Fan Creation Friday: What Was Your Favorite DC Character Like As a Teenager?

Welcome to another Fan Creation Friday - it’s that time again! :slight_smile:

:pencil2: This Week’s Exercise :pencil2:
In celebration of Shazam’s release, and the edge-of-your-seat Meta Madhouse brawl presently taking place between his Sorcerers, the theme of this week’s prompt is Transformation.

Create a piece depicting what you imagine the DC character(s) of your choice were like as teenagers, describing a transformative moment that helped put them on the path to becoming the characters we all know and love!

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:rotating_light: Guidelines:
:heavy_check_mark: Word Count Restriction: 3,000 word maximum.
:heavy_check_mark: Character Restrictions: Pre-established DC Characters, only. No restriction on hero, villain, etc.
:heavy_check_mark: Prompt Restrictions: N/A

:bulb: Note: If you need help developing an idea, have suggestions or just general questions, please see the FCF Introduction thread titled, “DC Universe Presents: Fan Creation Fridays!” in the Watchtower section, here: https://www.dcuniverse.com/community/boards/watchtower/dc-universe-presents-fan-c

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Ohhhh man. This is gonna be a good one.

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Going Swimming

Helena Wayne, thirteen year old daughter of Earth 2 Batman Bruce Wayne and Catwoman Selina Kyle, thought her dad was going to teach her to fly the Batplane.

Helena was proud to be wearing her Robin costume and hoped in a few years to go on patrol with her parents.

“Observe and memorize,” her dad said, in his low, grim Batman voice.

Thus Helena was distracted until Batman threw a parachute her way.

“Catch,” as Batman pushed the button that opened the roof on her side and then her ejection seat.

She clung to her parachute as she used her Batknife to cut herself from the seat. Seeing the ocean below, she knew the seat would become a deathtrap, if she remained there.

Helena jumped away from the seat.

She managed to put on the parachute and opened it too late for an optimal landing.

Helena hit the water hard.

She quickly cut the parachute off, and then, reluctantly her yellow cape, to increase her chances of survival.

.“There is an island four miles from here, due North,” said the voice in her ear piece.

That is his way of saying I didn’t mess up too much, thought Helena.

She started to swim, using the combo breaststroke and freestyle technique her father had taught her. Mom did not like the water, except for the boat where she had first met dad. Dad always argued that they met on a roof.

Wonder what she’s cooking for supper?

Concentrate on what’s important, part of her brain said, the dad part.

I got this, Daddy, but I will be hungry, she answered back, or would have, if he was here.

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Alfred Pennyworth had noticed a major deterioration in Bruce Wayne’s mental and physical health. Alfred sought Leslie Thompkins opinion on the matter.
Alfred: Frankly, I am worried Leslie. It has been years since that night, but Bruce can’t move past it.
Leslie: Alfred, we both know Bruce’s maladaptive behavior is a result of extreme psychological trauma. I know we don’t trust Hugo, but he is right about the link between Bruce’s cognitive distortions and recent deterioration.
Alfred: Hugo’s methods are questionable and his professional background is strange. Is there anyone you know who experienced a similar trauma to Bruce?
Leslie: I know of a patient from one of my clinics. She lost her entire family. Her name is Helena. Helena Bertinelli.
Alfred: The crime family Bertinelli? I just hope she does not influence him. What are her current whereabouts?
Leslie: Alfred… I am not a detective. After she was treated she was put in the foster system. She does however have an appointment with my clinic tomorrow. Bring Bruce for his monthly checkup. And Alfred?
Alfred: Thank you Leslie. This mild-mannered butler owes you an apology for missing our reservations. I will make it up to you.
Leslie: I know you will.

