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kneelingshadowsalome · 4 months

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Hello! I’ve been back and forth on writing you this bc I’m nervous but eh fuck it, I have no shame. So first off, I just want to say that you, Salome, are an absolutely stunning and brilliant writer. As someone who majored in classical studies in college, I was completely blown away by Fatum Nos Iungebit. The world you built was so deeply immersive and characterization of König, in that story as well as your other headcanons, is perfect. For the past week or so, I’m going to be honest, I’ve been going through your blog because I’ve been so hungry for more and the only reason I haven’t interacted more is that 1. I don’t wanna feel like a creep and 2. I was so scared of you blocking me for ‘’spam-liking” or whatever. I can assure you that I am a real person and I’ve been enjoying everything I’ve seen. I came across one concept however, that definitely got my neurons firing and that’s the idea of belly dancer reader x könig and I have some thoughts I wanted to share with you if that’s okay. :)

So I’ve been a belly dancer for almost a decade (I actually celebrate my ten year anniversary next year!). I was part of a belly dance performance troupe at my old university and I currently dance with a studio in my new city. It’s genuinely one of the great passions of my life. I’ve performed at all kinds of venues and for all different occasions from festivals to galas to charity events to hookah bars, so I definitely have some performing experience under my belt, well as what audiences are like. So when I saw the idea of König being mesmerized by a dancer at a wedding, I went !!!

I want to add the caveat that this is based on my experience as a dancer living in the US, and while I’ve performed for SWANA audiences (which is always an amazing experience 🥰) and non-SWANA audiences, I can’t speak for what it’s like in other countries. So, in my ✨personal✨ experience as a belly dancer going on a decade, it’s pretty rare that men will approach dancers during or after a performance—especially to actively hit on her. And believe it or not, it’s because many of them are actually intimidated! I have seen the most seemingly cockiest, proudest men just stare blankly and stand back while we do our thing. If anything, it’s usually women who approach us, gushing about our performances or asking where they can take classes and stuff. Women tend to be the first ones to get up and dance with us, shower us with tips, etc. (again, very much my personal experience as someone living in the US). When it comes to more family-friendly events like weddings and stuff, we also get a lot of kids approaching and that’s always so adorable and sweet—especially when the little babies think we’re princesses. 😭

So back to König, especially Y!König. 😈 he’s at the wedding. He’s mopey. He’s picking at his plate of chicken and rice. He’s happy for his friend and his bride, but a little bitter and jealous that he’ll never get to be that happy. Then, a mejance (essentially an entrance/overture piece of music) swells over the speakers and out comes the dancer, adorned in an Irina Sheyner number (she’s an absolutely STUNNING costume designer, plsplsplsPLS look her up 😭), veil flying behind her. She does her mejance, a drum solo, and at some point…she does a sword number. The level of control she has to be able to balance the sword on her head in impressive, but König can’t help but imagine what it would be like for to dance wielding his knives in hand. Finally, dancer opens up the floor and in typical faction brings out the bride and groom to dance with her, and then most of the other guests follow. Not König though. He hangs back and watches as this beautiful dancer holds the guests in the palm of her hand. Gone is the cocky, brutal soldier, and only the shy, anxious boy remains, the one who would always be left out of games at recess and who wasn’t invited to birthday parties. König has never been the dancing type, but he can’t even bring himself to offer her a few of the banknotes or dollars or whatever currency he’s using. He just stares, and she’s completely oblivious.

A while later, he’s getting ready to leave, when he spots Dancer. Her makeup and hair still done up, but she’s now fully cloaked and awkwardly lugging her suitcase and bags full of props and other equipment across the poorly paved parking lot. König zeroes in on her and before he knows it, he’s approaching her, asking her if she needs help carrying her stuff. Dancer, surprised but this gigantic man suddenly appearing before her, flashes a winning smile at him and says he can. König easily lugs the stuff to Dancer’s car. She thanks him profusely and just like that, she drives away.

It’s only a few hours later that the obsession starts to creep in. König, who’s ordinarily not a big social media user, is now checking the feeds and stories of his friends who attended the wedding. Finally, he comes across one friend who posted a video of themself with the dancer and tagged her Instagram. König can’t click on it fast enough and suddenly, he’s greeted by dozens of images and photos of Dancer. Some are adorably mundane. He finds out that Dancer teaches classes at a studio nearby, and some of the videos consist of dancer teaching basic moves to the camera. There are other videos of her at the local hookah bar, where she performs on a regular basis. König sees one particularly video of Dancer doing a piece of floor work, that same sword balanced proudly on her head as she’s propped back on her arms, her gorgeous hips undulating toward the sky. König feels a dark wave of heat wash over him. He jokingly thinks to himself that maybe he should take up hookah. But one thing is for certain, she’s going to be his one day. He’ll just have to be sneaky about it, subtle.

He clicks the follow button on Dancer’s instagram. She has a few thousand followers. Surely she can’t notice one faceless profile, right? 😈😈😈😈😈😈

Anyway, that’s all I have for now. I know you’re taking a break from fics but if you see this I want you to know you’re an amazing writer. Lots of love! 💖💖💖💖

Ughhh and another lovely soul 😭💗 I don't know what's going on in here this week but both you and anon have really made my heart swell!

And please please please, spam liking is never frowned upon here (I don't know why anyone would block someone who's clearly not a bot for loving your stuff?!) It's such a delight if I see that someone has liked a ton of things instead of just one. It's the highest compliment and praise! ❤️🥺

And your bellydancer prompt/drabble is so mouthwatering, god. If I'm being honest, I'd read whatever you wrote for this thing in a hot minute because you have the skill and you've done the research (an actual bellydancer in my inbox?! Ok Salome try not to be a creep) and the premise is just. GAH. So good, especially with yandere König! ❤️❤️❤️

I have to reveal I wrote like 8 chapters of a story relatively close to this in the fall: Stalker!König obsessing about reader, invading her DMs on Instagram and literally stalking her. She's not a bellydancer, but damn if I didn't think about changing her into one... :) The story is on hold for now, but here is a little snippet as a thank you gift!

CW: Yandere/Stalker!König, harassing, obsessive behavior

I’m sorry, Liebling. You were too beautiful yesterday. I got carried away.

You wake up just to see that your phone is full of messages. From him, of course. He’s created another account on Instagram.

I’m just a man.

You ignore it altogether, even if there’s messages and emails from other people too. You simply go to brush your teeth, hearing how the phone buzzes on your desk.

I know it was disrespectful. I could never call my wife that. Will you forgive me?

You sigh and finish with your morning routine, but the phone buzzes again.

I sent you flowers. Did you get them?

It’s like he knows when you’re awake, because you can see the messages from your screen without having to unlock it. Even if he refreshed your conversation every minute, every second, he can’t possibly see that you’ve seen them yet.

It bugs you to no end, this feeling that he somehow knows that you’re awake. It’s like he knows your every move. It’s the most unnerving thing, and makes you think about horrible scenarios where he has broken into your house while you’re at work, to install cameras or microphones or something. You feel like you’re about to go mad if this nightmare goes on.

You go to the front door, but hesitate a while before you turn the knob.

What if it’s a trap?

What if he wants to kill you because you yelled at him last night at the pub...? What if there’s a bomb or something that goes off when you open the door, what if he aims at you with a gun from across the street and kills you on your doorstep this morning?

Just what the actual fuck does this guy even want with you...

You sigh with a broken heart and some broken nerves, deciding it’s as good a way to go as any. You turn the knob and open the door, only to find the usual porch, and a large bouquet of dark red roses planted there.

More ice sinks into your stomach as you witness the evidence of him knowing where you live. But the fact that he chose to send red roses… Ugh, this guy is so old-fashioned and so unimpressive that it’s somewhat a dull surprise to actually see flowers on that porch.

Who buys red roses these days?

Couldn’t he have picked peonies or something, something to go with your other decor… Red roses are so eighties, so funeral-like, so boring.

You sigh and go and take the flowers to the trash. Then you walk back to your house, make sure the door is locked tight, and go back to your phone to type a message.

Did you see that?

The answer arrives immediately.

What? ❤️

I threw your flowers in the trash.

There’s bit of a pause after that. Your wannabe boyfriend clearly hasn’t got his eye on you at every given moment. That’s a bit of a surprise, almost a disappointment, actually. But only if you were any more crazy.

The reply comes after about 30 seconds, after a series of Typing… bumping up and down on the screen.

I’m sad.

You get some satisfaction from that, but the first reaction is a tiny, tiny dagger to the heart. You sigh – you do nothing but sigh these days – not only because of his message, but also because you can’t seriously be having a moment of compassion for your stalker, for god's sake.

You make me sad, Liebling 💔 Are you still angry with me?

You throw the phone away and go to make yourself some breakfast, only to stop and turn when you hear the phone buzz again.

