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animeniac · 7 years

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Starbomb Ch. 4

Fandom: BNHA Pairing: Bakugou x Uraraka Genre: Romance and Comedy probably Chapter Summary: Bakugou and Uraraka start talking outside of class and happen to work out together. She learns to handle his explosive personality, and he discovers greater depths to her resilience. (See Chapter 1 for story summary.)

A/N: I think I’m getting good feedback. However, I hate posting stuff here because of the interface so I might slow down. -_- The people here are really nice, though. Thank you for reading.

[AO3][FFnet] Content Warning: Non-graphic and brief chikan scene.

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII

Sometime before dinner one evening, Midoriya encountered Asui Tsuyu right outside the main building of the campus. She happened to be his partner for the sensitivity assignment.

What was interesting about Asui to him was the fact that no matter how nervous he became, she would react with her consistently stoic facial expression. Something about her insanely even temper put him at ease and brought him to a maintainable level of composure - almost. Would she be a good person to listen to his turmoil? Often, she said whatever came to mind, and so, she would at least be honest.

Before pouring out the circumstances in their entirety to her, he needed to recount what was appropriate for him to share.

"Midoriya?" she asked, and when he looked up, she continued, "I said that we should meet up tomorrow after class, ribbit."

"Oh, right, sure, Asui - I mean, Tsu. I was just thinking about everything that happened with Kacchan and Uraraka the other. It was pretty crazy, right?" Midoriya mentioned as casually as he could.

Asui tilted her head and asked, "Is that weird for you?"

He tried to look into her unchanging eyes and gulped, "I-I guess. I didn't think he'd ever be interested in a girl - especially like Uraraka."

She replied, "How do you feel about Uraraka?"

What? Where did that come from? Midoriya was unsure of how his feelings related to the topic at hand. Of course, he blushed, but he couldn't tell if that burst of emotions matched the general flutter of his reaction to other people. Oddly enough, he had yet to give much thought to how he felt about Uraraka. He knew her to be energetic and adorable and someone he could trust. However, after witnessing the fervor in Bakugou's eyes, he couldn't say his admiration could ever compare.

Uraraka and Iida were both his precious friends, too. He wouldn't want to jeopardize their dynamics for curiosity's sake. Or, was this more than just a simple curiosity?

Still smiling, Asui said, "You're already over thinking it, ribbit."

"Ah!" exclaimed Midoriya. "Sorry, I was just thinking about how Kacchan might feel about her."

"But, I asked how you feel about her."

Asui wasn't the first person that day to ask about his feelings for Uraraka. Iida implied that the romantic feelings might already be there. He got stuck in his train of thought yet again and put his fingers to his chin. "Uh," stammered Midoriya, "she's really fun to be around. I feel light-hearted whenever I'm with her, and she's always been there for me, too. I don't know what I'd do without her."

The fact of the matter was - Asui herself was not experienced enough with relationships to understand what it meant to have romantic feelings for someone. People of their class said that Midoriya and Uraraka loved each other, but if she were honest, she thought that was what they wanted to see as opposed to the truth.

Then, she had already heard the rumors that Uraraka had feelings for him. For her sake, she hoped that Midoriya reciprocated those feelings.

"If the feelings you have for her are unique, then you should tell her how you feel, ribbit," added Asui as she assumed that Uraraka would be satisfied with any level of adulation from Midoriya.

Midoriya scratched the back of his head and nervously chuckled, "Really? Well, I don't want to say the wrong thing. I guess I need to figure out how I feel about her first, then, right?" He saw all his friendships as unique. In general, he had a lot of difficulties talking to girls. However, sometimes he could easily share his feelings and thoughts with Uraraka. He had gotten accustomed to being with her. She had cut through his boundaries like butter with her bright smile and attitude.

However, that night, Asui did the same - only she armed herself with a blunt attitude and fixed curved mouth.

They talked for at least an hour. Midoriya's stammering and occasional stutters became less frequent as time passed. For the most part, they discussed the past events of class and exams. Maybe they mentioned stories about their past and future goals. Then by habit, perhaps, his mind jumped back to Bakugou's exhilarated smile after he found out Uraraka was his partner. "Do you believe in things like fate?"

"Sometimes we see the right things at the right time, and from there, we should follow our guts."

That idea would not leave his head for the next few days.

Midoriya excused himself, "Oh, I just remembered - I was supposed to meet someone somewhere! We'll talk later." He neglected to tell Asui that he planned to meet Uraraka. Perhaps, he did this to prevent her from over analyzing his relationship with his friend before he did.

A few days after they met Kotone, Bakugou visited the gymnasium for a late afternoon workout before dinner. Uraraka was the only other person in the room when he entered. She listened to some pop song through her headphones as she continued her endurance run on a treadmill in the corner, so she probably didn't sense him enter. Although he had no reason to interact with her, he smirked at this chance encounter.

