#telephone coaching

[georgiasedify]

I'm a licensed Professional Life Coach

I'm a licensed Professional Life Coach. Listings of what I offer, business hours, how to book, and etc. Thanks!

Booking with Georgia’s Edify Email Coaching Audio Coaching Remote On – Line Office Video Facetime, Skype, Hangouts, Google Meet Consultant Mental Health Coach Life Coach Virtual Coaching Nation Wide Health and Wellness Coach Spiritual Life Coaching Telephone Coaching One On One Coaching Coaching Calls Monday10:00 am – 6:00 pmTuesday10:00 am – 6:00 pmWednesday10:00 am – 6:00…

[karis17love]

hiiii could i request bonnie from telephone (runaway version) for daily just dance coaches? thank you so much 🫶🏻

ꨄ ᴅᴀɪʟʏ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴅᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴄᴏᴀᴄʜᴇs ꨄ

"𝐽𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑑, 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑎𝑣𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑔

𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦'𝑟𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦

𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑒𝑥𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢

𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑, 𝑒ℎ."

click the image for better quality <3

Requested by: anonymous

If you want a specific map, feel free to ask <33

[aweirdoandhisfanfics]

The relation between the Lady Gaga coaches and their alts

Me last post about the Lady Gaga coaches didn't focused a lot on the alts coaches, so I decided to make this post more focused on them.

I imagine the alt version to be more conected to their normal version than to other songs, so the theories here are more contained.

Applause: I've always imagined Joan and the Countess as being the same person.

Just Dance: The P2 in the On-Stage mode is a younger Icona Shard, but the P1 and P3 appearence really reminds me of Born This Way so idk, as for the Sweat Version (AKA John Dance), i've seen someone headcanoning them as Icona's husband, and i've accepted that ever since.

Bad Romance: I imagine two connections between Claire and Daray. The first is that Claire is the drag persona o Daray, her name matches the naming conventions of the other drags that we know (they are all named after colors).

The second option is that Claire is trans, and Daray is her pre-transition self.

Between the two idk who to pick to be my main hc, maybe the trans option, I have some really funny ideas involving it, and I think it fits better to my "Mother Monster" theory.

Born This Way: Isaac would be Adameve in the past, before they discovered themself and their Mother Monster heritage, Isaac changed their name to fit themself better with the other Lady Gaga coaches names.

John Wayne: As I said this in the last Lady Gaga post, I think Jane and Janet (extreme) are sisters.

Telephone: It's pretty obvious that Bonnie and Clyde are Louise's friends, or maybe they work for Louise, or maybe they met at the jail and Louise recruited them on the spot.

Poker Face: I'm not sure about the coach for the Magician alt, she could be a normal coach with no connection, or a lost member of the Hearts dynasty, who knows, we still haven't got the full routine to see the full picture.

[hbogirls]

looked up at the sky and it was the burgundy on my t-shirt when you splashed your wine into me and how the blood rushed into my cheeks so scarlet it was the mark they saw on my collarbone the rust that grew between telephones the lips i used to call home so scarlet it was maroon

[lyekisses]

im not someone who usually cares about sports HOWEVER when you are born and raised in philly sports country it is actually in your dna to go hogwild if the eagles make it to the superbowl

[teddy-bear-naps-and-random-snaps]

[dtaegis]

ok WHAT the fuck is happening there is just dance LORE

[dirtyvulture]

Envy and Venom - Part 3

Heiress!Natasha Romanoff x CEO!Beefy!Fem!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Summary: You are the notorious playboy who just inherited one of the biggest tech companies in the world. Your first move? Sleeping with the heiress of your rival company.

Word count: 4990

AN: Y'all are getting fed with this one. Have fun. :)

Click here for Part 2!

Thanks to @mostlymarvelsstuff for helping with some Russian translations lol.

DAY 34

“Do you have everything ready? Your presentation, your notes?” your dad asks.

“Yes, yes,” you tell him for what feels like the thousandth time. 

“This is where the comeback starts,” your dad says, and sometimes you wish he would just claim back his title. You were sick and tired of his coaching, even if you needed it a little bit. But if Envy Industries had gotten into this mess because of you, then you were the only person who could get them out of it. “I know I can’t be there in person–”

“I know, I know,” you dismiss. You were well aware of his vacation plans to the Maldives with his new girlfriend. Besides Envy, it was the only thing he wanted to talk about nowadays. But you still didn’t even know her name, and were certain he’d find a new one before the end of his trip.

“Tony will be there with you, right? He’ll keep you on track,” your dad continues, inching into sensitive territory now. Even though he denied it every time you confronted him, you knew he was always worried about you stepping into the CEO role because you were a woman. Hearing the doubts from the public and the competition hardly bothered you, but from your own father, it was like a punch to the face. Especially when you were not exactly proving him wrong given how things had played out since your first day.

“Who cares if Tony is there or not?” you snap, losing your patience. “He’s not the one giving the presentation. He’ll just be standing behind the curtain, stealing all the free merch, and–”

“Okay, that’s enough,” your dad cuts you off. “I want you to call me again tomorrow. We’ll run over your presentation again–”

“I’ll think about it.” You slam the handset on the receiver, a satisfying motion that could not be accomplished with modern telephonic devices. You try not to give the upcoming presentation any more thought–it was already stressing you out enough. Maybe an hour in the gym would take your mind off things. 

Your decision made, you step away from your desk to your private walk-in closet, rifling through the selection of workout clothes hanging there. All of them were custom-cut to your exact body dimensions to ensure the best fit and look. Although you were no professional athlete, you treated yourself as if you were one (and you certainly looked the part). 

But right now, you couldn’t care less what you looked like or what you were wearing as you grabbed the first set of clothes you could reach, slipping them on and grabbing your Louis Vuitton gym bag, monogrammed with your initials. You lightly jog out of your office, moving fast enough that people will think you’re in a rush and not stop you. The gym is on the tenth floor of the building, and because it’s just after lunch, most people are back at their desks. But you set your own schedule, so you’re happy to find that it isn’t too crowded and you quickly get warmed up before you start lifting.

In between sets, you check your phone, a bad habit that doesn’t exist when you’re with your training coach, but he’s not around to scold you, so you can do as you please. In the tracking app, Natasha’s red dot blinks in the Upper West Side of Manhattan, hardly three miles away from your current location in Envy Industries. 

