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creative writing assignment for school (ignore the references to the things they carried)

I was three months old when I got my first piercing. My mother placed an ice cube on my ear, to numb the pain, and then struck it with a needle. I didn’t cry.

I was three months old when I got my first pair of earrings. They were beautiful gold studs. Embedded in the center was a diamond—small, but nevertheless still a diamond. I never appreciated their value, not until much later, anyway. Mary Anne Bell had her white culottes and pink sweater, while I had my earrings. Once Mary Anne cut her hair and began dressing the way she wanted, she was free of the constraints that femininity placed on her. I thought that was what I wanted too.

I was three years old when I got my second pair of earrings. They were a gift from my grandmother, a woman who always knew what she wanted and how to get it, so naturally, I was expected to wear them. So I did. Every day, for the next few years.

I was thirteen years old when I started hating my earrings. In Indian culture, men wearing earrings is normal, almost expected. In America, it’s quite the opposite. I was constantly perceived as feminine man, at best, and a woman, at worst. Femininity restricted me, made me someone I wasn’t. I thought my earrings were preventing me from fitting in the way I wanted.

I was fourteen when I took my earrings out. The constant misinterpretation of who I was was too much, too overwhelming for my younger self to handle. So I eliminated what I thought was the source of the problem: my earrings. I put my earrings in a box, locked it, and shoved it in a dark corner where they would hopefully never see the light of day.

Curt Lemon was afraid of not being perceived as enough of a man, so he had the dentist yank out a perfectly good tooth. Even though his teeth weren’t hurting him (and probably made him happy too), he felt the need to take them out to prove a point.

This perfectly encapsulated my own dilemma. I liked my earrings. They were uniquely mine; thoughtful gifts from my family that represented a part of my culture. Even then, my earrings were, as I thought back then, the reason I felt disingenuous and felt the need to overcompensate. 

Taking out my earrings didn’t help—I just took away something that brought me joy. Mary Anne Bell’s fiance tried to constrain her into a box by limiting her ability to act on her desire to explore Vietnam in its whole. She wanted to be free from the expectations placed on her, and do what made her happy in the end. Like her, that’s all I wanted. I wanted my earrings to not take away from who I was, but to add to it.

I was seventeen years old when I repierced my ears. My sister left her earrings scattered around the house when she moved away for college; everywhere I looked, there seemed to be a reminder of what I gave up for my supposed masculinity.

I don’t know what came over me, but I picked up two earrings: one hoop, one drop. I braced myself for the imminent pain, but it was nowhere to be found. The hoop went in first, into my right ear, painlessly. The drop earring was next; similarly, there was no discomfort. I looked at myself in the mirror, and for the first time in a long while, I felt like myself. Once again, like Mary Anne, I was able to do what made me happy without worrying about others.

When I went back to school the day after I pierced my ears, nothing had changed. People still treated me the same. Life wasn’t any different. I wasn’t any more feminine, and I wasn’t any more masculine. I was finally myself again.

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Jerry sighed, burying his head in the mountains of paperwork in front of him. Why, oh why, did his boss trust him with this? He’s just a goon! He didn’t even graduate middle school, how is he supposed to be an accountant?! He had signed up to use his 6’4”, 250 pound figure to intimidate people into forking over some cash, not to do math!

Another goon (coworker?) spun around in his spinny chair to face Jerry. “Hey man, I get it, but Boss has been crackin’ down on us henchmen lately. Red Hood’s been gettin’ dangerously close to stealin’ the whole ‘crime boss’ shtick, so Boss is rightfully pissed off.”

Jerry groaned, voice still muffled by the paperwork. “All I wanna do is go beat some people up, is that too much to ask? I literally work for a crime boss! The crime boss!”

The other goon shrugged. “I dunno what to tell you man, maybe you should just go home,” He swiveled back to his own desk, leaving Jerry alone with his thoughts. So obviously, he decided to go home.

