Girls, sex, alcohol, music, movies, reading, writing, Doctor Who, exercising, my hair, superheroes, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, coffee, Ireland, history, politics, video games and last but certainly not least; my friends.
Oh, and let's not forget complete global domination. We all need our hobbies.
Joined: 15-July 10
Last Seen: Apr 10 2014, 10:18 PM
Local Time: Aug 14 2018, 01:54 AM
1,845 posts (0.6 per day) ( 6.43% of total forum posts )
Well, this isn't a particularly happy topic to have to post, but necessary nevertheless. As you might have guessed from the title of the thread, I'll be taking my leave of Generation Z at this time.
Mostly because, I haven't been terribly active the past two years and despite a few - rather sad - efforts to remedy that, it just hasn't worked out. Not for any real reason beyond just getting older and for whatever reason, spending less and less time on the internet.
On top of all that, I'll be taking another step in schooling for my security career and that's in Arkansas, and in a week. That'll be a month or so out of my life and after that, I will be able to consider myself professional rather than amateur in security. Once I get back home, I intend to continue working and in turn, look for new avenues of employment for professional security. So I'll likely have a busy two to three years, from 2014 onwards. Considering this will impact the rest of my life, I just consider it a bit more important than anything else at the moment, save for my girlfriend and friends. They'll always come first.
I just wanted to let you guys know. Generation Z and its members have been a part of my life for the past six or seven (or so) years (I cannot recall if I joined in '07 or '08, now) and I would feel poorly if I just vanished without a trace or post letting you all in on what the haps happened to be.
So, I'll miss you guys. You're all pretty awesome folk so far as I'm concerned and I wish you all the best in life. This is Ravenholme signing off, mes amis!
You know, if you guys could see me right now, you’d see I look very apologetic. A little ashamed of myself. Even remorseful. Also at half-mast, but that’s always the case. A burden I bear alone, but share with everyone I know because I enjoy messing with people. But mostly apologetic. Why?
Well duh. I never call, never write; but I’m back! I can’t say I’m going to be very active anymore, but this time around I’ll actually attempt to spend some time around the forum. I could’ve dropped by in the last three months, but life remains to be crazy. For starters, I signed a one year lease on the apartment Julia and I shared. One year has come and passed for me. She signed a two year, which is also up. Well, Julia moved in with her girlfriend, Chloe. It was why she decided not to renew the lease or whatever, because Chloe decided to take that step in their relationship. I was and am very happy for them, but when that happened I realized I needed to do one of two things. Renew the lease myself, which was a possibility since I have been self-sufficient for a year or so now, or move on out. So for a while, I had to crash with my friend, Dick and keep a lot of my shit in storage. Which sucked. Not living with Dick, his couch is insanely comfortable, but the storage. Anyways, the point of this very long story is I now live in Auburn. Which is a fifteen minute drive to Worcester, but this is important because I live in a house now. Which I own and have a decent fifteen year mortgage on. Granted, I even think about said mortgage and it’s all I can do to not shriek like a little girl. So, house. It’s filled out pretty well, it’s all adult-like and isn’t nearly as bachelorly as I feared it would be. So I’m happy. Auburn’s a bit like the Woods part of the Harper Woods of Michigan that I lived with back in Michigan, but I like it. Nice town, nice stores and hey, I’m not completely cut off from the city which is awesome. Plus, got neighbors. A couple in their thirties with a six year old daughter, who I’m friends with (the couple, not the kid. She’s nice but it’d be weird for anyone my age to call a child their friend). Then my other neighbors are old. The husband and I get along well enough, because we both like liquor and baseball. Wife seems to like me too, but she always has other old lady friends over so I hardly talk with her. But mah neighbors are cool, so I’m happy.
So that’s one reason why I didn’t spend much time thinking about Generation Z. Considering I’ve only really just settled in the last month after a November filled with apartment hunting, discovering mah house out of sheer luck and going “What the hell? Why not? Yeah, this means I’ll be stuck with the El Camino for another few years, but HOUSE!”, I hope I’m not blamed too much for abandoning you all. Other than that big change in my life, other stuff happened. Sister had her baby back in December, on the sixth and I now have a nephew named Elias Rockwell Buchanan-Smith, who weighed nine pounds, four ounces and when I got his picture on my cellphone I thought he was adorable. And a balla. Kid’s got two last names ‘cause his parents are crazy. That was a good day and I’ll probably meet the little man sometime this year. Sister wants it to happen, so I just say okay and let her handle her bidness.
Still working the same job, but I’m beginning to look into other avenues of employment. Nothing wrong with being personal security for a dude with a lot of money and a slight case of paranoia; but it was at a few of the guys I work with’s suggestion. That it’s good to get out there, work different jobs. Which I agree with. So I’ve been looking. Just looking, though. Because - and I don’t know if this has ever been mentioned on the site - I’m actually a licensed security guard. Happened this past year. Part of the reason my activity’s been spotty since 2013. Boss wanted it official, I did as he asked. ‘Cause I probably wouldn’t have the job still. Got hired at the strip club back in Florida because I was basically a bouncer. Sure I watched the security camera’s, but still a bouncer. Got the few security/private security jobs because the guy who owned the strip club talked me up. So it’s official. It took a while, but it was surprisingly easy. I’ve had a firearms license for three years now - one of the first things I did when I turned twenty-one - so that was already taken care of. Which is good, because words like “this job”, “need to” and “licensed” were used. Anyhow. So I can now officially search out jobs, but at the moment I’m staying where I am. MIT had openings for campus police, but I’d be taking a huge blow to my salary that would make living alone, in a house, with a mortgage, a car, bills and personal (UND VERY IMPORTANT) needs much more difficult. So I do the smart thing and stay where I can work and get paid well for it. Not exactly a noble Ravenholme, but hell. I’m as far removed from nobility as you can get.
However, the thing is that this is becoming my career and that’s taken some of my time from me. Which is fine. I like my job. But, a licensed security guard can only get so many jobs. So I’m seriously considering further security training. I’m in private security, in-so-much that the man that employs me to drive him and his daughters around and act as physical security. But my area of expertise according to my co-workers is close protection/personal security. There are schools throughout the states that offer training for that line of security that would allow me to go from “amateur” to “professional”. Something I am very interested in. It’s expensive, I’ll be gone for about a month, but I’d be well within my rights to call myself trained. By schools recommended by ex-military. Puts a smile on my face. I’d be able to easily search out jobs or be sought out myself. Which I call twenty-four years of life finally getting some purpose.
On top of that, the holidays. Thanksgiving with Lauren, John, Will and Lauren’s family. Good day. Christmas with friends. Good day. New Years had to be a good day, considering I can’t remember it. So I was busy. Recently - as in late November of 2013, started seeing a girl who I can call girlfriend. Her name’s Blue (her parents have a pretty weird sense of humor and from what she’s told me, their logic is "diagonal". Which tells me they will be interesting to meet). She’s a blonde, she’s very pretty and I like her a lot. It’s nice to be in a relationship that both parties want to be in and work to make sure we remain in said relationship. So she’s taken up some of my time as well, which is something I am very fine with.
