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damthosefandoms · 2 months ago

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Jumbled

(ao3 link)

Summary:

RIP Sodapop Curtis, you would’ve loved having an IEP/504 Plan.

(AKA, Soda struggles in school his whole life, and doesn’t understand why, because it’s the 1950s and 60s and getting a diagnosis for a learning disability isn’t exactly on the table. Neither is the scaffolding and support he really needs.)

Sodapop Curtis was the type of kid who sat at the kitchen table for hours on end crying over math homework until his dad got home from work and struggled to explain it to him. All that effort, and then he’d always inevitably lose it somewhere between the kitchen table that night and his teacher’s hand the next morning and all that effort would be for nothing.

Soda was five years old when he started kindergarten, at the tail-end of the summer of ‘56. He remembers his mom comforting him the night before, when he cried because he was going to miss Ponyboy who wasn’t old enough for school yet and because Darry was going into fourth grade and would be on the other side of the school all day, and Soda would never get to see him. He remembers pouting because Keith Mathews, his and his brothers’ collective best friend from down the street was going into first grade after promising Soda last year that he’d get in a lot of trouble so he could stay and do kindergarten with him (he lied).

And then Soda was just plain miserable, sitting there on the bus sandwiched between Keith and a boy a little younger than Sodapop named Johnny Cade (who lives two doors down from the Mathews’ house and Soda never sees because his parents are mean and keep him inside all day), because Darry decided he was “too cool” to sit with his horse-crazy kid brother in favor of the big kids whose mommies don’t make them wash their hair when it’s dirty and greasy and walk around with those little black switch-combs and pretend they’re the coolest kids on planet earth, ‘cause one day those combs will swap out for blades and they will be.

Probably because they are, but Sodapop doesn’t know that yet—right now he doesn’t really know or care about grease or what side of town he lives on. He is six years old and the only thing on Soda’s radar right now is that Mama promised they’d save up for him to go to horseback riding camp next summer, and that’s his biggest dream. He wants to be a rodeo legend or win the Kentucky Derby or something. He hasn’t quite decided yet. He figures he has time to parse out the specifics—he just wants to ride a horse.

They get to school, and after a particularly pushy reminder that Mama told him at the bus stop this morning to make sure Soda gets to his classroom alright, Darry points his little brother toward the Kindergarten wing. Soda takes Johnny Cade’s hand in his because he found out on the bus that Johnny is going to have the same teacher as him, and they push through the hallway of their elementary school to find Mrs. Moran’s Room Four.

Soda very quickly learns that not every kid goes into kindergarten equally. Johnny is the smallest and the youngest kid in their grade, and Soda’s the second-youngest and it only takes a few weeks for Soda to think to himself that maybe that’s why he can’t read yet. He’ll be six soon, and that’s how old Evie is. Most of the kids who live on his side of town started kindergarten when they were six, he realizes. She sits next to Soda and she’s a good reader, but she’s one of the oldest kids in their grade and so of course she’s smarter than him. Then again, Sherri Valance, who is also in his class, isn’t going to be six until next spring—kind of like Johnny, and according to the birthday chart on the wall—he asked Mrs. Moran to read it to him one day when he couldn’t sleep during nap time and she very begrudgingly agreed, so he memorized everyone’s birthdays and how old they’d be turning because why not, right?—but Sodapop finds out that she went to preschool.

He didn’t go to preschool. He doesn’t know anyone who did. He remembers Mama talking to Dad about preschool for Ponyboy this year, but Dad said something about “expensive” and Soda stopped listening ‘cause they always get sad or angry when that word comes up.

Sherri Valance can read and she’s got pretty red hair and a backpack that’s not even a hand-me-down, and she went to preschool. So did all her friends in Room Three. Soda doesn’t know anybody in Room Three but he knows that the kids his friends know in there didn’t go to preschool. Timmy Shepard was in Room Three last year with Keith. He didn’t go to preschool either; heck, neither did Keith. But they can both read now, and they went to first grade, so Sodapop figures he didn’t miss out on too much.

Until it’s the end of the year and he still can’t read. Well, you don’t need to read to go to horse camp. Soda doesn’t nap a single time that year, either. He spends his precious kindergarten naptime not-reading the book Mrs. Moran gives him to keep him busy and picking at his cot when she snaps at him to be quiet. Mrs. Moran decided the day she read his first name off the attendance sheet that she didn’t like him, and Sodapop Curtis did not like her either.

First grade is so much better and yet so, so much worse.

Soda has a very hard time on his first day, because he misses his mom, and his dad, and Ponyboy, who begged to go to school too this year but he’s still too little at only four years old and Mama’s doing her best to get him reading now. Darry is in fifth grade and seems even farther away, and Soda doesn't have recess with Keith and Tim’s grade this year, and Johnny’s in Room Seven making new friends. Evie’s in Room Eight, and Soda’s trapped alone in Room Nine. Sherri’s still in his class. On the third day of school, Soda decides her hair reminds him of cherries. She laughs, and it sticks.

The best and brightest part of first grade is his teachers. He was put in Mrs. Larkin’s room, and she’s amazing; but when he gets there on the first day, there are two teachers in the room. Miss Luft, it’s explained, is a student teacher, which means she’s learning about first grade just like they are. She’s learning how to teach and they’re learning how to learn.

Sodapop still doesn’t even know the alphabet. He doesn’t know his sounds and he can’t keep his letters straight. Mrs. Larkin has him sit with Miss Luft when he tries to write a small moment story. She draws lines in marker on his paper for him to write each word on. Every line she has to make longer than the last because he can barely fit two letters on it, and he’s pretty sure she can’t read what he wrote any more than he can.

But Miss Luft always calls him capable. She has to explain to Sodapop once a week what that word means. He does his best to remember, but he has a lot of things to remember and it gets lost in the jumble somewhere.

He hears Mrs. Larkin and Miss Luft talking, sometimes. They hide their words behind stacks of paper and turned heads but he can hear them anyway.

Reversals. Attention span. Off the wall.

“And he’s low,” he hears Mrs. Larkin say one morning. “Mrs. Bolan’s got one that low too, but at least hers is quiet.”

He has no clue what any of it means. It’s all teacher talk, he isn’t supposed to get it, and he knows they aren’t trying to hurt his feelings, but hearing it makes him feel bad anyway because they don’t talk about other kids like they do him. They don’t get those sad looks on their faces about other kids, either.

“Does your brain get jumbled sometimes, Soda?” Miss Luft asks him one day when he’s sitting at his desk, eyes red and puffy from crying because he wasn’t allowed to go to gym class unless he finished his spelling worksheet. But he can’t. He’s been sitting here for forty-five minutes, ever since they got back from recess, and he can’t. Do. It. He tries to write his letters how his teachers have shown him but they just won’t appear in the place he wanted them to, like his pencil won’t obey him when he writes. He tries to start at the top line and somehow his pencil puts itself at the bottom.

He tries to write the letters anyway, but they don’t look like he thinks they’re supposed to, and he doesn’t even know what that means because every time he looks at a b or d, or m or n or h, or—god forbid someone tells him to write the letter k. It just looks like a stick.

His numbers are just as bad. Someone’s always reminding him to put the one before the seven instead of the other way around, but he doesn’t remember writing seventy-one, he can’t even count that high!

“Jumbled?” He says in a shaky voice, still trying to calm down.

“Like mixed up. Like it’s hard to think ‘cause you got too much going on in there?” She taps his forehead and he half-heartedly giggles.

“Yeah, it gets real jumbled. All the time,” Soda says.

“I feel like that sometimes too,” Miss Luft says, and she sighs. “Like I can’t think at all some days. Like my brain shuts off without me tellin’ it to because there’s too much goin’ on and I can’t focus, and just answering one question gets overwhelming. It’s too much. But it’ll be okay, Soda, I know you got it in you. I believe in you, you hear? If I could do it, so can you.”

She doesn’t say much else, but Sodapop has never felt more seen. He cries and clings to her on her last day at their school, hating that she only got to stay for ten weeks. Mrs. Larkin is amazing and he loves being in her class, but the year just drags on and on, and towards the end of the year Soda can’t decide if school is getting harder or he’s getting dumber. Maybe it’s both.

He gets to go to horseback riding camp that summer, and he meets a kid named Dallas who he thinks was in Room Seven with Johnny. Dallas is mean. Soda finds out he’s a whole year older than him, which confuses him because Dallas is in his same grade at school.

“An’ how come I never seen you at recess or nothin’?” Soda says one day at lunch. He’s got a bologna sandwich, because his mom swears by cold cuts. Dally stole an apple out of their counselor’s lunch and doesn’t seem to have anything to eat otherwise.

“They don’t let me out much,” Dallas says. “S’what happens when you spend all your time in the principal’s office.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. Just feels good to get in trouble sometimes.”

Soda doesn’t get him, but he likes horses, and so they become friends anyway. He and Dally start getting into trouble together, and Soda kind of starts to feel like he belongs somewhere. It takes his mind off the upcoming school year, which is great, because whenever he thinks about school, he gets butterflies in his stomach.

Dallas is in Room Twelve with Johnny when they get to second grade. Usually Soda keeps track of what classes all his friends end up in, but this year, it doesn’t matter anymore. Because second grade changes everything.

Mrs. Foster is ancient. She taught Soda’s mom once upon a time, and she had Darry in her class a few years earlier. Soda thought she’d be a great teacher because Darry loved her, but Soda can’t bring himself to even pretend to like her. She asks him what his parents were on when they named him.

“On what?”

Mrs. Foster just rolls her eyes and tells him to take a seat in the back where he clearly belongs. She lets him know that she’ll be calling him by his middle name this year. At least “Patrick” is “dignified.” Whatever that means.

Later, Soda can’t keep his words from erupting out of his mouth like a volcano during morning meeting, and she sends him back to his seat with a glare.

Five minutes later Steve Randle gets sent back to his seat for shouting out, too. He sits next to Soda in the back. He’s hiding a little red toy car in his desk and they play together. Mrs. Foster doesn’t seem to notice or care. She doesn’t call on Soda a single time that year, even when he does know the answer.

She also doesn’t like that Sodapop writes with his left hand. By the time he gets to third grade, he flinches and corrects himself every time he goes to pick up his pencil. He hopes this’ll solve the problem, but it never does.

Soda struggles the whole year. Steve doesn’t, and when Soda asks when his birthday is—he always needs to know, he needs to be able to sing happy birthday to all of his friends—Steve tells him he was born in April, the same year as Soda. Soda tells him how he can’t find a single pattern proving why he’s dumb, ‘cause age doesn’t seem to matter. Sherri aka Cherry is younger than him but smarter. She went to preschool. Johnny’s younger too, but he didn’t. Steve’s older and smarter but he tells Soda that he didn’t do preschool either.

“I did kindergarten twice, though,” Steve tells him. “Well, the first couple weeks anyway. Mom and Dad wanted me to start school when I was five but then I had to not do the whole year ‘cause my mom got sick and we were too busy and then she died so I stayed home with Dad. I did kindergarten the next year when I was six. Now I got friends in third grade and in second grade.”

They agree that Soda’s going to be Steve’s best second-grade friend. They trade that little red car back and forth and Soda still can’t read very well but he’s better at it now—Mrs. Larkin worked extra hard with him after Miss Luft left to make sure he knew his letters and sounds.

Mrs. Foster doesn’t seem to care, because she pretends he doesn’t exist. It’s a miracle Sodapop gets to third grade.

But it doesn’t matter. School doesn’t matter. Over time Soda just starts to remind himself that he has Steve, and Steve is smart, he’ll help him. Soda will get through this. Sure, after third grade Johnny gets held back, and it’s only a matter of time until Sodapop has to repeat a grade too, but… but he’ll be okay. He will. Someday a switch will go off and his brain will work right and he’ll be able to do it. He hasn’t failed yet, that has to mean something, right?

He hasn’t failed yet but no one has noticed he struggles, not his teachers, not his friends, no one. Maybe Miss Luft, but he’ll never see her again. He hopes she still thinks he’s capable. He had written in the book their class made for her that his favorite thing about her was that she believed in him.

As he gets older, he wonders if she even remembers his name.

But then again, he spends every weeknight crying at the kitchen table, physically unable to get past the first question on his homework sheets. In fourth grade Mama starts clearing everything off the table to help him focus, but he picks at the crumbs left behind from last night’s dinner, peels up the dried finger-paint Pony splattered everywhere, sits and rocks back and forth with each tick of the clock.

And every day after about an hour of making up little songs and fiddling on his paper until it’s spotted with holes, he starts crying, because he can’t bring himself to do his homework. And then Pony’s in school, finishing his homework before him, and Pony is just as much of a daydreamer, so that kind of stings. Darry has seven different classes to do homework for, on top of football practice, but he gets all his work done before Soda’s even started. His mom tries to help but it makes him cry even harder, ‘cause she doesn’t get it, it’s not about the homework it’s about his brain. It’s about Soda’s brain not working like everyone thinks it should.

It’s about his big, dumb, broken brain.

Johnny can’t read either, but he can focus, he can control his emotions and not cry or scream or stomp his feet at every little sound or touch, or overreact to things that aren’t a big deal at all, he doesn’t start throwing throngs off his desk when he’s mad, and he always has a reason why he does things. Steve can’t control his mouth or pay attention, but he can read and always turns in his homework on time. Keith never does his homework ever but he’s practically a genius compared to Sodapop.

Ponyboy brings home his first-ever spelling test and their mom sticks it on the fridge with a magnet.

That bright-red 100% is going to haunt Soda’s dreams.

Every night Dad gets home at 6:00 to find Soda still sitting at the table, eyes red and puffy, and tears staining his homework and the table. He chides him for the new mark Soda’s left in the table’s surface from digging the eraser-end of his pencil into it. Soda deflates, he didn’t mean to do that, it’s just—what else is he supposed to do? He’s not allowed to get up until his homework’s done.

Darrel Curtis Sr. is a loving father and a very easy-going guy, until he’s standing there over Soda’s shoulder holding his hand—his left hand, which Soda’s grateful for but also it feels so wrong after his experience in third grade—forcing him to write in the answers because he just doesn’t get that writing it is only part of the problem. His dad loves him, he’s gentle with his touch but every inch of Soda’s skin feels like it’s on fire when his dad makes him write.

It’s not his dad’s fault, but Darrel Sr. is only human, and he hates yelling at his kids, but he has to raise his voice to try to get Sodapop to hear him above his scream-crying because it’s the only way to help him learn.

Sometime when Soda’s in seventh grade, Ponyboy asks him what his problem is. Homework’s not that bad.

“I don’t like it anymore than you do, Soda, but I just don’t think it’s worth crying over, you dig?”

Soda throws his pencil at his brother, slams his history book shut, and walks out the back door. Ponyboy watches in confusion. When their mom comes in to check on them, he tells her Sodapop’s overreacting again.

Dally, who had moved away after third grade to New York but came back just in time to start seventh grade with Soda, finds him at the Pershing Park playground sitting on the swings. It’s where Soda ends up when he’s hopelessly overwhelmed by homework, or when the thought of school looms over him like a cartoon anvil. Something about pumping his legs and willing the swing to take him higher and higher takes away the sick feeling that the idea of popcorn reading Shakespeare in his fifth period English class gives him. Dally asks him if he wants to find something better to do, and a few hours later they wind up back at the Curtis house with busted knuckles and the beginnings of black eyes and they pour grease into Soda’s hair and grin at each other.

When Sodapop is sixteen years old, a sophomore in high school, his father finds him sitting at that same kitchen table, staring down over an assignment that’s asking him to write a thousand-word essay and Soda turns to his dad wordlessly, his throat is closing up, and his dad tells him to breathe.

But he can’t. He can’t. He’s going to be sick, he might actually throw up. He feels like he’s being stabbed in the chest. One thousand words. Sodapop can’t even count that high. He can’t even read Dr. Seuss. He can’t do this anymore.

“Dad, I want to drop out.”

“Aw, Pepsi-Cola,” his dad says gently that night, brushing Soda’s hair back and then pulling him into a hug, “I know you do. I’ve been talkin’ to your mother about it. We got the paperwork from the school. But I think you should think about it a little longer, alright?”

Soda agrees to try and finish out the year. His dad gets it.

His dad spent ten years listening to Soda cry over homework. His dad never called him dumb. His mom did what she could. But the only person in all his years of school who Soda ever knew really believed in him was Miss Luft, and she never came back.

He thinks maybe if he had more teachers like her, who believed in him and gave him extra help and supported him along the way, if there was something—something that made it so they had to listen to him, had to help him, had to accept that it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t read right, couldn’t focus, couldn’t control his mood swings or emotions or his volcano of a mouth… maybe he could’ve done better. Maybe if Mrs. Foster had let him write with his left hand, he could’ve figured it out.

Soda hopes one day they figure out what makes kids like him tick. What makes them struggle. He hopes one day that their schools will decide to help.

A few months after he talks to his dad, Sodapop finds the signed paperwork in his dad’s desk drawer. His parents have just been buried, and Soda can’t stop crying at the drop of a pin. He’s been skipping all his classes, but none of his teachers seem to care. It’s fine. He’s dumb anyway, a lost cause. They’ll just keep passing him up to the next grade without batting an eye at the fact that he never gets higher than a D+, no matter how hard he tries.

Sodapop will always be that one student who slips through the cracks.

