#between this and the floods this is like two hundred percent more personal posts than i have on this blog in a usual week sorry | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

newstfionline · 3 years

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Monday, August 23, 2021

22 dead, many missing after 17 inches of rain in Tennessee (AP) At least 22 people were killed and rescue crews searched desperately Sunday amid shattered homes and tangled debris for dozens of people still missing after record-breaking rain sent floodwaters surging through Middle Tennessee. Saturday’s flooding in rural areas took out roads, cellphone towers and telephone lines, leaving families uncertain about whether their loved ones survived the unprecedented deluge. Emergency workers were searching door to door, said Kristi Brown, a coordinator for health and safety supervisor with Humphreys County Schools. Up to 17 inches (43 centimeters) of rain fell in Humphreys County in less than 24 hours Saturday, shattering the Tennessee record for one-day rainfall by more than 3 inches (8 centimeters), the National Weather Service said. Lines of storms moved over the area for hours, wringing out a record amount of moisture. The downpours rapidly turned the creeks that run behind backyards and through downtown Waverly into raging rapids.

Moving inland, storm Henri drenches Northeast US (AP) Storm Henri weakened into tropical depression Sunday night, as it crawled over the Northeast and continued to unleash downpours over a region already saturated by heavy rain and wind that knocked out power to over 100,000 homes and swamped roads, closed bridges and left people stranded in their vehicles. Henri made landfall Sunday on the coast of Rhode Island, and the National Hurricane Center warned that the slow-moving storm would continue dumping heavy rains on wide swaths of the region. The storm was downgraded from a hurricane before reaching New England, leaving many to breathe a sigh of relief. There were few early reports of major damage due to wind or surf. But the storm’s heavy, sustained rains raised concerns about flooding from the storm that threatened to stall over the region before pivoting to the East and moving out to the Atlantic Ocean on Monday night. Some of the highest rain totals were expected inland.

Civilian air fleet activated for just 3rd time in history to aid Afghanistan evacuation (The Week) For just the third time in U.S. history, the Pentagon is activating the country's Civil Reserve Air Fleet, meaning 18 civilian aircraft from airlines such as American, Delta, and United will be utilized to aid the Afghanistan evacuation in the wake of the Taliban takeover. The planes won't fly into and out of Kabul—the CRAF does not enter war zones—but they will head to U.S. military bases in Germany, Qatar, and Bahrain to fly stranded evacuees elsewhere, alleviating some of the pressure on the armed forces trying to get tens of thousands of Americans and Afghan civilians to safety. The civilian planes are also necessary because the military planes used to carry people out of Kabul don't have adequate restroom facilities or the ability to provide food on longer flights across the Atlantic, The Wall Street Journal notes. The CRAF program was created in 1952, a few years after the Berlin Airlift, an early Cold War crisis that saw the Soviet Union block access from the east to other sectors of the divided city that were controlled by Western powers. Since then, it's only been activated twice—during the Gulf War in Kuwait between 1990 and 1991, and at the start of the Iraq War between 2002 and 2003. The Pentagon only wants to use the aircraft for a week or two, which seemingly lines up with its plan to finish the withdrawal by Aug. 31, though the U.S. is facing calls to extend the deadline.

In Haiti, a brutal reckoning over an all too familiar task: Rebuilding (Washington Post) Hundreds of schools in Haiti were destroyed or badly damaged when the earth shook. The quake damaged power plants, bridges and roads, compromising electric grids and transit. The water supplies for countless communities are contaminated, in some, locals say, because of corpses upstream. Even as Haitians bury their dead, rescue operations continue and bands of desperate victims raid aid trucks. A country of endless crises led by an interim government stepping in for an assassinated president once again faces the arduous task of rebuilding. In the Western Hemisphere’s poorest nation—one worn down by repeated natural and man-made disasters—the list of broken infrastructure and housing is an omen of new hardship ahead. Just as it did in 2010 after a more deadly earthquake—and in 2016, when Hurricane Matthew pummeled the same southern communities stricken by the quake now—Haiti is looking to the international community for help. But that hasn’t worked out well in the past. Last week’s quake reopened old wounds from the 2010 temblor that struck closer to the densely populated capital and killed more than 220,000 people. Over $13 billion in aid was allocated by international agencies to respond to the disaster. But mismanagement, a disconnect with local reality and lack of organization led to mistakes that the Haitian government, international agencies and NGOs say they can’t afford to commit again. To avoid the mistakes of the past, the Haitian government is now requesting that aid flow through it. But on the streets, distrust of local and national officials, who victims insist are corrupt and will spread distribute the aid for personal or political gain, is growing.

British military: 7 Afghans killed in chaos at Kabul airport (AP) A panicked crush of people trying to enter Kabul’s international airport killed seven Afghan civilians in the crowds, the British military said Sunday, showing the danger still posed to those trying to flee the Taliban’s takeover of the country. There have been stampedes and crushing injuries in the crowds, especially as Taliban fighters fire into the air to drive away those desperate to get on any flight out of the country. On Saturday, British and Western troops in full combat gear tried to control the crowds pressing in. They carried away some who were sweating and pale. With temperatures reaching 34 degree Celsius (93 degrees Fahrenheit), the soldiers sprayed water from a hose on those gathered or gave them bottled water to pour over their heads. It wasn’t immediately clear whether those killed had been physically crushed, suffocated or suffered a fatal heart attack in the crowds. Soldiers covered several corpses in white clothes to hide them from view. Other troops stood atop concrete barriers or shipping containers, trying to calm the crowd. Gunshots occasionally rang out.

Europe fears Afghan refugee crisis after Taliban takeover (AP) From above, the new border wall separating Turkey from Iran looks like a white snake winding through the barren hills. So far it only covers a third of the 540-kilometer (335-mile) border, leaving plenty of gaps for migrants to slip across in the dead of night. Traffic on this key migration route from central Asia to Europe has remained relatively stable compared to previous years. But European countries, as well as Turkey, fear the sudden return of Taliban rule in Afghanistan could change that. Haunted by a 2015 migration crisis fueled by the Syrian war, European leaders desperately want to avoid another large-scale influx of refugees and migrants from Afghanistan. Except for those who helped Western forces in the country’s two-decade war, the message to Afghans considering fleeing to Europe is: If you must leave, go to neighboring countries, but don’t come here. Even Germany, which since 2015 has admitted more Syrians than any other Western nation, is sending a different signal today. And French President Emmanuel Macron stressed that “Europe alone cannot shoulder the consequences” of the situation in Afghanistan and “must anticipate and protect ourselves against significant irregular migratory flows.” Greece, whose scenic islands facing the Turkish coast were the European point of entry for hundreds of thousands of Syrians, Iraqis, Afghans and others six years ago, has made clear it doesn’t want to relive that crisis. Turkey is also reinforcing its borders.

Internal displacement crisis looms in Afghanistan in wake of Taliban takeover (Washington Post) As Afghanistan’s neighbors, along with other countries in the region and in the West, brace for the possibility of a large-scale refugee crisis driven by the Taliban’s rapid return to national power, the largest share of the displacement crisis is unfolding within Afghanistan’s borders, aid groups say. As the Taliban took territory in recent weeks, waves of Afghans fled their home provinces on foot and in cars and rickshaws in search of shifting, shrinking government-controlled pockets. In the week before Kabul fell to the Islamist group, tens of thousands of people fled, many of them making their way to the capital, directly or by way of provincial capitals that did not hold out long. Afghanistan already had 3.5 million internally displaced people before the Taliban took over. More than a half-million Afghan civilians have been displaced this year, UNHCR estimates, with about 80 percent being woman and girls. Now that the Taliban has control at the national level, and there are few places to flee its fighters within the country, it remains to be seen what share of people will simply go home.

Israel strikes Gaza after violent protests along border (AP) Israel’s military bombed Palestinian militant weapons sites in the Gaza Strip early Sunday in response to a violent demonstration on the perimeter fence that left an Israeli police officer critically injured, the army said. Saturday’s violence erupted after hundreds of Palestinians took part in a demonstration organized by Gaza’s Hamas rulers to draw attention to the Israeli-Egyptian blockade of the territory. The demonstration grew violent after dozens of people approached the fortified border fence and threw rocks and explosives toward Israeli soldiers from behind a black smoke screen billowing from burning tires. At least 24 Palestinians, including a 13-year-old, were injured by Israeli gunfire, according to the Gaza health ministry. An Israeli Border Police officer was shot and critically injured. The army said in a statement that in response to the violent demonstrations, fighter planes hit “four weapons and storage manufacturing sites” belonging to Gaza’s Hamas rulers, and that the military deployed additional troops to the region near the border with the Palestinian enclave.

#headlines #news

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lalainajanes · 4 years

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I teased this one ages ago! Sorry, rl got in the way! Do me a favor and cross your fingers that my bosses agree to start letting ups work from home a couple days a week next year bc that will make my life waaaayyy easier.

You’re Better Than Normal (Part Two)

Part One

Caroline shifts from sleep to wakefulness violently, with a jerk and a gasp. She can’t trust the fuzzy place between the two.

She’s yet to manage a decent stretch of rest. She dreams of walls that shift closer and closer no matter how hard she tries to force them back. Of Bonnie fading and weakening when no rescue comes. Of Bonnie hanging in there until Caroline gets so thirsty.

Those are the worst.

She fights her way out of the nightmares and her body reacts accordingly. Each time she wakes she’s rigid, ready to use every ounce of her strength to get free.

Klaus is always there to remind her that she is.

This time her palms slam into his chest when she tries to spring to her feet. She snaps into lucidity when his body gives in a way the ground wouldn’t. He inhales sharply but makes no other noise of shock or pain, just grabs her wrists firmly. “Caroline, wake up.”

Caroline’s eyes pop open, only to close quickly when the light stings. She relaxes as the memories – of the last few hours, of yesterday - flood her. She inhales deeply in relief before she slumps back down. There’s a lamp on the bedside table, the shade off so it’s as bright as possible. “Ouch,” she grumbles, tucking her forehead against Klaus’ chest.

He laughs and his hands glide up her arms, his thumbs rubbing circles against her stiff shoulders. “You seemed not to appreciate the lack of light the last, oh, half-dozen times you woke.”

She’d been so sure she was back in the cave when she’d found herself in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unbroken darkness. Her throat had tightened, her breathing growing ragged and painful. Klaus had asked what was wrong and parsed the issue from her frantic gestures and garbled words.

He’d left the bed long enough to solve the problem, had brushed off her weak protests that he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He’d said he’s gone weeks without sleeping while on the run, without slowing or resting, so he wouldn’t even notice a few nights spent awake in the comfort of a bed.

When it had been silence that made her uneasy, he’d talked. About what Caroline’s not quite sure because the words had mattered less than his voice.

She’d grown used to noise while she slept in various hostels and hotels in Europe. People shifting across the room or through too thin walls, city noise streaming in through open windows. Birds chirping and trees rustling the few times they’d ventured somewhere more rustic.

The cave had been quiet.

“Sorry,” Caroline says, not for the first time. “For, well, you know.”

Keeping him up, invading his bed, being so freaking needy. It’s an ever-lengthening list.

She bites back a moan when he digs into a particularly tight knot near her spine. “Stop apologizing,” Klaus chides.

Again.

The first ‘I’m sorry’ she’d muttered had been mortified. They’d moved to a bed but she hadn’t allowed Klaus even a fraction of an inch of personal space. Each time she barrels into alertness she’s half on top of him. Her hands are always on his skin, gripping too tightly.

He’s yet to complain.

She sighs, turns her head to rest her ear against his heart. “It must be almost morning.”

“Nearly.” He doesn’t seem particularly eager to start his day.

“Bonnie’s still asleep?”

“Yes. We’ll know when she stirs,” Klaus promises. Elijah’s with her, he’d explained. That there were plenty of other vampires he could have posted but Elijah had offered, reasoning it was best that someone familiar attend to Bon.

“How long has it been now?”

“About fourteen hours.”

So an hour longer than when she’d last asked. She’s kind of impressed that Klaus doesn’t sound more annoyed. “I’m…”

This time Klaus doesn’t allow the apology. “Worried about your oldest friend, I know. If she’s not up in another few hours I’ll send someone to fetch a doctor.”

“Have house calls made a comeback in the twenty…” Caroline pauses abruptly, lets the joke die. She doesn’t even know what century it is.

“Second,” Klaus tells her softly, his palm flattening on her back like he’s braced for her to rear away.

Caroline doesn’t move much, lets the news sink in. Honestly, she’s kind of relieved. She’s had no real way to guess – Klaus and his siblings will look the same if a hundred or a thousand years had passed. “Are we talking early twenty-second century?”

Hey, she’s always been an optimist.

“Mid,” Klaus says, a touch regretfully. “Just on the cusp of late, mathematically speaking.”

That startles a choked noise of amusement from Caroline. She taps his chest lightly, “Nerd.”

Klaus doesn’t react much to the teasing but then he’s definitely been called worse. “Do you want a specific date? Or would you prefer to ease into it a bit?”

Caroline takes a deep breath, then another. She’d told herself she’d face her problems head on in the morning. It’s time to stop procrastinating. “No, let’s get it over with. How long did I spend molding in a cave, Klaus?”

She shivers involuntarily, remembering just how long it had taken for the water in the shower to run clean.

His hand starts to move, gliding up and down the length of her back. It’s an attempt at comfort that she wouldn’t have thought Klaus capable of, once upon a time. “One hundred and forty-seven years.”

She’s always been a fan of numbers. In goals that could be measured. Timelines. When Klaus gives her the number – the length of time she’s been gone – her brain whirls, trying to quantify it.

One hundred and forty-seven years equals two human lifetimes, almost. It’s roughly ten percent of Klaus’ very long life. Almost eight times as many years as she’d lived. Caroline can’t decide whether she should laugh or cry or scream.

“And a few months, I believe,” Klaus adds softly.

A few months doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things but Caroline does appreciate precision. It had been the very beginning of spring when they’d returned to Mystic Falls. After a winter in Greece neither she nor Bonnie had been happy to find their hometown chilly and damp. “What’s the date?”

“September 30th. Twenty-one-sixty-four.”

“Huh. Just in time for my…” Caroline thinks for a minute, “…172nd birthday.” She’s technically older than Stefan had been when they’d met. Damon too, she’s pretty sure.

“I know,” Klaus murmurs. “I’ll have to scrounge you up a gift.”

Caroline lifts her head, glad he’s given her an opening to quit obsessing over a length of time she truly can’t even fathom. She glares at him playfully, “You’ll scrounge? You, a birthday enthusiast, will scrounge for a gift for the first birthday I’ve been aware of in a century and a half?”

He smiles at her and shifts so he’s propped against the bed’s padded headboard, easily moving Caroline with him. She stretches out her legs, wonders if she should move. Discards the idea when Klaus’ fingers sink into her hair. He matches her feigned outrage with a taunt, “I know you love surprises so I wouldn’t want to spoil anything. I may have a suitable item or two laying around.”

Hmm. Would it be rude to snoop? Probably. Is she going to do it anyway? Of course. Hopefully cake is still a thing in the twenty-second century.

“I hate surprises.”

She feels his amusement this time, rumbling through his chest under her head. “I’m well aware, love.” Klaus rubs at the base of her skull and Caroline finds her eyes drooping, unable to form a clever comeback. She knows she won’t sleep properly but a few more minutes of rest might be a good idea.

She wants to be sharp when Klaus’ guests arrive.

* * * * *

Caroline paces, waiting for Bonnie to wake. It's been at nearly eighteen hours and Caroline’s worry is mounting. Bonnie seems okay – she’s not too hot or too cold, doesn’t look like she’s in any pain or distress. She looks like she’s just sleeping well.

Kol’s insisting that’s exactly what’s happening, that it’s normal for witches to need to rest after big spells to recharge. He’s made the proclamation at breakfast, while double fisting blood and bourbon, in the most man-splain-y way possible, and Caroline’s temper had flared.

"Bonnie is not a freaking battery!" She’d snapped, her hands hitting the table hard enough to send cutlery rattling. Kol had leaned forward, his lips twisted condescendingly. Whatever he’d been about to say had been cut off by the warning look Klaus had leveled his way. It had promised retribution and so Kol had refrained from snapping back.

Or snapping Caroline’s neck.

She'd left the breakfast table (and it's weird, unidentifiable, array of food-like things) in a huff. After a few wrong turns she’d found her way to the room they'd deposited Bonnie in last night. She'd been soothed by Bonnie's strong heartbeat, by the steady rhythm of her breaths. She'd relaxed enough to accept the glass of blood Rebekah had dropped off, had even remembered her manners and muttered a thanks.

Rebekah had left quickly, telling Caroline to yell if she was too dim to remember how to work the shower, leaving the door ajar.

She'd downed the blood quickly and rinsed the glass (managing just fine, Rebekah). Bonnie’s a little uneasy about the whole blood drinking vampire thing. Better than she had been but, when they’d been travelling together, Caroline had gotten into the habit of hiding her meals as much as possible.

Unable to sit still any longer, nervous energy thrumming through her body, she'd started to move.

It takes fourteen strides, from wall to wall, and she's never been more grateful for Klaus' penchant for opulence. She's making lists in her head. There’s so much she’ll need to know, a million things she'll have to do. Like, how's she going to go about getting a driver's license? Do people still have those? Or is there a retinal scan, or some creepy microchip implanted in your body? Caroline had never been much for sci fi movies, something she deeply regrets now that her life has become one.

She's got her ears focused on Bonnie, however, recognizes the little annoyed noise Bonnie always makes when she's about to wake up. Caroline's in the chair beside the bed in under a second, legs pulled up under her, trying to look casual and like she's not freaking out.

The attempt is pointless, Bonnie's known her forever, and it only takes a second before her green eyes sharpen and focus on Caroline. "How bad is it?" Bonnie asks, resigned because she’s way too accustomed to doom and gloom.

They’d been doing so well on their own. They’d been away for months without even the tiniest threat of danger.

Caroline chews on the inside of her lip for a second, considering how to answer. She can't lie, won't lie, but a little stalling might be a kindness. Just until Bonnie has a chance to shower and eat. "Honestly? It's not great, Bon. But we're alive. We’ve got… help.” She’d almost said friends but that would have been pushing it.

Bonnie closes her eyes again, “This bed is an improvement over the cave.”

“That’s the spirit. I felt a bajillion times better after a shower.”

When Bonnie sits up and kicks the blankets aside, the sheets are no longer white. She makes a disgusted face at the grit and grime covering her body, "Gross. I can't believe I fell asleep like this."

"You were right out," Caroline tells her. "Rebekah tucked you in and you didn't even notice."

"Weird. I wish you hadn't told me that."

Caroline cracks a smile at the mildly disgusted look Bonnie wears, "Don't worry. I have it on good authority that Nice Rebekah will be a fleeting presence. We'll probably miss her once Bitch Rebekah rears her ugly head."

"I heard that!" Rebekah bellows from several rooms away.

Caroline looks away, from Bonnie. She'll start giggling if she doesn't and that will likely not endear either of them to Rebekah.