I’ll send you more flowers.

Jesus…

You unlock the screen in a frenzy and type a reply in mere seconds.

Don’t bother. I’ll throw them in the bin too.

Typing…

You have to keep them at some point. Trash bins get full so soon.

STOP HARASSING ME.

You throw the phone away for good this time, and don’t come back to it for another hour. You eat your breakfast with squirming insides and a rattled heart, waiting for someone to come bring you flowers at any given moment.

But no one ever comes.

You check your phone before going to work, but there’s nothing from him there. You go and block his new profile, unsurprised to see that there are no pictures this time, not even a profile picture (well, there is one, but it’s only a black circle), just in case. You don’t know why you didn’t block him in the first place.

There’s a radio silence for a few days. You spend them at the edge of your seat, with lots of trouble sleeping, but soon start to ease into the fact that maybe he finally had enough. Maybe you were not as interesting or attractive as he thought when he met you in person…

Wait, what?

Gosh, you can’t be this desperate... You simply can’t. This has to end.

You don’t talk about him in therapy, mainly to convince yourself that you’re not thinking about him at all. You’re not missing him harassing and stalking you, and you’re not disappointed that he didn’t send you enough flowers to fill your entire bin.

You know you should address this: this crazy need to be something groundbreaking to someone. To want someone to be this obsessed with you, no matter how sick that someone was. You know you would have gone to the police if your stalker was the sleazy, weak-wristed man from the pub. You would’ve packed your bags and moved houses already, changed your name and closed your social media accounts, quit everything if your stalker was small and ugly and weak.

But now that you know he’s relatively good-looking, does something dangerous and has a lot of money, and looks like he could fuck and fight half the city by himself, you’re not in that much of a hurry to go to the authorities.

You’re even a bit sad that your stalker hasn’t given you any fevered attention these past few days... He hasn’t even asked you how you’ve been.

No one has asked you how you’ve been: no one ever does. You have to wade through this life all by yourself: depressed and anxious and crazy. Lonely… And horny.

Gods, you just want someone to hold you at night… Someone strong, and big, someone who would pay a few bills for you, take care of you and give you a round of good sex…

Your phone buzzes from time to time, but there’s no message from him. One night before going to sleep, relatively early, so early that it could be called the bedtime for old spinsters, you break down and cry a little. It’s not a wail: only a soft little sob, a few sniffles and a couple of tears until your nose gets clogged and the pillow is wet.

Your phone buzzes, and you reach for it, feeling so, so pathetic when you hope it would be him.

And the message is from him.

You’re the most beautiful woman on this earth. I know I fucked up. I’m just a horny dog and I don’t deserve you.

You sniffle and rise to sit, your whole system fully awake now. Oh god... You’re so fucked.

The message makes you feel incredibly good and sweet, almost giddy. It feels like he’s kneeled right there in front of you, like a knight who has misbehaved in the throes of his lust. You know it’s ridiculous, but you start to smile a little, and the tears dry on their own. The merry feeling is followed by righteous rage, a little fit, because he’s made you wait for days, he’s tortured you in every way possible, and he does absolutely nothing right.

You unlock the screen and start to type, not thinking it through at all before hitting send.

That’s right.

Fuck… Shit. That was a mistake. No, a huge error.

Why did you have to send that? Stooping to his level, sending stupid things like that…

You put the phone away quickly, then reach for it again to delete what you just send. But it’s too late.

I can be a good dog if you forgive me.

The message is waiting for you already, and when you don’t reply, the oppressive, ominous Typing… hits on the screen once more. God, how could you be so stupid…

I’ll kill anyone you need me to kill. I'll give you money, whatever you need. A new kitchen so you can cook me something nice? I’ll be a good dog, I promise.

What did you even expect?

Everything always blows up when you give him attention: any dumb person knows better than to give this hungry dog a bone. You’re just too fond of digging your own grave, it seems.

There’s no end to the messages: this guy starts typing a new one every time he has sent the last.

I’ll fuck you like a good dog too….

You lean your forehead to your palm, trying to figure out a way to stop this.

And then–

Fuck, now I’m hard

You take a quick breath of air and put the phone away.

Please don’t send a dick pic, please don’t send a dick pic…

The phone buzzes.

Look how hard you make me

There’s a picture attached, but you can’t see it when the screen is locked.

This is what I have to live with, day and night…

Message after message, your phone buzzes, and you check them quickly from your screen, swearing to yourself that you’re not going to give him the satisfaction of opening the conversation and checking the image he sent you. You know perfectly well what you will find if you do that.

But after only a minute or two, you unlock the phone, and open the conversation with your heart ramming in your chest.

Just one quick look...

#upcoming works #my wips #cw: stalking #tw: stalking #yandere könig

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gravehags · 9 days

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dance of the seven veils

Pairing: Aether x f!Reader (Ghoul Bicycle Reader)

Rating: EXPLICIT MDNI

Tags: ghoul rut, possessiveness, delirious fucking, ghoul knots, cirrus being a real one, aether beating that pussy up, biblical reference

Words: 1,972

Summary: The way you're moving your hips right now before him he'd do anything for you.