He looks over the form to drop out. He figures the school will take it, if he pitches it to them as a last-will kind of situation. He doesn’t even need to ask Darry to give the okay, because Dad signed it months ago, like he had already known the decision Sodapop would make.

And he did. It’s dated that same night Soda sat at the kitchen table feeling like the world was ending and like he was dying because of a goddamn required word count.

But he knows Miss Luft believes in him, and he knows what his dad wanted, so he finishes out the school year—passes Gym and Auto Shop, too.

Soda hopes he made them proud. And now, he’ll never have to worry about explaining the dried tears on his spelling homework ever again.

#sodapop curtis #the outsiders musical #the outsiders book #outsiders fanfic #ponyboy curtis #darry curtis #steve randle #twobit mathews #johnny cade #dally winston #hello outsiders fandom #in which soda experiences the adhd feeling of hours spent at the kitchen table crying over homework #and finds out his parents were in fact on board with him dropping out #and thinks schools should do more for kids who need extra help #as written by a certified teacher lol #julie writes stuff #my post

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not-straight-cubed · 2 years ago

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a poem i wrote as part of my final project

content warning: ableism, uncomfy childhood experiences, implied self-harm, implied suicidal ideation, implied eating disorder

Was it easier for you?

when i was rejected from a preschool because i stuttered because my thoughts moved faster than i could speak them

when i learned to read when i was two years old and memorized the alphabet forwards and backwards before most other kids knew it at all

when i memorized birthdays off the chart on the wall instead of paying attention to the five hundredth lesson on letters and numbers

was it not obvious?

or was it easier to believe i was just a gifted kid?

when i fell behind again and again and again when we learned subtraction and multiplication and long division

when i learned every breed of dog i could and memorized their characteristics and identified them all on the street or in pictures

when my third grade desk became such a disaster that i needed a new pencil every other day and my homework got lost in the piles of papers

was it not obvious?

or was it easier to believe i was just unmotivated?

when i excelled in my classwork but my homework often went missing

when i stared into space for full classes at a time

when my locker was such a mess that books and binders spilled out onto the floor every time i opened it

was it not obvious?

or was it easier to believe i was just lazy?

when i got through middle school with only one good friend

when i stayed home from the school dance

when i didn’t know the difference between a friend and a bully and i let myself fall into the trap again and again

was it not obvious?

or was it easier to believe i was just an introvert?

when my voice cracked while arguing about the simplest topics

when a warning from a teacher was enough to send me spiraling all week

when a split from a friend made me question if i deserved to eat, to be happy, to live

was it not obvious?

or was it easier to believe i was just being dramatic?

when I proposed an ADHD evaluation to my therapist and my parents the summer after seventh grade

when my mom came into my room with a paper saying I had ADHD and generalized anxiety disorder

when I was prescribed vyvanse for the first time and i felt the fog clear from my head

Hadn’t it been obvious?

Or was it easier to believe I would just grow out of it?

When I researched coping strategies instead of wondering if I was a burden on everyone

When my grades shot upwards and I finished eighth grade, then ninth, with high honors

When I told my elementary school teachers about my diagnosis, and was met with a chorus of “we could tell” “we always knew” “that isn’t a surprise at all”

It was obvious that my struggles were due to a chemical imbalance in my brain.

Was it easier on you to let me believe I was just unmotivated, lazy, introverted, disorganized, dramatic, burdensome?

#adhd #adhd culture #adhd thoughts #adhd brain #living with adhd #undiagnosed adhd #adhd inattentive #neurodivergence #actually neurodiverse #neurodiversity #actually adhd #generalized anxiety disorder #gifted kid burnout culture is #gifted kid syndrome #trauma #childhood trauma #ptsd #actually ptsd

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littleginnie1 · 7 months ago

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5 Fun Theme Ideas For Birthdays, Parties, & School Projects

Does the theme party excite your kid? Are you thinking of a perfect theme for your kid’s birthday party? As you know, choosing a party theme is only half the battle. After choosing your theme, you must work on cake, decoration, etc. You can reduce your stress by using craft ideas for the theme parties. These crafts are a fantastic way to add excitement to birthdays, parties, and projects. Also, theme crafts always fill children with excitement and joy.

Theme crafts work as a fun element in the theme parties. In this blog, we will share some theme craft ideas that will help you choose a theme for birthdays, parties, or school projects.

Here are 5 ideas for a theme party or school project.

1. Space Exploration

Indegrients Required

Form or Thermocol

Paint

Cardboard

Jars

Glitter

Food Colors

Water

How It Works

Create a solar system using mobile foam or thermal coal. Paint the structures in the colors of planets.

You can also add a cardboard spaceship, which can be the main element of the theme.

Make some galaxy jars, which are made up of glitter, water, and food colors, and place them in different places. So that some glitter and stars add shine to the theme.

2. Superhero

Ingredients Required

Paper

Paint

Superhero Dresses

Glue

How It Works

Create masks and hats of different kinds of superheroes like Spiderman, Batman, Iron Man, Captain America, Hulk, etc.

Ask the children to wear them to the party.

Arrange 3-4 people and dress them as superheroes. Ask them to play with the kids. This makes the party more exciting.

3. Jungle Safari

Indegrients Required

Chart Paper

Paint colors

Thermal Coal

Glue

How It Works

Make masks of different animals. Give them to kids and ask them to wear them.

Cut and color thermal coal into the shape of grass and trees, decorating it so that it looks like a jungle.

You may also arrange models of different animals so that children can play with them or take pictures with them. It’s a fun activity for them.

4. Fantasy Creatures

Indegrients Required

Air-dry Clay

Fairy Lights

Thermocol

Glitter

Glue

How It Works

Fantasy Creature always feels like a beautiful and imaginative world to the kids.

You can use air-dry clay to make sculptures of dragons, fairy, unicorns, etc.

Hang some fairy lights in the party room. It creates beautiful lighting in the room.

Make a magical wand with thermal coal and glitter.

5. Under the Sea

Indegrients Required

Tissue Paper

Sea Shells

Paint

Cardboard

Toy sea creature

Paper

How It Works

Make some jellyfish with tissue. Make sure to watch a tutorial.

Paint seashells and use them as decor.

Create an underwater sea using cardboard, paper, and toy sea creatures. Hang it on walls so that it creates the illusion of an underwater sea experience.

This makes children so happy, and they want to learn more about the underwater sea creature and everything.

To summarize, hosting a theme party or making a school project is always a fun and memorable activity for both kids and parents. By adding some creative craft ideas to the theme, you can make it more exciting and enjoyable. From space exploration to underwater sea adventure, there are so many ideas out there to spark imagination and creativity.

Crafts at parties aren't just pretty things to look at—they're also super fun activities that keep kids entertained the whole time. Whether they're making solar systems, superhero masks, jungle safari gear, fantasy creatures, or underwater scenes, each theme lets kids dive into a cool, make-believe world where anything is possible. It's like going on an adventure without leaving the party!

Theme craft parties are not just celebrating birthday parties or special occasions; they are also a long-term memory. It’s a fun and creative way to educate and learn about different things.

If you are a parent of a child, looking for a preschool for your child. Little Ginnie is the perfect place that you are looking for. Enroll your kid today. Allow your kid to learn and grow with Little Ginnie. Apply to Little Ginnie today and witness the difference firsthand!

#Craft idea #theme craft #5 Fun Theme Ideas #School Projects #Superhero #Preschool near me #Best Preschool in South Delhi #Best Preschool

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idigitizellp21 · 8 months ago

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Empowering Childhood: The Beauty Of Unstructured Birthday Parties

When you think of a preschooler’s birthday party, you might envision balloons, cake, games, and gifts. But what if you let your child take the reins and decide how to celebrate their special day? That’s precisely what some Mumbai parents are doing, exploring the concept of unstructured birthday parties for their kids. An unstructured birthday party empowers children to choose their theme party. It’s all about fostering their decision-making abilities and allowing them to set the base of the celebrations.

These parties come in various forms, tailored to each child’s interests. Some would like to visit an indoor playpark while some may want to keep it simple at home, the options are endless. Whether it’s cake, ice cream, or a chart party, the focus is on embracing the child’s imagination and letting them shape their birthday experience.

The top 3 benefits of an unstructured toddler birthday party?

1. Creativity and imagination: By allowing toddlers to explore their interests and passions, they can express themselves in unique and individual ways, fostering a sense of individuality, self-confidence and emotional development.

2. Social and emotional skills: By collaborating with peers and family members during their birthday celebration, they learn to communicate effectively and work together towards a common goal. They also learn to respect and appreciate different perspectives and preferences, which enhances their empathy and social awareness.

3. Love of learning: By engaging in activities that they find interesting and enjoyable, they develop a love of learning, which is the foundation for lifelong learning and curiosity. They also discover new things about themselves and the world around them, which stimulates their intellectual and personal growth.

How do you support your child’s unstructured birthday party?

As a parent, you might wonder how you can support your kids unstructured birthday party without interfering or imposing your ideas.

1. Follow their lead: The most important thing is to follow your child’s lead and listen to their voice. Ask them what, how, and why they want to do it. Don’t judge or criticise their choices, but rather acknowledge and validate them. Let them know that you are there to support them and help them make their birthday party a reality.

2. Enjoy the process and the outcome: Finally, remember to enjoy the process and the outcome of your child’s unstructured birthday party. Don’t worry too much about the details, the perfection, or the expectations. Instead, focus on the fun, the learning, and the memories that you and your child will create together. Celebrate your child’s uniqueness, creativity, and happiness, and let them know how proud and happy you are of them.

Key Take Away: Practice Freedom within boundaries:

Allowing your child to dictate their birthday celebration is a meaningful display of respect for their choices. However, as a parent, it’s crucial to maintain some boundaries while honouring their autonomy. Establishing a budget ensures practicality without stifling creativity. Setting a timeline encourages planning and execution within feasible parameters. Prioritising safety guarantees a worry-free environment for all involved.

These boundaries not only guide but also empower your child. Ultimately, it’s about striking a balance between freedom and guidance to create a memorable and enjoyable birthday experience for your child. At Kookaburra playschool, we believe in nurturing children’s learning in the same way, making it the ideal place to enrol your little ones.

#Education #Childhood #Preschoolers #Birthday Party #Empowering

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blackvail22 · 1 year ago

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whenever i think about this, it makes me incredibly angry that i cant respond to ppl abt this so im going to pretend that i am now lol

"why did she graduate early just to go into the work force? thats so pointless"

its not. think about it, i work to get more money to move to the college i want to go to out of state. i live there for a year to become that state's resident and get a lower tuition rate. you hang around fellow rich people... obviously i didnt expect you to see the struggles of those that go into debt each time we go on a vacation every 5 years. im not as fortunate as you are. you always got what you wanted when you wanted. you got a $70k car for your 16th birthday, and your friend got a $100k car for their first car. you go on trips every other week during the summertime... new york city, paris, bahamas, florida... i dont expect you to understand my struggle of going to college. maybe if our government actually helped poor people afford college i wouldnt have to work all the time to afford basic necessities and save up for college. it must be hard for you, too. you know, when we were in elementary school and you stopped being friends with me when you found out that im in the lower class. must have been the biggest betrayal. or in middle school when you would constantly ask me if me and my friends were dating just because i like all genders. or when you outted me in a girls locker room because you thought that i was a perv because i like women. it must be hard for you to think and empathize for others. you know, living like that isnt going to get you far, especially when you can't respect another race... saying a word that isnt yours, enforcing racist sterotypes against others. you know, i think about when you go to college and that video still existing... it'd be a shame if someone sent it to the school and got you kicked out shortly before you graduate. all that money you will owe and you dont even have a degree... it'd be a shame if his ableist comments got back to where he got a scholarship...

this next thing is about my school experience. it was a formal letter like youd read aloud at graduation and it turned into me just spewing out every last memory i could because i kept getting distracting trying to make it formal.

today is a special day for not only all the students here, but the parents and faculty as well. today marks the day many here never imagined happening, especially not so soon. let's take a trip down memory lane and recap our school years together

we all remember our first day of kindergarten. in a building that is now a memory, we would shyly sit in our seats at the beginning of the day. introducting ourselves, moving our lunch choices on the smartboard, reading corner, and of course, the behavior chart. we all remember our world crumbling when our color went from green to yellow and red. what seems so little now was so big then. an example that sticks out to me was when i got made fun of for my hello kitty backpack. i told my mom i needed a new one, and i used my dora the explorer one from preschool. i got made fun of even more. or, when i went to the principals office because the nurse said she couldn't help me with my upset stomach. i remember sitting in his office and him not believing me. he made a comment about the saying on my shirt and told me to go back to class. i ended up having to go home because i threw up.

first through third grade was a blur. i remember being made fun of by m.f. because i didnt know the difference between eyeliner and mascara and t.c. laughing at me for it. these are the years i really had a sense of community, seeing everyone hangout together and leave the "weird" people out. it truly made me feel welcome, and im so grateful for this.

when we moved to the new elementary building, i remember people saying it wasn't fair that i had to take the elevator because i wasn't able to take the stairs. i remember each time that i hurt my knee and had to take the elevator. everyone would say its unfair and its because im fat. i remember when there was a substitute one day in 5th grade and we were going to our "specials" class and i knew it was art because it said it on the classroom wall, so when i took the elevator, i went to the art room. i remember the substitute got upset with me because he insisted it was gym class because people in my class said so, and it made me incredibly anxious. i remember when i told him it was art, and he dragged me to the gymnasium just to find out i was right. i remember when i was talking to a classmate in the gym nd they made fun of me for the gap in my teeth and for my teeth being yellow. i remember that i had an anxiety attack and burst into tears because of how overwhelmed i was. i remember i had to stay in a different teachers classroom because the substitute wouldnt let me sit in my homeroom. i remember as i was sketching hearing the teachers in the hallway make fun of me for "having an anxiety attack" and laughing about it and not believing me. i remember right after that a teacher said "alright, i guess i'll check on her" and checked on me while trying not to laugh. i remember about a week or two later our seats were being changed in my science/social studies class. i told one of the classmates that made fun of my yellow teeth he's going to sit next to me... turns out he did. when we got to our seats it was next to the teachers desk. my classmate said "i knew i was going to sit here. [my name] told me so." and my teacher got mad at me because he thought i looked at the stuff on his desk (i didnt). i remember i didnt pay attention the rest of the class. i remember it made me so incredibly sad that i started to draw a piece of toast and a knife on a post-it note, making an analogy about how i wanted to die. i remember that teacher looked at me and asked "are you okay" and i responded with "its not like you care, anyway. why ask?" and he said "i do care." and i ignored him after that. i remember feeling so incredibly betrayed. he told my homeroom teacher and as my teacher walked to the elevator, he talked about how i shouldnt kill myself.

nothing felt worse except the entire school not believing how much i was struggling and no one really cared to help

i could truly go on and on and on about this but im getting so emotionally destroyed that i feel its best for me to stop here

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izzyspussy · 3 years ago

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Okay, I'm fully basing my age headcanons on when they would have met in school. So I'm going to use an actual astrology birth chart thing to say everyone's signs, and when/how they started school. Why? Because I am so completely not normal about this.

Post: Holy shit, I can't believe how right these all are alsfkjls. I literally didn't redo any of them?? Bill's and Richie's birthdays are canon, and I guessed at Stan's based on canon context, but everyone else I just vibed on. I could have gone on much longer about their traits than I did. Every single one was almost perfect enough that I could've honestly just linked the whole result page alsfjlkls. Astrology... real? Probably not, but you can't say for sure. Anyway it's two in the fucking morning apparently. Good Bye.

Losers listed in ascending order of age (youngest first, eldest last).

Stan

August 10, 1976

Leo sun, Pisces moon, Pisces rising. He's regal, dignified, focused, and loyal. He's willing to be a follower and can superficially relate to anyone. He's intuitive, compassionate, and makes a great "straight man" lmao. He does whatever he thinks is right in the moment and can get easily overwhelmed.

Stan starts preschool at 3 years old and kindergarten at 5. He spends his two preschool years mostly without friends because he is so quiet and so particular about how he plays. The only kids who hang out with him are the ones who are good at side-by-side play because that's really the only community play that Stan tolerates.

He meets Bill and Richie on the first day of kindergarten, and bonds with Bill instantly because Bill seems to pick up on what Stan's doing with his play and comes up with a plan to elevate it (rather than change it). He's not fond of Richie at first because he's loud and rambunctious, but Richie happily elaborates on Bill's support, and often brings his own toys from home which he is happier to share than to have for himself.

Richie

March 7, 1976

Pisces sun, Taurus moon, Capricorn rising. He's empathetic, adaptable, and prone to loneliness. He's expressive, creative, and sensitive. He's strong-willed, habitual, and hedonistic. It's important to him for others to succeed and feel good too. He's conflict averse. Deeply romantic and sentimental. Often he believes the good things in his life are too good to be true, or that he doesn't deserve them.

Richie starts kindergarten when he's 5 and turns 6 halfway through, and bonds immediately with Bill because Bill comfortably lets him talk as much as he wants while taking only the important parts to heart with remarkable skill for a fellow 6 year old. He wants Stan to like him really, really badly because he thinks he's so cool and smart and he likes his hair.

Ben

February 15, 1976

Aquarius sun, Leo moon, Aries rising. He's a futurist and scorns tradition. He's idealistic, passionate, curious, and accepting. He's hard to shock or to lie to, and he himself is very forthright and earnest. He craves attention and praise, but specifically from select few, and he needs to be left alone when he's upset. He can be competitive, sometimes aggressively so, but not with malicious intent.

