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cartoonfangirl1218 · 3 years

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Give them what they want ch. 5

A split mushroom/pepper pizza or just allowing Aziz and Lonnie to make their choice of portobello mushroom pizza. That was the question of the day.

Ever since, she arrived back in Auradon, she decided to put in action her plan to give people what they want. The girl everybody liked and desired. Not just for her powers. How?

If there was anything that she learned from being used that there for every question, there were three things lying underneath. 1st. What he said he wanted. 2nd. WHat he secretly wanted but didn't have any telepathic powers to convey it. 3rd. What they would most desire yet knew was unlikely to happen.

She was going to be that 3rd option. For once she was going to use the idea that a genie was to sup pose to give people their biggest wishes to her own advantage. She wouldn't grant wishes, but she would definatly act personable and generous enough that no one would dare critize her for being selfish and bitchy.

"Jord? Still here?" Aziz snapped his fingers in front of her face.

"Yes." She snapped back, "I'm just thinking before I answered."

"Dude, not a life or death decision."

Jordan inwardly scoffed. Sure, not a life or death decision. But wars had been commited for less. Relationships and friends still left her for aN unknowable (unknowable to her at least) reason lying in her personality.

So while Lonnie and Aziz were allowing the option to split the pizza, she knew they would much prefer to eat a whole pizza filled with mushrooms.

"You can have the mushrooms." Jordan answered.

"Cool!" Aziz grinned and slapped her on the back.

Lonnie placed the order to the cafeteria lady to the dorms and they spent their free gorging out while Jordan daintily nibbled at the edges of the pizza not occupied by the mushrooms and their disgusting smell.

So she barely ate. The smell kinda ruined her appetite. After she accidentally swallowed one of the portobellos when she was trying to take off the crust, she pleaded a rain check. Rushing early to her next class to stuff her face with cherry-filled chocolates before anyone else arrived.

At twelve on the dot, Fauna arrived to start her class, Fae and Humans Throughout the Ages. It was a simple class, try to take notes, read the homework and be able to argue persuasively. At the end of each chapter Fauna assigned, she put two theories on the cause of what had happened.

There was a correct theory and those that got it had full credit (as long as they gave a proper reason why) and those who chose the incorrect theory got half credit depending how good their argument was.

She heard her stomach grumble, and almost regretted her decision not to split the pizza.

"No. Don't think so selfishly. That is exactly why people can't stand being around you." She reprimanded herself.

She knew better than to try to please everybody. So she just stuck to those that she wanted to keep around, that it would hurt too much if they left and reviled her.

But it still exhausted her. Up till now, she didn't know how many requests and questions people asked of her in a day. And taking the time to think of the option that the person really wanted actually took more concentrating than she liked.

An almost instinctive, subconscious part of her wanted to give up trying to figure out what people wanted and to please them. It was too hard. She just wanted to scream, "Please just tell me what to do! Be honest, and tell me exactly what you want. Be the master and tell me so I can do it for you."

"Tell me what is so horrible about me so I can change myself!"

She couldn't make decisions on her own. Obviously she sucked at them. She somehow kept missing the important things, the things that influenced people to stay or leave her.

But she knew she couldn't say that. It would give more of a reason for people to see her as a genie. She had to repress it, she had to stick with what she was doing.

Thinking, analyzing, weighing what people SAID they want, the undercurrent of what they would desire but not say, and what action or words that make them happy and be pleased with her.

Yet every time a decision, a question was thrown her way she felt a small primal paralyzingly fear.

She would say the wrong thing, something insignificant to her, but big to them. And then it would be the last straw, and they wouldn't forgive her, they would leave her. It was stressful, she wasn't used to all the mental gymnastics but she would stick it out, and follow through.

Because when she did they would smile at her and praise her, and for a brief moment, she would be safe. Safe in the knowledge that for the time being, they wouldn't think of leaving her alone. That she worthy enough for them to stick around in the long run. She was good, and nice and useful.

They wouldn't see the ugliness that was so obvious to everyone else. Though she wondered what it was.

"I think Theory A is the correct one. I mean, you agree that the Salem Witch Trials were obviously started by evil witches as to get rid of witches that stood against them. Come on stand by me on this one." Doug nodded eagerly at her from the seat over, snapping Jordan out of her mental reverie.

In truth, she didn't. She thought it had beev made up by human girls who wanted attention and exasperated by superstitious adults. No wizards or other fae had been involved whatsoever. That had been confirmed by some history books written by fae that witches rarely populated areas where superstitions were rampant. Nor would they really try to hide that they were witches in the first place.

But...she liked Doug. He was so sweet. She wouldn't mind to keep hanging out with him and learning some chemistry dooda from him or video to his musical talent.

If she agreed, he would be pleased. It would keep up his high grades in Fae and Humans Throughout History and improve his GPA that much more. Plus with a high GPA, he would get what he most desired. Being accepted to a collage and going on to a occupation not in the mines like his forefathers and the rest of his family.

So she bit back her convincing argument that would have knocked most of his case away and coyly nodded her head. "I agree. Doug is right. After all witches are well-known for keeping their status as number one and jealous of other competitors."

Jane raised her hand, "I disagree. The right answer is Theory B. According to the chapter you assigned last night, most fae didn't even live in the area. And if they did, witches are not known to hide the fact that they are witches as the status of a witch can lead people to come to them for help in healing and other good magic arts."

Fauna nodded her head at Jane's answer, "Class take note, Jane has the right idea..." and so on went her spiel. Doug, then passed her a note.

I didn't think you would completely agree with me on Theory A without offering more of an opinion to support it. Usually you are good at this class. Did you space out on last night's homework?

Jordan quickly scribbled her own note. I thought you wanted me to agree, and support you. Let you take the lead. From the corner of her eye, she saw Doug opening the note and look at her curiously. Like she was an abstract picture he just didn't get. Once class was over, Doug stopped her on the way out. "You want to support me?" He said dubiously.

Jordan's chest squeezed with anticipation. The anxiety that he would insult her for her stupid decision, that she was useless in helping him. Another calculation. What did he wat to hear from her? What would make him happy with her?

Some flattery would probably work here. "I think you do have good ideas. I already say my opinion enough, I was letting the teacher see that yours could stand on their own." It sounded awkwardly phrased and vague to her ears, and she could see from his reaction that he was even more confused than ever from her answer.

"I'm sorry that I didn't support your argument well and made you wrong in front of everybody." Jordan whispered softly.

"It's not a big deal." Doug told her. He opened his mouth to say something else but she interrupted.

"Good." Jordan chirped brightly to keep Doug from asking further questions and she ended up making a bigger mistake. "So we're cool." "Yeah..sure?"

"I'm glad. You're a nice boy, Doug. I'll see you around." While Doug blushed at the unexpected compliment, Jordan walked away thinking. Okay, she said things that she never would have done if she acted like she normally did.

Which kept her in his good graces. He still liked her. She must have done something right.