On most days and with most people, he would have completely ignored them and began his workout regimen. How could he? Her sweat upon her glistening skin caused a glare in the corner of his eye and distracted him. His big mouth allowed whatever surfaced to escape. "Where's your nerd?" he asked. His question had fallen upon deaf ears.

To selfishly pull her attention from her goal would have been sinful, but Bakugou specialized in sin. He approached her bubble, and when he neared the machine from the front, he suddenly halted to observe the intensity of her brow as she stared at the mirrored wall in front of her.

Bakugou jumped.

Fearless ferocity radiated from Uraraka's brown stare as the speed on the treadmill gradually increased by the second. For the first time in regards to anyone outside of battle, he thought - what is this person thinking? Was she running away? No, she chased something that wasn't physically there, but the way her fixated eyes stayed in place, her goal certainly lied on the horizon.

Then, she gasped when she noticed someone in the room. Her train of thought broken, she fell backward onto the floor. Unfortunately, Midoriya was not the guest that had appeared next to her. Regardless she smiled and carefully rubbed her sore bottom. Shame on her for letting her guard down to that level. "Oh, hey, Bakugou," greeted the girl as she got to her feet and dusted herself. Noticing his equally black and tanky tank top, she exclaimed, "We're wearing the same sweats! I guess we're fashion buddies."

Flowers had spouted in mid air around her face before Bakugou barked, "Fuck that! Black is my color. Start wearing something else."

"But, our costume designer is this same person, too, so you're gonna be trapped as my fashion buddy for a while."

Bakugou's eyebrow twitched in response, for he had no words to spit back at her.

Checking her phone, she realized just how much time had passed. She'd been training for nearly an hour! Midoriya said he'd be there around that time. However, maybe his absence benefited her, for she had a productive workout thus far. Again, she had to remind herself not to let Midoriya distract her from her goal. Instead, she wanted to only allow him into her thoughts when he motivated her.

Wait, was Bakugou ranting about something, or was he completely silent? She turned off the music to from her phone and beamed up at her project partner.

He wanted her to cut that smiling shit out, but he knew there was nothing he could do to stop her. "If you're going to be this fucking needy, then I might as well stick around. You can't talk about Deku, though," he complained as he jumped onto the only treadmill next to hers.

How did she seem needy? She glanced at the mirror behind her and blinked. In fact, she would have left if Bakugou hadn't shown up. Maybe she could get to know him a little better.

Taking a seat at a weight machine, Uraraka pulled down the lever and started reps to lift about 20 kilograms. "You're really strong and combative, you know," she began with a compliment as her fascinated gaze wandered to his sizable triceps and biceps. He would totally beat her in an arm wrestling contest. Most of her male friends could probably obliterate her based on their comparative muscle mass alone. That's puberty, though.

Every other aspect of her fighting style needed to be perfect if she wanted to climb the ladder to success and financial security.

She sighed and continued with a small frown, "Hand-to-hand combat and raw strength are still some of my weak points, but I think I'm gettin' a little better. I have a long way to go, though. If I ever want to be taken seriously as a pro, then I gotta try a lot harder."

"You're still lifting 20 kilograms?" Bakugou genuinely asked an easily condescending question in a flat tone. To increase the intensity of his workout, he bumped up the speed past his typical starting number.

He had been staring at her since he entered the room. When she had moved behind him, he watched her reflection gracefully leaned forward to lift the weights behind her. Her breathing - frequent yet controlled - pushed her chest out and retracted it as she spoke. Iridescent sweat still painted her pale skin and caught the fluorescent lighting in the room. Carelessly, he had voiced an observation.

"Oh," Uraraka laughed with a flustered blush on her cheeks and adjusted the weight to double it. "I guess I'm kinda tired now. I can do a lot more than this - especially if I lift stuff with my quirk. Let's do our best, Bakugou!" They could work well together.

She felt like she could handle the weight she added despite her fatigue.

This light-hearted, casual atmosphere unsettled Bakugou. He wanted to avoid feeling helpless like he did on that train a few days ago. If Bakugou allowed this to continue, he would say words that he never thought he would say to anyone. "If you want to learn how to be anywhere close to my level, then you should train with me."

Uraraka gasped then nodded, "Really? Sure!"

Wait, he said that out loud? Turning around, Bakugou snarled and widened his bloodshot eyes. He spat, "Shut up!"

"Bakugou," she whined at his dogged rejection.

The door slowly opened, and Midoriya stepped into the room. He apologized, "Sorry, Uraraka. I stopped to talk to Asui about our project on the way here."

Uraraka's heart leaped as she smiled and shook her head. "It's okay. I haven't been here for that long," she lied. Why did she say that?

If Bakugou hadn't have said something stupid moments before Midoriya walked into the gym, he would have probably begun some kind of confrontation. However, embarrassed by his own words, he stopped the treadmill and stormed out of the room with an empty feeling of loss. He saw the opportunity to flee as the only way to save face.

Uraraka noticed how Bakugou didn't say anything to her on the train the next day. By looking at his resting frown, she couldn't decipher if he was upset after her eagerness to spar with him or because Midoriya entered. Did she say the wrong thing? She wanted to get along with him.