Ben was born in Arizona, at dawn. He and his family moved around a lot, all over the country. They made it to Derry in 1989 already three quarters through the school year. He made his first friend on the last day of school, as you all know, with Miss Beverly Marsh.

Bill

January 4, 1976

Capricorn sun, Aquarius moon, Libra rising. He's a go-getter and he loves results. He needs to feel useful and he can't stand to ever be doing nothing. He always keeps his word. He has a big ego and has a hard time being objective. Everyone likes him, and he's very persuasive.

Bill starts kindergarten when he's 5 and turns 6 over Christmas break. He's drawn to Richie first because he's eye catching. He isn't upset at being dropped off, unlike many kids. He marches right over to Richie, who is sniffling but trying to be brave, and pulls him so deeply into a conversation about Jonny Quest that Richie doesn't even notice when his parents sneak away.

Mike

November 27, 1975

Sagittarius sun, Virgo moon, Aries rising. He's cheerful and friendly and loves to move, travel, change, and learn. He believes in his loved ones to a fault. He's detail-oriented and methodical. He likes to help and feel needed. He's content with a simple, humble life. He puts too much pressure on himself.

Mike was in preschool before his parents died, and then was homeschooled by his grandpa and some of his employees. There was a lot of folk knowledge included in Mike's early education. He was poorly socialized as a young kid and therefore quite shy and unsure how to manage emotional boundaries.

Bev

June 6, 1975

Gemini sun, Taurus moon, Libra rising. She's endlessly adaptable, and can blend in with or handle whatever she needs to. She can detach herself from a situation or a person easily, and is very hard to read or get close to. She values feeling safe and grounded in her space and relationships. She hates being told what to do, but once she's decided to do something she commits to it completely. She can protect herself and has great instincts. It's tough for her to stay single.

Bev was born and started school in Portland. Her mom and aunt weren't really family close, but they were pretty good friends and hung out. She started kindergarten already 6. She moved to Derry with her dad after her mom died. She and the original four Losers were vaguely aware of each other (aside from her and Bill during the play). Bev avoided making friends because she was grieving, and by the time she was ready it was too late. Until the new kid showed up, of course.

Eddie

September 13, 1974

Virgo sun, Leo moon, Scorpio rising. He's nit-picky and a clean freak (wow, astrocafe, drag him). He's hard-working and competent and loves being knowledgeable. He's embarrassed easily and sensitive, and stand-offish with new people because of that. He's loud and talkative as soon as he's comfortable. He craves attention and praise, but specifically from select few. He wants to oversee and supervise things and make sure everything is going right, especially for his loved ones. He's dramatic and can throw tantrums when offended. He has a huge presence and can be intimidating. He's easy to love and easy to hate, but never easy to ignore.

Eddie didn't start kindergarten until he was 7! In fact, Sonia only enrolled him when she was legally compelled to. He started kindergarten on October 16, 1981, the very last day legal for him to not be in school in the state of Maine (can you believe I did research for this, and by research I mean a 5 second google). He bonds with Stan first because he is very upset at being left at school, and Stan is the only person - adults included - who can get him to calm down. As soon as Stan accomplishes that, Bill and Richie are on him quick as can be trying to make him happy with compliments and toys.

what the fuck is wrong with me lol

#jack facts #it #gen #hc #my fic #welcome to the losers club #astrology

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rwoolley97 · 4 years ago

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Who is important and ¿por qué?

Heroines, Role Models, and Everyday People

I am heartbroken

Mi corazón está sumamente triste

She was such an AMAZING human being

Un ser humano extraordinario y lleno de amor y bondad

These were some of the Facebook posts in the days after my friend Sandra’s passing on March 31, 2020. According to this ABC news article, she was the first teacher we lost to COVID in New York City. These were early days in our latest collective experience of human frailty brought on by this crazy pandemic. At the time, newspaper articles showed crisp charts with very tall bars for people over 65, but the bar for Sandra’s age group was pretty short. Sandra was my neighbor, my friend, and my peer. At 54 years old, we were the same age. Our kids were the same age, we’d both been dual language teachers for years, and we’d shared our dreams for supporting Sunset Park kids when we retired. My dream was to help kids with all of those little gaps in support as they head off to college. Hers was to start a really great preschool for families that couldn’t afford it. For me, the virus now felt real and personal; I now knew that the virus could take something from me, something important. In addition to the personal impact on me, the effects of Sandra’s death reverberated throughout our Sunset Park community. Sandra was an everyday, regular person in my life. But the way she lived her everyday life, made her special. For many, Sandra was a role model, and even a heroine.

In the days after her death, Facebook was filled with posts about what made Sandra so special (including, She was just the type of everyday superheroine that Dulce Pinzón portrays in her photographs at https://www.dulcepinzon.com/.

The New York Times, The Daily News, Democracy Now, Chalkbeat, NYSUT, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S-NtmrK-S8g ). One of the posts listed the many awards she won for her teaching. Other posts told stories of all of the special ways that Sandra helped her students, her friends, her neighbors, and her family. Still others just talked about her warmth and kindness. Recently, I was in Prospect Heights and I ran across this mural commemorating Sandra from her school community. (It turns out it is part of a project, Underhill Walls, started by Jeff Beler collaborating with Love Heals to beautify an abandoned building. Sandra’s mural was recently added to the mural.)

Just to give you an idea, let me go back in time to tell how Sandra and I started to become friends…

Years ago, when my father was ill, we brought him to live with us. Soon after he arrived, my principal called me down to the office. My father had fallen in the bathroom. He hit his head and broke his hip, said the voice on the phone. Under the influence of strong, prescribed medications, my father’s lucidity came and went. The doctors told me I needed a Durable Power of Attorney, if I wanted to be able to make his medical decisions in his less lucid moments. To get that, I needed a notary public. This detail became a stressful task at the time, getting between me and my father’s care. After all, how can you get a notary public into the hospital and one that will keep coming back until he’s lucid?

Somehow Sandra heard about our situation and she reached out to me and volunteered; it turned out she was a notary public! She came to the hospital two or three times until my father was cognizant enough to go over the paperwork and understand what he was signing. Each time, I apologized and thanked her profusely. Each time she threw her head back, smiled a wide warm smile, and said it was no big deal.

At the time, I barely knew her. But, over the years, I learned that this is who Sandra was. She had two young kids, was helping to raise her sisters’ kids, taking care of older parents, and teaching full time in Red Hook, three neighborhoods away. And, every time I saw her, she shouted across the street and we chatted.

At the time of Sandra’s death, so early in this pandemic, this was a huge loss for me, a personal, heartbreaking loss. It still is.

Since then, I have come to wonder if this wasn’t more than just a personal loss, both because Sandra touched so many lives and also because, being Dominican, she was Latin@.

Back then, I was worried about my mother, my aunts and uncles, my friends’ parents, my older friends. I was shocked time and time again, as my friends lost family members at an alarming rate. One of my colleagues at school lost her father and her 24 year old brother within days. Another friend’s husband lost his grandparents and his father was in ICU for what seemed like ages. My student teacher’s grandmother was in the hospital for weeks. One of my professors told us to please be careful over Christmas break, because she had lost 3 family members within a week after they had a small birthday gathering. At some point, I realized that every last one of these people we had lost were Latin@ or Black. Before the press started reporting about the inequities of the ravages of the virus, it was becoming obvious to me.

My white 77 year old mother and 78 year old mother-in law were fine, even though the former kept going out to buy food, shop for non-essential items and the latter lived in a nursing home. My sister-in-law and nephew survived infection unscathed, even though they both had significant risk factors. In fact, my white family members and my many white friends were mostly fine. I’ve heard of only a tiny handful of white people who have lost family members or friends, mostly older and with quite serious underlying conditions.

By April 10, 2020, news articles like this NBC article were starting to pop up. According to the COVID Racial Data Tracker, a collaboration between the COVID Tracking Project and the Boston University Center for Antiracist Research, Latin@s are dying at a rate of 167 per 100,000, while whites are dying at a rate of 121 per 100,000 (Here is the link).

Sandra wasn’t pushed out of the neighborhood by gentrification and, since she owned her home, she wouldn’t likely have been. Still, she’s gone and I can’t help but think that, if she were white, she’d probably still be here. My anger, frustration, and resentment are palpable as I write this. Sunset Park is less without Sandra. How many other regular people, role models, and heros have we lost in the Latin@ community?

NOTE: Other challenges for the Latin@ community have been access to educational resources (like waiting so long for DOE iPads and ongoing challenges with Internet access, unemployment, and food insecurity, and access to vaccines).

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sleephyjhs · 5 years ago

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Proposing to Them (REACTION)

all members are included under the ‘keep reading’ link

notes: jimin’s gif whEW-

rules | m.list | requested by @winterbearrs

KSJ

Unknown to Seokjin, there was more purpose to your Hawaii vacation than just to get away. You’d followed moon charts for weeks to get the perfect crescent under which to propose to him.

After 3 years of being utterly in love with Seokjin, you knew that you were more than ready to move to the next level with him. Many times, it had been made apparent to you that he was also ready; Seokjin’s sudden interest in imagining your children, not to mention the return of his romantic passion into every moment you spent together.

Hand in hand, the pair of you paced slowly through lapping waves barefoot. The summer moonlight drew crisp, lilac shadows across the most prominent of his facial features and illuminated glowing orbs in his deep brown eyes. It was perfect. He was perfect.

Everything was planned; less than a minute’s walk away was a cluster of peculiarly tilted palm trees. That was where you would ask him to be your husband. You allowed the ambient slurring of the ocean to set the scene for you. Too many words would surely overpower the climax of your question.

“Hey, just stop for a second.” Jin turned, still lightly grasping your hand to face you. The violet tinted moonlight filtered through jet black strands of his hair and projected onto your face. His eyes widened at seeing you in such a dainty, fragile light. His smile was uncontrollable by such point, “I have something to say.”

Seokjin tilted his head slightly, squinting in curiosity. You exhaled all of your anxiety and reached back into your shorts’ pocket for the box, “I’ve known for a while now that I’ve found my soulmate in you, Jin. Everything I’m not, you are. You watch over me and protect me when I’m too oblivious myself. I can honestly say I wouldn’t know where I’d be without you. And so I wanted to ask,” you pulled the blue, velvet wrapped box from behind your back and opened it slowly to reveal a silver banded, encrusted delicately with opal chips, “will you be my husband?”

Seokjin reaches out to tuck a fallen piece of hair behind your ear and allowed his thumb to brush your soft, burning cheek, “Of course I will.” The beaming smile that spawned from his answer continued to grow as you plucked the ring from its snug shelter and slid it over his knuckles. Once tight on his finger, Seokjin raised you from the sand and supported you to hover just centimetres from his lips, “I love you. Endlessly. I hope you know that, my angel.”

MYG

Extravagance wasn’t your thing, nor was it Yoongi’s. Both of you were easily overwhelmed in such situations, and so to plan your surprise, you found it best that you didn’t leave the bedroom. From first hand experience, the bedroom you shared could easily have been a romantic place to ask such a thing, you just had to play it right.

A lazy sunday meant you’d spent most of the morning cuddling against Yoongi watching all of your favourite movies. His tousled curly hair and loose fitting t-shirt blended him into the mountains of scrunched duvet ranging across the mattress. The third movie of the day came to an end, and to stop Yoongi from getting up to reach the remote, you straddled over his lap.

He raised himself to face you, and sneakily planted a kiss against your lips, “Let me get the remote.” He chuckled, thinking you were only teasing him.

“Chill out a second, I wanna do something.” Yoongi wrapped his arms around your hips and watched you attentively as you found your words, “I love you. A lot. This is really unexpected I know but I felt like it was the right time to do it.”

“Do what..?” He trailed as you reached into the pocket of your pyjama bottoms. Yoongi followed your hands with his own eyes, and beamed a toothy grin as he realised what you were doing.

Your forehead met his as you twirled the ring between your thumb and finger, “We already act like a married couple, and argue like one. So what do you say we make it official?”

In moments of your shy proposal, another kiss was planted across your lips, only this one much more passionate than the last, “I say let’s.”

JHS

On her first day of preschool, you and your long term partner, Hoseok, stood at the open doors waving your daughter inside. Contrary to your expectations, there’d been less tears than you had anticipated; actually, she seemed rather excited to walk into the colourful classroom.

As you walked back to his car, you took silent note of the couples marching their small children through the building gates. More specifically, you paired their matching wedding bands together. Sharing a child with Hobi was even better than you could have imagined, but a small piece of guilt had always resided in your heart for ignoring tradition.

“You don’t have to think about it.” Hobi interrupted your short thought process, looking down to your observing eyes. You’d confided your guilt to him some times before, and everyday he improved at noticing when it got the best of you, “Our time will come, I promise you.”

You resumed your seat in the passenger side, silent in contemplation, “What’s stopping us?” Hoseok hovered the key above the ignition, taken aback by your question. You slid the plain gold band from your middle finger and twiddled it in your palm, “Let’s get married. You said you’re waiting for me, well I’m here.”

Smirking at your sudden initiative, Hobi held out his hand to your offering palm, “I should really be the one doing this,” He chuckled as you slid the reused band down his finger, “I didn’t manage to get your parent’s blessing either.”

You kissed him slowly, admiring his innocent commentation, “There’s a few more traditions we’ve ignored then.”

KNJ

The snowy alpine respite you had organised for your boyfriend Namjoon couldn’t have worked better in your favour. Not only could you engage in winter activities together, but the subzero temperatures only pulled you closer to share the bodily warmth you possessed.

Mountainous terrains were favoured by Namjoon. Some of your best memories as a couple belonged in the climbing ranges surrounding Seoul. Hence, the traditional cabin tucked away into a reinforced canyon was nothing short of the perfect scenario for your proposal.

The amber fire flickered and crackled in the carmine brick fireplace, exhaling warm flourishes onto your cold skin. When you’d sat down, Namjoon lifted your legs over his crossed lap to connect and share heat. A corded blanket laid sluggishly across the pair of you, making for a great hiding place for the box.

“Baby? Let me say something real quick,” you paused his manoevering eyes half way down his book page and followed them up to his rosy cheeks, “there’s actually a reason I wanted to bring you here. We have so reasons to remember Seoul that I wanted a different place to remember this moment. I want to know if you’d do me the honour of being my husband.”

Reaching over your creased torso, you pulled out a small wooden ring box you’d hidden earlier behind a pillow. Namjoon’s dimples inverted as he watched you reveal the ring. He covered his glowing smile and looked down to the floor, seemingly overwhelmed by such an unexpected gesture, “You’re crafty, real crafty, honey. Of course I will!”

His large hand fell gently in yours as you marked him with your offer. A slow kiss welcomed you into your first moments as an engaged couple, and it couldn’t have lasted long enough to overcome the intense contentment you honed.

PJM

“Baby, come quick! They’re on!” Jimin called through your rented Paris penthouse. In the darkness of the ongoing Parisian summer, thousands of golden bulbs outlined the monumental Eiffel Tower, beaming the romantic aura onto all those who witnessed.

Fixing your eyelash before you did, you sprinted through the dimly lit rooms through to the terraced balcony. Jimin opened his arms wide for you to swing into; his company only made the scenario before you. From the heights you swayed together in, millions of lights from over the centre of the city gleamed in the purple night. Nothing could have been more magical than the golden mist that covered the capital.

“It’s so beautiful, Jiminie. Hey, listen for a second,” you began, pressing the back of your head into his chest. Looking into eyes only would have pulled you into his gaze; his chin balancing softly on your styled hair told you he was all-ears, “I love you. So much. I didn’t believe soulmates could be a thing until I met you, and I’m so thankful I did.”

“I love you too, my angel.” Jimin soon replied, pressing a firm kiss into your scalp. His urge to return your love as soon as he received it was beyond endearing. Nobody could have made you feel as loved as he could.

Engulfing crisp, summer air in a large inhale, you reached into your dress pocket for the ring you’d bought in secret earlier that week. You held it just above your eyeline to align it parallel to his, “Forever is one hell of a long time, but it would all be worth it if I could spend it with you.”

His arm outstretched before you to present his spread hand. Chuckling at his tiny acceptance, you rolled the ring down to his bottom knuckle and turned in his embrace. Holding Jimin in the city of love was euphoric at least. Levelling up in your relationship only made the city around you more photogenic.

KTH

To celebrate his birthday, you’d organised a small treat upon returning from a grand meal. Taehyung waited on the garden patio as you ran a steaming bubble bath to share. The buds of crimson roses shrunk as you plucked their petals to scatter across the bubbles and tiled flooring.

Your planned proposal rested on providing a romantic scene, and the floral candles along the sides of the bathtub secured it. Behind the largest, you sheltered the white ring box for a later moment. Retrieving Taehyung in a sheer, open dress shirt would surely regain his devoted attention.

In the bathroom, he gawked at your surprised as you undressed together, and slotted together in the water. The finest french champagne fizzed away beside the candles; everything was just as you wanted it to be.

“Tae, can I just do something real quick?” He nodded slowly, his head tiled along the edge of the tub. You giggled quietly and reached behind for the box, lavender bubbles perching on your skin as you raised yourself from a recline, “I know this has been maybe a mediocre birthday, but perhaps this might change things?”

“It really hasn’t-“ Taehyung began, sitting up and carrying frothing bubbles on his glossy skin. His eyes widened at the sight of the ring you’d chosen for him. For a man as fond of rings as Taehyung, choosing the most impressionable was a task you didn’t know could be so difficult.