Caroline’s stronger than she had been but Damon will be too. If things get violent, well, she wants all The Originals on her side.

Once she's swallowed down her laughter she stands, brushing her hands together, "You'll have to bear with me. Everything in the bathroom is crazy fancy and I've only been in it once. I'm pretty sure there's no boil humans alive setting though."

"Are you sure?" Bonnie asks dryly. "You're aware of just who lives here? Might be something they do for fun."

Klaus, with his impeccable timing, chooses that moment to poke his head in the door, "Now why would we overcook a perfectly good meal?"

Bonnie glares, dark and deadly, and Caroline hastily steps into her line of sight, in case she starts throwing magic around. "He's joking, Bon. Klaus just doesn't realize that he's not actually funny."

She shoots him her own quelling look, more exasperated than upset, and he merely smirks back, leaning against the open doorway. "Nonsense, my sense of humor is delightful, everyone says so."

"People you're attempting to kill, I'm guessing? I think that counts as duress and you should assume they're lying."

Klaus places a hand over his heart, his face dropping into an exaggeratedly wounded expression. Caroline rolls her eyes, "Did you need something?"

He turns serious in an instant, "Yes, actually. Our guests will be arriving within the hour." Klaus' eyes flit over to Bonnie, and Caroline glances over to find her friend looking puzzled at Klaus' words. She’s not going to start explaining with Klaus in the room. There are things Bonnie needs to hear from Caroline. Privately. "I'll let you know when I'm ready to see them," she says.

He nods in acceptance, rocks back a step, before turning to leave. A thought occurs to Caroline, one she's kind of ashamed is just now popping up. "One sec, Bon," she says, before darting out the room after Klaus. He turns, a brow raised, and she invades his personal space to speak quietly.

It’s weird she even notices considering how she’d spent last night draped all over him.

"Bonnie's mom was a vampire. Can you find out what happened to her? If she's still around?"

"I can," Klaus says. "I even have a reasonably good idea of where to start looking."

"Good. Thank you. Can you let Enzo know what I'm doing? I'll find him as soon as I can."

"And our other guests?" Klaus asks mildly. "Any specifications for how I treat them?"

She knows what he's asking, wonders what it says about her that her first instinct is to ask for a little bloodshed, Damon's in particular. "Are their memories still gone?"

"Yes. It was a clever spell. Your little witch friend is the only person who can break it."

Caroline's not surprised. Of course Damon would craft the tiniest loophole possible. "Then I think they should be comfortable."

“Such generosity.”

“Comfortable for now.” Until their memories have returned, and they’ve confessed to the exact series of events that had led to Caroline and Bonnie losing so many years.

Klaus' eyes gleam, a slow, pleased smile tugging at his lips, "I’ve always enjoyed the way your mind works."

She remembers, had always found it flattering, his intrigue with her brain when so many had only seen a pretty face or attractive body. What does it mean that it's endured?

Klaus tips his head, gestures to the room behind her, "You'd best return, it sounds like someone's getting impatient."

She can hear Bonnie moving around, now that he mentions it, "Right. I should," Still Caroline hesitates. She wants to say thank you, again, but she feels like she's already said it so many times. Knows she'll probably need to say it more, over the coming days and weeks.

"I'll send someone with a tray of food, in a bit. And you may find me, if you need anything."

"Klaus…" Caroline murmurs, trailing off helplessly. She can't find the words but she's always been good at actions. Before she can second guess herself, she puts her hand on his shoulder, rises and brushes her lips over his cheek. He stiffens, and his eyes are slightly wider when she pulls back, trained on her face. She feels a momentary surge of satisfaction at having caught him off guard.

Surely not many can claim the same.

Caroline lets her hand slide down his arm, before she steps back. Throws him on last smile, before she turns on her heel.

Klaus, and all the things between them, will keep. He's proven that. Right now, Bonnie needs her more.

* * * * *

“What? That’s insane. Impossible. She can’t be a vampire. She took the cure. Katherine tried to turn back, remember?”

Bonnie’s restless, crackling with energy. She’s pacing the room, just as Caroline had earlier. They’ve thrown all the curtains in but there’s not a whole lot of natural light to be found. Clouds pack the sky, sitting low and heavy, like a storm threatens. They hadn’t been able to figure out how to open the windows but at least the room is big and well lit.

They’re avoiding the view. Caroline vaguely recognizes the back grounds of Klaus’ Mystic Falls home but it looks way different. Once carefully manicured it’s now little more than a few scraggly patches of brown-yellow grass dotted over rocks and cracked soil. The outbuildings are crumbling and weather beaten and the stone paths that had once wound around the house no longer visible.

Caroline’s doing her best to project calm. So not her forte but she’s had a good chunk of time to process. Someone to lean on (in the most literal sense of the word) and answer her questions. “Bon, you’re a witch. Once upon a time we thought that was impossible.”

Bonnie’s head swivels to shoot Caroline an annoyed look. Caroline’s sitting cross legged at the end of the bed and she tips her head to the side and maintains eye contact until Bonnie huffs out an irritated sigh and resumes walking. “Fine, I will give you that one.”

“Why thank you.”

“She wouldn’t though. Elena never wanted to be a vampire.”

That’s kind of a sticking point for Caroline too. Klaus hadn’t known how or why Elena had turned but he’d had theories. Caroline goes with the most generous, “Maybe it was life or death again. She chose to be a vampire rather than die the first time. If she had to choose again...”

“She wouldn’t sacrifice us though. That’s not Elena.”

Caroline’s not so sure.

Elena had chosen sleep knowing that the future she wanted was on pause. That Damon would be waiting for her, and Stefan would remain unchanged. That she could have everything her little heart desired when she woke up and that she wouldn’t even suffer the agony of waiting. If something threatened that future? Caroline doesn’t trust that Elena’s selflessness would have held.

She’d let go of the things Elena had said and done with her humanity off, had known that holding on to her anger was pointless when Elena hadn’t even been willing to entertain the idea of an apology. She’d rationalized that it wasn’t really Elena. Then she’d flipped her own switch and she’d been entirely herself. The worst parts of herself that she’d tried to temper, yes, but she’s not going to deny they exist. She’s ruthless and blunt, and capable of terrible things in pursuit of her goals.

Some might label those traits as flaws but privately Caroline thinks they can be strengths too.

Elena had always been selective about the flaws she was willing to overlook, a teeny bit in denial about the ones she possessed.

Damon and Stefan were gifted limitless chances. Other people not so much.

Sometime after Damon and Stefan had shown up Elena’s universe had narrowed. Caroline had been aware of just who existed at the center of it. If Damon was the sun and Stefan the moon, destined to be stuck to Elena’s side, Caroline had figured she and Bonnie were planets. Their orbits would grow bigger, away from Mystic Falls, but that they’d still be important. They’d keep track of each other, share milestones, celebrate success and band together in tragedy.

That may have been too rosy a view. Maybe, to Elena, she’s Pluto. Easily demoted.

“She’s here, according to Klaus. Damon and Stefan too. That wouldn’t be possible if she hadn’t turned.”

Bonnie pauses, her head snapping up and her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Are they the guests Klaus was talking about? He sounded extra smarmy.”

“Yup. Their memories are all messed up. Klaus thinks you’re the only witch on the planet with a fix.”

“Klaus thinks,” Bonnie repeats and there’s a whole heap of distaste in those two little words.

Oh boy.

“I know you don’t like him,” Caroline begins.

“That’s understating it a bit.”

Caroline decides it’s prudent to ignore the interruption. “Or trust him. And you don’t have to. But maybe give him some credit for springing us yesterday.” Caroline’s not sure she would have been able to do it on her own. She’s definitely sure that she wouldn’t have been fast enough for Bonnie to make it out with no ill effects.

“Yeah, about that. He says it’s been a hundred and forty seven years, how did he happen to show up in the exact right place at the exact right time?”

Caroline had really been hoping to avoid that question.

But she’s not going to lie. Or even sugar coat. She and Bonnie need to be a united front.

“Klaus has been… searching for descendants of the witch who sealed us in.”

“And?” Bonnie prompts because she really knows Caroline too well.

“And killing them. If they proved unable to help.” She’s not well versed in the intricacies of magic. Only knows that there’s usually a whole heap of terms and conditions. Klaus had explained, sometime last night, when Caroline had been failing at sleep, that the original witch had anchored the spell to her line. That Damon had compelled her very human husband as a means of making her cooperate. She’d refused to lift it no matter what Klaus had offered or threatened.

Damon had, apparently, used every ounce of self-serving cunning and self-preserving intelligence he’d possessed. Without any memory of the undoubtedly heinous orders he’d given the witch’s husband, Damon couldn’t be forced to undo his compulsion. The spell to seal his memories away had involved Bonnie’s blood and the spell to return them required the same ingredients.

And Bonnie was trapped, her blood well out of reach.

Klaus had seethed with frustration as he’d explained, his body a solid mass of tension where they’d been pressed together. His hands had remained gentle, however, his fingers in her hair soothing.

Caroline still wears his scent on her skin and she’s glad Bonnie’s human senses can’t detect it.

“How many?” Bonnie demands.

“You know, I didn’t ask,” Caroline replies, and that’s not a lie. She hadn’t wanted a count for this very reason.

Bonnie rolls her shoulders, a hand coming up to rub at the back of her neck. “I think I need a couple minutes. To make this all make sense. Is that okay?”

Caroline’s already rising and she scoffs, “Of course it’s okay. We’ve dealt with a whole lot of crazy but this is a brand-new level of nuts. You can have all the time you need to process.”

Bonnie smiles. Just a tiny wan quirk of her lips but Caroline will take it. “Thanks, Care.”

“Come downstairs whenever you’re ready. Klaus has been hoarding spell books that might help with the memory thing but honestly, there’s no rush.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Caroline Forbes?”

It’s a terrible joke but Caroline lets that slide. She shrugs, turning when she reaches the door. “It’s not life or death. I’m alive, you’re alive. Everything else we can figure out, right?”

Bon blinks a little, her eyes shining, and Caroline swallows passed a lump in her throat, rushing forward and throwing her arms around Bonnie. She watches her strength, mindful of how much it’s grown, how weak Bonnie had been just yesterday. Bonnie returns the pressure, her breathing shaky, “We’ll figure it out,” Caroline repeats.

This time it’s a promise, one she intends to keep.

* * * * *

Caroline had been on her way back to her room to wash her face and fix her hair. When she’d gotten closer to the staircase she’d heard the voices. They’re too quiet for her to make out the words but one voice is new, just slightly familiar. Her feet take her down the steps quickly, towards an open door.

There’s no real point in cleaning away the evidence of tears. Enzo had always been annoyingly perceptive about her emotional state and, with the events of the last 24 hours, Caroline’s in no position to attempt to act like she’s okay.

Besides, he’s seen her look far worse.

Caroline deeply regrets the hair and leather pants related mistakes she’d made with her humanity off.

She’s not trying to be stealthy and the conversation pauses, a glass hits a table with a clink.

Her hand touches the door and then everything gets blurry. There’s a crash, she feels a whoosh of air, hears a groan and a tear. Caroline shakes her head, blinks, finds herself staring at the back of Klaus’ neck. Enzo’s there too, right in front of Klaus, wide-eyed and unconcerned about the death grip Klaus has on the collar of his jacket.

She’ll chalk that up to his total lack of a survival instinct.

“Manners, Lorenzo,” Klaus warns, mostly friendly but with the tiniest edge of a threat.

Caroline brushes passed Klaus, a laugh bubbling out of her. She plows into Enzo and he grunts but lifts her off her feet in a bone crushing hug. “It has been far too long,” he mutters into her hair.

She returns the embrace just as fiercely, “Doesn’t feel that long for me but I have missed you.” Enzo sets her down and Caroline notes the room’s other occupant. Kol’s here, slouched on a leather sofa. He lifts his glass in her direction in welcome, Caroline supposes he’s over their breakfast table spat.

“Aren’t you two adorable?” Kol drawls.

Enzo shoots him a casual rude gesture and Klaus laughs softly behind her. His hand presses into her hip briefly, drawing Caroline’s attention. “Drink, love?” he murmurs.

She’s hopeful the booze is less terrible than the food. “Yes, please.”

He makes his way to a cart across the room. It holds glasses, several crystal decanters, Klaus pops the top on one and pours a more than healthy portion. Caroline drops down into an armchair, curls her legs under her. Enzo pats her head and she swats at him but he’s still much faster than her, dodging easily as he throws himself down next to Kol.

And props his feet on the coffee table. Caroline glares a little but he grins at her, unrepentant. Caroline half expects Klaus to comment but he doesn’t seem bothered, leans against the arm of her chair after handing her a glass.

“How’s the little witch?” Kol asks, as if he’s genuinely interested.

“Fully recharged,” Caroline tells him. “She wanted a little time alone to process but she’ll be down later.”

“Have you told her…” Klaus lets the sentence hang.

“Everything I know, she knows.” Caroline twists her head to study Klaus’ reaction, searching for a hint of displeasure of disapproval.

Klaus only nods, “Did you discuss what we’d like done with our other guests?”

“Not really.” She and Bonnie had only decided that the first order of business would be to figure out how to restore the memories that Elena and the Salvatores apparently lacked. “I’d like for them to be kept comfortable. Until we can make them remember.”

AKA warm and fed with all their organs and extremities intact.

She watches Kol as she says it. Klaus had already agreed but she remembers Kol being volatile, fond of bats and not a big fan of Damon.

He moans in exaggerated disappointment, his head rolling back against the couch, his expression growing petulant. “You, darling, are a bit of a fun killer, aren’t you?”

“Elijah’s settling them,” Klaus tells her, ignoring his brother’s complaint. “In separate, well stocked rooms.”

“Cells, technically,” Enzo pipes up.

Kol cheers up a bit, “Well, at least that’s a little bit of torture. As clingy and nauseating at their little triangle is.”

“Did Elena go back to Stefan?”

“Back and forth. Back and forth,” Enzo drawls. “For ages.”

“Took her far too long to work out that she didn’t have to,” Kol adds. “Imagine, being a hundred years old and only just realizing you’ve options other than monogamy?”

Unfortunately, Caroline had just taken a sip of her drink. She chokes on it and her throat burns. Her eyes water and she coughs while Klaus pats her on the back. He sounds distinctly amused when he speaks, “She insisted on living with humans. Got a little caught up in the norms.”

“This is really too much information,” Caroline manages, her voice weak. She’s also seriously regretting her honesty is the best policy vow. This is not gossip she wants to have to relay to Bonnie.

“Jealous? You’d developed a bit of a thing for Stefan, hadn’t you?”

Ugh. Had it just been a few minutes ago that she’d been elated to see Enzo?

Klaus straightens next to her, putting more distance between their bodies and lifting his hand away. This time, Caroline does not check his reaction. “I got over that pretty quickly, thank you very much.”

“Oh?” Enzo asks, like he doesn’t believe her.

Caroline takes another sip of her drink, this time welcoming the fire when she swallows. “I wasn’t good with change. With everything that happened with my mom…” Caroline hadn’t been ready to lose her mother. She’d had plans – she’d wanted to graduate college and get a job, to make her mom proud while she could, knowing that by the time she hit thirty-five or so she wouldn’t be able to show her face in Mystic Falls without whispers starting.

With her mother’s death Caroline’s reasons for playing at being human evaporated. She’d taken a leap, dropped out of college, and bought a plane ticket. Had quickly realized that there were plenty of new experiences worth having.

“Stefan was familiar,” Caroline says, keeping it simple because Kol really doesn’t need to know her personal business, outdated though it is. “After I left I found I didn’t actually need familiar.”

“I could have told you that.”

She makes a face, barely resists the urge to stick out her tongue. Enzo’s not the least bit chastised. His boots squeak against the polished coffee table as he gets comfortable. “Tell me, Gorgeous, what’s the plan then? We just wait?”

She’s about to snap an apology for inconveniencing him but Klaus speaks first, “It shouldn’t be too long. I believe we have the spell, the wi…” Caroline sees him glance at her when he pauses. He smiles at her, all warmth and dimples, and corrects himself. “Bonnie just has to look it over. It’ll take a few days to track down the necessary ingredients but she likely shouldn’t be spilling blood immediately, given her condition.”

“Is my usual room ready?” Enzo asks.

It’s so weird that he has a usual freaking room.

“Of course,” Klaus answers, the tiniest hint of offense making the words come out clipped.

Caroline takes another drink. A bigger one. “I’m going to need the full story of how you two became bffs. Like, right now.”

Enzo smirks, his eyes growing gleeful, “It was a rocky road, Gorgeous. There was bloodshed, severed limbs.”

“His,” Klaus mutters darkly.

He doesn’t try to stop the story, however. Only interjects when Enzo begins to embellish and occasionally to supply extra details.

It’s not long until Caroline’s sides hurt from laughing.

For the first time she feels like maybe, somehow, she really will be okay.

* * * * *

It takes a minute for Elena to realize she’s no longer alone. Caroline hadn’t announced herself but she’s kind of surprised Elena’s not more alert. She looks miserable, wrapped in a blanket on the mattress in the corner of the cell. It’s not her only blanket, she’s got a whole pile. Pillows too. It’s only the locked door that makes the room a cell because it’s clean and dry and well lit.

Far nicer than a cave.

The door’s feature small barred cut-outs, high enough that Caroline doesn’t have to duck to look through them.

There are guards behind her, at the bottom of the staircase, but they hadn’t tried to stop or discourage her. Caroline thinks they’re hybrids but she’s not sure how that’s possible. It’s another question to add to her endless list. It’s mental list for now. Klaus had informed her that paper and pens were no longer commonly used. She’d been horrified and he’d smiled, had told he’d sacrifice one of his sketchbooks and some pencils for her until he could track down something suitable.

He’d offered a tablet too but nothing is as satisfying as striking off a task on paper.

Stefan had glanced up as she’d passed his cell. They’d eyed each other for a moment before he’d bowed his head once more.

It had felt like a dismissal and she’d be lying if she claimed it hadn’t annoyed her.

She can hear Damon moving, breathing harshly. Dull thuds that must be him slamming into the walls. Idly, she wonders if putting Elena in the center cell had been purposeful or coincidence. She doesn’t travel beyond Elena’s cell, has no pressing need to check on Damon.

Elena’s still a pretty crier, no snot or splotchy skin, just big fat tears and attractively clumped lashes. Her hair is shorter than Caroline’s ever seen it, resting just at her collarbones but that’s it. Physically, the Elena before her is identical to the Elena she’d always known.

Caroline taps at the door and Elena startles, springing from the bed and pressing her back to the wall. Her face is twisted in anger but confusion takes over when she spots Caroline. “Who are you?” she asks warily.

Well. That’s weird. She’d shared dolls with Elena, games of Candyland. Giggled about crushes and complained about pop quizzes. There’s no hint recognition in Elena’s red-rimmed eyes.

She takes another step closer, “My name’s Caroline.”

Damon’s stilled and Stefan’s risen. A glance to her left and right shows the they’re peering out at her. Elena can’t see them and she’s waiting, like she expects a longer explanation. “Where’s your boss?” she spits, when Caroline remains quiet.

