( corteon moore, cis man & he/him. ) LEARNER'S FILE #301000 : JULIAN ROMELL YOUNG is registered as a SECOND YEAR student, age TWENTY4 YEARS OLD, training and refining their power of EXPLOSION MANIPULATION under the institute's programs. evaluations describe them as INDEPENDENT, STOIC, and PROUD, highlighting strengths and areas for improvement. academic records indicate both potential and dedication, and their performance continues to be monitored to ensure compliance with institutional standards and preparedness for real - world application of their abilities.
― INTRO. BOARD.
written by kit ( she/they, 27, mdt ) for vanguardiahq.
At first, Paloma had thought this was it -- she was having a grand mal seizure. Her brain on the fritz, her abilities had cursed her to oblivion. Though this simulation was realistic, recalling it from last year -- it hadn't ever been this. Tears streamed at flashes of Harlow, her sister physically in her arms, conversations swirled into memories that she had long since buried of them in church, heads bowed in kneelers, giggling in said church. Of their parents hushed & chastising Spanish, this had to be what the afterlife was -- this had to be it -- at least the beginning of what was to come. "Thou father, art in heaven," they start, shaken and through tears, this had to be fucking Vanguardia and it's bullshit, taking what little she had for herself and how embarrassing was it that they'd know all too much now.
She was probably a vegetable after this, never getting to say goodbye to the people -- and person -- she loved most in this world. Another act of selfishness, one that she had never displayed when it came to him. It was then at the thought of Julian the landscape changed, though the tears continued at an alarming rate, she could see him. His father, distant, them at school, then -- the shift is stark. The ward.
"Jules?" Their voice is shaky, as their powers had never manifested like this -- nor would they go into others pasts without their permission. Especially Julian's. No matter how much life they'd walked in tandem, they gave each other space to be. Any questions, asked. Any curiosities, divulged but never were truths forced out, never were they anything but given freely. But life was never to be done without the other -- that much was sure. Maybe death wasn't either. "Julian? Please. Can you hear me? I know you're here. Please be here. Please." On the off chance this wasn't her abilities fucking up their assignment, then Julian had to be here, right? Even if just her own brain's manifestation of his presence? This time, it's asked louder, with more force, more courage that wasn't felt at all only projected because she wasn't going through the rest of this alone and neither was he. Paloma could never be there the way she wanted to unless she had checked herself in with him -- which she had often joked she'd do, if it meant keeping him company.
"Julian? JULIAN?" A desperate pleading, a cry, a prayer.
The next time Julian opens his eyes, he’s on a bus. His stomach drops—a fluttering, sinking feeling that untethers him from the last string of confidence he was holding on to. The instructors explained a list of metrics they’re being assessed on during the undisclosed variety of high-stakes situations, and Julian is determined to nail every mark. But the scene is too familiar. He expected natural disasters, a random store robbery, something like the rock slide they just rescued a group of virtual tourists from. But this? This can’t be right… Right?
Would they simulate a similar accident to… Without warning him? Is this the real purpose of the aptitude test—to test him against his trauma?
Julian takes a deep breath. No. There’s too many instructors who would veto this, who know he’s not ready to handle it. It has to be something else.
Julian looks up when the bus stops, expecting someone dangerous to board. An armed individual, perhaps two, trying to hold a school bus ransom. Someone Julian is going to have to talk down, maybe take down. But the sick familiarity, the sick, quiet suspicion rises to the surface like bile when a young boy boards, holding a miniature model of the Milky Way Galaxy. Julian sits, frozen, rooted to his seat at the back of the bus. No, no, no. The driver—Judy, it’s Judy, everyone’s favorite bus driver—says something to the boy, who shakes his head and continues walking. Julian knows what’s coming. He gets up in a rush, yelling to get everyone’s attention. But the children ignore him completely. Hunter, Wendy, Aiden, Imani—faces etched on the back of his eyelids, doomed to be children forever—all of them talking and laughing, seconds away from—
The bus explodes.
Julian wakes up in a white room, looking out a barred window to a grey sky and a tall, brick fence in the distance. The room is small, with a desk nailed to the floor and a tall dresser, and one twin bed in the corner. He sees himself sitting there, picking and tearing the skin around his fingernails out of boredom. He can see the blood from here. The bile comes forth like a scream, but instead of screaming Julian doubles over and vomits. And then he hears her, but he shouldn’t—she shouldn’t…
With shallow breaths, he pulls himself up and looks around. The boy on the bed doesn’t move, and Julian wonders if he can hear Paloma’s voice at all. Julian can hardly stand to look at him, unable to wrap his head around seeing himself in third person, perceiving himself like others do. He looks foreign, unrecognizable. Horrifying. He locks on to Paloma’s voice like a lifeline. Julian rips the door open and runs down the long, white hallway until he reaches the end and turns the corner.