Which only proved one thing, there must be something horribly wrong with her usual personality. She was right. She was a bad person as herself.

She would just have to change that. Do what people wanted to hear. After all, it was better to be good, and beloved than alone as herself.

#disney descendants #give them what they want #doug dwarf #jordan #chapter five #lonnie #aziz #my fanfic #my fanfiction

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mistystarshine · 6 years

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Karma In Retrograde (14)

title: Karma in Retrograde

summary: When Dabi is hit by a de-aging quirk, he’s turned back to a 16 year-old U.A. Gen Studies student with self-esteem and parent issues, a destructive quirk, and no memory of the last five years. To help the Dabi of the past, present, and future, he is placed with Class 1-A. There, they must all face the question of whether he can change or if his destiny is already set in stone.

– Chapter 14: Shouto breaks the news to Ryouta, a certain sibling shows up, and discussions are had.

@ohmytheon notes: I've been thinking a lot about how Ryouta's disappearance affected Fuyumi. Especially with these latest manga chapters, I really understand her desire for a family, even if it's not perfect. She just wants one. This was one of my favorite scenes to write and I let the emotions carry it. Hopefully they carry through the writing. I cannot wait to write more of these two. The sibling feels ARE REAL. The song for this chapter is “Hey Brother” by Avicii. (Misty side-note: Adding this on at the beginning to avoid any potential confusion. I’m uploading this chapter because it ended up being the most convenient for both our schedules. It’s business as usual where the fic is concerned - which means more Tododrama.)

Hey brother! Do you still believe in one another? Hey sister! Do you still believe in love I wonder? Oh, if the sky comes falling down, for you There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do

Having been expecting a slow night since Iida had his own schoolwork and priorities to focus on for once, Ryouta was a little surprised when he heard a knock on his door. Before he could ask who it was, Shouto’s voice came from the other side. “It’s me.”

Ryouta hesitated. Not that he didn’t want to talk with his little brother, but he wasn’t up to explaining what he had really needed to talk to Aizawa about. He still wasn’t sure that he’d actually get the quirk braces. On one hand, it would make sense to handicap him just in case the quirk wore off while he was in the dorms. On the other, if they didn’t believe that he’d lost his memory and thought he was an active villain in disguise, giving him those quirk inhibitors could prove dangerous should he use them on a student.

Neither option put him in a good light.

Despite entertaining the idea of pretending that he wasn’t there, Ryouta couldn’t lie to Shouto again, so he slunk over to the door and opened it to reveal a slightly harried version of his brother. The fact that he was anxious enough to show it caught Ryouta’s interest immediately and made him wary. “What’s wrong?”

Shouto blinked as if startled that Ryouta had seen through him. “We have a...situation.”

Ryouta furrowed his brow. “What kind of situation?”

“A sister situation,” Shouto replied. Ryouta’s stomach did a flip that a world-class gymnast would’ve been proud of. Shouto sighed and dropped his shoulders. “I might have accidentally told Fuyumi that you were back.”

“You what?” Ryouta demanded. “She didn’t know?”

Shouto shook his head. “Our father didn’t tell her or Natsuo. The latter isn’t surprising since they don’t talk, but Fuyumi still lives at home and he kept it from her.”

“Of course.” When Ryouta began to laugh, it was humorless, angry, and maybe even a little hysterical. “Of fucking course. Why did we ever expect our dad to actually tell his kids the truth or something important?”

Both of them had assumed without talking about it that their father would tell Fuyumi. After all, Ryouta’s return was a big fucking deal, especially considering the circumstances. Even if he hadn’t turned out to be a de-aged villain, he’d been gone for years and the others deserved an explanation for his absence. He couldn’t really give them one, but they should still be made aware of what was happening.

But no, Endeavor hadn’t told them shit, as usual. As irritated as he was with his father over it, Ryouta wasn’t all that surprised now that he knew why neither Fuyumi nor Natsuo had tried to contact him. He’d been worried that they were angry with him and had cut him out of their lives completely. They’d all been fed the same lines about villains while growing up. In his mind, it would be easy for their father to turn them away from him. Shouto might have wanted him in his life, but the others might not. Natsuo held grudges and Fuyumi…

He’d left her to take care of everything on her own. Had he even said goodbye or apologized beforehand?

Ryouta put one hand on his hip and rubbed his face with the other. “She’s on her way here, isn’t she?”

“Yes, and I already alerted Aizawa.”

“Awesome.”

Well, Ryouta was fucked. Trying to navigate Shouto’s feelings towards him was difficult enough, something akin to sailing on choppy waters in a blown up raft. Handling Fuyumi would be like trying to survive a tsunami. Growing up, she had always been the most emotional out of all them, getting tearful when she was extremely sad or happy. Granted, it didn’t take much to be considered emotional in their family and it was easier to read how she felt. It was how he was supposed to react that was the problem. He always felt like he might take one wrong step and end up drowning.

A thought popped into his head. “What about Natsuo?”

“I don’t know,” Shouto admitted. “She said that she would try to call him before she hung up, but I think he’s in class. It takes a few tries to get a hold of him sometimes. He’s got a busy life.”

Right, Natsuo had been the only one of them to get out relatively unscathed. None of them could have gotten out of that household without a few scars, be they physical or mental. He was out of the house, attending university, and maybe even had a girlfriend, which made him a hell of a lot more stable than the rest of them could’ve hoped for. In a way, his life was even more of a mirror to how Ryouta’s had turned out than Shouto, if only because it was so damn normal and good. His coming back would only throw a wrench in that. Maybe Natsuo would stay away.

Ryouta dropped his hand. “Well, this was going to happen sooner or later. Might as well face the music now.”

“It won’t be that bad,” Shouto said. Oh, little brother. Sixteen years old and having gone through multiple kinds of hell and he could still be naive. The flat look on Ryouta’s face seemed to make him realize it. “I don’t think she’s angry, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’d understand if she was,” Ryouta replied evenly. “I didn’t leave just you to deal with our father on your own. I left Fuyumi too.”

And after everything they’d done to fix things between them. They had been forced to build the bridge anew when their father had finally discarded him completely in favor of training Shouto. It hadn’t been easy, but he and Fuyumi had slowly begun to work on their relationship once it had become clear that Ryouta would never be the successor that Endeavor wanted. After all that, he’d burned the bridge anyways. She hadn’t deserved that.

Leaving the dorms was a quieter affair than expected. No one questioned them out loud since he was with Shouto. They might’ve been sent some questioning looks, but Shouto ignored them, so Ryouta did as well. It wasn’t any of their business anyways. This was about family and, despite the fact that he’d opened up to Midoriya about it some, that was a very private affair. That and he didn’t want to admit that he was scared of facing his sister.

There was a lounge area on campus that offered a bit of privacy as long as the doors were kept shut. Ryouta knew this spot well. He would often come here to do his homework. He’d had a few places around campus where he’d hole himself up when he wanted to get out of his dorm without dealing with people at the same time. Most of the students had known to leave him be, but it wasn’t like that this time around. The kids in the hero course were nosy as hell.

