#despite his physical invulnerability he’s actually a very soft character

[sassylittlecanary]

A further “do your damn homework” middle finger to Kyle Hunter and those like him

Read some actual comics, Kyle.

Superman is an incredibly kind and tender character. (If he’s not being written that way, then he’s not being written well.) He inspires hope not just through his heroics, but also through his kindness toward other people. That’s his thing. Don’t you DARE call tenderness a “weakness.” Get your toxic masculinity the hell away from me and go read a badly written Batman comic if you want a “tough” male character.

[moonbeamsung]

CRΣΣKS

Love, a second glance, it is not something that we need.

member: jeno

au: guardian angel in disguise!jeno x gn!reader, guardian angel au

word count: 3.4k

genre: angst

warnings: character death/loss, profanity, no happy ending, mentions of religion, questioning/loss of faith

recommended song: 715 - CRΣΣKS by the nor’easters

author’s note: Please be very careful with volume when listening to the song (above) that inspired this story! But even without reading the lyrics/listening, the fic will still make sense, and happy reading :)

network tags: @kpopscape @neo-constellations @starryktown

The wind is whistling, weaving in and out of the tall river reeds like an invisible needle and thread, stitching itself into each and every crevice of the world’s gift called nature.

Another one of its many gifts is the young boy that’s resting beside a rushing brook, toes dipped into the cool water and face illuminated by the sun as it beats down onto the earth with celestial strength.

Well, a gift from the heavens, that is.

Sent from the endless skies above, Jeno is your guardian angel, assigned with posing as a humble peasant boy in the village, all to keep a watchful eye on you from afar. In his human form, he spends his days wandering the cobblestone roads and narrow alleyways between the quaint buildings, with no family to return home to at dusk. A sunny meadow on the outskirts of town becomes his home, and he takes refuge in the shelter that the overgrown grass provides.

Everything is going smoothly, and he’s doing his job just as he should be. It’s routine now, waking up and rising from his earthen mattress, curtains of copious plant leaves letting in the sun’s rays. He finds you, observes at a comfortable distance, and that’s that. At its core, being a guardian is really an easy job. A predictable one.

A monotonous one.

Until one day you approach him, youthful eagerness in your eyes piercing and nearly painful, even to his invulnerable body. He’s never seen you up close before, only on the near horizon as you’ve gone about your daily chores, tending to the housework just like any obedient child should.

“...Who are you?”

Now, Jeno is faced with a decision more challenging than any that us mortal beings have to make in our entire lives. Engaging with one’s assignment is an extremely dangerous path to take. Unimaginable punishments await, should the guardian make a wrong choice. But Jeno was careless, and he had allowed himself to be discovered by the only human on Earth that the divine forces permit him to be seen by.

He makes the fatal error of answering you, ultimately shattering a future he’ll never get to live out, one that he doesn’t even know he would’ve had. Like a sharp rock being thrown at a church’s stained glass window, the meticulously carved pieces of his worldly existence fall to the ground with a deafening crash, broken beyond repair.

“I’m Jeno,” the strikingly majestic cadence of his words is like that of angel trumpets, the sound ringing in your head and making you dizzy with both fascination and infatuation.

And just like that, in three short syllables, you’re both fated to fall before you can even spread your wings.

From the moment you hear his name tumble from those beautiful lips, you’re hooked, and he knows it. He sees it in the way you look at him, in the way you act, the way you talk. A child experiencing a first and a forbidden love all at once.

It breaks his heart, because he knows it can’t, and shouldn’t last. The churning rapids of the creek nearby weep for him, for they know that in a matter of just a few short years, their waters are destined to mix with the salty tears that will steadily cascade from your trembling chin.

Jeno remembers, although vaguely, the brief amount of time he spent living amongst the clouds, being prepared by the heavenly elders for this expedition of a lifetime, quite literally. He remembers the scriptures, the strictures, and all the times he’s been warned of the severe consequences that come with immorality.

But even the purest of young angels aren’t infallible, still susceptible to compulsions that lead them to sin and defy their creator.

Relishing in the fading daylight, you join him by the water’s edge, listening to his soothing tone as he answers your ceaseless inquiries with harmless little lies as white as heavenly robes and cherub wings.

Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor. The first sin.

It’s interesting, he thinks, that despite looking after you in the endeavors of your youth for quite a while now, he knows next to nothing about who you truly are. Actions may speak louder than words, but how can he know that if he’s never heard your voice to begin with?

As the quiet, languid conversation shifts from his purpose there to yours, Jeno learns that you’re very content with your life, taking pride in helping your family with daily tasks as well as assisting your neighbors in the close-knit village with theirs.

Just then, all the smears of dirt and scattered scratches adorning your face catch his attention, gained after hours of hard work. No amount of water is ever enough to scrub them off of your skin at the end of the day, no matter how hard you try. Sometimes, you feel tears prick your eyes as you try to fall asleep at night, frustrated with your lowly appearance and how it never seems to match your relatively optimistic outlook on life.

But Jeno doesn’t care. You’re breathtaking even in his eyes, the eyes that belong to an actual angel. If that fact alone isn’t enough to boost your confidence, he doesn’t know what else possibly could.

Like a fool, he lets himself drown in your sublimity for a moment, marveling at the ethereal glow of the sun on your smooth, ageless face. The faint noise of wisps of air blowing gently through the meadow and rustling the flora makes him drowsy, but the sight of a pure white heron landing gracefully on the opposite side of the riverbank brings him back to full consciousness in an instant.

The bird, an omen of sorts, had been sent down from Heaven, conjured up from a fleeting idea and into a physical reality, by the holy beings looking down upon the earth, indicating that they’re well aware of the threat he poses and just how close he is to making an irreversible mistake in regards to you, his assignment and assignment only.

The heron abruptly unfurls its delicately feathered wings, as if frightened, before taking off and floating away on the breeze, both of your gazes inexplicably drawn to it as it flies until it’s out of sight altogether.

It warns him of just what he’s messing with, exactly.

This is not a part of the creator’s plan for you, for him. Falling in love with the one an angel is supposed to guard is an appalling crime to commit in the eyes of the elders that inhabit the sky, in the eyes of God. Though it doesn’t explicitly go against a commandment or biblical law, it’s just an understood rule. It’s wrong.

Jeno tells himself this, and continues to do so over the many years that he looks after you, never acting on his emotions, only acknowledging them before sending the less-than-acceptable thoughts into the depths of his conscious mind. He only wishes he had a key to lock them up and forget he even felt them in the first place.

Even as an angel, he ages just like anyone else, the both of you going from kids to teenagers and then nearing the young-adult stage of life, with you remaining blissfully unaware of Jeno’s true identity all the while. It’s a miracle he’s managed to keep his secret for this long, honestly, but like grains of sand in an hourglass, your time together is running out, whether you like it or not.

Not even a year before your entire world, your entire reality comes undone before your very eyes, Jeno feels as if his has already done just that. Because you’ve found someone. And that someone isn’t him.

He hates the feeling of jealousy, despises it with every fiber of his heavenly being. But he can’t shake it, can’t bear the way it clings to him like an unwelcome visitor. An unrecognizable emotion, one so foreign that he can’t even put a name to it, is stirred up at the sight of you in their arms, so pure and so unworthy of this person. Boy, if he didn’t know any better, Jeno would swear that you were the angel.

With each day that passes, he begins to feel the final shreds of both his dignity and his self-control slipping away, lost to the familiar breeze that whips through the village, stronger than ever these days. He can no longer contain it within himself. He wants you.

Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s goods. The second sin.

How ironic that a Sunday, of all days, is when everything falls apart.

The sun is hanging low in the sky, just barely grazing the horizon with its bright beams of warmth as it steadily rises, bathing the world in a soft yellow glow. You can also see the moon leftover from the night that ended not so long ago, fading fast but visible nonetheless. Two complete opposites, so close but prevented by the laws of nature for coexisting in the same space, at the same time.

Maybe, just maybe, if you knew just how much you had in common with the celestial objects above, you would have clutched the hand of Jeno a bit tighter yesterday, intertwined your fingers a little more closely with those of someone who had become the closest thing to a best friend that you had ever known. You admit that you wish he could be something more, but you know better than to push your limits.

You got tired of waiting to see if he felt the same way, choosing to fill the void with someone else that you liked, yes, but who just wasn’t the same as the boy who had always been there, waiting in the meadow every morning without fail. Still, your emotions are ever-alert and always searching for any sign of reciprocation within Jeno.

He’s nowhere to be found when you reach the water’s edge, the edge of the creek where you wasted away endless summer days and frosty winter nights, colorful spring afternoons and brisk autumn evenings.

This morning would seem no different than the rest if not for his absence. The knot in your heart loosens, but not by much, when you spot him at the forest’s edge, looking weary.

Jeno notices you and calls out your name with a smile, but something about it isn’t genuine. It’s pained, desperate, like he wants to hold onto this moment forever, unwilling to carry out the plan he’s already regretting. It’s too late now, he thinks to himself, but he’s wrong.

It’s been too late for years.

“Jeno?”

“This way!” He chokes out. It’s somewhere between a sob and a plea, but there’s no time to figure out which is the more appropriate term. He disappears between the trees and amidst their mossy branches, blending in with the shadows cast by the thick canopy of leaves, and you break into a sprint, afraid of losing him to the merciless wilderness and what lies within.

Thankfully, he’s not too far gone. A small clearing greets you less than a dozen strides in, and in the very center of it stands a glass gazebo, run-down and covered in so many twisting vines to the point where the small structure is almost fully consumed by the nature surrounding it.

The scene is beautiful, so much so that it makes you uneasy. What’s going on? Why did he bring you here? Why does he seem so sad? Jeno is never sad, maybe he could be described as brooding or solemn on the rarest of occasions, but never this melancholy, never so utterly hopeless in his expressions and his aura.

None of these questions are answered, even as he takes your hands in his own and leads you inside of the gazebo, its see-through panels catching the light with elegance and ease.

“I need to tell you something.” Just like it did the first time you heard it, his voice still shocks you like a bolt of electricity, your blood pressure and heart rate skyrocketing. All of this is heightened, though, by grim tone he’s speaking to you with.

“What is it, Jen?” There it is. The nickname you made up for him that, although simple, makes him feel like he’s on top of the world. Actually, scratch that: it makes him feel like he’s floating in the sky, up past the clouds and even further away from this cruel planet than the heavens are from Hell.

You’re only making this harder for him. He might as well just spit it out, because all this waiting is agonizing for the both of you.

“We... we can’t be together.”

The sentence that leaves his lips is two declarations wrapped up in one singular statement, the first being that he wants to be with you in the same way you want to be with him. It’s much too hopeful, misleading your emotions down a path of elation instead of dread. The second is unpleasant, a bitter taste lingering on his tongue once he says the words.

“...Yes, yes we can, Jen, because I don’t really love them and all this time it’s been you—”

“You don’t understand,” he tries to stop the confession spilling out from your heart before it overflows, drowns you. “I’m not who you think I am.”

Stunned to silence, he gives you a moment to drink in the implications of his words. “...I’ve known you for over half of my entire life, and you’re trying to tell me I have no idea who you really are? Not a chance,” you laugh softly, shaking your head and glancing down at the wooden gazebo floor, old white paint peeling under your feet.

“But haven’t you ever wondered why I’m always there by the creek every morning? How I turn up throughout your day at the perfect time? How I’m suddenly right by your side when you need me the most?”

You have wondered. Many times, in fact. But the possibility of him being anything other than human was not at the top of your very rational list.

“...Don’t you see? I’m your guardian angel.”

He sees you blink, realization dawning on your face like the sun and stretching your features. “There are laws—” He begins, but your reaction is not the one he anticipated you would have to that information.

Too overwhelmed, you can’t respond with anything other than physical actions, no matter how unreasonable, and you press your dry lips to his soft ones, sealing your fate. Standing there, with beams of golden light infiltrating the space and illuminating your unsteady figures, Jeno is petrified not by your kiss, but by the fact that he doesn’t push you away, and his hands hold onto yours even tighter than before. Nothing has ever felt so right in his entire life. Not when he was in Heaven, and not in all the years he’s spent on Earth, either.

You’re his Heaven, this moment is his eternity. Jeno has endured enough temptation, the undeniable thrill that a deliberate sin promises has become too much for him. If he pulls away now, everything would still be okay, you could both go back to normal and pretend this never happened. But alas, he was doomed to kiss you back from the beginning, and so he does, and you have no idea what the universe has in store when you feel his lips finally respond to yours in the most unholy way possible. For the first and last time, you indulge in each other’s touch and taste, and it does not please the ones watching from above.

The third and final sin, one sin too many for him to remain in this world without consequence.

Several things happen all at once. A clap of thunder sounds overhead, though there are no clouds in sight. Jeno is painfully ripped from your grasp and thrown out of the gazebo by some invisible force of nature, into the grass and dirt on the forest floor.

And inside of you, a piece of your soul is torn from your being, bile rising up in your throat as you comprehend the excruciating sensation that racks your body with pained whimpers.

Stumbling to his feet, Jeno heaves, hunched over and close to tears. Suppressing the agony you still feel, you hurry over to him only for the boy to charge away, heading back towards the open meadow. With a broken shout of his name, you follow.

You didn’t notice before, but now the blinding light reveals the condition he’s in. He looks almost normal, but the edges of his form are becoming fainter by the minute, blurring with the rest of the world around him. He’s fading away before your eyes, and it’s all your fault.

It’s a torturous experience, watching him slowly meld with the emptiness of the air. Making him disappear into thin air in an instant would have been an act of mercy, a mercy that’s apparently beyond the capabilities of the spectators in the sky.

Struggling to maintain your composure, you force a question out. “What’s happening?” You ask, though you know he doesn’t have an answer himself.

He’s obviously panicked, though he tries not to show it. “I... I don’t know, I knew that it was forbidden for us to fall in love but I didn’t think I’d be robbed of my existence like this...”

“What?! No, Jeno, please don’t go...” You beg the gods and angels above, if any exist. You don’t know anymore.

If there is a God, how can he be good if he’s taking Jeno away from you like this, depriving you of the one constant source of joy and comfort in your life?

It’s far too cruel to bestow such a kind and generous heart upon someone who isn’t allowed to love in the first place.

Even Jeno’s touch is faint, making you feel like he’s not there at all. You just barely detect the pads of his fingers smoothing over your cheeks, trying to stop the water spilling from your eyes. He smiles sadly, “Don’t cry for me. I’m not worth the tears.”