So friends, girlfriends, work, life and keeping myself entertained are to blame. As always. Don’t hate me. I like being a part of this site and will make as much time as possible for it. Can’t say it’ll work, but it’s the thought that counts. Now I must be off. I have three months of catch up! Hurraaaaay!
"Batman: Arkham Origins features an expanded Gotham City and introduces an original prequel storyline occurring several years before the events of Batman: Arkham Asylum and Batman: Arkham City. Taking place before the rise of Gotham City’s most dangerous villains and assassins, the game showcases a young, raw, unrefined Batman as he faces a defining moment in his early career as a crime fighter that sets his path to becoming the Dark Knight. As the story unfolds, witness identities being formed and key relationships being forged."
Although I was incredibly dismayed to discover that the Arkham series was no longer being developed by Rocksteady - the developers responsible for the success of the series, as well as its creation - and instead went to Warner Bros., by the trailers alone the game looks incredible. The gameplay seems to be remaining mostly the same, but now with the alternative of stealthing fights rather than getting into outright brawls. And while I will probably brawl 'cause it's friggin' beautiful, having the option for silent violence is pretty awesome.
It's also been mentioned you can do side-missions once more by saving cops from gang members, informants from getting chucked to their deaths and "Most Wanted" missions where you're apparently supposed to defuse bombs Anarky sets.
On top of all that, a prequel to the series that involves Black Mask at the forefront of the story? Roman Sionis? The pure joy emenating from my alcohol-drenched soul could light up the New York City skyline. Black Mask is one of my favourite Batman villains and although it seems to be pre-parents-coffin-skull-melted-to-face in favor of a steel skull (boooooo), it doesn't change the fact that Black Mask is in the game. Fucking awesome, old sport.
The Great Gatsby may have turned out to be pretty average (although, my previous hatred of the book is misplaced. I clearly had it confused with something else), but hell if it doesn't rub off on you.
Then with the Joker, Deathstroke, Deadshot (fanboy squeeeeeeeee), Bane, the Penguin, the Mad Hatter and Firefly? Plus D-listers like Anarky, Copperhead and the Electrocutioner getting some love (even if Copperhead underwent a gender swap)? The promise of a teenaged Babs? Game's got a lot of potential for a lot of amazing characters and definite potential to renew interest in characters even I scarcely remember (although the New 52 brought Copperhead rocketing back through the memory banks, 'cause Snakeman WTF, yo). Can't say much else since I don't know much else, but on looks alone Arkham Origins has what could very well be my favourite cast of characters yet.
Seriously, I want for nothing in regards to characters. Sorta. I'd be thrilled if Stephanie Brown ever became involved in the Arkham games.
Lastly, the graphics look pretty glorious if the official trailer's anything to go by. Definitely making the most of the end of a console generation and it's certainly excellent that Batman can reap the benefits of it. The only thing I give pause on at the moment is the fact that the game features the New 52 designs on costumes. I understand why, of course, but it just doesn't make much sense in regards to the world. Five years in the future, Batman is wearing a heavy, but skin-tight bodysuit that is kevlar-lined and has a few pieces of armor - mostly on forearms and the shins. Black Mask's mask has clearly fused to his face. Black Mask, whatever. But just in terms of story it doesn't make sense why Batman would go from armor to tights. But whatever, it's just a nitpick that doesn't really mean anything.
The game looks like it could be amazing. I have a pre-order in place and am pretty pumped to discover whether or not it'll surpass any of its predecessors. But I wanna know what you guys think? Good? Bad? Disturbingly erotic?
No, your eyes do not deceive you. You are really looking at the third installment to the United series. But wait, haven’t I already began this story? Gotten nearly thirty chapters in and called it the end of the series? I did. But for many reasons, I can’t quite let go. This was my baby. Sure, the first story was a comedic clusterfuck better forgotten and left to stew in its festering remains and the second story took its sweet ass time before becoming something a bit better. While the third story became much too large, much too involved with far too many superfluous characters and just way too many plots, it did have its charms. It just wasn’t what I initially planned for United III. Really. The United III you all read was a product of laziness and eventually, Meredith’s pregnancy. The original idea for the story just got swept away.
So here’s what I’m doing. Generation Z, United III along with Dusk, and the Nights That Follow (the latter being very unfortunate, because I had a ball writing it, enjoyed the end product and is something I personally am proud to be a part of) are non-canon. Dusk, and the Nights That Follow can be considered a one-off from the series, while the sequel to Generation Z, United II never happened. At all. Assume Ryu Hardt and Tyrailius’ leap off the U.S. Bank Tower to be the last canon event of the series.
Which means shit has been massively overhauled. For instance, while Theta and Zeta have made an appearance in the series and have alluded to Omega so far - they will not universe-killing douches. They have a role in the apocalypse Darkshot began. As well, with the lack of appearance of the Circle of the Black Heart in the series I’ve reworked them into something else. The same goes for the Program - as well as the CEO and the now non-existent Sasha the Secretary - the Evils That Be (non-existent; their mention will be written off as waxing poetic), the Powers That Be (they did exist, but are not the utmost powers in the universe. I actually abandoned the whole ‘one true higher power’, shit) and the Avatars (neva existed, mofo’s).
But the premise of this story. I keep talking about turning and facing the strange changes, but what? Well, this new United III is both a mix of new ideas I’d had in store for future installments and a lot of the original ideas I had for our third installment. In United III, the story begins thirty years after the events of Generation Z, United II in the year 2046 CE. After lifetimes of fighting as Gods of Fire and Lightning, Tyrailius and Ryu Hardt find themselves in a semi-tranquil era in human history with only the most basic of threats assailing them. Having overcome a year and a half spent in Hell with the combined forces of Generation Z, they freed humanity from the clutches of the supernatural and dispelled of a age-old institution built on the foundations of evil. In doing so however, they were forced to reconcile with the fact that with the world returned to normal humanity’s mind was wiped. Fear and xenophobia overcoming them, a sect of mankind began a war on anything deemed ‘inhuman’, another sect all but began worship for anything deemed ‘inhuman’, while some of humanity accepted it. Thirty years later, the scope of life on planet Earth has changed drastically. With those who the ranks of Generation Z swore to protect still rallied against them, how will the Hardt brothers and their brothers, their sisters deal with Netheran, the Nothing God’s vision of the future?
And, done. Cryptic? Yeah, trying to sound like the back of a novel. Or a really bad movie. I promise you it’s better than it sounds, and I promise plenty of explanation and flashbacks in the story. I just don’t think I’m capable of writing an apocalypse that open and free with any degree of proficiency.