She was hanging out at Black Widow Corporation headquarters, just where you expected her to be. She had an unsurprisingly predictable schedule, splitting her time just between work and home, which you discovered was in an apartment just a few blocks down the street from yours. You wonder if she lived on her own or with her father, who was likely paying for her housing either way. 

Natasha was not quite the self-made woman that you were. Her work was significantly more behind the scenes, which was one reason why you had never heard of her before. Alexei Shostakov was the only name you associated with Black Widow Corp. But you had done your own digging on her and her family the past few days. There was frustratingly little about Natasha and you were ready to hire a private investigator due to your lack of results. 

All you had learned was that she had graduated magna cum laude from Virginia Tech with a degree in economics, where she also held a brief internship at the university’s infamous Gamma Lab before it was shut down after the sudden death of its lead researcher. You assumed she had gone immediately to work for Black Widow Corp after her graduation; there was no other work history for her anywhere. No social media, no public interviews. This woman fascinated you more and more. 

After a final set of deadlifts, you re-rack all the weights because you’re not that much of a heathen and check your phone again. Natasha is no longer at Black Widow Corp, her red dot moving steadily through 86th Street that cut through Central Park. Your heart rate jumps, and not because of your workout. You sit down on a bench to steady yourself, watching as the red dot continues through Central Park. When she turns right on Park Avenue, you know exactly where she’s heading.

Hopefully you could intercept her first.

***********************************************************************

“Where are you going?” 

Natasha curses under her breath as she turns around to see Yelena standing in the lobby, her arms crossed over her chest like a scorned mother catching her child sneaking out of the house.

“What?” Natasha rounds on her sister, annoyed that she’s been watching her like a hawk.

“The board of directors meeting starts in seven minutes,” Yelena says, and Natasha curses under her breath because she forgot all about that.

“Dad can handle it without me,” Natasha replies, eager to get the heat off of her as soon as she can.

“They’ll be talking about CES,” Yelena reminds her, referencing the important annual show where the biggest tech companies came together in Vegas to reveal their newest inventions and products.

“You’re not going to CES,” Natasha points out, surprised her sister even knows its proper name. Since the company was going to fall on her shoulders once their father stepped down, Natasha had spent almost the entirety of her adult life learning, training, and breathing business and technology. Yelena had been able to pursue her own hopes and dreams, starting in the private security field until she had enough experience (and enough of Dad’s money) to start her own company. She was happy and thriving, something Natasha was endlessly jealous of.

Yelena had never experienced the pressure of managing billions of dollars in and out the door. She didn’t know what it was like to fight off every insecure man who couldn’t bear to do a business deal with a woman. She hadn’t spent hundreds of hours trying to learn coding languages and complicated mathematics and equations on her own. Yelena didn’t understand what Natasha had spared her from, and Natasha was afraid she would never be grateful for it.

“Yes, but you’re going to CES,” Yelena says.

“You’re not my babysitter,” Natasha snaps, turning away and marching towards the door. 

“You’re going to see her again, aren’t you?”

“What?” Natasha stops. “Who the hell are you talking about?”

“That CEO you’re in love with.”

“Excuse me?” But Natasha’s face is flaming red as she struts over to confront her sister. “I am not in love with anyone. You know that.”

“You seem to be spending an awful lot of time with that CEO.”

“No, I’m not.”

Yelena smirks. “I own a private security company, sestra. You don’t think I know my own sister’s whereabouts and who she’s with?”

Natasha’s heart sinks, but she tries not to let it show. “Why can’t you ever just mind your own fucking business?” she growls, immediately regretting the harshness of her words when she sees her sister’s face fall. But she’s too proud to take it back.

“I don’t think it’s safe if you keep seeing her,” Yelena says. “And you don’t know what it could do for the company–”

“Why do you care about the company so much all of a sudden?” Natasha counters. “Dad’s not giving it to you when he steps down.”

“I don’t want it,” Yelena replies, although she looks hurt. “But to be quite honest, I don’t like what it’s turning you into.”

“Which is what?”

“This!” Yelena waves her arms at Natasha frantically. “It’s always ‘Black Widow this, Black Widow that.’ You don’t have any hobbies anymore. You never eat dinner with the rest of the family. You don’t go out unless it’s to see that CEO–”

Natasha interrupts her with a huff. “You wouldn’t understand, Yelena,” she says, trying a different approach and maintaining complete calm. “You can just stay holed up in your one-windowed office to spy on people and let the real adults go out in the real world and handle real shit.” With that, she spins on her heel and storms out of the building. 

***********************************************************************

“Why are you into shooting all of a sudden? Have you ever even held a gun before?” Tony asks, staring at you with a dropped jaw.

You shrug. “I need some new hobbies,” you lie.

“You’re not going to shoot someone with it, are you?” he half-jokes, his chuckle quickly dying up when you don’t laugh with him.

“No, of course not,” you mumble unconvincingly.

“Okay, well, when do you need the gun by?” he asks.

“How fast does Bucky work?”

Tony shrugs. “If I call him now, he can have one to me by the end of the day.”

“Okay.” The sooner the better, because it gave you less time to back out of your plan. “That works.”

“So, are we going big-game hunting in Africa this summer?” Tony asks, giving you a sharp nudge before starting his car.

“Maybe, maybe…” But you have a different target in mind.

The gun is surprisingly heavy, oily, and unfamiliar in your palm. Bucky had gone over the four “rules” of gun handling, which shocked you that he even knew:

Treat every gun like it was loaded

Don’t point it at something you aren’t willing to shoot.

Keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.

Be mindful of your target and what’s around it.

He had given you a full box of ammo for “good luck” too, before jumping back into his car and driving away faster than you could read his license plate.

Currently, you sit in the darkness of your apartment, weighing the gun in your hand. Your heart is beating so hard against your ribcage you swear you can hear it. 

You check your phone. Natasha’s just parked her car in the parking garage. It should only take her a few minutes to ride the elevator up. You hadn’t even bothered to change out of your workout clothes, worried that she would arrive at your apartment before you did, but you had just barely made it on time.

Her red dot blinks in place on your screen. She’s in the elevator.

Your eyes flit to the front door, the gun feeling even heavier in your hand. 

The seconds drag on. 

You hold your breath for as long as you can between inhalations, heart pounding, ears straining for any sound of movement outside your apartment door.

Beep, beep.

A key card–yours–registers at the door lock. The handle pushes down from the outside and you snap to attention. 

Don’t miss, you tell yourself.