“You’re everything to me, Jeno. You’re worth every drop.”

“Remember me like this, okay? By the creek,” he gestures to the turbulent waters a short distance away. Walking slowly, he begins to take steps in its direction, but as he speeds up you’re no longer able to match his pace. “Jeno, turn around...”

Glancing back at you for the final time, he whispers a goodbye that the breeze carries away with it, the sound something only the two of you would hear, one that could never be replicated.

“Goddamnit, Jeno, don’t you dare leave me!” But you know you can’t hold on, you’re not strong enough. A greater force wants you two apart, unable to be overpowered by one human, a relatively insignificant being in the grand scheme of the universe. He vanishes completely.

You fall to your knees, the pain from the pebbles digging into your legs and feet underneath the surface of the creek numbed by your sorrow. The water drenches your clothes, splashing up onto your skin and becoming one with your relentless tears. You’re left all alone, with only the cattails to keep you company. You wish the waves would just swallow you whole so you don’t have to feel this suffocating isolation.

In an unnecessarily harsh trick of the light combined with the dancing shadows generated by the water, you swear that you see Jeno again for a second, sitting on the riverbank like always. You sob louder.

It takes forever for you to find the strength to stand up again, water running over your soaked shoes and threatening to topple you over. You wouldn’t mind if it succeeds.

Inconsolable even to your closest friends and family, you reluctantly return to the village, unwilling to leave behind what you’ve just been through and unable to explain just why you’re crying so hard. Maybe if you stay there forever, spending each day and night waiting among the reeds and the flowers and the grass, he’ll come back someday, but no. He’ll never return, but you simply can’t bring yourself to accept this fact.

You’re never quite the same after that. Part of the curse that haunts you for the rest of your life is this: no matter how hard you try to retain your memories, you’re destined to forget Jeno eventually, leaving vast gaps in your brain when it comes to the years of your youth.

You’re left with only a feeling of inexplicable nostalgia at the sight of the meadow and the creek running through it, the waters still as violent as they were on the day you lost him.

[spiltcandycoatedpunkblood]

My OCs

i’ll do it on here, it makes sense

Kevin Anderson - 27, 5′8″, gay ace, nonbinary trans dude, uses he/him pronouns. shapeshifter. wears glasses. is the friendliest and softest out of them so far. sometimes too soft - just wants to get on with everybody. has really bad anxiety; also has ADHD. main fidget toy is a Rubix cube. loves pasta but mainly snacks. my Windows (the Thing 1982) OC. lives on caffeine as well. can be found eating icing out of a tub. can accidentally shapeshift if overwhelmed/stressed. prone to panic attacks. favourite forms is one of the huskies so he can just chill. has been best friends with Nauls since kindergarten; ran away from parents at 16 due to his shapeshifter status becoming known.

Celpaxtri - Paxtri or Pax for short, unknown age and origin; claims to be hundreds of years old. pan pangendered half cat half humanoid alien. 5′6″. uses xe/xem pronouns. eyes are red and glow in the dark; has night vision, super agility and speed and can electrocute xyr enemies. generally curious but can lash out if xe senses a threat. lets people infodump to them if xe believes they are friendly enough. i have two aus for xem; one for the playmobil movie and the other for the thing. unfortunately both end up with xem going through scientific experimentation, resulting in physical scars and psychological trauma.

Carlisle Rivers - Carl for short, 5′10″, 28, a bi bigender secret agent, telekinetic and telepathic. uses ey/em, she/her and they/them pronouns. is the most reserved and bitter out of all of them, especially having to keep eir powers under control and under wraps because of what it could all mean. is part of a playmobil au and is found out by Rex, which creates multiple conflicts. spends a lot of time pushing people away; powers discouraged from a young age. i believe Rex is a very understanding type and doesn’t budge easily when he sees someone who needs help, despite how many times they push him away. Carl would rather not be a target for anyone who wants to keep an eye on eir powers and Rex just wants to help, so there is clear problems from the start.

Andy Summers - 5′7″ aroace transmasc enby, uses they/them pronouns (started off as a self-insert). is half-Terran, half-Celestial with Ego as their bastard father. never had a good father figure even before Ego (look, Ego’s the absolute worst, but i really don’t like Yondu either as a dad or as a character). in their 20s throughout their time with their bastard father and probs early 30s present day after they kick his ass into space.

not as bitter as Carl but incredibly troubled and often reserved; just wants to vibe in space in their ship. can be emotional. listens to music a lot; this helps with trauma and their ADHD. will not resort to violence unless they really have to. has powers including the ability to sense evil through sickness and migraines around particularly bad people, accelerated healing and heightened invulnerability.

emotions and trauma affect powers - when closer to the light, actually can tune into the core of Ego’s planet to summon their own light tendrils, eyes glow as a result. residual power after Ego’s obliteration is eyes changing colour with mood.

Veronica Coleman - 5′11 secret agent lesbian, uses she/her pronouns. has the ability to become invisible and create and manipulate fire. fiery yet kinda reserved; doesn’t take shit whatsoever. excellent at acrobatics and hand to hand combat and is on a similar level with Rex, though she doesn’t really like the comparison and tries to shrug him off at times. he’s kinda impressed though, and sometimes they get put on missions together. of course, they always have to try not to become a target, especially since her powers would be incredibly useful to certain people with malicious intentions.

[darkpetal16]

Sure honey. :) As long as you don’t mind it being a very early draft. 

Lucille the Lady of the Sun laid in her bed. Her guildmaster and friend, Momonga sent her another message reading, I’ll end it in the throne room.

Lucille—although her true name was Umina Hanako—replied, I’ll be staying in the tower, if that’s okay.

Momonga responded affirmatively, and Lucille returned her gaze towards her makeshift ceiling. Lucille, one of the guild officers of Ainz Ooal Gown, awaited for the final moments of one of her treasured experiences in her entire existence. Yggdrasil had been all she had known for the past ten plus years of her life, and the fact that it was coming to a close weighed heavily on her. 

Hanako had never been comfortable leaving her home, which was why she worked as a freelance programmer. She didn’t leave the comfort of her apartment, not even for groceries. Everything came to her front door, or it did not come at all. The only socializing she got was through her clients, or her guildmates. Unfortunately, over the years the guild had been on a steady decline mirroring Yggdrasil’s own downfall. It wasn’t terribly surprising that a year after most of their guildmates had left—for one reason or another—the game announced its shutdown. 

Only she and Momonga remained of Ainz Ooal Gown. The kind guildmaster had been a bit of a recluse himself in the outside world, and preferred the virtual reality Yggdrasil provided instead. For Hanako—Lucille—she couldn’t imagine giving up the virtual paradise she had created for herself within Yggdrasil. 

Indeed, she already planned on copying everything she had created and implementing her own private server when she had the chance.

But now was not the time for that. 

Lucille the Lady of the Sun had been the guild’s appointed top researcher. She created her own tower at the heart of Nazarick—the entrance behind the throne room—where she indulged in fascinating experiments. The laws of Yggdrasil were easily manipulated and fun to play with. It was in her arcane tower that she personally created each resident in Nazarick.

Certainly each guildmate came to her with the proper ingredients and instructions on what to make, but it was Lucille who crafted their bodies and expertly programmed them—because no guild member was as advanced with programming as she. 

Her fellow guildmates were still considered the “fathers” of creations she made, though. But she was their “mother.” Each resident was carefully crafted, filled with macros designated to utilize their build to the fullest. 

Her children, her creations, were one of the biggest reasons why Hanako / Lucille could not bear to part with Yggdrasil. Hanako had no family, no true friends, and she knew she would never be able to be a part of a “normal” family if she tried. She was too awkward and socially uncomfortable with other humans, that the idea of interacting with them face-to-face typically caused a low-level anxiety attack. 

Lucille let out a soft sigh and turned her head toward one of her three personal creations. Bodolf was a werewolf who remained in his wolfman form. He was tall, nearly seven feet, and intimidating for all who glanced towards him. He was her strongest fighter, one of the most powerful Guardians Nazarick held. He was one of the arcane tower floor Guardians, but in terms of raw-combat skill he was matched only by Cocyutus. 

He, like all werewolves, was physically powerful and dangerously fast. But, unlike other werewolves he could not shift between forms and remained stuck as something in between due to how Lucille distributes his skill points. He was made to fight like a berserker after a certain point was reached, and every blood he drank and flesh he devoured would translate as direct healing. His ultimate ability was invulnerability for three seconds—which while it wasn’t much at first glance, tactically it could be used for any number of things.

His fur was a warm brown, and his golden eyes held a sense of gentlemanly honor. For while he was a brute in battle, he was an honorable warrior like Cocytus at heart. He was programmed to be devoted towards his Lady, prioritizing her well-being above all else. 

Bodolf’s fellow guardian was a floating purple cat by the name of Cheshire, designed to look nearly identical to Disney’s Alice in Wonderland's own mischievous cat. Cheshire, who rested beside Lucille in bed, was expertly skilled in illusions, capable of creating illusions so powerful that the victims experienced honest psychosomatic symptoms to what they saw and felt. He could kill someone with ease if he made them believe they had lost their head.  

Like Bodolf, though, his loyalty and devotion was towards the Lady of the Sun, Lucille. He was created to comfort her in times of stress, he was made to create beautiful and charming illusions for Lucille—Hanako—to use as escapes from reality. 

Lucille adored her guards. She loved them like they were her own children.

She loved all of her creations like they were her own.

And while it wasn’t really necessary—for they were merely numbers on a screen, really—she programmed them to feel calmed by her presence when distressed. It was such a small and purely role-playing detail that none of her guildmates protested to her putting it. Touch Me even joked that she really was their mother, and it was he who first started calling her the Mother of Nazarick.

In many ways he was correct. The creations of Nazarick that she forged were made with all of her heart, and all of her love. She took her time with each one, painstakingly rewriting errors for hours upon hours at a time. 

Losing them, despite them not being real, felt like a bit of her heart was being ripped out. 

Lucille looked over sharply at Jack, her final personal creation.

As an avid roleplayer Lucille had gone on numerous “adventures” with massively wide-ranging genres. From horror, to humor, to even romance. The issue was that Lucille was not someone comfortable with romance—and it was largely the same with many of her dedicated roleplayers. Especially since many of them were married in real life. 

Now while romance was not a requirement to go on a fun adventure, every now and then they liked to spice it up.

But how did one go about doing such without causing stress to their real life partner—or in Lucille’s case avoid awkward social interactions—they asked?

The answer came easily: NPCs.

It was simple to claim such and such was their secret lover or spouse. They could be used as bargaining chips against enemies; blackmail materials for rogues; or to be used as part of the background.

That was why Lucille created Jack. She wanted her character to—to have what she could not in reality. She wanted a proper family. She wanted loyal friends. She wanted a significant other who would never leave her side.

And thusly she created Jack the Reaver; an undead mage with the necromancer class (thusly making him a lich). His lore stated he was Nazzarack’s top researcher, a genius when it came to the magical arts. He served as Lucille’s “right hand” in the arcane tower of Nazzarack. 

He was made to be deeply in love with her, loyal to her above all else. 

It was—It was rather nice. Lucille knew he wasn’t real, of course, but sometimes when she was caught up in one of her adventures she could forget about that. She could genuinely believe that for the first time in decades there was someone waiting for her to come home.

Someone who wanted her to come home.

She looked him over, taking note of his necromancer garb. She wanted him to scream archetype evil necromancer; thusly giving him dark thick pants, black tunic, and a thick black robe that split down the middle below the waist to cover it all. His hands were covered in black gloves, but she knew from writing his lore that his right hand would be entirely skeletal. 

His face was pale with death, and held empty eyesockets. He had stitches on either side of his mouth, giving the impression of an eerie permanent grin. His nose, like all undead, had decayed away.

The only thing that contradicted his undead nature was the bundle of pale white messy hair on top of him. 

She could have made him handsome.

She could have made him ideal for most women.

But she didn’t. Instead she rolled some dice to see what species and class he would be (she rolled 4 for undead, and 6 for mage) went with it. 

After all, she only needed him for roleplaying purposes. 

(Not that she put any stock into appearances. When you looked like she did in real life you couldn’t care about that kind of thing without crippling your self esteem.) 

Lucille turned away from him, looking up at her “enchanted” ceiling courtesy of Blue Planet for her thirtieth birthday. 

She watched the permanent night sky sparkle brilliantly, and for a brief moment Lucille wished she was actually there in Nazarick. 

She wished she was actually laying on that bed.

She wished she could reach out and touch what was left of her family.

That she could be with those who wouldn’t leave her.

She wished she wouldn’t be alone anymore.

Lucille was painfully tired of watching all of those she had come to care for leave her. The only friend that she counted as really staying until the end was Momonga, and with only thirty seconds left on the server he too would be gone from her life.

She would be alone again.

Lucille’s eyes blurred, and she knew her physical counterpart was likely crying. She blinked back the tears and turned to look up at the ceiling. Her chambers were at the top of the arcane tower, and specially enchanted to look like the night sky. Her bedroom wasn’t spacious like many of the others, because she essentially used the entire tower as her chambers.

Oh, sure, her fellow guildmates utilized some of the facilities and could come and go as they pleased, but it was Lucille who dominated most of it. 

Bodolf was sitting beside her pale golden colored bed, his clawed furred-covered hands tucked neatly into his lap. His gaze was pointed upwards at the sky.

Lucille saw Cheshire move in the corner of her eye, and she turned to see the cat had re-settled on her pillow, his eyes half open.

Lucille felt a sigh escape her lips.

And the countdown… 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

Lucille closed her eyes, and then everything changed.

Suddenly she could feel the sheets beneath her, could hear the gentle breathing of two of her creations, and she felt unnaturally warm. Lucille the Lady of the Sun shifted in her bed, her eyes wide.

She—

She felt.

The silken sheets were warm beneath her, and both Cheshire and Bodolf turned their inquisitive gazes towards her.

She reached up her black-gloved hand towards her face and felt the mask she typically wore. Lucille pulled off the mask, turning it around to face her. The red and black dragon-faced mask stared back at her, and she touched it in disbelief.

Lucille tried to call up the user interface of Yggdrasil, but nothing came up. She tried to message Momonga, but she couldn’t pull up any of the system. Typically if there was such an error a gamemaster would send out mass-messages, but—

The game was meant to be turned off.

How as she here?

Lucille turned towards Cheshire, who was nearest to her, and reached out a hand. “Che-Cheshire?”

