In Primary School We Had A Creative Writing Assignmentwhere We Had Towrite About A Character In A New,

in primary school we had a creative writing assignment where we had to ‘write about a character in a new, strange situation!’ and i wrote about a squid that was somehow teleported from the ocean to the forest floor and slowly choked to death for two pages and i’ll never quite forget my teacher’s face because it turns out she wanted ‘this new school is scary, i hope i make friends!’ and not a graphic description of a squid dying

“Fall in love with the person who enjoys your madness, not an idiot who forces you to be normal.”

— Unknown

Duke and Jason Being Hood Kids, Part 2

Duke considers cutting his hair off after his parents are hospitalized. Mama used to braid it for him every Sunday, but she obviously can’t do it now that she’s…yeah.

Yeah.

He tries doing it himself and can’t manage anything better than straight-backs. He looks like Queen Latifah in Set It Off. Mama used to braid intricate patterns and gold beads into his hair with ease. Once, when he first started high school, she braided his name into the back of his head. He avoided putting his hood up the whole week just to show it off.

Duke’s never had to do this himself. He watches an endless stream of YouTube tutorials and TikToks, but he just can’t get the hang of it. At one point, he just blows it all out and settles for a low bun because he can’t handle trying again. The girls at school fawn over “all that hair!” Duke just feels like a failure.

That’s when Jason steps in.

“Wish you’d said something sooner.” How does he even respond to that? The Red Hood, guardian of the Narrows, is detangling his hair and parting it into sections. What the fuck is his life? “Now you’ve got split ends.”

“In my defense,” Duke says, grunting softly when Jason pulls a particularly troublesome knot. “I didn’t exactly know I could say something about this. Especially not to you.”

Duke doesn’t point out that Jason’s hair is nothing like his own. That his hair is slightly curly, but nowhere near the kinky texture Duke has. That nobody in the Manor has hair like Duke’s or would understand the difference between a wide-tooth comb and a rat-tail comb. That no one else would know the L-O-C method to keep his hair moisturized, or that Aminata’s Beauty on Hall Street is the only one that carries his favorite deep conditioner. He stays silent and hopes Jason will assume that he meant “I can’t ask the Red Hood to do my hair.”

Jason hums thoughtfully as he clips two detangled sections down. “I can see that. If you’d asked, though, you’d know that the Red Hood makes house-calls. And that some of those calls involve kids who want to go to school looking like somebody loves them.”

Part. Shea butter. Braid. Next.

“No fuckin’ way,” Duke laughs. “You’re—what, braiding hair and trimming split ends in between drug busts? You retwisting locs?”

Part. Shea butter. Braid. Next.

“If that’s what it takes,” Jason responds. He sticks the rat-tail comb behind his ear as his fingers move across Duke’s scalp. “Papí at the bodega gives out free snacks. Mr. Chen opens his restaurant to kids who want a safe place to do homework. I blow up warehouses and occasionally make sure kids with no one at home can smile on Picture Day.”

Part. Shea butter. Braid. Next.

“I feel some of type of way about this.”

Part. Shea butter. Braid. Next.

“You want me to stop?”

Part. Shea butter. Braid. Next.

“No. Uh…thanks.”

“Any time.”

I don't think it's a radical ideal for the want of Hawai'i to become their own independent country. It should have never been taken over by the US in the first place. For a country whose entire foundation is based upon "separation from a colonial country" it's laughable that they made an entire population that was self governed into a state. It's insulting. It's already blatantly obvious that this whole country was based on lies and blood, and it only continues to perpetuate that. I'm shocked that the Hawai'ian sovereignty movement isn't mainstream even though they have been fighting for it since 1997. Fuck the American government.

Superman is a foodie.

He can be in Nigeria, Italy, Thailand, Haiti, Venezuela, anywhere in the blink of an eye. He saves the day and then…what, just flies away? Absolutely not. Snack time.

Don’t get him wrong—he adores Ma and loves her cooking, but it’s all very standard Midwestern American. Lots of salads that don’t contain vegetables. Not a whole lot of spice. It’s comforting and familiar, and it’s what he wants most when he’s feeling down. That said, once he dons the cape and old ladies in different corners of the world start offering him snacks? He starts exploring and loves what he finds.

Egusi and fufu. Kimchi jjigae. Jerk chicken with rice and peas. Pani puri. Curry goat. Mapo tofu. Soul food. Each dish is an exploration and appreciation of culture, and it certainly helps that locals in every city he touches down in have recommendations.

The downside is that League members (and their associates) realize they can buy favors and bribe him with food. The upside? Provided nobody gets hurt, Clark doesn’t mind.

Bruce: I need you to keep an eye on Red Hood. He’s been quieter than usual and that’s typically followed by explosions.

Clark: You know, you could just talk—

Bruce: Got you these macarons from Paris.

Clark: 🤐

Jason: Did that old bastard really send you to babysit me?

Clark: He cares—

Jason: Dominican spot down the street has a bacalao guisado special today. They gave me an extra order by accident.

Clark:…No explosions, rubber bullets only. Call your father.

Hal: I fucked up real bad and you can’t tell Spooky.

Clark: How bad?

Hal: No one’s hurt, no one’s in danger, but there may be photos of Ollie’s bare ass on the internet.

Clark: Why?

Hal: Boba says you saw nothing, know nothing, and don’t know whose ass it is.

Clark: Large mango and dragonfruit slush with brown sugar boba.

Hal: Done.

Clark: I am legally blind for the next hour.