The door parts open, almost hesitantly, like your uninvited intruder is suddenly unsure of themselves. In the darkness, you see a figure slip through the door and close it behind her. Her body shape gives her away immediately. The thick thighs in black jeans, the curve of her hips leading up to her narrow waist, the fullness of her bosom stretching out the tight shirt she’s wearing.

When Natasha steps into the light, she freezes when she sees you sitting at the kitchen table, gun cocked in her direction.

“It’s about time you showed up,” you greet. “Building security didn’t question you when you used my key card to get in?”

“Clearly not,” Natasha says, her stance tense and wary.

“Come sit down. We should talk,” you invite, gesturing with the gun and breaking Bucky’s rule number one. Natasha stiffly walks towards you, her face an impassive shadow. You’ve never seen her genuinely scared before and it delights you that for once, you have the upper hand on her. You kick out a chair and she sits next to you. 

“Didn’t expect this, did you?” you ask. “Probably thought you could just waltz right in here and steal more of my shit?”

“Y/N–”

“Shut the fuck up.” You’re tired of listening to her excuses. You rest the gun on the table. “Is Black Widow going to CES?”

“Yes,” she says. “Like we do every year–”

“Well, there’s going to be some changes this year,” you interrupt. “Get your phone out. Call your dad. Black Widow Corp is going to be a no-show this year.”

Natasha balks. “That…That won’t be possible.”

You pick the gun back up and point it at her, breaking rule number two. “Then make it possible.”

“You won’t shoot me.”

“You don’t think this is real?” You point the gun at the table. Rule number three. You pull the trigger. Rule number four. The gun bucks in your hand, the blast reverberating around your apartment with enough power to rattle your teeth. Natasha flinches even though you hadn’t aimed anywhere near her. “No one can hear us,” you say with a chuckle. “I had the apartment soundproofed years ago to stop the neighbors from complaining.” 

She stares at the gun.

“Take your phone out now. And call your dad.” You hope you don’t have to ask again.

With shaking hands, she finally obeys, placing her phone on the table. “Put it on speakerphone,” you demand. Natasha presses a few buttons and you hear the dial-up tone.

“Privet, doch',” Alexei booms.

“English,” you hiss.

“Hi, Dad,” Natasha says, side-eyeing you uncertainly. “We, uh…We need to talk about CES.”

“Good, I just got out of the meeting with the board–”

“Black Widow can’t show up this year.”

Alexei’s surprise is palpable. “What, Natasha? What are you talking about?”

“We need to call off our appearance,” she says, her voice shaking. “Just for this year. We’ll go again next year like we normally do–”

“What’s wrong with this year?” Alexei asks.

Natasha looks at you, her eyes begging. You shake the gun to remind her you’re serious. “I…uh…I don’t think our tech is ready for the show,” she says. “You know how disastrous it can be if we unveil something that isn’t completely ready.”

“But we’ve been working on Project Transformer for months, Natasha. It’s plenty ready–”

“No. Dad, please.” She grits her teeth. “I was looking through the code last night with the engineers. There’s a bug in the programming. It’s going to take at least a few weeks to smooth out. We can’t debut right now, Dad.”

Alexei curses in Russian. “Shit. The board really liked our presentation.”

“I know.”

“I wish you would have told me earlier.”

“I know,” Natasha repeats. “But we only just discovered it this week.” 

There is more silence, punctuated by Russian grumblings from Alexei. “Okay, okay. I’ll make a few calls. Too bad we’ll be losing out on our reservation fee too.”

“It’s a small price to pay.” Natasha’s eyes dart to you again. “Sorry for all the trouble, Dad.”

“Where are you?” Alexei asks. “We missed you at the meeting.”

“I’m out.”

“Will you come to dinner tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good. Proshchay, dorogaya.”

“Bye, Dad.” Alexei hangs up first.

You slowly clap your hands. “Good girl. Was that so hard?” Your chest swells with pride at your achievement. Maybe now she would have more respect for you. You know she only saw you as a piece of meat. But you were much, much more than that.

“Fuck you,” Natasha spits.

“Oh, are we still doing that?” You put the gun down on the table, this time facing it away from her. You part your legs slightly, inviting her between them. Natasha glares at you with emerald daggered eyes. “Don’t be shy, baby,” you say, your voice deepening. “I got what I wanted today. It’s only fair you don’t leave here empty-handed too.”

Natasha shoots up and marches over to you. For a second, you think she’s going to hit you, but instead she straddles your lap and kisses you so hard you’re sure she’s bruised your lips. The ferocity is both frightening and arousing as she tears off your workout shirt and shorts. She palms at your left breast roughly, sinking her nails into your abs and dragging them down to your belly button. You groan into her mouth when she bites your bottom lip. She’s never been this aggressive with you before, but you know she’s taking out her frustration on you.

And you absolutely love it.

“Now that I’m done fucking with your company, you want me to fuck you until you can’t walk?” you whisper, shoving your bare thigh between her legs. The friction from her jeans burns your skin, but you hardly register the pain. 

“You’ll have to carry me out,” Natasha says, trailing her fingers down the vein on your bicep.

“Deal.” You kiss her again, slipping your muscular arms under her thighs and standing up with her. You carry her to your bed, leaving her to undress while you grab your strap from its drawer and slip it over your legs. When you turn back, she’s shimmying off her lacy black panties and the feral urge to keep your promise overrides all your senses. 

You pick her back up and she hooks her legs around your waist, her arms circling your neck. She presses her naked chest against yours, both of you moaning in unison when your nipples brush together. You walk with her until Natasha’s back bumps into the wall, shifting her weight off your arms to the wall. You maneuver your right hand to grab onto your strap, lining it up with Natasha’s center. 

“Are you ready for me?” you ask, rubbing the tip of your cock over her soaking entrance. Natasha’s whines at your teasing, her fingers tangling in your hair and jerking at your roots painfully. 

“Fucking ruin me,” she begs.

You slam your hips forward, burying your entire cock in her in one move. Natasha screams, tearing her nails down your back. Your big hands grip onto her waist to hold her in place as you thrust into her tight heat, your abs flexing and tensing. Natasha’s body rolls with yours, her head falling back against the wall, exposing the perfect column of her neck to you. You lean forward to decorate it with your marks, so every time she undresses for the next week, she’ll be reminded of you.

The only item of “clothing” she still wears is a thin silver necklace with a rectangular charm hanging from the chain. It bounces in the hollow of her throat every time you thrust into her.

