#closest i did was mechanics in further maths and i refuse to go there again i hate projectiles

[constantlyquestioningg]

would i be better at hanging my washing on my diagonal washing lines (string tied around my room) if i was a physicist. they do strings right?

[arisalty]

All My Life I’ve Been so Lonely

(Quick A/N, I would like to say thanks to my beta reader Elbie. This is my first time actually completing a fic for the Sanders Sides fandom but it is also the first time I’ve EVER tried writing angst. So... yeah. Also, it’s a Soulmate AU)

(Also I asked the Powerless discord what names for the dogs with no context except a young Patton named them and received an “Aww” in reactions *cough Moon and Dallas*. If only they knew.)

Pairing: Logicality, platonic Prinxiety, platonic Analogince (kinda???)

AO3

Tw: Major Character Death, Car Accident, Bullying, discriminatory language/slurs

Logan had always left little messages from when he was a child and always received little ones back. When he was younger, little doodles like smiley faces, geometric shapes and simple words like “hello” and “How are you?”. As he grew, they turned into late night conversations, maths workings for the other and secret codes made and lost in memories.

He met Patton when he was 7, their parents working together to set up a surprise meeting for Patton’s birthday.

They were best friends, constantly talking. Patton brought out the boldness behind the quiet mask of shyness Logan constantly had, and Logan influenced Patton by enhancing his curiosity by the occasional ramble about something really cool, like the stars.

They had so much in common, but also so many things different between them. They were a perfect match together, bringing out the best parts of both. It was to be expected, they were soulmates, but not all soulmates start off with such a good connection.

They did everything they could together- birthday parties, vacations, Christmases; they were basically joined at the hip.

Logan wished he could say he couldn't remember anything from the 18th of November, but if there was one thing Patton had drilled into his mind, it was that lies were bad and that lies could destroy the world if someone used them right.

And so once again the memory was dragged up as he sat alone.

The day started out with him rising to find a little message in cyan scrawled on the inside of his wrist; “Good morning, Lo! Meet at the park like usual? :)”

Logan grabbed his blue ballpoint pen and wrote back a quick “Of course, Patton”.

Logan got out of bed, showered, dressed, ate (he had eggs on toast), grabbed his school bag and left for school. He met Patton at the corner of the park like usual and got into registration with plenty of time before school started.

Math was first- they revisited the area of shapes that day- then geography (it was a pop quiz), break, Science and English (then lunch, like usual) before finishing the day with cooking.

Cooking was always a fun lesson, due to their class being, well, children, and cooking such things as pizza and banana bread and kebabs. Powdered sugar often coated most surfaces, which oddly never happened when a member of staff was present, only when their back was turned, and Logan was not even going to get started about the time they were able to use barbecue sauce.

But Logan took an extra club after school- further maths, because-- cmon, it’s not that weird to like maths, is it?

But either way, Logan stayed back an hour after school while Patton got a ride home.

Logan was about halfway through the time there (their current project was about using Excel mathematically) when he received a message on his arm in Patton's mother, Tracy’s handwriting;

𝐿𝑜𝑔𝒶𝓃,

𝒫𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑜𝓃… 𝒫𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑜𝓃’𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝑜𝓀𝒶𝓎.

𝐻𝑒’𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑜𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓁 𝒷𝓎 𝒶𝒾𝓇- 𝐼’𝓂 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝓃𝑜𝓌. 𝒜𝓁𝒶𝓃’𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝓅𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓊𝓅.

𝐼’𝓂 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝓇𝓊𝓅𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝓁𝓊𝒷 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓃𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒. 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓂𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓊𝓈 𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝑜𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓁 𝒶𝓈 𝓈𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓀 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓈𝒽𝑒𝓈.

𝒯𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓎

Logan felt his hand clench on the piece of paper he was holding. Muffled noises of other students, almost mechanical movement as he picked up his bag, with a jumbled and confusing talk with the teacher and rushed down to the office where Alan was already waiting, having signed Logan out already.

The car ride was almost silent except a quiet “What happened?” from Logan.