a/n: I WROTE AN ACTUAL FIC LMAO YAYYY i wasn't expecting to revisit the ghoul bicycle series in full fic form but what do you know. will probably do some of the other ghouls/ghoulettes rut/heat fics as well. because why not.

~~~

You look delicious.

Cumulus has you at the center of the living room, barefoot on the rug while he, Cirrus, and Rain watch. Your shirt is off and the bralette you wear is practically see-through. There’s a flush on your cheeks as you grin at the ghoulette before you who places her hands on your hips.

“You have to isolate your hip movements. Don’t just shake your ass, become aware of your abdominal muscles and how they shift.”

“I’m trying, ‘Lus! This is my first time belly dancing, give me a break!”

Cumulus gives you a faux-stern stare before matter-of-factly grabbing the waistline of your sweatpants and yanking them down to expose your belly. You burst out laughing and Aether’s brain is flooded with images of you in a myriad of positions, dripping and aching for him and him alone. Frustrated, he rubs at the base of his horns as his pants grow tight and Cirrus looks over at him with some concern.

“You good, Aeth?” she murmurs out of the corner of her mouth, and he’s thankful for her discretion.

“Yeah,” he whispers back, hoarse, “it’s uh…that time of the month.”

Cirrus’ eyes dart back and forth between him and you gyrating with your hands above your head, head thrown back in delight. A regular Salome. A bead of sweat slides down Aether’s temple and she nods.

“It’s only gonna get worse if you don’t do something about it, hon.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

“She’s going to find out about it sooner or later. And out of all of us, you’re probably the best one to walk her through it.”

Aether scoffs and wipes his forehead.

“Don’t know about that, Cir. You have no idea the things I want to do to her right now.”

“Don’t I?” Cirrus smiles wanly, “I know what you’re like. And I also know she would go crazy for it.”

Aether grunts in response, eyes trained on the sway of your hips and the roll of your belly. Across the room, Rain says something that makes you double over laughing and he seethes with jealousy. When you straighten back up and make eye contact with him, smiling adoringly, he snaps. In an instant he’s up and striding the short distance to you and in one swift movement he bends down and slings you over his shoulder. You let out an undignified squawk as he storms from the room, the eyes of his packmates on his back.

Cirrus would explain.

He can hear you asking him questions but all he can focus on right now is getting you to your bed. When he finally reaches your room and opens the door it’s like a dam breaks within him. With a heavy thump he tosses you on the bed where you look up at him dazed and...was that arousal in your eyes?

“What the fuck was that about, Aether?”

You’re breathless, chest heaving. He must have one hell of a look on his face because you start scooting up the bed, creating some distance between the two of you. Before you can get too far though, he’s got you by both ankles and unceremoniously yanking your body back down towards him. You don’t squirm or fight to get away but instead peer at him with curiosity.

“Hey. Hey, Aeth. What’s going on?”

He squeezes his eyes shut hard enough that when he reopens them he sees stars.

“Has…has anyone else told you about ghoul ruts or heats?”

“Ruts? Heats? Like…like an animal?”

He’s definitely reading arousal in your tone now and his cock twitches in his too-tight pants.

“Yeah. Like an animal. Well my rut has started and if I’m entirely honest with you, all I want to do is stuff every hole you have with me and fuck you until it takes. You understand?”

Your jaw hangs open and your breath comes in uneven pants as you stare up at him before nodding.

“And…and all the others go through this?”

He nods as his hands slide up your calves and over your hips to reach the waistband of your pants.

“Do you want it?” The question is simple but he thinks if you say anything other than “yes” he’s going to lose his mind.

“Aether…unholy fuck yes, I want it. Come on honey, fuck me til I’m dripping.”

If his laughter in response is slightly crazed, you say nothing but grin back at him, lifting your hips so he can more easily undress you. You sit up and with a bit of finagling, manage to remove your bralette and fling it across the room. When he sees you fully nude, not for the first time but in a different light, his tail thrashes behind him and he drops to his knees.

“Thought–ah!” you gasp as he licks a stripe up the inside of your right thigh, “thought you were going to fuck me?”

“Oh, I am,” he smiles, lifting your thighs onto his shoulders, “but I need you nice and ready for me, angel. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Your little noise of intrigue is cut off when he spreads your cunt with his thumbs and delves his tongue inside you. Normally he would revel in this, take his time, but if he doesn’t find some relief soon he’s going to go mad.

“Aeth!” you breathe as his nose nudges your clit, “Fuck, honey that’s it.”

Steadily his tongue fucks into you, pausing only for a moment to lap and suck at your clit. When your hand flies to the base of his horns he lets out a growl and his hips rut upwards. He pulls away with a lewd noise and replaces his tongue with two of his thick fingers.

“Look at you taking me so well already, beautiful,” Aether pants as he pistons and scissors his fingers inside your cunt, “Just wait til you see what I have in store for you.”

Your laugh is delirious as he viciously brings you to your peak, knees clenching on either side of his head and your hole spasming around his digits.

“Fuck, Aeth, fuck,” you moan, hips bucking against his hand, “Need you. Need your cock, please.”

In an instant he pulls away and pulls his shirt off over his head. His pants follow and when your eyes land on the reddened, swollen head of his cock as it bobs heavy in front of him, you let out a needy whine. The sound makes his head spin and without a second thought he’s upon you, mouth seeking yours. You continue to make sweet little noises into his kiss, sucking the taste of yourself off his tongue, as his hips jerk against you. He wants to delight in sliding his tongue against your hardened nipples and peppering the tender flesh of your breasts in dark bruises but more than anything he needs to be inside you. With a growl he pulls himself away from you, your lips chasing his and he leans back on his haunches, hand sliding along his cock. When he takes the head and runs it through your slit he almost keels over, the feel of your hot slick enough to end him.

“Well go on, Aeth,” you grin coyly at him, head cocked, “Fuck me until it takes. Just like you said.”

There’s a snarl on his lips as he spreads you open and with one swift movement, slams inside of you. Your back arches into him and he sets a rough pace as he grabs your ankles and folds your legs up as far as your body allows him. The new angle makes you cry out, chanting his name as he fucks desperately into you. He’s always gone a little mad when he’s inside you but when it’s like this? When you so eagerly accept and want him when he’s at his most feral? It makes his head spin.

“So beautiful like this,” he grunts, hips slamming into yours, “so perfect and so beautiful and all mine.”

You must enjoy the possessive nature of his words from the way your cunt clenches around him and he grins down at you with all his teeth. Your lips attempt to form words but the way he fucks the breath from your lungs makes speech almost impossible. Almost.

“Aeth!” you hoarsely cry out, “Yours. I’m yours. Make me yours.”

Your words, the way your body yields to his touch, the way you’re gazing up at him with your pupils blown drives his hips forward. He knows he has to be bruising you, will take care of you later but for now his rut is too powerful to stop. He can feel it coming, feel it building at the base of his spine and sliding through his stomach. He tries to warn you but doesn’t quite know how, not with the way you continue to squeeze around him.

“L-love,” he stutters, “gonna k-knot you. Gonna–fuck–”

In an instant he feels the base of himself swell and watches your eyes go wide before they roll back in your head. His thrusts become tight and shallow watching you stretch to accommodate him.

“Aether! Fuck!” you finally manage to cry out, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

He wants to laugh and tell you he quite literally can’t but the way your walls clench and spasm around him when you cum drive him over the edge. With a roar he cums, rope after rope, inside you, filling you up as he presses your bent legs further up. His brain goes fuzzy after a while as he finally relents and allows you to relax, his body collapsing against yours. Your breath is shaky in his ear as you stroke his sweat-drenched back.

“Got you. I got you, honey,” you murmur, cupping his cheek. “You did so well.”

He must be coming back to Earth because that makes him snort.

“Shouldn’t I be telling you that?”

You smile.

“If you like,” you say before placing a sweet but quick kiss on his lips, “I think you might be crushing my chest cavity, though.”

“Sorry,” he groans, shifting your bodies so they could lie side by side, “The uh. Knot takes a little bit to go down.”

You make a little noise of interest as you run your fingers through his damp chest hair.

“Satan, we’re lucky to have you. How did we get so lucky?”

That makes you roll your eyes and scoff.

“You’re lucky to have me, right. As if I’m not the one with ten adoring lovers who care deeply about me and my well-being. You want to talk about luck? There’s never been anyone luckier on the planet, Aether. I would choose all of you over everything and everyone.”

His heart aches as you lean in and brush noses with him before pressing your forehead to his and holding it there. For a sweet moment the two of you are content to simply listen to one another’s breathing when Aether shifts his hips and his cock slides from you.

“Unholy fuck,” you breathe, pulling away from him and rolling back onto your back. When you spread your legs, a gush of his seed spills from you and drips on the bed sheets. The sight of your reddened cunt slick with his cum makes a growl bubble from deep in his chest and you look over to him.

“That’s fucking hot,” you murmur.

“My cum or the noise I just made?”

“Both, love, but let me recover for a moment, yeah? And then you can bring me ice packs for the next week.”

“Darling, let me have you again and I’ll bring you the head of John the Baptist.”

And he does have you again.

Three more times that evening.

No saintly head necessary, his Salome graciously deems.

#ghoul bicycle series #aether x f!reader #aether x female reader #aether ghoul #the band ghost #the band ghost fic #rachel writes

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prettymrswright · 1 year

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Harlem Nights

pairing: rosalie otterbourne x black!fem!reader