“I’d hope you agree when I say that you’re the other half I didn’t know I needed. Taehyung, you’re all I could ever need, and so I’d like to ask for you to be my husband.” You bit your lip, almost seductively, as you awaited his response. His bready cheeks puffed out, which meant he was happy. You knew that much.

“Of course I will. A million times, yes! You really know how to complete a birthday, huh?”

JJK

After a long day at the amusement park, you finally felt as though the time was right to do what you really came to do. Your partner, Jungkook, was just as energetic as when you arrived. Sometimes, his adrenaline and stamina amazed you even more so than normal.

You pulled Jungkook to a small, white pavilion in the centre of a mid-century plaza. There were eyes everywhere, but they became invisible with every passing second. It was only you and Jungkook left in the world, “This is really unexpected I know, but I know that this feels right and I hope you do too. Jeon Jungkook, you are my universe. My rock in this wide world. And so I need to ask...”

You pulled the ring from your coat pocket and presented it before him. Much to your surprise, he scoffed and rammed his hands deep into his pockets. You struggled to find what was so funny, until realising the coincidence you had run into, “I can’t believe this!” He exclaimed, pulling out an almost identical ring box and revealing a delicately crafted engagement ring just right fit you.

The bright laughter that erupted from your coincidence earned you a few stares, in addition to passers-by who were already invested in your romantic gesture, “I’ll be yours if you’ll be mine.” You offered, smiling with the corners of your eyes.

“I’m all yours, honey.” Jungkook confirmed, slipping the ring onto your finger after you’d placed his. Not many couples could say they had matching engagement rings, but then it was just another quirky detail about your relationship. Just another anecdote for the wedding speeches.

^ hey! i’m doing great, quarantine is soo fun :/ i hope you’re staying safe too <33 we love reversing a few gender roles every here and there so thank you for this request!

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reclaimingmyself-finally · 4 years ago

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11/15 - What is one realistic goal you want to accomplish yet in 2020? What are some steps you can take right now to make progress toward that goal? (Note - power up this prompt by syncing it up with your daily challenge!)

Get my progress notes / charting caught up so that it’s not over a month out! If I could at least get it caught up to just being 2 weeks behind, honestly, I’d be happy. I always tell myself that if I just work on it a little every night, I’d be fine, but here’s the funny thing.

That’s not actually achievable for me. After my days (often seeing between 7 and 8 therapy clients a day, picking up little from daycare, making dinner, bedtime and dog walks, I’m exhausted.) I think a little bit more achievable would be to start using my weekend time a little differently. Start working on progress notes while she takes a nap (after I lie down for a few minutes too.)

11/16- Let’s start thinking about 2021. Where are you at in your physical health Journey? What is one physical goal you have for 2021? Optional - write this out in the SMART format.

I’m at goal weight right now and looking to build muscle, only I have no idea how! I think it starts with hiring a physical trainer or a nutrition coach, and the first thing I can do is simply google resources in the State.

11/17- Let’s start thinking about 2021. Where are you at in your mental health journey? What is one mental health goal you have for 20201? Optional - write this out in the SMART format.

I’m not sure I have many mental health goals for 2021. The working out is the self care and the time away from other people’s needs that I so desperately need.

11/18 - Let’s start thinking about 2021. Where are you at in your spiritual / relationship journey? What is one Spiritual and or relational goal you have for 2021? Optional - write this out in the SMART format.

Ugggghhhh. This one deserves so much backstory. I’m happy to answer a specific ask if one comes up, but here’s a weird one for you: My father, with whom I had an extremely complicated relationship, died last year from cirrohsis of the liver and kidney failure due to alcohol dependence / abuse. Since then, three energy workers have both told me that he’s asking to help in an ancestral lineage type of way, but that it is up to me. The next frontier in my spirituality probably lies here. Probably lies in forgiveness.

11/19 - What connections do you see between your physical, mental, spiritual and relationship health? What are some experiences that have shown this in your life?

We are holistic humans and it’s crazy to separate out any of them. My therapy clients are very used to me asking questions about all of them and I often say, “Ok, this is going to sound unrelated, but hang in there with me.” Many of them pause and say, “Nobody has ever asked me that before.”

I don’t have a ton of time right now to expand on sports /health psychology, but suffice it to say that there is a direct, multi faceted link between your mental health and physical activity. And there is always a link between your spirituality and your mental health.

Daily challenge: It’s take out night, so I am planning to order a scaled down entree with no sides, and replace with whole veggies / grains for sides from the fridge / pantry. I’ve had several treats that have been delicious this week. I regret nothing!

Weekly challenge: I AM COMING FOR PRESCHOOLER��S TOYS. They are everywhere. I am going to pile them all in one place, sort, and remove several for donations. She is the only girl grandchild and Christmas and her birthday in February are just brutal in bringing the clutter. Of course, this kiddo, when I told her we were going to be giving some of her toys away said, “I play with everything all day every day.” I have no idea where this mini Ebeneezer Scrooge came from! These are not our values!

#tfm2020

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helloparent · 6 months ago

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Ideas for Preschool Display Boards by Season.

More than just a decorative project, making colorful and instructive display boards for preschoolers is a potent way to encourage inquiry, celebrate diversity, and cultivate a rich learning environment through visual stimulation. There are many options for creativity and educational moments when it comes to display board ideas; they span a wide range of topics, from cultural celebrations to seasonal changes. This post will explore a variety of preschool display board ideas that teachers can use all year long in an effort to improve student learning and the bond between the school and the community.

Spring: A Season of Growth and Renewal

Celebrating Spring: Welcome spring with a display that bursts with life—think flowers, insects, and rainbows. Create interactive sections where children can attach butterflies or flowers they've colored or crafted, making the board a collective project that grows over the season.

Educational Twist: Use the board to teach about plant growth, the water cycle, and the concept of renewal in nature. Interactive elements can include a weather chart where children can place symbols for sunny, cloudy, or rainy days, fostering observation and recording skills.

Summer: Sunshine and Exploration

Summer Adventures: Transform the board into a sunny landscape, complete with a beach, ocean, and marine life. Incorporate textures like sandpaper for beaches and fabric for water to invite touch and discussion.

Learning Opportunities: This board can serve as a gateway to discussions about sun safety, the importance of hydration, and an exploration of marine biodiversity. Consider a section dedicated to "Our Summer Reads" or "Summer Discoveries" where children can share books they've read or interesting facts they've learned over the summer.

Autumn: Harvests and Celebrations

Autumn Harvest: Embrace the rich colors of autumn with leaves, pumpkins, and harvest goods. A tree where leaves can be added or removed by the children can make the passage of time visual and interactive.

Teaching Moments: Use the board to explore the science behind changing leaf colors, the concept of harvest, and cultural celebrations around the world that take place during this time. A world map showing where certain fruits or vegetables are grown can add an element of geography.

Winter: Wonders and Festivities

Winter Wonderland: A board adorned with snowflakes, winter animals, and holiday motifs can capture the magic of winter. Fabric or cotton can be used to create tactile elements like snow.

Educational Content: This is a perfect opportunity to discuss weather patterns, the concept of hibernation, and how different cultures celebrate holidays in the winter. A "Winter Word Bank" on the board can help enrich vocabulary with terms related to the season and its celebrations.

Year-Round Themes

Preschool Birthday Board Ideas: Create a birthday garden where each flower represents a child’s birthday, or a balloon for each month with strings leading to names and dates. This not only celebrates each child but also teaches about months, dates, and counting.

Our World and Community: Boards that focus on community helpers, world geography, and cultural diversity can foster empathy and curiosity. Including photos from a school parent app showing family traditions or community involvement can make connections between school learning and real-world experiences.

Incorporating Technology

School Parent App Integration: Use the app not just for communication, but as a tool to extend the display board’s reach. Share photos of the board’s evolution, invite parents to contribute ideas, or even have a 'Digital Display Board' feature within the app for remote learners.

Involving Children in the Creation Process

Engaging children in the making of these boards ensures they feel a sense of ownership and pride in their learning environment. This could mean:

Drawing or painting elements for the seasonal boards.

Contributing items or ideas for the community and world-themed boards.

Helping to decide which themes or concepts they’re curious about exploring next.

Conclusion

Preschool display boards offer endless possibilities to enrich the learning environment with creativity, information, and interactivity. By thoughtfully planning boards that reflect the seasons, celebrate individual milestones like birthdays, and incorporate broader themes of community and world awareness, educators can create a vibrant tapestry of learning opportunities. Integrating technology through tools like a school parent app not only enhances communication but also allows for a more inclusive and collaborative educational journey. In the world of preschool education, display boards stand as testament to the joy of learning, the value of community, and the endless curiosity of young minds.

Check: Preschool in Wagholi, Preschool in Noida

#preschool birthday board ideas #preschool display board #preschool display board ideas

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etherealwaifgoddess · 4 years ago

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Run To You - Chpt.3

Summary: Steve & Bucky are finally going to get a second date after several long weeks of working around their schedules. The best laid plans don’t always go as they want them to, though, and after a few unexpected hurdles Bucky finds himself at his breaking point. Master list is HERE :)

Content Warning: Bucky worrying over Becca who he finds out might need glasses.

Word Count: 3.5k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! I promise this chapter isn’t nearly as sad as the last one, but honestly it’s not exactly “happy” either. This isn’t turning out to be one of my super fluffy happy fics so I feel like this is just gonna be par for the course. It is sweet though, so hopefully that redeems it a bit for you. XOXO - Ash

Chapter Three

“Bucky, where’s your mug?” Becca asks, frowning at him over her bowl of cereal.

They’re sitting at their little kitchen table while Becca eats breakfast, though she’s mostly just chattering about her friend Emmy who is bringing in cupcakes for her birthday on Tuesday. Bucky is trying to pay attention enough to respond but also trying to nail down a time to meet up with Steve. It doesn’t help that Becca rambles the same thing over and over again when she’s excited. It’s his sixth time hearing her ideas of what flavor the cupcakes might be, and poor Steve has been left on read for ten minutes. They had planned to meet for coffee after he dropped Becca off at preschool but now needs to meet with the director at Becca’s school when he drops her off. Chaos, thine name is parenthood.

“I’m getting coffee after I drop you off.” He explains, realizing he hasn’t answered her question.

“Ooh! Like for special?” Becca asks, bouncing in her seat.

“Becs, don’t spill your bowl. And yes, like a special treat.” He cringes, thinking back to his college days when getting a cup of coffee out was a normal, regular occurrence. Flash forward five years and it’s such a rare occasion Becca thinks it’s a special treat. He’s learned how to make a killer pour over, but there’s something to be said for not having to make it yourself.

“Why’s today special?”

Bucky sighs, trying to think of a way around the conversation he isn’t quite ready to have. “I’m going to go see a friend who I haven’t seen in a while.” It’s true too. The first time they made another date, Steve had gotten called away on a mission and was gone for a week. Then Bucky had non stop rotations, catching up to meet his required 140 hours for the month after calling out while Becca was sick. Then Steve had been called away again. Luckily, Steve is pretty well adept at texting for a senior citizen. They text daily, calling when they have free time too. Bucky enjoyed getting to know the real Steve over the past month. The constant communication through calls and text have helped them grow closer than they would otherwise. Bucky finds himself thankful for the time they’ve had to really get to know each other even though he’s really looking forward to seeing Steve in person again.

Becca stares Bucky down as she crunches through her cereal. “Is it Auntie Nat?”

“No,” Bucky replies cautiously. His little girl is far too smart for her own good.

“Uncle Clintasha?”

“No, and don’t call him that. I was just teasing when I called him that. You should still call him Uncle Clint.” Bucky feels a little guilty for the nickname. But really when is the guy gonna get his head out of his ass and make a move on Natasha already?! It’s been six years!

“Okay. But who?” Becca’s brow furrows, a little wrinkle forming between her brows that Bucky knows matches his own when he makes that face.

“Just a friend. Now, let’s get your teeth brushed, Becca-bug. You have to be at school soon.”

Becca grumbles in the exasperated way only four year girls can manage and places her bowl in the sink before heading down the hall to their bathroom.

“I’m checking on you in two minutes, do a good job!” Bucky calls after her. He washes up the dishes before going to check on her and then helps her with a few spots she always misses. She’s very independent for her age but still needs some guidance. Bucky helps her pick out an outfit, trying to steer her towards something that remotely matches, and then crosses the hall to his room to get himself dressed while she dresses herself. It’s just a coffee date but he hasn’t seen Steve in over a month; he wants to try and look his best.

Bucky is fixing his hair in the bathroom mirror when Becca prances in, happily not wearing what they’d agreed upon. It’s going to be one of those days.

“Okay, little miss.” he scolds, “Go put on the shirt we picked out. You can wear your Moana shirt tomorrow, I promise. I just need to wash your leggings that go with it.”

“Ohhhkaaay.” the little girl huffs and rolls her eyes but heads back to her room to change.

Bucky rolls his eyes once she’s out of sight, that girl is 100% him.

They make it to Applegate Academy with only three minutes to spare, but they make it. Bucky had worked so hard to get her into the prestigious school and he wants to keep in their good graces. Especially considering the only reason Becca can go there is because of a scholarship program. He has to reapply every year, but she’s good from pre-k through 6th as long as he still meets the criteria. After that she’ll have the option to transfer to one of their sister schools for 7th through 12th. Dropping Becca off with her homeroom teacher, Bucky hurries across the building to the main office for his meeting.

The main office is all rich tones and dark wood. Something you would expect from an ivy league university, not an elementary school. It screams of wealth and power, making Bucky shift uncomfortably while he waits. He wonders, picking nervously at his nails, what his life might have been like if he’d gone to a school like Applegate Academy. Would things have been easier, or would he have had the same issues just with different scenery? He hopes desperately that school will be different for Becca.

“Mr. Barnes?” A tall, thin, black woman calls out. She’s dressed in a smart navy blue suit and Bucky vaguely remembers seeing her picture out in the hallway. He’s fairly certain she’s the director.

“That’s me.” Bucky jumps up from his seat and shakes her hand.

“Welcome, I’m Ms. Thompson. Please, come this way.”

Bucky follows her down the hall and through the door at the end. The school nurse, Miss Green, is sitting in one of the plush leather seats and Ms. Thompson gestures for Bucky to take the other. Definitely the director then.

“Mr. Barnes, I hate to bring you all the way down here but we need to get your consent in writing. Some of Becca’s teachers have noticed an issue with her vision and we have concerns.” Ms. Thompson explains.

“We don’t know anything for sure,” Miss Green is quick to jump in, “But with your consent, we’d like to give Becca an eye exam. It’s hard to identify vision problems with children so young but Becca is exhibiting some of the signs we look out for.”

“What, uh,” Bucky clears his throat nervously, “What sort of things do you look for?” He can’t believe he’s missed something wrong with her.

“She does a lot of squinting when trying to look at things farther away than a few feet. She’ll tilt her head trying to focus in on something. Frequently after she’s looking at something farther away she’ll rub her eyes a lot. She’s missed out on a few things during ‘eye spy’ too that she should have been able to identify. Have you noticed any of this at home? Sometimes kids will exhibit symptoms on the playground or while watching TV.”

“Not really,” Bucky shakes his head. “We don’t do a whole lot of playgrounds this time of year because of her allergies and asthma, and our living room is tiny so it’s not like the TV is that far away.” Bucky’s chest tightens, a never ending stream of you missed this, you failed her, flowing through his head. “When can you test her?” he finally manages to ask.

Miss Green nods, understanding. “As soon as you sign the forms we can pull her from class and do a basic eye test. You, as her legal guardian, have the right to be there when we do the test. It’s not necessary, though. We can always call you after with the results.”

“I’ll sign.” Bucky takes the paper Ms. Thompson is holding out and signs it without even reading it. He needs to know, the sooner the better. “I can stay if you do it now. I’d like to be here when you do it.”

“Not a problem.” Ms. Thompson takes the signed form back and makes a quick call to Becca’s homeroom for her to report to the nurse’s office.

Bucky follows the two women down the hall, the sound of their heels click clacking on the tile is deafening. He puts on his poker face when Becca comes flying in, greeting the nurse with a big smile and asking if she can have a cherry cough drop. She feels okay but they’re her favorite. The nurse chuckles but turns her down, offering her a sticker instead which Becca happily accepts.

“Bucky? Why’re you here?” Becca asks, suddenly noticing him.

“Bucky is gonna watch you practice your letters for me, isn’t that nice?” Miss Green deflects easily. Bucky’s grateful for the woman’s diversion.

“Yeah! Bucky, I know ALL the letters now!”

Bucky nods, forcing a smile, “That’s great, let’s see!”

Miss Green leads Becca over to the little hallway where an eye chart is taped up at the end. She guides Becca through the lines, making notes as she goes. Bucky can’t stomach looking to see if she’s getting them right or not, but the way her answers come slower the further along she gets fills Bucky with dread. The nurse praises Becca when she’s all done and sends her off with another sticker for good effort.

Once the little girl is off Bucky let his guard down. “It wasn’t good, was it?”

Miss Green shoots him a sympathetic smile, “It wasn’t what it should be for 20/20 vision. She’s likely going to need glasses, but she’ll need a full exam from a pediatric ophthalmologist to diagnose that. I know of two great ones here in the city if you want their names and info.”