“Paloma!” He hurries to her side, relief finding him like a ray of sunlight. A thousand questions flood his head. Why is she here, is she hurt, is her power doing this—... Julian takes her by the shoulders. A comforting touch, one rarely shared between them, but more frequent with her than anyone else. He doesn’t hesitate, not now.
“I'm here.” He locks his gaze with hers. “Are you hurt? What the fuck is going on?”
josie takes a deep breath as she realizes exactly who she had nearly struck with light. she tried to be on good terms with as many people as possible, but even she knew that there would have to be exceptions — julian chiefly among them. they always seemed to stand at total opposite ends of any spectrum. her concern drops at his reply, but her eyes stay wide, trying to figure out how much he can see, if it looks like his vision is recovering. “ i was just trying to make sure you were okay. ” she heeds his words though, stops in her tracks at his warning.
his words make her scoff. “ i said i was sorry. ” there's a sharp edge to her words, matching his own tone. she crosses her arms, matches his gaze with a glare. watches his eyes come back to focus on her, hardened with the same hostility she reflected. “ and you can still see, can't you? maybe the stupid thing to do was to not blind you, ” she says under her breath to herself, but she lets it escape audible enough for him to hear. “ and like i said, i didn't know anyone else would even be coming over here. it was pretty empty for like, the past half hour. shouldn't you be at the welcoming party? ”
Julian isn’t surprised by Josie’s half-assed apology before swiftly moving on to question why he’s even in her presence. He rolls his eyes. Rolls them again for good measure; the white flashes return every time he blinks.
“Yeah, maybe you should’ve, then I wouldn’t have to see your—” Dumb face, he almost says, but stops himself from blurting out more childish insults. He doesn’t want to seem like the immature one. As a result, the end of his sentence is a lame, half-hearted—
“—face.”
Hm. Not too effective. Or clever. Julian uses her question to socially recover.
“Shouldn’t you be at the welcoming party?” He parrots back. “Don’t you need people to fawn over you or something, to prove you exist?”
He knows it’s cruel, but his tone is casual when he says it. Casual as he steps past her, toward the fountain, while he desperately tries not to trip between the momentary blindness after every blink.
Kai had been sitting outside reading when the first small explosion went off and his head shot up. It had been so quick that he had missed it, but watching the faces of onlookers and the one guy laughing with his friends, it didn't take him long to piece together that the commotion had originated from Julian. He didn't really know the guy–he was two years below him and neither of them were the most social of butterflies–but he knew enough about his incident that was in the news to know that people shouldn't risk antagonising him like this. It was the same reason people knew not to antagonise him, though he was sure he had more control than this guy.
He remained where he was, only lowering his book when the guy with his handful of gravel approached Julian. Kai wasn't sure if he was going in for round two, or if he saw this as some kind of fun banter, but he could see the look on Julian's face and he was on his feet before the large rock was launched into the air. The explosion was bigger–louder–than the one before it, and most people were wise enough to back away from the situation, choosing to relocate their catch-up conversations and cease their party tricks in favour of a safer space.
Did this idiot not know what Julian was capable of?
People scattered in the direction he'd come from, but Kai didn't hesitate on his approach. The guy that had started everything was still standing there like a moron, so Kai sent tendrils of rot through the ground towards him without even a glance, and he only started backing off when he realised that his sneakers were disintegrating; he should be thankful that it wasn't his feet.
"Julian. Julian, hey." Kai appeared in his eye line, blocking his view of the other guy. His hands were raised, not daring to lay a finger on him–even to calm him down. He wasn't entirely sure how Julian's power worked, but even he knew it was stupid to touch a live explosive. "Look at me. Hey! Breathe." If Julian's power erupted, Kai wasn't sure that anyone out here would survive the blast, and he was becoming increasingly more aware that maybe he should have left with the others.
The sight of the guy’s shoes stops Julian cold. The leather’s peeling, seams splitting, laces rotting right before his eyes. He stares, unblinking, his pulse hammering in his ears. What the fuck? He blinks once. Twice. It’s still happening. He’s finally losing it.
Then the voice cuts through the static.
Julian’s head snaps up, and awareness finds him like a bullet. Air rushes out of him all at once. He hadn’t realized how shallow his breathing was until Kai tells him, low but sharp, to breathe. Julian’s lungs seize around the effort. The world comes back in flashes. Smoke, scattered gravel, the echo of something exploding. Explosive power is still humming under his skin.
