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Gonna tell my kids this was One Direction

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nathaniel, neil, nathaniel, neil. andrew flips the two names around in his head like tossing a coin. heads or tails, the coin always comes up abram. nathaniel and neil are two sides of the same coin; forged in a dark basement, in musty hotel rooms, on the exy court. both hate sweets, love to run, to talk back any chance they get.

some days, the coin lands on nathaniel. jack makes one too many comments at practice and neil - no, nathaniel - has him on the ground, raquet to his neck in an instant. he can't hear what the strikers are saying but through the grate of the helment, andrew sees nathaniel's smile.

others, it lands on neil. andrew finds neil and matt splayed out on the couch, three movies deep into a "pop culture lesson". neil motions for andrew to sit and absently cards his fingers through the blond's hair. matt hides his grin in his sleeve.

but abram; he runs to andrew after each winning game to tap sticks, he sits each friday in columbia, talking about escape routes for an alien invasion, he keeps ice cream in the freezer and cigarettes in his backpocket.

heads or tails, doe or minyard, doe or minyard.

doe was made and unmade in california. 13 homes, 13 film reels constantly playing in the back of his mind, each scene driving the cuts deeper and deeper. andrew doe learns the danger of wanting and vows to keep everyone out.

minyard went to juvie for his brother. he crashed the car to keep him safe. he spent years on medication that sent him up up up to protect his cousin. minyard guards himself with knives sharper than his glare; he protects those that are his and fuck anyone else.

heads or tails, the coin starts to come up drew.

it starts small; quick grins in columbia at neil; shared dinners with aaron that don't end in a fight; something like excitment in his stomach before an exy game. when neil is hanging out with the upperclassman, he stays.

heads or tails; the coin lands on growth

[petalsfloating]

what the fuck makes phone apps so cocky as to send me notifications telling me to use it. my grocery list app straight up went "you havent made a list in a while! 🙂" are you out of your fucking mind. you are a program. why are you speaking to me like youre my equal. i could replace you with a pen and the back of a receipt. idiot. i kill you now

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if 3000+ devices exploded simultaneously and thousands got injured, 37+ ppl died in usa or london or france anywhere in the imperial core this website would be talking about it nonstop. my coworkers' relatives are lebanese and he hasn't been able to contact them because everyone's nervous of using anything with a lithium battery. the kids from diaspora are teaching their parents how to turn off find my phone and airdrop and other geolocating options. it's absurd to me people are carrying on like its normal, or just don't care cause c'mon ppl blow up in the middle east all the time, right?

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nicky opening the door to the twins' room one night, when they're about fifteen, soon after tilda dies. they're both sound asleep, beds pushed to opposite sides of the small room, but nicky lingers in the doorway, light from the hall bleeding into the dark, because they sleep the same. andrew curled in on himself, back up against the wall, covers tucked tightly around him, fisted in his hands, like a shell he's building up against the world, unbreakable. aaron sleeps on top of the covers, knees hunched into his chest, hands held tightly inwards, like he's protecting his body. they sleep metres apart, facing each other, breathing in sync. nicky closes the door and rests his forehead against it. maybe he can show them how to be brothers to each other.

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Sometimes I forget how many fights Kevin gets into because a) his violence is massively overshadowed by incidents of murder and torture and b) at any given moment, he's either having a panic attack or playing exy.

This isn't even all of the instances Kevin starts fights. Like yes, he is the Queen, the First Princess, of exy and yes, he does have every single person he knows ready to fight for his honour, but that doesn't stop him from doing it himself.

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Should be considered a hate crime to put oat milk in someone's coffee without asking like yeah I'm gay but you're making a lot of assumptions based on that one fact

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where's that picture that ruined my life

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Is My Blue Your Blue? A visual perception test that judges what you call blue and green and compares it with others’ results. I am “bluer than 68% of the population.” Now do red/pink, red/orange, and blue/purple!

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Greetings bugs and worms!

This comic is a little different than what I usually do but I worked real hard on it—Maybe I'll make more infographic stuff in the future this ended up being fun. Hope you learned something new :)

If you are still curious and want to learn more about OCD, you can visit the International OCD Foundation's website. I also recommend this amazing TED ED video "Starving The Monster", which was my first introduction to the disorder and this video by John Green about his own experience with OCD.

The IOCDF's website can also help you find support groups, therapy, and has lots of online guides and resources as well if you or a loved one is struggling with the disorder. It is very comprehensive!