Even her voice was different. It was her programmed avatar’s voice, not her actual voice. Still, she felt her vocal cords vibrate upon use, and heard it with her own ears. That cat stood up, ears cocked towards her in an obvious gesture of concern. “Mother?”

Lucille’s hand touched the soft fur of the purple and pink striped cat, and she stroked his cheek.

He’s real. I can feel him. No way.

She turned her head towards Bodolf, and reached towards him. Bodolf, seeming to sense her desire, bowed his massive wolf-like head towards her. She touched his forehead and gently stroked his cheek.

I feel them...?

Bodolf’s coarse voice broke her thoughts, “Lady? Are you well?”

“I-I-um.” Lucille fell silent, uncertain of what to say. She could scarcely believe it was real. Never in her wildest dreams could she imagine—

“My lady?” Jack inquired, his soft voice immediately drawing her attention towards him.

“A-Ah,” Lucille squeaked out, then her hands flew up to touch her own lips and cheek. 

I can feel?! 

Panicked Lucille immediately tried to pull up her console or contact a GM, but failed. “I-I? I-I?”

“Mother?” Cheshire asked, crawling onto the bed and tilting his adorable head. The dark purple and blue striped cat dressed in a witch hat and cloak had a deeply concerned look on his face. His long tail moved from side to side, and he placed a gentle paw on Lucille’s leg.

This can’t be—There’s no game—? How? Did I die? Or—Or have I…?

“Bodolf,” Lucille abruptly said, looking over at the werewolf dressed in golden armor, “Bodolf please affirm Nazarick’s surroundings.”

The massive werewolf bowed his head. “It will be done, my lady.”

When he left the room Lucille watched him in astonishment. I can give orders to the NPCs outside of their list of commands? I can feel them. I can smell them. I—This has to mean…

Lucille looked over at Jack, caught off guard by the level of intensity he stared at her. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks, unintentionally hugging Cheshire closer to her chest. 

That’s right I—I made him to be in love with me. He’s meant to be Lucille’s consort. 

She managed to look away, choosing instead to assess her surroundings. Everything looks exactly like in the game. I wonder if it’s possible to use my abilities?

Lucille was a healer; classified as a Sun Priestess. Since she was of the demon race the only way she could be a healer was through becoming a Sun Priestess, or Moon Priest. As her Avatar was female, she went with the traditional Sun Priestess. 

They were powerful raid healers with a unique passive called Sun’s Touch. Sun’s Touch essentially allowed 75% of the damage the Priestess did to their targets to convert to healing allies. So, if Lucille attacked a target and did 100 damage to it, her allies would be healed for 75. This effect lessened the further away the allies were from the target, with max range being 90M (in game) to 15%. 

It was this passive that made Sun Priestesses so viable in every expansion, because not only did they heal but they contributed to DPS. 

It would be hard to confirm if she had such ability unless NPCs could be counted as allies?

Or—wait—Momonga was also waiting for the server shut down. Is he here?

Lucille raised a hand up to her temple.

Message to Momonga: Momonga? Are you… here?

From Momonga: Lucille?! You’re here, too? Where are you?

To Momonga: I’m in my tower with Cheshire and Jack. I sent Bodolf out to survey Nazarick.

From Momonga: Ho? Lucille—meet me in the arena. I want to see if we can use our abilities.

To Momonga: Okay. I’ll meet you there. 

Lucille placed Cheshire out of her lap and back onto the bed. “I-I’m going to the arena. J-Jack, please accompany me.”

Jack bowed to her, placing a hand over his dead heart. “Of course, my lady.”

Lucille scooted out of her large bed, smoothing down her robes. They were beautiful, she thought. They were the robes of the High Sun Priestess, exclusive drops only one person per server could obtain along with the mount. They were mostly white with red and gold accents and pretty designs. 

It was certainly odd to look down and see a smaller body than what she was used to. Her race was that of a demon, but she had distributed points to allow her avatar to take on two different forms similar to many of her guildmates, and some of the guardians. Her base form was a lithe and tiny, barely coming up to 150CM. This made it ideal for dodging attacks—a necessity for all healers. It was mesomorphic (humanoid) in shape, allowing her access to armor that would otherwise be unavailable in her true form. Her eyes, like all demons, were a scarlet red with slitted pupils like a cat. Her hair was a warm cinnamon brown pulled up in a messy bun in the back with a few curled bangs hanging freely on either side of her face. 

It was an aesthetically pleasing avatar in this form, and so it was the form that she was most often in (plus it was the only form she could wear her extremely hard to grind for gear that she was hecka proud of). 

Her true form was the exact opposite. Massive, covered in flames, fur, and scales, it looked like a cross between a demonic dragon and a cat. It screamed intimidation, horror, and monstrosity. In that form, she lost the ability to wear armor, or use weapons, but her damage output rose significantly. She became a glass canon. Excellent for necessary parts in a raid where they had to burst down HP, or opening up in PVP on a cc’d enemy. 

But not ideal for everyday gameplay. She was too vulnerable without armor. 

She reached up and hesitantly poked at the black horns that curled on either side of her head. 

That’s going to take some getting used to, she mentally noted. 

 A far cry from the obese body she used to have.

She stood up from the bed, brushing out nonexistent wrinkles in her robes. 

Jack straightened up to his full height beside her, and she glanced up at him, feeling distinctly small in comparison to his tall figure. He continued to look at her in a way that made her want to sprint in the opposite direction.

Lucille had never been in a relationship before.

She hadn’t even had someone like her that way before. She had never been pretty, sociable, or anything less than extremely awkward. It was largely why she became a programmer in high school.

Not because she liked programming; but, because it would allow her to work from home. She started taking commissions for small indie games, making enough money to barely support herself. She got scholarships to go to an online college, and using what little money her parents had left for her she did everything on her own. She got a small apartment, worked commissions, and got a degree in computer science engineering, with certificates in programming, security, and IT. 

She kept working through commissions until she found a job that let her work from home. 

Then she… rarely ever left home. Groceries were delivered to her, she had a decent sized balcony for the exceedingly rare occasion she wanted to step outside. 

She had no family, no friends. All of her relationships existed online.

It could get lonely at times, she would privately admit to herself, but the thought of leaving her apartment gave her such a strong fit of anxiety she simply couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Talking with people face to face was an impossibility. 

Even working up the courage to do voice chat took years. 

So having someone look at her in such a manner was downright unnerving. She couldn’t blame him since she made him to do exactly that, but she was so painfully unused to it.

(To be frank she was amazed she wasn’t having an anxiety attack, she wondered if it was perhaps because of her new body?)

Lucille headed out of her bedroom, climbing down the stairs of the arcane tower with Jack closely behind her. She remembered partway down that she could simply use the ring to teleport, but she thought that might be rude since she had personally asked Jack to accompany her and he could not teleport. 

Besides, she wanted to properly see Nazarick.

(She did send a quick message to Momonga that she would be taking the longer way through, and not to wait for her to test his abilities.)

When she exited the tower she briefly glanced back at Jack. “Jack?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Do you—Do you, um—Do you—” Lucille stumbled over her words, before she shook her head. 

Why am I acting like this? I’m Lucille now. I’m Lucille. I have nothing to be shy, or anxious about. This is—

This is the start of another adventure. A big, final one. One to put every other DnD, or Yggdrasil RP session to shame.

I am Lucille.

“Are you in love with me?” Lucille asked him, keeping her voice from wavering.

Jack smiled at her. “Yes.”

Her heart thumped loudly inside of her chest at his casual admission. Experienced roleplayer or not being blatantly confessed to was stressful. It made her stomach heave, and a shot of adrenaline caused her steps to miss a beat.

How would Lucille respond?

Well, Lucille loves Jack, Lucille thought to herself. But I—He’s the equivalent of an anime crush! It’s nice to admire from afar and pretend, but in person it’s hard not to freak out.

Lucille settled for blushing and looking away again. She resolved to let things progress slowly and go from there. He may have been programmed to love her for all of eternity, but that didn’t mean he actually would now that he was alive. 

And Lucille would probably give herself a heart attack if she tried to instigate a relationship. 

The two traveled in relative silence, save their footsteps. 

.

The two met Momonga on the way to the arena, as her friend had also decided to walk to the arena rather than teleport. When they met each other, there was a moment of silence before Lucille started to ask some questions. 

Turning to Momonga she switched to English, “Can you access the interface?”

Momonga hesitated a moment, as his English was rustier than hers. “No. I-I was able to touch Abledo’s breasts.”

Definitely impossible to do in game. 

Lucille didn’t think she would have had the courage to try something similar, she mentally applauded her fellow socially awkward friend for his bravery. 

Lucille’s eyes widened briefly. “We really are not in the game anymore, are we?”

“I don’t think so.”

The two guildmates fell silent. Lucille crossed her arms over her chest, and shifted anxiously. She could feel the curious gazes of the Jack on both of them, and she realized how odd it must seem to him—to all Guardians.

How much do they remember? What do they remember? Do they act as programmed? What about us? What can we do?

“I ordered Sebas to look around. If—” Momonga hesitated, then decided it would be best to switch back to English. “If we aren’t in the game, we may not even be in Yggdrasil.”

The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. Lucille let out a soft gasp. “We must assemble the Guardians. We need to see what situation we are in.”

“I already told Albedo to call for them.”

“We should test some of our powers at the arena,” Lucille immediately said, wanting to keep the conversation going as they walked. “If—If we are here, then there may be powerful enemies we may have to fight.”

“You’re right,” Momonga agreed.. “How are you, Lucille?”

“This feels like a dream,” she confessed. 

“But how is this possible?”

“I don’t know. If we really are here, I suppose anything’s possible. Do you know the multiverse theory?” “Of sorts,” Momonga responded. “Infinite possibilities is the gist, though, right?”

“Yes.”

Momonga hesitated, switching back to English. “I-I rewrote Albedo’s programming.”

Lucille glanced over towards Momonga, raising an eyebrow in surprise. She had created each NPC to be easily reprogrammed if need be. She was surprised Momonga would bother with such a thing, though. “To what?”

“I-I put that she was in love with me,” he whispered shamefully.

Lucille laughed. “Oh my! Tabula-senpai would be so mad!”

“I know…”

“But if anyone were to be with his precious Albedo, I’m sure he’d be glad it’s you,” Lucille finished, a teasing glint in her eyes. They had reached the arena, and she added, “As her creator, I expect you to treat her well!”

“Uhum—um—-uh—”

While her friend stumbled over his words, flustered from her teasing, Lucille looked up at the beautiful dark sky in the arena and let out a soft sigh of appreciation. She always admired the beauty of nature, even if Hanako was too afraid to ever try to be a part of it.

They made it partway through the arena floor before Aura leapt off one of the balconies and rushed towards them. The dark elf child sprinted towards them with a grin. “Lord Momonga! Lady Lucille! Welcome to the floor which we guard.”

“We will intrude for a while,” Momonga told her.

“What are you saying? You are the lord of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, and our precious Lady of the Sun! There is no one that would ever consider you intruding,” Aura insisted with her boyish charm.

Lucille couldn’t resist reaching out a hand and touching the top of Aura’s head. Aura blushed happily at the gesture. “Where is dear Mare?”

Aura turned back towards the balcony. “Oi, Mare! You’re being rude to Lady Lucille and Lord Momonga! Hurry up and get down here.”

“I-I can’t,” came Mare’s weak response.

“Ma-are!”

“F-Fine,” Aura’s twin brother answered. Mare leapt down and stumbled a bit on landing, adjusting his skirt before running over towards the trio. Upon reaching them he curtsied. “I-I am very sorry for making you wait, Lord Momonga, and Lady.”

“Mn,” Momonga grunted. “We came today to have the two of you help us with something.”

Lucille reached over and patted Mare’s head. Mare blushed. Lucille smiled at both children. “We have also called the guardians here. They will arrive in about an hour.”

“Huh? Is Shalltear coming as well?”

“You’ll get along for us won’t you?” Lucille asked.

“O-Of course Lady,” Aura responded quickly. Lucille smiled kindly at her, fondness in her eyes. It seemed that against all odds Lucille would get to keep a bit of her family. 

Momonga expressed his desire to test out the sacred Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown. Aura brought out two beasts that set up wooden poles, and then she and her brother stood to the side to watch. Lucille took the opportunity to test her wings, and summoned forth her great bat-like leathery wings from her lower back. There were two tiny slits in the back of her armor that allowed the wings to attach to her lower back, and with one sharp flap Lucille took to the sky.

Flying, she realized, was rather delightful. It felt marvelous to feel the air tickle her hooves, and the feeling of weightlessness was pleasant. Her wings stretched out and she could feel the magic radiating from them that allowed her to stay in one place. Momonga watched her from below then turned towards the wooden posts. 

Momonga stretched the staff towards the posts. “Summon: Primal Fire Elemental.”

The jewels on the staff glowed and fire erupted from the staffs, twisting and conforming into a massive fire elemental, easily in the upper eighties in terms of level. Lucille watched it form with wide eyes, the fire lapping the air around her. 

As a demon—more specifically a Fire Nymph Demon—Lucille had a special resistance and affinity for fire. The fire was entirely harmless to her unless it was of equal level or above (but she had an extreme vulnerability to water-type attacks, which was why her armor was specially enchanted against such attacks). 

“Aura, would you like to fight it?” Momonga inquired.

Aura’s eyes brightened. “Eh? Can I?”

“U-Um, I just remembered something I need to,” Mare said hesitantly, staring to inch away.

Aura grabbed her brother. “Mare!”

“Eh?!”

But there was no dissuading Aura. She grabbed Mare and dragged him towards the elemental, while Momonga used Fly to join Lucille in the sky. 

“It looks like using magic isn’t an issue here,” Momonga commented, watching as the twins began to fight the creature of fire.

Lucille pulled out one of her twin swords, the obsidian blade gleaming in the light. She channelled a bit of her magic inside of it and it bloomed to life with hellfire. “Indeed. I can call upon wings, and use magic in my blades.”

Momonga raised a clawed skeletal hand towards his forehead. Lucille felt a small twinge.

A heartbeat of silence fell between the two companions. Then Momonga twitched. “Ah—Sebas picked up, somehow.”

Lucille looked at him in interest. Momonga verbalized his conversation with Sebas. “Sebas? How do things look on the outside?” A heartbeat of silence as Sebas answered. “I see. I have called all the guardians to gather. Come to the amphitheater on the sixth floor immediately and report what you saw.”

