#i mean theyre short. and i did have to knit a lot the last few weeks. and i always have it on then

[accidentalnewsiesblog]

“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?

G.

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

[sternenkrone-blog]

  Wyatt crosses the threshold like a whirlwind. His face is pale, a sickly ash paired with something in his eyes that speaks of plain horror. In his arms, he carries a bundle of blankets.   A moving bundle of blankets.   He brushes past Lysander without a word, heading straight into the living room. The last time he’s seen his brother like this, their father had raised his hand against Lysander for the first time out in the open. The same look of shock, the same fear that goes bone-deep. But there’s no anger woven through this time. Only the face of a scared boy.

  “Did something happen?” Lysander asks softly as he takes a seat next to Wyatt. His eyes are fixed on the bundle in his lap – which still writhes. Here Lysander thought maybe he’d imagined that.   Wyatt bites his lip. There are dark circles under his eyes, almost as though they’re bruises. But his eyes are reddened, blood vessels popped the way they do when he doesn’t sleep well and goes to work trying not to fall asleep. He nods, a little frantic, and winces when Lysander raises a hand to place it between his shoulder blades.   “I think I’m losing it,” he whispers, and his voice shakes.   Lysander furrows his brows. “Losing it?”   “It’s,” Wyatt begins and slips a hand into the bundle on his lap. It makes a sound between a purr and a satisfied grunt. “The other day, I was… we were having dinner. The boys and I. And Sicheng was hogging the cucumber salad, and I – I didn’t wanna get up and get it, but he wasn’t listening ‘cause he was talking to – anyway, I wanted that salad and I was really annoyed and suddenly the bowl stood right in front of me. Just. Gone. Like… “   He licks his lips. Runs his free hand through his hair, unstyled like it seldom is. Turning his head, he gives Lysander a brief look as though he tries to gauge his reaction but doesn’t have the heart to stay for the result. Lysander’s chest tightens at the sight.   “And that… happened again, a few days later. So I sat down and… and… “ His eyes drift away to the scented candle sitting on the coffee table. He extends his free hand, frowns, and from one second to the next, the candle sits snugly in his palm. Lysander’s mouth drops open.   “You saw that, right?” Wyatt asks, staring at Lysander again. “I told the others, but they didn’t notice shit, and told me I needed to take a nap or something. But I don’t need a damn nap. Please, tell me you saw that.”   Quickly, Lysander nods. “I saw that, yes. You moved the candle without actually moving it.”   Wyatt lets out a breath that sounds uncharacteristically relieved. He puts the candle away and leans back, shoulders slumping. “You saw it. Thank god.” The bundle in his lap makes the same noise as before, still writhing under the heap of blankets.   This is the exact definition of a deja vu. When Lysander’s magic first manifested, it started out with tiny things, too. Turning on the electric kettle from his spot on the couch, switching off the light without having to physically do it. He’d chalked it up to being forgetful at first, to having done everything the way it’s supposed to and simply forgetting about it. But Wyatt is acutely aware of what’s happening, albeit scared of it. To think he would possess the same powers Lysander does is beyond odd. He’d thought him to be fully human.   Touch gentle, he brings his hand up to run it through the hairs on the back of Wyatt’s head. Wyatt melts into it, leans to the side to settle his weight against Lysander’s shoulder. When he speaks again, his eyes have drifted closed.   “But that’s not the weirdest part.” He unpacks the bundle on his lap, all careful and slow. There, in between soft fabric sits a small animal, a puppy with golden fur and a mane like a lion. It yips and shivers and tries to burrow back into the blanket. Wyatt curves a palm around its head. It nuzzles into it an instant.   “Wyatt,” Lysander whispers, gaze fixed on the puppy. “Is that –”   “So you can see him?” Wyatt interrupts him. He straightens in his seat, curling his fingers under the puppy’s chin. “None of the others can. That’s weird, right? How can that be?”   Lysander doesn’t have an answer. This puppy, this tiny bundle of fur, is a product of Wyatt’s magic – that much he is sure of. But why would it be invisible to other people? And, more importantly, why does he see it, then? Tentative at first, he reaches out to let the puppy sniff his fingers. It looks up at him with wide, crimson-red eyes and wags its tail. Wyatt watches, looking from Lysander to the puppy and back.   “He… says you smell nice.”   “Oh.” Lysander’s face softens. He rubs a finger over the puppy’s nose, then scratches it gently behind its perky ears. “Thank you, little one.”   Wyatt still looks beyond spooked, but some of the tension has left his body. It’s easy to imagine what he went through. Discovering all of this and having nobody believe him takes a toll even on someone like him, usually so full of confidence and wit. He seems much younger like this. More innocent.   “How… did you get him?” Lysander asks after a short stretch of silence, and it makes Wyatt curl in on himself a little. He takes a deep breath, as though to steel himself.   “I went to bed early yesterday ‘cause I was feeling like shit. When I woke up in the middle of the night, he was… right there. Sleeping next to me. So I just went back to sleep. I still felt like ass and was pretty sure I was dreaming. But then he woke me up, licking my face all over. And when I went to tell the others, they didn’t believe me. ‘Cause they can’t see him.” He marks a pause, brows knitting together. “He… talks. That’s… super weird, right? But only I can hear him. I don’t know what’s happening, Lys.”   Lysander brings his hands up to Wyatt’s face to cup it. “That’s all right, little brother. I do.”   “Y-you do?” Wyatt’s eyes go wide.   “It’s nothing terrible, I promise. You’re not crazy.” As he speaks, he calls for Almond over their rapport, and he appears like he always does with a quiet poof, perching himself atop Lysander’s shoulder. Immediately, Wyatt recoils.   “What –”   “He’s my familiar,” Lysander answers before Wyat finishes his question. “My… well, we’re connected. He speaks, too, but only I can hear it. I, and other familiars.”   Cooing, Almond jumps down from Lysander’s shoulder to sniff curiously at the puppy.Who’s he? He’s tiny! Whatever the puppy responds makes Almond burst into giggles.   “I still don’t get it,” says Wyatt with a frown, and he sounds so lost that all Lysander wants to do is pull him close and hug him. But he resists the urge, too determined to clear that confusion.   “This’ll be a lot to take in,” he says, folding his hands in his lap. “And I know what it sounds like. I didn’t want to believe it at first, either.” This time, it’s he who takes a deep breath. “I’m a witch, Wyatt. And I think you are, too. These things happening to you? It’s your magic manifesting. And this little guy,” he gestures towards the puppy, “is your familiar.”   As expected, Wyatt gapes for a long, long moment, before he says, slowly, “You’re a… witch. Like… like in the movies? Potions and spells and… “   Lysander nods. “Yes. And no. It’s… a little different, I think. But I do work spells, and I do know how to make potions. I’m still starting out, but it’s getting there.”   And just like that, a weight lifts from Lysander’s chest. How many times did he try to work up the courage to tell Wyatt this? How many times did he start, fully intending to stop hiding the truth, only to get scared at the very last second? Wyatt is difficult, after all. Ignorant in many ways, even if he doesn’t seem too conscious of it. He has his beliefs and his opinions, most of them formed by their close-minded parents, and changing them is like pulling teeth. So Lysander steels himself for a comment that may cut deep, may hurt.   Instead, Wyatt nods, mouth still hanging open. “And I’m… like that, too? But why didn’t I know before? Why now?”   “I’m not sure. My magic didn’t come around until a few months ago, either. So –”   “A few months ago? You’ve been a – a witch or whatever all this time and you didn’t tell me?”   A laugh slips out of Lysander’s mouth, dry and void of humor. “How was I supposed to do that? How do you just tell someone this? I’m still learning, myself. Sometimes, it’s hard for me to believe it. I’m sorry, Wyatt. I wanted to tell you sooner, I really did.”   Wyatt falls silent again. Pets the puppy, who has since started cuddling with Almond, like he did before, and then says, “I… need to think about this. Can you… can you take care of him for a while? Just… I don’t know.”   The puppy startles with Wyatt moving to get up, yipping at him.   “Wyatt, please. He’s your familiar. You can’t –”   “I don’t – care right now, okay? I need to… this is too much.”   He’s on his feet before Lysander has a chance to stop him, out of the door before he gets another word in. A part of Lysander isn’t surprised, not about the reaction and not about how much it smarts, but another wishes that, for once, Wyatt would have changed. He looks down at the puppy – Wyatt’s familiar – and sighs. Almond licks the puppy all over in a means to soothe it, but it only makes the quiet whines that come out of its tiny snout louder, more miserable.   Lysander grabs his phone and sends an emergency text Qiaomeng’s way. He, hopefully, will know what to do.

#❝ a movie called life // lysander stories. #❝ a movie called life // wyatt stories. #abuse /