As for our characters, let me go over a few things. For one, anyone who showed up in Generation Z, United III no longer exists. Sorry. You will be reintroduced in this story and reintroduced as a much better character with more personality (while I’ll stay in script and the hippity-hoppity POV format, there will be a stronger emphasis on the characters from here on out), a more colorful character and with new powers. As for several core characters - Tyrailius, Ryu Hardt, Pumjetsu, Javert, Takeo Tom’s character Phantom, Fid, Nintenking, Razor, Jefferson and Nasuko (yeah, yeah, nearly everyone) - will be completely overhauled as well, to make for the most entertaining possibility possible. For the better. As for other characters, you’re gonna have to play it by ear. Or eye. Guess it just depends on how awesome you are. Expect the cast listing to appear in this post as more characters are introduced, with classifications and powers in tow.
Also, you’ll notice I did not rate this story in my typical rated “” for “Arbitrary Arrogance Booster“. So take note, it will be rated “R” for strong violence, strong language, strong sexual content, strong nudity, descriptions of sexual intercourse, descriptions of gore and gore, as well as substance abuse. From this point onward, I am writing my GZFics much how I write anywhere else. It’s going to be more violent. There will be more language. Also, sex will be described rather than referred to off-handedly or mentioned briefly. Chapters with sex will have an additional warning beforehand, to warn off any potential (but currently nonexistent, so far as I know) youngin’s or anyone who doesn’t want to read about sex.
DISCLAIMER: The following story is intended for mature audiences only, or more specifically for anyone aged eighteen or older. Anyone under the age of eighteen should immediately return to Generation Z’ home-page. The content of United III is graphic in nature and will include high amounts of violence, language, sexual content, nudity, sexual intercourse and will contain scenes in which torture and rape are involved. Any slurs regarding one’s sexuality or race most certainly do not reflect any of the author’s views (who is probably the least racist person you’ll meet and considers himself a proud member of the LGBT community as a bisexual male), nor does the author condone of any actions undertaken within the story. If you recognize anything within the story, I do not own it and am merely referencing it for the sake of entertainment. You have been warned. Thank you and good fucking day.
Oh, how I love my new multi-purpose disclaimer. It ends so cheekily. Sighing in contentment, here, people. Anyways, I hope this isn’t too off-putting for any of you. I know some of you would’ve just preferred I finish the original version of this story, but I’ve given reasons why that couldn’t happen. Sucks but mistakes of catastrophic natures were made and we just have to deal with the shit hands we will be occasionally dealt. But enough of this author’s note. That is not what you came here for. You came here for United III! You came for . . . January?
The following story is rated . . .
“The world is indeed comic, but the joke is on mankind.” - H.P. Lovecraft
January James: --for our guest, ladies and gentlemen! He’s a New York Times bestseller with an autobiography that’s been sweeping the nation like wildfire. There’s been plenty of speculation coming from Hollywood that this autobiography, simply entitled ‘Heartbeats’, is going to earn itself a feature length film. As well as author of this debut bestseller, our guest tonight is an activist for the Metahuman Rights Alliance and the iconic ‘Face of Metahumanity’ himself. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Davis “Fid” Fidler!
With that, Fid let go of the breath he’d been holding. He’d been the so-called face of metahumanity going on eleven years now and it still got to him. Not in the way that it was too stressful, but rather dealing with situations like he was in now. The January James Show was not CNN, was not MSNBC or the World News Network and certainly lacked the class that programs like Access Hollywood or TMZ (and the fact that he thought them classy in comparison to the January James Show spoke leagues of the gossip-monger he was about to engage in conversation) had. He was comfortable with the political aspect of being the venerable ‘Face of Metahumanity’, but found the celebrity of it all a little out of his league. He didn’t like being pictured shaking the hands of actresses and actors looking to appeal to the American public and show what good, kindhearted people they are when he knew for a fact half of them hated metahumans just on general principle.
Which was a real eye opener, if only for Fid. Eleven years ago, the only thing people could say about Davis Fidler was that he was a metahuman and an enormous slut who slept with any willing actress, fame whore or metahuman groupie. He’d enjoyed the celebrity of it, became a playboy and carried that attitude into even the Vatican the first time he met the Pope. He understood why people hated him, but with ‘pussy-on-tap’ as he used to put it and plenty of people wanting to buy him drinks, he couldn’t be paid to cared.
Which, of course, he was. Not that he ever respected that, at the time - much to the Hardt brothers chagrin.
But after three years of avoiding the politics, of getting off on shows like January James’ and partying almost nonstop, he’d been at a press conference. Kurisu - known to the public by his given name of Christopher Summers, bodyguard to Davis Fidler - had suggested against it, as it was basically going to be the big guns - CNN, MSNBC, WNN - ripping into his lifestyle and him, as a person. He’d seen it as a challenge. He was attacked, viciously, but he deflected the digs with practiced ease. He mocked, taunted and insulted right back and flirted shamelessly with any attractive female reporter. It wasn’t going well. It went worse when he’d thought he’d heard someone tell him to “dodge this.” He’d thought it’d been a reporter preparing some scathing remark. Instead, it’d been some pro-human, anti-meta terrorist with a rocket launcher (how he’d gotten it into the building was still beyond Fid’s comprehension). He never saw it coming. Kurisu did, shoved Fid off the stage and took the rocket to the chest.
Eight years later and Fid could still sometimes smell the scorched flesh, feel Kurisu’s bloody, dismembered hand on the side of his face. Later, a short-lived militia group simply calling themselves good Christian’s, no official title, took credit for the ‘botched’ assassination. They went on to explain why Fid should die and why all metahumans should follow his example. Aside for religious drivel, they threw out everything that had been implied, accused or put on display at the press conference. His promiscuity, his selfishness, materialistic tendencies, abuse of his fame and riches and how he used humans so easily, how he held himself above them. It didn’t take long after Kurisu’s death and the subsequent YouTube video against him for Fid to step up, be the man he should’ve been in the first place. He started minimizing his appearances on gossip television, late-night talk shows and overpaying guest spots on primetime television. He stepped out of the club life, changed his cell number to promptly block any and all calls from women who wanted to know if he was up for another go in the sack and distanced his personal life, his entire person from the public eye and their ever-eager cameras. He started showing up on the big three in terms of cable news and immersed himself in the politics of his position.
He became good at it and while some were still willing to throw his beginnings back in his face, most seemed to respect him for his change in pace and for the person he’d become. Which he found odd, but enjoyed. He became a symbol for metahumans everywhere and became a face attached to Congressmen, senators and the White House. He was involved in charities. He was a well-known philanthropist, he used money earned from his short-lived career in Hollywood, he was second seat on the MRA’s council and he was CEO of Davis International, a business that was now worth double-digit billions and had him traveling between the United States and Japan on a week-to-week basis.