Reblog to teach your followers about OCD

(But also not reblogging doesn't make you evil, silly goose)

[petalsfloating]

good morning let’s hear it for Mildly Cool Outside a round of applause for Mildly Cool Outside

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i did wrestling in middle school. on one hand, i was actually quite good at it, which was nice. being good at any sport was a new achievement for me. on the other hand, i was bi, and i was trying very hard not to notice that i was bi, and getting folded into knots by very kind, very muscular dorks made that task somewhat difficult.

adding fire to the problem was that my parents and my grandparents wanted to watch my matches, because they were very proud that their Gangly Nerd Son was actually Sporting, and they wanted to cheer me on. which would've been sweet and all, but if there are four people you do not want there during a key part of your Burgeoning Sexual Awakening, it is your mom and your dad and your grandma and your grandpa.

right? i mean, imagine some guy's got your head in his armpit, and you're going you know, old sweat smells bad, but fresh sweat has a sort of and then you make eye contact with your grandpa in the stands and you remember you're swearing spandex so if you pop a boner people aren't just going to be able to see the outline, they're going to be able to count the veins, and the only way you will be able to restore your family's honor after that would be by moving to siberia and renouncing joy, forever. that, or lift your entire body up by your kneck then twist 180 degrees without paralyzing yourself.

it’s a lot of pressure, is what i’m saying.

still it did motivate me to win my matches really fast. because i was so tall and skinny, i was stupidly good at the double leg takedown, and then once someone was knocked down, i'd just do the half nelson and kind of flip em over for the pin. then the ref would count to three and i’d win. EZPZ.

i had one match where that went great. won in the first ten seconds, sat back down, and prepared myself for a good hour or two of doing fuck all. didn't even feel bad the parents/grandparents were gonna be bored. the matches went up from me in 5 pound increments (i was in the 115 lbs division) and it was going great until we got to the 145 lbs division. the other school's wrestler stepped onto the mat, and she turned out to be a girl so our guy flipped, because for straight guys, wrestling a girl is not a pleasant experience.

i'm not entirely unsympathetic. my experience wrestling dudes was definitely a little traumatic. but also, i dealt. guy could've dealt too. instead, he refused to wrestle, and the coach went - fine. not even worth fighting over.

so he went to the 140 pounder, and that guy said, nosir, my mom said mormons can't wrestle girls. next guy down, 135 pounder, now he knew he could pull the same card and thus did. 130 pounder, 125, both tapped out. he got to the 120 guy, and that guy was catholic, but he said he was considering being mormon, and thus would have to pass. as a precaution.

coach blew up a little at that. he said "is there anyone - anyone - on this entire goddamn team that is willing to wrestle a girl?" and then he pointed at me and said "YOU. MAT. GO."

and i'll be real, if i'd been paying more attention, i'd have pulled the mormon card too, but i'd just been putting all that audio into a buffer file because i was reading, so i was halfway across the mat before i even processed what had been said and by then it was too late to turn back.

still i had a plan. and my plan - my beautiful, perfect plan - was to do what i'd always done. tackle, flip, pin, win. sit down. read. bore my family to death. move on.

i got the first part right. she was bigger than me, but she wasn't taller. just an incredibly stout woman. god built me like a snake with glasses, just as he built her like a combat cube. the problem was the half nelson. soon as she was down, i tried hooking my arm under hers from behind and for both genders, the defense for this move is just clamping your arms really fucking tight against your sides. if you're a guy, that's whatever, but if you're a girl - especially if you're god's chosen combat cube - that pins your opponents hand right against your boob.

so, i got the hook in, she clamped, my whole arm pressed against something soft, my coach was yelling THE HALF NELSON. BABYLON! JUST FINISH IT! FINISH THE HALF NELSON! and i was just trying to press hard enough to finish, when then my brain went

...oh.

and i flipped out. of course i flipped out. i like girls, and touching a boob is an elemental experience, and i was not ready. i was not prepared. i had not committed the sacred rites. i recoiled like i'd just brushed my arm against the surface of the sun, stood up, and backed away. nobody in the room knew why i'd given up. all they saw was me, right about to win, suddenly flailing around and scrambling. so everyone started screaming at me to just get the half nelson again, and i couldn't really yell back there's a fuckin' boob in the way and it was very distressing, and the only way i could think of to make them stop was just doing it over again the right way.

so i did.

i hunkered down and prepared myself for Wrasslin' Attempt #2: The Sequel.