“I don’t have one of those.” Technically, she’s never had one of those. She’d had ideas about trying her hand at a career or two, hadn’t gotten the chance.

“Klaus,” Stefan cuts in. “Where is Klaus?”

Caroline shrugs, points upwards. He’s somewhere upstairs. Bonnie had emerged from her room, had begun to go through the research Klaus has compiled over the years. He’d excused himself to make a call, had said something about arranging for reinforcements. “I’m not a hybrid. Just a regular ol’ vampire. About the same age as you, actually. And I don’t work for Klaus.”

The noise Elena makes is disbelieving. “Sure you don’t. Why else would you be here? Unless you’re…” she trails off, her eyes flitting over Caroline in a way that’s familiar in it’s silent judgement. Caroline’s sure she’s trying to find a safe euphemism but she apparently fails. “…with him,” Elena finishes.

Caroline keeps her reply simple. She doesn’t owe anyone in this basement an explanation. “He’s helping me with something.”

“Klaus doesn’t help people.”

Technically false. “Really? I thought it was pretty helpful when he offered up a hybrid for you to kill so you didn’t spend a few decades going insane.”

Elena shrinks back, growing fearful once more. “How do you know about that?”

“We used to know each other.” Kind of an understatement but Elena’s not going to believe her anyway.

“We’ve never met.”

“We have,” Caroline counters. “I don’t actually remember when.”

Mystic Falls had been small, and big on community celebrations. She assumes she’d met Elena and Bonnie at one of them, had been plopped in a group with kids her age under the semi-attentive eye of whatever grown up was the most likely to go easy on the spiked punch.

Elena’s watching her with some measure of concern. Caroline can’t blame her. A stranger, talking nonsense, while you’re trapped in a cell is bound to be alarming.

She should probably apologize for the kidnapping thing but she’s not sure if Elena deserves it.

Elena moves forward again, her big brown eyes once again pleading, and her voice turns soft. “Listen, Caroline. If you need help, I’ll help you. We’ll help you if you get us out. But Klaus is… Klaus is bad news, okay? You need to get me out of here. Damon and Stefan too. He’s going to kill us. Torture us.”

A demand, one that’s annoyingly condescending. Not even a request.

“He’s not going to torture you.”

Caroline’s hoping that, whatever went down, Elena had been kept in the dark. Damon and Stefan had tended to get high handed and she thinks it’s plausible that they’d decided on a course of action for Elena, had decided what her best interest was and hadn’t cared about collateral damage.

The door to the next cell rattles and she hears a strangled grunt. Glancing over Caroline sees Damon, his pale blue eyes just as startling as she remembers. He’s livid, his color high and his mouth is ringed with dried blood. He makes more sounds, feral inarticulate noises that don’t resemble actual words.

Elena’s frantic, stretched up on her toes, her head pressed to the bars but there’s no way she can see Damon. She glares at Caroline, “Do you not consider cutting out a tongue torture?”

A throat clears behind her and one of the guard pipes up, “Technically, that was Kol.”

Ah. She should have known. He’d acquiesced so easily.

Caroline wonders if she should be outraged but she finds she can’t muster the energy. ““I mean, it is but it’ll grow back.”

Elena gasps, “That’s not the point.”

“The Damon I remember was really bad at knowing when to shut up.”

Elena recoils, watching Caroline warily now. “And that makes it okay?”

It’s not a debate Caroline’s willing to entertain, especially when there’s no point in reminding Elena what a giant freaking hypocrite she’s being.

Stefan says her name, catching her attention. “Caroline,” he repeats, drawing out the syllables. “Klaus asked us about you. Several times.”

This time the noise Damon makes is a snarl and Caroline figures those were not civilized conversations. “Like I said, he’s been helping me.”

“For a hundred years?”

“More like a hundred and fifty.”

She can still read Stefan. He’s measuring her, trying to figure out how loyal she is to Klaus, if he can use her. He’s going to be disappointed. “An awfully long time,” he finally says, carefully neutral.

Caroline laughs even though none of her present company will get the joke, “Didn’t feel like it.”

She studies each of her old friends in turn. Stefan’s got his brows furrowed in frustration, Damon’s tense like he’s considering going for her throat, thick doors be damned. Elena’s sad and anxious, her knuckles white where they clutch the edge of the window.

Part of her hadn’t understood what it meant that she’d been erased. She’d half expected recognition. That seeing her in the flesh would shake whatever magic that had been weaved loose. She’d hoped for answers. At the very least she’d wanted a target for her anger.

Of course it’s not that simple.

* * * * *

She’d planned to sleep in her own bed.

Had showered, explored the bottles and tubes of sweet-smelling lotions and creams that had appeared in the bathroom adjacent to the room she’d been given. Had used up several hours making notes in the sketchbook Klaus had provided while scouring the internet for answers to some of her more practical questions.

She’s super disappointed that flying cars still haven’t become a common mode of transportation.

When she’d settled under the covers and closed her eyes she’d begun to get anxious. It wasn’t the silence because music hadn’t help. She’d turned on a lamp, just in case it was the dark. She’d grown tense as she’d lain there, struggling to take even inhales and exhales. Had thrown off the blankets once she’d grown hot and sweat slicked.

Her mind had kept returning to waking up alone, in the cave. To the moment when she’d realized she was trapped, when she hadn’t been sure if Bonnie was alive. She’d felt utterly alone and so scared. That same terror creeps into her bones, until she’s shaking and curled into a tight ball, her teeth grinding together.

Maybe she should have stuck it out. She’d known she was safe. That Bonnie was just next door, that it would be daylight again in just a few hours.

The longer she’d lain there, unsleeping, the harder it had been to tell herself that she needed to.

Why she should have to suffer? It’s not like Klaus is going to judge her or turn her away. He’d made that clear last night. She’s not sure what time it is when she gives up, only knows that she can’t hear a peep from any of the other occupants of the house.

She finds Klaus’ door wide open.

She can see him propped up in the center of his bed. He watches her approach, shifts to one side, an invitation he doesn’t bother to voice.

She reaches behind her once she crosses the threshold and shuts the door, fingers fumbling for a lock.

It’s warm when she tucks herself under the covers and she sighs and stretches out her legs, her muscles unclenching in relief. Klaus sinks down until his head rests on a pillow, on his side facing her. There’s no hint that she’s not welcome.

It used to make her jittery, the way Klaus looked at her. She’d tried to tell herself that he wasn’t actually interested, that he had a motive or a lack of other prospects in the immediate vicinity. That his pretty words were practiced lines and that he’d offered trips and trinkets to a thousand people before her.

Caroline knows she was wrong. That if she’d been only convenient he never would have bothered digging her out of that cave.

That should scare her.

Should.

Caroline pulls the heavy comforter over her shoulders, wonders if she should just say screw it and cross the few inches that separate her from Klaus now, or if she should make a show of getting heavy eyed and sleepy first.

“Something wrong with your bed, love?” Klaus teases.

Ugh, he’s so not going to let her get away with faking sleep before she gets hands-y, is he?

She rolls until she faces away from Klaus but rests against him. “Shut up,” she mutters, reaching back to grab his arm. She wraps it around her middle, rests her hand over top of his and squirms until they’re comfortably pressed together. He takes the hint beautifully, his legs bending to tangle with hers.

She feels him laughing, his breath against the back of her neck. “I’ll take that as a no, then.”

They shift, settling, and Caroline finds that she can breathe easy now that she can focus on the faint thrum of Klaus’ heartbeat. “How did your visit downstairs go?” he asks.

Caroline scoffs, tugs at a leather cord on his wrist, “Like your minions didn’t report back my every word.”

“They would have. I didn’t ask.”

Caroline finds that she’s smiling, presses her face into the pillow to try to hide it. It’s a simple statement but it tells her that Klaus trusts her. She hadn’t expected that.

“They don’t remember me. I knew they wouldn’t but I still didn’t totally expect it. I felt… expendable a lot, you know? I thought I’d gotten past that but… they kind of brought that all back.”

His grip on her tightens, his stubble scraping her skin as he shakes his head. “You are not expendable.”

“I know,” she answers, firm and steady.

Caroline isn’t who she’d been when she’d called Mystic Falls home. Getting out had been good to her. She’d lost the instinct to second guess her actions, to wonder if her choices would negatively impact her friends. Outside of the tiny town, away from all the people who’d known her all her life, she hadn’t worried about anyone whispering about how she was disgracing her family name or embarrassing her mother.

She’d shed insecurities as she’d hopped planes and trains.

Caroline knows she deserves to be happy, that she matters. Leap frogging into the future hasn’t changed her mind.

“Good,” Klaus rumbles, a wealth of satisfaction in his tone.

Caroline shifts back slightly, nudging him with her elbow, “What? Did you seriously expect me to argue?”

She knows he’s smiling, can hear it in his taunt, “Are you implying that you’re not argumentative, love?”

Caroline twists to glare at him, “I’m going to ignore that obvious baiting because I recognize that I’m totally invading your space right now.”

“It’s not baiting, it’s a statement of fact. And I’m not implying it’s a defect. Quite the opposite, really.”

She studies Klaus carefully, judges that he’s being honest, and turns until her head’s once more resting on the pillow. “So I like a lively debate, sue me,” she mutters.

Klaus laughs, so softly that she feels it more than hears it. Caroline closes her eyes, lets the warmth of him behind her help ease her into sleep.

Tomorrow’s bound to be another whirlwind of a day.

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #yay sequels finally #ybtn

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captainchrisfics · 5 years

Text

Welcome Home

About: Steve is sent away on a solo mission, leaving his girlfriend aka our first person pov narrator alone and longing for him. His deep laugh that rumbled like thunder. Those eyes that somehow house the ocean and the stars. His touch... Some help breaking in her new mattress couldn’t hurt.

Word Count: 5,276

Requested By: Anonymous- I’ve got a couple reqs piling up, but if you wouldn’t mind a wait I’ll be more than happy to take yours :)

A/N: This fic is definitely dirty so you’ve been warned. In case it’s removed in this content cleanse, I posted it to AO3 since it’s one I’m really happy with so I don’t want to lose it. I think I’ll start moving the work I publish here over there as well for a bit more reassurance- linked here. Hope you enjoy!

Your own bed was supposed to be the most comfortable one, right? The mattress that’s worn in by the contours of your body, the pillows fit perfectly to the curve of your neck, the thread count of the sheets homey in a familiar way. That wasn’t the case since Tony had a stroke of genius and took the initiative to upgrade me to this king-sized bed. He argued that, after being tossed around by Hydra, berated by politicians, and drained by my super soldier of a boyfriend, I deserved to fall into bed without my feet hanging off the edge.

Nevertheless, I laid awake for nights on end now, still feeling like a foreigner. My twin bed wasn’t much better if I’m honest. I practically forgot about it until a month ago when I returned to my own mattress for the first time in I don’t know how long. That one was never properly broken in either since I spent most nights in Steve’s room.

Maybe that was why I couldn’t sleep. Steve had never been gone on a mission this long before. Or at least, in the past, I’d been there too. We could watch each other’s backs. He was pushing on four weeks now. Almost a month of not knowing where he was, if he was safe, if he was even a fraction as lonely as I was, or if he’d been able to sleep at all either.

I wasn’t told much about this mission other than that it was paramount Steve left immediately. When he did, he gave me a kiss that wasn’t nearly long enough to tide me over until he was back and told me he didn’t even know when he would be. He told me to take care of myself and that he loved me with this sincerity ingrained in his eyes that I’ll remember no matter how much time passed until he came home. Not entirely irrationally, I was beginning to fear he might not. Nothing was guaranteed for us, but Steve was like the sun coming up tomorrow. I didn’t know with one hundred percent certainty that it would- I mean, anything could happen really. But I was so sure that the sun would rise I didn’t usually bother fretting over if it’d be there in the morning. It all seems guaranteed until the sun disappears without a trace for far too long now.

I gave up on tossing and turning in Steve’s bed, trying desperately to close my eyes and think about anything other than him, even though it was usually where I was most comfortable. If possible, it felt even emptier than my unfamiliar one. It was almost worse, being where Steve should’ve been too.

So I gathered his t-shirts I’ve been laying with to give me something resembling his presence and returned to my own room. They didn’t really smell like him anymore. My sheets tucked too tightly around the mattress, my pillows as stiff as they would be if they were brand new, and my boyfriend nowhere to be seen.

Until a knock sounded from my door. I sat up hesitantly, my heart already soaring along with my head above the clouds in the hopes that it just might be him, watching as whoever it was pushed the door from ajar to wide open. The white light flooded in from the hall and illuminated Steve’s silhouette, accentuating his broad shoulders and tall shadow stretching across my room. He took a quiet step in as he tried not to wake me causing the floor to creak under his weight, eyes cast downward and cursing at it under his breath.

Before he could comprehend I was even conscious, I jumped from the foot of the bed and launched myself at Steve in a fit of excitement. Unprepared for my momentum, he stumbled until his back hit the hallway wall. Steve still smelled like a nauseating combination of fiery explosions and singed hair from whatever battle he’d just won, but that didn’t stop me from burying my face in the crook of his neck. His face was covered in grimy soot and sweat, all overshadowed by his grin as he chuckled.

“Glad to see me, huh?” he teased, though his strong arm’s tight grip around my waist made me wonder if he’d ever let me go again either. The way his pearly smile stretched across his face and crinkled his glassy blue eyes almost closed completely when he laughed was just the same as in the memories I’d been replaying in my mind. I couldn’t describe how unbelievable it was to see in person again, just a few inches away instead of countless miles.

I bundled Steve’s cheeks between my palms, trying to prove he was real. Trying to hold on to some part of him in case he disappeared again. “I missed you so much,” I choked out. My chest heaved against Steve’s, pressing us closer if even possible, with breaths I hoped were deep enough to drown my sobs. “I missed you more,” he said softly, the confession of a secret just between the two of us.

I could stare at him for hours. Taking in the curve of his smiling lips, the pale rosy color curling to reveal his bright white grin that hadn’t been the first thing I saw in the morning in way too long. Trying to identify every emotion swimming in those eyes, a kaleidoscope of blue hues the same color of the ocean right before a storm. Noting the grim shadows carving out his face below his high cheekbones, making him appear much gaunter than I remembered.

Steve’s head dropped to meet mine slowly, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned in for a kiss. Even though his lips were chapped and he tasted more salty with sweat than the Steve I remembered kissing goodbye, it was comforting. Familiar in a way nothing really had been since he left. Like the way Steve tangled his fingers in my hair with the experience of a certified boy scout, tying the same knots as dozens of times before. And how, when my leg crept up around his, tentatively asking Steve to pick me up, his hands were already wrapping around the bottom of my thighs and ready to support me. It wasn’t as automatic as clockwork, foreseeable in a scheduled sort of way. Rather, we knew each other well enough to predict one another. We worked in sync, not like a machine but as a symphony.

I broke our kiss once I finally had to take a deep breath in, full of Steve’s sweaty stench. “I’ll see you after your shower,” I said, patting his chest to tell Steve I was done with him for now. He dropped me begrudgingly, pouting his kiss-swollen lips in protest. As much as I hated to push him away when I finally had him back in my arms, Steve really did reek. He didn’t help his case when he stretched his arm up to scratch the back of his neck. “That,” I pointed to the funk all but actually radiating in green waves from Steve’s armpit, “is a total mood killer.” Steve rolled his eyes as he groaned a sarcastic, “Love you too.”

Too long later Steve rose from my ensuite bathroom in an aura of steam, one towel wrapped around his waist while he scrubbed at his messy, damp blonde hair with another. His wet feet pitter-pattered their way to the dresser where Steve kept some of his own clothes, though I had other plans in mind.

“Don’t bother,” I said with a voice that quivered despite my forced confidence. I wasn’t usually the one to start this sort of thing. “Whatever you put on will just end up on the floor anyway.” Now that caught Steve’s attention. He turned, his face contorted with curiosity at first until he saw me sitting smugly in his favorite lingerie set. It was black and lacy, emphasizing every curve of mine in a way I knew only made Steve desperate to take it off. It felt so sinful, laying before him looking like everything Captain America and his moral righteousness shouldn’t want anything to do with. But I think that’s why Steve loved it so much.

He slowly stopped drying his hair until that hand finally dropped, leaving it standing up in every direction, his blue eyes as big as his shield. “You know, I just came by to say goodnight,” he started, wrenching the towel around each finger to make sure his hands were dry. “I’ve been so exhausted all I wanted was to come home and sleep in my own bed. It’s always the little things.” Steve tossed the towel in the laundry bin and I secretly hoped the one hanging dangerously low on the concave V-shaped lines of his hips would join it. “But I think I’d have to agree breaking yours in sounds like a much better idea.” Steve’s voice dropped seductively as he stared at my new mattress before his eyes started rising, tracing up my body before meeting my gaze with his starving eyes.

Suddenly I felt something in my chest, being scrutinized by his stare. Self-conscious wasn’t really the word, we haven’t felt shy like that around each other in a long time. The confidence came with experience. Instead, I felt more like a gazelle that knew the lion was watching, an invigorating hunt just on the horizon. It was anticipation.

Steve was the first to pounce, hovering over me before I could even catch my shaky breath. He went in for the attack just as quickly, sucking on my neck in all the right places to weaken my knees. Even though I’d been expecting this, craving it for weeks now, I forgot the effect his touch had on me. Stunned by the shock of his fingertips grasping my chest as he kneaded me over my bra’s thin fabric, the electricity he transferred with kisses tickling just below my ear making my hair stand on end as if a current just passes through me, his electricity took me by surprise.

Steve kissed up my jaw until we were face to face and he looked at me with a concern I hadn’t expected, searching my eyes for an indication as to why I hadn’t made a move yet. “Just surprised. It’s been a while,” I confessed, failing to realize I’d been too busy reveling to reciprocate. Steve accepted my honesty with a soft, empathetic smile. “You’re telling me,” he laughed with a lilt to it. “Even more reason to cherish each other now.” Steve looked at me tenderly, the softness looking a little funny on the harsh lines of his chiseled cheekbones.

It was so sappy that if it was anyone else in any other circumstance I would’ve broken out laughing at them, but his sincerity was sobering. I didn’t know what to say to Steve, there weren’t words for the way he made my heart burst wide open in a million simultaneous gooey explosions. So I kissed him instead and hoped it would be enough, crushing us together with the force of the blast stemming from my chest. I held Steve by the nape of his neck, fingers tickled by his hair that’d grown a bit longer than he usually kept it, as I wrapped my calves around his thighs and prayed we’d never become disentwined.

Steve deepened it with a lick of my bottom lip. I complied, opening up for him as his hand traveled downward, fingers hooking around the waistband of my underwear. My hips jerked up in an instinctive response to Steve, a little too enthusiastic, clashing our bodies together like cymbals. He pulled away from our kiss chuckling and stretched to pull my underwear over my bent knees. “I want to look at you, sweet girl,” Steve demanded, though I wasn’t trying to hide.

