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January 2019

Calendar Calendar

End of Year News (December 2017)

Thu Dec 28, 2017 3:57 am by Adrian

(It's been one year since I made a news thread, oops)

Merry Christmas/Festivus/whatever holiday you do or do not celebrate!

2017 was a pretty busy year IRL for most of us - according to forum statistics, our busiest month was in June with 1671 total posts, meaning our post rate has been a little …

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Forum Bug

Wed Dec 28, 2016 3:18 am by Adrian

Hi all,

We're aware of a peculiar forum glitch that's causing some subforums to be locked.

Due to the lateness at this time, it might be a while before the glitch can be remedied, because despite my best efforts and as far as I can tell, everything seems to be working fine admin-side. It may have …

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Comments: 1

Discord News/Update Test

Thu Dec 08, 2016 1:35 am by Adrian

Just a news, update test. Trying to get this thing to work.

Comments: 0

Harwell’s Institute for the Fairly Exceptional II

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Harwell’s Institute for the Fairly Exceptional II

Post by WritingBookworm on Thu Jun 14, 2018 5:02 am

“All the best heroes are ordinary people who make themselves extraordinary."
-Gerard Way

OCTOBER 15th, 1976

”Dancin' and singin' and movin' to the groovin'
And just when it hit me somebody turned around and shouted
Play that funky music white boy!”

The fifteen year old — almost sixteen year old, mind you — Sarah Smith mouthed the lyrics to the song on the car radio, nodding her head along to the beat and moving as energetically as though she was Rob Parissi himself, performing in front of thousands of adoring fans. “Play that funky music right!”

Next to her, in the driver’s seat, Ryan snorted. Sarah quit her dancing long enough to shoot him a glare, but Ryan kept his eyes trained on the road as innocently as though he’d never snorted in the first place.

Sarah elbowed her brother. “Play that funky music, Ryan.”

“Why can’t you play that funky music?”

“Because I’m a white girl, obviously. They need a white boy to play that funky music.”

“Who says we have to follow their rules?”

The car ripped across the Ohio road, with nothing but fields and dead, Autumn leaves in sight. Reds, oranges, and pinks painted the sunset, and with the windows down, Sarah easily detected the smell of car oil.

“How’s everything going with Abby, by the way?” Sarah asked. “Been a while since you called.”

“Oh, it’s going great. Actually, while I’m thinking about it . . . “

Ryan pulled over to the side of the road to briefly park the car. He dug through his pocket, his hand emerging with a small, black box. Sarah gasped, holding out her hands. “Is that . . . “

Ryan nodded, a big grin overtaking his face. Sarah popped the box open, finding a diamond ring nestled inside.

“I’ll tell Mom and Dad once we get home,” Ryan said. “I’m going to propose to her after I return to Chicago.”

“Ryan, this is incredible!” Sarah snapped the box shut and threw her arms around him. “Abby’s lucky to have you.”

Ryan laughed. “More like I’m lucky to have her.”

“Fair enough.” She withdrew, still bouncing in her seat as she got an idea. “Oh, while we’re still out here, can you show me?”

“Show you what?”

“The light.”

His hesitation was clear, but it was also only for a moment. He closed his eyes in concentration, and a moment later, both his hand and his arm were bathed in an aura of light.

Sarah raised her eyebrows. The last time he’d visited from college, he could only manifest the light around his palm. “You’ve gotten better.”

“Maybe a little.” Ryan shook out his arm, and then the light vanished. “I still don’t know how I’m going to break this to Mom and Dad. Or Abby, for that matter,” he added.

“Don’t worry,” said Sarah, turning away in her seat. The newfound edge in her voice surprised even herself as she said, “You could commit murder and Mom and Dad would still adore you.”

He paused. Then he turned off the radio. “Sarah? Is everything okay?”

She wished everything was. She loved Ryan, really. She loved embarking on these private car trips with him whenever he dropped by, and he would always listen with a ready ear.

But that was part of the problem for her. Ryan was perfect — perfectly nice, perfectly athletic, perfectly smart, and perfectly perfect. His academic prowess in high school had earned him the title of Valedictorian as well as a full scholarship from the University of Chicago — and he’d earned it while doing volunteer work and captaining the high school cross country team. Whenever her teachers and parents would look at her, they would see another potential Ryan. But Sarah was, for the lack of a better term, average. They were disappointed when she didn’t deliver.

If only she were the one who had those superpowers. Maybe then, she wouldn’t be average, but exceptional.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sarah finally said.

“A bit too late for that, don’t you think? I’m already worried.”

“Just . . . “ Sarah shook her head. “You’re acting like it’s such a burden to have superpowers.”

“Well, I just don’t know how everyone else will react,” Ryan said. “Everyone thinks they know me now, but what if they discover what I have? What I truly am? I’m terrified that this is going to change everything.”

“It didn’t change anything with me. I doubt it’s going to change anything with our parents.”

“You don’t know that —“

“Yes, I do!” Sarah turned in her seat sharply, grabbing for Ryan’s hand. “Everyone loves you, okay? It’s you they love, not me.” Sarah looked away, laughing to herself. She heard Ryan gasp — she loosened her grip just a little, but couldn’t imagine that he was in too much pain. “It makes me wish I could have what you have. It makes me want to be you. So I just can’t stand to see you sitting here, and, and, and not realize what you already have! You’re already perfect. Having superpowers is just going to be one more thing that makes you so damn perfect and . . . “

She slowed her tirade once she heard his raspy breaths. She looked over her shoulder, her breath catching at the sight of how pallid Ryan had suddenly become. He opened and closed his mouth twice like a fish desperate for water.