“Y/N, oh, Y/N,” Natasha chants, music to your ears as you keep your relentless pace. Your thighs, already spent from your gym session, are absolutely on fire now, so you need her to finish quickly before you drop her. You shift the angle of your hips, bumping the top of your cock against her clit with every stroke. Natasha squirms and moans, trying to find a rhythm with you, but she’s so close she can’t match you at all. 

“Tell me when you’re gonna cum, baby,” you pant. 

“Soon,” she moans. “Go harder. Don’t stop.”

You’re afraid you’re going to break her with how hard you’re thrusting into her. But finally, her body tenses in your hands and you know she’s finished all over your cock. You’re grateful to slow your thrusts as she comes down from her high, your entire body sweaty and buzzing with adrenaline. You slip your arms under her quivering thighs and stumble back to the bed, collapsing onto it with your legs hanging off the edge, Natasha panting on top of you. 

You’re not sure who’s more exhausted, you or her. You lay there unmoving, trying to catch your breath, which Natasha does before you. She sits up, slowly pulling your cock out of her and crawling up your body to kiss you messily. Her tongue slips into your mouth, but you’re too tired to return her fervor very much. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Am I too much for you?” she teases, cupping your chest and pinching your nipples. 

“No, just give me a minute,” you grumble. It was rare to meet someone with stamina like hers. And as much as you prided yourself on yours, you feel like you may have met your match with Natasha Romanoff. Your arms and chest are covered in her scratch marks, and your back still stings a little. Natasha traces the scratches gently.

“Mine,” she murmurs.

“Hmm?” you grunt, not sure if you heard her correctly.

She props herself up on your chest to look at you. “I can give you a minute,” she purrs, her voice becoming husky and seductive. Natasha slides down your body, resting her knees on the floor and tugging the harness of your strap down your legs. You can hardly lift your hips high enough off the bed to help her, embarrassed by how tired you are. Natasha grabs your calves to lift your feet up one at a time to remove the harness and throw it to the side. She rubs her hand  across your defined abdomen, stoking the fire in your belly again.

“Don’t move, baby,” she says. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Huh?” You lift your head high enough to see Natasha’s head between your legs, her mouth lowering onto you. It’s like a lightning bolt of pleasure that shoots through your core and you moan loudly in appreciation. Natasha makes eye contact with you as she slips her tongue into you, smiling as you pant and squirm. 

“Oh, God. Fuck me,” you gasp, dropping your head back on the bed. Your hands claw at the sheets as her tongue explores your walls. Natasha pushes apart your muscular thighs to make more room for her, pushing so deep into you her nose bumps against you. Your chest heaves as you struggle to breathe evenly, arching your lower back off the bed in a silent plea for more. 

Natasha eats you out like she’d been starving for a week, her tongue alternating between swirling around your throbbing clit and pushing through your clenching walls.

You finally find the strength to lift your right leg, twisting it sideways at the knee and hooking it around the back of Natasha’s head, pressing your calf against her scalp and dragging her closer. You reach down with your hand to tangle it in Natasha’s flaming red hair, pushing her down so she isn’t tempted to pull away right when you reach the edge of release. 

“Nat,” you whine. “Please, baby. You’re gonna make me cum.”

Natasha hums against you, the vibrations finally causing you to lose control. Your entire body goes limp as Natasha cleans up all the slick between your legs, then climbs back up to rest on you like you’re her personal pillow.

“Gimme a kiss,” you mumble and Natasha presses her lips to yours obediently. She tucks her head in the crook of your collarbone and you stroke her hair absently. “If I fall asleep, are you gonna leave again before I wake up?” you ask, your voice sounding small. 

“Only if you want me to,” Natasha murmurs. 

“I know I’m supposed to hate you, but I don’t know if I can,” you admit.

“Then don’t,” Natasha says. “Because I was thinking about it too, and…I think we should go public.”

“Public? Like us being…” You can’t even finish your own sentence.

“Mhmm.” Natasha nods against your chest.

“You can’t be fucking serious,” you scoff.

“No, I’m fucking you.”

“And you’re done. Right?” Your eyebrows scrunch together at the dual meaning of your words. Natasha doesn’t say anything. “At the very least, you owe me fifteen-billion-dollars before we can go public about anything,” you say, referencing the amount your company lost in the last month when Black Widow Corp pulled the rug out from under your feet.  

“Done.” Natasha searches around your bed for her phone. “What’s your bank account number?” 

“What are you doing? Seriously.” You’re a little lost now. 

“Well, our dads spent all their time fighting each other,” she says.

“Not fucking?” you joke.

“I can’t confirm that,” she says with a smirk. “But I was thinking about it. And I know Envy hasn’t been doing so well lately–”

“Because you sabotaged our contracts and stole our ideas,” you remind her.

Again, Natasha does not confirm nor deny this fact. “But what if instead of competing, we…helped each other out?”

“Like a collaboration?” you ask. Your father had specifically warned you against any kind of “collaboration” work with another company. You weren’t running a YouTube channel. You had a multibillion-dollar business. It was your responsibility to look out for the well-being of your company and your company only, damn philanthropic endeavors, personal favors, and relationships.

“We can work something out,” Natasha insists.

“Did you go through all of this just to ask me that?” you ask.

“No.” Now, Natasha looks away from you. “I mean, at first, yes. I thought you would just be a hot one-night stand. And yes, you were–” You raise an eyebrow. “–But you’re also a lot more than that.” Validation burns through your veins to hear this. “You’re smart, you know the tech, and you know how to run a business. And you’re the hottest CEO in the country and the best person who’s ever taken me to bed,” Natasha says. You think you’re going to combust at the praise. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop thinking about us. And what we could accomplish together.”

It takes a few seconds to let her words process. “I don’t know how this could work,” you say, the logical side of you taking over for once. “We’re not regular people, Nat. The future of this country is literally in our hands. The public watches our every move and criticizes every decision we make. People like us need whole PR teams to manage their relationships.”

“Fuck the PR teams,” Natasha says. “If we like each other, then why can’t we be together?”

It had been years since you had publicly been in a relationship with someone. After all, it was so much simpler to cycle through partners and not have to worry about commitment or any long-term decisions. But deep down, you were cripplingly lonely and terrified you wouldn’t be able to find someone who would settle with you. 

Because truth be told, your lifestyle was not for many. Most people couldn’t handle the pressure you were subjected to every day. The never-ending torrents of judgment. The borderline-criminal way you were stalked by reporters and paparazzi. The unreal expectations you were held to by people you’d never even met.