So making an appearance on a highly favored gossip talk show when he could have been making an appearance at a charity event his business was hosting wasn’t exactly something that filled him with warm, fuzzy feelings. It was quite the opposite, really, a stark reminder of years he’d rather forget. But the Hardt brothers had requested it. As much as they respected Fid for his change of direction back in 2038, they still occasionally cajoled him into slipping back into his celebrity. Right now, they got word from the head of the Metahumans Rights Alliance that while they were actually beginning to flourish somewhat politically-speaking, the majority of the American public was distrusting. Scared. Hateful. The polls brought back a turbo-charged sense of xenophobia amongst the general population. It was an issue in business, in politics. Yes, the senator from Texas was pushing segregated churches, schools and was refusing the Metahuman Rights Alliance, the Meta/Human Coalition, the American Metahuman League and even the Metahuman Action Party (which had served as the de facto metahuman political party; housing what was currently their shadow government) both audience and the right to step foot on Texas soil, but Fid knew he was just a bigoted, narrow-minded asshole. He’d continue being one, but with a state senator Fid didn’t think he needed to worry about him joining pro-human, metahuman hate groups that would be better described as paramilitary terrorist cells. Didn’t need to convince the bigot not to shoot him just on general principle.
The average American, on the other hand, needed to see a better side of metahumanity than the metahumans who fell distinctly into the “villain” category, or the metahuman who thought himself superior to humankind or the metahuman who responded to human hatred with metahuman power that generally ended human hatred by ending the human who felt it in the first place. They needed someone who was friendly, attractive, relatable and willing to talk to them, joke with them and show them there was nothing to fear. Which was the Face of Humanity, Davis Fidler. So he let himself breathe, put a smile on his face and walked across the glossy black stage with the plush grey arm chair and couch and the black, sleek modern desk with the stunningly beautiful and bleach blonde Jessica Jones sitting behind it with a bright grin aimed Fid’s way. He took in her pale blonde hair that fell past her slender shoulders, curled gently and full of body and style. Her brown eyebrows curved down over crisp, intelligent blue eyes filled with good cheer and anticipation. Her nose was perfectly shaped above a mouth with lips that sat in an almost natural pout. Her bone structure was soft, giving her a distinctively feminine appearance. Her skin was unblemished and had a glow that made her all the more attractive. He studied the long, delicate neck and took in a pale pink jacket that likely belonged to a pantsuit ensemble and the pastel blue top that clung tightly to a lovely, athletic body. He couldn’t help it. Despite the poor choice in the color of her clothing, there was good reason January James was as popular and loved as she had become in three short years. It was the combination of her beauty and her sweet, bubbly and extremely optimistic personality that won the American public over. And now between her, her ultra-modern stage with the electronic backdrop with a brightly lit and time-looped New York city and the heavy praise she’d just laid down, he knew exactly how this interview would go.
Slowly. She’d ask generic questions about the autobiography that the Hardt’s had him write a while back, it’s success, the possible fucking movie that might bastardize his life, about past fights and the usual questions about the specifics of Metahuman life. She’d avoid anything truly serious and while she wouldn’t joke and make fun of him or anything regarding him, January James was known for her ability to get the kind of information the American public wanted and at this juncture, was critical for Fid’s cause. The gossip, the trivial bullshit Fid had once immersed himself in that would be a lifesaver in his current situation. And if the look in her eyes was any indication, she’d probably find some way to ask him out on a date on national television. It was a regular thing and it was creepy. Sure, most found it funny, sweet and charming but it had been born of the pretty blonde legitimately asking an actor out and promptly getting rejected and humiliated for all the world to see. Reliving it, even for the sake of comedy and image just weirded him out. But he still smiled, shook a hand with expensive French Tips that belonged to one of America’s favorite talk show hosts and took his seat in the arm chair next to the desk. Smiled politely at the crowd. Made sure his meticulously chosen designer jeans were on display with how well they fit and showed off the fashionable rips and that his aged black Chuck’s made it in shot a few times, that his silk and scoop-necked red t-shirt pulled against a muscular chest and that his brand new black leather jacket looked its best. He briefly ran a hand against wildly spiked dark brown hair that screamed that he was a normal guy too, to all the people who thought he and his kind were a design from hell itself. And he turned it on, no longer Davis R. Fidler, but Fid. The former badass party-hound who wanted to be America’s best friend, who’d probably be dating January James “in private” inside three months. He listened to applause that was surprisingly enthusiastic and began.
Fid: Thank you, thank you, January. [Grins] I’ll avoid the customary Christmas joke, if you don’t mind terribly.
January James: [Smiles Widely] Well thank you, mister Fid--
Fid: Just Fid. It’s what my friends call me.
January James: Really? Well, good to know. And I’m just going to get this out of the way. It is remarkable how you’ve already relaxed and stepped out of the . . . air of authority you usually carry with you whenever you’re on the World News Network. It’s nice that we’ll get to know you as the man, rather than the always impressive Face of Metahumanity.
And Fid couldn’t help but feel a little bad for her, that she thought this was the real deal. That Fid was all he was. Thirty years since the world changed on a planet-wide scale, eleven since he’d been tasked with representing his entire race and ensuring a coexistence with humanity that wasn’t defined by a war between the two species; that he was still carefree and actually wanted to be there. That pandering facts that were well-known at this point was his idea of kicking back. She naïvely believed it, most of the viewers would too and while sad and pathetic, was necessary. It wasn’t like Georgia Senator Maynard Kitrick, who he would meet for lunch tomorrow, would recognize it as anything but necessary and as fake as his appearance. So he just smiled again, nodding.
Fid: Thank you.
January James: Alright, so let’s just get right to it. Heartbeats. A truly awe-inspiring account of a life that sounds absolutely fantastic. While we’d all love to go blow-by-blow with you, there is one question I’ve had since picking this page turner up two weeks back. Why Heartbeats?
Fid: Excuse me?
January James: The title. It seems . . . odd. Almost bordering on nonsensical. Some have assumed it to mean something along the lines of a commentary of what you live--
He stopped her, immediately, with a raised hand to avoid the mind-numbingly stupid theories his agent had reported finding on the internet as to the meaning.
Fid: It’s what started this all for me. This life. Becoming metahuman. [Sees Her Curiosity] I discovered I was metahuman when I was twenty-three. Actually twenty-three years old. I won’t bore anyone with what brought this on, but I found myself in a constant state of adrenaline high after a match in the indie circuit of professional wrestling. It was . . . surreal. It lasted days and it didn’t do a thing to me, physically speaking. I felt normal, just supercharged. I discovered that whereas my heart rate had previously clocked in at eighty-three beats per minute it was now beating four hundred and ninety-six times per minute. I was stronger, faster, more energized with high amounts of stamina and endurance and sleep was no longer necessary. My food intake quadrupled with my heartbeat in order to keep the energy going and I discovered that the hyper-increased heart rate and natural state of being high on adrenaline manifested into an early form of my power. Using a natural energy field that was tremendously overpowered, within my own body I could transform this surplus adrenaline into a form of adrenaline-charged energy. I throw it at something, it does nothing. When I fight enemies, it stopped their hearts flat.
January James: [Wide-eyed] My God.