“Ryan?” She let go of him, shaking his shoulder. “Wait, Ryan, what just happened?”

Ryan breathed out one last time, and then he was still.

“Ryan? Ryan!” She shook him again, still unable to comprehend it, unable to understand that her brother was gone so suddenly. “Ryan!”

From the side of her eye, she saw a light begin to glow. Sarah lifted her head, hoping for one glorious second that it might be Ryan, that he might be glowing again, and that would be a sign that he was alive.

But it wasn’t it his hand that was aglow. It was hers.

“What . . . ?” Sarah turned her hand over, stunned as it burned bright with Ryan’s light.

Because deep inside, she knew. She’d wanted Ryan’s light; and somehow, she’d taken it from him.

And killed him in the process.

Sarah groaned, clutching his shoulder and digging her fingernails into his still-warm skin, like she could put the powers back and restore his life if she just tried hard enough. She wanted his powers before, but now she didn’t. She would gladly trade them, trade anything in the world if it just meant she would get Ryan back.

But life was not kind.

Sarah clutched her hand to her chest, bent over it, and screamed.

JANUARY 5th, 2018
8:00AM EST

- Maxwell -

“Almost ready,” I say to myself.

I work in the quiet hours of the morning, early enough when the rest of my family is still sleeping. I bend over the table, examining every scrap of metal and how well they all fit together. I doubt I’m in any position to make a final assessment, as I’m running solely on five cans of caffeinated soda. But I rather do like what I have so far.

Eventually, I will show the Harwell’s administration my true potential, and that I’ve got what it takes to be one of their best students yet. But for now, I lean back in my wheelchair, removing my glasses from my face as I stare at a pair of unfinished mechanical wings.


"You rise with the moon, I rise with the sun."

Infinity's Row: Interlude l Anaphora: Pariah l Infinity's Row: Uncontrollable l Anaphora: Vengeance]

Currently Reading: The Iliad by Homer
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Re: Harwell’s Institute for the Fairly Exceptional II

Post by Adrian on Thu Jun 14, 2018 6:37 am

December 25, 2017
12:00AM CST

St. Louis, MO

“Merry Christmas, Victor.”

Continuum shuddered as the sweat rolled off of his neck. He had nothing to eat or drink for the past 24 hours. IV drips lined his body like he was some sort of half-human, half-machine thing, giving him just enough to keep him alive, but not enough for him to use his abilities. Slowly, Vincent craned his neck up to face Foxtrot, whose blank expression only filled him with a bitter rage.

“Fuck you,” the young man stammered, trying to keep his breathing in check. It was hard enough to move his head without passing out. The energy to be belligerent was hardly there, as well.

"Oh, come now," Foxtrot crooned. "I don't think that's very Christ-like of you."

"You're one to talk," Vincent muttered. "Holding me here against my will."

Foxtrot let out a deep sigh, exasperated. "I see you still haven't come around. My magnum opus is almost complete, Vincent." The boy recoiled - that was the first time the villain had used his actual name. "And you are the final piece."

"What are you talking about?" Vincent asked. "What are you doing?"

The crook unleashed a sinister smile. "Taking us home."

Vincent squinted his eyes in the already-dim light. This was also the first time that Foxtrot had opened up about his plans, however vague it was. A fucking Christmas miracle.

Foxtrot opened his mouth to continue, but a harsh string of unintelligible words screeched out from an earpiece dangling from his head. He placed a finger to it, listening intently, before cursing under his breath.

"Blast it, Echo..." Foxtrot muttered, before walking off. "I swear, it's almost like you're trying to ruin me some days..."

The door behind Foxtrot closed, leaving Vincent once more in the dark - figuratively, and literally.

5 January, 2018
12:00PM GMT

Morfa Bychan, Wales

The cold sea wind beat against my face, and I took in the salty air. It smelled fresh, yet lonely somehow. The feeling of an approaching storm overtook me, and for a moment, I dared to remove my glasses.

"Fia!" My father called to me from the road, and I followed his voice, allowing the energy of the sand and the rocks and the grass to guide me to the cottage. My dress flapped carelessly as the winds picked up.

As I finally entered the cottage, I felt the presence of my family surrounding me as they moved around the drafty, yet cozy room. I was not surprised by the activity – after all, today was my brother's birthday.

"Happy birthday, Andras!" A voice cheered from my left.

"Fia, come sit next to me." A wrinkled, yet warm hand guided me to a weathered chair.

"I got you some cake from the shops, Andy. It's your favorite flavor, lemon."

"Watch your step, dear, Rosie is hunting for mice again." A small, furry thing rubbed up against my leg before darting off somewhere.

I smiled at their voices. Though I could not see their faces, I knew they were delighted about my brother's birthday. The Rhydderch clan always took birthdays to be very festive occasions for many reasons.


"I know it's not much, but you'll get used to it."