This train trip, she decided to face him if she thought of something to discuss. Maybe she could talk about Kirishima or school or fighting. Then, maybe one day, she could bridge the gap between him and Midoriya. Maybe their project inspired hope in her that he had a soft interior beneath his volatile personality. That possibility intrigued her as she looked up at his permanent glower. Was he lonely?

She certainly didn't want to go as far as to project emotions with that level of depth onto him. After all, he was definitely mean and belligerent for most of his interactions. However, the wall that he had around him was as vicious as an injured animal's hiss. Facetiously and persistently, she wanted to prod against it until something interesting happened.

The marriage proposal could have been him trying to avoid eternal damnation under the guise of an advantageous legal agreement. As soon the thought entered Uraraka's mind, she had to at least ask, "Why," she began but could not finish.

The sudden squeak of a noise snapped Bakugou's attention towards Uraraka. He instantly sensed the terror that piqued in her lustrous eyes. From their proximity, he could hear her tremble as she slowly lowered her head to stare at the ground. Time stopped as he analyzed the situation between his tumultuous heart beat. For a fraction of a second, her soft whimper reached his ears. That was fear, but if she didn't fear him, then who?

Over her shoulder, he spotted an arm angled in a way that ended near the rear of her skirt and began at the shoulder of some indiscriminate salary man. His appearance didn't matter, for, within moments, he would be dead. Bakugou slowly reached for the balding man's preoccupied face. Up until that day, he had never killed a man, but he swore that the forces of the heavens could not hold him back.

Then, Bakugou noticed Uraraka's eyes sharpen with an acerbic intensity that sliced through his plan.

"That's disgusting," she casually complained without a hint of fear in her voice. "It'd be bad if you touched a defenseless girl like that! Luckily, I'm not defenseless." Grabbing his arm, she turned around and forced his wrists together. Of course, she could overpower him.

Suddenly, Bakugou dug his free hand back into his pocket.

"Could you call the cops while I have him?" requested Uraraka.

Bakugou growled, "Call the cops? I'll just blast him." How could she not feel the same rage that he did?

"You can't do that on a train! We don't even have a license."

Who gave a shit about licenses at a time like that? He wanted revenge.

They could have gone back and forth all day over how to handle the situation with their respective styles of justice, but fortunately, a security guard escorted the offender off the train at the next stop. He thanked her for handling the situation professionally and properly before he left.

As soon as the culprit departed, Bakugou wanted to continue their argument. That was until he noticed Uraraka's reddened pout as he radiant tears welled up in the corners of her eyes. She still trembled. She almost whimpered. She was still stunned. While he would have criticized her further, he didn't want her to think that he had invested in the emotions of the incident.

Instead, he could only ground his teeth in silence as he cursed the missed opportunity under his fiery breath. "Shit," he scolded. Was she stupid? He would have handled him and then she wouldn't be crying over that asshole. That fierce look in her eyes must have been empty.

No, that wasn't false bravery. Bakugou couldn't revoke her courage. She managed to apprehend her offender after all that. Adeptly and successfully, she had saved herself and left Bakugou forever thirsting for vengeance.

His hand twitched.

Without a doubt, if anyone put their lecherous hands on her again, no one would be able to hold him back from blowing their head clean off of their bodies.

After a quiet evening of homework and video games with Kotone, Bakugou noticed Uraraka's spirit bounce back like a spring. The stress in her reddened face had long since faded and a bright smile replaced any lingering distress.

On the train that night, as they went through a tunnel, she hopped over to Bakugou's side and sat centimeters away from him.

Simple and addictive like bubble wrap, she enjoyed pressing Bakugou's numerous buttons. Since he had yet to kill her, maybe that meant she could continue.

Recalling Bakugou's wild, red eyes from earlier that day, Uraraka wondered if he wanted to save her. While she initially failed to believe her vision, she brushed away her denial and began to realize that he wanted to kill that man. There was more in his eyes - fear, possibly. Open, dilated eyes of terror behind his glare. Albeit faint, she noticed the notion as soon as she glanced at the assailant.

"No, you, get the fuck back to the other side," Bakugou scolded as he pointed to the place she had originally sat.

Instead of obeying him, she only giggled - genuinely and playfully, "Oh, Bakugou."

How sick. Bakugou wondered if this buddy-buddy stuff was a game for Uraraka. She must have known how effortlessly she could knock him off balance and disrupt his tightly-wound world like her personal lot of firecrackers.

He jumped up and walked over to the other side instead of waiting for her to do so. This coy, cutesy act annoyed him. He wanted her to be angry or afraid of him. In an attempt to look away, he turned to stare out the windows of the train. "You're annoying," he lamented aloud as he narrowed his eyes. Before a few weeks ago, they hadn't interacted, and suddenly, she talked to him like they had been friends for the past year.