He was about to—what? Blow someone’s limb off?
The thought makes his stomach lurch. Worse, there’s a voice whispering in the back of his mind… He’d liked it. The power. The surge. The idea of payback. Julian clenches his jaw, digs his fingers into his palms until it hurts. No. He placed a barrier between himself and everyone. It wasn’t right, but it was effective. Everyone ran. He didn’t want to hurt them.
Did he hurt them?
Kai’s voice threads through the noise again, steady, pulling him back. Julian drags in a breath, then another. The rage starts to fade, leaving behind a hollow ache. When the world finally stops tilting, he sees him clearly, standing a cautious distance away, eyes sharp.
Kai Westlock. Fuck. Julian drops his head into his hands, gravel biting into his skin.
“Fuck,” he mutters, voice cracking. “Did I—” His throat tightens. “Is anyone…” He forces himself to look up, blinking hard. “Did I hurt anyone?”
he couldn’t say that julian was wrong. although there wasn’t much subjectivity to the sciences, søren found it difficult to mark his students too harshly — unless they really were testing their luck. sometimes he wished he could be like his wife, stone - faced to those that didn’t know her but warm and sweet to those that did. she was stern but fair ; his kindness often got the better of him. “if it makes it sting any less,” he leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “if i was a student in her class, she would probably fail me too.”
søren had been the same when he trained juniors back at skåne university hospital. he would go to great lengths to not only tell the students the information, but to teach them it — long, dedicated hours were spent with each one of them, and he was no different now that he taught at vanguardia. “i’ll put in a good word for you,” it was clear to anyone on the outside just who wore the pants in their marriage, “and if you need any support, you know where to find me. it’s not my specialist subject, but i'm there if you need it.”
“Thanks, Mr. Holmström.” A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. Small, but sincere. If there’s one thing about Vanguardia that’s helped him the most, it’s the faculty. Being around powered classmates helps; it makes him feel less like a freak, less like an outsider. But being around professors—grown, capable adults with powers—offers him a glimpse of what his future could be.
“I don’t think you can put in a good word for me, but I appreciate it,” he says with a grimace. “I, uh, kind of collapsed a building during a rescue simulation.” Julian managed to turn the exercise into a real crisis, which didn’t exactly win him points with Professor Holmström. The worst part was that he knew the material. Aced theory, nailed every drill. And then, on the most important day, he blew it. “Mrs. Holmström didn’t have much choice but to fail me, so…” He shrugs, awkward and frustrated. Julian isn’t used to bad marks.
“But, uh, yeah. If you’ve got any tips on not being a complete idiot next time I’m under pressure, I’ll take them.”
CLOSED STARTER ― @k-aiwestlock.
TIME & LOCATION ― orientation week, on campus.
The quad is a mix of nervous faces and too-bright smiles. New students lift benches and levitate pens like party tricks. Julian keeps his head down, the edges of his hoodie a shield, counting the distance between him and every excited hand. The rock comes out of nowhere—a kid with an armful of gravel trying to show off, fingers twitching, and then a fast projectile arcs straight for him, forming as it goes. Time thins. Muscle memory takes over before he can think. A tight, hot knot behind his sternum, a pressure that wants to pop out and kill someone. Julian’s skin prickles. He smells ozone. He doesn’t mean to—he never means to—but he pushes back faster than he thinks.
A concussive pop blooms at his head as the rock makes contact. It’s stupidly loud, a snap of force that pushes him off his feet and blows debris into everyone as the rock shatters back into a hundred tiny pieces. After a moment of stunned silence, Julian’s stomach drops when he starts to hear clapping. Somebody whistles.
For Julian, rage tastes metallic. He can feel the old anger to make them pay; not for the rock, for the looks. For the applause. He forces his jaw shut, his fingers digging into the grass until the tremors calm. They don’t, no matter how deeply he breathes in and out. He tries to picture his chest like a locked box, but it snaps open when the idiot starts approaching him with laughter and an outstretched hand. A violent image fills Julian with dread then; a glimpse of the future, if the kid touches him. His arm blown off, blood splatter everywhere, a sick sense of satisfaction in the depth of Julian’s chest.
