#IT TOOK ME TWO AND A HALF FUCKING HOURS TO POST THSI

[lgbtqforeverything]

Hournite Strawberry Wedding AU PowerPoint 

This power point is the work of the last 42 hours (yes i counted). It is a masterpiece drawn forth from the power of hournite’s love and my ability to hyperfixate. It contains everything they might need for a wedding ft. my amazing commentary. Enjoy.

[femslashy]

begin again | chapter two

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It’s been three years since Baz left the sleepy Isle of Mage to attend university in London, and he hasn’t regretted a thing--except maybe leaving Simon behind. Convinced he’ll never be forgiven, Baz refuses to even visit until a frantic phone call from his stepmother sends him running home. Once there, Baz is forced to confront his past, question the future, and maybe, just maybe, get that second chance he’s always desired.

genre(s): angst+fluff+smut (in later chapters)

chapter length: 1743 words

triggers/warnings: none for this chapter

author’s note: a giant thank you to @amandaisnotwriting & @rainbowbaz for the beta/britpicking! full acknowledgments will be posted with the last chapter

(@arituzz​ i meant to get this chapter out on your birthday and i didn’t but it’s still dedicated to you 💜💜 happy belated bday!!)

I’m still here.

I’m still in Watford, still on the island, and I tell myself it’s because Daphne is anxious and scared, and won’t leave my father’s side. I tell myself it’s so Andrea can have a holiday alone with her girlfriend without me third-wheeling. I tell myself it's because my siblings miss me.

(I tell myself and I tell myself and I tell myself, like if I do it enough, I might actually be telling the truth.)

On the subject of Daphne, I’d nearly given her a heart attack of her own when I came down for breakfast my second day back with bruises under my eyes and swelling around my nose. She wouldn’t stop stealing glances at me as I ate my eggs, but didn’t ask any questions. (Not that I would have told her anything. As far as my parents knew, Simon and I were secondary school rivals who could barely stand to be in the same room together.) (I never bothered to correct them when those circumstances changed.)

One week—and many cold compresses from Vera—later, the swelling is gone, but the bruising still remains. I scrunch up my face at my reflection in the mirror, hissing as I remember why I shouldn't do that. Fuck Simon.

I’d just wanted to push him a bit, see if he would yell. In hindsight, I should have seen it coming. Simon’s never fought with his words, and me egging him on could have only ended one way. I just wish it hadn’t involved my nose.

I haven’t shown Andrea yet. I’m afraid she’ll think it’s the reason I’ve cancelled on  our holiday. Maybe I should, actually. Then I won’t have to admit the real (much worse) reason. Except she’d just cover up the bruises and drag me to the beach anyway—one of the downsides of being friends with a makeup artist; you can never get out of social gatherings because of your appearance. (That doesn’t mean I don’t try.) (It never works.)

After determining my reflection a lost cause, I leave the bathroom, bumping into Daphne in the hallway.

“Oh, Baz,” she says once she notices it’s me, “I was just looking for you. Can you take the twins to football club again today?”

I nod, because of course I will.  I can’t say I intended to spend my hols as a nanny, but I’m finding that I don’t mind all that much. It gives me something to do. (It gives me excuses.)

Normally Daphne would be the one taking them places, but  my father’s heart attack had shaken her more than I’d initially realised. According to Vera, she’d been out shopping for most of the day when it happened—apparently she and my father had a row—and she’d returned just in time to see him being loaded onto an ambulance.

She’s been glued to his side since he came home. As if on cue, Cecily and Roseline—my six year old half-sisters—come tumbling out of their room. They’re followed closely by Winston, Daphne’s black and tan corgi, who makes a beeline for me almost immediately. I brace myself for an assault on my ankles, but before he can get to me Daphne’s scooping him up, admonishing him in sickening baby talk while he licks at her face. “Why is that dog so obsessed with me?” “He just wants to be your friend,” she replies, and I frown—I don’t like dogs, and I especially don’t like Winston. (This has done nothing to dissuade his love for me.)

“I don’t want to be his friend.”

Daphne just shakes her head and laughs—like she always does when I voice my opinion on her dog—and looks past me at the twins. “Are you two ready to go?”

They nod.

“Do you have your bags ready?”

Wide-eyed, they run off—presumably in the direction of the bags, and I grab the keys, rolling my eyes at Daphne as she tries to get Winston to give me a kiss goodbye.

***

We’re barely out of the garage when Cecily lunges forward and shoves a CD in my face. “Play this.”

“No,” I say flatly as I bat it away, “no, we are not listening to One Direction. And put on your seatbelt.”

“But you said no yesterday. And the day before,” she whines.

“And I’m saying it again: no.” “I’ll tell Mum you’re being mean.” “I don’t care.” “I’ll scream.” “I’d rather listen to that. Seatbelt. Now.”

“You’re in trouble,” Roseline sing-songs; Cecily drops the CD and swats at her.

“Cece! Leave her alone,” I snap.

Roseline looks smug, and Cecily sulks and kicks my seat. “I want my music.” “Put your seatbelt on.”

She does. “Can I have my music now?”