Alan took a deep breath, eyes trained on the road.

“He had taken Spot and Buddy out for a walk to pass the time before you came home. You know how restless he can get. And apparently, Buddy broke into a run and ran into the road, and Patton followed to pick him back up to move him onto the pavement, and that’s when the car… Well, you’re a smart boy, Logan. You can work it out.”

Silence fell over the car until they reached the hospital.

Once they reached the right area, they found Tracy sat outside, the woman wiping away a stray tear.

“The doctors are with him now. They’ve already found at least 2 broken ribs and a broken leg, but he’s lost a lot of blood.” her voice dropped as she tried to calm a stuttering breath. “They aren’t sure if he’ll be able to make it.”

Logan sat slowly, shock leaving him with no words, and he found that it was probably for the best that he remained without speaking.

His best friend, his soulmate was dying. He should’ve been there. It was his fault. He should’ve been there. Patton wouldn’t have been restless. He could’ve warned Patton. He us shouldn’t have taken the club.

The doctors came out about half an hour later, and one of Logan’s moms had arrived. The talked in hushed voices to Alan, but everyone could see the drop in his face, the sadness dragging the corners of his lips downwards. Logan was curled into a ball on his mother’s lap, not sobbing, but occasionally another tear would silently follow the glistening path of many that preceded it.

As a face fell, as did the hopes and feelings. Everyone seemed to huddle together more, and Logan choked back a sob, only for it to escape quietly from his mouth, the rest of his breath shaky. Tracy was wiping away tears of her own, leaning into Alan who had moved to embrace his wife. Logan’s mom, Cassie, was wrapped around Logan protectively, rocking gently as she stroked Logan's head.

It was from that moment that Logan was drawing himself back into his shell of shyness and fear.

His once dramatic self he had found with Patton almost completely disappeared.

He moved away not much longer; he couldn’t bear the memories that surrounded the town. Everything reminded him of Patton.

Buddy had been put down after he also got hit by the car, but Spot was given to him to look after.

In the new school he was at, Logan didn’t really make any friends, but one group, the more weird ones and the nerds took him in. But he refused to talk about soulmates. And the closest ones never asked.

However, being a quiet nerd with two moms around the age of 14 would never work out well.

“Oh look, it’s the nerd with the fags for moms!” The boys surrounding him laughed along with his friend.

“Leave me alone,” came a quiet reply.

“Oh I’m sorry, I can’t hear you, but I bet your about to burst into tears.”

“Ooooh, do we need to call mommy to kiss your pride better?”

Logan pressed his eyes closed, trying to ignore the discriminatory idiots around him.

“I feel sorry for your soulmate,” another one went on. “I would want to die if I got someone like you.”

Logan clenched his fist, trying to keep his calm.

“I bet he doesn’t even have a soulmate.”

And then Logan snapped.

“What do you know? You haven’t ever... ever had the chance to get close to your soulmate to have him ripped away from you! You’ve not been through the pain I have. You will never care about those around you. You only care for yourselves. You only care to make yourselves better than others. Well, newsflash, you aren’t, and you will never, ever, in the rest of your lives be better than anyone.”

The group were shocked silent briefly as the boy in front of them was known for not ever retaliating to jibes, but then the head of the group, Samuel Matthews, spoke up.

“Him? So not only were you raised by fags, but you are a faggot yourself? Ha!”

The other boys took this as newfound ammunition, crowding around, enclosing him against the fence where he was sat.

“Just… leave me alone.”

��As if, Fa-“

“Finish that insult and I will not hesitate to punch you.” Logan looked up quickly to see that a taller, older kid had dragged Matthews back by the scruff of his clothes.

“Leave the kid alone, you foul creatures!” Roman Hartley stood the the side, arms on his hips as he glared at the bullies.

“You heard him, fuckers. Go!” The taller, lankier kid glared from underneath his bangs.

The bullies stood their ground, until Matthews muttered a quick “c’mon. We aren’t gonna beat this.”

Once the bullies were gone, Virgil went and seated himself next to Logan, holding out a hand.