Momonga’s hand fell away and the two returned their attention towards the twins who were still fighting the elemental. It wasn’t long before they defeated it, though, and both guildmates lowered themselves to the ground to greet the out-of-breath elves. 

“You did well,” Lucille praised her children.

“Thank you! I haven’t exercised this much in a while,” Aura answered, wiping sweat from her brow. 

“Mn. You must be thirsty,” Momonga commented, pulling a pitcher of water from his infinity bag. Following soon afterwards he pulled out two glasses and gave each twin one before filling it up with cool water. 

The twins drank the refreshing water quickly.

“I thought Lord Momonga would be scarier,” Mare confessed quietly. 

“I can be scarier if you’d like,” Momonga offered.

“No, no, no, how you are is best,” Aura responded swiftly. 

Lucille laughed quietly at that. “And do you think I am scary?”

“Lady is the kindest of all,” Aura declared. 

“Don’t you know how scary demons can be?” Lucille asked with a wry smile, touched by the compliment.

A purplish red gate appeared and a coy voice called out. “My, am I the first?” 

Shalltear stepped out and the gate closed behind her, a serene smile on her face. She approached the group slowly, carrying her favorite umbrella and being sure not to ruffle her dress. 

“Ah!” Shalltear breathed out, rushing towards Momonga and reaching up to grab his face. “The one beloved man I cannot rule above.”

“Shalltear,” Lucille greeted her, and the true vampire withdrew herself immediately from Momonga and turned towards Lucille. Lucille stretched out a hand towards her and Shalltear eagerly placed her head in it. “Hello, dear girl.”

“Precious mother,” Shalltear greeted in earnest. 

“Give it rest,” Aura cut in. 

Shalltear sneered at Aura. “Oh, little shorty. You were here?” Aura flushed. “It must be difficult, Mare, to have such a crazy older sister.”

“Fake boobs.”

Shalltear seized, withdrawing away from Lucille to cover her chest. “What?!”

“Looks like I was right,” Aura chuckled. “That’s why you went through the trouble of using a gate to get here. You were in a hurry, but since you overstuffed your breasts they would shift if you ran.”

“Shut your mouth,” Shalltear shrieked. “You have nothing yourself!”

“I’m still only 76, but you’re an undead. It must be tough having no more chance to grow. Why don’t you just accept what you have now?”

“You bitch—!”

“Children,” Lucille cut in, and both immediately fell silent, looking properly chastised.  

It wasn’t terrible much longer that the other guardians arrived; Cocytus, Demigure, Albedo, Bodolf, and Cheshire. They assembled before the two guild members and Albedo stepped forward.

In a soft, steely voice she called out, “Now, everyone. To our supreme leader, and cherished mother, the ritual of fidelity.”

Shalltear stepped forward first. “The guardian of the first, second, and third floors, Shalltear Bloodfallen.” She kneeled and placed her right hand over her non-existent heart. “I bow before the supreme ones.”

“The guardian of the fifth floor, Cocytus,” Cocytus stepped forwards, his booming rough voice echoed across the arena. He kneeled. “I bow before the supreme ones.”

“The guardian of the sixth floor Aura Bella Fiora.”

“A-Also the guardian of the sixth floor, Mare Bello Fiore,” Mare added on.

As one the twins kneeled, placing their hands over the hearts. “We bow before the supreme ones.”

Demigure moved forward next. “The guardian of the seventh floor, Demigure.” He kneeled. “I bow before the supreme ones.”

“Guardian of the arcane tower,” Bodolf stepped forward, “Bodolf Ravager.”

“Guardian of the arcane tower,” Cheshire purred, gently floating to the ground. “Cheshire Moratorium.”

“Guardian of the arcane tower,” Jack softly intoned, “Jack the Reaver.”

Together they kneeled and said, “We bow before the supreme ones.”

“The leader of the guardians, Albedo.” Albedo kneeled. “I bow before the supreme ones. Other than the guardian of the fourth floor, Gargantua, and the guardian of the eighth floor, Victim, all the guardians have gathered to bow before you. Please bestow your orders upon us, Supreme Ones. We offer our complete loyalty to you.”

As Momonga was the leader and technically above Lucille, he would have to be the one to respond to them. 

Momonga’s racial trait began to leak out a bit, and Lucille shifted. Is he doing it on purpose? He may not have complete control over it. The dark aura manifested in black shadowy magic rising off him like steam. “Raise your heads. You all did well to gather here. Thank you.”

“Your thanks is wasted upon us. We here have all pledged ourselves to you,” Abledo said passionately. “Lord Momonga, and Lady Lucille, you may find us lacking; however, we vow to work hard and live up to the expectations of the supreme beings who created us.”

“We vow this,” the other guardians echoed behind her.   

“Wonderful, floor guardians! I—no, we—are confident that all of you will be able to fulfill your duties without fail. Now then, right now the Great Tomb of Nazarick is caught up in an unknown situation. We already had Sebas and Bodolf survey our surroundings—”

We turned towards Sebas and Bodolf, who was waiting off the side. They approached the duo and kneeled before explaining what they had discovered.

“Grasslands?” Lucille echoed in surprise upon his explanation.

“Yes. Completely different from the swamps that surrounded the Great Tomb of Nazarick. I could not confirm a single building, human, or monster in a one kilometer radius.”

“Then Nazarick has been transported to an unknown land for some reason,” Momonga concluded, sharing a look with Lucille.

For the same reason we are here, then? Lucille wondered, and she knew Momonga would wonder that, too.    

Momonga face the guardians once more. “Floor guardian leader, Albedo, as well as the defensive leader, Demiurge; create a stronger information sharing system and fortify our defenses.”

Lucille cocked her head. “Bodolf, take Aura with you and further scout the land. We need to know if there are any immediate threats in the area.”

Momonga nodded towards his companion. “Good call. Mare, is there a way to conceal the Great Tomb of Nazarick?”

“I-It would be difficult using just magic, but if we covered the walls with dirt and concealed ourselves with vegetation.”

Albedo’s low voice growled out, “You want to smear the glorious Nazarick walls with dirt?”

“Albedo, don’t make unnecessary remarks.”

“Yes. I am very sorry, Lord Momonga.” 

“Is it possible to conceal ourselves by covering our walls with dirt?” Momonga inquired. 

“Ye-es. As long as you allow it, however—”

“Yes a random mound would look unnatural. Sebas were there any hills around the area?”

“No. Unfortunately we are surrounded by flatlands.

“I see. Then what would happen if we made dummy hills in the area?”

“I believe we would blend in with such a surrounding.”

“All right, then that’s what we’ll do. Afterwards, we will hide the open areas that we cannot cover with illusions. And lastly, I wanted to ask each floor guardian something. First, Shalltear: What kind of person is Lucille to you? What kind of person am I to you?”

Lucille glanced towards Momonga curious to why he would ask that.

Shalltear blushed. “Lady Lucille and Lord Momonga are the crystallization of beauty. They are the most beautiful creations to have ever existed!”

Lucille found her cheeks growing hot under such praise—Hanako was by no means a beauty, and her true demon form was built more for intimidation and battle than beauty. 

“Cocytus,” Momonga inquired, giving no time for Lucille to recover from such heavy praise. 

“Stronger than all the guardians. Lord Momonga is a man worthy to be the absolute ruler of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, and Lady Lucille is above reproach.”

“Aura.”

“A merciful leader who excels at foresight, and a compassionate mother.”

“Mare.”

“V-Very kind.”

“Demiurge.”

“Lady Lucille is a woman with vast intelligence and skill in invention, and Lord Momonga is a man who makes wise decisions and acts upon them efficiently. Both truly fit the word inscrutable.”

“Sebas.”

“Lord Momonga is the head of all the supreme beings, a merciful leader who stayed behind with us until the end. Lady Lucille is the beloved jewel of Nazarick, who created, and loved us until the end.”

“Bodolf.”

“Mother is mother, and Lord Momonga is Lord Momonga,” Bodolf responded simply.

“Cheshire.”

“Fun.” The cat grinned. 

“Jack.”

“Perfect,” Jack answered. 

“And lastly, Albedo.”

Abledo’s eyes gleamed with unhidden affection. “Lord Momonga is the highest ranking of all the supreme beings and our ultimate master, and the man I love! Lady Lucille is our beloved mother who we all adore.”

“I-I see. We have heard your thoughts. Continue working faithfully in our name.”

Momonga then teleported away, and Lucille hurriedly joined Momonga. Her companion was leaning against a wall. “They have some glorious views of us, huh…”

Lucille chuckled. 

“What are we to do, Lucille?” Momonga wondered. “Why are here?”

“Who can say? We’re here now, though. Let’s keep learning what we can,” Lucille answered. “If we aren’t in immediate danger we should try to learn about how much we can do. We have physical bodies now, so surely not all the rules apply to us. Can you wield a sword now, for example?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to see.”

“I’ll see if still have my professions,” Lucille said. “I was a tailor and alchemist in Yggdrasil, so I need see if I can still forge high level gear and potions. Then I’ll see if I can learn another profession, like enchanting.”

“Where we would you even learn?”

“We have the basic books at the library,” Lucille reasoned. “While it’s true in Yggdrasil I would need a trainer for higher tier things, if I can learn the basics then that’ll be enough for now.”

Momonga nodded. “Right. Okay, let’s see what we can find out on our own. Ah, do you need to eat or sleep? I feel nothing, so I don’t think I need to anymore.”

“Demons need both, so I think I will,” she said hesitantly. “I’ll stop by the bar and see if anything sounds good to eat. I have no clue what I can eat. Are demons allergic to silver and holy water?” “Um. Yeah, that’s definitely something that needs to be found out sooner rather than later…”

The two lapsed into silence.

“Okay, we’ll spend a few days orienting ourselves with our new bodies,” Lucille decided. “If we discover anything pressing, let’s meet and discuss.”

“Agreed.”

.

.

.

Lucille shifted her weight on the couch, her tail resting in her lap. Momonga—although he now went by Ains—sat across from her on the opposite couch.

Since becoming undead Mo—Ains—had not kept some of his human habits, such as fidgeting or shifting anxiously. Lucille noticed he still rolled his shoulders when “tired” but otherwise than that he normally sat stock still and in perfect posture. Part of it was him roleplaying as a proper ruler, and part of it was that he didn’t think about it. He no longer needed to breathe and part of his racial perk kept his emotions in check.

Lucille, however, still felt the desire to fidget when uncomfortable. Her crippling anxiety was replaced with the desire to move constantly, and as a demon she no longer felt fear. She didn’t have Ains’ calmness, but her emotions were significantly more stable than her previous life.

So while Ains sat perfectly still Lucille couldn’t resist fiddling with her robe, constantly smoothing it out and patting out nonexistent wrinkles.

��Becoming an adventurer sounds like a good idea,” Lucille finally said after a long minute of silence. Ains had just shared his idea of going undercover as an adventurer to get a better feel for the world. “You’ll be able to learn about this world firsthand. It’s smart. And it sounds like fun.”

If Ains could smile Lucille thought he might have. There was a sense of warmth in his tone when he said, “Yes. It does seem like the start of a rather interesting questline, doesn’t it? Like when starting in the Basin zone you had to disguise yourself as a native to earn their trust.”

Lucille nodded in agreement. “To be frank, I’d like to explore this world a bit first hand myself.”

“Different perspectives would be good. You’re bound to see things I would normally miss, and vice versa. That being said I don’t think both of us should ever leave Nazzarick at the same time. Carne Village was an important test, but we must proceed with extreme caution.”

Lucille nodded once again. “I concur. You should be the main adventurer.  I think I should largely focus my attention on the forest, and the nearby villages.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, according to Cheshire none of the herbs found in the forest can be used to create potions using Yggdrassil recipes,” Lucille began to explain. “Even the most basic of recipes like a healing potion would be difficult to make with such poor ingredients. Yet according to the people of Carne that forest is one of the most dangerous places in the world. Dangerous zones typically warrant high level drops, right?”

At Ains’ murmur of agreement Lucille continued, “So we’re left with two choices. Choice one, this entire world is severely underleveled, or choice two there are secrets in that forest that hasn’t been explored yet. That even Aura, Mare, and Bodolf missed.”

Ains stroked his chin. “I see. Of course we should assume the ladder to be safe, but if the former is true—”

“If the former is true, we need to find an alchemist or potion maker in this world,” Lucille cut in. “That will be the first step since Cheshire and I are alchemists. We can combine our knowledge and hopefully figure out a way to safely mass produce vital potions for the safety of Nazarick. Ideally I’d like to be able to make the potion of rebirth and test it out, and then distribute it to all members of Nazarick. However, if even our basic potions don’t work here then it’s doubtful such a complex potion would be viable. It’s important that we find out, though.

“Once we’ve established that, then we can move on to other fields. I’d like to see if there are any magical tailors to compare my own tailoring skills to. What kind of blacksmiths do they have here? Enchanters? Runecrafters?” Lucille ticked off some of the more essential professions. “Does the food here provide special buffs when consumed? Can we create extra void storage? Do nodes respawn? This information we need to find out.”

.

.

.

“Yes! We used to play many games,” Lucille explained, a smile on her face and a spark of fondness in her eyes. “Aha, like musical chairs.”

“Oof,” Ains said, recalling that raid.

The guild had raided a massive dungeon by the name of Kara’tol. It was a unique dungeon given that it was entirely a castle. There had been one room with two massive tables filled with chairs. When the raid had finally reached the room they decided to take a small break. Out of nowhere Touch Me declared it was time for musical chairs and started to play some music over voicehat.

There had been a heartbeast of silence before everyone scrambled to start circling around the tables.

When the music stopped… it was chaos.

Lucille couldn’t resist giggling loudly at the memory. “Ah! I just remembered how you, Ains, used Black Hole on Ulbert for the first chair, hahaha!”

There were faces of astonishment on the guardians while Ains chuckled and sheepishly said, “I panicked. He was going to take the chair. You set Herohero on fire.”

“I wanted that chair,” Lucille replied stubbornly, still giggling. “Haha, oh, do you remember that game of tag?”

“The one that lasted almost a month?”

“We kept wiping during raids because the DPS kept trying to tag each other and drove one another to stand in aoe,” Lucille recalled happily.

.

.

.

Bodolf watched the humans of Carne bustle about. With the aid of the goblins and wolves he had summoned the village was rapidly become a fort. They quickly constructed massive walls from the lumber of the forest and doused them in special reinforcement and flame resistant potions Cheshire made. It would keep the fences strong for many decades to come and would guarantee no one could burn them down with flimsy flame arrows or low tier fire magic.