The next day at the clinic.
Bruce: Alfred I know your concerned, but I have everything under control.
Alfred: You have two choices here. You either get on board or no seeing Selina.
Leslie: Bruce how are you? Have you gotten taller?
Bruce: Fine. Ask Alfred.
Alfred: I apologize for Bruce’s rudeness. Leslie is she here?
Leslie: Yes. She is in the private screening room. Let’s go Bruce.
Bruce: Okay.
Leslie: Bruce, this is Helena Bertinelli. She lost her family at an early age, too.
Helena: Bruce Wayne? I thought you would be taller. Dr.Thompkins what’s with Ask Jeeves?
Leslie: This is Bruce’s…
Alfred: I am Alfred Pennyworth Ms.Bertinelli. Personal caretaker of the Wayne family.
Leslie: We brought you together today because of the trauma you suffered and…
Helena: Free Therapy? Okay. Why is Captain Caveman looking at me like that?
Bruce: I am Bruce Wayne. You may address me as Bruce.
Helena:Okay. So Mr.One Percent Bruce… How does it feel to be like everyone else?
Leslie: Alfred, let’s go.
Alfred: But Bruce.
Leslie: Bruce will be fine. You can’t shelter him forever. I have already informed Helena about Bruce.
Alfred: Alright.
Alfred and Leslie close the door behind them.
Bruce: What do you mean like everyone else?
Helena: Powerless. I am sure you wanted to do something, but you were afraid. I bet that’s why your here. To talk about that fear.
Bruce: You don’t know anything.
Helena: I know what it’s like to see your entire family murdered in a flash. I know you want vengeance.
Bruce: The gunman got away. I didn’t see his face. How can you get vengeance against a man with no identity?
Helena: You did see his face. I bet you could even tell me what he sounded like.
Bruce: I already tried hypnosis. All I remember is the number of shots and the make of the gun.
Helena: So you do remember. You know I thought you were stupid when I first saw you Bruce. I bet you could even tell me how many of those guns were sold in Gotham illegally.
Bruce: I could but my source wish to stay anonymous.
Helena: You know Bruce. You are lucky. You have the resources to bring change to Gotham, but you focus on the man. Not the gun. Most people in Gotham are a paranoid and fearful lot. If you inspire or change how people perceive a weapon… You could prevent a kid from losing their family because of some punk with a gun.
Bruce: Do you know who murdered your family?
Helena looks down for a moment. Her cheerful expression gone.
Helena: I don’t know. But I know that my family wouldn’t want me to spend my whole life chasing that question. I do know they also would not want to take on everything alone.
Bruce: I do have Alfred and Leslie. Even Selina.
Helena: There you go. You have the support and resources to keep moving forward. I hope you can lose that scowl someday.
Leslie and Alfred walk in.
Alfred: Leslie has to use this room for patients now. We can wait in the car until Leslie has finished.
Leslie: Why don’t you take Helena with you? I’m sure she does not want to be in a crowded waiting room.
Helena: It’s about time I headed home. Thanks Dr.Thompkins. See you later Bruce and Alfred.
Alfred: How about we transport Miss Bertinelli?
Bruce: Okay.
Alfred drove Helena to her house. On the way, Alfred peered to look at Bruce’s face it was the first time in months Bruce seemed happy. Alfred hoped Bruce’s new attitude would persist. That day was a good day that Alfred still remembers today.

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@portalman

It’s nice to see the two Helenas, one right after the other.

Nice work

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@TurokSonOfStone1950
Thank you.
You did nice work as well.

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THE MISSION

I could practically feel my teeth rattling my mouth as the left hook connected. I wasn’t ready for it, and it sent me sprawling. Stupid. I let him distract me, and I took a hit. I can’t afford to make mistakes like that. I slowly planted my arms to hoist myself up from the floor, ignoring the protests of my aching muscles.

“On your feet, son!” he barked in that scratchy voice of his, “I’m not done with you yet!”

I staggered to my feet and looked him in the eyes as he shifted to my right.

“You call this a fight?” he continued, “You can’t throw a punch, I’d at least expect you to be able to take one.”

I gritted my teeth and charged, hands a blur of motion. He dodged each swing as though he’d seen them coming before I ever started moving. As mad as I was, he probably did. He swatted a desperate, overextended haymaker to the side, took one step forward, and drove a fist directly into my stomach.

“I know ten-year-olds who could take you!”

I doubled over, coughing. He took a step closer.

“I think that’s enough for tod-” he began.

I punched him in the ribs, and he jumped back, surprised. I swung again for his face, but he deflected it out of the way.

“Easy, easy,” he said, “It’s a good move but I already called the match.”

“You’re just quitting because I was going to win,” I replied.

“Don’t push your luck, kid,” he said with a laugh.

I mustered a half-smile, but my face fell.

“What am I doing wrong?”

“For one thing?” he said, “You’re letting me get in your head. You remember the first rule of Wildcat’s Gym?”

“You don’t talk about Wildcat’s Gym?” I responded.

“Don’t be a smart aleck,” he said, “It’s ‘Don’t listen to anything Ol’ Ted tells you.’ The second one is ‘That includes the first rule.’”

“But how does that help me when I’m fighting someone else?” I asked as we stepped out of the practice ring and walked to the lockers.

“Slow down, kid. I’m getting to it,” he said, picking up a pair of towels and tossing one to me, “See, I’m gettin’ in your head, but not because I’m making you angry.”

I grabbed the towel and wiped the heavy layer of sweat off my forehead.

“Felt like it to me.”

He sat down on the bench next to the lockers and laced his fingers.

“Nah, nah, you already are angry. Not just at me. Dunno what’s got you so fired up, but I can see it in your eyes. Some guys, they don’t have that. They let their problems run off them, or worse, let ‘em break them down. Other guys have the anger, but they let it eat them up. Make them sloppy, uncoordinated. Predictable. That’s you.”

I folded my arms.

“So I should… what? Take up yoga?”

He shook his head.

“It helps some guys, but that’s not what I’m talking about. See, anger’s good. Anger motivates you. Nobody ever did anything important because they were happy, or sad, or bored. Scared, maybe, but fear’s just anger waiting to happen. What you’re missing is focus.”

He punctuated that last comment by poking me in the forehead. I tilted my head to the side.

“And how do I get focus?”

“A mission, kid. When I’m in the ring, I’ve got a mission: I’ve gotta win that fight. So, I get mad. I get mad at the fight. Mad at the other guy’s defenses. Mad at his strategy. Mad at the mission. Never mad at him. Am I making sense here?”

I picked up my bag.

“Yeah, I think you are.”

He laughed again.

“There’s a first. Alright, be back here at six again tomorrow.”

“Sure thing, Ted,” I told him as I turned away, but I stopped.