“That would be great, thanks.” Bucky says to be polite, but he doesn’t really mean it. They’re going to be at the mercy of wherever they accept Becca’s insurance. He sends Steve a quick text asking if they can reschedule for later while the nurse writes down the information for him. Bucky needs a little time to process the news and make some calls to get things figured out. He always feels better when he has a plan in place. It doesn’t really matter what’s going on, if he has a plan, he doesn't have a problem.

Three hours later Bucky’s voice is hoarse from all the talking, but also from the strain of keeping his tone calm and not shouting at people. Healthcare in America is a joke. Thankfully, Steve was understanding about rescheduling, and is taking him out to lunch instead. Bucky walks into the brightly lit cafe, eyes scanning the room for Steve, and feeling completely at odds with the cheery space.

Steve waves a hand to get Bucky’s attention, like he can’t spot the giant adorable blonde in a room of small white cafe tables and wicker chairs. He rises as soon as Bucky gets close, pulling the other man into a hug. “It’s good to see you. Finally.” Steve says as they embrace.

Bucky lets himself hold on for just a beat longer than necessary, needing the hug more than he’s willing to admit. “You too. I’m sorry I had to reschedule, I wasn’t expecting my morning to go like that.”

“It’s okay.” Steve brushes off the apology easily and hands Bucky a menu. “I think this worked out better for me anyways. Now I get a whole meal with you instead of just coffee.”

They take their time scanning the menu and have their orders ready by the time the waitress drops by. “I’m so glad they have iced coffee.” he admits to Steve after getting the largest possible iced coffee with a disgusting amount of vanilla syrup and cream.

“Is it still coffee if you put all that stuff in it?” Steve teases.

“Of course it is, it just tastes a hell of a lot better. Honestly though, I’d drink it black at this point.”

“Tough morning?” Steve’s expression shifts to soft concern and Bucky can’t handle the gentleness. “Did everything go okay at Becca’s school?”

The rigid walls Bucky keeps up, protecting himself and showing the world only what he wants it to see, start to falter. He shakes his head, not trusting his voice.

“Is she okay? Do you need to leave?” Steve panics, hoping he’s not keeping Bucky from something important.

Bucky swallows, clearing his throat. “I’m good. She, uh, she’ll be okay. Just something unexpected came up and I’m still trying to figure out how we’re gonna handle it.”

“I’m sorry, Buck. If there’s anything I can do to help just say the word. Seriously.”

“Not that simple but thanks. Remember we talked about things that aren’t quite the way they make it seem in the news?”

“How could I forget? It got me my first date with you.”

Bucky tries not to melt a little at the sincerity in Steve’s voice. “It’s one of those things. What do you know about health insurance?”

Steve thinks for a moment. “Well, I know that at some point doctor’s crazy prices got even crazier. And now people pay for insurance so that they can afford to go to the doctors.”

“Okay, so you have the general idea. But what they don’t tell you is, the copays people have to pay are still too much for a lot of people. And sometimes the insurance itself costs so much that people can’t afford to have it in the first place. Even worse, insurance companies have people working for them specifically trying to find reasons to deny people’s claims, so that even if you have insurance there’s no guarantee it’ll cover what you need. And policies exclude things all the time.”

“That sounds awful. How is that even legal?”

“Corporate greed, plain and simple. Is the show Breaking Bad on your ‘to watch’ list?”

“Yeah, Sam added it on there I think. Why?”

“It’s about a high school teacher who has cancer and even with his insurance the treatments to save his life cost so much money he ends up becoming a drug dealer to pay for his cancer treatments so he doesn’t bankrupt his family. It sounds fantastical but things like that have happened.”

Steve looks like he’s gonna be sick. “That’s not okay.”

“It’s really not.” Bucky agrees.

Their food arrives and Steve is grateful for a moment to process the new information. They both take a few bites of their food, the silence heavy between them. He realizes that he still doesn’t know exactly what happened with Becca and he worries for the little girl that he hasn’t met. Bucky talks about her so much that he feels like he knows her but they haven’t gotten to that point yet. “So, what exactly happened with Becca? Is her insurance not covering something?” Bucky sets his fork down and the pained expression on his face has Steve backpedaling. “You don’t have to tell me, of course. I just… I care, is all.”

“She needs glasses.” Bucky says, unable to meet Steve eyes. He knows what he’ll find there. Compassion, sympathy. He just can’t bear it. “The insurance she has won’t cover anything vision related. She has insurance through the state because of all of her medical issues, we couldn’t have afforded even half of her medical bills with the insurance plan the hospital offers. The plan she has is supposed to be comprehensive but apparently vision isn’t included, just medical and dental. We’re out of the enrollment period at work now so I can’t get her vision insurance through there until next year. She’s been having trouble at school so they did an eye exam this morning.The nurse is certain she’s going to need glasses and I just don’t know how we’re making it happen yet. I can’t believe I missed it before. I should have noticed it somehow.”

Steve’s heart breaks for several different reasons. He’s saddened that Bucky’s little girl now has another issue to overcome, that Bucky can’t get the help that he should be able to get, and that the world is set up in such a way that makes basic human needs unobtainable. “Can I get them for her? Her glasses and whatever else she needs with them?”

Bucky looks up at Steve, the outrage radiating off of him in waves. Definitely not the reaction Steve expected. “Steve, no.” Bucky’s tone is sharp.

“Why not? I’m happy to help.” Steve offers again.

“She’s not your responsibility and we don’t need your charity. I’ve been making sure she has everything she needs for the past four years and I’ll do it again now. She’s my kid, and if she needs glasses, I’m the one buying them for her.” Somehow, his brain unhelpfully adds.

“Hey, no, it’s not charity. I care about you, and her. If I can make things easier on you, I want to. Besides, I have more money than I know what to do with these days, I can….”

“Good for you, Steve.” Bucky cuts him off, his words biting. “But I don’t need a sugar daddy. This was a mistake. I’m sorry, I gotta go.” Bucky balls up his napkin and places it on his mostly uneaten stack of pancakes. They’re chocolate chip and he wishes he could have them boxed up for Becca. They’re so good, she’d lose her mind. But Bucky needs to make a hasty retreat so he bolts from the cafe as Steve calls his name behind him.

Steve calls, but Bucky declines the call.

Steve texts, but he’s left on read.

After four hours Bucky finally texts back. I need space, Steve.

Steve cries and then heads to the gym. Two hours later, Tony is going to need to replace six boxing bags and Steve doesn’t feel any better.

Becca is a handful that night, whiny and exasperated with the world. It’s like she can sense Bucky’s bad mood and is infected by it. His outrage at Steve’s offer only lasts until about ten minutes after tucking Becca in for the night, then the sadness comes. He lets himself have a good cry, eats a pint of triple chocolate ice cream, and then sets out to research low cost vision centers nearby. It takes an hour but he finally finds two places where he can keep the total below a thousand dollars, but just barely. He checks appointment times versus his work schedule and finally gets her in at the closer of the two places for that coming Friday after she gets out of preschool.

Bucky checks his bank accounts and they’re as thin as he expected. Checking has just enough for groceries and a buffer to meet the account balance minimum. Savings has enough to cover the glasses but he’s been saving up for months, tucking a little bit aside every week in hopes of saving enough for a down payment on a better apartment. Now that he’s not paying daycare every week and her tuition is paid for by the scholarship, Bucky has been dreaming of allocating that extra money for rent on a better place. He knows he’s overpaying for the apartment they’re in, but it came with no credit check and no down payment. At the time, that was like a golden ticket for them. Now, he has good credit and can afford to pay a little more in rent, he just needs the money to put down a deposit, plus first and last month's rent on a place. He’s only half way there and her glasses are going to put a major dent into the savings. Not back to square one, but damned close.

Closing the lid of his laptop, Bucky tries telling himself it’ll all look better in the morning. He knows it's a lie but he’s too worn out to care. He stares at his phone after setting it on the nightstand, wondering if Steve has tried texting him again. The nerve of that man, trying to just throw money at him. Like Bucky can’t take care of his own kid. Like he’s a charity case. Bucky huffs and tries to distract himself so he doesn’t get worked up again and prevent himself from getting some sleep. He thinks of the next week and what groceries he’ll need, maybe adding pancake mix and a bag of chocolate chips to the list. He falls asleep making his grocery list and dreams of warm, melty chocolate and bright blue eyes.

#stucky #stucky fanfic #non winter soldier bucky barnes #captain america steve rogers #shrunkyclunks #steve rogers x bucky barnes #nurse!bucky #parent!bucky #kid!becca barnes #becca barnes #adopted child #marvel #marvel fanfic

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humanityinahandbag · 6 years ago

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How about prompt 110, “You don’t even know me.” It could be from the early days of Gosalyn's adoption?

Gosalyn finds it hard to like much about life.

And then she ends up with a superhero for a pen pal.

This got a little out of control! 11k words later, and it’s finished. I tried my hand at the new Darkwing Duck, so it was definitely unfamiliar territory, but I’m glad I tried it out. Totally a great writing exercise. But definitely not something I was prepared for at all.

And for other people, send me more prompts! I’m ready!

When Gosalyn turned three years old, she decided that her favorite color was going to be green.

It was such a revolutionary discovery that she felt it necessary to announce. She stood in front of the door when her father came home from work, planting her hands on her hips. “My favorite color’s green!”

Her father moved past her, touching her head in greeting.

“Dad!” She chased after him. He’d moved into the kitchen and was rifling through the fridge. There were some clinks and clatters. When he reappeared from behind the door, the light of the fridge casting shadows across his face, she tried again. “Green,” she said. “It’s my favorite color!”

“Okay,” he said. He closed the door and used the edge of his shirt to help twist off the bottle top.

“My room is pink,” she said, pointing towards the stairs. “I want it green .”

Actually, lots of what she owned was pink. Her large closet was all pink dresses. Her carpet was pink. There were dolls on the shelf (pink), and fancy glass ornaments she wasn’t allowed to touch (pink), and a little chandelier hanging from the ceiling (more pink). When she’d been old enough to pick a favorite color (three years old and finally given a color chart at preschool) she’d decided it was green, and her large room felt like it belonged to someone else.

Everything Pink was someone else’s.

Her father closed the fridge door - “Then paint it green” -and brushed past again, stalking through the house and up the creaky stairs, out of sight.

Later, she’d try to tell her mother, too. “Greens my favorite color,” she said from the table.

Her mother pushed over a platter of sweet potatoes. Her bracelets shone gold in the evening burn outside. “Alright, honey,” said her mother, pointing to her plate. “Eat your dinner.”

They’d lived in a large house in a large neighborhood. There weren’t many kids, and a lot of her time was spent on her own.

Which was fine.

Besides, she’d had her grandfather.

He came over every other Saturday and took her out. Museums, ice cream stores, movies, they’d done all they could together. And the world outside her (pink) room had expanded into one of beauty and wonder and likes and dislikes.

She learned that she liked mint chip ice cream.

She hated sour cream, but loved regular cream.

Baseball was the best, and hockey was the worst.

She’d spent hours with her grandfather looking at dinosaur bones in the Museum of Natural History, towing him through to see space exhibits and science experiments.

He knew what she liked, and she was grateful for it.

“I like green,” said Gosalyn while she ate mint chip on a cone.

“Green is a fantastic color, Gosalyn,” her grandfather praised.

She’d beamed.

When he’d dropped her off that night, she leaned into a hug. “You know me,” she told him.

He’d looked down at her. “Of course I do.”

“No,” she said. “ You know me.”

Her father was at the door then, a bottle in his hand, gesturing her through with dark eyes. When she’d run up to him, his dark eyes turned on her.

The world went Pink, but she stood against it. “I like dinosaurs,” she declared, little fists at her sides.

“Inside,” growled her father.

So she went.

When Gosalyn turns four, she finds out that she likes more things;

She likes tapioca pudding.

She likes hot dogs and hamburgers and cake.

She likes soccer.

Hockey is okay, now.

She likes new colors; orange and red and yellow.

She likes sneakers and pigtails and winter and summer.

She tells her grandfather when they meet, every other Saturday. He listens and nods and indulges. He tells her what he likes (chocolate, painting, watches ) and she agrees with half of them.

“Mom,” she says later on that year, just weeks before her seventh birthday. “Can we go to a baseball game for a party?”

Her mother pulled her (pink) sheets up to her chin. “Honey, you know I already booked the dance studio for your birthday.”

“But I don’t like dancing. I like baseball.”

Her mother sighed. “Gosalyn. We can’t change things. If you wanted to change parties, you could have told me earlier.”

Gosalyn sat up fast, and her covers (pink) fell down to her waist. “But I did tell you. Last month, remember? Do you remember, mom?”

“Gosalyn. It’s bedtime.”

“But I told you,” she said again. She curled her fists at her sides. Her chest was too tight, and her mind buzzed with an awful pink. Like her room. Like it wasn’t hers. “I told you! I did !”

“Gosaly,” said her mother, pushing out the word like it wasn’t her name.

Like it was Pink.

Gosalyn watched her mother leave, turning out the light.

Gosalyn turned five in a dance studio. Her mother took pictures and laughed and spoke to parents and didn’t notice when Gosalyn had hidden beneath a table and kicked the wall until her toes hurt.

When they’re driving home, she’d sat in the back silently while her mother talked to a friend from the little bluetooth in her ear.

It’s only when they’re pulling into the driveway does Gosalyn speak.

“It’s like you don’t even know me.”

Her mother looks in the rearview mirror. “What, Gosalyn?”

Gosalyn pushed open the door and ran into the house.

Drake Mallard knew exactly what he liked.

He was on the cusp of turning thirty eight, and he’d spent his entire life modeling himself after the one thing he liked more than anything else.

Drake Mallard liked Darkwing Duck.

Loved Darkwing Duck.

Breathed and exuded and carried Darkwing Duck.

Everything he’d done was modeled after one, perfect, wonderful phrase that had shaped most of his life.

WWDW

What Would Darkwing Do

The thing was, Drake Mallard was useless . Drake Mallard was a nobody from the middle of the country who wore pink shirts and baseball hats. Drake Mallard was almost forty years old, and only had a few lousy acting gigs to show for it.

Drake Mallard was a nobody.

And then, Drake Mallard was Darkwing Duck .

He signed posters.

Took pictures with fans.

Did everything Darkwing would do.

There’s an empty feeling inside him that he mentally pokes at. It’s settled between his ribs, wrapping little vines through his veins. It’s been there for some time.

He doesn’t worry too much about it.

When the job happens, it would fill itself up.

And so he accepted the job offer and treated himself to a night in. He watched reboots of his old hero on the screen of a laptop and ate pizza straight from the box. His hero, Darkwing Duck, soared across the screen, taking out evildoers, saving the city, crying out absolutely novel worthy punchlines.

He’d done it alone, too. Returning to an empty lair to revel in his good deeds and days won.

There was no reason Drake Mallard should need any more than that, either.

When Gosalyn is five and a half, Darkwing Duck got a reboot, and she’s gone for good.

He’s better than anything she’s liked before.

Ice cream.

Dinosaurs.

Maybe even the color green (which is big for her).

She and her grandfather collect everything they can on him.

Newspapers and posters and action figures, and she keeps everything in a box under her bed.

“He’s the best,” she tells her grandfather, showing him her collection. He was the only one allowed to see it. “And one day, I’m gonna meet him!”

“I believe it,” he told her, nodding seriously.

She turned on him, fisting his jacket between small hands. They were on the back porch of her parents large home. It wasn’t a Saturday. Her mother had left for a retreat somewhere far away and her father hadn’t shown up after work, and so they’d done what they’d always done.

“Gosalyn,” her mother said over the phone, calling their house from the car. “Listen. I won’t be back until tomorrow and your father…” she paused, and Gosalyn heard her breathe out quick. “I’m not sure when he’ll be back.”

She fiddled with the telephone wire, sliding down to the floor and kicking off her (pink) shoes. “Okay…”

Her mother continued, barely phased by the weight on her daughter’s voice. “But listen. I figured everything out, alright? I pulled some strings-”

It was a laughable phrase. Her mother did more than pull some strings .

She pulled many strings.

Every string.

Gosalyn’s whole life was amounting to pulled strings, and she was suffocating in knots.

But finding out her grandfather would be coming over was a welcome surprise, and when he’d shown up at the door, she knew that at least one good thing would come out of unraveling the strings the world had set before her.

And so they’d sat on the back porch and discussed superheroes while Gosalyn somersaulted and dirtied her pink dress and couldn’t have cared less what her mother or father said about it.

Things were good when her grandfather came over.

There weren’t any strings when he was there.

“Bravo!” he shouted, clapping when she’d landed an exceptionally good (and muddy) little flip. “Darkwing Duck couldn’t have done better!”

If there were strings, they only held things together.

The miracle happens when Gosalyn turned six, and her grandfathers company, Waddlemeyer Technologies, managed to book a celebrity endorsement and host.

Gosalyn nearly lost her mind when she found out who it would be.

“DARKWING DUCK?”

“Yes!” Her grandfather laughed, lifting her off the ground. She had her arms wrapped tight around his neck. “I don’t know how the lawyers got in contact with him. But they did, and here we are-”

“And I get to meet him!?”

“You get to meet him!”

She shrieked and hollered and did three miserable flips in the backyard until her mother stomped out and told her not to dirty her dress. She ran back, barely looking at her mother -who barely looked back- and hung off her grandfather like a lifeline.

Like all the pulled strings had collected on him.

“Do I get to talk to him?”

“You might.”