background: as a singer and musician growing up in the heart of New York, you constantly had people, places, and things to be inspired by. every chance you could, you were finding places inside those rooms you always desired to be in. there was nothing more you wanted to do but perform. most of your family wouldn’t be so ecstatic about your ‘unrealistic’ and ‘unstable’ ambitions. But you knew deep down that you had what it takes. You’d soon travel down to Harlem’s hottest club of the early 20th century, ‘The Cotton Club’, and an interaction with one of your inspirations would change the trajectory of your life, forever.

content: fluff, flirting, playful banter, intimacy. a lot of sweetness + sass. warmth. little explicit language.

word count: 6k

authors note: 2nd fic down. this one was very fun to create, making it fitting to the time. I have such a sweet spot for Rosalie, I had to dedicate this one to her and all her glory. as a singer and musician myself from NY, this was very special for me. I hope y’all smiling and blushing because I was smiling and blushing writing it! enjoy. p.s. chile i kinda wanna make a part two, this was teaaaa.

taglist: @inmyheadimobsessed @zayswriting @vixentheplanet @pinkwright @saintwrld @verachii @ventingfanfics @abenomeiiii @vampzxi @shuriszn @dejaonline @mysticalmarss @shurislover @msplayas @naomis-daydream @sweetalittleselfish-honey

pinned to my page is my new taglist form. if you wanna be tagged in specifics, go fill that joint out! thank you. (i also have an opt out option for those who no longer want to be tagged if they already are). <3

A warm, summer rain pitter-pattered across the glass of your bedroom window as you began cleaning up your space. It was a comfy afternoon, almost evening, the sun peaking through the clouds and beaming down on the town, preparing for its set. It was gorgeous outside. And despite it's rather saturating nature, many people were outside on their front porches. There were so many things to do in Harlem. So many places to see. And yet you felt you could die of boredom. If you weren't busy cleaning or babysitting the neighbors kids, you were receiving a 15-page verbal essay from your mother about how dangerous the city was and how 'there ain't nothing in Harlem but drugs, scams, and prostituting!'. I mean sure it could be dangerous at times. But where in the world isn't? You just knew that as much as there were frights, there were sights. Opportunity was left and right in this town. All your favorite artists and musicians grew up right here, and you wanted to join that list.

“Alright, Y/N/N,” your mom began, putting on her jacket, grabbing her things, and approaching your bedroom door. I’m off to work. Remember to drop the evening papers by Miss Jeanine after you finish cleaning. And no clubs!”

You sighed with immediate annoyance. “But Ma—“

“No butts!” She warned sternly. “Unless it’s yours in that bed there, immediately after. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You respectfully reply, feeling defeated.

You were 21, soon to be 22, but Mother didn’t believe in ‘legal adult decision making’. As long as you were her child and under her roof, you complied by her rules. You understood her always being protective over you; You even appreciated it. But at this moment and time of your life, it felt more like a hinderance than anything else.

“Alright now. I’ll see you later. I love you,” she says on her way out.

“Love you too Ma,” you reply faintly, and with that, the door shuts.

You fall back down on your bed behind you, with a big exhale, staring up at your popcorn ceiling. It was such a lovely day. You should be somewhere dancing, or hanging with your best friend Josephine. Even watching the neighbors kids wouldn’t be so bad right now. At least you’d be out in the backyard.

Tonight was also one of hottest summer nights to be at the Cotton. Billie Holiday, Ma Rainey, and Salome Otterbourne were all performing. It was certain to be a full house, for sure. The three black female jazz pioneers were on tour, and this would be the only time in a while that anybody would be able to see them all perform in one night. Dozens of people even travel from out of state on nights like these. That also meant that there’d be a bunch of travel scouts and agents, waiting on more talent to grab and take under their wing. You were nauseated at the thought of even missing it for a moment.

You got up to finish your cleaning, and halfway through, you heard the door open and shut, followed by a familiar voice that you knew and loved so much.

“Why the long face, sugar?” It asked, making sure you’d turn around to see their smile.

“Grandpa!” You ran to him with open arms, beaming with joy.

Your grandfather was your best friend. Since you were a little girl, he took you under his wing. Your dad left to pursue his music dreams when you were younger, so your grandfather was also the Dad you never had. He always spoke life into you, and made sure that no matter what, you knew that you were capable of any and everything. He also instilled you with the unwavering confidence to back that. Grandpa’s think-pieces were like gold. He was very wise, and had been through it all. He’d always say:

'Don’t let anybody take you for a fool! Not even me!' And laughed. But he was serious. "What's going on? Lorraine got you in this house cleaning all day again?" He says in your defense, as he often does. You let out an exhausting puff of a sigh before plopping back down on your bed. "Yea Pop. As usual." You shifted your body towards him and stared at the ground in deep thought, pausing before continuing. "I mean, life has got to be a little more exciting than this, don't it?" He laughed a low, hearty chuckle. "There's always more excitement, Y/N/N. You just gotta find it. Don't wait for opportunity, create it!" He says affirmably, allowing you to comfortably reveal what you've been thinking about all week. "I really wanna go to the Cotton tonight, Grandpa. Salome Otterbourne is performing tonight! And a bunch of other singers and talents and--well--I'm gonna be here, missing it." You look down and fidget your thumbs around each other. "Well why don't you go?" He asks. "You know Mama don't want me around no clubs, Pop. Besides, I told her I would take the evening papers down to Miss Jeanine." You reply in slight aggravation. "Ohhh," He scoffs and waves his hand down in dismissal. "Don't let that child stop you. I'll take the papers down to Jeanine." Your eyes lit up in pleasant surprise and excitement. "Oh you will?!" "Don't worry about it." He says, a confident smirk creeping onto his face. "Go on and enjoy yourself. I don't know where Lorraine gets all that strictness from anyway. Me and Betty ain't raise that child like that. Besides, she's seen and DONE worse." You both share a big laugh. "Thanks Grandpa. You're the best!" You jump up and wrap your arms around the big guy, holding the embrace for a while. "Anything for my favorite granddaughter." He says jokingly. "I'm your only granddaughter, Grandpa." You reply giggling. "I know. Now gone and figure out what you're going to wear. I hear that Mrs. Otterbourne is looking for another back up vocalist for her band." He tells you as if he just revealed the world's biggest secret. You, performing with Salome Otterbourne and her band. Your stomach turned and the mere thought of it. You kissed your Grandpa on the cheek before rushing to the bathroom to get ready for your highly anticipated night. Your mind rushed with all the possibilities of the night's events. You'd be in the same room with people and experiencing things you've once only dreamed of. Intimidating it was, but your desire to even just be in that energy was bigger. .. After lotioning up and powdering down, you slipped on a cool lavender silk midi dress, with spaghetti straps and a flowy, skirt-like bottom. You leaned into the mirror of your vanity, shaping up your thin brows, rolling on your winged liner, and coating your lips with a nude pink gloss, a shade brighter than your natural lip color. You used your same liner to add your infamous faux face moles; one above your lip, one at the tip of your nose, and one at the top corner of your cheek bone. You placed two diamond stud earrings into your ears, decorated your left wrist with a rose gold watch, and clamped your custom microphone necklace around your neck, gifted by your Grandfather. Lastly, pulling your look together, you peel off your bonnet and hair net, coat your fingers with oil, and take out each of your curls, wrapped around perm rods. You fluffed and shaped your hair into its short, curly and tapered state, much like Sheila Guyse. You stood and wrapped your mesh shawl around your shoulders. You walked over to your tall, door mirror and scanned your body, turning each angle, before spritzing your figure with Blue Grass, by Elizabeth Taylor. You always put effort into your look, but tonight was definitely a little extra. You needed to look and feel the part. Like you belonged there, just with everyone else. You grabbed your white clutch hand purse, matching your white pumps before walking out to the living room. "So," you say to your Grandfather, doing a quick and excited 360. "How do I look?"

"Oh, Y/N," Grandpa says swiping across and covering his mouth to conceal his emotional expression. "You look beautiful. Just like your grandmother." Grandma has passed when you were 7. You had faint memories of her. But one thing you did remember, was how madly in love your Grandfather was. You always said you'd want to be loved just like that when you were older. All the family would constantly remind you of how much you looked like her, and even carried a lot of her personality traits.

"Thanks, Pop." You reach down to hug him and wipe his tear before stepping back and giving him an 'It's okay' smile. "Alright, I'm heading out!" "Alright now, have fun and be safe! Be back by 11, and please, don't give your mother anymore reasons to kill me." He says, almost pleading. "You got it, Pop." You chuckled and walked out the door, closing it tightly behind you. You looked out at the busy block and took a deep sigh before walking down your porch steps and strutting down the street, on your way to the Cotton.

When you arrived, the scene was just like you imagined, only even bigger. Bright lights cascaded from all around the venue, and herds of people were beginning to gather. Cars were beeping and honking, forcing to navigate through traffic with all these people taking up the area, many cars stopping just to see what was going on. Above your head were the list of household names making an appearance tonight. Men and women all throughout the area were dressed up in their absolute best. Valet was working overtime & security was tight. It felt like something out of a movie.

You staggered in front the building, and before you knew it, it was your time to walk in. It was no turning back now.

There was a warm, dim but radiant tone to the room. You seen pimps, hustlers, singers, showgirls, every type of personality you could imagine.

Sounds of bass, saxophones, and pianos filled up the club with a soothing but strong undertone. You walked in, looking around in awe at the set up. The seats were almost filled. You were certain you had to sit in the back, but you didn’t mind. Being in the room was enough. Just as you turned to go back, you spotted your best friend Josephine, sitting in front with an older gentlemen.