They got there first. When the doors opened, Ryouta tensed up, but it was only All Might and Aizawa. He quickly turned away from them. It was still jarring to see All Might like that and know that it was him. It didn’t make sense. How could that skeletal figure be All Might, the hero that had inspired a hatred and jealousy so deep in his father that he’d forced a woman into marriage and having kids so that he could either harshly train or coldly ignore them? No one had told him exactly what had happened, which meant that he’d had a hand in it as Dabi.

He couldn’t think about that though, especially not with Fuyumi and possibly Natsuo on the way, so he shoved those fears into the back of his mind, locked them up, and threw away the key. He’d deal with that baggage later.

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” Shouto said. “I know you were trying to keep this contained so civilians wouldn’t get caught up in this.”

All Might was obviously sympathetic to their plight. “This is your family. I don’t think any of us could have expected you to keep it from them.”

“Endeavor certainly thought so,” Ryouta grumbled under his breath, his arms folded across his chest.

While the former number one hero glanced at him, he didn’t comment on his words. It irritated Ryouta that he’d said anything at all, but they had slipped out of his mouth before he could even think about it. Did everyone know that their father was a piece of shit? All Might and Endeavor had been rivals since the two of them had appeared on the hero scene. Endeavor’s feelings were well-known, but it was hard to say how All Might felt about the man who had taken his place at the top.

Ryouta couldn’t help but wonder what All Might would think if he knew the truth about his rival. If he knew that the current number one hero had terrorized his family for years just so he’d have a chance at beating him. If he knew that he’d forced his oldest son to burn until there was nothing left in him time and time again and then tore his youngest and brightest son away from his family and what little chance he had at a happy childhood. Though Ryouta knew that he’d keep his mouth shut, it gave him an almost manic sense of glee to think of destroying his father’s image with his rival.

“I agree that the rest of your family should have been told in a more appropriate manner,” Aizawa said, “but there’s nothing to be done about it now.”

“Essentially, this is damage control,” Ryouta drawled. Shouto glanced at him, perhaps offended at the description or guilty for having caused it, but didn’t argue. Maybe he had got the ball rolling on this, but none of them would be here had certain decisions not been made. They were only in this room because of Ryouta. He was going to have to accept that if he wanted to make it through this.

He heard the door opening behind him and, despite everything in his mind screaming at him to not look back, his body turned around instinctively. He couldn’t have said how he knew that it was her. He couldn’t have been able to explain that he was able to recognize her by the hesitant way she opened the door, like how she would whenever she came to check on him after training with their dad. There was a feeling of being scared yet determined to make the best of things in the air that he associated with her.

Ryouta froze the second his gaze landed on her and Fuyumi did the same. She stood halfway in the room, holding onto the doorknob with one hand and the other against the threshold, as if she needed it to hold her up. Her hair was longer, but white with red streaks like she’d had since birth. Her clothes were conservative, so much like a teacher that it made him want to laugh, except there was a chance he might fall into a mess. She still wore the same style of glasses, her familiar grey eyes wide and glossy with unshed tears. He could see the grief in them, along with confusion and maybe even hope.

She’d always been the better of them. She’d always been the light to his dark, the tremulous smile to his cold scowl, the hope to his indifference.

The difference was that she was undoubtedly older than him now. She was still young, but there was something about her face that reminded him of the fact that he’d been robbed of five years. The way she held herself was different from a teenager. She was more confident in her own skin now, something she’d struggled with for years after being abandoned so quickly by their father when her quirk manifested.

It was still her though, still Fuyumi. He would’ve been able to recognize her a mile away.

After all, she was his twin.

“Hey, Fuyumi,” Ryouta managed to say in an inexplicably even tone.

Hearing his voice seemed to break the spell over Fuyumi and she stepped fully in the room. When she started to talk though, her voice became progressively more hysterical. “‘Hey’? You vanish out of the blue for four years, apparently become a villain that attacks our little brother, and then get turned back to a teenager - and all you can say is ‘hey’?”

It felt like there was a rock-sized lump of shame lodged in his throat as he replied, “There really isn’t much else I can say besides that I’m sorry.”

She was older than him - years older. He still had a few inches on her and was a tad bit bulkier, but he couldn’t shake the age difference. Before, she’d been a few minutes older, something she would tease him about if she felt like he was acting like an ass. Now there were years between them and they felt so long. Even worse, despite not having his memory of the past five years, he wasn’t so sure he’d known her any better when he was twenty-one than he did now at sixteen. She hadn’t known him at all.

Swallowing, Ryouta dropped his gaze to the ground, unable to handle the betrayed look on her face. “I don’t know why I left or why I became what I did, but I-”

Everything he had planned to say was cut off the second he felt Fuyumi wrap her arms around him. He stiffened at the contact, at first unsure of what was happening and how to react to it. She had crossed the room and threw herself at him, pulling him into a hug so tight that he might’ve struggled to breathe had he not stopped breathing already. With her face buried in his shoulder, he could feel her body shake as she cried and her tears wet his shoulder through his borrowed t-shirt. They chilled his skin, as if her quirk had activated a little, and he finally allowed himself to soak in their comforting feeling.

When he hesitantly slipped his arms around her in return, she hiccuped a little and weakly cried, “You’re back. You’re really back. I used to dream of it, but you just vanished and I…”

“I’m sorry for leaving you alone,” Ryouta told her, his voice cracking despite his best attempts to control it, “but I’m here now.”

Hugging had never been his thing. He liked his space, even within his family. Half the time when he was little, whenever someone touched him, he’d flinch away in pain. He’d forced himself to be more comfortable with it where Shouto was concerned, especially when his training had first started. He needed that physical comfort so that he could go to any of them after being hurt by their father. It meant Shouto clinging to his arm or asking for rides on his shoulders or being okay with someone else tending to his wounds.

With Fuyumi, it had been...different. The two of them had been close before their quirks had manifested, as many twins were. If they had nothing else, they had each other. Back then, even though the marriage had been little more than a sham, their mother had still been capable of smiling and laughing. She had been warm, especially when compared to their father’s cold behavior. He remembered being happy. Of course he wanted his father’s love and approval, but he also had his mother and sister and then a little brother.

Then their quirks came around and everything changed. Since only Ryouta had been gifted with Endeavor’s quirk, he’d separated the two of them. He had to train Ryouta just in case his goal of having a child with both parents’ quirks didn’t come about. He kept Ryouta and Fuyumi apart, causing them to lose years of precious time together. The moments they were able to spend together were filled with a thousand unsaid words and it wasn’t until Shouto’s quirk manifested that Ryouta was able to speak any of them out loud to her. They were forced to relearn each other and the twin brother that she had adored was gone.

Now, here they were, and Ryouta was struck by the fact that he was facing now what she had been then. The Fuyumi that he remembered was gone. She had grown up without him.