Sticking her tongue out, she nodded, "I don't get you, either, but that's okay. I can try." Pressing the back of her finger to her chin, she pondered his personality. "Hmm, you're pretty heroic, Bakugou. You're kinda a rough and tough guy. And, even though you're violent, you wanna use your powers for good. We might have different outlooks, but I hope we can be friends."

She believed that. Maybe part of her wanted to show off her strength. If she had been with Midoriya, would she have been as strong? Or would she have relied on him to save her?

"Another one of those stupid analyses?" thought Bakugou. He resented her attempt to placate and read him. "Friends? I already told you that we're going to get married," he groaned.

In that peaceable moment, he just impulsively cut through the calm atmosphere with his selfish intentions. Uraraka frowned and mumbled, "Bakugou." Right, his pride in becoming her partner and the fact that he paid her any attention at all was so that his future children could inherit both of their abilities.

"What? Did you forget? Did you think we were on a fucking date or something?" he snarled as he spoke. "The only reason I gave a shit about that pervert was so that he and everybody else knows that nobody touches what's mine." When he glanced back over at her, he expected tears or distress and hopefully a glimmer of panic in her wavering demeanor. In fact, he would have preferred fear or tears over the placid and intrigued smile that caught his eye.

Maybe her exhaustion muddled her judgment, or maybe she was too much of an optimist, but Uraraka suddenly didn't buy the tough guy act anymore. Besides, his words couldn't affect her too much when her heart belonged to Midoriya. "Yeah, okay, Bakugou," she yawned and stretched. Rule number one in Bakugology: disregard his claims of detachment or anything he says for that matter.

When she fell asleep, Bakugou was at a loss for the second time that day. For a time, he watched her softly inhale and exhale. Her mesmerizing rhythm hypnotized him into a drowsy state.

He could imagine himself approaching her and caressing the perfect, round edge of her cherubic cheeks. He contemplated whether or not she would feel as soft as she appeared. Mochi cheeks. The sweet aroma of her hair would probably complement its silky texture. Her soft snores caused the corners of his mouth to twitch, and once he realized the sensation, he averted his stare elsewhere.

The doors opened at their stop, and he got to his feet and back to reality. Easily, he could have and probably should have left her on the train by herself for facetiously snickering and smirking at him for most of that day. She deserved it.

But no, her parted lips and sprawled body gave off a vulnerability - the same vision that plagued him - that would attract others to attack her. Or worse. He kicked the seat beneath her and cursed, "Oi! Get the hell up before I murder you."

She wiped her eyes and looked up at Bakugou, "Okay. Wait for me, will ya'?"

"No." He walked towards the automatic doors with his backpack in his hands.

Uraraka whined, "Bakugou!" She hurriedly grabbed her belongings and ran out the doors after him. He woke her up so that she wouldn't be alone, didn't he?

#kacchako #bakugou x uraraka #kacchako fanfiction

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bellarkefanfiction · 7 years

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Language of Flowers

*click through to read it on ao3

written by: S | @kinetic-elaboration

prompt: ‘Flower shop AU Prompt: Person A owns a flower shop and person B comes storming in one day, slaps 20 bucks on the counter and says 'How do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?’ for @treehousesandpoohbears

word count: 1783

Bellamy Blake, small town florist, is used to sharing in the big moments of his customers' lives. He's seen them through everything from first date jitters to the stages of grief. But this--Clarke Griffin storming into his shop, furious, asking for a hate bouquet--is still something of a surprise.

Two weeks ago, at the Bi-Monthly Downtown Arkadia Small Business Association meeting, Luna, from the nature store on the corner, looked at him very seriously, took his hands in hers, and told him that he had been a warrior in another life. "A brave warrior-king," she said. 

Yeah, okay. Maybe in another life.  

In this life, Bellamy's just a guy who knows a ton about flowers. 

Because he knows flowers, and because Arkadia is the sort of small hamlet where people greet each other by name on the street, Bellamy also knows everyone's business. He knows about every engagement, wedding, baby shower, and funeral. He knows which high school kids are going to prom together. He keeps records on his more forgetful customers' anniversaries. And when someone screws up and actually feels bad about it, Bellamy knows about that, too, because nothing says I'm sorry like a purple hyacinth bouquet. 

The people who come into his little shop are sometimes ecstatic, sometimes despondent, often nervous. They're not usually angry, though. Even less often are they absolutely furious. So when Clarke Griffin stomps in, shoving the door open so roughly that even the friendly tinkle of the welcome bell sounds agitated, slams a twenty down on the countertop, and asks, "How I do passively-aggressively say fuck you in flower?" it's a bit of a surprise. 

He stares at her for a long moment, and pauses in arranging the daisies in Harper McIntyre's get-well-soon bouquet. "It sounds to me like you want to aggressively say 'fuck you' in flower." 

Clarke looks like she's about to snap something back at him, but instead, she takes a very deep breath and lets it out slowly. He can practically hear her counting to ten in her head. Then she crosses her arms tight against her chest and says, "What I really want is to be aggressive in person, but I think it would be safer to express myself with a bouquet. But a very—" he sees her fingers clench again—"a very pointed bouquet." 