“By the way,” I said, “One question: Was the part about the ten-year-olds true?”

“Ha! If you met Dinah Junior, you’d believe me.”

“See you tomorrow, Ted,” I said, almost smiling.

“See you tomorrow, Bruce. And Come back with a mission when you do show up.”

That day, when I left the gym, I may not have had a mission, but at least I had a mission to find one.

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@BatJamags Your story is Amazing! Do you have any tips for me? I have trouble with understanding and remembering grammar. I go by ear. I also have not written anything since public school (2013). I would really appreciate any sources for becoming a better writer. Thank you.

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That was great, BatJamags! Reminded me a lot of Wildcat training Holly in Brubaker’s Catwoman.

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Well, thanks for the compliments!

@portalman: A lot of it is just practice, honestly. Grammar specifically is pretty much just a matter of learning the rules until you’re used to them. It also helps if you have someone break down your work for editing and constructive criticism and such so you can see what needs improving. As far as what you wrote, I will say you’ve got a good handle on the characters’ voices and had a solid plot structure. That said, the script format is generally considered kind of unprofessional. I don’t have a huge issue with it, but it generally is good to avoid in a story, because it annoys some people to no end. One thing that I struggle with a lot is getting more descriptive detail into the narration. For me, solving that problem has been almost entirely a practice thing. For dialogue-heavy scenes, one thing I find helpful is to have the characters be doing something while they talk. That way, you can break up all the dialogue with descriptions of their actions. Plus, it avoids the problems of either saying “said” a hundred times in a row or finding increasingly obtuse synonyms for “said,” since you can just assume the last character the narration mentioned is the one talking (that’s assuming no script format, which, as I said, actually works fine, but isn’t really the “professional” way of doing it, can lose some opportunity for description, and makes pedantic people mad).

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@BatJamags Thank you for the feedback! I really appreciate it. I’ll start practicing writing more.

Some Background:
Writing has never been my strongest skill. It’s actually my weakest skill. I am more competent in Math and Science. But I want to be a better at communication and I think writing will be the best way to do that.

This is the first fan fiction I have written, so I knew it would be rough to look at. Thank you for your time.

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I wrote an issue a couple months ago of an elseworld I came up with.

Speeding Bullets: Remake Issue #1

This is the story of two brothers, two bullets, two heroes, and two villains. This is a story of Batman and a story of Superman. This is the end of Gotham.

A rocket ship and a child. The house of El
A rocket ship and a child. The house of Zod
A young girl dreaming of being a reporter
A young girl, becoming her father’s weapon.

A rocket ship and a teen. The house of El
Three ships depart from Krypton.
2 ships arrive, one is stranded.

A couple planning to have a child.
A mayor receiving funding.

The Wayne Manor.

Martha: Thomas look!

Two ships attracted together arrived in the middle. One was bound for Kansas, the other the Soviet Union. Together they landed at the Wayne Manor.

Thomas: What are those? ( Pointing at the ships)
Martha: It’s a baby! What about the other one?
Thomas: It’s a baby too. Look Martha I know what you’re thinking but is it even possible for us to adopt to children.
Martha: Of course it is. Look we have more than ample space and we were planning to have a child.
Thomas: but our image! We can’t just appear with two babies who are each a year
Martha: we will just claim I had twins.
Thomas: but no one ever saw you pregnant.
Martha: Thomas you worry too much.
Thomas: I can’t say no to you. What do we name them?
Martha: Let’s decide tonight, and I love it when you listen to me. Alfred? Please order us two cribs and take these two ships to the basement.

Bruce and Damian Wayne grew up, well loved but always brothers. They rarely agree, but liked similar things. They always strove to outcompete the other in sports. Though their parents always recommended working hard to get into Gotham Academy, they always preferred the rush of the game. The split-second decisions, the hard work, and the reward.
The private soccer field:
Damian: Beat that! (shooting from halfway across the field)
Bruce (does it but 10 feet farther away): Hah!
Damian(10 feet more back): Kicks as hard as he can. The ball hits the net so hard that the net breaks and a nearby tree falls down from the impact.
Bruce: Woah! I want to do that!
Alfred walks over
Alfred: Master Bruce and Damian Lunch is ready. Oh dear what happened?
Damian: i kicked the ball to hard?
Alfred: well I guess we need a new goal.

Alfred writes a note.

Dear Thomas and Martha,
I think it’s time to do some research on the children. Today Damian kicked a soccer ball and felled a tree. It doesn’t seem possible. I worry that it’s too dangerous to play. They’ve always been good but not this good.

Damian: Alfred!!! Where’s our lunch
Alfred: I’ll get it right away.

The theatre

Bruce: Hey, Mom thanks for renting out the theatre.
Martha: Of course, I love you.
Damian: Mom!
Martha: I love you too!
Thomas: But I love all of you more!!!
Damian: Dad, you’re drooling on me!

Ring ring ring
Thomas (opens flip phone): Yes? Hey Martha, Alfred is running late.
Martha: Why don’t we take them to that Pizza Restaurant we used to eat at.
Thomas: Why not?

The alleyway
Thomas: Boys! Behave yourself.