After letting go of him and pulling back, Fuyumi wiped her eyes, but it did very little to help her puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “Ryouta, we thought you were dead.”

Dead. Those words, that word, seemed to make the world stutter to a halt. Ryouta’s gaze drifted over to Shouto as Fuyumi was forced to pause by her breath getting caught in her throat. His brother eyed the ground rather than meet his gaze. Ah. There was nothing pleasant about finding out that his family thought he was dead, especially like this, but… it made sense. He couldn’t blame Shouto for not telling him. Neither of them was exactly gifted in the art of communication and that wasn’t an easy discussion to have. He wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that he’d tried to tell him and been unable to find the words. Despite the tightness in his chest that felt like it was trying to paralyze him, he shook his head a little and, when heterochromic eyes flickered up to meet his for a moment, forced a shaky look of reassurance.

So, his family thought he was dead. That… was something he could deal with later. For now, he shifted his gaze back to his sister as she caught her breath and began to speak again. “We mourned for you, even had a little ceremony. It wasn’t much…” No, their father wouldn’t have shelled out the money to remember him. “It was like Mom all over again; when we came home and every trace of her was gone. All your things had been thrown out and any pictures gone, like he’d tried to erase you completely.”

“Maybe…” Ryouta took a breath. “Maybe it was easier that way.”

“But he couldn’t erase everything,” Fuyumi continued. “Not the scorch mark on the kitchen ceiling or the one on the wall above your bed in what became a spare room. I’d managed to hide a few pictures since I’d had a feeling something like that would happen, but it wasn’t enough… It wasn’t nearly enough to make up for what we’d lost.”

Ryouta didn’t know what to say. Shouto hadn’t talked much about what had happened after he’d disappeared. He knew all of this already, but for some reason, it felt different to hear it from Fuyumi. He could feel the pain that his leaving had caused, another mark that couldn’t be scrubbed away. It made his heart fall into the pit of his stomach, the acids eating away at it, and there was very little he could do to make himself feel better. Distantly, he was aware of Shouto watching them, but their little brother stayed silent, letting them have this moment.

“Gods, you look…” Fuyumi reached out again, as if to touch his face, but then hesitated. “This is weird.”

He couldn’t help himself: he laughed, albeit awkwardly. “You’ve no idea. I don’t remember the years I became a fucking villain. I’m in the hero course with my little brother who is now the same age as me” - and taller - “and I’ve already been blown out a window. So it’s been a weird week.”

Fuyumi blinked in shock. “Blown...out a window?”

“By the kid I apparently kidnapped last summer,” Ryouta added. He held out his arms, showing his unmarred skin. She’d seen him look pretty ragged and had bandaged up his wounds plenty of times. “I’m good as new though. Nothing to worry about. They’re taking really good care of me here - really giving me a chance to live before I…”

“Before the quirk wears off and you become Dabi again,” Fuyumi finished.

Ryouta nodded. “It’s a lot more than I can ask for.”

“You should be with your family,” Fuyumi insisted. “We lost so much time and it wasn’t fair.” In more ways than one, as Fuyumi would know. They had lost so much time together. All she’d ever wanted was a family, but they’d been separated time and time again. “I couldn’t get a hold of Natsuo - he’s so busy right now - but he’ll want to see you too. You should be with us. You should be-”

“Don’t.” Ryouta’s face darkened, if only a little, but it was enough to stop Fuyumi cold. He forced his expression to smooth out. It pained him that even after four years of being gone from her life, he could still scare her by wearing a look that he knew came straight from their father. It made him sick. He took a breath. “I’m not going back there. That place isn’t for me anymore - it isn’t home - and you know it. Besides, our old man doesn’t want me anywhere but in prison. He made that clear earlier this week.”

Fuyumi looked terribly sad, but she nodded her head. “I know. I just-” She sniffed. “I wish we could be an actual family. We’ve been trying, but it wasn’t the same without you.”

“I don’t understand what you’re still doing there,” Ryouta said, folding his arms across his chest. “I get it that you stayed to take care of Shouto - and I shouldn’t have left you to do that alone - but he lives at the dorms now. You can get out. You can get away from him.”

“He’s not…” Fuyumi chewed on her bottom lip and looked to the side. “He’s gotten a lot better. He’s trying to change and do right by us.”

“Oh don’t defend him,” Ryouta scoffed. “He could buy gifts and make dinner every night and it wouldn’t make up for the shit he pulled.”

“He knows that, but-”

“Is Mom still in the hospital?” Ryouta cut in flatly. When Fuyumi didn’t respond, he knew she’d accepted that there was nothing that could fix the bridge between father and son. Maybe Endeavor was trying to be a better father now - maybe he’d seen the error of his ways and how he’d ruined their lives - but that didn’t make up for the fact that it had happened. Ryouta wouldn’t blame his father for how he’d become a villain - that was his own choice - but he could hate him for everything before. Some bridges were burned beyond recognition. “For now, as weird and awkward as it is, my place is here and yours is out there. You’ve got a life. Live it. I’ve got a sentence.”

Tears welled in Fuyumi’s eyes, but she didn’t let them fall this time. “You’re just like you were back then.”

“And you’re…” Ryouta sighed, any frustration built up deflating.

She was like he remembered and yet she wasn’t. A lot could happen in five years. She knew him - at least the sixteen-year-old version of him - but she’d grown up and been forced to move on and live without him. And she’d done just fine. Maybe it had been hard and it certainly hadn’t been fair, but she’d come out on top, still kind and helpful when her family hadn’t always been so. He had missed so much of her life though - things that had changed her and helped her grow - and no amount of talking would change the fact that he hadn’t been there to witness them.

A phone call startled then all out of the little bubble that they’d created. What once had been a distant awareness became acute as Ryouta looked around and found not only Shouto watching them, but Aizawa and All Might, too. They had been polite enough to stick to the corner of the room while he and Fuyumi were reunited, but now their attention was back on them. His cheeks burned red with embarrassment and he jerked his eyes away from them.

“Sorry, sorry, I thought I silenced it…” Fuyumi mumbled as she dug around in her purse until she found her cell. She hadn’t had one before. Their father hadn’t allowed it. Ryouta had been forced to buy his own when he moved out and opted for the cheapest plan. Hers looked nice and much more advanced. She glanced at the caller ID, a flicker of hesitation on her face, and then clicked the ringer off.

“You should answer it,” Ryouta said, forcing all emotion out of his voice.

Fuyumi shook her head. “No, it’s not as important as this.” Her phone started ringing again before she could put it back in her purse and both of them stared at it. “I...I made plans for tonight earlier this week.” Ryouta’s first thought was to ask with who, but he wouldn’t know if she gave him a name. He didn’t know anyone in her life except for their family. She lived in a different world than him. “But I’ll just cancel! It’s not a big deal.”

