming back to herself. Of being both mother and woman, survivor and now wife.

This wasn’t just shopping. It was claiming. Reclaiming.

And it felt good.

After she had finished paying —

— in her dark hair, her son’s eyes wide and curious as he reached for her. She imagined standing tall, not pretending to feel beautiful but actually feeling it, in her skin, in her body, in her bones.

For the first time in a long while, she didn’t hesitate.

She walked to the register with both —

— the gentle flare of the skirt, the modest neckline. It didn’t shout for attention. It didn’t beg for validation. It was quiet. Confident. Grounded.

Rita drew in a slow breath and closed her eyes. She pictured herself walking out of the dressing room in this dress, the bow still nestled —

— she’d have walked right past before. Now, though, she reached for it with both hands, the fabric whispering as it slipped from the hanger.

She held it against her frame, watching herself in the mirror. The way it curved slightly at the waist, —

— but softened. Alive.

A soft swish caught her ear as she turned. There it was. Nestled between a pair of cream blouses and an over-patterned maxi dress: a simple piece in a shade that hovered between olive and deep brown, the colour of mossy bark after rain. It looked like something —

— pregnancy, before the long nights, before the dark-eyed reflection had started to feel like a stranger. A ribbon in her hair had once made her feel feminine, finished, even flirtatious.

She clipped it into place without thinking. Her reflection blinked back at her — exhausted, yes, —

— up, the satin smooth between her fingers. She turned slightly toward a nearby mirror and held it above her head, just to see. Something in her chest shifted.

“I used to wear these,” she whispered to no one, the sound of her own voice catching her off guard. She tried to picture when, before —

— boutique, the low hum of conversation and mall music fading behind her like waves on the shore.

She paused at a display table near the front. Among the clutter of oversized sunglasses and glittery claw clips was a single, matte black hair bow — simple, understated, elegant. Rita picked it —