“Y/N!,” She called out to you, waving you over and patting the seat next to her.

“Girl!” Overwhelm with excitement, you almost run to where she was and accepted her seat offer. “What are you doing here!”

“I didn’t tell you?” She questions. “My Uncle Johnny is playing bass for Mrs. Holiday. I tried calling to invite you, but your mom said you were busy.”

Typical mother. You really wish she’d stop answering for you. You rolled your eyes, but decided not to build on it.

“Oh, well good for him!” You say with sincerely, with a bright smile.

The two of you briefly caught up before the lights dimmed and the announcer came out to direct what would be one of the most riveting moments of your life.

A few acts had already performed, and you were completely enamored. Jazz and blues were your absolute favorite genre, but to hear it live and in person in all its emotion and vulnerability was euphoric. It was life changing. Entertained you were, but all in all, you felt a strong confirmation. You were certain that this was the path you wanted to take. Every strum of string, every note belted, sent chills down your spine. Singing and performing, especially with a live band felt so natural. It felt warm and welcoming— like a warm fudge brownie with cold ice cream on top. The contrast was clear, but together it went so well.

“And now ladies and gentlemen,” The announcer began. “I present to you, singer, musician, and hit phenomenon, Salome Otterbourne!”

He disappeared into the curtains, his presenting arm being the last thing to disappear as Salome approached the stage from the other end. The crowd erupted; cheers, claps, whistles. You turned to grab Josephine's wrists, that were wrested in her lap, the two of you looking at each other and exchanging an excited squeal. She was stunning. She stood tall above the silver microphone on its stand, wearing a powdered pink blouse and skirt set, with a hat and a flowered wrist garnish to match. She had on white silk gloves, covering the hands that held the stand, one up high and one down low, close to her lips and she began to sing her rendition of Bessie Smith's Tain't Nobody's Bizness If I Do. There ain't nothing I can do, or nothing I can say That folks don't criticize me But I'm goin' to do just as I want to anyway And don't care if they all despise me If i should take a notion To jump into the ocean 'Tain't nobody's business if I do, do, do, do If I go to church on Sunday Sing the shimmy down on Monday Ain't nobody's business if I do, if I do

She sang every word as if she wrote it herself. It was fitting, seeing that Salome was a confident, self-assured woman. You looked around to scan her band. There were two guys on strings. Another on the sax. One on trombone. And to the left of Salome, the pianist. A woman. She was the only other woman on stage besides the main singer, and she was playing for her. It was rare to see female musicians. And not only was she playing piano, but she was singing backup as well. She was gorgeous. She had pretty, cinnamon brown skin, narrow, sparkly eyes, and the prettiest smile you ever saw. She was on the taller side and had a slim but sturdy frame. Her hair was in a pin-curled bob, parted to the side, accentuating her sharp jaw structure. "Who is that?" You semi-whispered to your friend, intrigued. "That's Rosalie Otterbourne." She leaned in and whispered back, eyes still glued to the stage. "Salome's niece, if I'm not mistaken." "Oh." You reply back. The only thing you could say really. She was breath-taking, and seemingly just as talented as her aunt. As the song continues, she briefly averts her attention the crowd and her eyes are met with yours. Stopping and holding her gaze for a second, fingers still tap dancing with the instruments keys, she slightly tilts her head and flashes you a smile. You felt your heart begin to take on an unfamiliar arrangement of beats. Taken aback, you sheepishly smiled back, shakily lifting up your hand to give a small wave. She acknowledges it before returning her attention to her piano and back at Mrs Salome as they join in on the next verse. If my friend ain't got no money And I say, "Take all mine, honey" 'Tain't nobody's business if I do, do , do do If I give him my last nickel And it lives me in a pickle 'Tain't nobody's business if I do, If I do

“Holy shit, Y/N/N,” Josephine tugs at your side. “I think she just smiled at you.”

Okay so she saw that too. Surely it wasn’t for me directly. She was being courteous to her audience.

As the song came to an end, the crowd erupted once again.

“How y’all doing tonight New York? Y’all good?” She asks scanning out to the crowd. When answered by more cheers and whistles, she continued. “Alright, that’s what Salome Otterbourne like ta hear!”

“Tonight is a very special night for me. I’m back home and I have to say you all make me feel so welcomed.” She says with a sassy smile. She proceeds to introduces all the members of her band, leaving her for the end.

“And last but certainly not least, on the piano and back ground vocals, my lovely niece, manager, brain and backbone, Miss Rosalie Otterbourne!” She stands tall and blows a few two-handed kisses out across the room and seals her welcome acceptance with a big warm smile. For whatever reason, in the moment, it felt as if time stood still.

Time progressed as Salome and her band finished out their set. You were sad to see it end so soon. It was such a beautiful arrangement of music. People began to scatter; some leaving, some going to the bar, some going to dance. Some even went to ask for autographs and things of that nature. After awhile the chaos began to subside, and there Salome and her team was, alone, packing their things. You wondered if it was your time to approach. Even if she didn’t get to hear you sing, at least you could express to her how much her music quite literally saved you. As all these different thoughts browsed through your brain, your best friend, Josephine, took a page out of its catalog, as she often did, turning to say,

“Look there go Salome and them, finally by themselves. You should go say something!" She exclaimed, mid-chew of her olive that previously rested in the middle of her martini glass. You began to get sheepish. You had thought the same, but you now you were unsure. "Say what, Jose?" She turned to face you completely. "I don't know, but make your existence known. Tell her you sing or something!" "Yeah," you scoffed. "And embarrass myself?"

"Now, don't start that mess," She began, ready to get you together, as she often did. Not to mention she was the only one who could besides your grandpa. "You and I both know you're just as talented as anybody on that stage. And we always both know that you aren't shy." She was right. Being nervous about meeting an idol was regular, but you had prepared yourself for this moment over a million times. But you weren't sure why this specific time had you tucking your tail. "Besides," she continued. "Maybe you could introduce yourself to that pretty gal, Rosalie." She flashed you a smirk. Your eyes grew so wide they almost popped out of their sockets. Josephine could read you like a book. You never discussed or confessed aloud of your feelings toward other women. Not because you were ashamed, but you felt much like the song; ain't nobody business if I do. You choked out a breathy, nervous chuckle before you could began to speak. "Wha--" "Oh, save it. Now go!" She gave you a small but hefty push towards the direction of the stage. You stumbled forward, looking back to grill your best friend before straightening out your dress, dusting yourself off, and taking a deep breath. With that, you took all the confidence you did in that moment and used to it fuel your feet's motion toward the front of the stage. You'd been up there for all of maybe ten seconds before you were spotted. Her loud and heavy laugh drifting from off the end of her last sentence to her bandmate, she turned around from her kneeled position and gave you a small smile. "Hey Sugar. Can I help you?" "Oh n-no Miss Otterbourne I jus--" she shook her head and cut you off mid-sentence. "Please, child, Salome is just fine." You half-smiled at her correction. "Well, Salome. You were phenomenal tonight. Your voice and your arrangements are just what jazz has been missing." You say to her sincerely, hand in hand. "Aren't you sweet," She chuckles at your sincerity. "Well thank you, Sugar. I've worked hard for my sound. You know what they say, you want something done right --" "Do it yourself." You both say simultaneously and you laugh. "I'm with you on that one." You were pleasantly surprised how down to earth she was. "This is exactly why I'm in charge of keeping things together. Auntie where'd Ernie put that cas--" Rosalie came out from behind the stage, stopping mid-sentence once she'd seen you. "Who's this?" She points, asking what of your presence as if you weren't standing right there. You mentally laugh at her rudeness, knowing she didn't purposely mean to do it. "I'm Y/N." "She came to tell us how much she liked the show." Salome helped you finish your introduction. "Is that right," She asks rhetorically, raising her eyebrows, intrigued. "What part striked you the most?" You felt a wave of vibrations flow through your abdomen, immediately thinking of the glance the two of you shared in the midst of the performance. "W-well, I really enjoyed your rendition of T'aint nobody's business. I could relate on personal levels, but I felt that you could too. Especially that bridge. Salome, your vibrato is unreal. And with your tone, Rosalie, it blended perfectly." The singer and her accomplice looked at you with impressed eyes. "Well, well. That's some very specific terminology, Miss Y/N. Are we speaking to a fellow musician?" Rosalie asks, eager to hear your response. "Yes. A singer." You chose the confident route. You wanted to continue their interest. "Really?" Salome says matter-of-factly. "Well let us hear something, sugar!" You were having a hard time grasping that this was reality. You lived in the R.E.M part of your brain, playing out the different scenarios that would lead you to an interaction like this, but you never thought it'd be so soon. "You sure?" You ask honestly. "I know you're a busy woman." "Nonsense. Salome leave when Salome gets good and ready." She reassures you, speaking about herself in the third person once again.

"And if your voice is as pretty as you are, then we're in for a treat." Rosalie says, tossing a wink in your direction.

You felt a lump in your throat begin to form and hurriedly swallowed to force it to subside. You felt your cheeks began to heat up like a stove. Receiving a compliment was one thing, but receiving one from a woman of Rosalie's stature, successful, pretty, and poised, was another. You tried your hardest not to let it phase you, but you couldn't help but to let a flattered smile creep onto your face.

You briefly turned around to find your best friend across the room, smiling and giving you two thumbs up.