Knowing that the gesture would mean more to her than any of them realized, Ryouta grabbed her hand to stop her from silencing the call again. “It is to me.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and harried behind her glasses. It reminded him of their mom, but not in a bad way. She also used to get frazzled and sometimes upset when he showed a moment of gentleness like he’d done when he was little. “Like I’ve said, you’ve got a life. I don’t want you to put a hold on it for me.” He waved his free hand towards Aizawa and All Might. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“For how long though?” Fuyumi asked.

“I don’t know,” Ryouta admitted, “but we’ll work with what we’ve got. We did before.”

Even though she wasn’t happy about it, Fuyumi nodded her head and Ryouta let go of her. “Shouto has my number. If you need anything…” She tightened her grip on her cell. “You don’t even have a phone. I can get you one” - she glanced at the teachers - “if it’s allowed. I just… I don’t want to miss anything again.”

“Me neither,” Ryouta told her. “I don’t even know if you’re seeing anyone.” Despite the situation, Fuyumi blushed and he raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

It didn’t matter if he was now five years younger than her, Ryouta was still fully capable of intimidating anyone interested in his sister.

Her cheeks still pink, Fuyumi gave him a watery smile. “I’m really glad you’re back.”

“Yeah.” He watched as she stepped forward like she wanted to hug him again, only to hesitate and take two steps back. After thanking the teachers and hugging Shouto, who took it marginally better than Ryouta, Fuyumi turned to look back at him one last time before ducking out of the room as she answered her phone.

The second the door shut and Fuyumi was gone, Ryouta’s shoulders slumped and he rubbed his face in pure exhaustion. He felt as if he’d run a mini-marathon despite not having moved at all. He’d at least run quite a few emotional laps, which was worse than physical activity for him. Endeavor had drilled endurance into his very bones, but this was the kind of stuff that he avoided. Not that he wasn’t happy to be reunited with Fuyumi, but they’d been all over the place to the point that he felt dizzy from the mental effort.

Aizawa considered them so blankly that Ryouta could almost believe he hadn’t heard a word between them, but seeing as how he was the most observant person he’d ever met, it was highly doubtful. He either decided it wasn’t important to bring up right now or didn’t give a shit. That was more difficult to tell. “I trust you two can make it back to the dorms on your own.”

Oh, yeah, no worries, it’s not like the League is going to attack with one of their heavy hitters missing, Ryouta thought viciously. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to squash the sour attitude down. That was the last thing he needed to act like right now, but he felt too ragged to keep it away completely.

“Yes, sir,” Shouto responded instead, perhaps sensing that Ryouta was nearing his limit on being polite.

All Might looked like he wanted to say something, even going so far as to open his mouth and begin to lift a hand, but then he must’ve caught the way Ryouta ducked his gaze, as he partially turned his back to them. No offense to All Might, but he didn’t want to talk about anything that had just happened with him or Aizawa. He could barely handle the idea of talking about it with Shouto, but he knew that avoiding it would just make things worse.

As soon as the teachers were gone, Ryouta collapsed into a cushioned chair and hunched over. He didn’t know how long he sat there in silence. It could have been a couple of minutes just as easily as it could have been an hour or more. Time itself felt like it ceased to exist as he gazed down at his hands, trying to will himself to be okay with what was happening. He didn’t have the right to be upset or scared over a situation that was his own fault. His attempts to push away the unearned feelings only pulled him deeper into that timeless void. There was a painful acceptance there, but while it might look like it at a glance, it wasn’t the same thing as being okay. It was far from it.

Shouto’s voice was like a rope reaching out to pull him back into reality. “What is it?” he asked, tentative and soft enough that Ryouta almost missed it. For a heartbeat, he was tempted to pretend that he had. The thing that stopped him was the mere fact that he had asked.

His younger brother certainly hadn’t been acting like he didn’t care about him, but there was no denying that the Todoroki Shouto of class 1-A was more distant and closed off than the boy he remembered. He was more controlled, harder to read, different. It was a relief to see that he was still a caring person, but if he had to guess, he would say that he wasn’t often the person to reach out. So that question, spoken with a fragile, genuine undertone that reminded him of a boy he had known years ago, made him pause.

“Just thinking,” Ryouta murmured. A few seconds passed without Shouto responding, at which point he risked a glance at him out of the corner of his eyes. Something was breaking through that mask of Shouto’s, some subtle twist of his features that implored him to say more. They both knew that he wouldn’t press for more information. He probably didn’t realize that that mild show of emotion (which, for him, might have seemed obvious) was just as effective as verbally asking Ryouta to continue. Probably more. Had Shouto caught onto his trouble reading him? Did he have to make a conscious effort to allow him to understand?

A new brand of guilt stirred in his stomach. Shouto was concerned and trying to reach out to him even though it was probably uncomfortable. The least Ryouta could do was be open in return, even if it hurt. He forced himself to take a deep breath before sitting up, straightening his shoulders back out, unfolding his legs, and dropping his hands to his sides. It was only then that he realized how small he must have looked, sitting in a chair all folded in on himself, like a helpless child awaiting bad news.

He’d never wanted to be like that. It almost made the whole thing funny. None of this would be happening if he was still that pathetic, broken kid. It was almost enough to make him wish he was.

“A lot can happen in five years,” Ryouta began. He didn’t look at Shouto as he spoke. Forcing the words out of his mouth already felt like a monumental task. He didn’t know if he would be able to hold up if he looked his brother in the eyes. “Things change. People…” It felt like someone was trying to strangle him as he spoke. If someone were wrapping their hands around his neck, would his mind still flash to the younger brother who was now three years older than him? “The people I knew back then…”

Endeavor had been strangely restrained during their conversation. His mother was still in the hospital, but even she couldn’t have completely dodged the inevitable changes that came with the passing of time. His sister had already been a few minutes older than him; now she was a teacher and that gap five years wider. If he tried to hold a conversation with Fuyumi about something as normal as her everyday life, would it feel like talking to a stranger?

“I feel like I don’t know anyone anymore,” he whispered.

It was one thing when he was meeting entirely new people. Having familiar faces - family - reduced to strangers brought the entire situation into a new, harsher light. That light was yet another thing that it wasn’t his place to complain about. He was the only one who was missing five years. To everyone else, he would’ve been the one who went off to become something strange and horrible. His earlier guilt was replaced by a pang of regret and irritation with himself. Trying to be open with his brother was one thing; having an unwarranted pity-party was something else entirely.

He was about to say something to brush it off when Shouto spoke up. “Do…you feel like you don’t know me?”

Ryouta froze. There was no difficulty reading him this time. Although Shouto certainly tried to keep his voice neutral, it still cracked and strained under the weight of something unseen. When he forced himself to meet those mismatched eyes, the hurt in them only allowed him to maintain contact for an instant. His eyes stung as he looked down at his feet. He should have chosen his words more carefully. He should have thought about how the impact they might carry. It should have been something that, if he messed up, he could backtrack and find an angle from which he could genuinely claim it wasn’t true. “I-”

There had been a time when he had known Shouto. Eight years ago. Six. Five. Even now, he still caught glimpses of the boy he knew, knew that he still cared, knew that Dabi had hurt him, and felt absolutely wretched about it. It just wasn’t the same thing as knowing him now. Would Shouto catch him if he lied? Could he lie about this?