The potions Cheshire had made immediately garnered the attention of Nphirea and Lizzie, but Ains wanted them to perfect the healing potions first before moving on to others. Bodolf understood the importance behind being able to recreate Yggdrassil potions using this world’s ingredients.

Cheshire himself was conducting experiments on more volatile potions that could not be trusted to weak (in terms of resistances) humans. For example the potion of Still Death which when thrown onto the ground petrified enemies. For higher level beings it would only act as a temporary stun—only a minute long unless someone attacked them—but for low levels—which meant nearly every creature they’ve encountered in this world thus far—it would be a death sentence.

If the potion became volatile and exploded in the process it would guarantee an end towards Ains and Lucille’s humans and that was something that could not be tolerated. While Lucille could likely resurrect them who knew what consequences it might bring?

It would be better of Cheshire worked on the more dangerous potions and allowed Nphirea and Lizzie to work on the low level things like healing potions.

Returning to construction, though.

After the fence was built the next order of business was upgrading the houses and buildings. Each one had to have a bunker underneath in case of an aerial strike. They also began construction on multiple escape tunnels—all with a one way exit out of the village, so no one could enter through them—and food storage.

Since most of the villagers were farmers they relied heavily on producing their own food and enough surplus to sell on the market. While this was fine for them previously with the influx of goblins—and Lucille’s apparent interest in their wellbeing—this had to be adjusted since they could no longer safely farm outside of the village.

The solution?

Underground greenhouses that would last all year.

These were a lot trickier to make and would take the longest. Even with Jack providing the undead manual labor it was a process that could not be rushed. Not only did they have to make secure tunnels that went far enough underground that it wouldn’t interact with the emergency bunkers or escape tunnels, but they also had to manufacture ideal weather underground.

This was easy to accomplish if a mage was present, but they couldn’t rely on a mage to continuously reproduce weather underground.

Thusly Lucille borrowed one of Blue Planet’s creations: Sky Creator. It was a high tier item that Blue Planet made in order to create the beautiful floors of Nazaraick. It permanently enchanted a ceiling into a pocket dimensional sky that could be remotely controlled.

Unfortunately it takes months for the enchantment to complete, which was the real hold up in progress.

All that being said, though, Bodolf estimated they would have the greenhouses completed by the fall.

Bodolf’s ears twitched towards the sound of workers as he watched the village from atop a hill. They were a good group of mortals, each kind and cared deeply for their comrades. They were wary of the undead at first, but they were quickly accepting of the help.

Soon, when the moon reached up in the sky, Bodolf would once again begin his instructions on defense for the humans. Every night he made each villager—children, men, and women—gather before him to be taught how to fight for their home.

During each session he reached out more of his own skill—Packmaster—into each of them to instill absolute loyalty to himself and Nazarick.

When the loyalty meter was filled and each villager was fully prepared to slit their own throats for the sake of the Pack, Bodolf would begin inducting each of them into his Pack. Once they all became werewolves Bodolf was confident they would be able to become completely self-sufficient and only require a few checkups a year.

[monstersdownthepath]

Milestone Monster: Mhar, the World Thunder

CR 26

Chaotic Evil Titanic Aberration

Pathfinder Adventure Path: Return of the Runelords: Rise of New Thassilon, pg. 86~87

IT’S TIIIIIIIME! please ignore the travesty of the ‘editing’ on the banner.

For untold millennia, Mhar has slumbered near the core of Golarion, nestled in the warmth of the planet’s heart. Born from a calamitous intersection of the Elemental Planes of Fire and Earth, Mhar is agonized by the sensation of its molten flesh cooling and hardening to the point it would do anything to escape the pain. Its current magma bath within Golarion is its latest attempt to keep warm, Or, rather, warm enough to remain sane long enough to gather the power it needs to enact its true plan: breaching into the Elemental Plane of Fire to forever bathe in the stone-melting heat.

A soft-hearted person like myself (Just look at its face in the picture! It’s crying!) may hear of Mhar’s plight and wish to aid it. All it wants to do is get into the Plane of Fire, right? Unfortunately, Mhar’s truly tremendous size (that green stuff beneath it? That’s an entire forest and lake) prevents it from traveling through a typical Gate spell, and most tragically of all is very specifically immune to the Plane Shift spell, an immunity no other Great Old One has. Dick move, Paizo, but I can understand why you did it. If a player manages to get past the communication barrier--Mhar speaks Aklo, Terran, and Ignan only, and its telepathy range is so small that you risk death by proximity--solving the encounter immediately by coaxing the critter into failing its save versus Plane Shift does not for a climactic encounter make. Sure, getting to Mhar is difficult, but having such a simple solution to its entire motivation can take the wind out of a battle.

... Or it may decide to crush you anyways. Who’s to say if it’s Chaotic Evil because it’s in incalculable pain, or if it’s alignment is separate from the agony? Whatever the case may be, awakening Mhar is an apocalyptic event as it madly lashes out against a world not meant for it. What does the World Thunder’s attack on a world look like? Lets see...

Though Mhar’s picture reveals creature is mountain-sized, players couldn’t reasonably attack such a thing without needing an entire kitchen floor as a space (artistic interpretation). Instead, combat with Mhar takes place against a cluster of its legs, which take up 50ft of space and have 50ft of reach. Mhar itself is so enormous that it benefits/is punished by the Massive rule, meaning it mercifully cannot make Attacks of Opportunity against creatures who are smaller than Huge size, and such creatures can clamber around on the Great Old One’s body... if they don’t mind the fact that being in physical contact with Mhar counts as being submerged in lava, dealing 20d6 Fire damage per round to whatever idiot thought grappling with/climbing on an active volcano was a good idea.

Side note on the thought of grappling: Mhar’s CMD is 69. Nice.

Though small folk might be safe from Attacks of Opportunity, they still have to contend with Mhar’s normal natural attacks! Another weakness of being so huge is that it can only manage to coordinate four of its legs against small targets, slamming them for 4d12+16 plus 2d6 Fire damage each time, which can be further augmented by Greater Vital Strike. It’s certainly not fun to get hit by all four, but spread out, that damage isn’t too bad... for melee characters,and their 30-ft pile of HP anyway. Squishies might want to stay back, though you don’t really get much of a choice in the matter since Mhar can cast both Wall of Fire and Wall of Stone at will, creating entire labyrinths in a single action that, of course, it can easily step over and even attack around due to its size.

Making melee even worse is that like all other Great Old Ones, Mhar has an Unspeakable Presence, and it’s one of the spookier ones out there at first glance: failing a DC 35 Will save (which must be made every single round) even once means you cannot breathe while you remain within 300ft of Mhar, even if you succeed on your save next round. LITERALLY a presence that prevents speaking! But I say “spooky at first glance” because the big beefy Fighter with his 25 Con can hold his breath for 50 rounds, which ticks down by 1 each round passively, and down by another 1 each time he takes a standard or full-round action. Still no problem for him! But what about the casters or Dex-based characters who dumped Con? For one, don’t dump Con. For another, suffocation instantly knocks your character to unconsciousness and 0 HP regardless of whatever invulnerability you may have in place, and more importantly, if you open your mouth to speak (such as to use verbal components for a spell), your remaining rounds of held breath plummet.

Getting close to Mhar opens the victim to a world of breathless pain, but staying at a range to strike it might be a fruitless endeavor. I know I’ve hammered on about its size for a while, but Mhar is surrounded on all sides by a 30ft thick Cloak of Ash that grants it concealment. Yes, despite being several hundred feet tall, it’s possible to miss Mhar entirely with ranged attacks due to the Cloak of Ash. At least there’s no mechanical downside to hiding out in the cloak yourself, though its enormous Blindsight and Tremorsense range (120ft and 600ft, respective) means it has no trouble finding you.

Though Mhar may not even bother with attacking such small creatures until they prove to be a menace. No, Mhar is angry at the entirety of the cosmos, and it takes this fury out on entire countrysides at a time. Thrice per day, it can rock the world with Earthquake, which is downright devastating when used in tandem with its Volcanic Tempest, a power it can unleash once every 1d6 rounds, blasting a 60ft area around it with choking ash (as Stinking Cloud) and a hail of molten earth that deals 8d6 bludgeoning and 8d6 Fire damage to all in the area. What makes this ability truly dangerous, though, and why it pairs so well with Earthquake, is that Mhar sprays the area of the Volcanic Tempest with lingering molten rock, which deals 20d6 Fire damage to everything standing in it each round if they can’t clamber out of it, which Earthquake can prevent by knocking everyone prone and right into the lava. Though this magma cools to harmless temperatures after 1 minute (or sooner if exposed to Cold magic), Mhar can unleash a new torrent every 1d6 rounds and will do so as early and as often as possible until everything around it becomes a charred hellscape. 

Even dying, Mhar leaves a charred hellscape behind. Immunity to Plane Shift isn’t the only unique quality Mhar has when compared to other Great Old Ones. It also has full on Regeneration instead of Fast Healing like every other GoO, and its Regeneration 20 is only suppressed by Electricity damage, of all things. With Electricity Resistance 30, it’s stupidly hard to hurt Mhar in a way that matters. Thankfully, its Earthen Regeneration only functions if it’s burrowed or otherwise submerged in stone or magma, shutting off if it surfaces… after a minute. Popping Mhar out of its magma bath still means it has 1 full minute of Regeneration that’s only bypassed by a specific elemental type it already has high resistance to, and its 120ft burrow speed means it can reactivate its healing each time it has access to the bare ground.

But lets say you get past that little caveat! When you finally triumph and finally slay Mhar, the entire mountain-beast explodes, spraying everything within 30ft of it with a crushing shower of stone and magma, dealing a jaw-dropping 30d6 bludgeoning and 30d6 Fire damage, making it one of the--if not The--hardest hitting single abilities in the game. And before you go ‘only 30ft? pah,’ remember that battling Mhar is just engaging portion of the thing at a time. It’s quite likely that the entire landscape gets blown to Kingdom Come once the molten mountain falls and the party ‘only’ has to worry about their 30ft patch because tracking that much damage across that big of a distance is a logistical nightmare.

Besides, if Mhar didn’t destroy the country then, it will in a year. Mhar’s Immortality has no real condition to it, as many do; it merely resurrects on the spot of its death one year after it dies as if restored with True Resurrection. According to its lore, Mhar actually comes back because being dead is even more painful than being alive once it passes a certain point, so the thing just wills itself back to life, which is EXACTLY the kind of Great Old One shenanigans I’m here for! I mean... Poor Mhar, but just willing yourself back to life in perfect health is pretty stellar.

Fun fact, Mhar only found out what death was like because someone else decided to use Golarion as a prison for another world-destroying abomination. Once Sarenrae tore open a hole in the planet and flung Rovagug into it, Rovagug accidentally clocked Mhar across the head and destroyed it instantly. It got better, but also got angrier, especially since the whole ‘tearing a hole in the world and throwing a god into it’ thing ruined its hibernation. It could have gotten a whole ‘nother six or seven millennia of peace out of Golarion’s core if that hadn’t happened! Mhar was SO upset by that, in fact, that its scream of anguish caused an entire mountain range to form!

Poor thing :( is it really any wonder it why it’s so cranky once it reaches the surface? At the very least, it knows what it has to do in order to finally achieve true peace: Get to the Plane of Fire. Unfortunately, its chosen path involves flooding Golarion with magma and using the magma as a focus to open a planet-sized portal to the Plane of Fire, which would destabilize the Material Plane and cause the entire thing to fall into the elemental plane, destroying everything as we know it.

But hey, at least Mhar will finally be able to sleep peacefully and without pain. And immunity to fire is pretty easy to get! Maybe living in the Plane of Fire won’t be so bad...

You can read more about him here.

[midnightlie]

title: i really should have thought this through ocs: jess, sophie, kai notes: as some of u may or may NOT know.....i have this mermaid story that i wanna maybe get down some day. the general idea is that a boy rescues the first mermaid ever caught from her exhibit in an aquarium while interning there during the summer and his stubborn little sister gets caught up in the mix lol.

tbh, it’s really fun to try writing something new, and it’s very short, just a quick character study, really, so i’d love it if you could check it out!!!

::

:

Jess generally doesn’t know how to deal with feelings to begin with. Sure, he feels them strongly and emphatically, but acting on them? Interpreting them? A fool’s errand. On his best days, he wears his blasé attitude like a shield, invulnerable and confident, but ever since he met her - since he saved her - he can’t help but wallow in his emotional ineptitude.

He wants to be soft, wants to understand, but he doesn’t know how.

Kai sits next to Sophie on the other side of the campfire, rubbing at her sore legs with firm hands. Sophie helps, looking up at Kai with heady concern.

“Are they still hurting you?” Sophie asks, frowning, her hands working unhelpfully against Kai’s shin.

Kai nods, matter-of-fact as she has always been, and Sophie’s frown deepens. With a little smile, Kai shakes her head and stops rubbing one of her calves to touch Sophie’s bare arm. Not for the first time, Jess wishes that there was a better way to communicate with Kai. He furrows his eyebrows as he watches the exchange, Sophie’s expression changing as she tries to make sense of the sensations Kai passes to her through the physical contact.

Sophie retracts her tiny hands from Kai’s legs. “Not….bad?” she tries out in an attempt to understand. “They don’t hurt as bad? You mean, like last night?”

Kai nods enthusiastically, and tucks one of Sophie’s stray hairs back behind her ear. Sophie turns to her older brother and smirks victoriously. “She talks to me more than you.”

He leans back on his hands and rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Just admit you are jealous and that I, your adorable little sister, am superior to you,” she says smugly. Far more smugly than any ten year old ought to have a right to be.

“I’ll admit it when you actually learn how to pronounce ‘domino’ like a normal person,” he quips. He really isn’t jealous at all when there is an easy sort of camaraderie in the silences that he shares with Kai. He prefers the quiet, anyway.

Kai makes a strange noise that he can only surmise is her version of a laugh. He has wondered before if it sounds the same underwater. Does she laugh when she’s underwater, in her element? He pauses at that. Do mermaids laugh at all?

Sophie sticks her tongue out at him and leans into Kai’s side. “I’m only ten, you heathen. Cut me some slack.”

He doesn’t know where the hell she learned the word “heathen” but he makes a mental note to track down the source and eliminate it. When they get back. The last thing he needs is for her to get in trouble for bullying some scrawny kid at school. “Stop pulling the ‘I’m ten’ card. We know. It’s not cute.”