The band's bass player came over to take your hand and help you up the stage steps, directing you to where the mic was, still plugged in and hot.

Rosalie walked over to her piano and removed the cover she had just recently placed.

"Any preferences?" Rosalie asked.

"The Very Thought of You." You answered confidently, knowing how well the song complimented your voice. "Do you know it?"

"Billie Holiday." She says with a smile, proving her knowledge. "Like the back of my hand."

"Let's do it." You say, ready to take advantage of your moment.

Rosalie began fingering through the keys of her piano, playing up the intro of the song. As the melody began to fill up the venue, the people who remained in the building all focused their attention to the stage. You closed your eyes, let in a huge breath of air, and began to sing.

The very thought of you

And I forget to do

Those little ordinary things

That everyone ought to do

I'm living in a kind of daydream

I'm happy as a queen

And foolish though it may seem

To me that's everything

In this moment, it was you and the melodies that filled your ears alone. You sang just as you would if you were home in your room. Your voice was smooth and velvety. It could serenade you to sleep, or it could fill you with emotion. It was soft, two octaves away from breathy. It was easy to be attracted to your voice alone.

The mere idea of you

The longing here for you

You never know how slow the moments go

Till I'm near to you

I see your face in every flower

Your eyes in stars above

It's just the thought of you

The very thought of you, my love

You glanced in Rosalie's direction, secretly searching for a reaction, and was met by a dazed stare and watery eyes. Even outside of her usual, self-assured nature, she was so beautiful. You wondered what thoughts were flying through her pretty head.

You walked over to the piano and sat at the edge, close to Rosalie, and finished out the song beautifully, never breaking eye contact with her.

I see your face in every flower

Your eyes in stars above

It’s just the thought of you

The very thought of you, my love

Rosalie scanned your face with adored eyes as she played out the outro. You held your gaze, adlib-ing out the rest of the song and began to get lost in the pool of her pretty, chocolate brown eyes. The eruption of the crowd before you is the only thing that broke you from the hypnosis she placed you in.

You stood up again in front the crowd, placed your hands on your heart and gave a bow. You were so proud of yourself and simultaneously stunned. They loved you. The crowds reaction just confirmed all those nights you journaled about feeling called to be in the limelight. In the distance you could see Josephine, practically jumping up and down, mouthing “That’s my girl!”

It was a long, loud applause and standing ovation. At this point, people were beginning to get curious about who you were and where you even came from. With that, the cat-calling also began.

“Hold on, where you from, baby?!“ One man shouted.

“Can I take you home?” Another one followed.

You were too starstruck by your own self to be annoyed by men and their ignorance. In fact, it humored you in this moment. Once the crowd begin to subside, Salome ran up to you.

“Well I’ll be damned!” She says, clasping her hands together. “Sista you can blow!”

Nods and sounds of approval were given by the rest of the crew.

“Says you!” You say brightly. “Thank you, Salome. And thank you for allowing me to sing on your stage.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” She says, leaving you with slight confusion. “What does the rest of your weekend look like?”

Cleaning. Possibly babysitting. Absolutely nothing exciting.

“Nothing much, really.”

“Well, I have a couple more stops to make and perform at before we get back on the road. I want you to come perform with me.” She says sincerely.

You were there with a stunned look on your face. You were at a lost of words, and when you finally find them, they come out more blunt than you expected, “Quit playin’.”

The older woman laughed. “Serious as a heart attack, Sugar. Leave your home number with Rosalie, and stay by the phone. We have business to discuss.” She walked off to other side of the stage. You had to conceal your urge to scream your head off.

“Looks like you got yourself a job,” Rosalie began to walk up to you.

“Thanks to you. Where’d you learn to play like that?” you ask genuinely interested.

“Where’d you learn to sing like that? I thought you was just bull-jiving.” You both laugh.

“I’ve been singing since I was a little girl. My mother always put me in the church choir, and I enjoyed it, so I held onto it.”

“Well you definitely got soul.” She exclaimed.

“Thank you.” You say, blushing at her intense focus on you as she spoke.

“So tell me,” She moves closer to you. “Did you mean what you said?”

You tilted your head slightly at her comment. “What did I say?”

“I see your face in every flower, just the mere thought of you, my love” She speaks the lyrics of the song you just sang.

You weren’t expecting that at all, your body slightly trembling underneath the words her forwardness.

“It’s just a song, Miss Rosalie.” You professed, keeping as much ground as you could. “I am a performer, and I performed.”

“Ahh,” She says nodding sarcastically. “A performance, was it? A stunning one, might I add.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at her sarcasm and her witt. The girl was indeed charming. And she wasn’t buying that you didn’t feel the tension that was brewing between the two of you.

“Rosie,” Salome called out. “We going on out to the car, when you ready, we can be on our way.”

“You got it,” Rosalie responded.

“Y/N!” Your best friend came running towards you, and you kneeled down towards the edge of the stage. “Girl you killed it! Brought tears to my eyes, I love seeing you in your element girl, you gone be rich!“ She rambles, saying the last part through clenched teeth. She stops and looks up.

“H-Hi Miss Otterbourne. Rosalie. I’m Y/N’s best friend Josephine.” She introduces herself.

“Hello darling,” Salome smiles. Rosalie waves.

“Well, girl,” she was now whispering. “I gotta go, my man is outside waiting for me, but call me when you get home and tell me EVERYTHING.”

You erupted in laughter. Josephine loved her some him.

“You so crazy. Enjoy yourself, and get home safe.” You say back, momentarily reaching for your best friends hand and squeezing it caringly.

“I will girl!” She runs off and out of the venue.

“Well, Miss Y/N,” Rosalie turns to you. “Where do you live? We could drop you off home.”

“Oh that won’t be necessary,” You assured her. “I live right up the street.”

Rosalie paused for a minute. “Come with me,” she grabbed your hand and the two of you scurried out through the exit backstage.

The warm outside breeze grazed your skin as the two of you began to walk semi-dark, summer streets. It wasn’t freezing, but it was a slight bitter chill that left you feeling more on the cold side.

“Here,” She took off her black, furry jacket and placed it around your arms. “It looks better on you anyway.” You gave a toothless smile at her comment.

“Did you actually enjoy my performance tonight?” You ask, somewhat serious.

“Did I?” She scoffs as if you said the most outrageous thing. “Absolutely breathtaking.”

You look down in nervousness. “You’re not so bad yourself. I mean I always knew she had other talented people in her circle but you,” You paused. “You have such a melodic voice. I enjoyed it very much.”

“Well thank you. Much like you, I keep my accolades undercover. It’s like a pleasant surprise. You think you know me and then— boom.” She illustrates her sentence, flicking her hands open, emulating fireworks.

“Well I don’t know how surprised I’d be considering how confident you are,” You say with an instance. “People like that always have something going on.”

“It takes one to know one, right?” She looks at you through low lids, her figure standing a few inches taller than you. For a while it’s silent. Suddenly, you blurt out something you’d only ever think of to yourself.

“Rosalie have you ever loved a woman?” You ask, almost regretting it, but still wanting to know her thoughts. She furrowed her eyebrows in interest, waiting for you to finish instead of answering right away.

“In the way.. you ain’t ‘supposed’ to love a woman?” you continued emphasizing the quotes, finishing your thought.

She sighed in relief. You sensed that you possibly could’ve opened a safe place for her to speak.

“I have loved women since I learned to walk and talk. My aunt and my band family are the only ones who know. They’d say, ‘Ole Rosalie couldn’t catch a man if she put a bra in a net!’ But they knew I didn’t want to. They ain’t give me no trouble. But everybody story ain’t like mine.” She opens up to you and you look at her with soft eyes.

“What about you?” She then turns to you, returning the question. “I’m guessing you have.”

“Nobody knows about me. Nobody but my bestfriend Josephine. I’ve never even been in love before. Not with a man either. But tonight, standing next to you I- I don’t know. I felt kinda like a school girl.”

Rosalie begins to laugh at your confession. She thought it was sweet. Secretly, she felt the same.

“Oh, stop it, It ain’t funny!” You say defensively, tapping her shoulder, but she continues to laugh. And you continue to fall. Before you could pull your hand back, she grabs it, and pulls you into her. The two of you stop walking momentarily, and it’s you, her, and this lonely street. She places a hand on your waist, the other still holding your hand, and comes close enough to your face to separate the two of you with a single piece of paper.

“Dance with me,” She breathes into you.

“But we ain’t got no music,” You say back, smiling foolishly at her impulses.

“Yes we do.” She begins to hum The Very Thought of You, and the two of you sway side to side, your feet moving in a circle around each other. You begin to him with her, the two of you harmonizing on every chorus. In this moment time stood still. An overwhelming feeling of adoration and excitement washed over you. You felt like the only girl in the world. She had a way of building on your romantic tension, all while making you feel like you gained another best friend. It was the perfect night, and you never wanted it to end.

The two of you stop your tango, and she pulls you in, kissing you ever so slowly and passionately. You felt yourself melt into her, the heat of your bodies keeping each other warm. You finally pull back and share a long gaze, her arms still holding you. Your moment was interrupting by a loud honk from a car coming around the corner.

BEEP BEEP.

“You two ready?” Salome smiled, hanging out the passenger window. “Get in!”

Rosalie led you to the back seat, her getting in first and you following, closing the door behind you.

“What’s your address, sugar?” Salome asked. You gave it to her, and off you all were.

“Oh,” Rosalie began, “Before I forget,” She grabs a pad and a pen from underneath the seat to give you. “Can’t leave without your number.”

You smile and take the materials from her hand.