January 5, 2018
8:00AM EST

New London, NH


My dad heaved a large cardboard box labeled "vinyls" towards the front patio - the center of a nice one-story house in New London. After dad took the new job at Harwell's, it was decided that a move was in order so our "family dynamic" wouldn't get too strung out. But really, I think it was a result of mom - a Minnesota native - complaining about the Southern heat.

"There's a lot of things I've had to get used to," I replied. "This is a cakewalk compared to all that."

The two of us - me and Bridget - were carrying in a loveseat from the U-Haul truck parked outside, and our shuffling feet brushed against the sidewalk as we struggled to keep it balanced. Against all odds, we managed to fit it through the door and dropped it down onto the hardwood floor, where it made a huge thud.

My mother leaned her head through the front door, frowning. "Careful, you two. You're gonna scratch the floor, and they just put new boards in."

January 5, 2018
6:00AM MST

Tucson, Arizona


My alarm beeped three times before I finally threw my hand on the digital clock, shutting it up for good. Despite hitting the snooze button, however, I was not afforded a few more minutes of sleep.

"You're going to be late."

My face melted into a grimace as I turned to glare at Lucanus, who had his arms folded like a disappointed parent.

"Like you care," I muttered. "You and my grandfather never exactly got along, from what I've heard."

"What?!" Lucanus hopped off of my dresser, stomping over to my bedroom door. "Where are you getting your information from, wajinga? Your grandpa and I were two peas in a pod before your dad came along."

Never got along with my father, either, I reminded myself bitterly as I threw a shirt on. "Whatever. Just promise not to be too annoying today? I'd like to learn something for once."

5 January, 2018
1:00PM CET

Berlin, Germany


The streets of Berlin were cold and rainy. Why did you have to make them cold and rainy?

(It's how I usually imagine Berlin. And as far as I know, nobody else has a character here, so I decided to make it that way. Sorry.)

Well, I'm offended. We get sunshine too, you know.

(I'm sure.)

Yeah okay. Now, where was I... Oh yeah.

I was walking home from dance recital


I was walking home from my latest hook-up

(Uh uh. Try again.)

FINE. I was walking home from my latest interview. And I blew it. Actually, you know what, I didn't blow it. The regressive, traditionalist society of Germany blew it. My credentials- (you applied for a grocery store position) -were perfect, and I have a great personality- (debatable) -and you wanna know why I got rejected?

(Let me guess...)


(Your - oh. Yeah, I guess that works too).

Everyone hates my hair. Maybe it's too green? Maybe they don't like the way my luscious locks are cut. It's ridiculous, though. It's a perfectly gender-neutral style.

Now aunty was gonna be pissed at me, like she always was. And sure enough, when I walked through the door, there she was.

"BOY!" She shouted at me.

"Girl, today," I muttered, rolling my eyes at her and kicking off my muddy shoes.

"Watch yourself," she growled. "You're a boy as far as the government is concerned. How did your interview go? Please tell me you got the job."

"I did!" I jumped up and down in mock excitement. "They even promoted me to store manager! The last one was so intimidated by my job application he offed himself in shame."

"Don't get sarcastic with me." She ashed her cigarette in the tray on the chest of drawers next to the door. "You don't need to tell me you didn't get it. Wherever you go, failure seems to follow."

"Great parenting," I mumbled, headed towards my room. Some parent she was, honestly. Wasn't even related to me.

"What did you say?!" She hissed like a goose, but I ignored her and just walked into my room. It was better than having to listen to her "lecture" me - and by lecture, I mean having dirty shoes thrown at me.

Silently, I threw myself onto my bed, staring out the window and wondering where Adrian's train of thought was going to take me next.

Last edited by Adrian on Fri Jun 15, 2018 12:32 am; edited 1 time in total


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Re: Harwell’s Institute for the Fairly Exceptional II

Post by Comrade Squid on Thu Jun 14, 2018 8:24 am

(I'd like to thank Whitehawk for collaborating with me on the first part of this post!)

Unknown date, time, or location

They had agreed to meet some time after midnight, as his contact had specified a sort of preference for the dark.  The warehouse was dirty and therefore displeasing, but it was clear that it was still in use: tall wooden boxes filled the floor in stacks and mounds, casting dark shadows over already dusky halls.  

The former professor Edwin Hommel casually strode between the various crates and pallets, as if he were looking for somebody.  Even without the atmosphere of his countryside manor, he still possessed an air of elegance, an aroma of aged whiskey -- in contrast to his filthy surroundings. Finding a spot he thought looked adequate, he leaned against one of the taller crates, taking a long drag from his cigarette as he did so.

“Wasn’t it decided that smoking is bad for you?”  The voice came from overhead, distant but amused.  

The white-haired man looked up, not terribly surprised to see his contact crouching menacingly on an overhead rafter.

“I should have known you wouldn’t bother coming through the front door,” he remarked coldly, inhaling the smoke to relax himself. “I’ve no need for a long life, and I can realize my plan shortly... with your help.”

“Heard you had a job for me,” said the other man, scaling down the warehouse walls.  “Who’s it this time?”

“You know a dame named Sarah Smith?” inquired Hommel, not even looking in the direction of his prospective hire. “Actually, you might know her better as... Lightbringer.” He made sure to pause before saying her alias, for additional dramtic effect.

“I’ve met the bitch.  You want her dead?”  The other man made no pretense of disinterest, simply standing there, eyes on Hommel.  “You know what you’re asking for, right?”