A figure drops from the nearest balcony.
Joe: Necklace now!
Thomas: Boys! Behind me.
Martha: Look we don’t want to fight! We just want to go get pizza.
Joe: I said Necklace
Martha: Here!
Joe: Wallet!
Thomas reaches for phone. Dials 911
Joe pulls gun
Thomas: You don’t want to do this. Please, we will give you whatever you want
911 what is your emergency

Bang! Boys scream. Martha panics

Martha: Alley near Tony’s Pizza

Bang! Boys cry. Joe’s hand shakes. He drops the gun and necklace and runs.

Tears flow down Mom’s pearl necklace.

The funeral:

Bruce: Mom and Dad were the most loving people I ever knew. Though money was never an obstacle, they always cared for what we wanted. It didn’t matter whether we agreed with them or not. They loved us so much.

Damian: They always imagined us a Gotham’s Golden brothers. We never agreed enough to be brothers. My biggest regret is that I always did the opposite of what they wanted. I never agreed with them, yet they loved me with intense passion. I’ve missed them everyday.

Bruce: This world’s messed up. They died trying to get us f***** pizza. Pardon my language, it just is so frickin wrong.

Damian: Bruce and I have decided when we grow up, we will fix Gotham however we can. Gotham isn’t helpless at least I hope not.

Narrator: The newspapers called it the end of an era of Gotham. They were right but it wasn’t just an end. It was a beginning too!

This is the story of two brothers, two bullets, two heroes, and two villains. This is a story of Batman and a story of Superman. This is the end of Gotham.

Thanks for reading!! I went through to see if I had #2 done yet. Seems I was half way done. Should I finish it? Also if you like my writing, check out my own Superhero Universe which is nearing the end of Hydro Vol. 1. Don’t worry, Soldier Vol.1 is already nearing the half way point in the writing process so the universe won’t suddenly stop. I’ll post a full Vol. 1 post for people after Hydro #6 is complete. Hydro #5 comes out Tomorrow Night