Six years into this florist thing, Bellamy's also learned how to be an informal therapist, talking people down from first date jitters and pre-wedding cold feet, reassuring them in the face of illness or injury, even easing them through the stages of grief. But this time, he resists the urge to ask, "Do you want to talk about it?" He doesn't know Clarke all that well, but he knows her well enough to be sure she wouldn't take that question well. She'd think he was being patronizing. And given that he does actually find her bright red ears a weird combination of funny and cute, she wouldn't be too far off. 

Instead, he goes with, "What kind of fuck you bouquet do you need specifically? Fuck you for cutting me off in traffic? Fuck you for planting those ugly bushes where I can see them from my kitchen...?" 

"Fuck you for using me to cheat on your awesome girlfriend and then daring to give me roses?" Clarke finishes, a suggestion that puts his assumptions of mundane pettiness to shame and also, because Bellamy's basically running a monopoly on flowers in this town, puts some other recent events into a new perspective. 

“Does this cheater have really shiny long-ish hair, a desperate air about him, and an aversion to tulips?” Bellamy had tried to convince the guy that his I’m-sorry flowers would benefit from some variety, and that white tulips would be particularly appropriate in sending a sincere message of regret, but he’d been set on his traditional dozen red roses. Which was fine, Bellamy supposed, but frustratingly unimaginative. A real apology, he’d wanted to say, should have some thought behind it.

“Yeah.” Clarke nods. “That sounds like him. His girlfriend got a grant to do research in England for six months. He told me they’d broken up. She thought they were still very much together and just doing the temporary long distance thing. She got back last week and—”

Bellamy can see the tick in her jaw where she’s clenching her teeth together.

“I just feel so dirty now,” she finishes, slight shudder rolling back her shoulders. “I thought I’d ended it, put it behind me, and I could just forget about it and move on. Then I got those stupid flowers and I just…ugh, I just wanted to throw them in his face. Except he didn’t deliver them himself so I couldn’t.”

“And my delivery boy thanks you,” Bellamy answers. Then, more seriously, “Look, you aren’t the one who should feel dirty. At all.” He punctuates his point with his scissors, snapping them closed and then using them to point in her direction at his last two words. “He should.”

He gets a small smile out of her, at least, which is surprising and encouraging. She seems to be warming up a little, relaxing, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. So he slides the scissors and the scraps of leaves and stems from Harper’s bouquet out of the way, and starts moving over large vases of flowers from the shelving unit behind him onto the countertop. Clarke has to stretch up on her toes to see him over a particularly lively collection of bright yellow blossoms. “I see you have a lot of ideas. Do you send hate bouquets a lot?”

“No. I just always have a lot of ideas.” He clears a small space, so they can actually look at each other, and, indicating a bunch of purple flowers in the center of the counter, continues, “I definitely suggest including basil. For the ancient Greeks, it was a symbol of hatred; you can’t get more direct and unambiguous than that.”

“Okay,” Clarke agrees slowly. “But what if I want a more specific message? Like ‘I hate you because you’re selfish and a liar’?”

“You could add in some narcissus,” Bellamy suggests, indicating the yellow flowers. “Named after the young man in the Greek myth who was so vain that he fell in love with his own reflection in a river. It sends that ‘you only care about yourself’ message. Or some geraniums, for stupidity, as in ‘you’re an idiot for treating two amazing women so badly.’ Or yellow roses, similar to the flowers he sent you, except that this color symbolizes infidelity.”

He leans his hands on the counter, watching Clarke and waiting for some sort of reaction, trying to guess her opinions by reading the thoughtful expression on her face. It’s hard to tell. She could just be making a decision. She could be admiring the beauty of the sweet-smelling purple and yellow blooms. Flowers can be so unexpectedly soothing, even for the most agitated, the most worried, the most torn up inside. Or she might be disappointed, because not even a beautiful, spiteful arrangement can undo the past.

“Do you think it’s direct enough?” she asks, finally.

Bellamy raises his eyebrows. “A bouquet that tells him he’s a stupid, self-centered, unfaithful narcissist and you hate him? I think that’s as direct as flowers get.”

"Yes," Clarke answers, but she sounds skeptical. She draws the word out, and she's staring at the basil like she's trying to stare through it. He might be assuming too much, for how little he knows her, but Bellamy is tempted to call this her scheming face: her head tilted, eyes beginning to narrow, gaze darting quick across the countertop. "But—do you have any of those plants that eat people?"

At that, he barks out a laugh, the sharp sound of which seems to startle her as much as her dark and fanciful suggestion startled him. But when he looks at her again, she's smiling, and he knows she's going to be all right.

"I think you're confusing my store with the little shop of horrors!"

"No, no, I mean—" she tries to explain, making her arms into jaws that hinge at the elbows, opening them wide and shutting with a sharp clap, "I mean like those plants that just—snap! Like that."