“I know what I’m asking for, and I know who I’m asking,” Hommel replied with the slightest smirk, looking over the mercenary as he did so. Dark skin, curly hair braided into ponytailed dreads at the back and in casual attire. Though he appeared to be a good deal younger than the professor, something was wrong with him -- he looked unnatural, almost strained. “Your reputation precedes you, cowboy. Thankfully, I don’t necessarily need her dead- just busy, until I’ve won. Until rebirth occurs.”

“How long do you need her away?  And when?”  He leaned to the side, stretching.  “Heard some of my grandkids are at Harwell’s. Could make it a two-in-one kinda trip.”

“I can’t answer that just yet,” Hommel answered coolly, taking another long drag of his cigarette. “I’m sure the agency told you that I would pay handsomely. I’ll keep in touch with you.”

The man straightened slowly.  “You better not be wasting my time.  This isn’t the average contract, and I don’t like setups.  If you’re baiting for a shot at me later, you better think twice.”

“My quarrel isn’t with you,” the old man clarified, returning to a more serious tone of voice. “All I need is to get Lightbringer out of the way so that I can fulfill my goals.” Hommel puffed his cigarette again. “You have goals, don’t you? Such as seeing your grandchildren? I’m sure you can relate.”

Dark eyes scanned him, perusing his form, his clothes, the cigarette.  His hands reached for the pockets of his jacket and settled in them. “Send me the information by agency.  I’ll make a scene.  You’ll know when I’ve started.”

Hommel flashed a smile, and tossed away his cigarette before adjusting the cuffs of his signature grey suit. “Good. Glad to have ya on the team.” He extended his hand for the other man to shake.

It was returned after the man had a moment to look him up and down again.  “Hope you’re good at what you do.”

“I'm the best,” Hommel assured him, “though I admit there ain't much competition in my field.” More like "our field".

A wry smile flashed across the man’s face.  “If you’re right, then this is it.  Lightbringer’s finally going down.”

10:00 AM, December 26th, 2017

The last thing I'd want to do is impose on her.

Nevertheless, Annie didn't have an alternative. Scared and alone on the day after Christmas, flat broke after spending most of her money on the plane ticket to get there, without a single ally in Illinois with the sole exception of Gretchen Norman, whose quaint, suburban home she now stood on the doorstep of. It was a nice house- pretty, normal, and as aesthetically pleasing as the girl who lived there. The blonde knew that Lucille Lear had already occupied the Normans' empty guestroom, and she hoped that they wouldn't mind if she stayed there if she slept on the couch and kept out of the way.

Well, here we go.

Disregarding the doorbell, she knocked on the door three times.

Last edited by Comrade Squid on Thu Jun 14, 2018 5:35 pm; edited 2 times in total

"If you think voicing such an opinion here and now was a wise move..."

"...then maybe you should reevaluate your definition of stupidity."
Thank you Fix-it for the amazing signature!
Also, thank you so much ~Hermione~ for last year's awesome Marcel signature!
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Re: Harwell’s Institute for the Fairly Exceptional II

Post by Fix-It on Thu Jun 14, 2018 12:26 pm

~ Loretta ~
Loretta, despite any previous assumptions, was not too far off from being an early bird. She did love to sleep, but this morning she was out of bed by 7. She had a nightmare. A nightmare about--

But that didn't really matter, so she pulled herself out of bed and went for the kitchen. She knew they wouldn't prepare breakfast. They hadn't really done it the entire break, even when the family had a guest. She opted for waffles; homemade, to be specific.

She mixed together the dry ingredients in a bowl, and absentmindedly sipped from a mug of coffee at the same time. The recipe was pulled up on her phone. Though, Loretta practically had it memorized after making them so many times prior.

Some time later, after successfully creating the batter and pouring it into the wafflemaker, she had just about a dozen waffles to serve. Loretta looked to the clock. 8:00. She melted a cup of butter in the microwave and pulled the syrup from the fridge. Last of all, she set the dining table.

She could hear her parent's alarms go off as she placed the last glass of water down and took a seat.

I wish you could've been here. Even if you'd have eaten all the waffles.

~ Summer ~
"So, i've been thinking--"

"Do you have an actual original thought? Amazing."

"Shut up. Anyways, i've been thinking that I really don't want to go back to this superhero school shit. I mean did you see the news? Freaking Daikaiju?!"

"I think you kinda have to."

"Kinda have to go?"

"Yeah, I mean, you can't just drop out."

"Why not? I have the damn money."

"Think of it this way: would you rather come back to reality where everyone is screaming about your hiatus among other shit?"

"Not really. Okay, yeah, fine. I'll go back."

"Glad I could save your ass again. Anyways, I got to go now. Night!"


Summer left the voice call and flopped onto her back. Even the million dollar mattress couldn't solve her problems right now. She still felt conflicted, and sure, maybe the chat with Van had helped, but...

It was the fact that she was totally right that pissed Summer off. She had no other options besides returning. This was her stupid life now. She'd been lucky enough to dodge outta the Christmas shit, but now Harwell's wanted Summer Matthews back.

Whatever. I'll just have to suck it up and go. After all, no one likes a coward.

~ Lucía ~
The Chimera is a legend. A hero. A bright flame of hope against the dark backwash of evil.

