I did not use Peter Parker as a face claim. I did not.My name is Andrew Hughes. For five years I was – Oh, not here? Okay. Gotcha.
| ALIAS: |Oh, I don’t know. Something to do with fire. Fireman? Nah. Pfft.
| AGE: |Sixteen and proud.
| ABILITIES/SKILLS/EQUIPMENT: |Solar Manipulation: I can manipulate solar energy. Got an orange flame that burns at impossible temperatures and incinerates things at subatomic levels. I can use it to fly sometimes, too. I know. Awesome, right?
Hand to Hand Combat: Yeah, I box. Who even is this Batman guy, anyway?
Acrobatics: I can do flippy tricks.
Sass: Sass is an art, and I have all but mastered it. I can burn people in more ways than one.
| LIMITATIONS AND WEAKNESSES: |Control: It’s kinda hard to control my power. Gets annoying, really. I mean, having the power of a sun is all well and good, but knowing that overexertion = no more me (or other people) is more than a little daunting.
Humanity: I’m only human. Do the maths. Flames don’t do much good against a dude that can smash my ribs into tiny little pieces (assuming he’s fireproof).
Naivety: I’ve been told that I see too much good in people. That’s total baloney (bologna, whatever). One time when I was six, this guy cut in line at the Scooby-Doo ride in Movie World. He made me wait another five minutes in that hellhole. I can tell you now, he’s got no good in him. He’s just an asshole.
| SAMPLE POST: |Like Hillan said: Screw the rules. Here’s an excerpt or two from
Teen Titans: Divided We Fall.
I’ll be honest with you. When the door opened, I did not expect what I saw. I don’t know why, but I was sure it would open to reveal a pimply teen dressed in poorly made tights, like a nerd right outta Comic Con. I realise now that that’s an absolutely stupid thing to think, especially considering that these guys were next in line to become Justice Leaguers, but still. I was not expecting a uber-hot punk girl with guns to show up and make me sputter and die, much like that shitty car my parents bought me for my sixteenth birthday. Looking back on it, I can’t help but think, “What would Gabe have done?”
I’ll tell you what. He would’ve looked her up and down, stared her in the eyes, and threatened getting shot by saying, “Sorry. You’re not my type.” But goddamnit, I’m not Gabe, and I sure as hell don’t have a type.
So after she not-so subtly threatened to put a bullet in my brain, all I managed to say was, “Uh… hi.”
Fucking hormones.
Realising that that probably didn’t ensure my survival, I decided to rephrase, removing my helmet to reveal my amazing jawline, breathing deep. “Luke is my friend,” I explained, “I met him back when he was still in Gotham, going solo as Sandstorm. I was on holiday (it didn’t feel like one, though. Who the hell goes to Gotham for a holiday?), but we met as vigilantes, and teamed up for the two weeks I was there. We kept in touch afterwards. Every second day we’d send our statuses to each other. But I didn’t get a message yesterday. Or the two days beforehand. He’s gone missing. Something’s up. And with all this stuff going on with the VRA and San Fran, I don't think he's in hiding. Not by choice, anyway. It's not like him. Something's up."
I paused, tracked my eyes along the girl's figure, caught myself, thought, Damn you, hot people, and pressed on. "I can tell you're in the middle of something, so, uh, sorry to interrupt. But I need your help. You guys are the only chance I've got to find Sandy. Will you help me? Or shoot me?"
I tried not to show it, but I hoped to fucking Superman that they'd do the first.
(In response to this guy.)
Ah, Sentinel. The Kid Krypto. The Teen of Steel. The Junior of Tomorrow. Superboy. I’ll be honest with you, the first time I heard him speak, I didn’t like him very much. Guy used his powers to read my vitals, and came to the conclusion that I was scared. Scared? I wasn’t scared. Nervous, sure. But scared? The hell was he talking about?
I wasn’t afraid of a bullet. I was afraid of what I’d do if one came at me.
Also, he pissed me off because I thought that gun-chick would think I was a wuss.
“Hey, come on, man,” I said, addressing him, “Don’t ruin my chances.” I thought of sneaking Pistolwhip a wink, but thought better of it. No thank you, bullets. Stay in your magazines.
- Nightwing's my fave. There. I said it. Prof. Grayson is my hero.
- I keep a log, of sorts. It's not a journal, but it's not a diary, either. It just helps me vent, I guess.
- Also, I kinda really want a Hershey's bar. Cookies and cream. I keep a stash under my bed in my dorm. Mmm, mmm.
- I come from a land down under.
- I'm gonna have to be the boring one: water's my jam.