“Stay the fuck away,” he grits out, and throws the first thing his hand touches. Another large garden rock, launched seconds into the air, explodes between him and everyone else.
søren remembered his own orientation. thirty years had moved past him in a flash ; as the lost faces of new students moved past them he offered a warm smile, an assurance that things weren’t as scary as they seemed. or at least they wouldn’t be, once the fresh faces settled in. he once wanted to be a real doctor, to make a difference, to help and heal beyond the gifts he had been born with. sometimes he missed it, the bright lights and clean whites of a hospital bay, the long shifts, the grateful patients after a miraculous recovery. as he gazed out over the new recruits, he turned to the presence beside him. “do you think if i ask nicely these new students will sign up to my classes ? i bet my wife i'd get more students than her this year.”
Julian cautiously pops an earbud out when he realizes Mr. Holmström is talking to him. He thinks he’s caught most of what was said, and eyes him for a moment before staring straight ahead. The mass of students moves to and fro at a safe distance, but just watching them fills Julian with discomfort. He presses himself a little closer into the corner he’s leaning against, lowering his phone.
“You’d retain students if you failed them,” he blurts, then goes abruptly quiet as he thinks better of it. Julian squints, still not looking at the professor. “I’m not saying Mrs. Holmström uses, um,” he purses his lips, “underhanded tactics. I just need to take her class again because I failed it last year. So, you know," Julian wonders if he's going to regret answering. "Maybe that, uh, helps her numbers.”
✸ time 〳 orientation week, welcoming party
✸ place 〳 side courtyard on campus
✸ open for 〳 anyone ! @vanguardiastarters
sitting on the edge of a gently bubbling fountain, josie lazily tracing lines of bright light into the air. a sudden need to escape the bustle of the party sent her here, away from the rest of the scene, traces of its music now soft in the distance. the time spent across the atlantic for the holidays had pressed gently upon her lungs in a way that both altered her breathing and yet, if she moved with a normal-enough cadence, she could ignore it. a packed schedule of performances left little time to herself, and then after being thrown into the bustle of orientation week, the courtyard felt like the first true reprieve. she sparks a glowing orb into her hands, throws it across the space without thought — it lands directly in front of the person's face coming around the corner, and with a flick of her wrist she immediately dissipates the light. “ shit, ” she huffs under her breath, a rare occasion of her slipping into vulgarity. “ sorry. i didn't — i didn't mean to do that. i didn't realize anyone else was coming by. ” she stands, steps a bit closer, eyes wide. damage control mode. “ you can, um, still see, right? ”
“What the fuck—” Julian rounds the corner when a globule of light (again, what the fuck?) barrels toward him. It halts just before he walks into it face-first, but it blinds him completely. He stumbles back, instinctively shielding his eyes, and then he hears her. Josie. Of course. So much for a moment’s respite.
“No, I fucking can’t.” The words leave him with spiteful force as he tries to guess where she’s coming from. He stops retreating for a second, listens for her footsteps, and hopes she has the sense to stay away. Julian’s face is twisted into a deep frown as he lowers his hands. White flashes burst behind his eyelids every time he blinks, but his vision slowly bleeds back. He can just make out Josie’s silhouette beside him, tentatively stepping closer.
“Just stay away from me.” He warns, though most of the bite has drained from his voice now that he’s starting to see again. He shouldn’t be surprised. When people applaud every time she uses her powers, of course she has zero inhibition about them. Julian blinks until his sight mostly returns, then finally turns to Josie with a look of utter disdain.
( corteon moore, cis man & he/him. ) LEARNER'S FILE #301000 : JULIAN ROMELL YOUNG is registered as a SECOND YEAR student, age TWENTY4 YEARS OLD, training and refining their power of EXPLOSION MANIPULATION under the institute's programs. evaluations describe them as INDEPENDENT, STOIC, and PROUD, highlighting strengths and areas for improvement. academic records indicate both potential and dedication, and their performance continues to be monitored to ensure compliance with institutional standards and preparedness for real - world application of their abilities.
BACKGROUND (tw: mentions of parental death, general death, accidents, & explosions.)
Julian’s mother died from illness when he was a young boy. He remained in the care of his father, whose grief transformed him into a silent and distant figure in Julian’s childhood; a phantom. Their home was quiet, always quiet, and the silence became part of Julian. What had been a sweet and unencumbered boy became a worried little snail in a shell. He kept out of the way, resolving to be easy, to do well in school and get the kind of praise from teachers that would make his father feel like a good parent. Julian knows his father tried his best. But they never talked about his mother, never talked about the loss—they never talked. All he learned from his father was how to stay quiet.
It was never in the cards to be an easy child, not like Julian had tried. He had bullies—random boys at school who didn’t like him—who, like him, weren’t taught better by their parents. There wasn’t a reason that Julian remembers, they were simply children at odds. It made the tragedy all the more cruel.