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    Yes, I was being a brat.  Full-on teenage hissy fit – and my poor dad certainly didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of it. But to me it felt like the most important day of my life, so I guess I kind of … lost it.
“Look, honey,” he said in his most calming dad voice as we inched through Gotham’s rush hour traffic. “I don’t blame you for being mad--”
“Mad?” I screeched, my voice higher and louder than I thought possible.  I barely recognized myself … but I kept on yelling. “MAD?  I’d have to take half a dozen valium to get back down to mad!”
Okay, I admit I was being overly dramatic, so sue me.  It was my sweet sixteenth birthday, and my world was falling apart. You see, a lot of things had been changing in Gotham over the past year, changing with my dad and changing with me. Life was feeling less and less stable as I got older, and that wasn’t the way the world was supposed to work.	
    “Barbara, I know you trained in my old Buick, but--”
“I don’t care that it was crunched under a giant dinosaur foot,” I wailed. “I practiced for weeks!  If I can’t take my driver’s test today, I won’t be able to go to Joey’s party this weekend.”
Yes, there was a boy involved. Yes, that boy was making me uncharacteristically fuzzy-headed.  To this day, I blame the hormones.  
“Would it be so bad if you stayed home this weekend?” said Dad, still trying to calm me down.  “Scarecrow’s still on the loose, and--”
    “If I don’t go this party, it will be the end of … of … everything!”
    Like I said, dramatic.
    “Can’t I use the rental?” I begged. “I promise I’ll--”
    “No, I need it for work tonight. But I know how important this is to you, so I’ve made arrangements.” As we pulled into the GCPD parking lot, I remember crossing my arms and pouting.  But instead of pulling into his normal parking spot, Dad pulled the rental car around the side of the building, stopping in front of the DMV.  Standing at the doorway was Leon Ash, the driving instructor.  Next to him was a GCPD cruiser, door wide open.
“Oh my gosh, are you kidding me?” I squealed. I jumped out of Dad’s rental before it came to a full stop and slid into the driver’s seat of the cruiser. “This is awesome! You’re the best Dad ever! Wait ‘till I tell Brandi I took my drivers’ test in a police cruiser!”
“If you pass, that is,” said Leon, looking down his nose at me as he scribbled some notes on his clipboard. 
“Remember what we practiced,” called Dad, smiling broadly from the side of the parking lot. “Just no fiddling with the lights or siren, okay?”
“I promise!” I called as the instructor climbed into the passenger seat.  
    “Okay, I can do this,” I said confidently, starting the engine. “I have it all down cold. Parallel parking, speed limits, right of way – let’s do this!”
As I was arranging the rearview mirrors, Leon spoke. “You’re supposed to wait until I give you instructions.”
“Oh.” I turned the car off.  “Sorry.”
He made a notation on his clipboard. “You may now start the car.”
“You can do it, Barbara!” called Dad, giving me the thumbs-up.
I started the car again and pulled very carefully to the parking lot exit, making certain to check every mirror twice.  I didn’t just look both ways – I looked up and down too.  It was Gotham, after all.
    In retrospect, I may have waited too long, because out of the corner of my eye, I saw Leon writing stuff down.  I remember twitching, and slamming a panicky foot down onto the accelerator, lurching us into traffic. Thankfully, I didn't hit anyone, though Leon gave me the evil eye.
I got my breathing calmed and things started going well.  Right turn, check.  Left turn, check.  Speed limit, turn signal, pedestrians, check. It’s not easy driving in downtown Gotham at rush hour. As we turned up the next street, Leon instructed me to parallel park between some orange cones.  Piece of cake, I thought.
As I checked my mirrors and turned to look out the back window, the entire car suddenly recoiled from an abrupt impact.
I looked at the instructor.  “That wasn’t me.”
He looked around to see what I had hit, and he blanched.
A seven-foot crocodile man had ahold of our back fender.  He hissed and threw his shoulder into the backside of the cruiser, spinning us out, across the street and into a fire hydrant.  
    “Policcccccce,” the thing hissed, stalking toward us.
“I’m getting out of here,” said a shaking Leon.  As he reached for the door, I slapped his hand.
“Don’t,” I warned.  I pointed at the jumble of downed electric lines – if he’d stepped foot in the hydrant water, he would have been electrocuted.
“Then what do we do?” He was panicking, his voice going up an octave.
“Just keep your seatbelt buckled,” I said, throwing the car into reverse.  We wheeled away from the creature, but it began to chase us.  I whipped the steering wheel around, spinning us so that I could drive forward again.
In the rear-view mirror, it was chasing, but getting further behind.
“Watch out!” cried Leon.
Coming down the street was a black demon of an automobile, a sleek technological beast.  It sped by me, ramming directly into the giant creature, sending it flying.
“The Batmobile…” I whispered.
I was so mesmerized by it, I drove up onto the curb and sideswiped a newsstand.
“Get out now,” I commanded, and Leon obeyed.  With him safe, I spun the cruiser around and drove just close enough to the ensuing battle so that I could get a good view of the action.
I’d known Batman and Robin were real for some time, even though most folks still believed they were urban legends.  I’d snuck up to the roof of the GCPD a couple of times when the Batsignal went on. Robin looked a bit younger than me, but he was kind of cute.  He was even cuter in action.  
The two of them were astonishing to watch, doing everything they could to subdue the killer crocodile – ropes, fists, even ice capsules from their utility belts. They were punching, kicking, flipping in a perfectly timed tandem. It was amazing; I’d never seen them when the sun was up. It took a giant killer crocodile to draw them out into daylight.
But as the fight dragged on, I started to realize that the creature might be too strong, too fast.  At one point, it grabbed Robin by the leg, and looked as though he was about to break the boy wonder in two.
I stabbed at a button on the console, turning the lights and siren on.  The creature flinched, then turned and hissed at me - and the distraction gave Batman enough time to free Robin from the thing’s grasp.
I kicked myself for not thinking of the cruiser’s capabilities sooner.  “This is Barbara Gordon in cruiser thirty-seven,” I said into the radio, trying to be as official-sounding as possible. “Immediate backup requested, corner of Robinson and Kane.”
The fight was dizzying. Batman got thrown against a brick wall, but he twisted and used the wall as leverage to spring away and punch the thing in the torso.  Robin tried an ineffective kick to the thing’s massive ankles.
The Dynamic Duo were wearing down, and the creature seemed to be getting stronger. I heard the sirens.  They were going to get here too late.
Robin went down, and the creature was about to deliver a finishing blow when I suddenly revved the engine and hit the gas. Making sure to avoid hitting Robin’s nearly unconscious body, I drove back up onto the curb to get just the right angle.  I estimated the thing’s mass, guessed at the amount of force it might take…
Bam! I smacked right into the monster’s torso, crushing the front end of the cruiser and knocking the creature right where I wanted it, into the electrified puddle left by the leaking hydrant. The thing convulsed and roared, but eventually fell down.
Yay physics.

Dad arrived a few minutes later with a whole squad of officers as Batman and Robin finished securing the killer crocodile man.
“Barbara, you’re okay!” he said, hugging me to his chest.
“Yeah,” I said, indicating Leon, who was on the curb throwing up into a paper sack. “But I think I failed my driver’s test.”
“I’m sorry about that,” said Dad.  
“Are you kidding?” I said, eyeing the Batmobile as it drove away.  “Best. Birthday. Ever.”
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I don’t know, he is a teen. A teen named Lil’ Billy.

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Hal Jordan had loved planes all of his life. He had always wanted to be a pilot or an astronaut. He wasn’t quite sure which. Hal looked to the skies and knew he’d belong up there. He didn’t have many friends, but out there in the skies, maybe he’d find himself at home.

Ferris Aircraft had reached out to nearby high schools with aviation clubs or space clubs because they were preparing a tour as part of their community outreach program. Of course Hal, as president of his Junior Aviators Club, was on his way to Ferris Air. It was about 25 miles out of Coast City.

Hal lowered the window on the passengers side and the cool air from the ocean they were driving along came rushing in, making Hal’s hair flow wildly.

“Are you ready, dad?” Hal asked Mr. Jordan. “They’re going to let us ride in a helicopter. They have volunteer pilots that are going to take us up for a ride. Isn’t that so cool?”

“Yes, Hal. Close that window, boy. You need to look presentable and that wind is not doing you any favors. Get the comb out of the glove compartment.” Hal’s dad was actually quite excited himself about getting to go on a helicopter. He knew he had to keep it together, Hal was already outwardly enthused enough for them both.