“Kai thinks I’m cute.” Sophie wraps her arms around Kai’s waist and smiles at him angelically. To her credit, Kai looks sheepish as she glances up at Jess, giving him a little shrug as she brushes the ends of her long ponytail back from her shoulder.

“Jesus in heaven, give me strength,” Jess mutters, disengaging from the conversation before it escalates into a fight. He leans back onto the grass, peering up at the diamond-studded sky. It’s a moonless night, and the void of darkness is strangely comforting in the concept of absence. Sophie begins to talk again, chattering this time at Kai, who without the means to interrupt, falls victim to the little gremlin’s endless prattling.

Jess tunes her out, as he is well trained to do, and instead lets his thoughts drift. It’s been two weeks on the run like this, and he’s starting to feel the weight of his decision. He doesn’t have a car, and the only money he has left is a $50 bill tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket. They are famous, plastered across every news article and showcased on every TV station. Sophie hasn’t had a proper bed to sleep on since that seedy motel last week and he still doesn’t know anything about Kai other than her name.

And god, his parents were going to murder him for dragging Soph into this.

He sighs and tucks his hands behind his head, listening to the sounds of the night life around them and the crackling of the dying fire. Distantly, he’s aware that his sister’s voice slows and quiets. He only stirs when he hears that it has stopped completely.

The fire has become a bed of bright embers, and on the other side, Sophie sleeps with her mouth wide open, leaning heavily on Kai who runs her long, delicate fingers through Sophie’s dark hair. Kai looks up and meets Jess’s gaze when he shifts into a sitting position. He laughs quietly at the scene.

“I should probably put her to bed,” he almost whispers, so as not to disturb his sister.

Kai gives a little dip with her head toward the tiny two-person tent that is popped open under an evergreen a couple yards away.

“That’s alright; I got her,” he replies, understanding her gesture easily enough. He rolls onto his feet and moves to Sophie’s side, scooping her up into his arms with as much grace as he can muster. She snores a little at the disturbance, and he has to fight not to laugh as he places her gently on top of her sleeping mat and pulls the blanket up over her shoulder.

Once he has extracted himself, he makes his way back over to Kai and sits down beside her, leaning back against the fallen tree behind them. He can feel her heat beside him, radiating, despite being a foot or so apart, and he can sense that she wants to speak but she can’t, so he does.

“Are your legs really feeling better?” he asks softly, staring at the embers and their muted light show.

She sighs and he takes that as a no. He kind of wants to scold her for lying about it, because there’s no use in hiding something like that from them, but he also kind of gets why she would. There’s only so many of their water bottles left after all.

Jess reaches for Sophie’s half-drank bottle discarded hours ago to the side and turns towards Kai. She sits there with her hands outstretched palms up, her gaze downcast, as though she’s ashamed of her weakness. Like, he’s not an expert or anything - what emotionally constipated 17 year old boy is? - but he’s pretty sure that feeling guilty for something as wildly unavoidable like dehydration is outrageous.

“Is it worse?” he presses, tipping some of the water into her hands.

Even in the darkness, with just the softest glow from the embers, he can see the sheer relief that breaks across her face like a sunrise. A blissful sigh tears from her as the water falls through her fingers and onto her bare legs. She rubs the moisture into her skin delightedly, and immediately the tension he hadn’t known she’d been holding onto totally disintegrates.

Now entirely soothed, she leans back against the tree, boneless, and he can’t make out her expression but he’d guess that she is at ease. He vaguely sees her make a gesture and he recognizes it as one of the only sign language gestures he had known and taught to her the first day that he had pulled her from that tank in New York.

“You’re welcome,” he says, handing her the bottle. She drains it eagerly and discards it beside her. Jess leans back beside her again, and turns to stare at the embers. He takes a deep breath of crisp, summer air, and releases it. “I’m sorry it’s taking us so long to get you home.”

He doesn’t jump when her still-damp hand slides over his jacketed arm and down to find the bare skin. When she finds his wrist, an overwhelming wave of gratitude so potent that it nearly chokes him, and then her touch disappears, and the gratitude is gone.

He smiles to himself, crossing his legs, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “You know, if I had stopped for five seconds to think up an actual plan, this would have been a hell of a lot easier.” He fights to keep his self-depreciation from getting out of hand. “I didn’t even have a car, for fuck’s sake.”

There is insistent tapping on his shoulder and when he glances over, he can see Kai looking at him, but he is unable to read her expression. She begins violently signing, determined to get her point across.

Thank you, she signs. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

He wonders what else she would say, if she could. Jess gives her a tired, lopsided smile and crosses his arms over his chest. “Hey. I know. I know.”

She shakes her head as if to say, no, you don’t know, but she merely sighs in frustration and straightens, facing the darkness before them.

Slowly, the embers finally die, leaving them almost totally blind. He expects her to go to bed, but she stays put as firmly as him as the minutes pass. Jess turns his gaze back to the sky and watches as a satellite skates smoothly over the curve of the Earth. “I have so many questions for you,” he says.

Her hand searches awkwardly for his again, so he holds it out so that she can touch it more easily. There is a timid openness to the sensation she passes to him. She wants him to ask her questions, and she wants to answer. He doesn’t know whether the limitlessness to this feeling makes him happy or wary.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says, and then she gives him warmth and knowing. He doesn’t know what makes her so confident in him. If it’s the whole saving her life thing, that was a total fluke and as his obvious lack of forethought has shown, he hasn’t done a single thing deserving of her assurance since. She lingers for a moment and then pulls her hand away.

“We should probably get to bed,” he says, using the tree behind them to stand up. “We have to get moving tomorrow since we’re running out of supplies.”

She shifts, too, and then follows him to the tent. Jess zips the entrance up once they are both inside. He turns around to see Kai’s shadow stretch out languidly beside Sophie and pull a blanket up over herself, settling comfortably into the idea of sleep.

“Good night,” he whispers, slithering to the other side of Sophie. After a few long moments, Kai begins to breathe more heavily. Jess lets out a low breath, and tries to ignore the sticky humidity of three people crammed into this tiny tent. He rolls onto his side and finds his face pressed into the wave of Sophie’s hair. His eyes flutter closed, and instead of pushing her away, he sinks into a dream where Kai finds freedom back in her waters and he brings Sophie safely home.

[iambraiden-blog]

DCEU v Masculinity

EDIT: This post was originally published on Creators.co on June 12th, 2017 - since then the site has now closed down.

The DCEU films to me - Man of Steel, Batman v Superman AND Wonder Woman - are actually everything that's right with the DCEU. Its narrative. How it's told, both visually and in story. It wasn't until I experienced Patty Jenkins's Wonder Woman, however, that I truly came to understand Snyder's intentions of the DC Extended Universe at large, beginning with Man of Steel (2013) and culminating with the anticipated Justice League (2017).

Have you ever wondered why Warner Bros - the same studio that gave us Mad Max: Fury Road (2015) not too long ago - placed Wonder Woman where it is in the DCEU slate, why it followed BvS and came before Justice League? Have you ever thought to realise that hiring a female director for Wonder Woman was intended from the moment Snyder laid the groundwork for the DCEU? What does 'dawn of justice' actually mean?

All the DCEU films are intricately linked and connected by masculinity, in more ways than one. And I don't refer to just male masculinity but female as well; not just white, but black; American and non-American (read: Atlantean); and human and non-human (read: Kryptonian). Even Rick Famuyiwa’s The Flash could have explored young masculinity, race and societal expectations in a culturally relevant piece of cinema.

Like what George Miller managed and succeeded with in Mad Max: Fury Road (2015), it is my belief that Zack Snyder is using the DC characters to deconstruct and challenge cinematic masculinity within the action genre, to draw attention to the consequences of unchecked toxic masculinity / traditional white [hyper]masculinity, and address the importance and power of women - mothers, wives, sisters, friends, daughters - in our world and in the lives of the men they walk.

There is no "trilogy" in the DCEU. There is, however, an interconnected transition from male masculinity to female masculinity and leadership throughout the four films and an increasing focus on the power of emotion and love, passion and compassion, diversity and, well, humanness and human kindness. All traits that, as Diana (Gal Gadot) states, are worth cherishing.

"I used to want to save the world. This beautiful place. But I knew so little then. Because a land of magic and wonder is worth cherishing in every way. But the closer you get, the more you see the great darkness simmering within. And mankind? Mankind is another story altogether."

To arrive at a destination we must first make the journey. We must make the hero's journey ourselves. We needed the darkness - needed to literally fight our way through it - to get to the light. We needed to be divided to understand what it meant to stand together. Diana says that the Amazons "are the bridge of a greater understanding between all men. Snyder, through Patty Jenkins's direction and Allan Heinberg's screenplay, implies that Wonder Woman herself - a representation of the female body - is that bridge for men in the Hollywood industry, for men in pop culture, for men in today's society and across the globe. Wonder Woman's success is a win for all - it's a win against traditional masculinity and patriarchy and it's a win for women and the marginalised of our society. Wonder Woman is not just an origin for Diana but so much more!

I intend to illustrate how my claim is supported with evidence from the literature pertaining to action cinema and the hard bodies of Hollywood from the 1970s and the Reagan Era (it's going to get very political!), followed by a discussion of how masculinity is portrayed and deconstructed throughout the DCEU films (these films are far more political than people have given them credit for!), and concluding with how this could all play out in Justice League.

Tonally, the DCEU films are right. As George Miller asks but not explicitly states in Fury Road, "Who killed the world?" we understand the answer is, "MEN!" However, Zack Snyder takes it a step further: we perceive the destructible, bleak world of men, a world without much love, without much hope. It is why on all the promotional posters, the Justice League above and the Trinity further below, it is why there's a light behind Wonder Woman (edit: although with Justice League post-Snyder marketing probably had no idea). It is why, in Wonder Woman, Patty Jenkins opens the film on Themyscira, a land so different, lush, thriving, surrounded by glistening water and built on stone. We open on planet Earth, an object we could hold in our hands like a snow globe and we hear Diana's voice.

Bare with me here: before we can get to Wonder Woman we have to discuss how Zack Snyder and Patty Jenkins have addressed masculinity within the DCEU, and to do so you, the reader, must first have an understanding of how Hollywood has handled masculinity in the past and its relationship with American politics. (Prior to my research, I have never been more fascinated with US politics.)

The 1980s saw action film after action film being produced by Hollywood, with movies such as First Blood (Kotcheff, 1982), Terminator (Cameron, 1984) and Die Hard (McTiernan, 1988) showcasing a complex interaction between narrative and spectacle while addressing societal concerns of masculinity (Ayers, 2008). These films were largely based on visual attractions, with an emphasis placed on the bodies of the white male heroes and their weapons and vehicles as much as, if not more than, the dramatic violence and hyperbolic action sequences (Gjelsvik, 2013). According to Gjelsvik, the foregrounding of the male protagonist’s hard and sculpted muscularity represented the hero’s “almost invulnerability” and their capacity to cope and overcome any obstacle or challenge they're faced with. This was your typical action hero.

It is not surprising then that this hyper-masculine heroic depiction is associated with what continues to be described as “traditional masculinity”, an ideology that found prominence in the 1970s requiring a man to be capable of withstanding dangerous situations and be resistant to weakness (Beasley, 2009). To achieve this masculinity, men also needed to be powerful and authoritative, aggressive, and willing to take physical risks where violence is involved or necessary. This traditional masculinity influenced the films Hollywood produced and the heroes they presented, reflecting and representing an ideal American hero and nation.

Action films have found popularity leading into the 1990s and remain a drawcard for cinema-goers today, however it is important to consider when this body of film started, and more precisely, why.

The 1970s, from the Vietnam War’s eventual cessation in 1975 after twenty years of conflict to the Iranian Hostage Crisis in 1979 that lasted for four-hundred and forty-four days, saw the threat of death loom over the American people and negatively affect their way of life (O’Brien, 2012). A fear, hatred and aggression rippled across patriotic America following these traumatic ordeals. The then President was Jimmy Carter, elected for being a figure outside the mainstream landscape of American politics. He was optimistic, hopeful and untainted by the Vietnam War or the Nixon-involved Watergate scandal. Despite cultivating the image of the everyman and a set of strong values, Carter grappled with the complexities of the world and the country he was expected to lead and defend. His presidency was ultimately undermined by the hostage takeover, which headlined the news and media and subsequently influenced the American people to perceive his administration as weak, negligent and incapable of leading the nation (Priest, 2009).

With the turn of the decade, however, O’Brien suggests the threat of death moved on from American society to the actual body, and according to Susan Jeffords, this move was in part propelled by the ideals and policies of Ronald Reagan’s presidency.

In her seminal work on cinematic masculinity, Jeffords (1994) asserts that there is a strong relationship between the representations of masculinity in Hollywood and Reagan’s America, a reflection of the cultural zeitgeist of the 1980s. Jeffords posits that the male bodies of Reagan’s idealistic self-projection and Hollywood’s “hard bodied action heroes forged an interdependence between actions of the nation and those of the individual” - a nationalistic crisis evolved into a crisis of masculinity and male identity.

Therefore, many people were effectively excluded from the national body by characterising them as part of the “soft body”, which included women, people of colour, homosexuals, children, refugees and academics. According to Carrier (2015), women were targeted as the cause and benefactors of the anxieties and fears experienced by American men due to their lost privileges, which were in fact more broadly caused by globalization and capitalism. Jeffords suggests that, like President Carter, these marginalised and often underprivileged sections of society were perceived by white nationalists as an internal threat to the well-being and autonomy of America, whereas the Iranian students taking control of the United States embassy in Tehran, and even Vietnamese and Soviet enemies during the war, were foreign entities who have terrorized American citizens and the nation from outside its borders.

Ronald Reagan became the hero for traditional, white America; he self-projected himself as being like the hard body heroes of the Hollywood action films, a paternalistic figure who defended and separated America’s vulnerable and voiceless from foreign, non-white bodies. The characteristics of traditional masculinity and the hyper-masculine action hero - aggressiveness, authoritativeness, a resistance to weakness, lack of emotion, individuality - were inextricably linked with Reagan’s values, presenting Reagan’s body and administration, and therefore the entirety of the American national body, as invulnerable as Arnold Schwarzenegger’s hard bodied and determined Terminator (Beasley, 2009; Carrier, 2015; Jeffords, 1994).