He only hesitated for a second. It was turned into an interruption when Shouto decided not to wait for him. He reached forward to rest his hand on his shoulder, the gesture fast and seemingly confident, only to hesitate at the last second. Contact was ultimately made through a feather-light touch that was at odds with his initial abruptness. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Something in the shakiness of his voice told him that he didn’t mean it in the purely empathetic sense.

Ryouta couldn’t look his brother in the eyes at first. Instead, his gaze lingered on that hand. The gesture was odd and utterly lacking in grace, but it was contact that Shouto had initiated. He was attempting to close that gap. A bridge, however awkwardly built, was still a bridge. “You didn’t do anything,” he murmured, finally moving to look him in the eyes.

This time, it was Shouto who had to look away. He had no trouble identifying the emotion that flickered across his face as he glanced down at his feet. Shame. The sight made the stinging in his eyes return to the forefront of his mind. Nonetheless, he successfully fought it back down. “I should have,” Shouto said.

“No.” His voice was too distant, so Ryouta repeated himself firmly. “No, no, this isn’t on you. Even before, you were just a kid and I did a good job in hiding how I felt - maybe too good.” This time, when he settled his brother with a steady look, it wasn’t fake. “I don’t want to repeat that. I can’t promise that I’ll be entirely open or ready to sit down for heart-to-hearts over a campfire, but I’ll try to be better.”

Shouto’s lips twisted a little. “That’s easier said than done, from what I’ve experienced.”

“Then we can tackle it together.” If only for a moment, Ryouta felt like the big brother again. He’d had successes and failures doing that growing up and it was strange since they were the same age now, but he would always see Shouto as the little brother he needed to protect. Well, he had until he was Dabi, when he had attacked him. Fucking unreal. Seriously, what was wrong with him?

With Fuyumi in the know and Natsuo soon to be if she had anything to do with it, the only person left in their family that didn’t know Ryouta had been returned to them was…

“What are we going to tell Mom?” Shouto asked.

Ryouta faltered and sighed, “Honestly, I can’t handle even thinking about that yet,” which Shouto seemed to understand at least.

The idea of facing their mother right now made his stomach turn. He couldn’t do it nor did he know if he should. Shouto had briefly mentioned yesterday that their father had never visited her and the doctors were unsure if her seeing him would be a good idea. When it came to his mother, Ryouta could have no illusions about his appearance and behavior. He didn’t want to trigger a relapse and he was afraid the truth about his disappearance would upset her too much. He wanted her out of that hospital. He wanted her safe and happy. He wanted her to be free of all the chains wrapped tightly around her. Could she have that? Was she capable?

Mom, what happened to us? What did we become?

He certainly wasn’t the gentle, weak, little boy she’d adored and promised to protect.

Misty notes: So, remember when we called Ryouta an unreliable narrator?

My fun fact for this chapter is that our writing overlaps in a few areas in this chapter and there was a decent amount of editing each other's prose. (We wanted this chapter to be good.) However, of particular note, the 'I don't know anyone' scene with Ryouta and Shouto? Lanni and I didn't discuss or pre-plan that, I was just struck by muse and sprang that on her. Oh, it went through the same proofread/characterize/beta process as the rest of the fic (initially, Shouto hugged Ryouta instead of the awkward shoulder pat, but we decided they weren't there yet), but in that moment of unveiling, I felt like a mirthful god.

Did you catch all of our little hints that Ryouta's family thought he was dead? I'm so happy that I can finally be straightforward about at least one thing regarding this cryptic little nitwit now. Two, if we count his feelings about the losing five years portion of the de-aging quirk slowly being addressed.

Finally, if you recall an old author's note of mine in which we said that we were bumping Fuyumi's age up a bit, disregard that. As you can see, those plans have changed. (And we have no regrets.) Are they twins in canon? We have no idea! But they sure are in this fic! As it happens, Fuyumi's age is still a little skewed from canon since, at the start of the fic, when we didn't know how old any of Shouto's siblings were, we ended up guessing Dabi's age as one year younger than her actual age. We may edit this to make them both 22. We may not. It's too small of a difference to really impact the story either way, so it just depends on when and if one of us has the time and desire to hunt down and edit the mentions.

(as promised, @ccyans I’m directly tagging you so you can see Todosib feels as soon as possible)

#bnha #bnha fanfic #misty co-writes #karma in retrograde #dabi is a todoroki #todoroki shouto #todoroki fuyumi #get on the schoolbus kids! We're going on a feels trip!

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inacciaio-archive · 6 years

Text

a meta/is this a meta?/thing about semira/thing about how my brain works/dani headcanons 101

so I wanted to write a thing about how I come up with my headcanons, I wanted to show you guys my thought process, cause I know some people who read my headcanons are probably like

wtf is this girl on, these are some bullshit headcanons right here, what kind of mental gymnastics

and who knows, maybe none of you think that, or maybe there are one or two people who are just politely confused, who knows, here’s my explanation anyway

So basically I get a lot of my headcanons from a process that I use when getting a new muse; I gather a bunch of canon information and then see what I can get from that by asking a series of questions that usually have answers that lead to more questions and I try answering all the questions as best as I can and try linking them together to form a realistic, hopefully in-character headcanon.

For this example, I’m going to use Semira, who has definitely been at the center of this process the most because we don’t have much canon information about her. She was only in one Underworld film and isn’t the main character, so already I don’t have much to work with. However, to get one headcanon in particular, her backstory, I used these particular facts that we do know about Semira based on the canon given to us.

We know Semira was turned before Selene was turned, based on her conversation with Thomas; Semira: Of course, I despise her. She killed Viktor, I was his regent. Thomas: Until he met Selene. From this information, plus the information we know about Selene, we know that Semira is older than Selene and that she was turned sometime before 1402 when Selene was turned.

We know Semira had a close relationship to Viktor as her sire and she was fiercely loyal to him, even after he basically traded her in for a newer model (Selene)

We know Semira was Viktor’s regent and somehow Selene caused her to not be his regent sometime later, as shown by the specific phrasing Thomas used. Semira: I was his regent. Thomas: Until he met Selene. (and we know it was sometime later because we also know that Semira was sent on a mission for Viktor as his regent in the 90s)

We know that Semira was, during the 90′s, sent on Viktor’s behalf to find Amelia at the Nordic Coven. It was hinted that this was when Viktor truly abandoned her for Selene, as she was stated to have spent time living at the Nordic Coven afterwards, before moving to the Eastern Covern.

We know that at some point in an unknown time, she became a council member and the leader of the Eastern Coven. It was most likely sometime before the events of the first Underworld film, as it’s implied and almost outright stated in Blood Wars that Semira was one of the council members who signed Selene’s death warrant.