And they're also a teenage girl.

Lucía flipped through the channels. Her options were limited to a total of eight, but if she was lucky then she'd be able to find something cool to copy off the news. They did their sports reports on Friday, after all, and that usually meant wrestling.

She smiled when she turned on the news and the first thing they flashed on screen were clips from a local wrestling ring. New clips. Her eyes darted across the screen, keeping care to grab every piece of their techniques. Their posture, which foot they put weight on, their position in relation to their opponent, and so on. But, admittedly, she was a little distracted by the fact that both wrestlers were really hot girls.

Lucía stood up. "¡Alan, conmigo!" Two seconds of silence were split by a young boy storming through the house and diving into a tackle. Lucía dodged his opener, grabbed his wrist with one hand, put her other flush against his neck, then threw him to the floor with enough force to send her in the air for a moment.

He lay on the ground, out of breath. She joined him to be respectful.

"¿Cómo hiciste eso?" he whined.

"Practiqué. Obviamente."

"¿Me enseñarás?"


They stood up together and Lucía began to explain. Despite her bluntness, she was an excellent teacher and Alan knew this to be true. There's no way a kid as excitable as him would be able to sit through a lecture if it was done poorly. By the end of the day, he'd know how to do a flip like that.

She was sure of it.

why did i still have a halloween signature oh my god it's literally christmas now
thank you so much athena!:

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Re: Harwell’s Institute for the Fairly Exceptional II

Post by Lady Senbonzakura on Thu Jun 14, 2018 8:54 pm

10:00 AM, December 26th, 2017
Gretchen pulled her obsidian hair from under the collar of her sweater and let the strands fall onto her back. She knew it was probably a bit early to get dressed, but the proper clothes would motivate her to complete her task.
The day before was Christmas, even though it didn’t feel like it. She felt bad, having to put poor Lucille in an air mattress on the floor of her room, but she seemed too nervous to sleep alone anymore. Not only did Lucille have no where to go, but she didn’t have any stuff either – clothes, blankets, toiletries – she had lost it all in the resort fire. Thus, the brunette decided that her Christmas present to Lucille would be to take her shopping. It was the best time to go, as the clearance racks should be full of post-Christmas sales. Besides, something…normal might help them forget everything, at least for an hour or so.
Gretchen carefully stepped around the area of Lucille’s bed, unsure as to whether or not she was awake. Slowly opening a drawer, she moved articles around until she found the jeans she was looking for, and slipped them on. Satisfied with how she looked for the time being, she left her room, past her grandmother and mother’s rooms, and made her way downstairs to the kitchen. She would throw together some breakfast, and wait for Lucille to come down.
Gretchen had slotted some bread into the toaster and pressed the slices down when her attention was brought to the front of the house. Knocking, someone was knocking on the door three times, and fear spiked through Gretchen’s heart. It could be anyone at that door – Mom, Slade, Harbinger, anyone.
Abandoning her toast, Gretchen made a dash towards the window next to the door, getting on her knees and peaking through the bottom few blinds. She didn’t dare use the eyehole, as someone could have a gun and shoot her through the door, so the awkward angle would have to do. One of the columns on the porch blocked her view, but she saw a flash of pale blonde.
For a second, her heart stopped, as she thought her cousin had come to attempt to kidnap Lucille (again.) She couldn’t risk a fight here, and Lucille could try to slip out, but ASDOM probably had the house surrounded…
Gretchen let go of the window in relief when the figure moved back into her view. The fear began to drain away, and let out a sigh to remove her nerves as she stood up. Turning the locks on the door, Gretchen opened it and smiled at the visitor.
“Hi, Annie!” she greeted, half breathless, too high from the relief to be confused.

January 5th, 2018
“Eleven days ain’t enough time to be with your family.” Domhnall commented, arms crossed as he stood in the doorway, “Especially after the wringer you two got put through.”
Fiachra threw another t-shirt into his new luggage: “Donut, you are preaching to a very pissed-off choir.”
“With Quinn on organ.” Lachtna added, not looking up from his packing.
“Heard from anyone?” the eldest asked.
“Nope. Just you and Sam.”
Domhnall sighed through his nose and closed his eyes. A few days after the twins had returned home, he and Sam had summoned their courage and announced their engagement in person to his parents with mixed results. May took it fairly easily, but she was probably so overjoyed that her son was alive and getting married that she couldn’t bring herself to give enough thought to it. Doug, meanwhile, looked visibly disappointed, but didn’t say anything rude.
Doug did, however, look up from his beer to ask Domhnall how he planned to have those kids he was always talkin’ ‘bout if neither of them were women.
“Ten-year-old me would’ve loved to have been adopted by a nice couple.” Sam answered politely, “So we plan to give a child the chance I never received.”
Domhnall made sure to lean next to his mother and whisper “more than one,” and smirk.
Back in the present, Domhnall heard the sound of zippers following their path around the luggage, and realized his younger brothers were finished.
“You stayin’ here?” Lachtna asked.
A shrug. “If I don’t get kicked out, sure. But wedding’s coming up in a few months, so I still got some work to do.”