No sane Gothamite would decide to walk alone at nighttime in Gotham. However, Jerry relished the thrill of being mugged. It was why he had decided to work for Matches Malone, after all. After fighting off a few wannabe muggers (amateurs, they didn’t even know how to mug properly!), Jerry came across a person who looked a lot like his boss.

Now, while Jerry had only met Matches once, the older man’s figure had seared itself into his memory. Matches had come into the warehouse where Jerry was “working” (beating people up) and offered him a “promotion” (working in corporate office hell). At the time, Jerry had been too scared to say no, but right now, he really wished that he had the balls to reject his boss.

So when he came across a heated encounter between the Red Hood and someone who shared the same build as his boss, it was the logical conclusion that they were obviously fighting over territory. Jerry ducked into a nearby alleyway because- hello, who’s going to make themselves the target of two crime lords?

“Crime Alley is my territory, old man! You don’t get to just prance in here and rule the place, acting all high and mighty, when you step foot in here once a year!”

“I have just as much right to be here as you do, Hood! You can’t just claim an entire area and expect everyone else to keep out of it!” Not-Matches spoke forcefully. As much as Jerry was scared for his life, a part of him was invested in the territory drama unfurling in front of him.

Hood spoke again, throwing his hands in the air in apparent frustration. “You don’t get it! You think you understand the Alley because you’re Matches fucking Malone, but all you see is bottom-of-the-barrel trash!”

Wow, rude much?

“The Alley has so much more than just criminals! There’s children who feel like they need to commit crimes just to feed their families! Kids are orphaned, and who the fuck is gonna hire them above the table when they’re ten years old, huh? Who the fuck is able to follow your shitty ass moral code when they’re a mother in an abusive relationship and they’ve got a kid to take care of? They do what they can to survive! I did what I could to survive!” Hood continued, panting as he finished his passionate tirade.

Of course, that was when Jerry had to trip over his own two feet outside of his temporary sanctuary, drawing the attention of the two men arguing.

Red Hood and Not-Matches-But-Is-Matches simultaneously turned to face the suddenly trembling goon, who stuttered out a meek apology. “I-I’m sorry Boss! And you too Mr. Hood sir! I didn’t mean to listen in on your conversation, I promise! Please don’t kill me!” He pleaded, closing his eyes and bracing for the inevitable bullet between the eyes.

When nothing happened, Jerry hesitantly cracked open one eye, then another. He finally snuck a look at the two men he was so afraid of, only to see… Batman? If Hood was talking to Batman, then where’s his boss? Unless…

“BATMAN IS MATCHES MALONE?!” Jerry all-but-screamed, drawing one amused glance and one death stare.

Red Hood snorted. “I ain’t bailing you outta this one, B. You’re on your own.”

“And I suppose you heard everything, Jerry?” Batman sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. After this revelation, there was only one thing Jerry could think about.

The utter hatred for his office job.

“Boss, you’re one annoying ass motherfucker, and I would totally try to fight you if I wasn’t sure that you’d beat my ass to a pulp.” Jerry snarled, hopefully telepathically transmitting his sheer anger towards Batman. If only he was someone like Martian Manhunter.

Batman’s face knitted itself into a confused expression. “I’m… not sure what you mean? I got you out of doing all the grunt work because I saw your potential,” The man spoke in his usual gravelly tone.

“Don’t act like you don’t know, Matches. You took me from the job I loved, the job I signed up for, and- and you placed me into corporate hell!” Jerry scoffed.

Red Hood burst out laughing and stepped forward, slinging his arm around Jerry’s shoulder.

“Wanna get outta here, man? Come work for me instead, I’ll get ya doing the stuff you love. Big man like you’s gotta be great for fighting, right?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Jerry replied without an ounce of hesitation. The two of them walked away, completely ignoring Batman as they chattered to each other. The vigilante was left to dwell on this encounter by himself.

“What… the fuck just happened?”

has anyone ever done one where a goon finds out "holy shit, matches malone is batman" ?