But out of all the people you had ever been with, Natasha Romanoff was the one with the best chance of understanding all that. She knew what she was getting herself into, because your life would be her reality the day her father passed on the company. Of course it wouldn’t hurt her to get some practice beforehand.

“I want you to be mine,” Natasha says suddenly. She reaches up to her neck, her fingers brushing the hickeys you left there, before unclipping the silver necklace. She puts it around yours, flipping the charm around so you can see that it reads “Natasha.”

“Baby…” You didn’t even care what your dad’s reaction to hearing the news would be. How would the public react? The consumers? The shareholders? At your level, it was unavoidable crossing the line between professional and personal interests. People would either cheer you on or vow to never use another Envy product again.

But Envy had been tanking ever since you took the helm. Maybe this was what you needed to bounce back…courtesy of the same woman who ruined you in the first place. The math seemed to add up–Natasha would cancel out herself, wouldn’t she?

Natasha interlaces her fingers with yours, distracting your thinking. “We could be the most powerful couple in the tech industry. In the world,” she says. “Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

“Yes,” you sigh, although that’s not really the truth. There was one thing you wanted more than power, money, and fame.

“Then don’t be afraid, sweetheart.” She squeezes your fingers. “With me, you’ll have everything you want and more.”

A rush of emotions suddenly overwhelms you–fear, annoyance, love, envy, and venom. You would kick yourself in the head if you missed out on the chance to be with Natasha, but you also weren’t entirely convinced this was the right move. 

“Y/N.” The way she says your voice is desperate and pleading, like she too can’t be without you.

“Okay.” You make up your mind in an instant. “Okay, baby. Let’s do it.”

Natasha beams, snuggling closer to you. The two of you say nothing further, and her steady breathing quickly lulls you to sleep. Natasha holds onto you even as she feels your body relax under her. She turns her head to look at the gun you left on the table, wondering what it would feel like in her hand, to hold against your head.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: These two are for real going to be the death of me. 😩

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[adviceformefromme]

💖 PRE-NEW YEAR CLEARING OUT (4 WEEKS TILL 2025) [GLOW UP SERIES] 💖

If you’re serious about bringing in that radiant, expansive, abundant energy in 2025 then you need to get real serious about removing any old energy that doesn’t align with this. 

Starting with your phone. Delete old chats in WhatsApp, delete telephone numbers, clear out your social media. Your phone needs to be a reflection of your energy. Old notes that are keeping you hostage to the past remove them. Go through your apps, remove anything that is taking up space, remember the more space you create by removing in all aspects of your life, the more space you create to hold your deepest desires. But remember you need to remove the clutter first. 

Next up is your wardrobe. Those synthetic fabrics hold a very low frequency, linen on the other hand is the highest frequency fabric, so start clearing out those old items that don’t align, that don’t feel good on your skin. Personally I am moving away from loud obvious designer items and now prefer more classic and simple high quality. This is perfect time to get on eBay, Vinted, Depot and start selling. You want everything gone before the new year. So giving yourself a few weeks to declutter and donate those odd socks and clothes that are not a reflection of who you are becoming. 

Your makeup and toiletries. Those almost finished products need to be used up asap or thrown in the bin. Your cabinet will feel way more aesthetic with less clutter and more focused products that you actually use and love. I also recommend using Yuka app to scan your products to see the health rating. No more shampoos that damage our scalps, no more body wash that is trending but actually has harmful products. We are moving into our ethical era, being more loving to our bodies with the products we use, clearing out those toxins. 

Your kitchen. Your pantry. Again those ingredients that are old, almost finished, clear them out! Clear out your cupboards if you’re trying to eat healthy, donate the foods to a charity. Most supermarkets have a bin for un opened food that will go to those in need. Those tub ware with missing lids that are old, get rid of them, the chipped plates and cups. Let go. 

Your emotions. Any low negative emotions that are holding you hostage, now is the time to CLEAR. I highly, HIGHLY recommend working with an EFT tapping coach, in one session you can clear some old emotions. Recently I had been feeling very negative towards my brother, we have a complicated relationship but it was there in the background like poison, polluting my mind each day with resentment and anger. Yesterday I had a 1hr session over Zoom and I cleared all that energy!! The goal is to clear out all the debris before the new year. Invest in yourself, the cost of a tapping coach is cheaper than a meal out with friends, I found my coach on Fiverr (you can book from anywhere in the world). 

I hope these help to keep you on track. This is about becoming your highest expression. Showing up, living and breathing in the most elevated version of you. It requires releasing who you were, in order to be who you truly are! DOn’t sleep on these tips, the results will speak for themselves. 

[princessnamora]

How Marilyn Monroe changed Ella Fitzgerald’s life

If asked “Who played an important role in the musical career of Ella Fitzgerald?” you might respond with names like Chick Webb, Louis Armstrong, Norman Granz, and Dizzy Gillespie.

The name Marilyn Monroe (who passed away 50 years ago this August), however, might not come to mind.

While touring in the ’50s under the management of Norman Granz, Ella, like many African-American musicians at the time, faced significant adversity because of her race, especially in the Jim Crow states. Granz was a huge proponent of civil rights, and insisted that all of his musicians be treated equally at hotels and venues, regardless of race.

Despite his efforts, there were many roadblocks and hurdles put in to place, especially for some of the more popular African-American artists. Here is one story of Ella’s struggles (as written in chicagojazz.com):

Once, while in Dallas touring for the Philharmonic, a police squad irritated by Norman’s principles barged backstage to hassle the performers. They came into Ella’s dressing room, where band members Dizzy Gillespie and Illinois Jacquet were shooting dice, and arrested everyone. “They took us down,” Ella later recalled, “and then when we got there, they had the nerve to ask for an autograph.”

Across the country, black musicians, regardless of popularity, were often limited to small nightclubs, having to enter through the back of the house. Similar treatment was common at restaurants and hotels.

Enter Marilyn Monroe

During the ’50s, one of the most popular venues was Mocambo in Hollywood. Frank Sinatra made his Los Angeles debut at Mocambo in 1943, and it was frequented by the likes of Clark Gable, Charlie Chaplin, Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall and Lana Turner.