555-8269 Y/N. You wrote in its red ink, drawing a small heart next to it, and kissing the paper, leaving the mark of your now halfway glossed lips. You folded it up and handed to her, and she delicately placed it in her purse. She slid her hand over top of yours, which now rested on your knee, and interlocked your fingers.

“I’ll be expecting you,” You say softly.

“First thing tomorrow morning.” She affirms to you, holding her intense gaze. She lifts up your hand and places a soft, gentle kiss on the back of it.

Before you knew it, you were pulling up in front of your house.

“Thank you again, Salome. I had a wonderful time.” You express, full of gratitude.

“Don’t mention it, doll. I’ve had a great night myself. Now make sure you stay by the phone, hear? You gone be a star. And I’m gone make sure of it.” She says, turning around to face you from her passenger.

“And I think my Rosalie is very fond of you.” She looks at her niece with a proud and accepting smile. Rosalie gives one back.

“Yes ma’am.” You say, blushing of slight embarrassment but also appreciation. You step out the car and walk up your concrete steps.

“Y/N,” Rosalie says out the window. You turn around.

“Yes?”

“Goodnight.” She says, holding onto every moment she has left of this night with you.

“Goodnight, Rosalie,” You say sweetly, but teasingly.

You walked into your home and crept up to your room, careful not to wake anyone up. You run up to look outside your window and watched as the car drove off. You couldn’t believe this was your life. But you were glad that it was.

All night your head spinned, accompanied by thoughts of you and Rosalie. The instant chemistry between the two of you left you in such a fuzzy state. It was the beginning of something new. It felt warm and welcoming— like a warm fudge brownie with cold ice cream on top. The contrast was clear.. but together, you went so well.

#mrsprettywright #rosalie otterbourne #rosalie x black reader #black sapphic #lesbian #harlem nights

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sgiandubh · 1 month

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Holy Monday - Dagger Man

Sidenote: it's horrendously late, in my own time zone and Holy Monday is gone for good. Hoping yesterday's wonderful SC news are enough for you to forgive me, I go ahead with my short personal notes on what is perhaps one of the most complicated stories of this week.

Enter Judas Iscariot, whose name is perhaps a local corruption of the Latin term for 'dagger man': sicarius.

Who is he? We are told he was one of The Twelve chosen ones, but our Bibles are, to say the least, not very talkative when it comes to this man. We do not know what his merits are and many risk a seriously tragical confusion with the other Judas, 'son of James'. Perhaps in the same way Mary of Bethany is still mistaken by many for Mary Magdalene herself.

Today's episode is a throwback: 'Then Jesus six days before the passover came to Bethany, where Lazarus was, which had been dead, whom he raised from the dead' (John, 12:1)'

We don't know very well where the following episode happens (in Lazarus' house? somewhere else?) and for the first two days of the Holy Week, the Evangelists' reports are either vague or even conflicting. A woman named Mary approaches. Clearly, more than a sympathizer, yet barely tolerated by what clearly is a gender segregated assembly, where women serve a dinner they never join in. Something still very much happening in the Mediterranean world, by the way:

'Then took Mary a pound of ointment of spikenard, very costly, and anointed the feet of Jesus, and wiped his feet with her hair: and the house was filled with the odour of the ointment. (John, 12:3)'

Is she a prostitute? A rich patron? I have always thought, perhaps wrongly, there was something very erotic in that choreography, for hair is a very strong sexual symbol and even more so in the Ancient World (think Egyptian wigs and also, heh, Samson). Something that also reminded me of Salome's fateful dance of the seven veils.

Experts have calculated, for dry amusement probably, the cost of that 'ointment' in today's money, which is disingenuous, to say the least. Nevertheless, that's easily the price tag of a brand new Mercedes, with all the bells and whistles. Judas immediately puts things into context and speaks like a corporate CFO: 'Why was not this ointment sold for three hundred pence, and given to the poor?' (John, 12:5)

You think this is what a good manager would do, right? Well, think twice. John does not like Judas. At all. He immediately tells us who he thinks that strange man really is: 'Judas Iscariot, Simon's son, which should betray him' (John, 12:4). And, which is perhaps even worse, a corrupted treasurer of sorts: 'not that he cared for the poor; but because he was a thief, and had the bag, and bare what was put therein' (John, 12:6).

Jesus' answer to this apparent practical dilemma is very clear: ' Let her alone (...), for the poor always ye have with you; but me ye have not always' (John, 12: 8-9). Judas' enormous mistake is to transform what obviously is a spiritual matter into a vulgar, political one. Throwing money into the mix, instrumentalizing it for what we would today call 'propaganda purposes' is at complete odds with His entire message.

But sometimes even the voice of Heaven has trouble making itself heard. This is why I have chosen for today a simple, short shofar sound, from Miklós Rózsa 's original soundtrack for Ben Hur:

youtube

#Holy Week #Easter 2024 #Youtube

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gatabella · 5 months

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“About the love scene, the morning we were to film the most tempestuous one, Rita had clipped some pictures of herself and Glenn Ford in some passionate embraces from her other films and pasted them all over the mirror of my dressing room. She’d written a note: 'This is the way it’s to be done.’ Naturally, I couldn’t let something like that go unanswered. I realized the same chap who had staged Mickey Rooney’s musical numbers for a film was now doing Rita’s. So I got the still department to get me some pictures of Rooney. I selected the most grotesque, where he was pictured in the very heat of rehearsing the dance. I clipped those, pasted them to Rita’s dressing room mirror, and wrote the same words she had in my note.”

-Stewart Granger on making Salome with Rita Hayworth, Screenland, Dec. 1952

#rita hayworth #stewart granger #salome #quote #glenn ford #mickey rooney

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a-d-nox · 10 months

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Can you talk about salome asteroid?

salome, executioner princess (asteroid 562)

In biblical history, Salome, the daughter of Herodias, entered a birthday celebration for Herod and danced for him and his men. They were all so pleased with her performance that Herod told her for such a great gift he would give her anything she wished - up to and including, half of his kingdom. She consulted with her mother, who told her to ask for the head of John the Baptist. John had stated that the marriage between Herodias and Herod was unlawful thus she wanted revenge. Herod almost immediately regretted offering her anything... He sent for an executioner, not wanting to break his word in front of his men. The head of John the Baptist was brought to her on a platter and Salome than gave it to her mother. IN MY OPINION Salome in your chart can represent a) your ability to dance, b) where you give and receive something greater in return, c) where/how you are loyal to your mother, and/or d) where you are morbid despite your innocence.

i encourage you to look into the aspects of salome along with the sign, degree, and house placement. for the more advanced astrologers, take a look at the persona chart of salome!

like what you read? leave a tip and state what post it is for! please use my "suggest a post topic" button if you want to see a specific post or mythical asteroid next!

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#astrology #astro community #astro placements #astro chart #asteroid astrology #asteroid #natal chart #persona chart #astrology tumblr #astroblr #astro posts #astrology notes #astro notes #astrotips #salome #asteroid562

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mustangs-flames · 2 months

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Theory : Six was responsible for John the Baptist's execution

Mustang has pretty much already confirmed that Six replaced Herod the Great, but I decided to think a little harder

In all the versions I could find (there's at least four different branches of Christianity that my spread out family members believe in, and three of them have more than one way / version of narrating the Bible) Herod Antipas, Herod the Great's son, was getting increasingly worried about John the Baptist and his prophecies, particularly one where he said the royal family would be burned by God's hand. Despite this, he did not wish to have him executed because John was just a prophet and not a criminal

The bible says that big boy G visited Zachariah, John's father, to announce that his wife Elizabeth would become pregnant despite both of them being in old age already, and since John was 6 months older than his cousin Jesus, I think that that Gabriel was the real G before Luci banished him to the shadow realm, so I also think that unlike big J, older J was still a human

Anyhow, I think Six found himself forced to make John's death happen for two possible reasons :

1- He actually did have some sort of power and was getting too close to finding out the truth about the real masterminds behind the Massacre of the Innocents OR 2 - After meeting and baptizing his cousin he, unlike pretty much everyone else, didn't immediately fall victim to the M.A.D and gaslighting and did notice the red flags that something was wrong with Jesus

My theory is that Six goes on to replace Queen Herodias, Antipas' second wife, to try and persuade him to kill John, and when that doesn't work, Six resorts to manipulating Herodias daughter by her first husband, princess Salome. The basic story goes that the princess danced so magnificently during a reception banquet to the Romans, that her step-dad offered to grant her any wish she might have, according to some versions "up to half his kingdom" as a way of impressing the guests

The three versions that I had energy to read agree that it was her mother who pushed her towards asking for John's head. In one she just turns to her mother and asks "what should I ask" , but the other two say that Herodias instead inches her closer and whispers in her ear right before Herod asks if she has settled on what she wants ( Extra : In the animation "Jesus: A Kingdom Without Frontiers" they added an extra piece of dialogue that I found interesting, where Salome is scared and hesitant but Herodias gestures for her to look around and says "powerful men like their women cruel" and that would be why Salome adds "on a silver plater" to her request)

Uhh, yeah I'm pretty much finished, hope it wasn't boring!

Oh, this is really fun and a cool theory!