Fid: Yeah. Not pleasant, I’d imagine. It was later explained to me that the recipient of this energy actually absorbed it into their bodies and the energy became adrenaline and a lot of it. It was absorbed into the bloodstream and traveled to the heart, whereupon their heart instantaneously began to beat just as fast as mine. But they didn’t have this body. Theirs was built differently, obviously. As a result, the heart would either explode or simply give out. It happened in about a second. My heartbeat was my weapon. My surplus of adrenaline my ammunition, my natural energy field the gun. But Metahumans. We evolve. After twelve years, my power evolved. The adrenaline ebbed away slowly into my energy field and made it stronger. I could move in short bursts of incredible speed thanks to how the adrenaline combined with my energy field and use my energy field to project myself into multiple places at once. Duplicate the flesh and bone for brief periods of time. Three years later, it leveled out. The energy became . . . self contained, so to speak. Pulled itself closer together inside me. I couldn’t duplicate myself any longer, but the energy field became an energy core that vibrated within me at an extreme speed that would allow me to move up to four hundred miles per hour. Eventually, I evolved into the Metahuman sitting before you today. Over time, my energy core stabilized to the point where it was miniscule but completely still within me. Now I can teleport. In the blink of an eye, be anywhere I so desire.
January James: [Clearly Amazed] Anywhere?
Fid: I could teleport to Japan right now, pick up some sushi and be back in the time it takes the wait staff to serve me. My power, my true nature as a metahuman began because my heart beat faster than humanly possible. My autobiography was never going to be titled anything else.
Applause filled the air and the blonde before Fid looked like he’d just revealed to her something truly amazing. Which in all fairness to the woman, Fid had to admit, was spot on. The nature of metahumanity was something astounding even to metahuman scientists.
January James: So, all powers evolve, then?
Fid: [Shifts] Sometimes. In my case, yes. Basically, my body would not have been able to handle teleportation immediately. So the energy that would become my true power eased me into it. My unique physiology allowed me to survive the supercharged heartbeat and constant adrenaline high, so the energy slowly, surely receded inward until the point where my body prepared itself for teleportation without an explosion of gore or the chance of simply blinking out of existence. It took time, it took an evolution of power but it happened. An evolution of power is sometimes necessary and it depends entirely on the metahuman, exactly how human they were before there metahumanity revealed itself and the nature of their power.
January James: So some metahumans may spend time as a human.
Fid: Rarely, but yes. It’s a possibility. I was human for twenty-three years before I had a catalyst that allowed for my metahumanity to occur. Most metahumans are born metahuman. From the womb. It may take time for their power to develop, it may be accessible and useable after six months of life. I required the proper stimulus to realize my metahumanity and am thus probably the worst person to explain the nature of power.
January James: You seem to be doing quite well to me, mister Fidler. In the thirty years since revelation, that is one of the more comprehensive explanations of the nature of metahuman powers that I’m sure most have heard of.
Fid noted the truth in her blue eyes that were practically worshiping his presence at this point - in her eyes he clearly swam a God - and turned away to see nodding heads, murmurs of quiet agreement and sighed inwardly. They wanted to understand, but they didn’t spend any time on the internet on one of the several thousand sites regarding the information they sought, nor did they read the appropriate books. Watch television in which the Meta/Human Coalition explained this to the world in precise detail. Attended a conference, spoke with an authority on the subject or sought to take the courses in college that had eventually became available to the public.
Fid: That’s kind of you to say, miss James.
January James: So most metahumans are born that way or undergo a physical catalyst?
Fid: Yes. For the most part. As I said, those who require a physical catalyst are rare and make up less than two point one-four percent of our population. But there are those who have metahuman lineage and therefore the possibility for activation, be it by genetic experimentation or by a series of outside events that may speak to the inactive DNA in the exact way the DNA needs for activation. Now I don’t know how exactly that’s possible, the activation of latent DNA, but it happens. [Sees Her Question] It’s written within your DNA that your true power will be the ability to manipulate radiation. Exposure to radiation in any way, shape or form would undoubtedly trigger the DNA into activation in what’s been described as the body’s way of protecting itself from something that would otherwise be harmful, or possibly fatal. An ingrained survival instinct. It’s far more common than the need for catalyst and comes from having a metahuman ancestor. It’s almost as common as simply being born that way.
Fid then listened to January James talk about her amazement and her referencing several key events in the last thirty years that only the person cut off completely civilization wouldn’t now and he waited for a new line of questioning. He’d made the decision long ago to avoid ever mentioning Parahumans, Transhumans, Posthumans, those who were genetically or biologically enhanced by outside forces who were devoted only to surpassing humanity. He didn’t mention cyborgs, androids or robots of any sort. He didn’t mention the dead aspects of the created devil, Legion or the dead aspects of the created Judeo-Christian God and didn’t mention their dead creators, the Powers That Be. He avoided mentioning their servants, the “Creators” that were better described as beings revived through transformed, otherworldly energy. He didn’t mention angels, demons, the vamp-ericknait or their demonic cousins or their sister breed, the Vampyr. He didn’t mention ghosts, spirits, phantoms, phantasms, specters or revenants. He didn’t mention the lycanthrope breed of werewolf, the common breed or the extremely rare and startlingly bland breed of men who transformed into a simple wolf, a literal werewolf or shapeshifters. He made damn sure to never mention Gods, the unexplainable, the definite possibility of aliens or anything off the massive list of hypothetical creatures they just hadn’t run into, or that just didn’t exist. January made moves towards thinking about asking about other lifeforms, but he made sure to manipulate the interview so subtly that he knew no one would discover his subterfuge on the subject. He played dumb on information regarding the movie that seemed to disappoint everyone but would save Fid from getting bitched at his agent and the studio interested and found January James clearly in a metahuman mood. Which was good, because it would lead to a speech he had prepared.
January James: Now, going back a bit. You mentioned that you spent twelve years in the first stage of your powers’ evolution. I’ve read the book. You’re saying you’d had your power catalyst as far back as 2001?
Fid knew where this was going, was glad it was going there so he could humanize something that had been thoroughly demonized in the past thirty years. But he played stupid.
Fid: [Nodding] Yes.
January James: [Clearly disbelieving] Which means the public record of your birth is factual. You were born in 1978. Putting you at sixty-eight years old, this year. How, even with your metahumanity, is that possible? You don’t look a day older than thirty.
Fid: For me, it’s different. Between the surplus of adrenaline and the energy field, I didn’t age. The energy field and unstable energy core halted my aging process completely until 2035 when my power evolved completely, reaching it’s peak where it’s stayed since. Once the energy was one with me completely and my power was completely stable, I began to age once more. Which is why I’m only thirty-five. Good genes account for my youthful good looks. [Grins] Anyhow, it’s different for every metahuman. Most just age differently than humans due to what they are, biologically. Metahumans, are, by nature referred to as “Meta”, for the simple fact that they are beyond human. Not in a sense of superiority. We’re human, but we have more to us. Some parts of us work identically to any human, while things like the aging process are just drastically different. At the end of the day, we aren’t the next step in the evolutionary chain for humans. We’re a sister breed to humans and we’ve walked this earth just as long as you. Although without the benefit of an origins story. Our population is considerably smaller than humans, due to the nature of our existence - which for the most part has been constant war followed immediately by constant death. As you might’ve guessed given our history, we make the wholly human animal look like pacifists.