Ella Fitzgerald was not allowed to play at Mocambo because of her race. Then, one of Ella’s biggest fans made a telephone call that quite possibly changed the path of her career for good. Here, Ella tells the story of how Marilyn Monroe changed her life:

“I owe Marilyn Monroe a real debt … she personally called the owner of the Mocambo, and told him she wanted me booked immediately, and if he would do it, she would take a front table every night. She told him – and it was true, due to Marilyn’s superstar status – that the press would go wild. The owner said yes, and Marilyn was there, front table, every night. The press went overboard. After that, I never had to play a small jazz club again. She was an unusual woman – a little ahead of her times. And she didn’t know it.”

Learning from Ella

Ella had an influence on Marilyn as well. Monroe’s singing had a tendency to be overshadowed by dress-lifting gusts of wind and the flirtatious “Happy Birthday, Mr. President,” not to mentions her movies and marriage to Joe DiMaggio. But years prior to the Mocambo phone call, Monroe was studying the recordings of Ella.

In fact, it was rumored that a vocal coach of Monroe instructed her to purchase Fitzgerald’s recordings of Gershwin music, and listen to it 100 times in a row.

Continued study of Ella actually turned Marilyn into a relatively solid singer for about a decade, but again became overlooked as her famous birthday tribute song to JFK in 1962 ends up being the vocal performance that is widely remembered.

Source: How Marilyn Monroe changed Ella Fitzgerald’s life – Groove Notes by KNKX

@hotvintagepoll

[taintandviolent]

・❥・All fics are female!reader, and 18+. Please read warnings on fic summary!

Watch You Bleed (Dark Fic - JPM x Reader)

Deflowering (JPM x virgin!reader)

Tendencies (au doctor!JPM x reader)

Le Petit Mort (JPM x Reader)

Kinktober 1: Overstimulation (JPM x reader)

Go for a Drive (JPM x Reader)

Devil's Favours (JPM x Reader)

Thrill of the Rush (JPM x Reader)

Trick or Treat (JPM x Reader)

JPM / When the Night Begins to Fall

JPM x Teasing/Denying

JPM x Body Worship

JPM / "You Can't Leave Me [Angst Prompt]

JPM x Getting killed so he never leaves reader

Fellatio Coaching (JPM)

Kill God (JPM)

Good Girls (JPM)

Make Love Or Kill (JPM)

Smooth Criminal (JPM)

Telephone Call (JPM)

[karis17love]

Bonnie & Clyde for daily just dance coaches? 💕

ꨄ ᴅᴀɪʟʏ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴅᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴄᴏᴀᴄʜᴇs ꨄ

"𝐶𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 𝑛𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒

𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝑚𝑦 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒."

If you want a specific map, feel free to ask <33

Requested by: @iamoboe

[halfratsalready]

JD Dancer Appreciation Vol. 3: Sarah Magassa 🦋

Sarah Magassa is absolutely stunning and so incredibly talented. I love how expressive she is in all of her maps. She makes every map feel so genuine with her facial expressions, and it always draws me in and makes it impossible not to really feel the emotions of any coach she’s portraying. Her expressions as Blessing are absolutely phenomenal. Her joy is so infectious! If Mickael Lips is the king of facial expressions, Sarah is 100% the queen! Also, I can’t talk about Sarah without mentioning that I’m a huge Mothigan stan. Sarah has been in a lot of maps for the franchise and I look forward to any and all that she does in the future!

Mothigan: Good Ones, Cure For Me

Bonnie: Telephone (Runaway Version), Telephone

Onyx: Buttons, Don’t Cha

Blessing: Calm Down

Adameve & Countess Butterfly: Telephone

Kan’Dake: Ma Itù

Other maps: All About Us, Boombayah, High Hopes, Ice Cream, Kill This Love, Not Your Ordinary, Policeman, Rain On Me, Run The World (Girls), Run The World (Girls) [Extreme], Temperature, Worth It

[herejusttosufferalong]

Pancake anon here! I see I’ve been summoned.

To be honest with you all, I’m at a place of just sitting back and seeing what happens and not letting myself theorize too much. Whatever is happening right now, L & N are end game and they will get there.

BUT when I do let myself theorize about what’s going on, I personally still think that the A & L unraveling is/has been happening. As stated in my last few asks, I don’t think things ending with them will be a quick break. I think it will take some back and forth. A few break attempts with a few rounds of coming back together before the final end.

L does not know how to be alone and A is not going to go easily. Their anxious attachment styles also aren’t going to make this easy. I think there likely has been some attempts at a break up already with at least one or two rounds of coming back together. I kind of think Spain may have been an attempt at reconciling/rekindling things.

And yes I think she was in Spain with him. The evidence is clear. And yes I think the Spain trip was also recent. I love to be delulu, but we also have to base it on reality. BUT, I do not think the cake selfie was shade and I’m in the camp that he actually took it to send to N. I don’t think they are talking a ton right now, and there is likely some tension, but I personally think they still text each other in ways that are more than friendly. (Especially if they’ve been drinking)

I also think there is something up with R and L. I’m fairly certain R & S have broken up based on the R unfollow and S following the break up coach on TT. But my spidey senses also think he and L are not on good terms, which may be leading to the prolonging of an end with A. It would be a lot to deal with at once. Another gut feeling is that S & A are not on good terms. Why all of this is, yet to be determined. But it seems the group as a whole is unraveling.

The JD of it all has been a confusing component. My gut is still having a hard time accepting him as an actual partner of N, even though I’ve looked at all the evidence and, as I’ve said, try to really stay grounded in reality with all of this. But it does just feel very off. This is a component I have tried to stop over analyzing because it makes no sense.

The biggest delulu thought I have at this time, that I can’t let go of, is that the Telephone Song was definitely for L. I will die on that hill.

Really interested to see what shifts and what we see once filming starts. Hopefully in a few weeks I’ll have more thoughts. But for now I’m just letting it play out and not trying to get stressed about what we are or aren’t seeing.

I know that’s not very exciting, but it’s what I’ve got for you!

💜🥃

[phoebebridgerswife]

after alerting some of my fav wbb blogs like a mf telephone line that i met some favs at the draft last night, here’s an overall review.

-Met Nika and got a selfie!! ACTUALLY the nicest person I’ve ever met. She was my fav person I saw that night, so kind and genuine. I thanked her for what she does for women’s sports and SHE GRABBED MY SHOULDER and said “awwww thank you so much!!!” I’m died.

-Met king Geno, he was such a grandpa I lived for it

-Met CC she she signed my ticket!!!