January 5th, 2018
Genesis yawned, then nuzzled her nose into the pillow again. She didn’t really want to get up, not that she ever did, but her stomach was starting to sting at the point where ribs met, so she had to.
Sitting up, she looked around her room, noticing it was bright with sunlight, and frowned. All that sunlight looked nice. Nice to sleep in…
But instead, she leaned forward and stretched her back as she yawned again, letting out a little noise at the end that she was never told the name of. Noises having names was such a funny idea, and she liked it.
Today was one of the last days of Christmas break, but it wasn’t really Christmas without Daddy. Daddy made sure she had presents on Christmas morning, like a lot of other kids did. So, for the past three years, it was just…break.
Lazily running a hand over her stark white hair so her ears wouldn’t twitch, Genesis picked gray a dress out of her drawer to wear, and threw it over her head and slipped her arms through. She liked the dresses because they didn’t hurt her tail like jeans did, and they were easy to put on. She put her hair into braids, like normal, and slipped on her shoes that didn’t have laces (she pulled them out to play with them and then couldn’t figure out how to put them back.) Ready to find some food, Genesis left her room.
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Re: Harwell’s Institute for the Fairly Exceptional II

Post by Shaybaysasuke on Thu Jun 14, 2018 9:02 pm

The Scathan house had been relatively quiet throughout the year with Adair, Riada, and Lillian out of the house. On most days it was only Michael and the butler Desmond, the rest of the staff being called in occasionally since there was so little mess without the boys. It was calm, but it was lonely.

Things livened up quickly at the news of the attack. Michael was a wreck, constantly trying to call his sons and checking the news channels religiously for any other information he could get. Desmond wasn't much better, pacing in the living room and listening intently to everything going on. When Riada was finally able to answer his phone the two collapsed into their respective chairs and were able to breath easy.

The boys arrival brought a flurry of excitement and the staff was called in to prepare the house for a party. Michael was proud of his sons for getting through the year at the academy and even more proud of what they had done in the fight (even if it did nearly give him a heart attack). It was a relatively small affair with some of the boys' friends from their old school and a few of Michael's colleagues, but it was enjoyable for him to spend time with his sons once more.

The four spent a relaxing week at home, the boys catching up on needed rest and recounting their time at school to their father and Desmond. Some of the stories shocked the two listening, but the boys could only laugh at some of the scared faces they made. Everything was peaceful, but there was still someone missing.

Lillian hadn't gotten any better since the boys left, some of the doctors even saying that she may have declined further on some days. Michael still went to visit her alone every day, the boys understanding why they shouldn't see her. They didn't want to see her hurt herself again. Michael did risk mentioning that Adair and Riada were home from school for a while and it didn't really seem to phase her, which seemed like a good sign. Over the next few days Lillian kept asking for the boys, but never together. On one day she would ask for Adair and the next Riada, but Michael told her no every time. He didn't know if this was some kind of coping mechanism, trying to separate them in her mind, but he didn't want her thinking of their sons as one person. She asked for it every day until the Thursday before the boys went back to school.

Michael walked into the hospital room and found Lil quietly sobbing, quickly moving over to his wife to comfort her. She curled into his chest and kept quietly asking for Adair and Riada to come see her. Michael debated for a few minutes but eventually decided to call them, hoping that this was progress for her. When they arrived Lil just opened her arms and they rushed to hug her, just happy to be in their mother's arms again. It lasted for about an hour, the boys just staying by her side while Michael sat in a chair close by. He could see when she was starting to break again. She had finally stopped crying but had started to look between her sons, eyes widening in fear. Michael quickly ushered Adair and Riada out of the room before Lil went into an episode and the doctors moved in to help keep her calm.

The three drove home in silence, the entire situation leaving them all with a lot to think about.

January 5, 2018
8:00 AM


I yawned as I made my way down to the dining room, already showered and dressed. It had been hard to shake the habit of waking up early for school, I'm pretty sure dad didn't even know we were usually up this early. I wasn't complaining, though, the few quiet hours in the morning actually gave us a chance to train and practice. I was able to teach Adair what I had accidentally figured out during that fight with Slade and Harbringer. Desmond agreed to help us, even though he was a little hesitant, but Adair picked up on everything pretty quick, being able to take Desmond through different reflective surfaces within a few days. We had gotten another session in this morning before going to clean up, but Adair was already sitting in his seat, smiling as he typed out a text on his phone.

"Who ya texting," I teased him, coming up behind him and making him jump.

He yelped and quickly turned to swipe at my arm, but he was still smiling, "Fiachra, I was wondering when he and Lacthna were going to be getting to the train station on Monday."

"You're thinking way too far ahead, dude," I said with a chuckle, plopping down in the seat next to him and reaching for the pot of coffee. I was happy that he finally texted him, though. He had been so nervous to since he wasn't sure where they both stood after everything that happened. I kept telling him that he was overreacting but he was always thinking too much about things, I don't think I'd ever get him to stop, "But tell him to say hi to Lachtna for me."

I guess I was kinda in the same boat. To be fair we had both been busy with dad and then all the shit that went down with mom but I probably should've texted. Man I was an asshole.

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Re: Harwell’s Institute for the Fairly Exceptional II

Post by Captain Whitehawk on Thu Jun 14, 2018 10:12 pm

New York City, New York | January 4th, 2018 | 21:16

"It won't be an easy job," said the man behind the desk.  "You're going to need to be careful."