Clarke looks like she's about to start giggling, and because he finds scheming that turns to giggling weirdly attractive, and because her enthusiastic impression of a man-eating plant was pretty cute, he finds himself holding back a giggle himself. Bellamy Blake, florist, might have long ago accustomed himself to embodying a non-traditional masculinity, but he's unsure how he feels about giggling.

So he tries to keep a mostly straight face when he says, "I don't actually keep Venus fly traps in stock. There's not a big demand for them—"

"Really? Because I would think they'd be a hugely popular item."

"Not everyone has your level of taste." An alarm is going off in Bellamy's head; it's saying danger—danger—flirting territory fast approaching— But he ignores it. He leans his forearms on the countertop and adds, "But I can special order one for you."

He's never actually tried to order a Venus fly trap but that's a minor detail.

Clarke picks up one of the rejected daisies from Harper's bouquet and twirls it between her fingers; this is an excuse, Bellamy thinks, to stop looking at him. She purses her lips like she's thinking. "I guess," she admits, with some feigned reluctance, sliding the flower awkwardly behind her ear, "I trust your arrangement to send the message."

The flower slips out before she's even done speaking, and Bellamy rushes around the counter, scraping his hip against the side by accident as he does, to grab it before it falls. It was an instinct, but seems a completely unreasonable one as soon as he recovers—because now they're standing very close. And he was just going to throw the flower in the trash anyway.

"Here—um, let me help with that." His voice sounds a little scratchy and too quiet but Clarke just gives a little nod. He thinks he catches her blush when his hand accidentally brushes against her neck.

"It might not stay in place very long," he warns. He doesn't step back, as if he were waiting for not just the flower, but Clarke herself, to fall, as if he needed to be ready to catch her.

"I'll just have to be very careful," she answers, and slowly tilts her head back, and smiles up at him.

It's too soon to say he really likes her, but he could really like her, definitely, which is probably why he finds himself saying, "I'm almost done with this other project. Do you want to stick around...? You can watch the fuck-you bouquet come together right in front of your eyes."

"Like magic," Clarke answers, and then, "Yes. I'd love to.”

#bellarke fanfiction #bffnet #bffwritingteam #treehousesandpoohbears #kinetic elaboration #title: language of flowers #oneshots #modern au #fluff #flower shop #florist!bellamy #past flarke #revenge

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gryphon1911 · 7 years

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And now we are on to the lessons learned portion of the trip. The good, the bad, the ugly...the stuff to remember for next time. Also, please take into account that this is all coming from our personal perspective. Remember that we are Ohioans and we are used to very humid environments and warm temperatures. The fluctuation in temperatures from day to night is not as drastic as those temperatures in the high desert. Gear and Supplies I must admit that for the first time being to a place like this, we did pretty well on packing for the hikes and photography. Some misses, though: Hiking: The temperature swings were there, but it was warmer than we had been lead to believe from our research. We brought along hats and hoodies...but didn't really need it. I'm not going to say that the advice was bad...perhaps this particular trip was just different than the norm. Again, coming from Ohio, our perception of the situation is probably different than someone else's. Photography: I had ordered some neutral density(ND) and polarizing filters for my lenses, but there was an issue with the delivery and they did not make it to me before the trip. There were times when a polarizer would have helped or an ND would have made things easier. Will definitely have those for the next trip. Lessons Learned: the climate is a lot more erratic than you might be used to, so plan for the worst case scenario. The camera and focal length I chose were near perfect for me....however, the strong high desert sun and reflective surfaces could have benefited from a polarizing and neutral density filter. Climate As mentioned before, Ohio is a humid place in the summer months. Wyoming in late August/Early September is not. Coupled with the haze of the surrounding states forest fires, the climate played havoc with my sinus'. We got so dry that nose bleeds were common as were inflamed nostrils. I needed quite a bit of nasal spray (Flonase) as well as a NeilMed Sinus Rinse to help get me through. The local Walgreens also stocked a NeilMed NasoGel that helped to keep my sinus' properly lubricated from the dry environment.