In 5th grade, Julian boarded the school bus with a science project in hand. The bus driver smiled, said good morning, Julian—you good, you need help? Julian, as always, shook his head at any offer. As he walked to the back of the bus to find a seat, one of the boys—the bullies—tripped him on the way. Julian reacted on instinct. Having no way to break his fall, and no view of the floor, his mutation manifested. It happened in a moment, a second. He hit the floor. The bus exploded. The scene was gruesome. The impact was enough to flip the bus over, and the only survivor was a scared, burned boy wailing for help, trapped between the seats.
The accident sparked an outrage of controversy. A dozen victims, a dozen affected families. Add hundreds of concerned parents with children enrolled in the same school, and thousands nationwide watching and realizing it could happen to their families. Julian was pulled out of school immediately, and he would never be just a child again. He was dangerous—a weapon, a bomb, another tragedy waiting to happen. It never occurred to the media that he was a victim, but what would it matter? Julian internalized the tragedy like he internalized his mother’s death. He built walls. He kept it all inside. He stayed out of the way.
He spent the rest of his years home schooled by tutors, and later teenage years in and out of institutions due to an array of behavioral problems. Julian was stunted, both socially and emotionally, mentally—any little intrusion ticked him off. Years of bottling everything inside calcified into anger and resentment. Even his father treated him like a live mine, firmly kept at an arms length.
Vanguardia is his first return to a legitimate academic institution since elementary school. He got here a little late, but he finally found his (mandated) way here after a stint in juvenile detention.
POWERS
Explosion manipulation: very much inspired by My Hero Academia’s Bakugo Katsuki. Julian can cause explosions through skin contact. Though, upon closer inspection, it’s his sweat that ignites at will. Theoretically, he’s able to cause explosions away from the scene, treating a vial of sweat as some sort of grenade or live bomb. However, most of the potential applications of his powers are theoretical, given that he has no desire to develop them. The reason he’s at Vanguardia is to learn to control his powers so that he may never accidentally trigger them, which is how he keeps getting into trouble. Julian has the ability to cause so much explosive damage with nothing but a touch. He can blow off limbs, bring buildings down, explode vehicles, maybe entire streets, entire neighborhoods—he doesn’t know, he doesn’t want to know.
Given how his powers work, Julian has an extreme aversion to physical contact. He hates the feeling he gets after someone touches his bare skin, the sudden thought that he can detonate them if he wanted to, if he just willed it. His intrusive thoughts are violent and uncomfortable, to say the least.
PERSONALITY & HEADCANONS
Julian has a bit of a temper problem, and his way of solving it is by staying away from people. He’s distant and hard to approach, though he’s perfectly polite and affable, just… deeply reserved. It’s easy to get a rise out of him, though he tries his best to live life in a state of dissociation. The less he feels, the less likely he is to, well, blow up! Obviously, this doesn’t always pan out, so Julian is prone to minor accidents, here and there.
He’s kind of an asshole even though he genuinely tries to stay out of people’s way. His reserved and standoffish nature isn't cool. It’s because he’s awkward as hell. He’s surprisingly earnest and sincere beneath the rough exterior—you don’t even have to look very close to notice. It’s painfully obvious that he’s still just a scared kid trying to wear grown-up clothes.
He doesn’t like enclosed spaces. He doesn’t even like being inside vehicles. Julian was an avid biker & skateboarder before he got himself a shitty motorcycle and taught himself how to ride it. His current bike is certainly an upgrade, and it’s his baby—he treats it better than he does himself. Julian is a bit of a self-taught mechanic.
He’s never been in a relationship, for obvious reasons. He’s deeply uncomfortable with physical contact, though it has nothing to do with intimacy itself. He’s just scared, but he is capable of having feelings! He’s just never acted on them.
There's one person he doesn't flinch away from. It's a bond strengthened by a life endured through loss and tragedy. Paloma has remained true in their friendship through thick and thin. He's grateful to them in ways he can't begin to express, and he's not entirely convinced that he deserves their friendship, even now. If there's ever a sure way to get through to Julian, it's through Paloma.
Julian is a freak about many things, and good grades is certainly one of them. He would never admit it, but he’s intense about competition. He doesn’t want the spotlight, though, he just wants the silent glory. And besides, despite all of the trouble he’s gotten into over the years, he’s always been incredibly academic. Julian enjoys having assignments to pour over, he likes the distraction, and so he’s always on top of his course work.
He's always wearing long-sleeves. Winter is his favorite season. Julian has burn scars from the accident hidden under layers upon layers.