-Met Coach bluder and had like a 1 on 1 convo with her she was super chill and down to earth

-Talked to Jada rq bc she was standing behind me and my friend

-at the very end we decided to grow some balls and meet Paige and Azzi and HOLY FUCK they looked so good. They were like the section next to us we were freaking out the entire time. We got a selfie with them it was great (wished azzi luck with her recovery so if she’s in back real soon y’all know who to thank)

[archieimagines]

two weeks, tops | karl weissman

Summary: The plan: adopt an evacuee to help on your Inverness farm. Not the plan: adopting two.

hi, it's me again! i've been away for a while (sorry) but the power that karl weissman holds is vast and only a fix-it fic for him and esther can save my soul. we'd all love to adopt them. if you haven't watched netflix's bodies, definitely give it a shot! if anyone has any ideas for lovely karl, please comment or send them in! i'd love to write more for him and some pointers would be great. <3warnings: mentions of war and death, mourning. karl using yet another name. word count: 2666 written by: archie

You hovered on the platform, watching as the countless evacuees from London came pouring out of the carriages. Dozens on dozens of children, ready for a new, safer life. They were each swept up by loving new mothers, fussing over their name tags and taking their wee little suitcases, escorting them to cars and buses for a few years of family. The smiling kids were chosen first. They’d clearly had coaching on how to be picked, smiling through the trauma of being uprooted from their lives and planted into the unknown. And then, one by one, the sorry looking ones were claimed. Tatters for clothes, no luggage, barely a silver coin to offer their new parents.

You could give them a better life. You could have, with your chickens and sheep. There’d be eggs for breakfast, newly knitted cardigans, markets on weekends-- and no air raids at all. You’d be warm to the new presence in your cottage, happy even to take siblings that didn’t want to be split, and yet… You just hovered there, wringing your hands, letting every opportunity hurry by. It wouldn’t be hard to reach out and introduce yourself. Why didn’t you? Why couldn’t you bring yourself to step amongst the aspiring foster parents, offering your life to the sweetlings that so desperately needed it?

You sighed, the ache in your chest hollowing as the train departed the station once more. The chatter of evacuees and new parents trickled away, eventually leaving an almost barren platform. The bite of Scottish air dusted your nose pink, but you weren’t sure that the water in your eyes was from the chill.

It wasn’t your first time almost taking in an evacuee. It’d been the same every time. You’d excite yourself with the prospect of the weekly train from London, the thought of a happy little voice in your cottage instead of the silence of your own existence and the occasional caw of a cockerel. You really needed it. To have someone around again. And it always seemed like such a good idea until you were stood on the platform, faced with the reality of the responsibility of a child on your own. A far cry from the future you’d imagined. You and your husband, raising a wee happy family of your own.

Ever since your husband had responded to the war’s call for soldiers, you’d intended to do your best for the war effort and save a child from the bombs of the London Blitz, like a practice for when he came home and you could try for a real family, bringing you a step closer to everything you’d wanted.

Until the postman brought one fateful letter, ending your ideal future and shaking you to the core. Your husband wouldn’t be returning, you wouldn’t have a child with him. The thought of bringing a child into your house and doing it alone…

Then why did the empty platform, devoid of opportunity, hurt you so? Ah, maybe if there was just one child left. A sad, lonely one, hiding somewhere? There’d be so much in common.

You steeled yourself, deciding that on the off chance there was one poor evacuee left in need, you’d take them in, no questions asked. No thinking. No room for doubt. It was time to be stern with yourself, so you marched up the platform, looking in the crevices of the station building, anywhere that a poor wee soul might fold themselves in a corner. The telephone nooks would be the most likely spot.

And sure enough, there was a child! A little girl in a bright red, soot-ridden coat. Only… She was already with a foster parent, peering up at the sharply-dressed man in a trilby hat while he was on the phone.

Her eyes were so round and sweet, her little fist clinging to the edge of the man’s coat, and something unpleasant made a home in your chest. Why did he get to have a child? Sure, he must be on good money to wear a pin-striped suit like that, important enough not to be called away for the military. Maybe he had a wife waiting for them back at home. Why should he have a spouse and a child when you had neither? And she seemed so lovely, too…

You met her eye accidentally, and couldn’t help noticing how absolutely exhausted she seemed. She clearly hadn’t had a bath in days and was in desperate need of a hot meal. The reality dawned on you, and you couldn’t help feeling guilty for your assumptions about the man. You had no business thinking in such a way. She needed all the help she could get, and the suited man was kind enough to offer it to her. He didn’t deserve your disapproval. You mustered the strength and offered the girl a smile and she gave one in return, her eyes so visibly haunted. She’d been through so much, and you’d never know.

You looked away before your smile turned sad. You’d finally decided on taking in an evacuee, only there were no more coming until next week. And by then, you’d probably need convincing all over again, and you’d miss that chance too.

It was a lot to handle. The urge to cry wasn’t sudden, but it was strong. You glanced around and spotted a nearby bench, but before you could take a step, you heard it.

The man’s accent. It didn’t make sense. The foster parent, who you’d assumed was a Scotsman if he lived locally, had a deep Cockney accent. “Nah, I got a kid with me now. You gotta put us up for a while ‘til I can sort summat out. Two weeks, tops.”

Something about the words stilled your feet, the bench blurred in your tearful vision. Saying you tried not to listen in would’ve been a lie. It was your first time hearing such an accent not on an evacuee and something about it was obnoxiously intriguing. That, and the fact he… He needed somewhere to stay? Had he travelled on the train with the evacuees?

“Mike, just shut your kisser and listen for a sec. I’ve got ‘er with me and there’s- No, no. Don’t you fucking call ‘em.” A long pause. With the outburst, you couldn’t help but glance back to the man hunched at the telephone. The little girl’s face told you it all. Those furrowed brows, the worry in the shallow lines of her forehead as she peered up at him. Whatever was going on there, things weren’t going to plan.

He glanced down at her with a sigh, an affectionate hand landing atop her head in weak reassurance. He must’ve seen your shoes from under the rim of his hat, for his face lifted and his eyes pinned on you.

The intensity of that glare surprised you. Heavy brows and a set jaw, a glint in his eye that was deeply critical, giving you a stern once-over. His hand atop the little girl’s head dropped to her nape, guiding her half a step closer to the telephone, tucking her against his side in a protective hold. One thing for sure, he hadn’t just picked her up at the station today. He’d come with her from London. Definitely. The girl’s real father perhaps? Why would he personally bring her all the way-?