“No.”

She continues to kick my seat for the duration of the trip, sticking her tongue out whenever I glance in the rearview mirror.

It’s a long drive.

***

As soon as we arrive, the twins jump out of the car and run to the pitch, screaming and jumping around once they reach their friends. I go to say hello to Coach Minos; only it’s not Coach Minos standing next to the watercooler. It’s Simon.

“What are you doing here?”

He jumps, and the ball he’d been bouncing on his knees falls to the ground. “Hey, Baz.”

“What are you doing here?” I repeat. “Where’s Coach Minos?”

Simon shrugs. “Dunno. He just asked me to fill in, so I am.”

“But you’re terrible at football.”

“I still know how to play,” he says defensively, “I can still help. And I’m not that terrible.”

I scoff. “I think we played enough together for me to be a fair judge.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I’m remembering how those games usually ended—with tackles and kisses and me accusing him of cheating. (Judging by the look on Simon’s face, so is he.)

“I, um, I have to go now. The kids need me. I’ll be…” he points in the direction of the pitch, “there.”

“Right. And I’ll be…” I gesture to the stands where the other parents are sat, “there.”

Simon nods and jogs off. I force myself not to watch his retreating figure (or the way his back muscles flex under his shirt) and find a place to sit down, away from everyone. I spend the next hour pretending to be engrossed with my phone, and trying not to stare at Simon.

(I don’t succeed.)

***

After that, Simon is everywhere.

At the pharmacy when I’m picking up Mordelia’s allergy medication. At the bakery where he swipes two of my scones. Still filling in for Coach Minos at the twins’ football club. Running on the beach where I’m playing with Alfie. Stopping his run to build a sandcastle with Alfie. Knocking over said sandcastle with Alfie and immediately earning himself a best friend for life. (Which isn’t that impressive, considering Alfie’s three and loves everyone.)

I’m lying on the floor in my room when my phone buzzes in my jacket pocket, alerting me to a new message from Andrea, my flatmate back in London. (I suppose you could call her my best friend—she does—but that’s such a juvenile term that I avoid it whenever possible.) (Which is always.)

hows the isle of exbfs

Don’t call it that. Boring.

masochist just come home if its that terrible

I didn’t say it was terrible.

I almost pocket my phone then, mostly because I don’t want to deal with her questions right now, and a little bit because I’m afraid I’ll spill everything.

Andrea’s shockingly good at getting me to confess things.

I saw Simon today.

(Sometimes without even trying.)

!!! is that good??

My fingers hover over the screen as I contemplate my answer. I don’t know

are u going to see him again?? I’m not. wht not??? *why

Because it’s not like that. I didn’t mean to see him.

but u wanted to u wanted to see him right??

It’s not like that. We’re not like that.

but u want to be I don’t want to talk about it. Her next message is just a picture, one of those inspirational quotes that she’s so fond of. It reads: Everything you want is on the other side of fear. The paper is grey and the frame is black, stark against the white wall. It’s very aesthetic, very Andrea, and very much not what I want to think about right now.  I scowl as I type my response. I’m not scared. She responds with a gif of a laughing duck. alright luv And it’s not what you think. I don’t want Simon. who mentioned wanting simon ths isnt about wanting simon Andrea. i didnt bring up wanting simon u brought up wanting god baz stop talking about wanting simon all the time its embarrassing ur better than thsi grosd *gross baz baz basil dont be scared basil basilton bazzybazzybazzy i know ur reading these philippa says i need to leave you alone now oh she just took her top off what a clever distraction

The messages stop after that (thank you Philippa), and I set my phone back on my stomach. The floor isn’t the most comfortable place to lie down, but I can’t bring myself to get on the bed. It’s bad enough that I have to sleep there, in the ancient four-poster, with its dark red canopy, and gargoyles. (An excessive amount of gargoyles, really.)

I’m weighing up the pros and cons of sleeping on the floor when I feel a new message coming through. I snort and pick it up to tease Andrea about finishing too quickly—except it’s not from her.

I didn’t even know Simon still had my number, if I’m honest, and my heart is pounding in my ears as I read his words.

If I answer this, if I say yes, then we’ll cross the line from casual-friends-who-bump-into-each-other-sometimes to Friends Who Text, and there’ll be no going back—not without the potential for fallout. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I even want to do. My hands are shaking so badly that I can feel my phone beginning to slip from my grasp.

Everything you want is on the other side of fear. I take a deep breath, curse Andrea for jinxing me, and reply.

chapter three 

[whatohitsonfirewelp]

WARNING: long post because I decided to rant about stuff today I’m pretty sure it’s fine like nothing bad except for the fact that I curse. So just ignore this. I wrote this during class

Now they want to show students all the different classes and I’m just here like

I already submitted by form for classes for next year because I don’t fucking think about my choices until after I make them and I know there are students like me and the ones who have pare who aren’t involved enough to stop them from being impulsive.

And I’m just here like why didn’t you show thsi to me before registration started??? And then I’m half glad they didn’t because it would have made it so much harder and I probably would have cried so many times.