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my parasitic writing brain worm left me i got nothing [sad face] i was gonna have danny haunting a carousel and then freaking out the bats because he’s creepy as fuck but idk anymore

the haunted carousel (part one)

A beep awoke Tim from his frankly restless slumber. He rolled over in bed, picking his phone up. He audibly groaned, seeing an incoming phone call from Dick Grayson. So obviously, he did the sensible thing and put the phone back down, rolling right back to sleep.

One minute later, another beep rang through the still air of Tim’s bedroom. Frustratedly, he picked up and ground out a question.

“What the fuck do you want, Dickhead?” He asked through gritted teeth, internally seething. Dick, despite speaking in his Richie Wayne voice, sounded uncharacteristically serious when responding.

“Timmy, we need you at the manor. Bruce and I were planning to dress up to go out tonight, but our favorite club got shut down! Apparently they were dealing drugs, who knew?” Dick giggled, the very picture of an airhead. Tim knew better, though. Clearly, something was wrong if his brother couldn’t speak freely. Why would he go through all the trouble to contact Tim while there was an identity problem? His mind swirled with possibilities, but he focused on interpreting Dick’s words.

Dressing for a night out? Definitely code for going out as vigilantes.

Now, the harder part was their favorite club getting shut down for dealing drugs. Problems at the Iceberg Lounge, perhaps? Nevertheless, he had to respond.

“Oh no, Dick, that’s horrible! Let me come over, we can have a movie night together to make you and Bruce feel better!” He, admirably, tried to chirp out cheerfully. “Where are you right now, let’s meet up!”

A ditzy laugh came from the phone screen, followed by Dick saying, “Oh, I’m at the police station! This nice man found the owner of the bar trying to sell some drugs to me. I’ll see you soon!”

“Wait-“ And he hung up. What a dick (no pun intended).

So Tim, like the wonderful little brother that he is, got out of bed, pulled on a semi-formal outfit (after all, the CEO of Wayne Enterprises can’t be seen looking any less than perfect in public), and drove to the station.

After a painfully long period of time driving (in which some idiots forgot how to follow a fucking speed limit), Tim arrived at the station. What he saw there floored him.

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the haunted carousel (part one)

A beep awoke Tim from his frankly restless slumber. He rolled over in bed, picking his phone up. He audibly groaned, seeing an incoming phone call from Dick Grayson. So obviously, he did the sensible thing and put the phone back down, rolling right back to sleep.

One minute later, another beep rang through the still air of Tim’s bedroom. Frustratedly, he picked up and ground out a question.

“What the fuck do you want, Dickhead?” He asked through gritted teeth, internally seething. Dick, despite speaking in his Richie Wayne voice, sounded uncharacteristically serious when responding.

“Timmy, we need you at the manor. Bruce and I were planning to dress up to go out tonight, but our favorite club got shut down! Apparently they were dealing drugs, who knew?” Dick giggled, the very picture of an airhead. Tim knew better, though. Clearly, something was wrong if his brother couldn’t speak freely. Why would he go through all the trouble to contact Tim while there was an identity problem? His mind swirled with possibilities, but he focused on interpreting Dick’s words.

Dressing for a night out? Definitely code for going out as vigilantes.

Now, the harder part was their favorite club getting shut down for dealing drugs. Problems at the Iceberg Lounge, perhaps? Nevertheless, he had to respond.

“Oh no, Dick, that’s horrible! Let me come over, we can have a movie night together to make you and Bruce feel better!” He, admirably, tried to chirp out cheerfully. “Where are you right now, let’s meet up!”

A ditzy laugh came from the phone screen, followed by Dick saying, “Oh, I’m at the police station! This nice man found the owner of the bar trying to sell some drugs to me. I’ll see you soon!”

“Wait-“ And he hung up. What a dick (no pun intended).

So Tim, like the wonderful little brother that he is, got out of bed, pulled on a semi-formal outfit (after all, the CEO of Wayne Enterprises can’t be seen looking any less than perfect in public), and drove to the station.