“I’ll get to tell him what I like!” She bounced up and down. “I like so many things ! Do you think he’ll listen? Do you think he likes things, too?”

He finally managed to sit her down long enough to let her know that she’d get to at least see the caped crusader. And if she got a chance to talk to him, he’d do everything he could to make it happen. She swung her feet and squealed. And when that got too hard, she jumped up, yelled “ be right back! ” and ran up the stairs, returning with her Darkwing Box. Everything was spread out onto the back porch, carefully and with some reverence.

He helped her, sorting through the mish mosh of her hero.

“I’ll bring this with me,” she breathed. “Maybe he can sign it all!”

“Pick one thing, alright?”

She didn’t hear him. Or maybe she did and didn’t care. “I have so much to tell him!” Her hands trembled, and she sat on them. “I’ll tell him about ice cream. But only the mint chip kinds.”

“Obviously.”

“And dinosaurs .”

“He’ll love that.”

“And baseball and hockey and soccer- do you think he likes sports?”

“I think he loves them.” Her grandfather looked through the box, rifling through more of the toys and cutouts, picking out a few and smoothing them on the porch

She stood by, still so tiny in stature, straightening the wrinkles from her (pink) shirt. Her fingers twisted and twined, and her eyes ( green ) watched her grandfather carefully. “Hey, grandpa?”

He hummed, looking away and back towards her.

She swallowed. “If I told him what I liked, do you think he’d remember?”

He smiled, putting the papers back down. “I’m sure he would. And then: “Why don’t you write a list?”

She writes one that night.

In green ink.

To Darkwing Duck,

My name is Gosalyn Mallard, and these are the things that I like.

The color green.

Soccer.

Dinosaurs.

Anything green.

And sometimes orange.

But not pink. At all.

I want you to have this list so that you can know me, because one day I’m going to be a hero, and heroes should know each other. My grandfather knows me, and he’s really nice. But I want someone else to know me, too, because that would be cool. Do you like anything? You can tell me! Even if it’s secret, you can tell me, because I’m great at keeping secrets, and there’s no one I would tell them to.

Except maybe my grandpa.

But he’s really good at keeping secrets, too.

Love,

Gosalyn.

Drake Mallard hadn’t even wanted to do the stupid job for Waddlemeyer Technologies. But his agent had assured him that the paycheck that would come from it would pad his savings for a rainy day, so he’d said yes.

“But only for a few minutes,” he said. “I took this job so I could play a hero! Not sell some guys random electronics.”

“It��s Waddlemeyer Technologies . He’s one of the biggest tech moguls we’ve got in the city. And besides,” said his agent. “The producer for the studio works alongside him.”

“Mr. McDuck?”

“Waddlemeyer built a lot of the security systems around the man’s house.” His agent shrugged, handing him all the details in an envelope. “Apparently it’s one of the best security systems out there, and he wants to thank the man by sending you out there.”

Drake looked down at the envelope. “This wasn’t what I signed up for,” he said again. “I did this job so I could inspire kids . Maybe help a few out. Deal with Lady Danger! Maybe bump into the unexpected!””

“Yeah, well, welcome to Shobiz.” He snagged the costumes hat from where it lay on the trailers couch, handing it to Drake. He saluted with his coffee and walked to the door “This is the most dangerous thing you’ll do here. I’d stop expecting it to be, if I were you. Nothing here’s unexpected.”

And so he goes, doing his best to not expect anything. Sitting alone, waiting for someone to prep the green room, he holds onto his hat between fidgeting fingers.

He’d been expecting more from this whole thing. Expected him to at least change a few lives the same way Jim Starling had changed his.

“No expectations,” he reminded himself, sitting back in the wheely chair they’d given him, kicking the floor, rolling back a few inches. “ No expectations .”

The vague, empty feeling inside him returns twofold, and he rubs at his chest right over its place.

He’d gotten into this alone. He’d surge forward alone. He’d survive alone.

He’d inspire alone.

Someone knocked on the door and let him know the green room was ready for him. He donned his hat and thanked them before striding out towards his Expectation-Less Destiny.

And that was exactly what he’d meet.

(Destiny, as it would turn out, had bright red hair)

(He wouldn’t expect that, either)

She meets Darkwing Duck.

The first time Gosalyn meets Darkwing Duck, it’s more of an accident that she meets him. Or maybe just good timing.

Her grandfather had told her that day that she may not have been able to meet the hero at all, but that he was happy to deliver the letter to him. He’d brought her along so she could at least watch the hero praise Waddlemeyer Technologies for their breakthroughs in crime prevention.

That hadn’t been enough.

It had only taken her a single “I’m gonna go find a bathroom,” for her to be cast away on her own.

She found him coming out of a conference room. His back was to her, and he was fiddling with his mask, his hat tucked under her arm.

When she’d shouted his name -” Darkwing! ” he’d nearly jumped to the ceiling, scrambling to put his mask back onto his face. “Oh gosh! Oh my gosh, it’s you!”

He turned, his hands clutching the shirt over his heart. “Jeez, kid, give a warning why don’t you?”

She was too caught up to recognize the blunt words, the snipped tone, the wary stare. Gosalyn jumped up and around, note tight between her hands. “I love superheroes,” she squealed. “I- I have everything of yours! In a box! Under my bed!”

That at least got him snapped out of his reluctance, and he preened, head high. “Well isn’t that nice. You bring anything to sign?”

She stopped jumping. “No. I didn’t think I’d be meeting you.”

“Ah. A stowaway on a mission, then.”

She didn’ t know what it meant, but it sounded fun, so she nodded. And then, remembering at the last moment, “but I brought you this!” Extending her trembling hands, she offered up the little scrap of paper and green ink.

“You know I have an address for fan mail, right kid?”

“It’s not fan mail, doofus. It’s a list!”

“… a list?”

“Of the things I like! So you can know me!” She struck a pose. “I’m gonna be a hero like you one day. I want to see if we like the same stuff!”

He didn’t look as much like his pictures up close. He was softer. A little rounder. His eyes were tired, and he didn’t smile much. His hands twitched every so often in little, nervous movements.

Moving closer, she caught the smell of peppermint shampoo.

His voice drew her back, the hero unfolding the bit of paper and squinting at the blockish lettering. “You just wanted me to have a list of things you liked?”

“Mmmhm. So I can see what we both like.” She nodded. “No one really knows what I like. So I thought I’d tell you. You know. Like… like mint chocolate chip ice cream. That’s my favorite.”

She’d only known him for a few minutes, but the smile that hesitatingly bloomed was the first real one she’d seen. “Yeah. That’s my favorite too.”

“It is!” “That or coffee.”

Gosalyn stuck out her tongue. “Not coffee.”

“My favorite, my choice, kid.”

“That’s gross.”

Darkwing snorted before looking up and down the hallway. There wasn’t anyone there except for the little girl, who looked about ready to burst. He sighed, gestured toward her. “Come on. I have to go to the green room before the conference. I’m not sure where you’re supposed to be, but we can call security there. And-” he waved her note, “you can tell me more. I’m sure there’s stuff you didn’t write down. Maybe we have more in common.”

She stuffed her fists against her mouth to hold in the shriek, scampered forward, grabbed his hand (much to his shock, if his face said anything), and pulled him along.

Gosalyn liked many things.

And Darkwing listened to them all.

She wasn’t sure why he listened. And from the way he kept shaking his head, like he was waking up from dream after dream, he wasn’t much sure, either.

But he listened.

She talked about soccer. About green. About pink dresses, giving hers a terrible little pull. She talked about hockey and dinosaurs and sports and science.

She showed him a few of her best superhero kicks and punches, and nearly broke a lamp, but he caught it in time. Which was way cool.

At some point, she stopped to take a breath, considering him quietly for a moment. “Does anyone know what you like?”

He stuttered. Stumbled. Said something about how heroes couldn’t have friends so no one was there to listen to things he liked. “I don’t like many interesting things. It’s all boring outside of the suit.”

“Oh,” she’d said, racking her brain for six year old things her teacher had taught her. The first grade classroom was a very good place for this sort of thing. Gosalyn was never good at the friend thing. She beat everyone at everything, and her whole class was jealous.

Still, her teacher had told her once that the best way to make friends was with open arms. And not with a fist, her teacher had shrilly exclaimed, pointing to the boy who’d dared her to punch her. Which she had.

It wasn’t her fault he couldn’t take what he gave.

Gosalyn shook her head, looking at the superhero in front of her, standing by the lamp she’d nearly broken. “Even if you’re boring,” she said, “would you tell me?”

He stumbled again.

But in the end, he did.

It turned out, there were plenty of things he liked.

“Western movies,” he told her. “And knitting.”

“You knit ?”

“I’m a great knitter.” He wiggled his fingers. “Ask anyone. I can knit a sweater and stop a villain at the same time!”

“That’s stupid.” Her face contracted. “You said we should get dangerous , but that’s not dangerous! It’s dumb !”

“No. It’s practical , little miss.” He sniffed. “Your parents should teach you about knitting. Or manners. Or both .”

Gosalyn shrugged. “They don’t really like many things.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” He stood, stretching, His back popped and his shoulders cracked. He gave each one a quick roll. “I mean… they like you! So that’s at least one thing, right?”

“I… don’t know.”

She didn’t notice him moving until he was kneeling beside the chair.

Peppermint swam around her, and beneath that she could smell toothpaste and coffee and ash. There were wrinkles around his eyes and at the sides of his bill that crinkled when she made him smile.

“Oh come on. They’re your parents .”

She wanted to lean forward and press her face into his shoulder.

Instead, she sat on her hands and shook her head. “I don’t think they like me much.”

The same wrinkles deepened at that -his face an absolute stew of origami concern- and he opened his mouth to protest when her grandfather opened the door.

“Gosalyn!” He was pink in the face, which was never good. Her grandfather rarely got angry with her, no matter how many soccer balls she kicked or how much mud she splattered. Still, she’d wandered away, and her own face flushed when guilt settled itself behind her ribs. “You can’t just wander off- I am so sorry , sir.”

Darkwing waved him off. “It’s alright. We were just talking.”

“Yeah,” she parrotted. “We were talking!”

Her grandfather breathed in deep. Let it out slow. “He’s got work to do. Say goodbye.” To Darkwing, he grimaced. “Thank you again. I’m sorry if she was bothering you-”

“What, her? No! We had a good time. She kept me company.”

“Yeah!” crowed Gosalyn, confidence renewed. “See! We had a great time!”

Darkwing snorted. “She’s sure got a lot of spirit. I’m sure she’ll be the next big hero in this town.” He winked down at Gosalyn. “I’ll check your list again. Maybe we’ve got more stuff in common.” The letter went into his pocket, and he stepped forward to shake her grandfather’s hand. “If I need to deliver anything to her,” he told her grandfather, “I’ll send it your way.“

He watches them leave, waving to them as they go.

Drake Mallard -Darkwing Duck- hadn’t noticed when the tendrils around his ribs slowly back away.

But he noticed when, just a few minutes later, they slithered back into place.

He rubbed at his chest again, getting up when the manager came to get him, leading him towards the stage, trying to push away the feeling he’d yet to name.

WWDD he thinks to himself, as he’s pushed out. What Would Darkwing Do

Gosalyn couldn’t hear her grandfathers chiding as he dragged her out of the greenroom past the final words that spun round and round and round.

I’ll send it through you …

“Did you hear?” she said, interrupting her grandfathers lecture about lying and bothering superheroes. “Darkwing Duck is going to send me letters! Me !”

“He’s a busy man, Gosalyn.” Her grandfather sounded tired and worn as he walked them both through the lobby of his industries building, waving to a security guard and a secretary, flashing his badge. “I don’t know if he’ll be able to-”

“He said he would,” he protested, swinging off his arm. “So he’s going to! And you’ll give me whatever he sends me, right?”

“Gosalyn…” He squeezed her hand. “You know he’s just an actor-”

“ Right ?”

Her grandfather looked like he wanted to say something.

One look at her eyes stopped him. Instead, he squared his jaw and nodded. “Right,” he said.

And that was all.

And then, suddenly, it wasn’t. Because two weeks later, on the second saturday of the month, her grandfather is at their door with something in his hand. “You’ll never guess what showed up on my desk,” he said, sounded like he truly couldn’t believe it himself.

She didn’t remember to say hello as she snatched the letter and ran up to her room.

Dear Gosalyn,

Thank you for your letter.

We have a lot in common as it turns out!

I also like mint chip ice cream. And dinosaurs.

I don’t know a lot about sports. Sorry.

My favorite foods are waffles and hot dogs. I hate pancakes.

Is this enough for your list?

DWD

P.S. You’re absolutely right. Heroes should know one another, and I’m sure you’re going to be one.

Darkwing Duck hadn’t known what to do when he’d met Gosalyn Waddlemeyer.

Her grandfather had reached out through his lawyers to see if he’d be willing to endorse new security systems. There’d been a nice cash sum attached, and there wasn’t a recently unemployed actor who’d be stupid enough to say no to a savings cushion.

And that’s when he’d met Gosalyn.

She’d been made of fire, popping out the top of her head in the form of obnoxiously red hair.

She’d worn bright pink, but resented everything about it.

She’d called knitting stupid, and nearly broke a lamp.

And then she’d given him a letter.

The first one he’d sent out as an in-character joke. People sent fan mail. He was willing to oblige.

And then they’d kept coming. And he’d kept sending.

What do you like , she’d asked. And for the first time in a very long time, he wasn’t sure how to answer. It had been a long time since anyone asked that. He wasn’t even really sure what he liked outside of acting and his Darkwing Duck collectables.

Drake Mallard, he reminded himself, was a nobody.

Drake Mallard was a person who collected stuff to hang on a wall.

Drake Mallard didn’t have many friends, drank too much coffee, liked playing mini golf, and snored too loudly when he slept.

Behind a mask, he was better.

And yet, behind paper, without a mask? Drake Mallard could at least shine through a little. Enough to be recognizable again.

So he’d thought.

And he’d written.

And he’d kept writing.

Gosalyn’s next letter ended up being a little more thorough than the first. She filled it with costume ideas and superhero phrases. She told him all about how hockey had been terrible at first, but was getting better.

She told him about pink.

My parents aren’t very good listeners, she said. I don’t think they know me. My room is pink and my clothes are pink. Sometimes I don’t see my dad for a long time. My mom is home more, but I never see her either. I don’t know what they like.

She stared at that long enough for her heart to begin aching pink. Then she shook her head, and instead delved into a long list about what her grandfather liked.

At least she knew that.

She wasn’t sure how her grandfather managed to get that letter along to him. He said that his lawyers knew the studios lawyers, and they’d managed to work it out from there.

“I hope you said lots of nice things,” he said, on their next Saturday together.

She nodded. “I told her all about you,” she promised. “About your favorite ice cream and books.”

“Good. I’d hate to live in a world where Darkwing Duck didn’t know my favorite ice cream color.”

Some part of her thought he might have been joking, but she didn’t have time to explain that it was a very serious thing. If superheroes didn’t know what you liked, then how could they save you.

Her grandfather becomes a messenger of sorts, and every other Saturday is met with a reply.

Gosalyn,

Pink is a great color! My favorite shirt is pink. I wear it all the time when I don’t wear my superhero outfit.

Give pink a chance, that’s all I’m saying.

Darkwing Duck,

Pink is bad. Pink isn’t mine. Everything I own is pink.

Have you treid wearing green? It’s much better.

Gosalyn

Gosalyn,

I still think you should give pink more of a chance. But until then, I’m happy to inform that I’ve gone out and bought a green jacket to go over my pink shirt.

You’re right.

Green is great.

Darkwing Duck

“Who are you writing,” her mother asked her one Sunday afternoon, putting down the phone and leaning over the kitchen table.

“Darkwing Duck.”

Her mother looked at the page. Scanned it.

“Hm,” said her mother. “You know he’s just an actor.”

“No. He’s real ,” she said. “He fights crime.”

“Hm,” her mother said again. “You spelled tried wrong.”

The letters piled up in the box beneath her bed. She always used green ink. He used purple or black or blue. She showed them to her grandfather, who read them all with careful eyes.

“Why did you write this one?” He held up a letter she’d written two weeks before.

Darkwing Duck,

My dad is never home, and my mom isn’t either. I’m going to try and use the house for practice! I’ll get super dangerous!

What kicks do you like best. I’ll do those.

Gosalyn

She read it again and shrugged. “Because I want to be a hero.”

“But why did you write this ?” He pointed to the first line, jabbing his finger against the page.

She did a little kick, landing awkwardly on her foot with a vicious cry of, “ Let’s get dangerous! ”

“Gosalyn? Why did you-”

“Because it’s true,” she called over her shoulder before trying another kick. “And a hero is always honest.”

She didn’t see her grandfather snap a picture with his phone.

Drake Mallard always been happy to answer fan mail as Darkwing Duck before. He felt more comfortable behind the character. Confident. Himself. But this had been different. The lists of likes had turned into a child’s life being torn and twisted, and he’d clung to the letters, not sure what to do beyond replying.

He’d wanted to be a hero. Wanted to inspire children on lunchboxes and posters.

And then he’d met Gosalyn.

Gosalyn, who hated pink, loved ice hockey, and could say the entire alphabet backwards three times fast.

Gosalyn, who felt alone.

Suddenly, faced with the embers of a child mid-extinguish, he wasn’t sure how to be a hero anymore.

Writing back seemed like the only thing he could do.

