Chapter Text
There weren’t always superheroes in New York City. Sure, there were always those with supernatural powers and abilities, but they, as a general rule, never openly displayed them. Most of these people—the known ones, mind you- are born into one of two core families: the Joestars or the Zeppilies. (At one point there was a third, the Pillar, a clan whose strength came from the earth rather than their cores, but they’ve long since dwindled and died out.) Those who aren’t born into one of these families are usually adopted into one because, while both houses encourage the development and honing of super-human skills, they also prevent these powers from being used publically to maintain some degree of order.
And then, summer of 1987, Joseph Joestar decided he was going to be a superhero and, within the span of a week, three hundred years’ worth of carefully constructed order dissolved into pure chaos.
[ J O S E P H ]
If you ever so happen to slip into a vat of toxic radiation or get in some other life-changing accident that causes you to suddenly develop superhuman abilities, there are a couple things you should know.
Thing number one? Being supe’d up ain’t like the movies, kiddo. The real world isn’t nearly as tolerant as the comics make it out to be. You can defy gravity? Good for you, dude. Just make sure the government doesn't find out about your special talent less they turn you into a science project for NASA. Wanna keep living? Keep the powers hidden. It sucks, I know, but it’s better than becoming some lab rat.
Secondly? You aren't alone. There are others like you out there, and if you’re ever in need of help, guidance or just someone to show off to, just contact the Speedwagon Foundation—you know, that big company that makes literally everything?-- and they’ll hook you up with others like you.
People like us.
See, my family’s not your run-of-the-mill cookie-cutter house on a hill. The weirdness goes beyond awkward family reunions or holiday traditions; it’s in our blood and it’s in our souls.
Alright, that last bit sounded way cooler in my head, but now that I've said it, it sounds cornier than cliche and I’m sorry. Here, let’s just cut to the chase, ‘kay? The name’s Joseph Joestar and my home life is one hell of a roller coaster. We, the Joestars, are one of two dominant families in the underground supernatural society. I’d tell you to read up on it at your local library, but underground stuff like this tends to remain, y’know, underground. For generations, to preserve the secrecy, we've made it our duty to adopt what we Iike to call ‘strays’ (aka that one person with powers in a family of mediocrity) into our household of weirdness.
By ‘weirdness’, I obviously mean ‘awesome.’
My older brother Jonathan has enough raw energy to single-handedly power the entire city of New York for days. He’s a saint in a body builder’s frame. Tall. Good looking. A rare breed of gentleman in this modern age. Jonathan's the kind of guy fathers want their daughters to marry. Jotaro, my not-so-little younger brother, is impossibly strong with a terrifying awareness that allows him to take in everything in his environment—even the most minute of details- with perfect clarity. He’s blind as a rock when it comes to subtlety or anything relating to emotions. Now, put him in the middle of the Big Apple and he'll list off every. single. crime. or abnormality taking place within a mile radius. And, if that's not scary enough, Jotaro packs one hell of a punch and, believe me as his older brother, you do not want to be on the receiving end of his anger. And me? It’s a new development, but I can… drumroll, please…. I can karate chop expensive Polaroid cameras and print real-time photos of Dio Brando.
Shut up.
It’s not that funny.
My power’s useful as fuck.
See, if the subject of the pics was anyone but Dio, we’d have a problem. Rather, I’d feel like some creepy voyeur and regret everything and cry myself to sleep at night, wishing genetics hadn’t shit all over me. But, c’mon, it’s Dio. This power can and will fuel years’ worth of glorious pranks and the bastard won’t even see them coming!
Dio Brando, for those just jumping into the thrilling adventure I call my life, is one of those ‘strays’ I mentioned earlier. Except, his situation is a little different than most the family’s adoptees. Generally speaking, most of the other kids are here tentatively, only staying with us until they can control their powers enough to be on their own. However, in Dio’s case, he’s legitimately adopted. His mother was a distant descendant of Kars who, for lack of better term, was a living vampire, thus giving Dio a rather unique set of abilities. He’d been on the watch-list for a long time, and, when his father passed away, my father adopted him. Partially to avoid the kid being taken advantage of by others interested in his skills, but mostly because Dad’s not the kind of man who’d just stand by and watch a kid get trucked off to the orphanage when he can lend a hand.
Don’t let his sob-story fool you; Dio’s an asshole. He’s nineteen years old, making him the oldest of us and- trust me on this one- everyone knows. Jonathan’s second-oldest by only three months, yet Dio still makes a point of frequently reminding us that he successfully entered the world before any of us were even born. Personally, I think he’s using his age to compensate for everything else.
However, despite his horrible personality, Dio’s surprisingly attractive. The guy's buff, but in that everything-he-does-is-sexy way, rather than the lifts-more-than-thou body builder. He's blonde with exotic red-yellow eyes that change hue depending on how annoyed he is. Even a completely straight sixteen-year-old dude like myself will admit that.... dayum. He's got the looks department bought-out and owned.
Remember how I mentioned having the ability to print out pics of a certain housemate of mine? Here’s the part where I tell you what I did with them.
Now, I could have put them up for auction and watched Pucci and Ice (the founders of Dio's fanclub) fight to the death over them, but that would too easy. Rather, too generous. They'd make a sacred scrapbook and that would be the end of it. No, I needed a prank that, would get back to Dio. Something that he couldn't not notice.
On the edge of town, right where the suburb starts hitting city, there’s this giant state-owned billboard filled with some public service announcement. There’s a total of ninety-six of them scattered across the area so you can’t possibly miss them, and they’re huge- easily the size of five or six regular billboards. Every summer, there’s this big state-wide contest where participants submit images or motivational phrases and the winners get paired up and plastered up for the world to see for an entire year. Here’s the catch—sometimes the image and phrase don’t exactly fit together. A couple years ago, the winning picture was a kid running in nothing but his mother’s bra and the caption was ‘You were blessed with talent. Use it to make a positive difference.’ It was just odd.
Obviously, submitting an incredibly awkward out-of-context photograph of Sir Asshat was a must. He's got good looks, might as well use them to my advantage, right? I doubted any of my entrees would win, but entering them into the contest alone was enough to fill me with the strong sense of glorious achievement that can only be met when using one's powers for evil.
Two weeks later, with much screaming from Jonathan and Dio, I got the results. Out of twelve-thousand photos featuring over ten-thousand different subjects, one of my pictures won and it was the most beautiful day of ever.
See, every super hero has a turning point. It’s in that one, significant moment, that they wake up and realize they can change things for the better. For Spider-man, it was Uncle Ben’s death. For Superman, it was discovering his heritage. And for me? It was the Billboard.