After a painfully long period of time driving (in which some idiots forgot how to follow a fucking speed limit), Tim arrived at the station. What he saw there floored him.

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Dick, Jason, and Bruce watched in muted horror as a scaly green hand ripped a hole through the fabric of reality, a swirling Lazarus green portal emerging behins it. As the being emerged, Bruce narrowed his eyes, mentally calculating the odds of defeating a being with power over reality itself.

A green portal? Indicates an affiliation with the Lazarus Pits. Potentially associated with Ra’s al Ghul- explains how the being was able to portal directly into the Batcave.

Scaly hand? A possible reptilian eldritch individual, maybe Killer Croc level sedatives would work? Bruce mentally shelved the ideas as the being stepped through the portal.

A scaly foot stepped through, then another, then the being came fully into view. Jason felt paralyzed; his entire being froze upon meeting eyes (?) with the creature. The aura of pure death was piercing, rooting his feet to the ground and pinning his arms to his side. It was everything he had in him to not collapse to the floor.

“Is this the residence of the various Gotham vigilantes?” An inhuman voice spoke.

”Who are you? How did you get in here?” Bruce demanded, ignoring his overwhelming fear.

“Is there a ‘Red Robin’ here?” The being asked again.

The Bats immediately fall into a defensive stance. When an unknown knows the location of the Batcave and wants to find a specific vigilante, it’s almost a guarantee that nothing good will happen.

Unlocking, Tim- not Red Robin, Tim Drake himself- walks into the room. The being turns to face him and speaks.

“Ah, Tim Drake, I have been looking for you for quite some time.”

The Bats watch, ready to jump into action at the slightest hint of malice. They are even more surprised when Tim responds.

“Been a while, Danny. Took you a long ass time to find me, guess you’re getting old.”

The entity melts into a human boy, appearing to be around Tim’s age. Is there a new child villain? What the fuck is going on?

‘Danny’ responds, throwing his hands up into the air with exasperation.

“Dude, you gotta let me fix you. Clockwork’s pissed off at you and your apparent abuse of the time stream to gain immortality. You owe me one for dragging Batman out, remember?”

Immortality? What the fuck?

When Danny Phantom appears in the Batcave, everyone expects he's there for Jason. Whether to cleanse him of Lazarus water, or pull him into the afterlife it depends on the person, but what no one expects is that he's there for Tim.

Meanwhile, Danny doesn't mind dealing with some ectopoisoning while he's in the neighborhood, but the real reason Clockwork sent him to Gotham is to retether Red Robin to the time stream so he can finally age to adulthood. He has spent way too long as a teenager, and no one seems to be noticing.

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where danny is the official unpaid intern of the infinite realms

everyone (including myself) is wrong i have decided that danny is NOT the ghost king he’s actually just the unpaid intern of everyone in the infinite realms.

It would be so funny just like:

Clockwork: Danny, there is something I need you to do for me.

Danny, exasperated but still polite (in the typical Midwest manner): Yes, Clockwork?

Clockwork: gives him some bogus task that involves something like jumping into a time stream and retrieving someone (cough cough batman?? cough cough dpxdc crossover?? sorry guys i live for dpxdc content)

Danny, eyes twitching: And what do I get out of this?

Clockwork, with a smug look on his face: I’ll pay you in experience. This will look very good on your resume when you eventually apply to jobs.

Danny, beginning a Grade One crash out: And… while applying to a very human job, I can put that I assisted the physical incarnation of Time on my very human resume and… get the job? Is that what you delude yourself into thinking? Are you broke? Is that why you won’t fucking pay me?

Clockwork, shrugging: I mean, you can always not accept the experience that I’m offering you, it’s just that the timeline will collapse and it’ll be all your fault. Your choice!

Danny:

Danny: fine.

The next week…

Clockwork: Danny, I need a favor.

Danny: No fucking shot.

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that time when danny accidentally overshadowed bruce wayne (dpxdc)

Danny felt a pull on his gut- a pull that he’s intimately familiar with, a pull that is almost always followed by a summoning. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to follow the sensation, going ghost in the middle.