“Me too,” I volleyed back, tearing the towel from his waist with a swift move of my feet. I watched the fabric fall to the back of his calves with wide eyes, completely revealing Steve. He only laughed harder, sitting back on his heels for me to get a full view of the way his abs tightened and released with each stretch of his diaphragm. Every curve of his torso from his chiseled collarbone to his pecs swollen with muscle and defined six-pack of a stomach seemed to be so illicit it was a marvel anyone considered Steve Rogers to be some Anglo-Saxon prude like their grandfathers who were born in the same year. He, however, was anything but.

Steve’s head dropped as he shook out the last of his laughter, looking up at me through his long eyelashes. “I meant,” his voice was gruffer than I expected. “I want to look at you when you come for the first time in a month.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, bound by the only thing left between us and even then it was little more than a lacy trim. “How would you know?” I challenged, jutting out my chin. Maybe overplaying my objection given that I was trying to hide the truth. He was right. “Because I know you,” Steve sighed with a smirk. He tossed the discarded fabrics across the room before turning his full attention back to me. “And I know nothing makes you feel like I do.”

I shifted my weight to my elbows as he leaned forward until we were parallel to each other again. Steve kissed me on the lips for a few longing seconds before traveling down the curve of my jaw until he was leaving love bites on my collarbone. My knees snapped up as I wrapped my legs around his waist reflexively, making myself accessible to Steve. I ran my fingers down his flexed torso, outlining every bump and line of muscle with a fingernail before reaching his tight ass.

His hand reached between my legs, eliciting a breathy gasp from my lips parted by the following first of many moans as his first finger slipped between me. Steve started rubbing my clit, tracing teasing circles around my most sensitive bit. “I like seeing how I make your eyes roll back,” he growled in a husky voice with dark eyes and a wolfish grin. He pressed another finger to my sweet spot, rubbing rhythmically with each shaky breath I gasped with a heaving chest. “And when you shiver at my touch.” He slid his fingers up and down my folds so slowly it was almost agonizing before he found my clit again, focusing on the throbbing little nub that made my knees shake like earthquakes. “And the way your pretty little mouth just pops open when I...”

Steve penetrated me with two fingers. My body, being denied any sort of attention for far too long, quickly became overwhelmed with gratification I didn’t realize I missed so dearly. “Fuck, you’re tight. So wet for me too, doll,” he moaned, pumping slowly at first and then with a passionate vigor Steve found when he sensed I was on edge. One of my hands grappled up his back, leaving scratches in my search for something to hold onto until I found Steve’s hair, tangling my fingers into the blonde strands and tugging. I felt the spark of pleasure planted in the pit of my stomach, growing with each gratifying stroke of Steve’s fingers coaxing a fire of ecstasy. The whole time, his piercing blue eyes were trained on me with that unwavering concentration of his. Right now, getting me off was his mission and then, with one last curl of his fingers, he completed it.

My back arched until our stomachs were pressed together as I practically screamed Steve’s name. My eyes squeezed shut, but I felt like I was seeing heaven anyway. Steve kept touching me, whispering filthy encouragements in his husky voice as I rode out my high, grinding against his knuckles, putty in his hands. “Come here, let me see you. All of you,” Steve instructed after sucking his fingers clean, beckoning me with the same strong hand. I followed him like we were tied together as backed up, giving me room to sit up straight. I gathered my hair to the wide that wasn’t speckled with so many hickies we could play connect the dots, allowing him to see exactly what he’d done to me. Steve smirked as his eyes roamed my chest to my chin, admiring his work before he unhooked my bra. Even after it was tossed to the side, he didn’t make a move. He sat there with his hands resting on my thighs, just staring at my chest with this lazy smile like he was watching the tide come in. “My eyes are up here,” I joked half-heartedly, really trying to pick his brain. I ran my hands through his hair, digging my nails into his scalp in a way I knew he found calming. Steve’s eyes closed as his face relaxed, enjoying his little bit of euphoria. His chest rumbled with laughter as his baby blues drifted up to meet my gaze. “Sorry, it’s just... I had a dream just like this. I woke up missing you a million times more,” he confessed, chest falling with a heavy sigh. “And now it’s actually happening. You’re even more beautiful in reality somehow.” He tucked a loose piece of hair behind my ear in an intimate moment where the month we’d spent apart melted away. “You should relax,” I purred, realizing how Steve was the one trying to get me off this whole time. It was my turn to return the favor. “C’mon and rest, baby. You’ve been off working so hard for so long and I want you to enjoy yourself, too.” I pushed on Steve’s chest, willing him to roll over. A perk of changing positions on anything other than a twin mattress, I suppose. Steve complied, holding my hips tight with one hand and cradling my back with the other so I flipped with him effortlessly. “Doll, you of all people should know how much I enjoy making you moan my name, maybe second only to our neighbors,” he joked, staring up at me with a devil may care kind of grin as a hot blush broke out across my cheeks. “But if you insist...” Steve made himself comfortable, lacing his fingers behind his head in eager preparation for some show I’d be putting on like one of those performers in the small skirts from his old traveling USO days.

“Wait a second,” he shifted uncomfortably, groaning as he pulled one of his own t-shirts wadded into a ball from under his back. He held it up, the picture of confusion at first, before putting the puzzle piece hanging from his hand with the art of his favorite record from The Crest’s on the front. Steve smirked as he mused, “Trying to replace me now, baby?” I only shrugged sheepishly in response, my eyes falling from his with a blush as they landed down south instead. I ran my fingers through my hair a little more nervously than I’d like to admit, determined to give Steve a good time nonetheless. His length which was standing at attention, ironically the only good soldier here. I crawled backward until I was face to face or, rather, head to head with his hard dick. I dragged my flat tongue so painstakingly slow from the base up as payback for earlier, pumping it with my hand as I focused my tongue on his tip. Steve threw his head back with pleasure, releasing a guttural moan reverberating from the very bottom of his stomach. I started working harder with his encouragement, taking as much of Steve in as I could and bobbing up and down his length. He balled the sheets up in his tight fists as he gasped so hard it sounded like it hurt as his hips bucked up in a staccato, shoving himself deeper down my throat. Steve was close. I licked around his member one last time before pulling away, much to his dismay.

“I was getting there, baby,” he groaned when I hopped off my mattress, sticking out his pouted chin like a child throwing a tantrum. I giggled as I walked over to the dresser, careful to exaggerate the swing of my ass in an attempt to frustrate Steve even more. I found a new box of condoms hidden under my oldest socks and tore open the cardboard impatiently. Usually, the box of rubbers would be in a more accessible place and already close to being empty as it was in Steve’s room, but switching it up to my bed wasn’t commonplace. “I know,” I teased before tearing the foil open with my teeth, anxious to resume our activity, on my way back to where my boyfriend, who was sat up curiously until the realization dawned on him. “I want to feel you though, babe. All of you, inside of me.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up as he smiled, lifting his hands to welcome me back. I straddled his waist, the new springs of my mattress creaking under my weight. I pinched the tip and rolled the latex down his length, smirking at Steve who praised me with his permission.

I bit my lip before reaching between my legs, scooping up some of my own wetness before pumping it over his pulsing, veiny member waiting so patiently for me. I knew it would be a tight fit, especially considering it’d been a while since I last made space for him. I positioned myself over Steve and eased him into me, slowly lowering my hips to his with more hesitation than usually existed between us. I was usually used to taking Steve in, but I winced with discomfort I knew would pass. Just another reminder of our time apart. Steve steadied me with his hands on my waist, guiding my first few bounces. “Everything okay, doll?” Steve inquired, rubbing slow, soothing circles along my sides.

“More than okay,” I smiled to reassure him. “Just not as… acclimated to you as I used to be.” Steve nodded with understanding and apologized, though I assured him I was really fine. I slapped one of his hands until he gave it to me to squeeze as my knuckles grew white, knowing the strained sound of my voice if I’d asked aloud would make him nervous. I tried to pick up the pace between grunts with a more fevered roll of my hips, sure that everything would be better once we found our rhythm again, but Steve was hesitant now. He never voiced it, but I knew he feared that one of these days he’d break his doll.

I ripped my hand from his and used it to brace myself, pressing down on Steve’s chest so hard I was surer of his heart pounding than my own as I leaned into him. I bent over to kiss him again, passionate with a hunger that still hadn’t been satisfied yet. “Baby, I need you to go faster,” I begged, pressing my sweaty forehead to his and looking Steve square in the eye so he’d catch on to my desperate desire for him to be completely impetuous. I locked my ankles together at the small of his back, willing him to press deeper into me. “Harder, love, I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t stand straight next week.”

Steve laughed gruffly as he gave in to my breathy requests, pushing his throbbing member deeper into me unabashedly now, my blessing being enough for him to cave to his own cravings, until he hit my sweet spot. I liked it like this, when Steve made me feel vastly expanding and like his whole everything all at once, on the very edge of something great. I felt like I imagined the universe did when it all started, a single sudden snap in dark nothingness until out of nowhere were these sprawling galaxies of burning suns in my chest and thick gassy clouds in my head and hurtling planets in the pit of my stomach so ready to run out of control without Steve’s gravity holding all of me together for now, providing a center for it all to spin around. As our tongues started to move in sync so did our hips, rolling together in perfect harmony as Steve’s thrusts grew more pleasurable with every harsh snap of his pelvis.

I broke our kiss to praise him, tell Steve how good he was making me feel, but I couldn’t shake the image his eyes closed tight and his mouth hanging open gave me. With what was left of my courage, I raised the hand that had been inside me to his mouth and dragged my index across his swollen bottom lip. Steve’s tongue edged out an inch or two in response, allowing me to drag my two fingers across his taste buds before hooking them in the corner of his mouth. “Tell me how I taste,” I ordered as he sucked. “Oh, angel,” he moaned like he’d been on the edge of his seat just waiting for me to ask. “Heaven.” Steve licked up to where my knuckle met his lip. “You’re a mouthful of everything heaven could only hope to be.”

Quite satisfied with myself, I leaned back. That’s when I let out a carnal moan from the back of my throat I couldn’t have anticipated when his length struck me just right. I arched my back until I was upright again and staring at the ceiling, tearing my hand from Steve’s lips and throwing it back haphazardly like I was riding a bull instead of my boyfriend until my palm found the top of his thigh for balance. The shift in position allowed for Steve to keep hitting my g-spot, stealing another illicit gasp from me as I hit a wall of rapture and exploded on impact.

“Good God, you’re too gorgeous,” Steve moaned loudly, rolling his head along with the current of the blissful wave crashing over him as my muscles tightened around him. His hands found my hips again and his grip tightened so hard I knew I’d have bruises of his fingerprints in the morning, the idea of which only turned me on even more, as he continued to splutter compliments and praises in between growls and groans. One of his hands migrated up like it took a lot of effort, kneading at my breast and tugging at its sensitive, erect peak. “Oh,” I gasped with the shock of the new sensation. “Just like that, love. Fuck, that feels so good. You make me feel so good, Steve.” I ground my hips harder against his, more intent on getting him off now than ever. His thrusts became increasingly erratic, the tightening in his stomach corresponding with my own.

Our voices rose together in a chaotic brass crash of sound the likes of which Copland couldn’t even compose, screams between unstable breaths merging together just like the rest of us did. His hands moved backward, pawing at my ass as our laps clapped together with each impact, an audience worshipping the music we made together. Then, as suddenly as this all began, we both came undone. Steve’s blue eyes rolled to the back of his head, his nails digging into my skin as he tightened like a spring before bouncing upon meeting his release. He came with stuttering gasps and sudden snaps of his hips and eyes squeezed so tight I thought the crow’s feet might become permanent.

In this moment, no matter what kind of euphoria I was chasing, I always paused to watch Steve. I reveled in how vulnerable he became during the only time I got to see him completely indisposed. Fragile even. Safe enough to be weak. If he was ever going to be at the mercy of anyone, these were the couple of seconds I cherished knowing it was me. Shortly after I followed with another climax of my own, reaching a high like a mountain peak, while Steve kept pumping until I was over the other side of it and hurtling back down to Earth again.

I pushed my hair back and sighed, breathing heavy as I sat on top of him even though we were both tired and still. “What way to welcome me back home,” Steve said, his voice still hoarse and awestruck at the same time as his warm hands massaged my tense thighs. I climbed off of him with a self-satisfied smirk, regretfully leaving him in the bed again as I went to discard the condom and clean myself up. I heard Steve laugh as I stumbled at first, my knees still shaky, my head spinning, and my feet unable to find a single cohesive line to walk from my bed to the en-suite. “Got what you wanted, doll?” he joked with a charming smugness in his tone, to which I just flipped him a playful bird.

When I came out of the bathroom, Steve was slipping into some underwear next to the dresser. I reached into the open drawer and tugged one of his cotton Army t-shirts over my matted sex hair. It didn’t quite hit my knees, but I deemed it good enough. Before I could turn to face Steve, his strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind. I turned to nuzzle into the crook of his neck as he pressed cooing kisses to my temple.

“Wanna sleep in here tonight?” Steve suggested, his tone seeming extremely quiet in juxtapose to our earlier clamor. I nodded, too tired to go anywhere else, and allowed him to lead me back to the bed. The sheets were still messy and unraveled and some pillows were tossed to the floor, but it didn’t matter much since we would just mess it up again in our sleep anyway. Suddenly I was shy, approaching the same mattress we’d just come undone on with a drastically different atmosphere.

Steve pulled the sheet we’d ruined off and tossed it in a discarded ball to the floor before reoccupying my bed with the innocence of an angel who hadn’t just uttered some of the foulest words while fucking me into oblivion. I followed suit, curling up next to my boyfriend who pulled me even closer to his chest. Steve tugged my duvet to our necks as his hand crept above the shirt I’d stolen, wrapping around my waist with a conviction that said he’d been lying alone and waiting to hold me like this for a long time.

Our legs tangled together in a knot I wasn’t sure we’d undo anytime soon in a bid to keep each other close for as long as we could. His heartbeat slowed to a steady, comforting rate that pounded against my back like a drum. We sunk into the mattress like a cloud in our own personal heaven. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, finally feeling as though there wasn’t much else to do or say now that I finally got myself where I wanted to be and everything was right in the world, Steve cleared his throat. “I love you,” he whispered, his lips tickling my ear. Although his tone was low, he said those three little words we’d thrown around like balloons without the gravity Steve gave them now like he’d been biding his time on that, too. I turned to face him, still wrapped in his warm embrace, with a soft smile and a calm bliss I hadn’t felt in a long time. “And I love you.”

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onlycags · 4 years

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Mixed Signals | Çağlar Söyüncü

Request: Hello my love, could you possibly do a cags one where you have a huge crush on him but only your best mate chilly knows and cags gets the impression that you to are getting together so at a party he is chatting up thing really fit girl and you just break down cos you really thought he liked you back and you cry with chilly but cags overhears you crying and venting to chilly saying you love cags and he bursts in and says he loves you too and maybe you go home with him just fluffy btw love you 🥰

OMG OMG OMG I LOVE THIS IDEA!!! Thank you!!! xx

- - -

You and Ben had always been touchy-feely as friends, probably something to do with the fact that you had known each other since you were five years old - a time before boys and girls were sat down and explained to about the ‘birds and the bees’. Both your families were convinced that someday the two of you would settle down with each other, but you both knew better. ‘Just friends’ meant just that. You had seen each other at your worst and at your best and sometimes knew things about the other before they even knew themselves, which was exactly how you had found yourself in your current predicament.

“You fancy Çağlar Söyüncü,” your best mate announced as he walked through the door of your flat - right on time for your standard Wednesday-evening movie night.

You froze, still bent over the oven reaching for the pizza. “Benjamin James Chilwell!” You scolded, finally regaining your composure. “Whatever gave you that idea?!”

He walked over to your refrigerator and grabbed a beer. “Just was thinking about it today. You’ve been coming ‘round to the KP and Belvoir a lot more than usual and I’ve noticed the way you interact with him is all.”

“That’s all?” You repeated, quirking an eyebrow up at him.

“Yeah. Just thought you’d like to know.”

The rest of your evening continued like it usually did on Wednesdays, except this time it was your turn to pick the movie. You couldn’t concentrate, though, all your focus on Ben’s unexpected comment earlier. You couldn’t deny that you had been going to more training sessions lately, but you would argue that you just wanted to watch your best mate play as much as you could. And you had been interacting more with the lads, but it wasn’t just Çağlar - you were also getting close with James, Tielemans, and Perez.

You thought about the Turk as the movie you had chosen played out on the screen, Linda Hamilton’s 1984 fashion sense barely registering while you rested your head on Ben’s shoulder. You thought about how your gaze always drifted to Çağlar when you were in a room together, how lately you had stopped watching Ben on the pitch and watched him instead, and how badly you wanted to run your fingers through his hair.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered, just as the Terminator crashed through the police station with his car.

“How are you still so invested in this movie when you’ve literally seen it a thousand times?” Ben asked, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry, mate, I was actually thinking about Çağlar.”

“Oh, fuck!”

“Yeah, I was thinking about what you said and I realized you were right.”

“Yes!” Ben punched the air, jostling you around.

“Ben, mate, chill out!” You yelled, laughing as you pushed him away.

“I’m just happy I’m right - leave me alone, woman!”

You ruffled his hair, knowing it would irritate him, laughing at his reaction. “Whatever, mate. Just promise you won’t let me do anything stupid in front of him.”

“You know I can’t promise that, [Y/N]!”

You rolled your eyes, snuggling back into your best mate. “I hate you.”

“You know you love me.”

“Okay, Gossip Girl.”

“Hey! You promised you wouldn’t call me that anymore!”

“Promise me you won’t let me do anything stupid around Çağlar and we might have a deal.”

He sighed dramatically and you knew you’d won. “Fiiine.”

~~~

You spent the next two weeks going between work, Belvoir Drive, and your flat to sleep. It seemed like when you weren’t at work, you were watching the lads train. Well, it wasn’t so much all the lads as it was Çağlar. He had come up to you a few times after training and you had talked for a bit before someone ultimately called him away each time. It was getting to the point where it was hard to sleep, sleep only coming after you screamed his name with your hand between your legs.

You still weren’t sure if he felt the same way you did, but you got your confirmation at Saturday’s match against Man City where Leicester won, 1-0. You rushed the field after the match, heart hammering as your gaze met Çağlar’s. You ran to him and launched yourself at him without thinking. He picked you up and spun you around, the two of you laughing together. “You were amazing out there,” you said, breathless when he finally put you back down on the ground.

“Thank you,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. You craved to run your fingers through his hair, but you didn’t want to freak him out. Just as you were probably going to do something stupid, Ben showed up to save the day.

“There’s my girl,” he said, pulling you into a side-hug while he kissed your temple.

“Proud of you, babe,” you replied, smiling up at your best mate, not noticing Çağlar’s expression as he watched the two of you together.

“I will be going. See you at the after-party, Ben,” Çağlar said, not even acknowledging you as he walked away.

“Oh, shit, things were going well between you two and I just came in here and fucked it all up, didn’t I?” Ben groaned, running a hand down his face.

“Nah, mate. Cags and I were having a good time, but you didn’t ruin anything.” You wrapped your arm around Ben’s waist, walking with him toward the tunnel.

“Hey, love, wanna come with me to this post-match celebration?”

You hesitated. “Isn’t it just for the lads, though?”

“Lads and their significant others,” Ben said as Çağlar walked past the two of you. “You should come.” He whispered, “Cags will be there and we can get you two together.”

You blushed, but nodded. Over the past few weeks your crush had gotten worse and now that Çağlar had picked you up and spun you around today, you couldn’t wait to flirt with him and make a move.