This earned a few chuckles and he could see more people in the audience than when the show had began and suspected some of the crew had found their way in. He was also certain ratings for the January James show would hit an all time high tonight.
Fid: But back to the point. My powers halted my aging process. It’s agreed upon by the scientific community that basically, in relation to the aging process a metahuman year is two years. While there is the passage of time, it just takes our bodies two years to show the difference in appearance that humans get inside one year. Don’t ask me to explain it, I never could. A scientist could, but frankly I think that’s over our heads. [Smiles At Laughter] Some, though, have powers that retard or halt the aging process. It doesn’t lead to immortality. Some lives are just extended beyond even the typical metahuman lifespan of two hundred and sixty years to an undetermined age and some live the metahuman lifespan appearing as the age at which their bodies halted. The variety of lifespan among metahumans is greatly varied and honestly, it’s incredibly difficult to gauge properly. So for the most part, we don’t.
January James: Speaking of immortality, a question everyone wants to ask. Is there a metahuman out there who actually is immortal?
January James: No?
Fid: The metahuman population isn’t easy to keep track of all the time, but we catch up. We’re a species that is miniscule in nature when compared to the eight point two billion humans on this planet. We don’t all know each other, obviously, but an immortal metahuman couldn’t hope to remain hidden.
The blonde and the audience seemed pleased and Fid, in that moment, knew that the only people on the planet who knew he had just lied his ass off were the Hardt brothers and the former Generation Z and a small spattering of metahumans in the world. He knew there was several dozen metahumans who were immortal, but only in the sense that they could never reach an age that would kill them through natural causes and that they were immune to most known diseases. He’d never reveal it, however. He’d lie to the public. The church’s that stood against the monstrosity that was metahuman life. Lie to every government institution on earth and the President him- or herself. Because as a rule, the vast majority of those who needed to be killed in order to meet their death fell into one category: the metahumans that the Hardt’s and his old friends fought against. Few were of pure heart and if discovered as immortal, would undoubtedly plunge humanity into a war on metahuman life. And while it was a lie to call metahumanity “miniscule” in comparison to humankind, humans did outnumber them. Metahumans would probably win the war, but the cost would be too high and it had been agreed the metahuman race would in fact suffer greatly if such a war were to occur. Fid smiled at January as she came back from her last commercial break with an eager grin and slipping her water bottle out of sight while Fid casually sipped from his glass. She’d let him know that she had to get some response about the movie, so to keep it vague as he’d like but be sure to reveal something worth mentioning. He was surprised to find how agreeable and understanding she was and even if she was generally a bit hard to stomach on most other nights, she’d made an effort tonight and focused on questions about metahumanity that he knew people found interesting. She avoided asking what they hoped to eventually accomplish and in her commercial breaks, she was professional, exceptionally kind and kept her interest in him to furtive, genuinely shy glances that conveyed said interest but kept it silent and worthy of his respect.
For that, he was appreciative.
January James: So before we bring out the band here tonight, Fid, I have to ask. Heartbeats has received attention from Paramount studios and it’s been said they’ve contacted you about the possibility of making your life into a film. I think we’d all like to--
And whatever she said was cut off then by an explosion dead center of the stage. But there was no fire, no concussive force but instead a strange THOOM! of a noise accompanied by a massive spherical ripple of harmless translucent energy. But there was a man there now and even as January James shrieked in fright and panic cut through the audience, Fid stood, preparing to teleport to the man and get him the hell out of the studio.
However, the man had been mid-attack when he was teleported so Fid never saw the attack coming until it shot through his chest, charring the edges of his skin on the outside and left the hole now adorning his left pectoral smoking. Fid hit his seat hard as January screamed and to Fid’s surprise, shot up and moved to place both hands over his wound. The attacker staggered.
Attacker: Take that, you muthafuckin’ busta’s! Can’t kill my ass out without . . . [Looks up] the fuck’s this bull-shiyit?
Fid, now bleeding out over the shaking hands of January James stared in disbelief at the face of a man he and his friends had thought dead going on twenty-four years now. They’d seen him fall into the Pacific off a 747 he’d gotten a punt off of. But standing before January James and Davis Fidler was the man the former knew only as Laser. Fid remembered him as a wigger with a vocabulary that read like the guide book to ‘hood speak and a flair for hip-hop fashion that still somehow managed to be excessively white. Now, though, Laser only wore dark blue skinny jeans sagging off of his hips and nothing else. He was barefoot and his upper body showed off an impressive, taut and tan physique. He hadn’t aged a day but the dark blond hair was shaggy, more than a little greasy and obviously hadn’t been washed in months. Despite his ripped frame, he was clearly malnourished and to top it all off, his ribs and stomach sported yellowing bruises and his chest featured a wound that made Fid’s look like a pin-prick. There was a massive hole there where his heart was situated and blood poured from the wound freely. The formerly Abercrombie attractive face was gaunt with a nose broken enough to appear unnatural, a split lip and an eye that actually appeared black. Cuts and scars adorned his body, indicating torture. Sky blue eyes were in agony, but seemed surprised, confused.
Laser: Fiddy? You wack-ass biotch, did you fuckin’ tele . . . nah, you ain’t . . . goosesteppin’ fagots. [Laughs, Spurting Blood] Got some balls that be lookin’ like fuckin’ grapefruits now, yo.
Fid noticed he said that in the general direction of the camera and then understood. He could January couldn’t, as she told him he’d be fine as she held her hands to his chest. Honestly, he couldn’t be sure himself but given that people were now beginning to run and she wasn’t? When it could mean her life, when she had a hell of a lot to live for with her fame and fortune? He wasn’t about to argue with her kindness. Three security guards charged Laser, but the supervillain just shot bright blue lasers through two skulls before letting his palm become covered with his energy and wiped it over the last security guards face and chuckling weakly as there was a tortured scream and then a faceless body hit the floor. Laser stumbled to his knees then and looked at Fid, who felt terror assault his very being. Laser’s bright blue energy covered his eyes and shone out of the hole in his chest. His face became still.
Laser: Shiyit. Dyin’ fuckin’ hurts, dawg.
It was clearly spoken to Fid and was spoken with a bit of annoyed realization. Then he screamed sharply, but only for a few seconds before his energy cast a bright shadow in his opened mouth and shone brilliantly from the hole in his chest. His flesh seemed to quickly dissolve and become spiderwebbed with painful ribbons of Laser’s energy. Just when it looked like he’d explode, the energy just vanished and Fid and January stared at the wide-eyed Laser.
Laser: [Closes mouth] Fuck it. Momma di’nt raise no bitch!