This invulnerability of the national body had been explored to a degree in action films involving the Vietnam War. Hard bodied heroes like Sylvester Stallone’s Rambo and Martin Sheen’s Captain Willard in Apocalypse Now (Coppola, 1979) became representations and reflections of the 'true' American heroes of the Vietnam War, as claimed by Jeffords (1994). Through cinema, Americans were finally allowed to achieve the victory and strength that was unobtainable because of the weak and ineffective government administrations prior to the Reagan era. Jeffords points out that Ted Kotcheff’s First Blood involves a dire reclamation of the masculine body by rejecting the soft, overweight body as presented by Rambo’s judge and opponent within the film. Both films mentioned involve an excessive amount of violence too; Neale (1983) expresses that male audiences repress erotic desires for the masculine male hard body by displacing the eroticised gaze upon the weapons, vehicles and choreographed scenes that create the spectacle nature of this genre. Neale further specifies that these desires are not marked by an inclination towards violence and pain, but rather a want for violent acts to be unleashed on the enemies out of hatred and fear. Additionally, the pain experienced by the protagonists, self-inflicted through training or enemy-inflicted through torture, are a means by which male viewers can distance themselves from the male body and remain traditionally masculine, keeping homoeroticism at bay (Ayers, 2008). Most importantly, however, the heroes of these films, strong and capable like Reagan’s administration and America, would rather confront and oppose enemy states and fascist empires than submit and allow them to invade and take over (Jeffords, 1994).

Action films of the science fiction genre have used invasion narratives not only as a means of entertainment but to speak about both internal and external threats towards the American way of life and autonomy. The science fiction genre has often sought to ask what it is to be human (Kac-Vergne, 2012), and like the action hard body films, this fight to stay human (or alive) can be reconsidered as a fight to retain or reclaim masculinity, specifically to answer what it means to be a “man”. This genre treats obvious fictions as existing realities to support what Combe and Boyle (2013) describe as a social normal, with the abnormal represented by the monsters, the zombies, the robots and aliens in these films. Kac-Vergne acknowledges that the genre had become a mode for hypermasculinity in Hollywood, a vehicle for addressing what’s acceptable and normal. Tasker (1993) refers to alien invasion films, The Thing (Carpenter, 1982) and Predator (McTiernan, 1987), as being part of a hybrid genre - while engaging with science fiction conventions these films balance the tropes of action cinema, which emphasise masculinity and spectacle (Johnston, 2013). Moreover, in science fiction cinema femininity remains marginalised and not “real” (Beasley, 2009); the same can be more broadly said for action cinema.

If I broke this literature down for you straight to its relevancy to the DCEU's heroes it would go like this:

In Man of Steel, Kal-El (a     Superman-becoming) represents the everyman, who struggles with the power     he has (and a power he even struggles to use), and this continues into Batman     v Superman: Dawn of Justice - politically, his ideals and character is     like President Carter.

Throughout most of BvS, Bruce     Wayne/Batman is essentially the traditional hypermasculine hero, a man     charged by fear and anxiety due to internal/external threats on his way of     life and on the lives of the vulnerable and defenceless he has promised to     protect and watch over - he embodies President Reagan's hard bodies.

Wonder Woman and the 'others', as she calls     them at the end of BvS - Aquaman, Cyborg and The Flash - non-male,     non-American, non-white, and non-masculine (or is that highly     intelligent?), represent the supposed 'soft bodies', as dictated by     traditional masculinity.

Now that the background around Hollywood, action cinema and their treatment of masculinity and of any non-white, non-male, non-American or "effeminate" person (with some exceptions such as Sarah Connor or Ripley, and more recently Furiosa) has been laid out, it's time to enter the DCEU and discuss Snyder's/Jenkins's fight against traditional [hyper]masculinity and the push for more women and diversity on screen at length.

You can bet that any criticism Snyder and Warner Bros. have received about Man of Steel or Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice about character portrayals or spectacle, as well as the reviews of Wonder Woman by mostly white, straight men who've objectified and exotified Gal Gadot's appearances, has played into the DCEU's deconstruction and expression of masculinity as well as society's expectations and perceptions of masculinity and the action genre. The DCEU acts like a social experiment, an attitude measurement test, and audiences (and critics!) don't realise they're being experimented on. (Having previously studied psychology before film, this makes me as intrigued in the audience's attitudes as I am appalled at the behaviours of male critics.)

Masculinity in the DCEU

"I will honour the man you once were, Zod, not this monster you've become."

In the opening five minutes of Man of Steel we see the dichotomy of man. Russel Crowe's Jor-El, alone in front of the Council and armour-less, peacefully argues that although Krypton is doomed there is still hope, that he has held that hope in his hands (i.e. Kal-El, a child born by love and not by the machinations of a society). General Zod (Michael Shannon), on the other hand, storms in geared with guns and soldiers. He shoots the woman in power who questioned his male authority and claims that he can save the Kryptonian race by making them stronger, more assertive, by extinguishing the weak, internal degenerates that have threatened their planet.

After Zod's unchecked toxic masculinity destroys Krypton we cut to Kal (Henry Cavill), who, as an adult named Clark Kent, is a tough-looking, blue-collared everyman. Almost immediately Snyder captures Clark's selflessness on the fishing trawler - Clark doesn't watch out for himself. His masculinity, his manliness is questioned by the fisherman who keeps him from being "crushed" by a falling basket. And then when the trawler heads to the exploding oil rig, Clark has an opportunity to reclaim his masculinity. Reminiscent of the hard body action films of the 1980s Clark's body is bared. As he holds the rig to allow the chopper to escape, the camera pans down briefly to highlight Cavill's muscular body.

In a flashback to a younger Clark (Cooper Timberline), Clark's Kryptonian 'powers' suddenly dominate his senses; his X-ray vision forces his young male self to perceive his female teacher and classmate as bodies to fear, and this fear of his powers represents a fear of a hardening masculinity. This male emasculation, this emotional vulnerability even at such a young age, causes him to be othered by his peers. And when he is bullied as a teenager (Dylan Sprayberry) in front of Lana Lang, a girl he likes, she is the first to notice Clark after he saves the school bus. This approval by Lana propels him to save his bully Pete.

"There's more at stake here than just our lives, Clark; there are the lives of the people around us. When the world finds out what you can do, it's going to change everything: our beliefs, our notions, what it means to be human, everything."

Of course, Jonathan Kent is concerned about Clark's powers being known, but it more importantly connotes a form of masculinity that will be feared. Pete's mother's anxieties may be religiously motivated, but it's a fear of a potentially uncontrollable and destructive masculinity that will threaten her way of life, conservative or not. The "choice" Clark must make is not whether he should use his powers to save the human race or not, it's whether he should remain pure of heart, represent the goodness of humanity or let the hate and anger, the violence inherent in man consume him.

Man of Steel not only addresses traditional masculinity's harmful behaviour towards women, but the effects it has towards other men. In the pub Clark calls out a man for his inappropriate behaviour towards a waitress. The man, lacking Clark's stature, resorts to physical and verbal intimidation. His behaviour is approved by the other men - even the army men smile, remaining silent. The waitress steps in, keeping Clark's masculinity in check, and rather than resorting to violence Clark walks away. Instead Clark pummels and destroys a vehicle - the truck - that has played a significant part in shaping the aggressor's male identity, representative of a culture with toxic attitudes towards women. Clark, as a teenager and as an adult, is criticised for not living up to the traditional ideals of being a "real" man - authoritative and dominant, resistant to weakness and emotion, assertive and... violent.

When audiences call out Clark for being "mopey" and too emotional, they are in fact calling him out for being too feminine and not masculine enough. When Clark dons the Superman garb, it is still just a costume, nothing more. Clark understands that it is not how he is perceived that makes him a man or a hero, but how he behaves and what he uses the image of Superman for. Clark didn't give himself the name "Superman"; it was the media and the people who did. It was the people who claimed him as their hero, as their Superman, in much the same way that America elects and chooses their President.

Superman has shaped young boys' concepts of masculinity for decades, in both film and in the comics: what is ideal and what isn't. So when a cinematic portrayal of the man of steel is presented as being conflicted, unable to handle the complexities of the world he has been "called" to save against an external threat (similar to President Carter during the Iranian Hostage Crisis) then he is not their Superman, then Snyder doesn't understand - and will never - understand Superman.

This attitude is wrong.

"Be their hero, Clark. Be their angel, be their monument, be anything they need you to be... or be none of it. You don't owe this world a thing. You never did."

Superman is not a person. It is an image, a representation of something better, of what makes us good, of what makes us human. Snyder's portrayal of Superman is one of a masculinity kept in check - respectable yet respected, able to express love and yet be loved, able to be an emotional man yet be an assertive one, using his "hard body" for the right reasons, to make a change, to make a positive impact on the world. Holding onto a past Superman because of nostalgia is to be a sponsor for traditional masculinity and all that is wrong with today's conservative patriarchy. Cavill's Superman doesn't replace Reeve's Superman, he just enhances a character that has remained stagnant with old beliefs and ways of expressing. He is the Man of Tomorrow, not the Man of Yesterday.

Clark is not Superman in name alone. His suit is also apart of the Superman image. For Clark, though, that suit is associated with his Kryptonian ancestry, a demeaning representation of masculinity. For him to smile as Superman, teeth glistening, would be a fake display of happiness. The smile he produces as he saves people is one in which he must pretend to be assertive, dominant - a leader. By contrast, Clark shows his teeth when he's out of the suit, when he's just Clark Kent and in the company of Martha or Lois. There's a genuineness. Clark doesn't need to look like a leader in these moments, e.g. when Clark returns home to Martha in Man of Steel or when Clark arrives home with a bouquet of tulips for Lois (and then Lois brings up Superman and the smile fades).

Even for Trump teeth are not so freely given, as suggested by a psychologist earlier this year: “Although Trump instinctively recognises the demeaning potential of smiling, there are occasions when he is prepared to throw caution to the wind and give a full-blown smile, with his teeth on display and wrinkles around the corners of the eyes - the latter being the feature that defines a genuine as opposed to a fake display of happiness. Trump tends to produce these beaming smiles when he is in a convivial setting and when he doesn’t feel the need to look like a leader, or when he is with people whose company he enjoys.”

Don't misconstrue my intentions. I'm not insinuating that Trump is a hero or even a leader, nor do I believe Superman shares the ideals of Trump. But there's a difference between smiling with sincerity out of love and comfort and being forced to give an artificial smile because people demand it of you or because you think you're worthy of respect.

Holding onto a past Superman because of nostalgia is to be a sponsor for traditional masculinity and all that is wrong with today's conservative patriarchy.

MacInnes’s (1998) statement about masculinity as a concept is equally as relevant to Superman (and Batman and Wonder Woman etc.), that they are “shaped and expressed differently at different times in different circumstances in different places by individuals and groups”.

I jumped ahead earlier: The entire first half of Man of Steel is Clark discovering what he was sent to Earth for, learning that he's a force for change, for good. When Clark wears his suit and discovers his powers of flight, it's a self-affirmation or -confirmation that he has become someone good, not just as a man but as someone who could be a hero.

Clark then learns that Zod probed inside Lois's mind and then finds Zod threatening Martha shortly after - two women most important to Clark, two people who keep him human - Clark uses his strength against Zod. The destruction of Smallville, and then Metropolis, in the latter half of Man of Steel challenges Clark's masculinity.

When Zod's suit is damaged and becomes susceptible to Earth's atmosphere, he is disoriented. Seeing through his own armour and muscles, seeing the bones that make up his body, Zod is forced to question his invulnerability and mortality. "What have you done to me?" he asks. "My parents taught me to hone my senses," replies Clark.

There's no denying that there is A LOT of destruction, but it is caused by uncontrolled masculinity - there's no thought for anything other than the opponent. What made Zod feel powerful and assertive was having Kryptonians obey his orders. That's what made him masculine. In the end, Zod forces Clark to give in to the ultimate form of violence, the darkest act of humanity: killing. Yes, it meant saving Earth, saving the vulnerable family in that station, but to Clark it meant so much more.

With Lois there, however, Clark's violent act was justified. Lois's love, her empathy, her acceptance subsequently allowed Clark to reclaim his humanity, his individuality, the good masculine ideals instilled in him by Martha and Jonathan Kent, a final push against the toxic, immoral masculine ideals projected by Zod that would continue to consume him. Only one could survive and it was the choice Clark was meant to ultimately make.

Finally, in Clark becoming a journalist at the Daily Planet by the film's end, it provides Clark an opportunity to use words (not fists) to make the world better. He wasn't able to use words with Zod; Zod knew only violence and aggression. Like Jor-El at the beginning of Man of Steel Clark would attempt to reason through words, verbal and written, well into Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice.

Recently I’ve been reading a book by Bryan Doerries, The Theatre of War (2015), about what ancient Greek tragedies can teach us today and the relationship between story and human experience. It has also brought up many significant points for how relevant Batman v Superman is and how it is a tragedy like these Greek plays in it’s own right. But he brought up President Jimmy Carter who, in 1977, became the first American president to acknowledge that the nation’s resources and capacities had its limits. Carter said: “We have learned that ‘more’ is not necessarily ‘better’, that even our great Nation has its recognized limits, and that we can neither answer all questions nor solve all problems ... we must simply do our best.” A couple years later, Carter stated that the nation’s problems were due to a crisis of confidence due to tragedies and events, damaging the national spirit. 

Argo (2012), an adaptation about the hostage takeover in Tehran, was written by Chris Terrio, so it's no surprise that he came on to rework David S. Goyer's initial draft of Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, and with Snyder they further explored the dichotomy of masculinity as started in Man of Steel.

Clark's embodiment of masculinity, as expressed through his actions and ideals as Superman, continue to threaten the men of his world. The media, the people, government bodies and even Batman question his existence and "otherness" - who he is, who he should be, and what he should stand for (in other words, an image homogenous with the President).

Clark maintains his belief in words through the Daily Planet. Instead of confronting Batman head on about his uncontrolled behaviours as Superman, Clark intends to do it in a civil manner through the power of the press. And when he is called upon by Senator June Finch (Holly Hunter), to question him on the validity of his actions, Clark walks in civilly, hands together in front of him - unlike in Man of Steel he marches alone and not handcuffed by the military. He intends to talk, which is reflective of Jor-El before the Council at the beginning of Man of Steel. The same can be said for when he confronts Batman after learning that Lex Luthor (Jesse Eisenberg) has manipulated them both - Clark wants to reason, to talk. But Bruce is far too gone....