~~~

You went home and changed, taking care to put on your sexiest lingerie underneath your high-waisted shorts and crop top. You put on some light mascara and your favourite red lipstick with your best heels. Ben knocked on the door and you opened it, twirling in front of him.

“Damn, girl! Cags won’t know what hit him!” Ben exclaimed.

“You sure?” You asked shyly.

“Hundred percent. If he doesn’t ask you out, he’s a fool. Now, c’mon, let’s go.”

You and Ben arrived at the party at Madders’s house, the music blaring loudly. “I thought you said it was just gonna be the lads and their significant others.”

Ben grimaced. “I thought so, but I forgot that James was hosting tonight, so there’s going to be plenty of ladies here tonight.”

You laughed at his expression. “Well, if you need a wingwoman, let me know.”

“Of course, love, but hopefully you’ll be too busy shagging Cags to help me.”

“Let’s hope.” You grabbed Ben’s wrist and dragged him inside into the kitchen. “But first: alcohol.” You poured yourself a rum and Coke, heavy on the Coke.

“Alright, where’s Cags?” Ben asked, surveying the room. “Oh, there he is!” He waved to Çağlar and the Turk waved back. “C’mon, let’s go say hi!”

“Hey,” Çağlar greeted, his gaze roaming over your body briefly. Heat flooded straight between your legs, but you tried to remain cool and aloof. “How are you two doing?”

“Great!” Ben answered for you. “I picked her up and we came straight here. Doesn’t she look incredible?” Ben slung his arm around you, and you could tell he was already getting a little tipsy.

“Careful there, love,” you said, placing a hand on his chest to steady him.

Çağlar’s expression turned unreadable and he turned his attention elsewhere. “I will be back,” he said and walked away.

“Haha, Cags sounded just like the Terminator!” Ben chuckled, draining his drink.

“Benjamin, don’t get too drunk now, because I’m not going to be able to help sober you up tonight. Besides, I need your help!”

“Only for you, [Y/N].”

You wandered around the party, talking to various Leicester players and their significant others, your eyes always searching for Çağlar. Çağlar, who had been talking to the same woman for the past thirty minutes.

You tried not to take it personally, but you couldn’t help comparing yourself to her. The girl was fitter than you - she obviously played a sport - and had long blonde hair that fell past her shoulders that made your hair look like utter shit in comparison. She was swirling her drink in one manicured hand, while the other landed on his forearm. He smiled at her and your stomach sank.

In a moment of courage, you decided to walk past the two of them on your way over to the kitchen to get another drink. You watched as he tucked a lock of the beautiful girl’s hair behind her ear and said something to her in Turkish.

As if in a nightmare, your eyes met. He quickly looked away, turning his attention back to her.

You ran to one of James’s spare guest rooms, pulling out your phone and texting Ben to meet you.

“What’s wrong?” Ben asked, appearing like magic.

You walked into his arms and started crying. “Çağlar’s flirting with another girl and she’s hotter than me.” You laughed mirthlessly. “God, I sound so stupid.”

“Hey! You are not stupid, love. Cags has no idea what he’s missing.”