“D’you mind?” his defensive call pulled you from your thoughts and you realised you’d been staring. You raised your hands in silent apology and took a step back, once again remembering your place. You’d come here to foster a child in need, not eavesdrop on the telephone calls of obscurely out-of-place Londoners. Your attention fell back on the bench that beckoned you, but you could still clearly hear that thick accent softer in the air as you departed. “...A’right, fine, don’t worry ‘bout it. We’ll be on the next train to Euston, then.”

You settled on the bench, no longer caring to listen to the man’s sigh and the ding of the telephone being put back on its hook. You pulled your coat tighter around you, the light sting of tears behind your eyes growing harder to resist, until you started building your to-do list in your mind. Busying yourself in your head was the quickest way to help yourself from falling into despair, you’d discovered. Staying busy with the farmwork kept your mind and hands busy, and even as you sat there with your afternoon tasks completed, you’d have many more by the time you got home. It was exhausting work to do alone, but at least it helped you stay numb.

The pain of returning home started to grow within you once again, so you dabbed at your eyes and readied yourself to head home. Until you noticed a hue of red from the corner of your eye. “Excuse me? Can I sit here?”

The girl spoke with another surprising accent. Considering her father, you expected a similar deep Londoner’s accent, but the one she came out with was… German? Your brows raised in puzzlement, but you wasted no time in gesturing to the empty side of the bench. “Of course.”

Her father’s face was far from impressed as he approached the bench too, hissing out in a low voice, “Esther! Think about it first.” But it was too late, she’d settled right beside you.

She’d clearly hurried away from him to come and sit with you, and paid no heed at his warning. A little troublemaker, perhaps. “Are you waiting for a train? We just got off ours.” Her grin was bright and sweet, a stark difference from how she carried herself just moments ago.

“Actually, I’m not. I was just--” The father’s steps finally drew to a pause within touching distance of Esther. A looming, protective figure. “Well. That doesn’t matter. I was just about to be off.”

You gathered yourself and stood up, but wee Esther didn’t care, voice bright as sunshine. “You were looking for an evacuee?”

Those eyes felt heavy on you from beneath the trilby hat and you did your best not to look at them. “I… W-well, yes.”

“You have a big house?”

“Uh, it’s more like a farm, really.”

“Wow!” Her beaming face looked back to her father, and you took a glance too. His lips seemed to be pursed in thought, a brow quirked as she rattled on. “You have animals? Land?”

This Esther girl was certainly endearing. You couldn’t help the raising of your cheeks in a smile of your own, infectious from hers. You nodded, “Chickens and sheep, and two whole fields.”

Esther scooted closer on the bench with that ever-contagious grin on her sweet face, her messy braids flopping around her. “Then you must need a hand with all that! My- my father would be super good at it, especially mucking out the animals!” She turned with a laugh towards her father, who seemed less than thrilled that she’d offered him up for such a task.

“Alright, alright, enough from you,” he chastised her, stepping close enough to lay a protective hand atop her head once more. He was clearly a wary man, and you knew something peculiar must’ve happened to bring the two of them here like this, but it didn’t stop his surprisingly charming smile shining at her. “You just like the thought of me covered in shit, eh?”

“It’s not like you’d smell much different!” she snarked.

Your brows raised at the exchange. Granted, you’d little experience with children and parenthood, but you were sure it wasn’t commonplace for a father to swear in front of their child, and it was even less rare that a young girl would talk back in such a way. And yet, they shared a humoured smile.

He raised his gaze to you once more, though it was different this time. The smile on his face was alarmingly attractive, and the cheeky light in his eyes told you he knew it. He tipped his hat and nodded his head, voice polite and clear even with that accent in its veins. “Ka-Ahem. Curtis Bramley, East London. This is my girl. If you’re in need of a hand on your farm, we can offer you four. No need for paying, just a roof and a meal every night. How’s that sound, love?”

It was a lot to be thrown at you, and very quickly. How unorthodox to foster both a child and a fully-grown man; if it were taking in Esther alone, you wouldn’t have to think twice about it. But Esther and her father? Another man… In your home? It’d be like having your dream back, but-- With the wrong man.

Something in you froze, and you blinked up at him. You could already tell, he was so very different from your lost love. Your sandy haired husband, mellow and sweet, with the gentlest disposition in the world. His clothes were always stained with mud or grass, the scruff of his facial hair haphazardly shaven when he found the time for it.

And yet here was Curtis, dressed to the nines even after a day-long steam train journey, his moustache perfectly shaped and sitting on his face just right. Dark hair and dark eyes that visibly held a great many secrets, a shield of charm thick enough to divert the attention. A deep fellow. Certainly more than you ever thought you could handle.

And yet, he had a sweet little girl in need, asking kindly to share your life. The life you’d been living in solitude for far too long. The prospect was nothing short of terrifying, and yet… The way she twirled the end of her braid through her fingers in nerves. It was knotted and dirty, and some maternal instinct inside of you ached to wash and brush it for her. Grant her the chance to live like a happy little girl should.

You glanced to Curtis, and he must’ve caught the wistful uncertainty in your eyes, for he attempted to keep his smile from becoming downtrodden. He must’ve known it was a lot to ask of a stranger on a train platform who only expected to bring home a child. But he wouldn’t leave her side, and you both knew that. He tried to keep the sigh from his words, but he must’ve been too exhausted to keep it at bay. “‘Ow’s about two weeks, tops?”

Two weeks… Wasn’t that long. If it was too much for you, you’d be safe in knowing they’d be gone pretty quickly, and you could go back to solitary life with the animals. Perhaps it’d be worth a try.

You turned your attention to the smiling Esther once more, and it was like a dam broke. The instant swell of affection in your chest had you questioning why you ever doubted sharing your home with her, no matter the smallprint. You reached out to lay a careful hand atop her head, giving a ruffle of her stray hairs. You’d love to help her rebraid it properly. 

A grin lit up on your face, an affirmative nod offered to Curtis. “Two weeks, tops.”

A dual sigh of relief from the pair of evacuees. Young arms flung themselves around your waist, and the tears that stung your sinuses were now on the opposite end of the scale. Sheer joy enveloped you just as Esther’s embrace did and you didn’t waste a moment before holding her snug in your arms, surprised by how natural it felt to rest your cheek on her head.

You laid your eyes on Curtis. That gaze, previously harsh, previously charming… It was now the truest it’d been so far. Nothing but softness and gratitude, his own exhaustion evident. You could see how the load on his shoulders had lightened, how caring for Esther on his own had been so hard for him. But now, he wouldn’t be alone either. 

“Cheers, love. You’re a fucking star.”