We know that Semira was incredibly distraught about Selene killing Viktor, and showed signs of not knowing his crimes, remaining loyal to him despite him replacing her with Selene, and Semira being unable to forgive Selene for killing him. It’s also extremely likely that the event of Selene killing Viktor was what sparked her revenge plan against Selene.

We know that Semira is a very cleanly person. (this may not seem relevant to her backstory headcanon but just trust me ok) Despite her often brutal fighting, she never really gets dirt, grime, or blood on her. There is only one instance of her ever not being clean, and that’s when blood spills down her front when she’s in a state of something almost feral, when she’s consuming Selene’s blood and reveling in her victory. Other than that, we see her perfectly pristine and clean for the entire movie, despite almost no one else remaining that way.

We know that Semira craves power.

SO, from those things, it’s time to ask some questions

Why Semira? Out of any other vampire in any other coven, why was specifically Semira Viktor’s regent? Maybe because of a certain similarity

like it’s no coincidence that these three look like they could be sisters. Viktor was obviously looking to replace his deceased daughter Sonja, wanting a second chance at having someone like a daughter and an heir who could be exactly what he wanted her to be. We’ve already seen that this was the case with Selene, it’s not a stretch to think he would’ve done it with Semira; she was likely the first Sonja replacement. Granted, Selene looks like Sonja a lot more than Semira does, which was probably why Viktor abandoned Semira in the first place. Maybe Viktor saw a human who kinda looked like Sonja and got attached, and decided he wanted her as a replacement, much in the same way he reacted when he saw Selene for the first time. In order for his plan to work, however, Semira would’ve had to been easily molded, vulnerable, lost, in the way Selene was after she had lost her family. Selene had no one anymore, which was why loyalty to Viktor had come easier than it would’ve had she had others in her life. So that brings up the question; what could’ve possibly made Semira as easily molded to be what Viktor wanted her to be?

Why was Semira so incredibly loyal to Viktor, despite him leaving her and basically casting her out? If she had others in her life, she could’ve leaned on them, but it’s my belief that, like Selene, she had no one else. It was part of what made her so easy to mold. Maybe, in fact, this is why Semira is more of a perfect image of what Viktor wanted her to be then Selene is. Selene wasn’t always alone, after all. When she was a human, she had her family who surely taught her morals. Morals, however, are something that Semira often seems to lack. So then, is it possible that Semira never had a family to instill such morals into her? Maybe this is why she is so deeply loyal to Viktor; he’s the closest thing to a loving relationship she’s ever had, and she didn’t have people before him that showed her what a good loving relationship looks like. Viktor was her first and only example. This brings up the question of what could’ve caused Semira to have never had anyone.

Why does Semira crave power so intensely? When people want power that much, it’s often because they lived a life that inspired them to want it. That kind of life, she could’ve been someone completely powerless, someone who was made to feel like she was worth absolutely nothing. Power would change that; power would make her important and would ensure that no one could ever make her feel like that again. It’s a common reason behind not only villains in fiction wanting power, but it’s a common reason for every day, real life people wanting power as well. So then what kind of situation Semira could have been in to have been completely powerless, a life where she felt like nothing, one she would ensure that she never return to, whatever the cost?

Finally, why does Semira seem to be obsessive with her appearance and lavish things and parties and cleanliness? Based on the other points and questions, it implies a life of poverty. When you live a life without much, and you suddenly have the world at your fingertips, it’s easy to get greedy and become addicted to the materialistic; as for cleanliness, if you lived a life where you were always dirty, and now you didn’t have to, you wouldn’t want to be reminded of it.

So finally, my conclusion; what I’ve gathered from this process. From this process, I have a headcanon that Semira lived a life on her own, one that was impoverished, filthy, and without guidance, which made her extremely susceptible to Viktor’s teachings and so she did her best to become what he wanted her to be, which was easy because she was practically a blank slate in terms of teachings and morals. Expanding on this headcanon, focusing on a few of the time periods that Semira could’ve grown up in (we don’t have her exact canonical age), it seems to me she could’ve been sold by her parents at an extremely young age, as was common when you couldn’t afford to care for a child. Perhaps she was sold to somewhere doing dirty manual labor, like working at a mill. I also headcanon that she ran away sometime in her youth, if only to get her to where she needed to be in order to meet Viktor as a human. He saw how naive and lost and alone she was, and he preyed on that in order to turn her into what he always wanted Sonja to be. And then when a seemingly better Sonja in the form of Selene came along, he tossed Semira aside. Even with that, Semira’s loyalty remained because she had no one else who had cared for her even a little, let alone someone who had cared for her the way Viktor did all of those years. However, now without Viktor to protect her, she needed to protect herself, and she did everything in her power to achieve such protection. She went from being a regent, a right hand man, to a council member and leader of an entire coven. Still, it wasn’t enough, so she decided she needed more power, in fact, she needed to be the most powerful. If she was the most powerful, that was how she could be happy and satisfied. If she couldn’t have Viktor, and she had nothing else, then she was sure that power would give her everything she needed. As for revenge, obviously she felt she needed closure. She needed to win for once, to be the better one for once. Stealing Viktor from her was one thing, she thought, but killing him was unforgivable, and so she felt the only way she could ever feel satisfied was Selene’s suffering, her death, and proving if not to Viktor then proving to herself that she was better than Selene. Even though she failed ultimately, she had succeeded in one thing, and that was gaining Selene’s power, and in that moment she had been too distracted to care about anything else, even the blood dripping down her dress. All that she was able to focus on was her success and the joy it brought her, because in that moment, for once, she felt like she wasn’t just the inferior one that Viktor tossed aside.

So yeah, this is how I come up with a lot of my headcanons. It’s not like this with all of my muses, but it is when I can get a decent portion of canon information about them, along with some unknown gaps that need filling in. Most of my headcanons that I have for Semira were made using this process of thinking.

#mun things #{ piece by piece the puzzle will fall into place } ; semira #About Semira

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accidentalnewsiesblog · 5 years