With that he stood and weakly charged the bleeding metahuman and the woman trying to save him and just as Laser got within two feet, he let out a strangled yelp and his torso seemed to twist ninety degrees to the left and bright blue energy ripped through his body in a massive explosion that ripped through the half-full studio quickly and tore the set and the people left there apart in an instant, vaporizing everything in its path within seconds. The only sound as the otherworldly, laser-based energy ripped the surrounding world apart atom by atom was a low, pained chuckle.
TO BE CONTINUED
Oooh! Edgy! Yep, must be a “United” chapter, no other explanation for it. Anyways, I hope the prologue was enjoyable. I know it may seem a bit odd, out of place and packed full of new information, but the way I see it’s like this. One, everything in the past thirty “United”-years will be explained eventually. Everything. So I don’t worry. Two, if I didn’t do this prologue, I’d wind up having to do at least seven chapters of build-up. I’d rather just go against the grain and post a prologue that sets the plot up neatly and quickly than continue with the tradition of too much story. So I hope it’s ultimately a good thing. Anyways, the first chapter is being written at the moment although I don’t know when it’ll be finished. Probably within the week, but I’m no longer making promises for release dates. Life’s just too wacky to be able to accurately predict when I’ll be able to post chapters. I can say I’ll try and keep these updates a regular thing. Now, as always, Manecdotes! For starters, January James is modeled off of the “True Blood” and “Mad Men” actress, Anna Camp (Anna Camp). The World News Network is completely fictional, an original creation and is the “United” universe’s big news network. And that’s all, folks! Not a lot of manecdotes, but I found it more important to use the interview opportunity to clear up some of the mythology I’ve avoided for two whole stories. Until next time, this is Ravenholme saying that the voices in my head may not be real, but they have some good ideas!
Is it a mirage? An illusion? An apparition? Did you finally drink too much strawberry-flavored milk and begin hallucinating worst-case scenarios? Well no. I actually am back. After what? Nearly five months? Nah, I don’t need to do or say anything else other than give a very enthusiastic head nod and a simple:
I kid. I’m an asshole, but not that big of one. Especially when I’m trying to avoid being viciously murdered. But yes, the past four months have been pretty strange. For starters, I’ve made the decision that I’m not going to college. Yeah, I made that decision years ago but I’d been toying with the idea of getting a Bachelors degree, if only to open a few doors. I could easily get into Suffolk in Boston and only take the hit from tuition alone (twenty-two thou), but the way I see it, I’m not just managing without secondary education. I’m kinda thriving. Been saving money since I was six years old, so my bank account shouldn’t belong to one so young and terminally work-adjacent. I worked at the comic store, which paid really well, until around the time I took my leave of absence from the forum.
Which is the first big piece of news, really. I don’t think I can call it a career, because the world tells me to have a career I need college, but I had been getting to know Julia’s girlfriend, Chloe, and getting along well. By the time April comes, we’re pretty good friends with all things considered. So she decided that since Julia’s already met her Mom, I should too. Long story short, her Mom liked me a lot and while I don’t remember how it came up, the fact that I had done some security and private security work came up. While I had left that avenue of employment behind some time ago, she mentioned she has an older brother who is moderately wealthy and has a team of security. Mostly private security, but she mentioned if I e-mailed her my résumé she’d show it to her brother and see if he was interested in hiring me. He was. So I now have a job as private security for a wealthy forty-some-year-old man and I get paid an obscene amount of money to do so. I work on his weekday security team and apparently got the 'shaft'. Not my words. I have to pick him up by 8:15 AM every morning, have a latte, bagel and newspaper ready for him and then I drive him to work. Stick around as physical security until three in the afternoon when he picks his daughters from high school and drive them back home. Then I’m free. I don’t work weekends (he has a ‘weekend security team’ as well), but he has my cellphone number, as do his daughters if I’m needed for anything (so far, 'anything' consists of him wanting me to be physical security for his daughters at a party).
In all honesty, it’s an awesome deal. Yes, I’m usually up by 6:30 in the morning during the week but I’ve gotten used to both being asleep by midnight (most people need eight hours of sleep to properly function. While I prefer twelve hours of sleep for the full-on, overly energetic Ravenholme experience, I only require six hours of sleep to function) and the fact that I’m usually up before the sun is. I am paid far beyond full for my services, I still have a life outside work, the hours are lovely and I can now say with certainty that if the day comes where I look elsewhere for employment, years down the line - I will have it. I am working with men in private security, my usual partner has become a good friend of mine and although I can say most of the guys don’t like me at all, they’ve given up actively looking for arguments (‘cause I proved I’m good at my job, mostly) with me. Getting into private security, private firms will now be a definite possibility. And what do I have to do? Wear a suit and the occasional necktie, remain alert, remain capable of acting/reacting physically and doing so quickly and maintain a professional relationship with the man’s daughters (or I get fired). To have a career laid out for me at twenty-four is completely worth everything I just listed off. All because I was polite to a friends parent.
Sometimes cliché’s work out quite nicely.
Anyways, yeah. Chloe and I are friends, ‘cause of that the bro’s-for-life-hood between me and Julia is pretty much infallible at this point. So being a respectful young man paid off in more ways than one and I’m happy for it. Getting used to all that noise is definitely a pretty big reason why I decided to forego the internet for so long. But there’s always other shit that makes inactivity a reality, as well. On top of getting a job - pretty much at the exact same time - I called things off with Libby. I won’t get into details because those are not my details to share, but we started having some problems in that everything I did was a problem for her. Which was understandable, given her situation, but I wasn’t doing her any good. At all. She was going through something and my mere presence and involvement in her life was more detrimental than anything else. I’ve got my own issues that have built up over twenty-four years that basically make me the fucking last person she should be with, so it was just better overall to call things off for her sake. So there’s that.
Then in June, my sister’s friend Beth (Elizabeth, actually; but when I met her at fourteen I was not about to burden that girl by calling her the name that belongs to my cunt of a Mother) moved to Boston, as she decided on a transfer from Michigan State University to Amherst. We meet up, I drink beer and apparently am a sadist for doing so and I found out some information. Not that I particularly gave a shit, but here’s the deal. I have a sister named Amanda, who is five years younger than I am. Along with just being a mean, self-centered, self-serving, vicious little bitch; since fifteen she’s also been an enormous slut. And if I am calling someone a slut, you know that it puts me to shame. You know it’s well passed self-gratification and probably into some low-grade form of nymphomania (direct quote from my sister: “sex is all about power and control. If I can ride in a guy’s Lambo just by sucking his dick, what kind of retard would I be if I was some kind of celibate loser riding in a Bug?” What can I say, it’s hard to forget words that come from someone even more fucked up than you, by leaps and bounds). Anyways, my point. As of today, September first, my sister is into the last stretch of her fifth month of pregnancy. Yeah, she got pregnant. Not her and the dude got pregnant, she got pregnant. Apparently, she’s been on the pill since fifteen because she “hates the feel of condoms”, and decided sex with her fuck-buddy (some black dude named D’won; who - who the hell knows why - stepped up and decided he was gonna at least be both boyfriend to my sister, and fortunately for his ass, Father to his kid) unprotected was a good idea. I’m serious. From what Beth unnecessarily told me, my sister didn’t even try to avoid the possibility of pregnancy.