You sighed, laying down on the bed. “It’s so ridiculous! Here I am, liking a guy I have no business liking, and this is how it turns out.”

~~~

Çağlar had stopped listening to the blonde the moment the two of you had locked eyes. You were all he could think about, but he was trying desperately to focus on the woman in front of him. She’s Ben’s girl, he kept repeating to himself over and over, hoping by the thousandth time the sentiment would sink in and he would get over this stupid crush he had developed on you. The problem was, he was still thinking about how you had hugged him after the match earlier today and the fact that you showed up looking so effortlessly hot had him in knots.

Ashley or Anna or whatever her name was had just asked him a question, but he was over it. “I, uh, need to do something. I will be right back,” he said, walking in the direction he had seen you last.

Your voice was loud, and he was able to find you.

“Hey! You are not stupid, love. Cags has no idea what he’s missing.”

“It’s so ridiculous! Here I am, liking a guy I have no business liking, and this is how it turns out.”

Çağlar paused, torn between leaving and staying to listen. Your voice came through again, making his decision for him. “Fuck, Ben! I really thought Çağlar liked me as much as I like him! But no, he’s off flirting with some girl who looks nothing like me and now I look hot for nothing.”

Çağlar was surprised by what he was hearing. He couldn’t believe that you liked him back and that you were discussing this with your boyfriend of all people. Before he could stop himself, he was entering the room, saying, “You don’t look hot for nothing.”

You gasped, sitting up when you heard his voice. “Çağlar? What the hell are you doing here and how much did you hear?”

“I’m just gonna…go…” Ben trailed off, quietly exiting the room.

“I followed you here because I have not stopped thinking about you since you hugged me today.”

“What about the girl you’ve been flirting with all night?”

“I have not been flirting with her,” he protested, reaching for you.

“Why wouldn’t you be flirting with her? She’s fit and beautiful and-”

“She’s not you,” he murmured before capturing your lips in his.

His hands landed on your hips as he pulled you into him. You moaned, threading your fingers through your hair, getting wetter when you realized how good it felt to have him like this. He slid his hands up your crop top and you whimpered as his calloused hands connected with your soft skin. Your tongues tangled together and you dug your nails into the nape of his neck.

“I only want you,” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours.

You smiled, biting your lip. “Good, because I only want you, too.”

#cags writing #cags requests

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phroyd · 5 years

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For 63-year old U.S. Post Office carrier Peggy Frank, that Friday marked her first day back at work after recovering from a broken ankle. At 3:35 p.m., Frank was pronounced dead after paramedics found her unresponsive in her non-air-conditioned truck. In September, the Los Angeles County coroner’s office confirmed what seemed a forgone conclusion: Frank died of hyperthermia — she overheated.

A few months later, in November, the Woolsey Fire swept through Malibu and parts of the San Fernando Valley. The blaze killed three and forced the evacuation of almost 300,000 people, burning 96,000 acres and destroying 1,643 structures. Then, after heavy rain in areas scarred by the fire, came the mudslides in December and January that killed one person and closed portions of the Pacific Coast Highway.

For most of the population, climate change is too big a thing to grapple with. As the theorist Timothy Morton argued, it’s a “hyperobject” — it is too big, too sprawling in time and space, and too complex to see fully from any single vantage point. It’s numbing. But by narrowing our focus, we can catch more than a glimpse. It may be easier to understand climate change at the regional level, says Katherine Davis Reich, associate director of UCLA’s Center for Climate Science. “We can all appreciate what climate change impacts would be in our backyard and act on that, much more than at the global level.”

Los Angeles, the second-largest city in the United States, is perched precariously on the edge of the Pacific. Not long ago, it was the nation’s frontier; today, its cultural industries produce the globe’s films, music, and television, always hunting for the next new thing. Here, the line between the present and the future has always been thin. As it swelters, burns, erodes, and collapses, that barrier may have been swept away altogether. For L.A., 2018 was not a sign of things to come. It’s a sign of things that have arrived.

That Los Angeles should exist at all is itself a tale of the extraordinary becoming commonplace. An underpopulated backwater until the discovery of oil in 1892, today’s L.A. is a thick smear of civilization over what may not actually be a desert, but what certainly has the mythic feel of one. Precariousness is the resting state of L.A.’s collective unconsciousness.

The city has been grappling with ecological collapse since its beginnings — and not just in films like Chinatown or San Andreas. In 1927, the Los Angeles Times warned of an environmental reckoning: “I was pessimistic enough to imagine that self-confident Los Angeles had forgotten Babylon, Palmyra, Palestine, China and Timgad. What I now saw was our own beloved land. And I saw sand dunes, sage brush, aridity, stately ruins, idle derricks, desolation.”

“By the end of century, a distinctly new regional climate state emerges.” This climate includes a new, fifth season: a super summer.

Even the most dire predictions don’t suggest that Los Angeles will go the way of Timgad — a Roman colony in modern-day Algeria that is now covered by sand. People will still flock here, and even if the city were to collapse, it would happen over a much longer time scale. Still, by 2069, Los Angeles could well be on the way to a new season of misery.

“With the exception of the highest elevations and a narrow swath very near the coast, where the increases are confined to a few days, land locations see 60–90 additional extremely hot days per year by the end of century,” one study concluded. Downtown Los Angeles could experience up to 54 days measuring 95 degrees or higher by 2100, a ninefold jump. By then, temperatures in Riverside could reach over 95 degrees for half the year.

“By the end of century,” the authors of the study found, “a distinctly new regional climate state emerges.” This climate includes a new, fifth season: a super summer, driving people indoors for weeks at a time, stressing the power grid with heavy demand for air conditioning, and wreaking havoc on agriculture and, by extension, the food supply.

Climate change plays favorites, and the heat increase would not be evenly felt. In fact, its unequal distribution could create an “environmental justice story,” explains Davis Reich. “Areas like the San Fernando, the San Gabriel Valley, or the Inland Empire, where the extreme heat burden is already greater, are where the season of extreme heat will occur — parts of the region that are arguably less well-equipped to deal with compared to places like Santa Monica.” There’s a dark irony there, since wealthier people produce more carbon emissions. “The people who have contributed to the problem the least are going to suffer from it earlier and more,” Davis Reich says.

Meanwhile, beaches in Los Angeles will be facing their own threats. Rising sea levels will attack the coast in at least two ways: inundating beaches and eroding cliffs. “Our beaches are compromised. Not just from overall sea level rise, but also coastal storm events,” says Lauren O’Connor Faber, the city’s chief sustainability officer.

In 2017, scientists modeled the effects of sea level rise on 500 kilometers of shoreline in Southern California. A sea level rise of 0.93 to two meters, they predicted, would result in the loss of 31 to 67 percent of beaches in Southern California, including some of its most well-known. A separate USC studyconcluded, “In Malibu, both low and high sea level rise scenarios suggest that long segments of beach will essentially disappear by 2030.”

“Those beaches are the basis for a lot of California’s identity,” said the first study’s lead author, Sean Vitousek, an assistant professor of civil and materials engineering at the University of Illinois at Chicago.

Vitousek was part of another research project predicting that because of rising sea levels, sea cliffs in Southern California would erode, on average, up to 120 feet over the next 80 years. By comparison, the rate of cliff erosion in California over the past 80 years maxed out at 1.5 feet. At the end of the century, the model predicted an increase in cliff erosion of “27–185% above historically observed retreat rates.”

Those changes put more than just surfers and beachcombers in peril. In 2060, sea level rise will likely put between 414 and 3,979 homes along the coast in the L.A. region at risk of flooding — up to $3 billion in value. Beach nourishment — artificially adding sand to bulk out the shoreline — is one option but may not be enough. The coast could be armored with sea walls, cliffs shored up, and sea gates constructed. Vitousek says that a shoreline retreat strategy might be needed — but it won’t be easy. “Because there is so much money involved in all of this, people will fight tooth and nail to keep themselves on the coast for as long as possible,” he says.

And as the coastline advances, the forests around Los Angeles have already begun to burn.

In December 2017, a series of 27 wildfires ignited in Southern California, including the Thomas Fire, which burned more than 281,000 acres across Ventura and Santa Barbara counties, resulting in two deaths and the evacuation of more than 200,000 people. Less than a year later, the Woolsey Fire burned 96,949 acres, spreading south from the mountains into Malibu, where it destroyed hundreds of homes and killed three people.

If you think think of 1994’s Northridge earthquake as L.A.’s signature disaster, the coming decades may make you reconsider. Because while climate change may not have much effect on earthquakes, it will lead to more — and more destructive — wildfires. The area burned by Santa Ana fires is predicted to increase by 64 percent by the middle of the century, compared to 1981 to 2000, while non–Santa Ana fires, which occur from June to September and are concentrated inland, will increase by 77 percent. The number of structures destroyed will rise as well — 20 percent for Santa Ana fires and 74 percent for non–Santa Ana fires. Santa Ana fires currently threaten 3,400 structures in an average year, while non–Santa Ana fires put 440 structures at risk per year.

Eventually, all that risk adds up.

“One thing that often gets lost is that wildfires are perfectly natural,” Davis Reich says. “These landscapes were made to burn and need to burn periodically to be healthy. When we build into our wildlands, there is a risk that our buildings will burn. We have to confront that more seriously than we have in the past.”

After fires destroyed a neighborhood in the Bay Area in 2017, local politicians debated the wisdom of rebuilding homes in high-risk areas. There was little appetite for such a move there (or for similar efforts in parts of Southern California), but eventually it may become too expensive to continue rebuilding in high-risk spaces. The Los Angeles Times mapped the 1.1 million buildings in California located in zones at highest risk for fires, showing clusters in the Santa Monica Mountains, the Palos Verde Peninsula, Mission Viejo, and Yorba Linda. Nearly all of Topanga, Paradise, and Malibu were also at risk. Few political leaders want to discuss managed retreat yet — but in 50 years, they may have to.

Climate change is no longer on the horizon. It has arrived.

The masterstroke that allowed Los Angeles to grow may be the one that causes it to retract: Los Angeles depends on imported water, whether from the Owens Valley or farther abroad. As the globe warms, those supplies will dwindle and become harder to manage. Sixty to 70 percent of the water used in Southern California comes from the San Joaquin River and Tulare Lake basins, the Sacramento River basin, Mono Lake, and the Colorado River basin. (The bulk of the remainder is pumped local groundwater.) Of that, 75 percent is drawn from spring snowmelt from the Rockies, the Sierra Nevada, and other mountain ranges.

The Fourth National Climate Assessment, released in November 2018, projected “substantial reductions in snowpack, less snow and more rain, shorter snowfall seasons, earlier runoff, and warmer late-season stream temperatures.” Snowpack reduction in Southern California mountains could reach as high as 50 percent by the end of the century. At the same time, water flow in the Colorado River could be down 35 to 55 percent.

Water demand in 2050 is projected at 1.4 million to 1.7 million acre-feet per year, while supply is projected at 1.4 million acre-feet per year. At best, it’s break even. At worst — well, ask Cape Town.

And those estimates may underrepresent the risk to L.A.’s water supply. A 2015 study concluded that “the mean state of drought in the late 21st century over the Central Plains and Southwest will likely exceed even the most severe megadrought periods of the Medieval era,” causing “an unprecedented fundamental climate shift with respect to the last millennium.”

Another study conducted in 2016 found “a pronounced increase of droughts and aridity in the Southwest during the latter half of the 21st century.” A megadrought — one that would last multiple decades — “could become commonplace.” Droughts of that magnitude were associated with collapse of the Angkor, Anasazi, and Maya civilizations.

“There are two futures in front of us,” says O’Connor Faber, CSO of Los Angeles. “One in which we do not act, do not take leadership. We let the disasters happen. That’s an untenable future. The good news is that’s not at all the future that L.A. accepts.”

It’s not a future that the state of California hopes will come to pass. In 2006, the state enacted a cap-and-trade system to reduce its carbon emissions. A new state law mandates that by 2045, California will rely solely on clean electricity. In recent sessions, state legislators have begun to reshape the laws that govern the state’s housing market, hoping to encourage denser buildings oriented around mass transit, rather than sprawl that forces drivers onto jammed freeways.

For its part, the city of Los Angeles has embarked on an ambitious effort to do what it can. As Mayor Eric Garcetti told Rolling Stone in September, “We’re not waiting for Washington. The cavalry isn’t coming.”

So the city is building up local water supplies and curbing demand, increasing the tree canopy and building out cooler infrastructure to reduce its heat island, spurring the installation of solar power, and armoring its beaches and the ports of Los Angeles and Long Beach. Progress has already been made: Emissions at the port have dropped by double digits, tens of thousands of electric vehicle chargers have been installed, and improvements in public transit are coming.

As she works through the list, Faber O’Connor says she recognizes the magnitude of the task but has reason to hope. “I’m feeling very positive,” she says. For her city, climate change is no longer on the horizon. It has arrived. And like a car speeding down a clear freeway, the city is racing to catch up.

Phroyd

#climate change

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robbiessutcliffe · 5 years

Text

Friends // ILITW

A/N : So I finished my replay of It Lives In The Woods, and this idea ended up popping into my mind. It doesn't really fit into It Lives Beneath, canon-ically (not a word, but oh well), but I thought of it and had to write it! Though, I do have to say, the texting part in this fic isn't that great, but it's the only thing I could do to progress the story…

As always, please give any constructive criticism you have! I want to make my writing as good as possible!

Also, it's a really long post, but... I don't know how to put in a "keep reading" thing to make it seem shorter. I want to but, yeah, since I don't know how, I can't... If anyone could tell me, that'd be great!

Pairing : slight Noah x M!MC (Alexei), but it doesn't focus on that until more towards the end

Summary : After Alexei sacrificed himself to take Jane’s place, Noah felt that it was his fault. So a year later, he finds himself going back to the woods. This has been going on for a while, but one day… He's spotted.

Word Count : 3,385

Warnings : There are a few swear words throughout this. Other than that, I don't think there's anything else that warrants a warning, but if there's anything that you think should have a warning, just tell me so that I can write one up.

For the most part, Westchester was silent. The sun was falling slowly through the sky, dipping behind the horizon and painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and red. As for the surroundings of the small town itself? The streets were mostly quiet, lights flickering off in houses. After what happened, nearly a year and a half ago, the town had an unspoken understanding.

Don't go outside after dark.

This rule, however, could be good in some cases. Particularly this instance, as Noah quietly slipped through the streets, heading on his usual route to the forest. Despite knowing that it was very unlikely that he'd be seen by anyone, he still walked in the shadows, ensuring that. Even in his past six months of doing this, he hadn't slipped up once. He knew what would happen if he was caught. He would be arrested, and Alexei’s existence would likely be revealed someway or another.

And he simply couldn't take that risk.

Skillfully, he was able to reach the road that followed the edge of the woods. After doing this at least once a week for the past six months, he could follow the route with his eyes closed and still not get caught.

There wasn't even a moment of hesitation before he stepped into the woods and started walking through the undergrowth, used to the noises echoing through the trees.

— stacy and connor —

The Green siblings were driving along the road, Connor behind the wheel, while Stacy was reading something on her phone. The silence between the two was comfortable, though there was a little bit of unspoken tension between them. That, however, could be blamed on the fact that they were driving along a road they both dreaded, for it reminded both of horrible things. Skeletal monsters, shadows that could consume, and the loss of people dear to them.

They definitely had reasons for hating that road, and the area in general.

Because of that tension, neither spoke. Both knew that even if they did try to speak, it would turn to the conversation that they'd had many times, of “I miss him.”

“So do I.”

“I wish it hasn't ended like that.”

“ That bastard who did it all could've at least turned himself in. What, did he have no heart?”

By the end of those conversations, both of the siblings were livid with thoughts of someone who they had once thought was a friend.

Stacy glanced up from her phone, away from where she was reading the research she had gathered for one of the videos she made for work. She only meant to see about how long they'd continue along this road. Despite herself, she found herself glancing ahead of them, to the forest right on the side of the road, where trees cast ominous looking shadows over the cement of the street.

And as she glanced, she could swear she caught sight of something — or, someone — up ahead. Her entire body stiffened as she saw the tall figure walking into the shadows of the trees. But not before she saw the beanie.

The beanie that she could recognize easily, because the one person she hated most always wore it, never one taking it off.

“Connor!” She hissed, slapping at his arm. He looked over at her, ready to ask her if something was wrong. But she quickly silenced him, motioning for him to look ahead. And when he did, it only took a second for him to see what she saw.

In unison, they spoke one name that neither had spoken for oh-so long.

“Noah.”

Quickly, Connor turned off the engine of his car, not wanting to alert Noah of their presence, even if he had already disappeared into the woods. Stacy, meanwhile, swiped quickly out of her notes app, instead opening her texts. There was already a group chat between her, Connor, and the entire group.

Fingers flying over her phone, she sent out a text in the chat.

—

Stacy : Noah’s back. Saw him at the edge of the woods, along the road. Meet in that spot asap.

Andy : what?!

Lily : No way!

Dan : Are you sure?

Stacy : One hundred percent.

Ava : well this isn't how I expected today to go.

Lucas : Along the road? I'll be there.

Andy : it's about time that i got to kick his ass.

—

It wasn't long before the entire group showed up, surrounding Connor’s car as they spoke in hurried, hushed tones. A couple times, one of them shot a glance over at the woods. None of them had imagined ever seeing Noah again, thinking that he'd just stay running, and never come back.

“Can't we just kick his ass? He deserves it,” Andy hissed angrily, glaring at the trees, as if he could simply sense the negative energy pouring out. And perhaps he could.

Lucas let out a frustrated sigh, “I wish, but he's a fugitive. We're going to have to turn him into the police somehow.” He said, though he didn't seem too happy at the thought of not serving justice himself. As far as he knew, Noah had murdered one of the people he cared most about, and tried killing the rest of them as well. To him, it was plenty logical to want to be something like a vigilante in this case.

“Trust me, Andy, I want to do that, too, but it's really not safe—” Connor started, but he cut himself off, when he saw his sister making her way to the woods. “Stacy?! What the hell are you doing?”

“I have some anger I need to get out. And a lot of it has been held against this person for eighteen months. I say it's long overdue for me to get it out.” Stacy replied in a determined tone, only just glancing back at the group before entering the first carefully.

After exchanging quick glances, the rest of the group followed, not saying even a word.

— noah —

Not long after entering the woods, Noah reached the small, darkened clearing that he had visited dozens of times. By this time, the sun was almost completely behind the horizon, which was perfect, considering the fact that Alexei couldn't come out with the sun shining.

Silently, he sat atop the old tree stump in the center of the clearing, preparing to stay there as long as needed. Sometimes, Alexei didn't show up, or it simply took him some time. So, Noah always made sure to wait at least an hour and a half before leaving.

As he sat there, his eyes slipped closed. He wasn't tired, which he could thank his insomnia for. But this clearing brought back memories. Not all were happy, he had to admit, but the people in them made him happy, which was a feeling he didn't often have the joy of experiencing anymore. He knew, however, that the entire group hated him now — how could they not? But he still loved them, and cared for them… Even if he hadn't showed it that day.

At one point, his memories seemed to becoming so vivid, that he could hear the voices of everyone echoing through the trees. Ava, Andy, Lucas, Stacy, Connor, Lily, Dan. He could hear all of them. He frowned a little bit, and forced his eyes open. It was simply something of a dream, he told himself. He would never see them again. There wasn't even a chance of that.

Or, that's what he tried telling himself, even as he continued to hear the voices carrying through the trees on the slight breeze. Voices were accompanied by leaves crackling, branches breaking…

His eyes widened slightly. He couldn't be imagining things like that! Quickly, he spun around on the little stump, just in time to see a familiar group stepping through the trees and emerging into the clearing. Upon seeing all of them, his eyes widened, throat drying up as he clenched his hand into fists. All of them looked absolutely furious…

And he didn't blame them.

To no one's surprise, Andy stepped forward first, snapping angrily as he looked upon Noah. “Got nothing to say for yourself, huh? That's understandable, considering you're looking at the group of people who you tried to kill. Did you really think you could saunter around our town and not be seen one day?”

Noah flinched, turning his eyes away. He hated hearing that tone in any of their voices, especially when it was directed at him. And yet, he stayed silent as the others all tried speaking over each other, to hurl insults of their own at him. But as he looked away, he noticed shadows starting to edge in from the trees, slowly starting to flood into the clearing.

“Guys, please,” He started desperately, looking at them with a slightly worried look in his eyes, “I know you're angry, but we really shouldn't do this here of all places.” He tried to warn them, but their voices drowned him out.

Connor was unable to hold back scoff, and all of the others had similar reactions, “And why the hell not? Might as well do it here. There's nothing stopping us!” The tall blond male said.

“You really shouldn't—” Noah was only cut off as Andy stepped forward again.

“You know what, I'm not holding back.” He growled as he started forward. Somehow, none of the group had noticed the shadows that were creeping forward. But when Andy was nearly within reach of Noah, the shadows all burst forward.

Vines lashed out from the surrounding trees, wrapping around the ankles and wrists of the entire group as the clearing seemed to darken all at once. Andy was held back, pulled against one of the trees as a figure of shadows seemed to appear out of nowhere.

— alexei —

Burning, fiery rage.

That's all that he felt when he saw someone stepping towards the only person who he knew. The only person that seemed to care. Noah. He remembered Noah, even though he barely remembered himself.

And those people. He felt like he should remember them. They seemed familiar to him, in some way. But that recognition was nothing compared to the anger he felt when he saw them going to hurt Noah. He couldn't let that happen. Noah was the only one who cared for him. If he lost Noah, he'd have nothing and no one. No one who remembered him. And no one who would try to help him remember.

He was barely aware of what he was doing because of the blinding rage. He had been cautious at first, approaching slowly, with curiosity. But as the short one of the group started advancing on Noah, a burning feeling spread through him. Red hot, and uncontrollable.

As the vines lashed out from the trees, he watched the people's expressions of horror, confusion, and fear. Appearing in front of Noah, his jaw seemed to stretch open, as strangled-sounding words ripped through him.

“STAY.”

“AWAY.”

Part of him almost hurt when he saw the expressions of fear on the faces of the others, but he couldn't stop the anger he felt. Until he heard a soft, whispered voice.

“Alexei, please… Don't do anything to them. You know them.”

Quizzically, he turned to Noah, shadowy limbs dropping to his side as his head cocked to the side, like a confused puppy. Looking away from the group and looking at Noah, he seemed to calm immediately. The anger melted away into confusion, the red light in his eyes dimming to a soft gray.

“But… hurt you…” He said, voice confused and shaky. He didn't understand. Noah wanted to protect him, but he didn't want protection in return?

Noah shook his head softly, stepping forward as he looked up at the shadow creature who now held the soul of the person he loved most. “Let them ago, Alexei. Don't be mad at them. I deserve whatever they want to do to me.”

His eyes flicked over to the group, cautious of them. Normally he loved to see people, but people who seemed to want to hurt his only friend? Of course he was careful of them. But he couldn't ignore Noah's words. So, he dismissed the vines, watching as they slithered back into the woods.

— the others —

As Noah whispered to the shadow creature in front of them, the vines slowly unwrapped themselves from the wrists and ankles of the group. Andy fell from where he was being held against the tree, and Dan quickly went to his side to make sure he was okay. But all of the others were focused only on the pair in front of them.

“Noah…” Lily started, voice shaking, “Why— Why are you talking to that thing like that?” She asked in a whispered tone. Mostly because she had already figured it out, but didn't want to admit it. All of them had. For a year and a half, they had all thought that Alexei was dead, and the spirit of Redfield was completely gone… But all this time, they were here.

He looked over at the group, meeting their shocked gazes with a frown. He quickly glanced away, as he murmured, “He's… been here all along. He sacrificed himself so that I couldn't. And now… he's in Jane's place.” He explained, looking up at Alexei, who was still focused on the group with a confused expression. After explaining that to them, he spoke to Alexei, looking slightly expectant, “ Do you remember them?”

It took a long moment of silence, as everyone waited to hear the answer, before his eyes slowly turned a smoky blue, with a slight sense of recognition. “Friends?” He asked, slightly cautiously as he looked back at Noah, who nodded softly. Alexei stayed silent for a long moment, before shaking his head in confusion, “Friends… don't hurt friends.”

A small, but clearly forced smile pulled at the corners of Noah's lips as he shook his head, “No, they don't. But I'm not their friend anymore.”