On the bright side I- I there’s no bright side. I don’t wanna do PE because that still sucks because I can’t freaking run but that means trying out for more sports next year and I’m just full on ranting right now so y’all can absolutely ignore this.

Please ignore this. No I didn’t watch the freaking bee movie it freak me out- oh here we go now you wanna do the whole film making class! But no no because I already signed up! But now it’s to late unless I just join a bunch of freaking sports!

I do not want to join sports.

There’s tryouts and talking and socializing and that’s scary.

How the hell am I supposed to do honors math next year? I learned nothing this year.

Oh here we go! Now there’s something about the German class and that’s the one I chose but then everyone said nooo change it to Spanish so I did that and now I’m just-

This is why I don’t like making choices alone. Because I don’t think and then I already make them and ask people after and then I’m just panicking.

You know what? I’ll learn it in college. Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t actually know what I want to do in college.

Like maybe I wanna fucking cook or something. That thought sure lingers in my mind rent freee and gives me problems. So does the fact that maybe now I want to be a firefighter but that’s a whole other I’m gonna ignore right now.

Back to the sports thing now.

So I’m gonna try out for one like this year bUT it’s different for next year. It’s like- I can’t run for shit so why the hell would I do cross country or track and field? I can’t really swim- okay I can and I do junior lifeguards but stuff like forms? I can’t do that. My feet will not ducking cooperate- that’s how you spell that?- and I did do soccer when I was younger for like two years and then in I think fifth grade again. But I don’t know the rules or anything.

And I fucking refuse to do cheerleading. I did that sport for years and I hate it and both like it at times. At the end of the day I’m not a preforming because of trauma so cheer? Nope. Not for me. Plus I’ve seen our high school cheer team and it’s a fucking dissapointment. Like cheering has changed so much over the years and right now it’s mostly girls standing on boxes and yelling cheers and it’s the worst.

Like where are the stunts? The kicks and jumps? Where is that spirit? And while I don’t want to do cheerleading ever again my sisters still do it and my mom was a coach until stuff happened. Like I was one from kindergarten to around sixth grade take out a year or two.

I mean on one hand you don’t really need any experience before hand you just gotta show you follow the chants and arm movements quick and that you can scream without yelling. And some other stuff. It’s you present yourself when preforming as well. Like definitely not hard trust me your overthinking how hard it will be if you do wanna try out for cheer at your school. There’s also flexibility but honestly you can make it seem like you can do a high kick when you actually can’t. I just don’t like cheering that much problem do to some trauma and the fact that I hate the outfits. They itch and move high up and it’s just generally uncomfortable for me.

Well this post certainly took a turn. Right okay here’s another question I have. Or first one maybe? Anyways, so I’m not counting at sports are this year that got all screwy but next year if I wanna do the sport I’m trying out for now it’s a fall sport for girls. Will that still be happening in winter season? Or just call and then it’s done. Or does it depend on the sport? Because I don’t wanna take PE at all- oh fuck do I gotta do like that testing for it still? For PE even if I am in a sport? I can’t run a mile. I mean they are definitely better that The whole running from one side to another as the time spreads up with that fucking voice counting. But yeah I can’t run. I mean I can I guess but it’s certainly not something I enjoy unless it’s like tag or something. Like tag? I can run for fucking hours when I’m playing with my baby cousins and some other random kids that I end up watching at the park. And those little demons run fucking fast okay.

But me? Running a mile or something? Nope. Can’t do it. Like if I have to I will but I will not enjoy it and I’m this type of person who will turn down a ride on a car for the rest of the way because if I had to start this I will fucking finish it even though I’m embarrassed at how long it’s taking me and calling myself every name in the book in my head and that’s more information then I wanted to share.

Which is fine because all of you should be ignoring this.

I mean hey maybe if the sport does end in the fall I can do the water one in the winter. Like sure I definitely have trauma with swimming that I haven’t explained to anyone and there’s the fact that I enjoy swimming and don’t want it to be ruin because I’m worried that I’m not good enough.

Honestly I’d probably he okay with trying out for sports except when I was like nine or younger I said I wanted to do tennis to my day and I got told no because it has running and I’m basically not fit for that and oh boy did that ruin whatever self esteem I had left by then. I was genuinely interested and excited to do it. Now? Now it’s all about running more and doing this and doing that and jeez I wonder why I don’t want to.

Well this got depressing fast. ANYWAYS. Uh. Huh. Okay I don’t think I have anything more to say- no nope that’s a lie apparently I do. Does me maybe doing a sport next year give me a free period for a bit? Now I’m just fucking confused. Alright okay I’m done I finished whatever this even was because I could not stay on one topic for long and this is why I don’t actually talk. Well that and the whole stuttering thing.

Wait back to the cheer team. If y’all are cheerleaders and disagree with whatever I said then hey maybe your school actually understands cheer. And for tryouts? Maybe it’s different for your school but from what I’ve gathered it’s not all that hard and maybe gangs just because I was a cheerleader for years so y’all might think differently.

But cheerleaders who do stunts are badass don’t any of you forget that. I can literally feel another girls shoe digging into my thigh as I type this. Okay now I’m done.