“Virgil Evans, sorry you had to go through that. They’re real dicks. Oh, and this is my friend, Roman Hartley, but you probably already know that. He has a habit to broadcast himself.”

“Rude.”

Logan was aware that they were a good two years older, and that most of the time, same years stuck together and didn’t mix with lower or higher ones.

“C’mon bud, let’s go get you a snack.”

Virgil slung his arm over Logan’s shoulder, guiding him to stand up and move towards the hall and canteen. Roman cracked a joke, and Logan let himself share a tiny grin with the two.

Yes, Logan still felt broken after 3 years of Patton being gone, but Logan could be fixed, he just needed the right people.

[weblistposting-blog]

New Post has been published on Weblistposting

New Post has been published on https://weblistposting.com/after-40-years-i-finally-tracked-down-my-useless-brother/

After 40 years I finally tracked down my useless brother

For most of my existence, and I’m 50 now, one piece of statistics approximately my brother had blocked all others. “dead” have become the barrier; a restraining wall.

Nicky’s deadness became his defining characteristic, even though he have to have had others: he changed into 9 when he drowned. I was eleven, his closest brother through age, but to contain the grief I had dismissed his individual as provisional. He became a baby. Now he became useless. Nothing more to look here.

In death, Nicky thinned and dwindled. He became timid, prone, too vulnerable to preserve his preserve on life. loss of life saved his mouth close, a meek and unassuming boy barely worthy of the word. As a circle of relatives, we didn’t speak about him and waited for silence and time to wear him away.

It becomes any other loss of life that delivered him again. whilst my dad died, all of sudden I had to get admission to a few steel filing shelves inside the alcove in the nook of his have a look at (formerly hidden behind a roll-down display, also locked).

My first instinct, or hope, become that surprising keys might open up a hidden internal life. I’d seek thru my dad’s files and find a secret shrine to Nicky, evidence of emotional craving concealed for decades some of the correspondence and credit card statements. No such tortured soul emerged. What I did discover, in the bottom drawer of the furthermost cupboard, became an inexperienced plastic bag.

Nicky’s documentary relics, which includes they have been, comprised a package of faculty reviews and a vinyl-blanketed ring-binder of commiseration letters. There was additionally a certified copy of an entry of demise, signed via the Cornwall registrar. I positioned the dying certificate aside, to glean what I ought to from the paperwork left in the back of.

Before everything, the letters of condolence weren’t plenty assist. The boy they described felt as not likely as my useless, passive version of nine-yr-old Nicky. The letters reached for the opposite intense, summoning a high-quality powered small boy with “special gifts … so earnest and enquiring”. Nicky turned into “a vivid, handsome boy with a lovable experience of humor”. Apparently, “everything Nicky did he did nicely, be it a game, paintings, his track, or just kindness and exact manners”.

Perhaps he changed into and Maybe he wasn’t, but, slowly, choosing through the bones of praise, a surprising emotion began to make itself felt: resentment. I resented my dead little brother, however no longer because he became “brilliant”, “proficient”, “extremely kind” and “a brilliant conversationalist” (a 9-year-old boy!). no longer even due to the fact he becomes dead. I realized or remembered, that at some distance side of the wall we were opponents. And now not in a great way.

The forgotten fact struck me like a revelation. I grew to become to the college reports, greedy for word of Nicholas Beard, and first of all his teachers appeared to confirm what I had examined inside the letters of sympathy. In 1974, Nicholas becomes “a promising student” who advanced right into a “pleasant and capable boy”. through 1977, he “continues to do nicely, and his future looks brilliant”, at which point I was relieved to look a sample of doubt creep in. Aged 8 and a chunk, my brother changed into “a little overconfident”, even though he did have his motives. via 1978, the year of his loss of life, he becomes first in every difficulty besides maths (wherein he came fourth). First in French, records, geography, scripture, all first. First in English, and that’s my problem, in which “he is never glad until he is pinnacle!” No marvel he had a “relatively conceited way”.