As Mr. Jordan parked the car in the visitor’s area, Hal jumped out of the car. Ferris Air was even more magnificent in person. There were already people crowded all around the entrance. Hal saw that a few of them were holding clipboards and were passing out name tags.

“Come on, dad.” Hal was just about to run off when his father grabbed him by the shoulder, turned him around to fix his tie, and licked a stray hair into place.

“There! Now we can go.” The two Jordan men made their way toward the crowd.

“These name tags are to be worn above the waist where they are visible at all times during the tour. You will be placed into tour groups and must stay with your tour groups and guides at all times. Parents, we need you to fill out a few forms.” The Ferris Air employee led all of the parents and students inside. The big doors opened to reveal an enormous lobby. There were huge windows everywhere that went from the floor to the ceiling, letting in a lot of light.

Coming down a grand staircase, two people, a man and a girl about Hal’s age waved to the crowd. The man was dressed in a three-piece suit. The girl was dressed in a blazer and purple dress. In that moment, Hal was happy his mom made him iron his shirt.

“I’m Carl Ferris and this is my daughter Carol,” the man in the fancy suit addressed the students and their guardians. “We are glad to host you exceptional students today. I hope you enjoy the tour and consider a future in aerospace. Who knows, maybe someday I’ll be working alongside some of you here at Ferris Aircraft.”

Carl Ferris bid the crowd farewell and went about his busy day, but his daughter Carol remained. Hal was smitten. He was nervous when he found out that she’d be taking the tour with his tour group. Hal’s group was set to take the helicopter ride at the end of the day as other groups would take turns. Hal didn’t mind he liked all of the aircraft knowledge he was absorbing as well as details about space he’d never known. He witnessed so many things that interested him. Hal knew he was meant to take to the skies.

After lunch, the tour resumed. Hal’s dad was hitting it off with other dads so Hal was hanging out toward the back of the pack taking in all of the wondrous things he was seeing. He lingered by a plane for a bit. He’d never seen one like it.
“It’s our new model. They’re still working on it,” a voice said from behind Hal.

“It’s awesome!” Hal stated excitedly. Realizing Carol was the one speaking to him, Hal grew quiet. Hal was actually quite timid, but he had a mantra he followed concerning his shyness.

“You have to fake it ’til you make it, Hal,” the teen boy thought to himself. So, Hal acted confidently, borderline arrogantly, at all times. Carol made him very nervous, which meant Hal would act extra confident to mask that feeling of unease she inspired in him.

“I’m going to be flying it someday.” Hal’s half smirk followed that.

“Well, I’m going to be running Ferris Air by then,” looking at Hal’s name tag, Carol continued, “You better impress me if you want to work for me someday, Hal Jordan.” With a smile Carol went back to the front of the tour group.

It was time for the helicopter ride. They’d be flying over Mt. Pacific and then back to Ferris Aircraft. The two Jordans and Carol were last to go.

The scene below was beautiful. The ocean and beach from that high looked extraordinary. The mountains were a sight to behold. Coast City looked vibrant from this distance. Hal was loving every moment of it. Carol had been on this ride to Mt. Pacific quite a few times growing up. She never tired of the view. This time, she couldn’t help but admire the enthusiasm on Hal’s face.

“Is that snow?” Mr. Jordan asked aloud.

“Snow? In California?” Carol said in disbelief as she finally looked away from Hal.

A beam of ice struck the aircraft. It started plummeting down toward Mr. Pacific. They all closed their eyes and began to scream. It felt like they had been falling for ages. Hal finally opened one eye, then the other. The helicopter wasn’t falling. There was a green light coming from below them.

“Hurry folks. Jump onto solid ground while Icicle is down.”

“Icicle? That villain caused this?” Mr. Jordan asked. The pilot had already gotten down and was helping Carol out. Mr. Jordan was helping Hal out.

“Don’t worry, sir, I’ve faced Icicle plenty and he’s never bested me.” Alan Scott flew off to face the scoundrel.

Ice beams versus green constructs filled the California skies as the sun began to set.

Hal, Mr. Jordan, Carol, and the pilot all made it back to Ferris Air safe and sound.

The drive back was quite serene. The sun had finished setting and the radio played quietly. They had just finished talking about Icicle going back into custody, but Hal’s mind was too occupied with the memories of the day to pay attention. He kept thinking about everything he saw at Ferris Air. The aircrafts, the images of star systems, Carol… Hal knew now, more than ever, that he wanted to be in the skies. After seeing the Green Lantern take on Icicle, Hal also wanted to do something with his life where he would help people. He didn’t know what exactly, but his will was strong, he’d figure it out eventually.

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COMING OF RAGE

Jason Todd has just turned thirteen his first night as Robin, and it’s the best day of his life.

All those months training in the Cave had prepared him, but nothing had really PREPARED him. The way the wind whips in his hair, the easy grace of his body, the feeling of FLYING. It’s amazing. It’s the most incredible thing he’s ever felt.

He would have thought he’d be scared when Two-Face takes him hostage. But he’s not. Later, he’ll feel it – he’ll feel EVERYTHING, the fear, the exhilaration, the exhaustion, and, when he learns the truth about his father, the rage. But right now, he’s just… there. In the moment, right where he should be. He does everything right, and it’s magic. Being Robin GIVES him magic.