Alexei looked between Noah and the rest of the group, before shaking his head, “Not friends then.” He claimed, as if the rest of the group wasn't standing right there. He didn't understand that maybe words like that could hurt people. Because, then again, he hasn't had much contact with people other than Noah's sarcasm for the past eighteen months.

But the hurt among some of the group was clear on some of their faces upon hearing those words. Stacy frowned, not wanting to think that Alexei would, for some reason, choose to say that Noah was his friend, compared to them. “Noah, did you not tell him everything that happened? Everything that you did?”

Noah frowned, looking at her with slight annoyance in his expression, “Of course I told him. It's one of the first things I did after finding him.” He looked over at Alexei again, a loving smile replacing the frown. The spirit boy looked so confused by this exchange, even though he knew exactly what Noah had done. And yet, he still seemed to love him… Which was more than he deserved, in his own opinion.

“Noah said sorry, so it's all okay!” Alexei quipped, floating up to drift beside the beanie-headed boy. His eyes filled with a blue light, that simply reminded people of happiness. Floating carelessly around Noah, the shadows that made up his body hovering through the air, he rested his hands on Noah's shoulders and rested his chin atop his head, something similar to a happy expression on his face, despite the fact that he did not, technically, have a face.

“It's all okay, just because he said sorry?” Ava started, obviously not happy at that statement. But she took a deep breath and cut herself off, glancing around at the trees carefully. She didn't want to take any chances.

Alexei thought for a moment, before gently shaking his head, “No. Not okay.” He mumbled, but quickly nuzzled into Noah's beanie, as if worried that he'd upset him, “But he's a friend. And friends forgive.”

Lily looked at the outside before her, eyes focused mainly on Noah. For so long, she always felt angry with him, for everything. But in a weird way, she could understand it. “You're right, Alexei. Friends do forgive,” She murmured, with a soft smile.

Immediately brightening upon hearing that, Alexei nodded hurriedly, “Friends!” He exclaimed, in a shrill, sing-song voice.

It was clear that a few of them still had problems with Noah. Of course, that was understandable… But the group stayed there throughout most of the night, listening to his explanation of how he found Alexei. Most of them were upset about the fact that he had kept it hidden for so long, but for the most part, they were just happy to see the friend they thought they lost.

Yes, perhaps he was now a much more childish and slightly immature shadow-version of himself, but, for the most part, he was still the same person.

Or, something similar to a person, at least.

They all stayed there for a few hours, deciding that, now that they knew, Noah wouldn't be the only one visiting anymore. Of course, Alexei was overjoyed at the prospect of getting his friends back, even though he didn't quite remember them.

As they were all gathering up to leave, Noah found himself staying in the clearing. He had nowhere to go anyways, so he could stay for a while longer, he decided. Alexei, however, was loitering at the edge of the woods, trying to look for flowers or something of the sort.

But, when he noticed that Noah was still around, he floated back over, looking cheerful, “Noah's staying?” He chirped, tilting his head.

Noah smiled softly, and nodded, “I'm staying, for a little bit.” He commented, before looking up at him, “How do you feel?” He asked.

There were a few moments of silence as Alexei thought of an answer. But after those few seconds of thought, a voice came through, that sounded the most like the Alexei that he remembered. That voice that he hasn't really heard for a long time. “They're… friends. But they don't understand.”

Confused, Noah tilted his head, “What don't they understand?”

“You had to.” He said softly, nuzzling against Noah's shoulder, “You… don't deserve blame. You had to.”

His breath caught in his throat a little at those words, because he couldn't believe that he had said them. And if there was one thing about Alexei that everyone knew to be true, it was that he only said things that he believed. Gently, he shook his head, but gave a soft smile. Not wanting to truly argue, he simply replied, “If you say so, Alexei.”

For a long time after, they continued to talk. Well, Noah did most of the talking, but Alexei contributed when he wanted to. But finally, late into the night, Noah knew that he had to leave.

The dim gray shade of Alexei's eyes made it clear that he was pouting, but he didn't argue. Even as a shadow monster, he still wanted Noah to take care of himself. As the (human) male started to stand, Alexei quickly drifted up to eye level with him as his voice drifted out, “Promise you'll always come?”

Noah rose an eyebrow slightly, nodding, “Of course, Alexei. Why would I ever stop coming here to see you?”

“Because of the other friends?”

Smiling, Noah shook his head, “Of course not. I obviously don't see eye to eye with them… But I'd never abandon you. You were determined not to abandon me then, and now it's my turn to return the favour.”

Alexei nodded happily, eyes lighting up with glee at the promise. Quickly, he checked against Noah's cheek, the most like a kiss that he could manage, before mostly disappearing into the shadows of the trees. Noah rolled his eyes a little bit as he watched him go, but he couldn't keep the fond and amused smile off of his face. After Alexei had completely disappeared into the shadows, he set off as well, feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted off of his shoulders after that night.

#very long post #fic #ilitw noah #ilitw mc #choices ilitw #ilitw #ilitw fic #friends #oof this wasn't that great #but i guess i'm posting it anyways #oh welp

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goddamnitlady · 5 years

Text

I FOUND ‘THE’ LILY BACK!!

I’m going to spam here.

intro

I found Lily. THE artist Lily.

You know her fanwork because EVERYONE and their cats know her Naruto series fanart, of especially Uchiha Itachi and his family.

Art by Lily, obviously. (I hope to link to the artist soon)

My history - how I landed in the fandom

As a fifteen? sixteen? year old, I read one fanfic of a fandom I didn’t know. It was a Reader x Sasuke fanfiction. My dyslexic brain couldn’t tell the difference between ‘Sasuke’ (love interest) and ‘Sakura’ (rival), so it was a really strange experience.

I bravely dipped a toe into the Naruto fandom after that, without ever having read the manga or seen the anime. I read more fics, I collected fanart, then finally stumbled upon the manga volume 6 or 7. I promptly fell in love with Sasuke?

BUT THEN TEENAGE-ME STUMBLED UPON LILY’S ARTWORK OF ITACHI

HOLY SHIT

I WAS SMITTEN. I showed it to my friend via the website Quizilla (which doesn’t exist any more).

My history - how I wanted to find more for 10 years

I obsessively collected images of all Uchihas, and the Lily artworks were my most prized ones. I had never had access to her website. Over the past 10 years I collected any piece of artwork I could find. Every year (usually it’s less than a year) I go on a searching spree. I specifically search and collect her artwork.

I hunt for NARUTO fanart images that haven’t seen yet

I hunt for images that she made for other fandoms (such as Death Note, Final Fantasy VII, etc.)

I hunt for BETTER SIZE pictures because most of her images are like 300x300 pixels, which is smaller than a credit card.*

I always checked the deviantART ‘Lily fan-club’ group.

I’ve collected a best friend whose name is Lilly and who draws art too(now I jest. That one has an extra letter L)

I have ‘Lily artwork’ folder numbers 1 to 5. Every time I find an artwork (that I’ve already seen) I hope it’s maybe a few pixels bigger than the copies I already have (my standards dwindled ok?). I also hope to find maybe one or two artworks that I missed during a previous spree.

The added difficulty is, that a lot of visual artists imitated her style, drew over her work, 1 on 1 copied images. So over the years I’ve micro-studied her tiny artwork images to see what makes a real ‘Lily’ artwork.

I had rationally given up on finding her, but I still hoped. I wanted to see if I could maybe find artwork of hers that I had never seen before. I knew she’d made X number of fanarts on her website (that I never had the opportunity to visit). I thought that maybe someone on the internet would find her page someday and tell the deviantART Lily fanclub.

My plottwist discovery

I never thought it would be me? That I would be the person who would find her. AND I FOUND HER. I’M SO HAPPY.

I’m one hundred percent sure it’s her. I have written proof of this artist admitting she’s Lily + I have spent years experience of micro-appreciating her artwork and differentiating it from other artists’works. My expert eye tells me it’s true.

Her MOST RECENT UPDATE was made 11 NOV 2018. That’s only a week ago!

This crazy weekend

I started my picture-saving spree on friday morning, and found her on sunday afternoon.

My first reaction was to save all links, and then click the red X on the top of the screen because HOLY SHIT. I found THE Lily back.

I keep thinking, ‘oh my gosh, oh my gosh, I’ve loved your work for ten years and I found you back’. My mind is all over the place. So this day is hectic and weird.

I’m not able to calm down this fast. So I’m taking it on my pace. I want to share this URL with everyone, but what if she doesn’t want to be found?

She left the fandom 10 years ago. Only 7 years ago I learnt that she had left to because her artwork got stolen/re-uploaded all the time by people who didn’t give credit, and that she had taken up her wish to become a mangaka. For the longest time, that’s all I knew.

Future: responsibility

It’s very much possible she kept the divide between ‘Lily’ and her current online zone, because she doesn’t want to be found.

If I share the URL... and lots of other superfans suddenly flood her space with messages that say “plz draw itachi again!!1!!” ...then she might be unhappy. I don’t wish that on her. I can not irresponsibly share the URL that leads to her.

I feel a lot of responsibility!

This is my to-do list:

Go back to the website that lead me to her

spit through everything. Leave no stone unturned.

On there, save all the images of the NARUTO fanart that I had not ever seen before. (I found at least 1 fanart image that I’ve never seen before.)

familiarise myself her new zone

check how she is doing as a person (happy, sad?) (I hope she’s happy)

find out what she’s been up to for 10 years

the godly glory that is her recent artwork

put on sunglasses against the radiance

seriously this woman went through 10 years

obviously her style has changed from 2008 to 2018

some artwork coloring/poses made me whisper hot damn, not just because it’s sexy, but because it’s so pretty.

i’m a superfan ok (judge me kindly)

Everyone’s allowed to be a superfan of certain artists. I’ll be a superfan for life of a few artists, and will follow them anywhere, to any platform.

check out all links to other places Lily is available at

check out those pages/websites

find out if she has a patreon/etzy/other store (I will smash down money. The ‘rent’ is long overdue.)

Check out all available text to see if she writes anywhere about yes/no being linked to her fan-art name.

Last resort!! C-c-contact her (omfg) to ask if it is okay if I publicly iink ‘Lily’ to her current online zone.

I’m sorry!

I will have to keep her online zone secret for a while longer!

If someone else would find Lily’s online zone and keep the URL a secret yet post this much about her... so excitedly... I would absolutely hate them for keeping it secret. If that’s person is you, please know I’m really sorry I’m putting you through this feeling. But some news at last is better than none at all. Right?

Love,

Lady.

* = I was firmly convinced that all artists always worked on print-paper sized canvases (and that I was just missing out on the wallpaper-sized pictures Lily must have uploaded, that I wasn’t searching hard enough). I kept that conviction until got into a romantic relationship with an Australian artist who drew on small miniature online canvases as well. “I don’t want to change my brush size settings”, my darling said. I yelled hard in caps lock in Dutch, English, German, and French. Now that artist draws on beautifully big canvases. And I know better than to expect big sizes or enter relationships when I’m on the other side of the world (Europe). Lily knows better too, because when I saved one of her new artworks, the file-type was literally “LARGE JPG”. Aaaah. <333333

#lady vs life

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nummero123 · 3 years

Text

Is SMS Marketing Extinct? According to new research not yet

Whenever I post a screenshot of a friend's

amusing text on social media,

someone always comments on how many unread text messages I have.

"Why do you have so many unread texts on your computer?

Who are you ignoring, and why?

my friends frequently inquire.

The truth is that the majority of the texts I disregard aren't from real individuals.

They're usually brief marketing communications

that I signed up for and then promptly forgot about.

Whether you joined up for a mobile service,

medication alerts,

furniture store promotions, or another list,

you've most likely received a few SMS that you either deleted, opted out of,

or completely ignored.

With instances like the ones described above,

you could conclude that SMS marketing is no longer successful.

However, because individuals are more glued to their phones than ever before in 2021,

we may be wrong about the power of text message advertisements.

As it turns out, a recent Simple Texting study

suggests that text message marketing is still alive and well.

According to the report,

which polled over 1300 consumers and marketers,

more than 76 percent of businesses expect

to invest in text-message marketing in the coming year,

and 62 percent of customers subscribed to receive texts

from at least one brand in the previous year.

Why SMS Could Be Coming Back Strong

While members of our blogging team once stated that SMS needs to be

"put out of its misery"

owing to the world's other communicating techniques at the time,

no one could have predicted the shifting landscape brought on by COVID-19.

Individuals turned to their phones and electronics more than ever during the epidemic,

which forced most people to stay at home, with 76 percent of consumers reporting greater screen-time.

When it came to messaging, 61 percent of customers raised or considerably increased the amount of time they spend on their text applications daily.

SMS Marketing Effectiveness in 2021

According to Simple-Texting, 62 percent

of customers have agreed to receive texts from at least one business,

with 43 percent expressly subscribing to one to three companies.

When it comes to the efficacy of text messaging,

people respond to marketing texts that need a response significantly faster than email.

While the majority of people respond to emails between a half-hour to an hour,

72 percent of customers respond to texts within 10 minutes.

Aside from having a high response rate,

text messages can also have a high level of engagement.

43 percent of surveyed business owners and digital marketers that utilize

SMS marketing report click-through rates ranging from 20% to 35%.

According to the Simple-Texting survey,

52 percent of companies experienced improved opt-in rates between 2021.

However, almost 10% reported a drop in opt-ins over the same year.

While the higher opt-ins are in keeping with

increases in screen and text-message time,

the increased opt-outs suggest that consumers

may be just as fast to unsubscribe from text message content as they are to subscribe to it.

The Simple-Texting study, as well as other research, highlights to reasons

why consumers might choose to opt-out.

Too many text messages from one brand

Sixty percent of Simple-Texting respondents

have unsubscribed from SMS notifications

sent by brands that send them too frequently.

Furthermore, 56% of those polled want to receive only one text message each week from a brand.

Too many texts from multiple brands

If you increase your text cadence to two,

bear in mind that your subscribers may bombarded with messages

from other companies as well.

While your messages may still be relevant,

you may see a greater sensitivity to opt-outs simply because subscribers are sick of receiving text notifications.

Meaningless content

You'll need to hook your reader and keep them engaged with

the information they've signed up to receive, just like you would with email marketing.

Un-subscribes may occur if you send too much advertising content,

uninteresting content, or content that isn't what people signed up for.

Tips for Launching a Great SMS Strategy

While SMS is far from extinct, text messaging or conversational marketing systems

can be difficult to grasp.

Keep these brief suggestions in mind when you contemplate or develop a text-based strategy.

Understand your persona: People may rapidly sign up to receive your communications, but it won't take long for them to unsubscribe. To prevent sending useless texts that go unnoticed, make sure you know exactly what your audience members are looking for and how frequently they want to get that material.

Provide subscribers with what they signed up for: Remember that subscribers are giving you their contact information, and if you aren't upfront about what you'll be delivering or how frequently you'll text them, they may swiftly drop out. Make sure you stick to what they're expecting.

Keep in mind that little is more: Nobody wants their phone to flooded with pointless over-promotional tests. Before launching an SMS campaign, ask yourself, "Am I contacting them too frequently?" and "Will they even interact with this content?" If you are concerned that the information will be ineffective, try simplifying your SMS timetable and delivering only the most important text material.

Best SMS Marketing Tools

Let's take a look at some SMS marketing solutions.

SMS marketing solutions make running effective campaigns much easier.

We've hand-picked the best successful SMS marketing solutions.

OptinMonster

OptinMonster is one of the greatest lead-generating tools for creating eye-catching

pop-ups with gorgeous ready-to-use themes and a visual drag-and-drop builder.

Furthermore, OptinMonster effortlessly connects with any SMS marketing provider.

Furthermore, you will be able to select from a variety of SMS marketing campaign formats,

such as popup, full-screen mat, and floating bar.

Our customers utilize SMS marketing campaigns to increase their subscriber base

and increase revenue by offering unique discounts to SMS users.

Sendinblue

SendinBlue is a top provider of email and SMS marketing services.

SendinBlue allows you to segment your audience and deliver customized text messages in mass.

You can quickly advertise time-sensitive discounts

and unique events with SendinBlue's SMS marketing tools.

It has built-in statistics, allowing you to discover which messages work the best.

3. ActiveCampaign

ActiveCampaign, like SendinBlue, allows you to automate SMS marketing campaigns.

The SMS marketing tools of ActiveCampaign allow you to automatically

send flash sale notifications or appointment reminders.

It includes form creation capabilities, allowing you to gather phone numbers on your website.

Furthermore, if someone wants to unsubscribe from your list,

they just need to respond with "STOP" or "UNSUBSCRIBE."

This allows you to keep your list supplied with only the most engaged subscribers.

EZ Texting

EZ Texting is a straightforward SMS marketing solution that allows you to send mass texts.

You can arrange your contact list and track SMS marketing metrics inside EZ Texting.

This service may used to deliver SMS notifications

regarding contests, discounts, and online promo codes.

It also includes marketing attribution tools for tracking conversion sources.

SMS Marketing Examples for Inspiration

There are several reasons to send SMS marketing messages.

Offer a Coupon

Advertise a Sale

Publicize New Products

Distribute Updates and Notifications

Establish Appointment Reminders

Gather Customer Feedback

The Top 3 Benefits of SMS Marketing

So, how effective is SMS marketing?

According to statistics, SMS open rates may reach 98 percent, which is greater than any other marketing medium.

Not only that, but the majority of consumers prefer text messages to other kinds of contact.

And, while some marketers believe SMS marketing is dead, preferring to communicate

with their consumers via email, there are several advantages to SMS marketing

that cannot overlooked.

Let's look at some of the advantages of SMS marketing in more detail:

1. Lightning Fast Delivery

Mobile marketing is rapid.

When you send a text message, it is immediately delivered.

As a result, you may send out time-sensitive communications such as flash deals and event-related promotions.

For example, on Cyber Monday, you might send users a message to boost sales on that one day.

As a result, when you hit the "send" button, hundreds of users will get your message immediately.

Furthermore, people always carrying their phones with them,

increasing the likelihood that your message will see as soon as it is delivered.

90 percent of SMS messages are read in the first 3 minutes.

2 Much Higher Open Rates

When a user receives an email marketing message, they must "check" their mailbox.

This includes receiving a notice, accessing a smart-phone app,

and scrolling through their email. Users are more inclined to disregard

the email and social media alerts when they receive so many daily.

However, with SMS marketing, customers will receive a text notification

as soon as a new message is received.

Because individuals are more inclined to dismiss text messages from friends and family,

such notifications are less likely to be ignored.

Furthermore, most phones display a sample of text messages directly on the screen.

SMS marketing is more personal and distinguishes itself from other alerts,

resulting in a greater open rate than any other marketing medium.

What are SMS open rates?

They were as high as 98 percent in 2018!

When compared to email marketing,

which has a 20% open rate, SMS marketing blows it out of the water.

An adequate open rate is critical to the success of any SMS marketing strategy.

You've essentially squandered your time if people aren't opening your emails at all.

3. Higher Response Rates

SMS marketing messages are not only opened more frequently by users,

but they also have greater response rates.

SMS marketing has a 45 percent response rate on average.

Your response rates might reveal whether or not your SMS marketing campaigns are effective.

For example, if a specific message receives a low response rate,

you may modify it and resend it. If you get more responses the second time around, you know you're on the right route.

Furthermore, greater response rates might lead to increased revenue.

Receiving SMS is the preferred mode of communication for many consumers.

In addition, 70% of customers believe that SMS marketing is an effective

method for firms to get their attention.

By interacting with consumers in the manner in which they prefer,

your company is more likely to receive engagement and a reaction.

Aside from these three fantastic advantages,

SMS marketing is also inexpensive and simple to implement.

You're undoubtedly eager to get started now that you've learned about

the benefits of SMS marketing.

However, if you want to develop great SMS marketing campaigns, you must do it correctly.

SMS Marketing: The Good

Check out these suggestions

if you want to amaze your consumers with

SMS marketing and obtain the results you want.

1. Do Get Permission

Just because you have a contact's phone number doesn't imply you can call them.

Texting individuals without their consent or utilizing a mobile phone marketing

list to reach them at random is more than simply a blunder.

It is, in fact, unlawful.

Before texting users, businesses must obtain their specific authorization. You may accomplish this in two ways:

Customers should be required to click an opt-in box,

similar to how they sign up for your email list.

For example, when a customer purchases on your website, you may give them the option of opting in to receive text messages at the checkout.

It's also vital to inform people about the types of text messages

they may expect from your company and how frequently they can expect to get them.

Keep your commitment to users by being explicit about the communications you will send.

That is if customers expect to get text messages exclusively about flash sales,

don't send them text messages marketing new goods.

Conclusion

Make it clear what action you want consumers to take after reading your text message.

That's all! That's the good, the terrible, and the don't-dare aspects of SMS marketing!

Text messaging may be a great tool for your business,

allowing you to convey crucial messages directly to your consumers' hands.

So, make the most of it.

Keep these pointers in mind, and you'll be an SMS marketing master in no time. top digital marketing agency in Bangalore.

#Is SMS Marketing Extinct? According to new research not yet #digital marketing companies in bangalore

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newstfionline · 4 years

Text

Sunday, October 11, 2020

Enrollment drops worry public schools as pandemic persists (AP) Rather than wait to see how her children’s Florida public school would teach students this fall, Erica Chao enrolled her two daughters in a private school that seemed better positioned to provide instruction online during the uncertainty of the coronavirus pandemic. The virtual lessons that Emily, 8, and Annabelle, 6, received in the spring while enrolled at a Miami-Dade County elementary school became a “free for all,” Chao said. The private school classes, by contrast, hold the girls’ attention, and their mother no longer worries they will fall behind if she doesn’t attend school with them at home. “For the first time since March, I was able to walk away,” Chao said. Parents across the country have faced similar choices about whether to keep their children in public schools as the pandemic extends into a new academic year. Some opted for private or charter schools. Others are dedicating themselves to homeschooling, hiring tutors to oversee multi-family “learning pods” or struggling to balance their children’s educations with work when school times and technology keep changing. Such personal decisions could exacerbate the financial problems of public school systems that receive a set amount of state funding for every student they enroll, which are the vast majority. With preliminary figures showing unexpected enrollment declines in many places, school officials used letters, phone calls and volunteers going door-to-door to persuade parents to register their youngsters before this month’s fall student census.

With Americans anxious to go out, walking tours pick up pace (AP) With an eerily quiet and empty stadium plaza behind him, the tour guide tried to help people picture what they would have seen there more than 160 years earlier. His audience of eight, all on foot, peered over masks at maps as he described hundreds of groceries, saloons, blacksmiths and 100,000 people living across two square miles—one of the pre-Civil War United States’ most congested areas. For so many Americans, this is a time of being cooped up, of being unable to interact with fellow humans and, in many cases, with the landscape itself. COVID-19 and its impact have kept many away from air travel, cruise ships and crowded beaches. Enter a decidedly unplugged alternative, a very concrete antidote to a suddenly more virtual life: the walking tour. Maybe not the most exciting outlet, but far better than being surrounded by the same four walls. “Our mental health matters also, and it’s very important for us ... when we’re really feeling extremely alienated from each other and feeling trapped in our homes, to walk our streets, in the safest way possible,” said Rebecca Manski of Social Justice Tours in New York City. Such tours have picked up in popularity for people seeking outdoor social activity while maintaining health safety precautions and staying in small groups.

With whipping winds, Delta drenches Louisiana, Mississippi (AP) Ripping tarps from already damaged roofs and scattering debris piled by roadsides, Delta inflicted a new round of destruction on Louisiana as it struck communities still reeling after Hurricane Laura took a similar path just six weeks earlier. Delta hit as a Category 2 hurricane, with top winds of 100 mph (155 kph) but rapidly grew weaker. By Saturday morning, it dwindled to a tropical storm with 45 mph (75 kph) winds. Still, forecasters warned of danger from storm surge and flash floods across much of southwestern Louisiana and parts of neighboring Texas. Mississippi also got its fair share of rain overnight.

Fishy idea (Foreign Policy) As the United Kingdom tries to beat a path out of the European Union, demanding a significant increase in fishing rights as it leaves the bloc’s common fisheries policy, Belgium’s Ambassador to the European Union Willem van de Voorde made an unlikely invocation on Wednesday: a charter signed in 1666 by King Charles II granting 50 fishermen from Bruges “eternal rights” to fish in England’s waters. It’s not unprecedented for centuries-old documents to play a role in British diplomacy today; the Anglo-Portuguese alliance of 1373 still stands and was invoked during the Falklands War. Although unlikely to sway the negotiations, the ambassador’s intervention underscores how fraught discussions over fishing rights have become.