Genius. Anyways, apparently she thought - since Beth was moving into Massachusetts anyways - to send along a request that I should help with money. Could not have replied with a “fuck no, fuck her” fast enough. Apparently she’s fine with being a Mom, furious that she’s going to have to move back in with my parents for some time, that she’s going to have to quit school and find a job. While I respect that she doesn’t mind being a Mom or that she’s naming her son Elias Rockwell Buchanan-Smith, what I don’t give a shit about is her having to quit school and work as a waitress at a nearby Applebee’s. Which is why she asked for money in the first place. Hence why I was pissed. Not so much anymore, because she did call, we did talk and she did apologize. Basically, she’s scared shitless and my Mother is bringing being a wretched piece of Plague-infested rat shit to a new level. Am I too vulgar? No. For getting pregnant because she decided to let her boyfriend go at it bareback, I call her an idiot. In private. Since returning home, my Mother’s gone between calling her “Teen Mom” (ironic, because my Mother had me out of wedlock at eighteen) and “Whore.” Yes, she really is that fucking hateful. Using the word 'slut' is one thing, because beyond the promiscuity said person exhibits, there are no other negative connotations behind the word. 'Whore' is not only bring up your promiscuity, but it's also meant to be mean as hell, judgmental, condescending and set up a feeling of moral superiority for the person insulting. So my twenty-four year old desire to just fucking punch the bitch in the face is not unfounded.
I don’t get along with my sister. Even after reconciling a bit, we still annoy the fucking shit out of each other. I still think calling her a slut is more statement of fact than insult. I doubt we’ll ever be close or that we will ever want to be anything but assholes to each other. But I’ve never hated her as much as I hate my Mother and therefore have never wished death or any real type of ill-will upon her. She’s a pain and she’s hard to like as a rule, but she can occasionally be a good person. Which is why I support her instead of my Mother. Because when there was a miscarriage scare, my Mother - completely awake - told her to fuck off. Only because of my Dad did she get to the hospital. Which is why I used my incredibly inconsiderable influence and a hell of a lot of my “I’m a bad person, you have had a hand in that and you should do what I say to try and make up for it”-ness with my Dad. Had him move my sister to his brother’s place, with a full sitrep to explain everything. So, my sister’s been living with my Uncle Brian, his wife Emily and their children, Claire and Jack. And therefore closer to D’won, actually. I just felt extraordinarily shitty that I rid myself of the woman who gave birth to me and that however fucked up she is, my sister got stuck with a woman who’s apparently fucking evil as well as cruel. After that, managed to get in contact with a police friend of mine and just to avoid any crazed shit going down, got a temporary restraining order put into place with help from my Uncle Brian, D’won’s parents and Amanda. To be made permanent if anything happens.
I’d sleep better if I know my Mother won’t do something, but aside from verbally abusing her daughter (which, like my ‘abuse’ (can’t call it abuse if every single time I bit back and bit back harder), can’t be substantiated ‘cause my Dad’s insisting on keeping my Mother out of jail because she has Lupus), she hasn’t done anything else that can be proven. So temporary. To become permanent if she just bites the bullet and proves to the world what a horrible fucking human being she is.
Long story short, a lot of June really sucked. Horribly. I will be an Uncle and will have a nephew right around Christmas - and have officially had the offer to be part of his life, as much as I’d like to be. That’s good news. But legal bullshit, my Grandparents calling me to let me know not to contact them or my Aunt, repairing a siblinghood I thought irreparably damaged to an almost fully-functional brother/sister relationship and having to hear my mentally retarded sixteen year old brother Sean tell me I’m a dickhead for siding with my sister when “Mom” was just letting her know she’d messed up? Getting to tell him that the last step off the short bus was dangerous, one wrong move and he might end up in that “Hell” place he’s so scared of? All that fucking noise? Fucking shitty news. I can say that for most of June, my go-to beverages of choice was seventeen dollar beer with an 8.4% alcohol content level and Lunazul tequila. Shit just sucked. Birthday was decent, though. Shit was still going down, but spent the day with my girlfriend Grace, my bro Julia, along with Lee, his friend Wong (cannot pronounce or spell his first name, which has always been a laugh riot for the dude) who’s also become my friend, my boy Sevastián and my girls, Chelsea and Lucy. Spent most of the day just drinking and hanging out. Spent some time just barbecuing and playing cards. Most ‘lax birthday ever and it was pretty fucking amazing.
And yeah, girlfriend. Name’s Grace. Actually met her back in May before all the shit went down. She’s actually newly twenty-one and while I can say I’ve loved girls, I can also say she’s the first I’ve fallen in love with. I now know there’s a massive difference between the two. Massive, yo. I know it’s all just words and shit, but I’ve found the way I love Julia and the way I love (it’s a recent development and feels great. Like being filled with electricity, helium and always feeling super excited right before I'm about to see her, along with a side of lightheadedness going on) Grace are so fucking different. Anyways, I haven’t met a person anywhere near as beautiful as she is. Or as smart as she is. Or as funny. Or as charming. Or as fucking soul-piercingly adorable as she is. Yeah, I’m just gross, but what can I say. Despite my shit family, this girl’s gotten me through the summer and made my life absolutely wonderful all the while. Sure, she’s got a past with a psycho/scarily-religious Dad and yeah, he fucked her up something righteous. But she makes a point of being everything he’s not every day, does a damn good job at it and still manages to be pretty much the center of my universe at the same time. Them redheads, man. They may be reclusive like ninjas when it comes to emotions, sometimes, but when they let you in? You fuckin’ never wanna get out. One Ravenholme of Kyrgyzstan is proof of that.
July and August were just spent livin’ my life. Busy between work, social life, Grace and keeping in contact with Amanda and Michigan. Which is important. Otherwise, beyond the removal of old tattoos and the slow process of resleeving my arms in a more artistic, meaningful fashion and considering buying a used motorcycle, I have no excuses why I haven’t made my return sooner. At all. Because July and August were fucking chill compared to April, May and June. Whatever. I’m back. I’ll try my best not to perform a disappearing act like this, especially when I have been on the computer and have had the time to visit. So lock up your alcohol, any small children you may have accumulated and pray to either Zeus or Odin that I don’t fucking flood this place with my opinions, random tidbits of useless information, my arrogance and egomania or any of my stories.
Yeah, I got stories. Don’t I always? But, back. Happy-ish, with my life. Worshiping the ground a girl walks on, for once. Playin’ vidja games, drinking semi-heavily and swearing more than necessary.
May the age of mayhem begin again, anew.
Oh yes, it shall be glorious. Finally, I'd like to apologize for the information overload, but there's just been so much shit going down that I thought if I brought it all up, I could dispel the rumors that I was KIA in Tokyo and maybe avoid an icky internet murder-a-thon from you guys. But I am back, I don't intend to go anywhere and I do intend to catch up with things around here as quickly as possible. Best believe that, yo.