Jason Todd is thirteen, and he’s never felt so alive.


Jason Todd is fourteen when it first starts to unravel.

It starts small, as these things often do. Little moments of doubt, seeds of discord. Fighting with Batman. Disobeying orders. And always, always living in the shadow of Dick. But mostly it’s…

… it’s that he’s starting to wonder if any of this is actually HELPING.

Really, what are they even DOING? Most days, it seems like Arkham has a revolving door. The dress-ups and gimmicks go in, and then they’re back out the next week. Meanwhile, the real dirtbags on the street don’t even get caught half the time, and even when they do, there’s another one to take his place. It’s such bullcrap. Jason thought Batman and Robin were supposed to make a DIFFERENCE. But even Batman…

He wants to put his faith in Batman. He really does. As much as Jason had always doubted himself, he used to really believe in him. Bruce wasn’t always a great father, but at least Batman MEANT something. But after everything Deacon Blackfire… after seeing him that broken… Jason’s come to realize that Batman is just a man.

Jason Todd is fourteen, and he’s not sure he believes anymore.


Jason Todd is fifteen when he dies.

April 27th. Just a little under four months to his birthday. He’d been looking forward to it, once. He’d always loved cars – the speed, the thrill, the FREEDOM. But by this point, honestly, he’s almost forgotten about the whole thing.

So much has happened up to now. Superman and the Black Mercy. Judy Koslosky and the Dumpster Killer. Gloria and Felipe. The women he’d thought to be his mother – Catherine Todd, Sharmin Rosen, Sandra Wu-San, Sheila Haywood.

The Joker.

The crowbar.

The bomb.

The funny thing was… he’d thought for a little while there, that he might give it all up. He’d had so many doubts, after all that he’d seen. His faith had been so deeply shaken. And he thought he’d finally found his mother. He thought maybe he’d leave, at least just for a little while, get his head screwed on straight.

But he guesses that just wasn’t to be.

Jason Todd is fifteen, and he was supposed to have his whole life ahead of him.

In a way, he still does.


Jason Todd is sixteen, and everything is fire.

His second life begins in agony, in a coffin sinking in burning liquid, the twisted labor pangs of a mockery of a rebirth marked with blood and screaming. His body is new and whole and WRONG, and all he can do is fight and run.

They had meant to put him in earlier, apparently. Not now, several months after his death, not with a damaged body half-preserved and a last-ditch attempt no one had even been certain would work. But there had been complications, and preparations, and a million other things that Talia had explained to him which he couldn’t begin to care about.

He was supposed to be a GIFT to Batman? A means to put right what Ra’s had wronged? Screw that. Screw all of that. The Pit has given him clarity, brought focus to his doubts, stoked his once-unfocused rage and brought it to a point. Batman doesn’t deserve any of that. His so-called FATHER doesn’t deserve any of that. Not while the Joker still breathes.

Jason Todd is sixteen. And he’s going to make Bruce curse the day he ever came back.


Jason Todd is seventeen, and his training has been going well.

It’s been hard. The training, sure, but more than that, the WAITING. He’s never been the patient sort. Never been the type to bide his time. But he has Talia to ground him, to make sure he’s ready. And he has so, so much to learn.

Poisons. Guns. Fighting.

Killing.

That last part, he’d picked up on his own. Oh, he’s learned how to do it BETTER, but it’s so much easier than Batman had ever wanted him to realize. A little poison in Egon’s drink at the right time, and dozens of children freed from a life too horrible to contemplate. A little poison in Egon’s drink, and now he’d never hurt anyone again.

And there had been plenty more since then. Must have been half of his instructors, at least. Sometimes, Jason wonders if Talia’s doing this on purpose, but then he decides he doesn’t care. He’s making more of a difference even with just this than he ever did as Robin.

Jason Todd is seventeen, and he’s just getting started.


Jason Todd is eighteen, and he’s more than ready now.

He’s BEEN more than ready, for a long time now. It’s Talia, he’s finally realized. She doesn’t want him to kill Bruce. She loves him too much.

Sometimes, Jason almost feels the same way. He doesn’t… he SHOULDN’T be feeling any of this. The Pit had given him focus. The Pit had given him clarity. Where are these DOUBTS coming from? He wants to kill the Joker and kill Bruce. He wants them both to KNOW what he did.

He just doesn’t actually want Bruce to die.

He just wants to see him again. Just look him in the eyes and ask him WHY.

He wants it to be okay again. He wants to HURT him, hurt him worse than he’d ever hurt Jason. He wants to go home. He wants to burn everything to the ground.

He doesn’t. He doesn’t know what he wants. Everything is twisted, tangled and knotted and HURTING, and he just wants it to STOP.

He just wants it to stop.

Jason Todd is eighteen, and Talia thinks he’s ready now. He’s not sure he is. But he’s never been the patient sort.


Jason Todd is nineteen, and the helmet fits like a second skin.

Boots, gloves. Body armor, jacket. Guns. Knife. A whole arsenal at his fingertips, ready for the task at hand. Will it be enough to beat him? Who knows. But it’ll be enough to SHOW him.