And whenever he did pen a new letter, sitting down at a desk, responding to questions about little, dumb things like favorite dinosaurs or ice creams, he forgets about the cold spots settled in his chest.

Suddenly, Darkwing Duck wasn’t quite as much there as he was before.

He tried to write that down in a letter to her. Tried his best to stay in character, where he was most comfortable. Hiding behind a hat and a mask and a cape and a character he’d auditioned for and gotten the part.

Gosalyn, he wrote.

My favorite things are crime fighting and wearing a cape .

He looked down at that for a while. Darkwing Duck like Danger! And fighting! And backflips!

Drake Mallard? He liked mint chip and t-rexes.

He erased the page and started again.

Gosalyn,

I love dinosaurs and mint chip ice cream with extra whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles and, sometimes, sour gummy worms (my favorite candy).

I also love mini-golf. It’s just about the only sport I can play.

Darkwing Duck

The next time her mother and father were out, there was a new woman knocking on the front door.

“Hello there. You’re Gosalyn, right?” She wore a nice suit, and her hair was dark and curled, and tied up tight. “Your grandfather sent me over. Are your parents home?”

“No.” She glared. “You know my grandfather?”

The woman took a pad of paper out of her pocket and wrote something down. Then she smiled at Gosalyn again. She had a nice smile.

Then again, if Darkwing Duck taught her anything, most villains did.

“I do! He’s been talking to me for a few weeks. We’re good friends. He said I should come talk to you.”

She leaned on the door, closing it just enough so that the woman couldn’t fit through if she’d wanted to. “My parents aren’t home,” she said again. “I’m not supposed to let you in.”

“That’s right. I won’t come in unless there’s an adult.” She smiled again. “I’ll come back later. With your grandfather. Does that sound alright?”

Gosalyn nodded, then closed the door.

The lock clicked into place.

Darkwing Duck,

There was a lady at our house asking questions. My parents weren’t home, so I didn’t let her in.

I think she was a reporter.

How do you talk to the press? You’re so good at it!

Gosalyn.

Gosalyn,

Lots of practice.

I used to be an actor, so I always had to pretend to talk to someone.

What sort of questions did she ask?

Darkwing Duck

Darkwing Duck,

She asked me why I was home alone.

She asked me about my dad.

And my mom.

She asked me if I was safe.

I told her they weren’t home so she couldn’t come in, but then she went around the house and looked in the recycling. She says she’s going to come back later, but I told her to scram, because I’m not supposed to talk to weird strangers. It was scary.

What do you do when things are scary? I bet you do everything on your own. You’re good at that. You said you didn’t need anyone.

If I’m going to be a hero like you, I need to do things alone.

I don’t need anyone, either.

Gosalyn

“Drake, come on. We’ve got filming to do.”

His agent was a taller man. Broad shoulders and slicked hair, he loomed over Drake in his little trailer. Drake sat at the fold out table, scribbling back to the latest of Gosalyn’s letters.

“Just a minute-”

“The director won’t wait a minute. And you know how stingy McDuck is about his filming time. Any extra and it’ll be on you.”

Drake looked at his reply. It was pithy. Barely what it needed to be. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to respond to something like what she’d sent.

He turned toward his agent. “There’s this little girl who’s been sending mail. She sent me… well- just listen .” He read it out loud, emphasizing the alone and don’t need anyone . When he was done, he looked up at his agent.

“How would you respond to that?”

His agent shook his head. “It’s fanmail. Have one of the studio interns write back.”

“No. This is different. I know this girl. I remember her- she asked me…” he gave it a shake. “How would Darkwing reach out. What would Darkwing do if he thought someone he knew was in trouble.”

“It’s fanmail. Send her a signed picture. Come on.”

Drake gave the letter one last look before donning the rest of his costume and following the man out.

I don’t need anyone, either , she’d said.

“Drake!” His agent again, motioning. “You coming? Or are we charging you for time wasted.”

Without much else to do, he followed.

Gosalyn turns six years old, and begins to learn that she likes many more things.

But she also learns there are things she doesn’t like.

She didn’t like it when her father began coming home earlier and earlier.

She didn’t like the clinking sound in the fridge.

She didn’t like his shouting.

She didn’t like her large house.

She didn’t like it when her mother vanished.

She didn’t like the color pink.

Especially when her father had come home from work to see her writing a letter. He grabbed her arm, hard. “Who’ve you been writing!”

She pulled on her arm. “Darkwing Duck.”

“ Who .”

Let me go -”

“Who’ve you been writing,” he growled again, squeezing her arm harder. His eyes flashed, staring down at the page. “If you’ve been telling that woman anything-”

“I told you!”

“Your grandfather,” his voice dropped low. “He’s been telling that woman things. Now they’re asking me questions. If you’re in on it, too-”

His next tug seared, burned. With a shout, she sprang, and her foot cracked against his knee. He fell, and his hand released just enough for her to wiggle free and run through the kitchen, up the stairs.

When she looked at her arm, the yellow downy feathers had been crumpled and were beginning to fall away from his hand. The skin beneath had turned pink.

That was the year where she began liking less and less.

Her entire world was turning Pink…

(dresses)

(rooms)

(bruises)

…and she let’s it push her out.

Darkwing Duck,

You said to get dangerous.

I don’t want to get dangerous.

I want

She didn’t finish that letter.

She sent it anyway.

That was the year that Darkwing Duck moved off the screen and into reality. And Gosalyn couldn’t have been happier.

It was a blip through all the pink when the news had blared on from her father’s office, and she stood by with her back pressed to the wall, listening while the reporters shouted back and forth about criminals being apprehended by what they thought might have been Darkwing Duck.

“It’s amazing,” one of the reporters said. “Matt, you have to see this. Three crime bosses, dumped on the police steps. He left a note. Signed it Darkwing Duck and everything.”

“And this is of course two weeks after the studio filming Darkwing Duck collapsed and both actors seemingly vanished,” another reporter chimed in. “Bodies were never found, but we did speak to a small child from the McDuck family who said-”

The TV changed channels and clicked off.

Darkwing Duck,

I knew you were a real hero!

I told everyone, but they didn’t believe me!

And if you want, you can come get me! I can be your sidekick, if you want! We can do everything together. And I can show you everything that I like, and you can show me everything that you like.

Does that sound good?

I’d be a great sidekick! The best sidekick. And I could live in your secret lair and everything.

I know you said that heroes worked alone and whatever, but maybe we could do things together!

That sounds good, right?

Gosalyn

She’d give that note to her grandfather and tell him all about it.

Her grandfather was looking worn. He was less fun to be with when he came over, too. He asked questions upon questions, writing down answers. Everything she sent was captured in a picture first, even though she said he couldn’t show anyone else, because they were secret.

“These are important,” he explained. And then, after a moment, “Gosalyn… things might start to change a lot around here.”

“I know!” She did a little kick (she was getting better at those) and punched the air twice. “Darkwing’s gonna come soon. I’m gonna be his sidekick!” She turned around and did another punch. “You can come too!”

“Thank you, honey, but I mean…” he struggled for words, searching through the air. “People might come by and ask questions again.”

“About what?”

“About your mom and dad.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s their job.”

“Can I tell them about Darkwing, too?” She grinned, punching some more in front of her, drawing her fists back. “I want to tell them all about being a hero! That’s better. My mom and dad are boring.”

“Okay. But… Gosalyn. You need to tell them. I’m buying a house now a few cities away. And after you tell them, we’ll go there.”

“What?” She punched forward again. “But I don’t want to go. Darkwing can’t find me if I go.”

He sat down next to her, and when she tried to punch again, he caught her fist. “You have to tell them the truth, okay? You can’t tell them about being a sidekick. You have to tell them about your mom and dad.”

“But this is the truth! I have to stay! So Darkwing can find me !”

Her grandfather swallowed and shook his head.

Her mind began to swim pink.

“He was an actor, Gosalyn. That was his job. I don’t know who’s playing superhero right now-”

“It’s Darkwing .”

“I know. Gosalyn, I know . But I need to worry about you right now, not him. And when people come by, you need to tell them-”

“I’ll tell them about Darkwing,” she pulled back. “I want to talk about things I like !”

“I know-”

“No one asks me about what I like!” Everything was pink. The world was swimming pink.

Nothing was hers.

“I don’t want to tell them about them! I don’t want to leave! Darkwing needs to find me!” Angry tears sprung into her eyes, and she stomped her feet on the deck. “He’s going to!”

“Gosalyn…” He rubbed his face. “Just… tell them what you can. Alright?”

“I will,” she snapped. “I’ll tell them everything.”

He stopped asking after that.

He took the letter with him when her mom got home and her grandfather could leave again. Her mother glared his way, but he didn’t say anything. He just waved to Gosalyn, pocketed the letter, and got into his car.

“Stupid,” her mother spat, grabbing Gosalyn’s hand and dragging her into the house. “ Meddling . Trying to see things that aren’t-” She let go of Gosalyn’s hand and stomped around the house, wiping down nonexistent dust off everything, muttering about people who shouldn’t stick their noses in other people’s businesses.

An hour later, overcome by her apparent anger over snooping people, she grabbed her keys and left.

Gosalyn stood in the living room and watched the sun go down and the rest of the house turn dark.

Darkwing Duck,

I think I am very alone.

Gosalyn

Darkwing’s lair was little more than the back rooms at an abandoned factory. He’d told Launchpad that they could have just used his house, but the driver had insisted that they’d need a secret, even if it was temporary.

“We’ll find something better, DW,” Launchpad promised. “But if you’re going to do this superhero thing for real, then we need somewhere to meet where no one will suspect! What’ll happen if some neighbor sees Darkwing with the keys to your apartment?”

It was a good point. He couldn’t just stroll in, and too many trips through the balcony might look suspicious.

So he agreed, and they found the little space to call their own, and for the first few weeks everything was fine.

Until he found the letters again.

He’d kept them all in a manilla envelope, and when the studio kicked him off, everything he’d owned had been thrown away. Collecting it all had been a chore, and Launchpad had been kind enough to give a hand.

Thankfully, he’d been a small enough actor before his break that no one knew much about who he was, and so he’d walked off the movie lot with armfulls of things and not much of a hassle beyond that.

And he’d found her letters again.

There wasn’t any way of responding to them. Not anymore. He flipped through them, remembering the face of the sender.

Bright red hair and yellow, downy feathers. Too small, but looming. She’d throttled life around her with such force, knocking down lamps and listing everything she’d ever liked.

He flipped around the letters, watching the chronology turn her into something even smaller than what she’d already been.

His ribs ached and his lungs squeezed.

“Darkwing?” Launchpad was back, another armfull of posters from his trailer clutched to his chest. “You good, DW?”

“What? Oh. Oh, yeah.” He put the letters down. “Let me help you with that. You know - I got this poster when I was ten years old. Starling even signed it! See?”

And the letters are forgotten for a time.

But not really.

Darkwing Duck,

I talked to more people at the house.

They are scary.

Gosalyn

Darkwing Duck,

You haven’t written me back.

Gosalyn

Darkwing Duck,

I’m not sure what to write if you don’t write me back.

Gosalyn

Darkwing Duck,

I don’t want to be a hero anymore.

Heroes write people back.

Gosalyn

Darkwing Duck,

I’m sorry I said that.

You’re still a hero. I watched you on TV last night when the reporters were talking about that crime you solved. It was great. I saw you have your own sidekick now. That’s good.

Heroes shouldn’t be alone.

Gosalyn

When the Saturday of her grandfather arrived again, he didn’t have a note.

“He stopped sending them,” he told her. “I’m sorry, Gosalyn. I checked, but-”

Gosalyn locked herself in her room and wouldn’t talk to any of the people who her grandfather had let into the house. She could hear them looking around, talking quietly, taking notes. Heard them drive away.

When it got later, she fished the box out from under her bed. She took out letters, one at a time, and lay them on the floor. They watched her, all purple ink and careful penmanship.

“I’m alone,” she told them, like they’d know what to do. “I’m alone .”

Darkwing had always prided himself on being alone.

She didn’t know if she could do the same.

I want … she’d written, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight, trying to claw the answer out to the surface.

I want.

I want .

I want …

(family)

(love)

(home)

… nothing.

Gosalyn picked up each little note and put them back into the box. She slid it beneath the bed again.

Drake Mallard, now Darkwing, wasn’t sure what to do.

Which royally sucked, because asking WWDD at that moment was not helping. And if he was going to be Darkwing Duck, it sort of felt apt to at least have an idea.

He was Darkwing Duck now. Darkwing Duck, who was strong and willfull and didn’t need anything! Who always got back up. Who was important, and good, and important.

Who was absolutely lost when it came to the issues of one small girl.

He told Launchpad about it, sharing coffee on the roof after they’d taken down a small drug ring that had begun to operate on the west side.

“So…” he said, “I wanted your opinion on something.”

Launchpad drained the rest of his coffee and reached for the box of donuts he’d put next to his knee. “Sure, buddy! Anything!”

“There’s… this girl.”

Launchpad’s eyebrows rose. “Gotta tell you. I’m not the best at that sort of thing.”

“ No , not like… she’s a little girl. A kid. Seven years old. A fan.”

“Ah.”

“I met her when she was younger. Her grandfather owned this company when he was alive, and I did a job there, and she ran into me. Totally a fan of the show. I was happy to talk to her. But then she gave me this letter, and I wrote back and…” he shrugged. “We wrote for a whole year.”

“That’s good. Right?”

“It was. But then- the letters got… bad.” He stared at his feet. “Custody issues. Bad home. The girl was reaching out, and I didn’t know what to do about it. I still don’t know what to do about it. And now that my place at the studio is gone, I don’t get them anymore. I don’t even know if she’s still sending them.”

“Hmm…” Launchpad popped the rest of his donut into his mouth. “So what’s the question.”

Drake looked off over the city. The light pollution from below clung to the buildings and burned away at glass and metal. “I don’t know.” He flicked a pebble off into towards the street below. “Darkwing would have known what to do here. He’d probably have a twelve step plan in place. Something to do with getting the people who’d hurt her. Finding evidence. Solving a crime.” He punched the air. “You know. Something like that.”

His friend nodded. “Well, it sounds to me like you’re worried.”

“I mean- I am .”

“So why don’t you go see her!”

“What?” He blinked, shaking his head. “I can’t just swing down and see- I don’t even know where she lives!”

“No. But you know where her grandfather works, right?”

Drake blinked again. He grinned, and reached for a donut. “Launchpad,” he said. “You’re a genius.”

Mr. Waddlemeyer wasn’t sure what to think when, upon locking up his lab for the night, he was met with Darkwing Duck standing in the empty hallway just outside.

Mr. Waddlemeyer blinked. “Um,” he said.

Darkwing Duck rubbed the back of his neck. “Hey,” he said with a little wave. “So… I think I’ve been talking to your granddaughter for a year .”

“Um…”

He smiled again, awkward and unsure, rocking on his heels. “And anyway, I’ve been sort of worried about her. And my sidekick -nice guy, super cool- said I should talk to you about it, since you’d probably know her better than I did. Or. Definitely know her better. But…” he laughed nervously. “You know.”

Mr. Waddlemeyer stared at the superhero for another moment.

He definitely wasn’t what the man expected.

Waddlemeyer had been watching the news on and off. He’d sort of thought the hero who was dumping villains on the steps of every precinct in town would have been a little more like the old TV show he’d grown up with.

Self assured.

Big headed.

Showy and bursting with bravado.

This Darkwing is… not.

He’s a little more jittery. A little more rattled.

The Darkwing he remembered from Television had also, if memory served, never spent time with children long enough to seek out their relatives and ask about them.

“You’re worried about my granddaughter?”

Darkwing nodded.

“Why?”

The hero looked a little lost for words. “Because… I want to be someone kids look up to?”

“You broke into a lab to ask my about my granddaughter. This isn’t about looking up .”

Darkwing swallowed. His fingers tangled in his cape. “I guess,” he said finally, “it’s because she sounded like she needed someone. Sort of. And she wanted someone to be a hero. And…” his feet shuffled. In the dark of the hallway, he was swallowed by shadows. “I want to make sure she’s alright.”

Waddlemeyer watched him another moment. And then he turned and unlocked the door to the lab.

“I’ll brew some tea,” he said.

Darkwing hesitated a moment before following him through.

The hero and the scientist talked through the night and early into the morning about the girl.

About how she was lonely.

About how she was afraid.

About how that little fire her grandfather so loved (but no one else could stand) was beginning to fizzle out.

About how she was turning off and away.

“Her mother, my daughter,” Waddlemeyer tells him over a cup of chamomile, “never wanted to be a mother.”

“Oh.”

“But she became one. And Gosalyn sort of fell into things.”

Darkwing curled his hands around the mug. “Her letters got sadder,” he said. “I wasn’t sure what to do.”

“That’s for me to figure out. And I am,” the older man said. “I’m figuring it out.”

“How?”

“Social services.” He sat back, shoulders slumping. “I began calling years ago, when she was two or three, but we didn’t have much then. Actually, most of what I got was after you showed up again on the screen.”

Darkwing, who’d been taking a sip of his tea, nearly choked. “ Me ?”

“Mmm. I don’t know what it is about you. But as soon as she saw you…” he snapped his fingers, “she lit up. And when you wrote her back? Things got easier once she began looking up to someone. She grew away from her parents. Her parents grew larger. Social services began to pay attention. And thus, the dominos fell.” He sighed, blowing steam across the mug and onto his hands. “Now it’s only a matter of time.”