Beyond that, we both found the temperatures to be great most of the days in the park. It rained a little bit on one of the days, but it was barely enough to get anything wet. Had we not been out in it, I would not have believed it rained at all. Since it is dry, and the dry heat doesn't feel the same as a humid heat....STAY HYDRATED! The 3 liter Camelbak units were great as they carried plenty of water for a long day of hiking and site seeing. Lessons Learned: If you are not used to dry climates, then bring along items that will help you cope with it. Since it is very dry and not humid, you may over look your hydration. Keep plenty of water and snacks with you. It is very easy for the time to get away from you if you are not careful. Estimating Your Capabilities Not going to lie...we were so excited that our first day we hiked and drove a ton. We were absolutely exhausted come the end of the day...so we took the next day and stayed in Cody. Travel may have also played a role in the fatigue as well. It was OK, too as the temperatures that day were the hottest they would be all week, so staying local and visiting some of the sites in Cody was a good alternative. Before leaving, I had already researched a lot of the trails through various sites and books. They normally rated them on a 1 to 5 scale. As with anything, you'll want to take these as subjective. While there were definitely some that were harder than others - none were insurmountable. All the same - we stuck to the ones rated 1 through 3 for this first trip. Being our first time here, we really wanted to get an idea of what is there. Subsequent trips will allow us time to do more of a "deep dive" into the park. This trip gave us the much needed intel to have a much better second through "nth" trips. At a minimum, we hiked no less than 5 miles per day on trails but usually more to give you a frame of reference. Lessons Learned: Know what your physical limitations are and work your site seeing and hiking around it. Cell service is very poor in most of the park, so if you push yourself too far - professional help could be a long way off. Expectations on the Sites A lot of hype was built up on the thermal features. To be honest, we were not really that impressed by them. Sure, the geysers were fun and Morning Glory Pool and Grand Prismatic Spring were beautiful....but beyond that - it was of very little visual interest to us. From a geological perspective - they are fascinating to be sure. Old Glory was fun and a great way to see a geyser go off. However, we found that the other geysers behind Old Faithful to be just as fascinating. For example - Beehive Geyser was a great show. What we did not know was that the park rangers broadcast over a specific radio frequency and you can monitor that for park activity. We were walking along the far west side of Old Faithful and heard on a passerby's radio "we have a water indicator at Beehive". My wife asked what that meant and the guy told us that within 10 minutes Beehive Geyser should erupt and it was worth our time to get there. Next time, I will be doing research on a suitable radio and the frequencies they broadcast on. Bear Spray. We rented a unit for the week. Since we were unfamiliar with the location we decided to make sure that we took proper precautions. While there we did see a black and grizzly bear. The black bear was much closer....and some of the trails were marked with signs stating that bear activity was seen recently on the trails we were on. I just assumed that we might run into anything wild in the park at any time. Better safe than sorry. I do hope that more money is placed into the Yellowstone Park for upkeep of some of the boardwalk areas. Specifically Mammoth - a lot of the boardwalks were in horrible shape with lots of cracked and loose boards. I'm 235 lbs and I did not feel safe in certain areas of the terraces. When the second piece of paper they hand you after your park pass receipt states, "Yellowstone is a dangerous place". Always keep that in mind. I'm not saying to be paranoid. I'm not saying you shouldn't go. Just a friendly reminder to all that you are the visitor here and the animals here are wild and potentially dangerous. This is as close to a safari type environment as the United States will probably ever have. In a way, it is very refreshing. The lack of guardrails in places, the open environments is a far cry from the "nanny state" mentality that a lot of us must live under in our everyday lives. They tell you right from the get go....it is dangerous here, proceed at your own risk, have a great time...your safety is on you! I LOVE IT. Lessons Learned: Yellowstone is hard to get a grasp around in your brain if you've never been. I recommend doing as we did and spend a day just getting your bearings, Drive the grand loop and hit some of the major points, noting what you want to go back to and explore in depth. No one is going to hold your hand here - your safety is on you. Prepare accordingly. Don't allow your first impression of some sites tarnish your outlook on other similar sites. The People - Staff and Visitors Staff: I'm not sure that I've run into a park staff that is more helpful, friendly and caring. I really mean that. It is a genuine love they have for the park and it really shows through. We stumbled across a ranger led hike to Wraith Falls. The volunteer ranger named Emily not only gave us great information, but was very personable. We wanted to be her friend. Not only did she tell us about the falls, but stopped along the way to discuss other features within eye sight of the trail. Between stops, she took the time to talk with everyone in the group individually and learn a little bit about them. At Canyon Village, Ranger Susan gave us a lot of great recommendations for our visit. She is the one that turned us on to a sunset drive through South Fork Road. She also mentioned the scenic Chief Joseph trail drive to the NorthEast Entrance. While doing that trip, we went through the Montana town of Cooke City and Silver Gate. Silver Gate greeted us with an early morning breakfast at a local restaurant - one of the best we had the whole week. People: I'd say that 99% of the people - people being visitors - were awesome. Kind, generous, willing to have a conversation with a total stranger. They come from all walks of life as well as all points of the globe. Yellowstone brings them in. What to look out for? We did witness some incidents that could have been handled better. For instance, we were by Dunraven Pass and there was a black bear spotted down an embankment by the road. It jammed up traffic pretty good. Not 40 yards from the spot was a parking lot for a trail. Some people got so over whelmed that they started pulling over into a non-existent shoulder on the road. One woman almost drove her Jeep over the embankment. It was so bad that one wheel was off the roadway. When she tried to correct her error, she came inches from almost hitting another car behind her on the road. Another incident occurred at Mammoth. The main parking area was full, and people were driving the lot waiting for other cars to leave. One person stopped and waited, while another pulled around her to get into position for a spot on the other side of the lot. Person 1 misjudged the intentions of the car they were waiting on. Person 2 got a parking spot. Person 1 decide that this was unfair and drove by Person 2 and scolded them for "taking their spot". A very public and shaming scolding. It was such a shame too as there was a lot just to the other side of Mammoth that had 20-30 open spots and an access to the boardwalk from there. Lesson Learned: Talk with people, both visitors and staff alike. 99% of the people there were more than happy to chat up for a minute and share what they know or saw. You'll get some great insider tips on what to see, some less traveled trails and even sightings of wildlife or geothermal feature eruptions. Keep your cool and always look for alternatives. We found that there was plenty of parking and ample access to everything if you are patient. Well, that's the end of it.....my exhaustive view of the trip my wife and I made you Yellowstone. Please, feel free to comment or email if you have any questions, tips, hints or information that you might deem useful to those of us that may want to go or plan to return to Yellowstone some day.