Thanatos paced, parsing it through in his mind.  So long as Lightbringer couldn't touch him -- or at least for not a good length of time -- he'd be safe.  He could take hits.  He would heal.  Keeping her busy for that long though, that would be difficult.  Just beat the shit out of her, he told himself, and he tried to imagine it.  It almost got him excited.  But he wouldn't be able to leave a mark on her.  And the image wouldn't stay.  Likely she would try to burn him to ash.  She'd done so before, it'd be one hell of a thing to dodge.

"I'm going to send people with you," the man continued.  "People who can keep up with you.  There's not a whole lot of folks who'd take the job, but if I say it's a bodyguard job that could rope  more in --"

"No," Thanatos said, glaring at him.  "No help, I do it alone."

The man leaned back into his chair.  He was older, gray streaks leaking into black, tightly curled hair and dripping into a trimmed beard.  Dark skin, dark eyes, darker bags under his eyes.  It amused Thanatos a little to see the leader of a mercenary organization look so helpless and annoyed.  "You're this close," the Baptist said, raising his hand and pinching a millimeter of air between his fingers, "to getting axed.  If you fail this job, it could mean dire consequences for the Dogs.  We can't take any bad rep."

"You say that every time I take a job," Thanatos said, falling back into a chair.  "What'd you make the Dogs out of, toothpicks?  Grow some balls and take a hit, you'll be fine."  

Mouth creasing, the Baptist looked between them at the contract that sat on the desk.  It had already been signed and officiated, terms drawn up, defined, and given deadlines.  Though he hadn't checked his account yet, he suspected the down payment had already been transferred, which would make for a nice evening out, perhaps some new toys, maybe a date if he was feeling very ambitious.  "Besides," Thanatos said, fiddling with one of the desk toys scattered around the room.  "By the time I'm done, there won't be anyone to breath down your neck.  You should be thanking me, you ungrateful bitch."

"I want you to come home safe."

"You gonna cry about it, huh?"

They stared at each other a moment.  Thanatos had looped his legs over the edge of the chair, back against the other arm, a fidget spinner whirring between his fingers.  The Baptist's hands held each other, white-knuckled, eyes looking glassy.  The old man was made of water, he thought.  Weak, formless, and spilling everywhere anywhere all the time.

"As your manager," the Baptist said, scooting his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose, "it's my job to make sure our client's wishes are fulfilled to the letter.  I understand this is something of an emotionally charged case for you--"  Thanatos held in a laugh.  "--but if you threaten our neutrality, I won't hesitate to send an assassin."

Thanatos grinned.  "You'll fail."

Enfield, New Hampshire | January 1st, 2018 | 10:37

The first day of the new year, and August wouldn't get out of bed.

She'd left some time before dawn to conduct a little business, but when she'd returned to a quiet apartment at 9 AM, she'd been confused.  No click of keyboard keys, their cat had been crying for attention and food, the kitchen was as clean as they'd left it the day before.  At first she thought maybe she'd been too rough with them before, but the marks on their neck and chest were faint, nothing like the things she'd left for them to contemplate before.  But when she had made their coffee and left it on their desk and it drew no response, Farida decided her little introvert required some attention.  

"Your doctor said stay in bed for several hours, not live in it," she said as she walked into their bedroom.  August lay under the comforter, eyes half-lidded, mouth half open.  They were too stiff for her tastes.  She crawled onto the bed, reaching out a hand for their shoulder.  

They groaned, grimacing.  "A-Ahhh."  Gray eyes ambled slowly to look at her, tightened with pain.  

She sat back on her heels, lips curling.  "What are you doing?  Have you hurt yourself?"

"Aaaahh," August said, and Farida took it as permission.  Peeling the comforter off of them, she saw a spread of bruises across their ribs, splattered against their side like a kindergartner had tried to fingerpaint them in purple and red.  She slid her fingers down their sternum, watching their face as they winced and their breath caught.  Like a feather she dusted her hands over the length of their sides, trying to feel it out.  At least one broken, but perhaps as many as three, judging by the composition of their bruises.  

She took one of their hands, squeezing their palm.  "You cracked a rib?"

"You rolled on me," said August weakly, smiling wanly.

"You're calling me fat," she frowned.  "And I didn't."  But now she wondered.  "When did you do this to yourself?"

"Dunno," they said, and wheezed.  

When she had met August, they'd already had a host of health problems: type one diabetes, asthma, they'd survived leukemia but were under threat of remission.  They were a disaster, a medical basket case.  Two years to live, a doctor had said, at best.  A warning.  August had smiled and said during the car ride home they anticipated five years, if they were very careful.  But Farida had known better.

Mortals were small, mortals were weak, and August would fall apart.  Already, they were.  

"I'm going to call your doctor," she said, getting up.  

"No," they said.  "It'll heal."

"You're breaking bones and you haven't lifted a finger to earn it."  In her head she could see the doctor's number printed crisp and black on a white card, it would be in August's wallet behind their driver's license.  It'd be a quick phone call, but if she found herself on the line with an answering machine she would take them to a hospital within the hour.  The nearest hospital would be half an hour east of Lebanon, a fifteen minute drive if she was efficient --

"Farida," they said, and she stopped.  Their fingers reached for her wrist, and she took their hand.  "Not yet."  They closed their eyes and swallowed, hand tightening in her's.  "I just want to rest."  