Text

“The King of Brooklyn” and other monikers (Chapter 5)

a short little chapter about learning to read, which you can also do on ao3

~1500 words

The Student

1893

~~~

Spot knew her secret was about to be revealed when Race asked one morning, “What’s the headline today?”

She had their papers in her hand, but she could not read the headline. She could identify most of the letters, but she was at a complete loss on the words they formed.

It wasn’t her fault. Mum couldn’t read, nor had Bridget learned to read. And Spot had become self-conscious about her illiteracy when she started selling papers. She had practiced writing enough to recognize her name — making it easier to sign herself in and out of the lodge when needed — but she’d always faked her way through everything else.

But right now, Race was waiting for her to read the paper. She stared at the page, trying to put together even one word.

“Um…”

She recognized the letter C. The first letter of her last name. That one was easy. The next was an H. Then an I. Another C. Another H? A C with a weird line. An O.

Utter gibberish.

“C…” she began, like the beginning of “Conlon” or the end of “Racetrack." “H…” like the sound at the beginning of “horses." “Um…”

“Spot?”

She looked up from the page. Race was eyeing her with confusion, brows knitted together. He stepped forward and took his bundle. After scanning the letters, he said, “Chicago,” then looked back to her.

Spot felt her face flush. “Right. Yeah. I was getting there.”

His expression didn’t change. He looked around for a moment making sure nobody else was listening then asked, “Spot, can you read?”

“I mean…” Her chest tightened and she broke eye contact. “I mean, I can read.”

She must not have been convincing, because Race didn’t buy it. “Hey, it’s okay if you can’t, I just always thought you could.”

“I can read!” she insisted. “That’s just a hard word!”

Race considered this then shrugged. “Yeah, I guess it’s hard, but… Let’s just talk on the way.”

He led them on the road towards Queens, a few blocks from the wagon before he asked again.

“You can tell me things, you know. I ain’t gonna make fun of you if you don’t know how to read.”

Spot sighed. “Yeah, so I don’t know how to read. Piss off about it, why don’t ya.”

“I just said I ain’t makin’ fun! No need to get all defensive.”

He was right. He was just trying to help but she’d jumped down his throat. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“I can try to teach you if you want.”

She involuntarily glared at him out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t like relying on anyone else for anything. She was self-sufficient. He wasn’t trying to flaunt the fact that he could do something she couldn’t, but her ego was bruised now that her secret was out.

He took her non-response as an invitation to proceed. “Ya gotta start with letters. Like A-B-C—”

He began singing the children’s song to explain the alphabet, but Spot interrupted. “I already know the letters. Skip ahead.”

He contemplated for a moment then pulled one of yesterday’s papers from his bag. “Let’s practice, then. Point out an A.”

She took the pape and began searching. Her first guess was wrong, confusing an H for an A.

“Here’s the difference.” Race pointed at two similar-looking letters. “It’s an A if they come together at the top, but an H if they don’t.”

Spot nodded, committing the fact to memory. She scanned the page further, then pointed tentatively at a letter she thought was an A. “Is that one?”

Race nodded vehemently. “Yeah! Exactly! Now, what about a B?”

She found it quickly, recognizing the letter as a P with two bumps instead of one. They continued on like this through the rest of the alphabet, stumbling over the difference between M and N and W but otherwise successfully identifying most letters. Then Race told her that every letter also had a small version and she almost gave up on reading completely.

"Let's just work with the big letters for now!” he reassured her. They were halfway to Georgie’s and Spot was getting tired of the mental gymnastics, but she nodded anyway. “Start at the top and just tell me which letters they are.”

And so she did. “T… H?” Race nodded. “E. W-O-R-L-D.”

“Perfect! Now try to sound it out.”

“T” — like the end of “Spot” — “H” — like the beginning of “Higgins” — but Race stopped her there.

“Whenever T and H are together, they sound like ‘th’, like in the middle of ‘together.’”

She nodded and tried again. T. H. “Th…” The last letter in the word was E, which was tricky. It could make multiple sounds. It didn’t feel right to use the sound like elephant, so it must be a sound like in the word eagle. “The? The!”

“The!” Race repeated as he grinned. “Keep going!”

W. “W…” An O, which could also make multiple sounds. She contemplated some more, then was struck by a realization.

She was reading the name of the paper. The World.

“The World! W-world,” she slowly sounded out, emphasizing each individual letter.

The rest of the way to Georgie’s she put sounds together in an attempt to form words, realizing that there were lots of letters that made multiple sounds and that they didn’t always make the sound you thought they would. She was particularly peeved that putting an E on the end of the word could change how the other letters sounded, as she found out when reading a headline that included the word “fire.”

Upon arriving at Georgie’s, Race pointed to a sign in the window. “Try that one!”

Spot already knew what it said — Ice Cream and Sodapop — but sounded the words out to practice. I-C-E — the E on the end made the I sound like the beginning of “ice.” C-R-E-A-M — C and R were easy in this word, but the E and A, she wagered, came together to make the “ea” sound. A-N-D. Plain and simple. S-O-D-A-P-O-P would also have been easy except for the fact that both of the O sounds were different — the O in “soda” was different from the O in “pop.” She would get the hang of it, she knew.

Race started hawking papers while Spot went inside to say hello to Georgie. The bell jingled as she entered, but she didn’t see Georgie behind the counter. She looked down a couple of rows to find him poking his head in the back door.

She smiled and waved. “Mornin’ Georgie! It’s Spot and Racetrack!”

He smiled back at her then gestured for her to follow. She cantered down the aisle and into the alley, where Georgie had clearly been taking stock of a recent delivery.

“Need some help?” she offered.

“Yes, my boy, if you don’t mind.” He gestured to the crates sitting about. “I’ve counted everything out, I believe, I just need some help getting these inside.”

“You got it, Georgie.”

He pointed at one of the crates and said, “This one is the heaviest, and my old bones are giving me some trouble. They’re metal straight razors. If you could take them inside behind the counter and stock them, that would be lovely. There’s a shelf labeled ‘razors’ on the back wall.”

Spot nodded. Now was the time to put her new skills to the test. She grabbed the box and started inside.

Surely she could match up the letters on the shelves to the letters on the boxes if all else failed, but first she wanted to try her hand at reading without Race to help her.

She ducked behind the counter and found the labeled shelves.

Razor. Rrrrrazor. R.

Unfortunately, Georgie’s scrawl was less clean than the letters she read typed out in the paper. But eventually Spot located three shelves that started with the letter R.

Figuring out the next letter she needed was easy.

Razor. R-A.

Two shelves were labeled with R-A. The other, Spot noted, was R-I. She was slowly but surely narrowing it down.

She picked out the letters on the first label. R-A… that damned C with a weird line on it. What had Race said that one was?

R-A-G-S. She sounded it out. “R” like “razor” — “A” like “ace” — “G” like “Georgie” — and “S” like “Spot.” She didn’t think that was how the word was actually pronounced, but whatever it was, it wasn’t “razor.”

Onto the next.

R-A-Z-O-R-S. “R” like “razor” — “A” like “ace” — “Z” like… Spot couldn’t think of anything but “zoo” — “O” like how it sounds in her name — “R” like “razor” — “S” like “Spot.” She didn’t pronounce it quite right the first time, but it definitely said “razors.”

She couldn’t help the smile that darted across her face when she read the word. Razors. And she’d read it all by herself. She stocked the razors on the shelf still smirking.

Georgie insisted on paying her whenever she helped him out, and today was no different. She and Race hawked their papers sipping on sweet apple cider. It proved a pretty uneventful day, but Spot was proud of the strides she had made to better herself, Race providing a helping hand.

R-A-C-E, he’d told her. Race.

#newsies #newsies fic #newsies fanfiction #monikers #spot conlon #race higgins #racetrack higgins #genderbend #fem!spot conlon #fem!spot

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