He turned into “a natural cricketer, above common”. I’d blocked that out. My little bro Nicholas had been a brainbox with an expertise for the game. All and sundry who had shared his early life, as I did, should on mirrored image have remembered that this was so, simplest I’d by no means took the time to reflect. Nicky turned into “active and properly coordinated, and continually offers one hundred% effort”.

I used to be after him now, and I too may want to installed a hundred% attempt. I went attempting to find greater evidence, for random images in forgotten corners of attics. Whenever I discovered him, my first response changed into often condescension. Nicky turned into marooned inside the 70s. He wore brown sandals and a nylon petrol-blue polo neck. His garments have been a unique catastrophe at own family activities, including a crimson and blue striped waistcoat, or a crimson-checked blouse with a simple blue tie. I had the identical outfit, however, I grew out of it.

Regularly, I collected a Nicky image series. All his existence changed into right here: he crawled, sat, splashed inside the tub, toddled about with a cushion on his head. His tricycle, his seventh birthday, Stonehenge, the paddling pool out the again on a summer time’s day, complete diving under in 10 inches of plastic Barrier Reef. He just turned into. He lived.

One precise photoactivated a reminiscence. 4 brothers on vacation, wearing anoraks, arranged for the digital camera on a disused metallic railway bridge. Someplace in Wales, at a wager. Nicky is pretending to unfasten a rivet on a girder, as though he’s difficult at paintings. Absolutely everyone is looking at the digicam besides him and me, because Nicky is getting to his rivet and I’m looking at Nicky, slyly, face to the digital camera, however, eyes sliding meanly to the right. I want to hide my spiteful sideways glance at something it’s far he’s doing, but the image doesn’t lie.

I hated Nicky’s pretending. We were a circle of relatives group posing for a picture and Everybody who saw it later need to recognize, honestly, that my more youthful brother was no longer a qualified engineer.

My nasty appearance, and the sick will at the back of it wasn’t an isolated incident. In every other image, Nicky turned into “jogging” out of the ocean, but I should see for a fact he wasn’t. He changed into status still, most effective pretending to run. He turned into “mending” his upturned bicycle, only he didn’t realize the primary aspect approximately motorcycle mechanics. He was eight. What he became absolutely doing was drawing interest to himself, making sure he became the only within the photograph. I resented his displaying off, his attention searching for, and I was hyper-alert to his plays due to the fact I favored to apply them too.

My wall of demise had offered a much less complex soreness than this fact of competition with a threatening and successful rival, who became also my more youthful brother. Hamming it up within the snapshots, Nicky had been searching in advance, imagining the print in a body on an outstanding mantelpiece. He turned into making calculations approximately the future, to further his interests. He becomes self-conscious and had thoughts of his very own.

again then, I hadn’t wanted him to catch me up. I favored him as a bit boy who belonged with other little boys, while I fancied myself almost one of the large boys. His growing up endangered my repute. Bluntly, at that degree in our lives, we didn’t like each different, after which he died. no longer long before, I’d punched him in the face, and that I recall the feel of his nostril-bone in opposition to my knuckles. I recall disputed sandwiches and broken Lego and global struggle three. He just kept coming. Fuck off, Nicky, I leave out you greater than I ever stated.

For too a few years, I’d desired to prevent his loss of life and look no similarly, due to the fact death made a simpler memory than the circle of relatives. Ultimately, albeit almost 4 decades later, the denial subsequently lost its grip. Nicky’s forcefully lived existence, however quick, refused to live repressed. He gave 100% and changed into in no way satisfied. Every person stated so, and a boy like that became constantly going to make it lower back. He took his time, and death delayed him, however finally he caught me up.

• The Day That Went Lacking by using Richard Beard, approximately the death of his brother, is posted with the aid of Harvill Secker, £14.99. To order a duplicate for £11.24, visit bookstore.Theguardian.Com or name on. Unfastened United kingdom p&p on orders of greater than £10, online only. Cellphone orders min p&p of £1.ninety nine.