She wanted to argue, tell them that they were a fool and under no circumstances would she allow such foolishness.  But they were tired.  And they hadn't gotten up for their coffee, not out of tiredness -- because how could you understand tiredness when your body remained unsleeping? -- but because they were hurt.  She curled beside them and listened to them breathe until they relented, and said they should go.

Last edited by Captain Whitehawk on Tue Jun 26, 2018 7:34 pm; edited 2 times in total


sᴇᴘᴀʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏᴅs, ᴀʟʟ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀ ʜᴀs ʙᴇᴇɴ ʟᴏsᴛ.

ᴛʜᴇ sᴜɴᴅᴇʀɪɴɢ ɪs ᴏᴠᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʀ ʙᴇɢɪɴs.

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Re: Harwell’s Institute for the Fairly Exceptional II

Post by WritingBookworm on Fri Jun 15, 2018 5:02 am

- Lucille -

My back strains under the pressure of Slade’s hand. It forces me back to my knees, and I tremble as I gasp in a breath. I'm like a flea fighting against a giant, for all the difference I'm making. I don't have a weapon. My powers wouldn't be useful in this situation. I'm not just trapped, I'm helpless . . .

. . . The scene changes, and Harbinger’s takes one of my wrists, and then he --

I know what's going to happen, but that doesn't mean it hurts any less. Harbinger takes the back of my hand and
pushes it against my forearm at an acute angle, breaking my wrist. I scream, and my scream is only amplified when he proceeds to apply the same technique to my other wrist —

The knocks at the door, however faint they are from here in Gretchen’s room, are enough to jolt me out of sleep. I gasp, kicking at my blanket for a second before my heart slows, realizing there’s no one here.

Wait, no one. Wait, where’s Gretchen? Where is she, what if that knock at the door was Slade, he’s coming he’s coming again and —

I sit up on the air mattress Gretchen generously gave me, pulling my knees to my chest, closing my eyes to take deep breaths.

Gretchen’s fine, I tell myself. She’s safe, probably just in another room. I’m fine. I’m safe.

Because if Slade really were here, chances are, he wouldn’t be knocking.


"You rise with the moon, I rise with the sun."

Infinity's Row: Interlude l Anaphora: Pariah l Infinity's Row: Uncontrollable l Anaphora: Vengeance]

Currently Reading: The Iliad by Homer
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Re: Harwell’s Institute for the Fairly Exceptional II

Post by Comrade Squid on Fri Jun 15, 2018 8:31 am

10:00 AM, December 26, 2017

Annie half-smiled nervously, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.
"Um, hi." She greeted back, momentarily unsure how to proceed. "Listen, um, would it be okay if I, uhh, stayed here for a few days until we get sent back to the Institute? I'll sleep on the couch, or even the floor if that's not gonna work, and I'll try and stay out of everyone's way."


January 5, 2018

"Eric?" The voice of his mother called out to him from a different room in a cold and business-like manner.

"Yes, mother?" Eric replied, not even bothering to go and find her so he could speak to her face-to-face. He quickly realized she wasn't going to either.

"I'm going to New York for a few days to display our new winter line. I trust you'll be able to take care of yourself in the meantime."

The teen rolled his eyes. "Certainly."
He considered adding a "have a good trip" but he heard her shutting the door behind her before he could say it. Amber Allens had always been a very brisk and indifferent person for as long as Eric could remember, but she used to show a slight amount of care for even him. Ever since he'd come back from the resort, she had been extremely cold, only exchanging a few words with him for the two weeks he was there.

Whatever, he thought. I can keep myself busy until we go back to the Institute.


January 5, 2018

Britannia snuggled up against Alex, feeling her cares wash away as she did so.

They sat together in the back of her mother's van, which she borrowed frequently to go to school. What her mother did not know, however, was what she used it for after school. What Britney had claimed was an after school program was actually quality time with her BF. It was nice to get away from the chaos of the world around them, if only for a few short minutes.

And he's just so soft, Britannia thought. Nevertheless, it couldn't last forever. Or could it?
"Hey," she half-whispered, looking up at his cute face. "Do you know if your parents are home?"


The buzzing, the droning, it never stops, it's harmonious, I hear you and I become one with-

Hommel reluctantly stopped his thought process, moving the cacophony of his gestalt consciousness to the back of his mind. He had business to conduct.
He looked at the door in front of him. A new engraving had just been added.


He'd already heard of what happened to William- and it gave him the perfect opportunity to get closer to Harwell's. Phase 3 could begin.
Hommel calmly knocked on the door several times, hoping Empathy was in.

"If you think voicing such an opinion here and now was a wise move..."

"...then maybe you should reevaluate your definition of stupidity."
Thank you Fix-it for the amazing signature!
Also, thank you so much ~Hermione~ for last year's awesome Marcel signature!
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Re: Harwell’s Institute for the Fairly Exceptional II

Post by Fix-It on Fri Jun 15, 2018 10:47 am

~ Alex ~
He sighed in content, happy to be alone with his girlfriend but still admittedly a little anxious, as was the way of the world for Alex. He wrapped one arm around her. "Uh... probably... why're you asking?" He replied in a way that was practically mumbling.

why did i still have a halloween signature oh my god it's literally christmas now
thank you so much athena!:

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Re: Harwell’s Institute for the Fairly Exceptional II

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