Meanwhile, Bruce Wayne was sitting in the middle of a chalk circle, tied haphazardly to a chair. A cloth was stuffed into his mouth, likely because his kidnappers got tired of his brain-dead yapping. He internally rolled his eyes, waiting for one of the Bats to “save” him.

His kidnappers stepped out of the shadows, surrounding the chalk circle which was not actually a chalk circle and holy shit that’s a ritual circle and he’s a sacrifice and has the Brucie Wayne persona bled through to his actual brain because how could he have missed that-

The cultists began chanting in Latin, and Bruce began to panic slightly. Where were the bats??

Before they finished the supposed summoning, the Bats broke through a window. They took down the cultists with ease, readying themselves to retrieve Bruce from the circle.

It was too late, however.

The chalk circle began to glow a strangely familiar shade of green, reminiscent of the Lazarus Pits. Red Robin, Nightwing, and Red Hood attempted to break the chalk circle, but a barrier went up and he couldn’t get through. The Bats were forced to watch in horror as their father- the man who took them in when they had nothing, the man who raised them, loved them, helped them, saved them- was consumed by green light.

After a minute, the green light died down. Siting unscathed in the center of the light was Bruce. The Bats rushed to him, ready to check him over, when he stood up robotically and turned to them.

“Yo, uh, I think I accidentally possessed Batman? I kinda gotta get back to school, I have a math test that I was actually prepared for and now I’m going to miss it! Also I am so not used to being in the body of a grown man, can y’all exorcise me or something?”

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gen alpha damian

give me gen alpha damian wayne. do it.

Now, I know what everyone is thinking. “Damian’s so serious!! He would never use slang!!”

I raise you this: consider how funny it would be.

I think it would go like this:

Damian, in the middle of fighting Riddler: Imagine being an unskilled, unskibidi, loser beta!

Damian, decking him in the face: Riddler? More like no-rizzler!

Damian when Riddler’s obnoxious hat falls off during battle: Fanum tax!

Damian, dragging a hog-tied Riddler back to Arkham: Bro got cooked, I’m literally hitting the griddy on you right now. I mogged you so hard, start mewing more then break out again. Chat is he ready to go back to Ohio?

Riddler: what the fuck

Later, in the Batcave:

Nightwing, trying to bond with his little brother by using his generation’s slang terms: What’s up, opp!

(He thought “opp” meant something like “opportunist”, referencing Damian’s ability to take advantage of all the openings Riddler left in his defense.)

Nightwing, not noticing the stony look on Damian’s face: You got so cooked today, better looksmaxx harder!

(He mixed up “cooked” with “got cooked” and tried to tell Damian that he should take a break and do some self-care.)

Damian: Get away from me, you bastard!

Nightwing: what the fuck did i do

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where danny is the god of gods (dpxdc)

I like to interpret the Infinite Realms as what the name suggests: truly infinite. It could be the dimension that binds everything together, where everyone from every dimension and universe goes when they perish. Maybe these poor, unfortunate souls become blob ghosts, who knows?

Anyway, the Ghost King is the dude that has power over all of this. Essentially, he’s like the capital G God. Now imagine the other pantheons of gods. Greek, Indian, Egyptian, etc. The Ghost King literally rules over the gods.

When Danny defeated Pariah Dark, he became the Ghost King. It’s now his job to keep everyone under his command in line, keep them from destroying the universe. So, let’s assume the Justice League is fighting Ares (again). All of a sudden, this tiny child glowing green flickers into existence.

The Justice League is understandably concerned. How the hell is the kid flying? Where did he come from? Most importantly, why is he here? They ready themselves for battle.

Then, the child speaks.

“Ares, dude, we talked about this! You can’t try to enslave entire dimensions just because you’re bored, do you know how much paperwork you’ve caused me?!”

The Justice League is floored, even more so when Ares hangs his head and pouts like a toddler, apologizing to the strange glowing child-not-child.