He knows what he has to do now. How to save Gotham, how to bring it all together. A plan and a demonstration. He’ll be a better Batman than Bruce ever was. And then once he’s seen… Jason will bring them together. The three of them, like it was always meant to be. He’ll make his choice, and then…

Well, at least it’ll be over then. No matter what else happens.

Jason Todd has just turned nineteen his first night as the Red Hood, and he has long days ahead.

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Somebody please get Mysterious_Stranger their own comic book.

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Whew! It looks like another week has passed already! I’ve been MIA due to things being a bit hectic lately, BUT we will be catching up on all submissions, and posts this weekend, and so wanted to thank you all for being such wonderful participants in FCF :slight_smile: As mentioned in the FCF FAQ thread, we have a number of exciting things to come soon!

This week’s prompt has been posted, and for those interested in the thread link, you can find it here: https://www.dcuniverse.com/community/boards/fancontributions/fan-creation-fridays-what

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Hope I’m not too late.

THE TIDES THAT BIND

The muscles of the ocean flexed, pushing his body to the side like a ragdoll. He felt the water drag him down, tossing him from side to side, snapping him into a rock. He felt the skin on his back tear, and he let out a drowned scream, not of pain, but of anger. As a crimson cloud engulfed him, he touched his fingertips to the bottom of the ocean floor, using the momentum of the ocean to his advantage, pushing himself upwards.
He surfaced, watching as the storm clouds rolled out and as the final waves crashed into the sandy skin at the base of his father’s lighthouse about a hundred yards away. His back stinging, Arthur swam back, carving through the waters like a knife, faster than any normal human would be able to. But he was no normal human. He was…
Well, he didn’t quite know what he was. His father had told him so little about his mother, about where she had come from and about where she had gone to. Sixteen years on Earth, and Arthur knew so little about who he was. People at school tried to label him, the students and the teachers tried to find a place for him in their hastily assembled mock up of society. They called him an outsider. A rebel. They called him strange. They called him the son of a lighthouse keeper, as if that were some dirty thing in a ramshackle little town built by the sea. And the worst part of all of it was that he had no way to know if they were wrong. He couldn’t prove who he was or what he was. He didn’t know his future or his past. He only knew the sea.
He crawled up on the shore, clutching the open wound that snaked along his backbone, looking up at the lighthouse that towered above him. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain that sank its grizzled teeth into his flesh, stumbling towards the one story wooden edifice that jutted out from the side of the stone tower. He staggered up the stairs, bursting through the door.
“My God,” his father shot up from the couch, rushing over. “Arthur, are you-”
“I’m fine, Dad,” Arthur grumbled, taking his hand away from the wound for the first time, seeing the blood that rushed through his fingers.
“What were you doing out there?”
“Just, you know, doing a little swimming,” Arthur collapsed onto the couch, the weak wood supports groaning under his weight. He grunted, no longer trying to ignore the pain now that he was in the comfort of his air conditioned house.
“Why would you do something like that?” there was a fleck of sadness in Thomas Curry’s eyes, probably because he knew why his son would risk life and limb to go swimming during a storm. Just like he knew why his son would pick fights in the school yard and why he wrecked their beat up old Buick when he saw a beached whale at the other end of town. It was Arthur that needed the answers to these questions.
“I need the practice,” Arthur let himself sink into the threadbare fabric of the couch. “Ocean’s not always gonna be nice when I’m out there.”
“Arthur, we’ve talked about this-”
“No. You talked. I sat there. I sat there as you talked about how much you loved my mom. I sat as you talked about how brave she was, and about how she needed to leave to protect us. I sat there as you talked about how she was out there. I need to find her, Dad. It’s like I can feel her… like I can feel her calling to me. Like the waters speak to me. We’re bound by the tides.”
Thomas opened his mouth as if to speak, thought otherwise, and let out a simple sigh. Deflated, he crumpled into the armchair that rested across from the couch.
“Arthur,” he said, folding his hands and resting his elbows on his knees. “Your mother left you with me because her world… it’s not safe for you to be in.”
“It’s not just her world,” despite the pain in his back, anger ripped through Arthur, urging through his veins like lava. He jolted up, feeling his face turn beet red in anger. “It’s my world, too. At least as much as this one is.”
“Arthur…”
“I can’t stay here, Dad. I don’t belong here. I’m meant for something more. I know it. I… I don’t know what it is, but…”
“I just don’t want to see you hurt, Arthur. And your mother didn’t want that either. Amnesty Bay might not be the most welcoming of places in the world, but… it’s safe.”
“I don’t want safe anymore, Dad. I want to know who I am. Who I can be.”
Thomas stood there for what felt like an eternity. He scratched the back of his head, he shifted his gaze to the left, then to the right. Finally, with a prolonged sigh, saddened by the sands of time.
“You’re right,” he said. “You deserve to know who you are. You deserve… I can’t keep you here. Not forever. But I need you to promise me something Arthur.”
“What?”
“I need you to promise that when you’re out there, you’ll use your… abilities for good. “Those people, your mother’s people… from what she’s said they can be… easily angered. Always ready for a fight. Never willing to help… surface dwellers. I need you to make sure you don’t-”
“Dad,” Arthur smiled. “I promise.”

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No worries, @TornadoSoup, you’re all good :slight_smile: Thank you so much for joining us this week! I look forward to reading your story soon :slight_smile:

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