“And you’ll take custody.”

“I love her. She’s a good kid. Spirited, and a little explosive. But she’s good. And,” he added after another sigh, “there’s no one else.”

His face was long, and worn, and tired, but it brightened up enough for him to say, “just a few more weeks. They said by her eighth birthday. That’s around the corner. They’ll lose custody, and I take her.”

Staring down at his mug, Darkwing nodded. He put it down and slid his hat off his head. “I couldn’t get any letters to her anymore,” he said.

“I know.”

“Did she keep sending them?”

Her grandfather put his own mug down. He stood up and rounded the chairs towards his desk, rifling through drawers. “I wasn’t sure what to do with these, actually,” he said. “The woman from child services already has pictures, but she let me keep the originals. They got… helpless.” He grimaced, staring down at a few.

From behind fingers, Drake could read some of the words:

Alone

Help

Pink

Waddlemeyer handed them across towards him. “Take them. I don’t want them. I’ve read them enough times. Sad things.”

He took them carefully. “Thank you.”

With a hum, Waddlemeyer sat back down. “If you want to respond, just leave them with me. On my desk, or something. You can obviously get it. When they hand over custody, we’ll be moving out. Fresh start and all that. Might be the last time you hear from her.”

Behind a purple vest, Darkwing’s ribs squeezed. He nodded anyway, looking down at the familiar green writing.

A year.

He’d been talking to this child for a year .

Felt he knew her. What she liked. Who she was. What she needed.

And she’d be gone.

Safe , his mind reminded him. She’ll be safe .

“Darkwing?” He looked up from the notes towards Waddlemeyer, who was watching him carefully. “You were an actor, weren’t you?”

“I… was.” His shoulders tensed. “No one really knows my name, so-”

Waddlemeyer snorted. “I barely remember your name. Don’t worry about secrets. They’re safe with me. But… going from an actor? To this? I know you said you wanted to be a hero but…”

“I know.” He tried to laugh, but it came out weak. “I guess it was just- it came easily.”

“Easier than being an actor?”

“Somehow, yeah. It just… came easily. Darkwing would have done something like this,” he tells the man. “I mean, I’ve modeled my whole life after the guy! Darkwing would know what to do.”

“What would Darkwing do?”

“Probably keep writing,” he said, honestly. “Maybe after things clear over I can actually write her again, somehow. Let her know that Darkwing is still on her side. Watching and helping her. Keeping all his citizens safe.”

“Ah.” The older man nodded. “So Darkwing did the safe thing, then? Very easy to do behind a mask.”

Darkwing wasn’t sure how to answer that. So he let it fall into silence.

They finished their tea, and Darkwing left out a back window.

He sat on the roof of the building for a time and watched the sun come up, feathering over the deep sky, and coaxing it away with fire.

“Safe,” he reminded himself. “You’ve got nothing to do with this. She’ll be safe. That’s all you need.”

On patrol two weeks later, Darkwing would be the first to see the morning newspaper thrown out of the truck.

Waddlemeyer’s heart attack was front page news.

It had only taken a few minutes for Gosalyn’s life to be thrown up and out. When her mother had answered the phone late Friday night and said one word before staying quiet, listening.

Her face had gone pale.

There was a jingling of keys and her mothers quick feet. Gosalyn had been off in the living room when she’d hurried past, and she’d followed. She’d never seen her mother convey more than distaste.

To see this -fear- scared her.

“I have to go.” Her mother unlocked the car, opening the front door. That was all she said. “I have to go.” And then; “Hospital.”

“ What ? Why!”

But that was all her mother would say, running out the front door, closing it behind her.

Gosalyn had thrown it open, hearing it slam as she flew down the steps. She hadn’t put shoes on over her soft, gosling feet, and she felt the concrete tear and pinch. Running outside as her mother pulled the car out of the driveway. “Mom-” she called after, panting, running fast as she could in her pink dress down their too-big lawn. “ Why !”

She wouldn’t get an answer.

Not until her mother came home and sat her in the kitchen and told her.

“I’m sorry,” said her mother. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t cry.

But Gosalyn did. Retreating into her room, she screamed and howled and stormed and whirled and raged and snapped and broke .

There was Pink all around her, and for once it didn’t just push away.

It swallowed.

It drowned.

Pink was in her hands. Pink was thrown across the room. There was the sound of shattering as she grabbed whatever she could find and hurled it towards the pink walls and the pink ceiling and the pink carpet.

She listened to everything break around her, and that only made her throw things harder when it wouldn’t drown out the awful heat - tumbling, collapsing, fracturing - behind her eyes.

Alone.

He’d left her alone .

They’d all left her alone .

How the box ended up in her hands, she wasn’t sure. But there was paper everywhere. Purple ink. Green, unsent ink. Forgotten ink.

She grabbed it by the handful, fisting each letter.

It took so little effort to tear everything in half. And then tear it again.

She kept ripping. Kept mangling. And only stopped after-

(gosalyn)

(darkwing)

(alone, alone, alone)

-the pink carpet was scattered with shredded paper.

And then she sat.

And she breathed.

Staring at the mess around her. Broken glass. Punctures in the wall. Ruined paint.

Tears collected and burned behind her eyes as she slipped down to the Pink carpet, feeling bits of glass and plaster pricking her fingers. From downstairs, there wasn’t a sound. Her mother had left again.

She ran her hand along the torn bits of paper.

And the fire that had so quickly burned her bright simmered away, and Gosalyn was left in little more than ash.

The last letter she’ll write will be for herself.

She knows he won’t respond. But she doesn’t care. He hadn’t responded for some time, anyway.

Her pen stilled on the page. It trembled and shivered. Her letters were wobbly and odd. The paper was crumpled and the pen barely had any ink in it, so she’d had to switch out her green pen for a pink one. Darkwing Duck,

My name is Gosalyn.

And I don’t like anything.

The next day social services would be at the door.

Gosalyn would go without a word.

Darkwing Duck heard about everything from the newspapers, and he’d shown them all to Launchpad, waving them around his sidekicks face. “Did you see this ? Foster care! She wasn’t supposed to go to foster care !”

“That’s usually what happens, DW.” He shook his head, looking upset. That was the great thing about Launchpad. When he looked upset, he meant it, and it did at least a little something to quell Drake’s anger.

But not much.

He searched through the paper for more clues, but came up dry until he’d reached the obituaries section. Waddlemeyer had died a few days before, but his name still popped up under their events.

“The funeral…” he looked up at Launchpad. “What do you think the chances are she’ll be there?”

“Look, DW… I know you’re upset. But she’ll get through it. And you didn’t really know her.”

“But I do know her,” Darkwing said. “I know her enough! And she might need- she said she needed heroes, right? That’s what she said she wanted-”

“Maybe we should focus on some other stuff now, like-”

“Do you think she’ll be there?”

Launchpad fiddled with the buttons on his jacket. Nodded.

Darkwing goes to the funeral because it’s what Darkwing Duck would do.

He would stay just far away enough to keep himself distant, but close enough to seem heroic. He was a man of the people, but a loner at heart. He appeared to let people know he was there.

He did things by himself.

So that’s what Darkwing does.

The second time Gosalyn and Darkwing meet, it’s after her grandfather’s funeral.

It’s not a long meeting. It’s not a good meeting, either.

He’d taken the shortcut to St. Edelberts Cathedral, hopping from building to building, sliding down fire escapes, landing square in the alley besides the church.

She came out on her own before anyone else had left. The door opened, and he could hear the organ playing from behind her before it closed again, and she was covered in silence.

She looked small. Too small sitting on the marble steps.

There’s no paper or ink between them. Just space and air. He emerged from the shadows of the alleyway, and she looked up and… there they were. The both of them. And so when she stares at him like he doesn’t exist, like he might just evaporate into a purple smudge when she blinks, he’s not sure how to handle it.

“I’m so sorry.” He tries his best. It’s all he can do. Stepping forward through the space.

She’s on her feet fast as she could be, tripping over the one behind her.

“… Darkwing?”

He tried for a smile. It fell flat. “Hi… hello.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to say…” he fumbled, hands turning to fists where they still sat in his pockets. “I wanted to say I was sorry. And… if there was anything I could do-”

She shook her head. “I��m going away, soon.”

“I know.”

“My grandpa died.”

“… I know.”

She swallowed hard, looking away for just long enough that the light from the church caught the sheen of her eyes. “You never wrote me back…” There’s a vicious betrayal behind her voice. “I wanted to be your sidekick. I told you that… that there were bad things, but you never came.” She looked back at him again. “You were supposed to be a hero.”

His lungs twinged. Something in his chest snapped. “I couldn’t do anything.”

“ Why ?”

“Because that’s not what heroes do. We really don’t have much control over social services, kid. That stuff- it’s all up to normal people. The government. Not people in capes.”

“Then what do they do?”

“They… I don’t know. Stop bad guys. Keep people safe. Watch out for crime. Stuff like that.”

The hurt around her thick. “But I needed you.”

“Your grandfather… he did everything.”

Her pigtails slapped the side of her head when she shook her head. “But now he’s not here. And I’m going somewhere else, far away.” She sniffled. “I don’t want to go far away. I wanted to be here. I wanted to be a hero .”

He moved closer, hands finally falling from inside his pockets to move forward, outstretched. “You can be!”

She shook her head again. “I don’t want to be, anymore.”

His hands fell.

She backed away, up another step. “You stop bad guys, and you fight crime. But… but you can’t even write a letter. You can’t even stop bad things from happening.”

“Gosalyn, I’m sorry .”

“You’re just a stupid guy.” She wiped at her eyes quickly before anything could fall. “A stupid, dumb guy, wearing a stupid, dumb costume who wants to be alone . Well- well being alone sucks .” Her voice was rising, fists tightening. “And if that’s what being a hero is, then you can keep it.”

“Gosalyn, please . If I could-”

“Go away.” Her sleeve was up again, wiping her eyes. “Go away .”

She went back into the church.

He stood there for a while, listening to the faint hum of the service from inside.

The empty feeling settled in deep.

For once, Darkwing Duck was the one who felt like an absolute nothing.

Launchpad is a fountain of soft wisdom.

It only takes a few days to extend a hand towards his friend, who throws himself into work tirelessly to push away some sort of hidden hurt.

“DW?”

Darkwing, perched on the top of a fire escape, grunts.

“DW, not to complain… I mean- I love doing this crime fighting bit with you. But do you think, maybe, we can talk about the funk you’re in.”

“It’s not a funk .” Drake took out a pocket tracker he’d been using lately, turning dials to pick up on what the warnings police had been broadcasting all night. Something about a car theft from the upper east side. He could handle that, easy.

“No. I’m sure it’s not but… you know…” he shrugged. “Ever since you went to see the girl-”

“That’s over,” Drake said. “She didn’t want to see me.”

“Yeah, well, she’s a kid . Kids say that stuff. Trust me! I work with a few!”

Drake was quiet a moment, looking over the city. “I barely knew her,” he said, finally. “So it doesn’t matter. She’s in good hands. The city’ll take care of her.”

“She could be in better hands.”

Drake looked down at Launchpad, who was leaning on a railing, picking at the rust casually. “I told you what she said.” The words still stung when he thought back to them. “She doesn’t want a hero. I didn’t write her back.”

“You couldn’t have.”

“Yeah, well…” He scrubbed his face. “What use is Darkwing Duck if he can’t help one lousy kid.”

Again, Launchpad went silent. And he stayed that way for a while. The two of them watched the lights flicker and pulse around them. Across town, a siren roared to life. Cats mewled in the alleyways. Everything smelled a little like after-rain and plaster.

“You know…” Launchpad sat back from the railing, brushing dust off his hands, “not to push you or anything, but maybe Darkwing Duck can’t do anything. Still doesn’t mean that Drake Mallard can’t, either.” He reached out and took the police scanner from Darkwing’s hands, pressing a few buttons. It burst to life. “Come on. Robbery on 32nd. You wanna hit it?”

Drake Mallard nodded and followed after him.

When the suns just coming up the ridge, the lair in sight, Launchpad grabs his shoulder and squeezes it. “You know,” he said. “I keep thinking about Darkwing Duck. The original one. Jim Starling one.”

“Yeah?”

“He was alone a lot. That was his thing, you know?”

Drake did know. His entire life was modeled after the guy. Down to everything he did, said, believed. “That’s who he was. The lone ranger type, you know?”

“Yeah. Well. I was thinking. There were a few episodes where Darkwing got home, and looked sad. Because he didn’t have anyone. And I always sort of thought that was alright, because that’s who he was.” Launchpad gave his shoulder another rough squeeze. “Just saying. There might be more to life than that. You know?”

Drake Mallard loves Darkwing Duck.

It’s what he knows. It’s what he’s comfortable with.

(It’s what he hides behind)

Darkwing Duck would know exactly what to do here. Darkwing Duck was tough. Resilient. Firm. Always got back up. He’d probably write the kid back and tell her that.

“Get back up,” he’d say. “You’re strong. You can do things alone. Get back up.”

He stood in the empty lair.

What about Drake Mallard, a well-stomped-away voice squeaks into existence. What can he do?

Gosalyn wasn’t sure what to think when they told her she was being transferred into a new home.

“He’s never been in the system before,” the woman, Patty, told her as they drove down the lazy roads of a cookie-cutter street. “Actually, he’s sort of new to everything. New house. New job. He seems nice-”

“So did everyone else,” Gosalyn mumbled.

House after house had politely requested she be taken away when they realized she liked to practice backflips in her room and in the backyard. After she’d broken one too many lamps. After she refused to talk about what she liked and didn’t like, and spent hours locked away.

Patty looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Give them a chance,” she said. “You don’t know what they’re like unless you give them a chance.”

They pulled into a driveway of a little white house.

The man sitting on the steps was wearing a pink shirt. He waved when Patty walked over the lawn, fingers tugging nervously on his buttons. Gosalyn stood back.

Patty turned around. “Gosalyn, stop being difficult. Come on. Come say hello!”

Gosalyn ground her teeth and stomped up to him. She glared, arching her back to look at him. “Your shirt’s pink,” she said, voice low and rough. “I hate pink.”

Patty’s face turned a nice shade of pink at that moment, and she looked about ready to yell something down to the little girl about being polite and kind and this is why people keep sending in complaints and can’t you just please try to be nice for once!

She didn’t get a chance when the man by her began to laugh.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know. You like green, right?”

Gosalyn stared at him.

Then he reached into his pocket.

Gosalyn blinked.

Stopped.

Breathed.

“Sorry it took me this long to respond,” he said, holding out the letters. “Drake Mallard had to take off the mask, first.”

Patty doesn’t know what to say when the little girl falls against the Man in the Pink Shirt.

He’s not Darkwing Duck. He tells her that.

His name is Drake Mallard. A former actor and a current superhero.

He wasn’t much of anything special behind the mask, though.

“You don’t know me very well,” he admitted, looking just as nervous as she did. “You know Darkwing. And I’m not really him. I’m someone else.”

“Oh.”

“But I really did want to help you,” he added. “And I really am done with being alone. So I thought, maybe, we could try the whole family thing out together?”

“Oh,” she says again. Her bag is in her new room and they’re sitting on the floor of the living room, facing one another, a box of pizza between them. She looked down at her hands. “Well,” she said. “If I gave you a list of things I liked, maybe you could tell me what you liked. Maybe we’d have stuff in common.”

Drake Mallard laughed. “I think that’s a great idea.”

Gosalyn Mallard turned eight years old and decided that her favorite color was definitely green.

Her favorite dinosaur was the stegosaurus.

Her favorite sport was probably hockey.

Her favorite shirt was the jersey stuffed in the back of her drawers that she saved for special occasions.

And her favorite person was surprisingly not Darkwing Duck.

But the man behind the mask (who loved some of the same things, except for knitting and sewing and baking) definitely was.

He made great cookies.

He knew how to tuck her in.

They painted her room green.

Somehow, he knew just the right way to hug.

It was also the year she decided that things were worth liking again.

Drake Mallard was almost 40, came from nowhere, and wasn’t much of anything special.

But apparently, a year later, after Gosalyn (officially his, last name and all) handed him a list of THINGS I LIKE that had his name right at the top, he figured that being Drake Mallard may not have been the worst.

Drake Mallard has friends. Drake Mallard has a new house, with a nice kitchen, and a good place to knit.

Drake Mallard has a daughter, who breaks a few lamps, and never cleans her room, and winds her arms around him before she goes to bed, mumbling little embarrassed I love you’s into his pink shirt.

“Love you too, slugger,” he always says, sending her up.

Darkwing Duck never had that.

Taking off the mask and balancing the time between gets easier.

Apparently, asking what Drake Mallard would do had benefits. Because Drake Mallard knew how to read bedtime stories, and Drake Mallard knew how to foster kids, and Drake Mallard knew how to patch up scrapes, and make a pie, and host eight year old birthday parties.

Drake Mallard definitely knew how to sign adoption papers, and then realize, moments later he had.

Drake Mallard could realize he was in too deep and had absolutely fallen head over heels for a little girl.

Darkwing Duck couldn’t have done all that.

They begin finding that they like life a whole lot more when they’re a family, exploring the world together. They don’t know each other as well as they could. Not yet. But they have time.

And so they crumple up all their old letters and lists of ice cream and colors and dinosaurs and slowly-

(ever so slowly)

-start again.

#darkwing duck #2019 darkwing duck #fanfiction #prompts #magic-and-moonlit-wings

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