When it comes to the Part that will cover what actually happened following the Garden of Eden and Lucifer's 'Fall', events will be detailed but not too heavily and entirely from Lucifer's point of view. I'm actually really excited to write that part of the AU in the future! I don't plan on it being a very long part, but it will cover quite a few staple Biblical stories and figures and I'm really looking forward to seeing how readers will react to my takes on them and the twists this AU presents! :)

#hail true body au #mustang answers!#htb six #htb lucifer #it will be in that Part of the au that you will get a lot of lore on how angelic heirarchy works #how alternates work #and the last meeting between lucifer and gabriel #and all about jesus and his best friend judas too!#it gets so silly #and i hope it will get people to empathise with the series' villain a bit :)

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gweelczz · 10 months

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“Cat Got Your Tongue?” Pt. 4

Rosalie Otterbourne × Black!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Rosalie being the only woman ever, reader is a simp off rip, Rosalie has unlimited rizz, Rosalie getting sappy

Genre: suggestive, fluff

Word count: again that’s cute, lowkey got carried away

Not proofread (my bad y’all I was lazy)

Reader is the sister of Cab Calloway and the cousin of Billie Holiday

Summary: Being in love she didn't know whether she was falling or flying but she was airborne either way... or a story about a woman falling head over heels for another woman in the 1930s

Enjoy lovelies! Mwah

Y/N came down the stairs of the hotel and into the lobby, the skirt of her dress swaying with her as she graciously moved. Her orbs scanning the room before landing on what she searched for: her sunflower. Rosalie stood leaning against the bar in a dazzling purple backless dress that hugged her body perfectly, her curls pinned to perfection parted at the side. She was talking sternly with a man in a suit presumably a worker.

“There’s no music being played madam.. people are starting to complain.” The man spoke glancing everywhere but at the woman in front of him. Rosalie stood her ground like the strong willed woman she was, her response dripping sass. “It seems you’ve forgotten my name, Rosalie Otterbourne.” She smirked a bit as she spoke “There’s no music because no moneys been paid, we get paid upfront. So if you wanna hear a little music, first I wanna see a stack of green or whatever currency is in your country.” She tilted her head gazing at the man waiting for his response.

The man in front of her huffed pulling out an envelope of money out of his coat pocket handing it to her. She took it with a pleased expression smiling at the man. “You remember my name now” she responded nodding towards the stage giving the signaling to the frontman to let Salome on stage. The frontman nodded his head to Rosalie clearing his throat and stepping up to the microphone “Now coming to the stage! Ms. Salome Otterbourne!!”. The crowd clapped loudly as Salome stepped out with a golden colored guitar. Her hair pinned and styled under a gold turban, her face was styled with a makeup to match her golden sparkled dress. She smiled brightly walking down the steps of the stage and into the crowd as she played with her band while singing.

“ Now come here baby, get ready to go

'Cause I'm in the mood to rock and roll

And that's all, I mean to tell you, that's all

All you have to do is rock and roll and that's all

We'll start to rockin', I don't like to stop

You better get ready to rock around the clock

And that's all, I mean to tell you, that's all

All you have to do is rock and roll and that's all

Don't worry about the time, I got plenty to spend

If the clock run down, we'll wind it up again

And that's all, I mean to tell you, that's all

All you have to do is rock and roll and that's all, yeah”

She strummed the strings pointing it in front of her like a gun making her way to the other stage where her band was stationed. Making her way to the microphone she continued to sing as the crowd danced around the room.

“You can learn everything they teach you in school

But if you can't rock and roll, you're not a fool

And that's all, I mean to tell you, that's all

All you have to do is rock and roll and that's all

All you have to do is rock and roll and that's all”

Rosalie watched her aunt with pride as she performed, her chest swelling as she witnessed her talent. Y/N smirked to herself walking up to the woman with a hand on her hip “well hello Ms. Otterbourne”. Rosalie gazed up at the woman smiling once again “hello Ms. Calloway, pleasure to make your acquaintance” she then pulled Y/N into her arms hugging her tightly. She immediately lifted the other woman off her feet spinning her in a small slow circle placing her onto her feet afterwards, her smile never leaving.

They stood side by side watching Salome dazzle the crowd with her voice and presence alone, Rosalie leaning over to whisper to Y/N “I want to kiss you so badly it’s driving me crazy”. She reached down taking her companion’s hand into hers squeezing it gently speaking softly afterwards “I want your mouth on me so bad, your tongue felt heavenly”. She spoke boldly causing Y/N to choke on her spit, Rosalie had always been a bold woman never biting her tongue for anyone and speaking her mind. She didn’t stop back then and she wasn’t gonna change now. Y/N stared at her wide eyed swatting her hand when she felt it creeping up her skirt. “Rosalie Otterbourne we are in public!” Y/N whisper yelled glancing around making sure no one saw, “Baby if I had it my way you’d be bent over this bar with my fingers deep in that sweet little cunt making you cum for me over and over again”.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed at the other woman’s words causing her to turn away slightly focusing her attention on Salome who was close to finishing her set.

“You hold me in the bosom

Till the storms of life is over

Rock me in the cradle of our love

Only feed me till I want no more

Then you take me to your blessed home above

Make me journey

You make my burning brighter

Help me to do good wherever I can

Oh, let thou praise and thrill me

Thou loving kindess fill me

Then you hold me

Hold me in the hollow of the hand”

The words Salome sang not helping the situation at hand whatsoever, Y/N let herself drift for just a moment. She let her mind wonder to what it would be like with Rosalie, what their life would be like together. She imagined how it would feel to wake up next to her every morning, being able to kiss her in a place that wasn’t a shadow or a private room. How it would feel to hold her hand while they walked down the street or to sit on her lap in public. To feel her fingers knuckle deep inside he- “Y/N? Don’t you ignore me now, that ain’t ladylike” Rosalie’s voice brought her back to reality causing her to turn and face the other woman, her face on fire. “W-What’d you say sunflower?” She responded zoning in on Rosalie’s dark eyes.

“I said I wanna take you out tonight, just us two.. we can go back to my room later. Might just have your things moved to my room, like the idea of waking up to you in my bed” Rosalie smirked while Y/N felt her heart flutter at those words. They weren’t officially an item but god did Y/N want that with her. “Rosalie Otterbourne we’re not even dating” she placed her hands on her hip smiling when Salome swooped by kissing them both on the cheek before disappearing again, she’d congratulate her later. Rosalie on the other hand wrapped a slender arm around her waist pulling her in, their faces inches apart. “When I said I wanted you and that you were mine, I meant it so in fact Y/N Calloway we are dating. That would also explain why I’m taking you on a date… right now”

Rosalie and Y/N sat across from each other in a dim lighted restaurant, soft jazz music floated through the air bouncing off the dark golden colored walls. The booth they were seated in a deep velvet maroon color blending in perfectly with the dark atmosphere. They both nursed a glass of red wine in the back of the establishment holding hands underneath the table. Y/N being oddly quiet scanning her surroundings with a tense body. She was afraid someone would notice the stole longing glances they threw at each other, the touchiness exchanged and why there were no men present at the booth. Rosalie on the other hand was calm relaxing into her side glancing around as well. They had nothing to worry about seeing as not the only was the owner dating another man, most of the guests in here were just like them: hiding their homosexual relationships.

“Suga, relax baby ya as stiff as my hair when I add too much hairspray! Everyone in here is just like us.” She reassured but never pushing the other woman. Even though she wanted nothing more than to pull the other woman closer maybe share a few kisses, she respected boundaries and she would let Y/N move at her own pace. Y/N slowly started to relax leaning in closer to the other woman wanting to be closer, “Sunflower.. wrap your arms around me please” she whispered scooting over slowly. Rosalie immediately pulled her companion into her arms gazing at her with longing eyes, she wanted to kiss her but held back out of respect for her.

They ordered their food and we’re now sitting there side by side eating it. Rosalie with a steak, steamed broccoli and baked potato, Y/N with grilled salmon, grilled asparagus and yellow rice. “How’d you like the performance Suga? Aunt Salome blow them folks outta the water or what?” Y/N sat in thought for a moment before grinning “she absolutely killed it tonight sunflower! Remind me to congratulate her”. Rosalie nodded finishing the last bite of her food, “will do suga, ya ready to go?” Y/N wiped her mouth with her napkin nodding her head “let’s go”.

Rosalie and Y/N walked down the sidewalk under the starry sky with their arms linked together. Anyone on the outside would just assume they were two close friends and that’s the way they liked it, no one needed to be in their business anyway. Rosalie cleared her throat tossing Y/N a glance before speaking “I know we ain’t known each other long but I can’t help but feel like the good lord sent you for me. I ain’t neva felt this way before about anyone not even my almost fiancé back in Egypt… I want you to be mine, want you to be my woman.. Ion care bout none of these laws or people on the outside looking in who are too ignorant to understand our version of love”. Y/N gazed at Rosalie nodding her head immediately “there’s nothing left to be said but yes Rosalie Otterbourne, I will be your woman”.

Rosalie spoke no words she just smiled and pulled Y/N for a deep kiss not realizing they were in front of the hotel. She looked up then back at her partner gently tugging her hand, “come up with me.. I meant what I said… stay the night” and with that her lips were on Y/N’s again only giving Y/N enough time to reply with a breathlessly “Yes”

#letitia wright #rosalie otterbourne #death on the nile #rosalie otterbourne × black!fem!reader #1930s au #letitia wright x reader

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