i knocked her down again, EZPZ. i went for the half nelson again, but she knew what i was about to do so she super clamped, and i knew she was gonna super clamp, so i wound my arm back like a pop-eye cartoon punch before swinging my arm through the gap between her bicep and her side, but the amount of time i spent winding back super signalled what i was about to to do, which gave her time to clamp even harder, which somehow redirected the entire force of the popeye punch to the bottom of her bra.

it spat out a single boob the same way an action hero might spit out one single tooth after getting a solid crack across the jaw. as if to say:

*ptooie.* "that all you got?"

i did not actually see this. my experience was that first there was an arm, then there was a bit of boob, but i was braced, i was ready, forward at all costs, tatakae motherfuckers, and then the boob went away, and i didn't know where it went but my team, and the audience, and everyone who was in front of me, they all gasped like i just kicked them in the stomach. except for my coach. he was behind me, and thus one of the four people in the room who did not see the boob. now my mom, my dad, my grandma, and my grandpa, they all got flashed but nooooooo, coach thunderbutt was behind me, and he didn't see shit so he was still yelling NOOOOOO BABYLON WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST FINISH THE NELSON! GO FOR THE KILL! BABYLON! BABYLON!

but i did not go for the kill. i stood up and she stuffed her boob back real fast, and we just kind of circled each other awkwardly until time ran out and i won on points. that's not technically allowed, but the ref had some mercy on me.

my coach did not.

i barely had time to sit down before he strode over to the bench to chew me out.

"babylon," he said, in that very calm way people get when they're too pissed to yell. "why didn't you pin?"

and i didn't know how to say well coach, i tried, but there was a boob, and it kept getting in the way, and my mom was watching, and so was my dad, and so was his dad, and his mom, and god (like bible god) and that's a can of worms because i'm pretty sure he was already mad at me, and i'm wearing spandex, and i think i might have to move to siberia, so instead i said

"i uh. i forgot how to do the half nelson."

which is actually impossible. forgetting how to do the half nelson is like forgetting how to swallow your spit.

and he looked at me, like i was the dumbest person in the entire world, and i looked through him like i'd just survived my 250th day in a trench at verdun, and he said: fine.

fine.

but we're all going to practice it for an hour tomorrow because you forgot.

and then he left.

and my buddies had the gall to be salty about it. i got so many comments saying "dude, why didn't you just tell him the truth?" and i said "you can if you care so damn much. you could've wrestled the girl too. maybe someone else should do the hard thing today."

but they didn't. so the next day, we did an hour of half nelson drills, and i spent a decent amount of time getting thrown around the mat, and it was pleasant in exactly the way that i hated and the year after that, to the surprise of everyone but myself, i quit wrestling and joined the trivia team.

and if you want more reasons to love my mom, my grandpa joked after the match that i might have to talk to my bishop about it, and my mom told him he would be allowed to make jokes after he stood in front of a crowd of 110 people in spandex underpants while wrestling a woman that was not his wife.

he paused for almost five seconds after that. then he said: aw. hell. sorry babylon.

and i'd have preferred my apology from god, but getting it from him was pretty good too.

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hi me again um i'm thinking about andrew going to aaron's wedding. thinking about what nora said about neil using two favours, one to get him there, one to make sure he didn't start anything during the ceremony. did aaron check the guestlist eight times to make sure his brother was on there. did he make sure there were places and invites specifically for andrew and by extension neil. is it the first time aaron sees andrew in person since going to med school. does he wait by the entrance, half-heartedly greeting people, scanning the blurry faces for blond hair. does nicky have to drag him away eventually and tell him to relax and aaron, he's going to come, just breathe, okay? does aaron smile and thank nicky and then go back to inspecting the crowd for his identical copy. does he catch sight of andrew and immediately look away, move to a different area, because he needed andrew to be there, but he didn't realize he couldn't actually talk to him yet? and after everything's over, after dinner and the reception and everything's wrapping up, is that when andrew finally comes over. does he find aaron, against the wall, katelyn taking her cue to leave, and do they stay silent for a moment. if they speak who talks first? does aaron say "i didn't think you would come", admitting it out loud for the first time? does andrew say "i didn't think you had it in you"? or is it as silent as so many of their conversations as brothers have been, but the angry devotion touched with resentment doesn't burn like it used to, they're older now, family doesn't hurt now. the bridge across the gap between them grows stronger with every step they take across it.

wordlessly andrew says"i'm proud of you" and aaron says "i know."

[petalsfloating]

Welcome to Preservation! we have nice people and even nicer murderbots.