#IFTTT #Blogger

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literateape · 7 years

Text

Outta Sight, Outta Mind

In our daily walk through the paths we choose, we all want to feel important. This is as universal as breathing oxygen to live in the human condition. It is the reason behind our rage and sense of victimhood. It is the driving factor within our desire for connection with others.

To somehow find people in our lives who see us as being worth sacrifice and loyalty, commitment and love.

To be seen and treated as if we are of import.

A man decides, through a series of seemingly random choices, to buy an apartment building. He scrapes together what money he can, borrows the rest with a huge interest rate, and buys a building he can afford in a neighborhood that might be 'up and coming' in a few years. He becomes a landlord. He charges the most he can per unit because he has that fucking loan to pay back and needs to make a few shackles for himself in the process.

A woman, with a job that started as just a stepping stone to something bigger but has become her career despite her being paid less than she feels she is worth, applies to rent one of his units. Her credit is sketchy - who's isn't these days - and the man requires her to jump through hoops and lessen her already battered dignity to rent the place.

She sits in her apartment with the drafty windows alone. She nurses a Bud Light because she can't afford better beer and wonders how she is in this life called her own. When she asked earlier in the day - for the ninth time - for some help at work (she's doing the job of three people and is starting to feel like she's drowning) she's told that she isn't a high priority right now.

When her dishwasher stops working, the man - her landlord - ignores her texts and phone calls because she is obviously not his priority, either.

In a recent discussion with a friend at a show, I tried to boil down my new More Spocks, Less Kirks mantra. In all of my writing about the rage of the Right and Left, the horrors of the ridiculous Trump Administration, the bullshit that is the 'call out' public shaming culture, and the Left's extremely poor job of communicating the better ideas and losing ground because of it, the best I could come up with is

Most people aren't against you but more just for themselves.

A young man graduates high school but can't afford to go to college. He also didn't have great grades nor did he attend a public high school in a predominantly white (monied) neighborhood. He gets a job at a local fast food joint but that offers so few opportunities for upward mobility that he ends up scraping by at every turn.

One day he realizes he lost his Ventra card and can't afford the bus ride to his job. He stands on the corner, asking anyone who dares to look his way if they can spare a few dollars to get to work.

The woman with the broken dishwasher and absentee landlord has been scammed by panhandlers before. Last year she was conned out of five dollars for a man who told a tale of his ill child and a broken down car. She felt moved by his story, gave him the sawbuck only to be greeted by the same man a week later telling the same story.

She sees the young man asking for bus fare and waves her hand dismissively at him as she hustles by as fast as her heels will take her.

A benefit (for sanity's sake I suppose) of most social media is my ability to simply ignore you. I can unfollow your posts, mute your tweets, block you from my sight. If I disagree with you or decide your point of view is askance from my own, I can simply make you 'outta sight, outta mind.'

The troubling aspect of this is that that means I can effectively only give my attention to points of view I already agree with. No dialectic involved. I don't have to listen to other opinions or facts. In the non-digital arena, this ability to narrow down the field of voices has been extended to college campuses, institutions and public spaces but it isn't as simple as simply clicking on a tab. To winnow down a public space to only include your own perspective requires bullying and screaming and public shaming.

Outta sight, outta mind.

Another woman, doing everything she can to make money. In a city designed to prevent her from succeeding as the male-centric workplace continues to marginalized her, pay her less and reward less qualified workers because of their genitals, she wears a bit too much make-up and a blouse that shows off a bit more skin than she feels is necessary. This job interview is a big deal and she grudgingly understands the nonsense she needs to go through to be noticed. "Look at my tits because that's all you see," she thinks.

"Hey, pretty lady! You gotta a ass I wanna taste like a warm biscuit!" The catcaller is in a business suit and drips with the misogynist entitlement that having a limp piece of tubing with a mushroom cap between his legs endows. He crosses the street and continues to harass her as she waits for that fucking Uber driver to pick her up.

The young man nearby has his bus fare this time and, while he isn't even close to being late for his fast food gig, sees the asshole coming dangerously close to the woman. He thinks of the dismissive wave of a woman when he was desperate who looked just like this one and turns away.

To somehow find people in our lives who see us as being worth sacrifice and loyalty, commitment and love.

To be seen and treated as if we are of import.

#This Is Water #Life

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