Europe’s Economic Recovery Is a Summer Memory (NYT) What faint hopes remained that Europe was recovering from the economic catastrophe delivered by the pandemic have disappeared as the lethal virus has resumed spreading rapidly across much of the continent. After sharply expanding in the early part of the summer, Britain’s economy grew far less than anticipated in August—just 2.1 percent compared with July, the government reported on Friday, adding to worries that further weakness lies ahead. Earlier in the week, France, Europe’s second-largest economy, downgraded its forecast for the pace of expansion for the last three months of the year from an already minimal 1 percent to zero. Over all, the national statistics agency predicted the economy would contract by 9 percent this year. The diminished expectations are a direct outgrowth of alarm over the revival of the virus. France reported nearly 19,000 new cases on Wednesday—a one-day record, and almost double the number the day before. The surge prompted President Emmanuel Macron to announce new restrictions, including a two-month shutdown of cafes and bars in Paris and surrounding areas. In Spain, the central bank governor warned this week that the accelerating spread of the virus could force the government to impose restrictions that would produce an economic contraction of as much as 12.6 percent this year. The European Central Bank’s chief economist cautioned on Tuesday that the 19 countries that share the euro currency might not recover from the disaster until 2022. Summer increasingly feels like a long time ago.

North Korea parades huge, new ICBM, but Kim Jong Un stresses deterrent nature (Washington Post) North Korea showed off what appeared to be a huge, new inter-continental ballistic missile at a military parade Saturday, although leader Kim Jong Un stressed the deterrent nature of the weaponry on display—and even held out an olive branch to neighbor South Korea. The military parade, marking the 75th anniversary of the ruling Workers’ Party, featured a vast array of modernized military systems, from small arms through antitank and air- defense systems. The most closely watched, however, was what looked to be four huge, new liquid-fueled ICBMs, rolling through the main square in Pyongyang on 11-axle vehicles. Military experts—monitoring the parade through North Korean state television—said the new missile would be one of the largest road-mobile ICBMs in the world if it becomes operational, and could represent the threatened new “strategic weapon” Kim had talked of at the start of this year. For the international community, Kim’s message was: North Korea was a military force to be reckoned with, but not a threat.

Azerbaijan and Armenia Agree to Cease-Fire in Nagorno-Karabakh (NYT) Azerbaijan and Armenia negotiated a limited cease-fire early Saturday after almost two weeks of fierce fighting over a disputed province, with the goal of pausing combat long enough to collect bodies from the battlefield and to exchange prisoners. The Russian-brokered agreement, which takes effect at noon on Saturday, was short on specifics. The issue of the how the cease-fire would play out on the front lines was left to the sides to agree to in “additional” talks. People fleeing the fighting on Friday described the violence as more intense than what took place during the yearslong war between Armenia and Azerbaijan in the early 1990s that killed some 20,000 people and displaced about a million, mostly Azerbaijanis.

Clashes erupt between ultra-Orthodox and police, youth set fire to city (Jerusalem Post) Clashes broke out between police and dozens of ultra-Orthodox people late Thursday night in Modi’in Illit as a gathering was held in a synagogue in violation of coronavirus and lockdown regulations, Walla reported. Several ultra-Orthodox were arrested, and youth set aflame trees and vegetation throughout the city in outcry. A video of the scene shows dozens of ultra-Orthodox people in clashes with the police as violence erupts among the crowd, and the congregants yell “shame on you,” at the police.

Nigerian protesters demand end of an anti-robbery police unit that robs people (Washington Post) The police officers accused him of speeding, but Dare Olaitan felt that wasn’t true. The 29-year-old filmmaker in Nigeria’s biggest city, Lagos, recalls requesting proof. “Then they slapped me, yanked away my phone and keys and said, ‘We are going to an ATM,” Olaitan said. The men, who’d pulled him over in an unmarked van, identified themselves as part of the Federal Special Anti-Robbery Squad, or SARS, a Nigerian police unit that has been tasked over the last three decades with fighting violent crime, including banditry and kidnapping. Similar tales blazed across social media in recent days as thousands of protesters filled the streets in several Nigerian cities, urging the leaders of Africa’s most populous nation to disband the squad, which they say routinely commits the kind of crimes it is supposed to thwart. Human rights activists have campaigned against SARS for years, but violent videos that surfaced online this week shoved a fresh spotlight on what demonstrators condemned as police brutality. A number of Nigerian celebrities took up the cause, helping #EndSARS go massively viral. As pressure mounted, Nigerian President Muhammadu Buhari vowed Friday to investigate the squad.

#headlines #news

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deansdirtylittlesecretsblog · 7 years

Text

The Kiss

Title: The Kiss

Author: Dean’s Dirty Little Secret

Summary: Dean kisses the reader, hoping to save her life. What happens when he takes her home?

Characters: Dean Winchester x plus sized, female reader

Word Count: 2287

Warnings: self-doubt, mentions of previous bad treatment, low self confidence, nsfw, smut, explicit language, explicit sexual content, fingering, unprotected sex

Author’s Notes: I borrowed the premise of the “return to love” spell from episode 11.13 Love Hurts, as well using this gifset for inspiration. I am participating in my own challenge, the Mimi’s RomCom Fluff Challenge. I took the quote, “Oh God, this is one of those key moments in life, when it's possible you can be really, genuinely cool - and I'm failing 100%” from Notting Hill. Thank you @mamapeterson and @climbthatmooselikeatree for looking over this for me.

***My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

Dean pulled the car to a stop just outside your house and killed the engine. He followed you to the front door, stopping a couple of feet away from you as you unlocked it. You stepped inside, not bothering to close the door behind you, leaving it open. You felt defeated, angry, and honestly, stupid. All of this because you’d wanted back an asshole ex-boyfriend that didn’t deserve you anyway.

“Fucking witches,” you muttered.

Dean chuckled from behind you. “My sentiments exactly.”

You giggled and shook your head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’d be dead without you and your brother. You, especially.” You swallowed nervously, remembering the kiss that had saved your life. “Thank you, Dean. You - well, you’re the reason I’m alive right now. Hands down, best kiss ever.”

“Oh, sweetheart, that was nothing,” he laughed, winking.

You laughed with him, shaking your head. You put your hand on his shoulder, pushed yourself up on your toes, and pressed a kiss to his scruffed cheek. His hand fell to your waist, his head turning slightly, his lips brushing against yours, a sigh coming from him. He took a step backwards, his face a mask of guilt.

“Sorry,” he shrugged. “Shouldn’t have done that.” He shook his head and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Look, you take care of yourself. No more asshole boyfriends who associate with witches.” He reached for the doorknob, ready to leave.

“Do you want a beer or something?” you blurted. Christ, what were you thinking? Dean wouldn’t want anything to do with you. Most people didn’t.

To your surprise, Dean stopped, his hand still on the knob, staring straight ahead, as if he was trying to bore a hole in the door with his eyes. He shook his shoulders out and turned slowly. “A beer sounds great,” he grinned.

He followed you through the house to the kitchen, sliding onto one of the stools at the kitchen counter. You grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and set one in front of Dean before sitting on the stool beside him, tipping your beer toward him in a half-hearted salute. The next few minutes were spent in comfortable silence, the two of you drinking your beers.

“How long did you date?” he asked out of nowhere.

“Too long,” you sighed, shaking your head. “Two years. God, I was so relieved when I finally got the nerve to break up with him. He was a jerk, never really cared about me. Teased me about my weight all the time, cruel, taunting jokes. My friends said he cheated on me from day one, though I refused to believe it. I never felt like a real woman when I was with him. He made me feel like trash. Breaking up with him was the best thing that ever happened to me. But Wes, he just couldn’t let me go, couldn’t move on. I never thought, never imagined that he’d try something so ridiculous, so crazy like asking a witch to cast a spell. Shit, I didn’t even think he cared about me.”

Dean took a swallow from is beer. “Desperate people do desperate things,” he shrugged. “He wanted you back. Or he thought he did. He thought the spell would work.”

“I thought he loved me,” you whispered. “When he came back, begging for another chance, I thought he’d changed.” You shrugged. “I was wrong. And, it turns out, I was very, very, stupid.” You dropped your head into your hands, unable to hold back the tears you’d been fighting all day. You couldn’t breathe and tears were pouring down your face. Almost dying would do that to a person.

The next thing you knew, Dean’s arms were wrapped around you and he was hugging you to his chest, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. He held you while you let all the emotions dredged up over the past few days loose, let all the tears you’d held back flow. By the time they dried up, the front of Dean’s flannel shirt was damp and your throat hurt from sobbing.

“I didn’t mean to turn into a sobbing mess in the middle of my kitchen,” you muttered, scrubbing a hand over your face. “I’m so sorry.”

Dean cupped your cheek, his fingers sliding into your hair, his thumb tracing your lower lip. “You’re sorry? For what? Almost dying? For having an asshole ex-boyfriend who almost got you killed because of a witch’s curse?” He shook his head, a gentle smile on his face. “Not something you need to apologize for.”

The air was thick, tense, some kind of electric heat thrumming between you. You dragged in a breath, a breath that was cut off by Dean’s mouth crashing into yours, kissing you long and hard. You pushed up and into the kiss, your breasts pressed to his chest, a low moan escaping you.

It had been too long since you’d been kissed the way Dean was kissing you - tender and sweet, but with an underlying current of desperation and need, as if he was holding back, keeping himself from doing what he really wanted to do to you. God, you couldn’t stop imagining the things he could do to you, things you wanted him to do to you. The thought had your body burning with desire.

Dean’s hands slid down your sides and over your ass. He lifted you easily and set you on the counter, stepping between your open legs, pulling you forward, his hips nestled against yours. Jesus, you could feel his arousal, so hard behind the thick denim of his jeans. Your head fell back, his lips on your jaw, your neck, every touch of his lips to your skin making you ache for more.

You moaned, wrapped your legs around the back of Dean’s thighs, the fingers of one hand tangled in his hair, holding him closer as the kiss deepened. You fumbled with the button on his jeans, impatiently tugging them open, wanting to touch him, but you pulled away at the last second, breaking off the kiss; the constant insecurity you felt causing your brain to misfire, to make you think that you weren’t good enough for someone like Dean, that there was no way he’d want you touching him, that he wouldn’t want to keep touching you, especially once he saw you with your clothes off. Your hands dropped to your side, your body sagging as the doubts flooded you.

Dean stepped back, his full pink lips kiss swollen, the pupils of his green eyes blown wide with lust, his chest heaving, his cock full, straining for release behind his partially undone pants, his hands clenched in fists at his side.

“Fuck, Y/N, I’m sorry,” he panted. “I shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t have kissed you like that.”

Your stomach clenched and you were sure you were going to be sick. There it was. You bit your lip, trying not to cry, nodding, staring at your feet swinging against the counter. Same story, different day.

“It’s alright, Dean. I get it,” you muttered. “Why would someone like you want to have sex with someone like me. Or even kiss me, for that matter.” You started to slide off the counter, intent on politely showing Dean to the door, after which you were going to drown your sorrows with the bottle of Jack hidden in the back of the cereal cupboard. Your feet hadn’t even touched the floor before Dean was on you, his hands back on your waist, his lips inches from yours.

“Dean, what are you doing?” you murmured.

His arm slid around your back and he was back standing between your legs, pressed up against you, holding you on the counter, his breath warm against your skin. “Do you want me to kiss you, Y/N?” he whispered.

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out but a weak squeak. Oh God, this was one of those key moments in life, when it was possible you could be really, genuinely cool - and you were failing one hundred percent. All you could do was nod.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask before I kissed you the first time,” he grinned.

“When? The time you kissed me to save my life, or just a few seconds ago?” you breathed.

“A few seconds ago,” he chuckled.

“You’re forgiven,” you giggled.

And then he was kissing you, a kiss that took your breath away, that made your heart race, and had you clinging to him like you were drowning and he was your life preserver.

Your shirt hit the floor, along with Dean’s, your nakedness making you blush. You forced yourself to think about Dean and the things he was making you feel, how he was touching you, how he was kissing you, how he moaning a little bit in the back of his throat. You pushed all of your self doubts aside and let yourself get lost in the man who had his mouth wrapped around one of your lace covered breasts, sucking greedily, while he was also kneading the other breast, his thumb circling the nipple, flicking the hardening nub.

Heat was already pooling in the pit of your stomach and a fine sheen of sweat was breaking out all over your body, even though Dean hadn’t done anything more than kiss you. You weren’t sure how you were going to survive anything more.

Dean’s lips were moving up your neck and across your jaw. He intertwined his fingers with yours as he nibbled on your earlobe, pulling your hand between your bodies. “I need you to touch me, Y/N,” he whispered. “Please.”

At some point he must have pushed his jeans down, because your hand slid easily past the waistband of his boxers and down the length of his shaft, a stuttering groan coming from him when you closed your hand around the shaft and stroked him. His hips moved with your hand, his kisses increasing in intensity as you caressed him, his hands all over you, pulling at your clothes until you were sitting on your kitchen counter with nothing on but your bra and panties, Dean’s face buried between your breasts, his hands on your thighs and moving closer to exactly where you wanted them.

He dragged his fingers up your leg, skimming the edge of your panties, sliding beneath them to brush a finger through the damp folds. You moaned, squirming, your head falling back, your hips rising off the counter as two of Dean’s fingers slid into you, crooking just right, hitting that spot that had you seeing stars and gasping his name. He didn’t stop, dragging you to the edge of the counter, two fingers deep, the palm of his hand pressed up against you, his mouth on yours swallowing the obscene groans you couldn’t hold back as you came on his fingers, your slick running over his hand.

Dean released you, just long enough to kick off his boots and push his jeans and boxers completely off, while you removed the bra and now wet panties, and then he was easing into you, peppering you with kisses, slowly pumping his hips, allowing you time to adjust to his substantial size. His hands were on your ass and he was moving, pulling you closer with every thrust, so tight, so close, so perfect, that you weren’t sure how long you could take it. It was almost too much, a pleasure so insanely wonderful it bordered on painful.

When he whispered “lean back” you did as you were told, leaning back on your hands, blushing as Dean stared at you, devouring you with his eyes, his hands running over every curve, every flaw, every mark. He was murmuring under his breath, murmuring how gorgeous you were, how perfect, how sweet, words that had your head spinning and your heart pounding. Words no one had ever said to you before.

Dean’s hands slid under your ass, his fingers digging into your flesh as he yanked you forward, slamming into you over and over, his cock dragging against your sweet spot every time he pulled out, his taut abs pressing into your clit with each thrust.

You were so close, right on the edge, so close it wouldn’t take much to push you right over it. You slid your hand down your stomach, between your legs, circling your clit with two fingers even while Dean pounded into you, his eyes closed, his cock twitching and pulsing even as you climaxed, your orgasm exploding through you.

Dean lifted you, holding you close, his tight, even thrusts prolonging your pleasure, dragging it out until you were dizzy with the sensations overwhelming you. He came with a quiet grunt, his lips on yours, kissing you breathless. Again.

He held you, his lips drifting over your neck and shoulders, his hands gently caressing you. You kept your arms around him, not wanting him to leave, wishing he could stay forever. When he stepped away from you, you braced yourself for the inevitable, awkward goodbyes that were coming.

Instead, Dean held his hand out to you, a slight smirk on his face. You took it gingerly, not sure what was happening.

“Bedroom?” Dean murmured.

“Bedroom?” you repeated, confused.

“Well, yeah,” he chuckled. “I don’t think I’m ready to leave just yet.” He wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you close. “If that’s okay with you?”

“Bedroom’s down that hall,” you whispered, pointing over his shoulder.

Dean kissed you, a kiss that only served to reignite the passion between you. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he growled.

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ciceroprofacto · 6 years

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I had a quick question: you mentioned in a post about the "sodomite population" in the West Indies, and I was wondering if you had more info on that, or could point me towards more info? Like were they sent there, did they exile themselves, etc.? I'd really like to know more, so thank you in advance for any info you can give!

There’s not really specific statistics I can give you about the prevalence of sodomites in the West Indies or how accepting/apathetic the region was about sodomy at any given time. You have to understand that no two places on the map or in time would be the same about the issue, and it’s all circumstantial. But, given context, I can say that the West Indies would’ve had a larger population of people convicted of sodomy after the 1640s than any other British colony.

To answer your question, all I can do is explain the history of the labor force demographics of the colonial West Indies and let you make your own speculations.

First: unlike the mainland colonies, the Native populations on the West Indies weren’t able to pose a formidable challenge to settling colonies in the 1600s. During the early seventeenth century, Caribs destroyed two English attempts to colonize at Santa Lucia (1605) and Grenada (1609), but during the 1620s-30s, the English settled around St. Christopher (uneasily shared with the French), Barbados, Nevis, Montserrat, and Antigua. Spanish slave raiders had come through the West Indies, particularly Barbados, during the 1500s and killed or enslaved most Caribs on the islands.

Between easy land, temperate climate, and a large population of wild pigs (left by a Portuguese navigator in 1523), Barbados was the most populated island (30,000). Common planters would clear the tropical vegetation and create small- five to thirty acre- farms worked by their owners and a few indentured servants. They hunted the wild pigs, cultivated maize, cassava, yams, plantains, and sweet potatoes. But, the majority of initial settlers came as indentured servants, young men who would sell their labor hoping to live long enough to obtain their “freedom dues”, provisions, clothing, tools, and (until the mid1630s) about five acres of land.

That incentive vanished as the islands ran out of land to offer. And, the Chesapeake colonies had successfully begun to cultivate a brand of Spanish tobacco that was out-selling the West Indian crop and rendering them unprofitable. By 1635, the masters of indentured servants resorted to more frequent and brutal punishments to keep their servants from demanding dues for their labor and to try and force a profit. They called indentured servants “white slaves”, whipped, and executed those suspected of plotting to rebel.

During the 1640s, the Dutch had learned the Portuguese secrets of sugar production in Brazil and, in Amsterdam, had developed the best and largest sugar refineries in Europe. But, Dutch-run plantations lacked the labor force to supply the refineries, so Dutch traders financed the development of sugar plantations in the populous British West Indies. Despite land-constraints, the area already offered more economic opportunity than most colonies, and sugar catapulted the region into prominence, making it easier than ever to get very very rich. Compared to the mainland, the West Indies were a magnet for two-thirds of England’s transatlantic migration. By 1650, more white colonists lived in the West Indies (44,000) than in the Chesapeake (12,000) and New England (23,000) colonies combined.

The work required expensive equipment, precise timing, technical knowledge, and strenuous labor by a large workforce under strict supervision. Cut cane spoiled unless processed within a few hours, so the harvesting, milling, and boiling required synchronization. During the planting season, every day, every laborer would need to dig at least sixty large holes for every individual cane plant, shifting up to twelve cubic feet of earth for each. Field gangs cut ripe canes by hand and carted the stalks to the mill where they were ground between rollers turned by cattle or wind. The juice that crushed from the cane had to be boiled within a few hours before it fermented, requiring a succession of copper kettles over a dangerously-hot furnace, leaving brown sugar which the planters packed to be shipped to Europe for refinement into white sugar for sale to consumers. The process also generated a cheap by-product, molasses, which could be distilled into rum.

There’s no way to overstate how lucrative this was.

By 1660, Barbados alone made more sugar than all of Portuguese Brazil, most of the sugar consumed in England, and more capital revenue than all other English colonies combined. It’s population had grown to 53,000- a density of 250 persons per square mile (which rose to 400 by the end of the century). And, aside from plantation buildings and a few groves of trees, the entire island was a terraced sea of cane plants. All the island’s wildlife, including the wild pigs, were decimated.

The colony of Carolina was restored in 1663 primarily to grow rice and graze the cattle needed to feed the sugar planters and their laborers. In time, because, first and foremost, sugar planters needed a large and captive body of laborers to perform hard, monotonous and dangerous work in tropical conditions, the Carolina colony would be used to employ the nearby Indians to capture their neighbors and help them supply the slaves.

For bone-tired people working around the clock, the life-expectancy of a sugar-laborer was short. If a mill-feeder was caught by the finger in the rollers, his whole body could be drawn in and crushed. If a boiler was not careful, they could be caught in a flood of hot molasses. And, the brutality of the masters had only worsened over the decades. Free people did not volunteer for such degrading and debilitating work, and to make matters worse, real wages rose in England in the 1650s, so more lower-class workers could survive there without signing themselves over to indentured servitude.

This is where I answer your question.

The sugar planters were desperate for servants and laborers. They accepted shipments of convicted criminals and political prisoners, used recruiters to trick laborers into servitude in the West Indies, and crushed rebellions with public executions. Between 1645 and 1655, the English government shipped some 12,000 captives and political prisoners to work as sugar laborers including English, Scots, and Irish Catholics. Those numbers include individuals imprisoned for social crimes. As sugar was so vital to English wealth, it became easier to be imprisoned in England for crimes that otherwise would have been ignored or shrugged off- such as sodomy.

Sodomites did not exile themselves. No one willingly exiled themselves to the West Indies. The treatment of laborers was widely-known in England by the late 1660s, so people weren’t traveling there to sell their labor, and the prospects of migrating and making it rich were already dwindling by the 1670s. By achieving economies of scale, large operations would out-sell their competitors and drive out smaller operations with lower prices. The price of a hundred pounds of sugar was twenty-eight shillings in the early 1650s. It fell to ten shillings by 1680. So too did the number of sugar plantations- one major planter bragged that he’d formed his empire by consolidating forty smaller plantations.

So, the West Indies were the most socioeconomically-polarized colonies in the English empire. Barbados was, again, the worst- where the richest 7-percent of free colonists owned half the island, but the sugar revolution worsened the conditions and prospects for common whites on every island. On Jamaica, the number of common whites declined between 1660 and 1700 as colonists left to find land. And, the transition of racialized slavery and the creation of white-”otherness” had a particular psychological and physiological effect that created social stigmas for being a white colonist in the West Indies.

Facing increasing political outcry against the treatment of white laborers, and struggling to hold white servants who ran away and could pass as free on another island or aboard a pirate ship, planters would eventually turn to using laborers of distinctive skin color. They would create slave codes which specify the distinctions of how white people were to be treated versus everyone else, converting the lower-class white population into a police force which would uphold slavery because it kept them off the sugar plantations. The West Indies would use Carolina to import slaves from Native America and the Royal African company to ship slaves from Africa.

The brutal treatment of laborers compounded on racism which grew out of the construction of these slave-codes, created a spiral of intensifying ethnocentrism. Planters caused a culture to develop where they were constantly paranoid of slave uprisings, and as the population of African slaves swallowed the population of white colonists, they became increasingly vulnerable. Planters adopted a siege mentality which could only be described as psychosis, walling themselves up in fortresses to keep their blacks out. After a few decades of this, the most successful planters hired managers to occupy their mansions and left the islands altogether. Most were less fortunate and died of diseases which had come from the transport of slaves from Africa- primarily yellow fever and malaria. In the 1650s there were four times as many deaths as marriages in white colonists.

Even outside of the particular brutality of slavery in the region, white West Indian colonists already had a negative reputation by the 1670s simply by virtue of the criminals and prisoners that had already been imported. The white colonists that populated the island were either former indentured servants (so-called “white slaves”), brutal slavers themselves, or criminals who had been shipped out of England like human refuse. That reputation didn’t improve over time.

Between diseases, ethnocentric paranoia, over-crowdedness, lack of economic prospects, and a growing stigma against West Indian “whiteness”, the only English people who would willingly emigrate to the colonies were those who were desperate to escape or delusional of their prospects.

…

Most info from: “American Colonies” by Alan Taylor

#anon #answered #'quick question'#there's a reason why the French and Continental fleet target the West Indies during the Revolution

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