Backtrack: After witnessing the Superman/Zod fight from the streets of Metropolis, Bruce Wayne becomes fearful about the threat Superman imposes on his way of life and the lives of the vulnerable and defenceless he has promised to protect and watch over. Although he resides in Gotham, Metropolis and its citizens are as equally as important to him, to his business, to the business his father built. Wayne Enterprises and the wealth it has generated have played a hand in Bruce's masculine identity, particularly in his identity as Batman.

Bruce/Batman, like the hard bodied and tough, hypermasculine action heroes of the 1980s, embodies Reagan's ideals. As shown in the early moments of the film, Bruce is seen as paternalistic, helping school children across the rubble and then comforting a young girl whose mother was in the Wayne Enterprises building. And so, throughout BvS, with twenty years of crime-fighting in Gotham behind him and as a witness to plenty of familial losses (his parents and Jason Todd to name a few), Bruce exerts the traditional characteristics of masculinity - aggressiveness, authoritativeness, a resistance to weakness, lack of emotion, individuality. He acts alone; his losses have hardened him and his violence knows no bounds from here on out. These traits are not only seen in his branding of criminals (internal threats) but in his attitudes towards Superman (a foreign, external threat [i.e., powerful immigrant]). Bruce believes he, himself, represents the human population and that it is only him - a man with power, status, strength, weapons and experience - who can bring down the Kryptonian.

If you think about the action films of the 1980s you would have seen Rambo and Captain Willard bleed, feel pain, stitch themselves up again but not falter, keep going, keep persisting to their goal. In just three words - "Do you bleed?" - Snyder and Terrio (and I guess Goyer) interrogate hypermasculinity. Batman, in his powered exoskeleton armour (a means to make himself more formidable), questions Superman's ability to bleed because, well, he never seems to bleed (and yet a 'nationalistic hero' like Rambo bled). Bruce defends his masculinity by attempting to oppress a figure who seemed far too masculine - Bruce wants to know if Superman is weak, if he feels pain, if he has felt pain to the degree Bruce has.  

"Breathe it in. That's fear. You're not brave. Men are brave. You say that you want to help people, but you can't feel their pain... their mortality... It's time you learn what it means to be a man."

To Bruce, Superman is a fake embodiment of masculine heroic ideals, much in the same way that patriarchal, white America perceived President Carter as being. Bruce has let toxic masculinity and traditional ideals blind his world view and his perception of Superman. Masculinity to Bruce became entirely about the exterior; his inner emotional weakness suppressed deep beneath the hard body - the suit and the weapons - he has forged.

That is until Bruce connects with not Superman, the image of a [masculine] "hero" mythologised and perpetuated by the media, no, but with Clark, a person who has also experienced loss and who is about to again, someone who has been displaced, someone who demonstrates selflessness even when he is dying. It was a connection beyond the superficial, on a level Bruce never knew was possible. Bruce is reminded of who he has lost, who he loved, of someone he almost forgot because of a masculinity he hadn't controlled. In killing Superman, Bruce would have given into the darkness, the rage, consumed by a toxic masculinity as defined by a traditional world view and conservative ideals. Therefore, to find reconciliation and with the approval of a purer man - Clark (as Lois had with Clark in Man of Steel) - Bruce gets to reclaim his identity, his masculinity by rescuing Martha Kent.  

Lex is unlike Clark or Bruce. He is a male wanting entitlement, power and authority, wanting to feel masculine despite his scrawny appearance (his "daddy's fists" made him emasculated). He tries to be assertive. He attempts to be authoritative. He's a person with no moral code. Senator June Finch, as well as the metahumans, are a threat to his manliness, his masculinity, so he disposes of them the only way he knows how: manipulation. The manipulation of Wallace Keefe, a man who even himself has been emasculated ("I can't even piss standing up"), to wreak havoc at the Capitol and the manipulation of Zod's body, failed masculinity, to birth Doomsday - these are the consequences of when toxic masculinity goes unchecked.

Although Man of Steel indicated that one type of man (masculinity) must die for the other to live, in BvS Superman sacrifices himself to kill Doomsday because he has learnt that there are people that love him (Lois, Martha, and men who approve of him, like Bruce) and to truly destroy the consequence of unchecked masculinity he must push through the pain, his ultimate weakness (the Kryptonite) - to bring hope, light and be reborn. But when that toxicity kills a man pure of heart, when Doomsday pumps his black blood into Superman, will Superman return in Justice League as himself, guided by ideals nurtured by the Kents and Lois, or as a Kryptonian bound by blood, as Zod said he would.

Will his good nature and ideals win out? His humanity? Or will his body determine what sort of man he becomes? His blood?

It harks back to the scene in Man of Steel with Clark and Jonathan arguing, Martha in the back seat of the car observing:

Clark: ... I just want to do something useful with my life. Jonathan: So farming and feeding people, that's not useful? Clark: I didn't say that! Jonathan: Our family's been farming for five generations, Clark -- Clark: Your family, not mine. I don't even know why I'm even listening to you. You're not my Dad. You're just some guy who found me in a field.

As much as I like to see traditional masculinity attacked in film, it's also extremely powerful and heart-rendering to see female masculinity grace the screen as well, with a strength or set of powers and character that have been attributed to traditional masculinity, or in the least not seem less feminine simply because they're taking on or adopting traditional societal norms of men. We have experienced a powerful woman before in Man of Steel, but while Faora was produced through the machinations of Krypton to serve for war, Diana was created by Zeus to defend mankind against war.

From Diana's heart-pumping introduction as Wonder Woman in Batman v Superman to her gladiatorial combat in the mid-point of her origin film with No Man's Land, she exerts her strength as a warrior and her determination as a person, never showing weakness - she was taught to be all these things on Themyscira. To speak to today's gender norms around "male" sports, activities or expressions, Hippolyta only doesn't want to lose her daughter, but she fears that her daughter will be unable to remain pure of heart if Diana becomes "masculine" and susceptible to the corrupted hearts of men. When Diana discovers some of her power for the first time when battling Antiope, Hippolyta isn't fearful of the powers; she's fearful that Ares will learn Diana has powers and a strength that only Ares believes is inherent in the gods - men - but that she still holds onto the values of love and compassion, duty and equality that have forged her as an Amazon, the true powers of women. What No Man's Land and the second act of Wonder Woman shows is that Diana can be both: she could be naive yet be strong, she can love and be compassionate yet express fury, she could be a warrior and show emotion.

In these moments I cried. My gender doesn't come into play, nor does my sexuality; rather it's seeing a reflection of my sisters, of my mother on the screen. I saw myself in Wonder Woman as much as I have seen myself in Superman.

Like Furiosa to Max, Wonder Woman is more experienced in combat and war than Batman and especially Superman, but she fights alongside them as an equal. The final fight shows that for society to break down social gender norms and traditional masculinity there will only be success if we work together, and that mankind (men and women) will need to sacrifice what makes them masculine but also use that masculinity to show true humanity and make the world better (Superman, Antiope and Steve Trevor present this physically). It's why Wonder Woman leaps at the end of her film - in her life Steve was the only man who showed that... until Superman. She departs the plane in BvS because men cannot defeat what they have created.

As the more feminine Diana Prince in BvS, she threatens Bruce's manliness, in much the same way Finch threatens Lex's. "Oh, I don't think you've ever known a woman like me." Bruce's assertiveness and dominance doesn't concern her; she's fought against the same toxic behaviour and traditional masculinity with Ares, the same kind Finch has most likely come up against in her own career.

But even then, people have complained about how Diana dresses as Wonder Woman. Why can't women be able to express their femininity yet wield masculine traits? Why can't she be beautiful and assertive? Why can't she bare skin, such as her thighs when men's hard bodied musculature bodies have dominated action cinema? To these people, Diana is not being traditionally female, much in the same way that Clark as Superman has been called out for not being traditionally male.

Masculinity is not only attributable to men, but women, too. As is femininity.

In Wonder Woman, Steve and his band of misfits, comprising of Sameer, Charlie and the Chief, all struggle with the masculinity they've traditionally meant to express. Charlie, for example, is haunted by ghosts when he sleeps, and when Diana goes to comfort him he pushes her away and storms off with his gun. It is after they experience Diana's strength and power, do they share their feminine traits: Charlie sits at the piano and sings, Sameer shares his desire to be an actor, the Chief denies the offerings by the Veld townspeople... and Steve learns to love.

I could have distilled all of the above, but I needed to address everything. I'm most likely forgetting about a number of other ways that masculinity is challenged in the DCEU - such as, which I will discuss below in regards to the importance of women in these films, following Jonathan's death and Clark's becoming of Superman, it was up to Martha to care for the farm, it was up to Martha to fulfill both motherly and fatherly roles for Clark. Even within Suicide Squad, masculinity is addressed by the characters of Amanda Waller and El Diablo, for example.

The Importance of Women in the DCEU

The DCEU's fight against traditional masculinity begins on Krypton with not Jor-El, but Lara (Ayalet Zurer). Man of Steel opens with her face, giving birth to a child that will become all that is good. It is Lara who becomes the bridge to a greater understanding between men, launching the pod. When Zod is ordered to spend eternity in the Phantom Zone it is to Lara, standing with the Council, that he yells, "I will reclaim what you have taken from us", in other words, reclaiming masculinity. In hard body terms, if Krypton is the national body, then Kal is the individual body who was to save them.

Lara's final words before the consequences of unchecked masculinity implode Krypton: "Make a better world than ours, Kal."

Jumping to nine-year-old Clark at middle school who's fearing his powers (and therefore his masculinity), it is his human mother Martha Kent who helps him understand that if he ever gets caught up in the perceptions of the world, in a society dictating how he should feel or act, that who he is is more important to those who love him. Martha is that person who will guide him to being a better self. Interestingly, as Clark became a teenager the advice came from Jonathan; yet following his death, and then well into BvS, it is Martha who advises Clark on what to do.

Although Martha remains the compass of Clark's journey into selfhood and manhood, it is Lois throughout Man of Steel that wants his identity, his type of masculinity to be known. Lois becomes Clark's guide for how to express his masculinity as an adult. Both Lois and Martha are the only two people who keep Clark from giving into the darker side of man, into the toxic masculine ideals forced upon him by Zod. It is these two people that he shares his genuine smile with.

There have been complaints about Lois's role in Man of Steel. For example, why does Lois board the scout ship when ordered by Faora on behalf of Zod? I used to think it was for plot convenience, to fulfill the screenplay's beats, but now I believe it's because Zod wanted to learn what it is to be human from someone connected to Kal, so that Zod can crack Kal's resistance to the Kryptonian way of life - the dominant way of man. Lois keeps Kal from giving into his Kryptonian blood, from a potentially destructive side simmering within. Jor-El understands this as well; when Lois's pod is damaged and hurtles for Earth, Jor-El says to Kal: "You can save her, Kal. You can save them all." Lois is as much apart of Clark's masculinity as Martha is, and it is them in which hope will shine through, not the man himself.

There have also been complaints that Lois and Martha as being convenient to Clark's narrative or that they're always portrayed as damsels-in-distress. But in the context of masculinity, in a world dominated by men and in a world being destroyed by men, Lois and Martha do the best they possibly can with what they have available to them - which is their love, their peacefulness, their use of words. When Lois is persuading Perry to allow her to investigate the bullet she looks at Clark who catches himself from speaking for her, but Lois manages to finish herself - she was her own white knight. Neither Martha nor Lois are threatened by men - Martha did not feel threatened by Zod nor was she in distress with Anatoli Kynazev (she doesn't scream, which is why Clark would be unable to hear her voice). It is the consequences of unchecked masculinity that stop them from doing what they've set out to do and accomplish: Lois's quest to help Clark prove his innocence or Martha wanting to raise a morally good son regardless of his power. To elaborate, Lois puts herself in danger and 'enters' the domains claimed by men (e.g., travelling to Nairomi to interview a terrorist) so that she can alleviate the public's fears back in Metropolis around Superman - even the CIA don't trust her relationship with Superman by sending a male in 'James'. Lois constantly puts herself in "man's world", such as the men's bathroom to speak to Swanwick; when Swanwick's authority and the state's actions are questioned by Lois, Swanwick resorts to questioning her reliability as a woman and her relations with Superman. Lois is willing to risk her job to discover the truth; Swanwick would rather keep his position of power. When she reaches the Capitol or goes to retrieve the spear, it is the consequences of Lex's uncontrolled actions that obstruct her goals, first the explosion and then secondly Doomsday.

Since his parents' deaths, Bruce has always lacked a stable female figure in his life - he insistently talks about his father yet can only dream about his mother. Bruce had a fatherly role model as he came of age in Alfred, but never a motherly one. His father's ideals - assertiveness, aggression (as seen just before Thomas is shot or the fact that his ancestors were hunters) - feeds into Bruce's masculinity. Unlike Clark, Bruce only matured with the male masculine. He sleeps with women and forgets about them. He even tries his ways with Diana but his attempts are ignored by her.

Diana, on the other hand, is more balanced than either of them - she came from an island of women who demonstrated both feminine and masculine traits. What Themyscira shows is the harm social gender norms play in the shaping of our ideals as humans, and that within a patriarchal world of traditional values it is women who will pave the way forward to a brighter, more balanced future.

On a related note, it was revealed by the Hollywood Reporter towards the end of May that Zack would be stepping down from finishing Justice League following the death of his daughter, Autumn, in March.

If Martha and Lois mean to Clark what Deborah and Autumn mean to Zack, then...

Zack believed he could overcome the despair, the loss of his daughter, in his work. Yet the pressures of his job as a director and producer, as a leader, got the better of him. With his films showcasing the importance of women in the men's lives and the love and comfort they bring, it would have been impossible for Zack to ignore the very messages he has been conveying. He almost gave in to the traditional masculine ideals he worked hard to break. Toughness. Resistance to weakness. Lack of emotion. Endurance and strength. 

So like with Clark, it is Zack's family - Deborah and his children - that give him the strength to continue making these films, even through all the criticism and all the hate.

Zack has become my Superman as much as Patty is my Wonder Woman and Patty is my Superman as much as Zack is my Wonder Woman.

The DCEU films matter to me. These characters matter to me. Zack and Patty's tireless work matters to me. They matter to who I am; I may not believe, even still at 24, that I'm masculine physically (I've never been physically aggressive or assertive; I've never acquired masculine confidence because I've never received approval for my masculinity from other men; I'm not muscular, not tall, have short legs and wears glasses; I read, I write, love theatre, have danced, hate the gym) but these films have taught me it's how I act, how I behave, how I am towards others that define my masculinity, not as a man but as a human being.

These films have highlighted the importance of my mother and sisters in my life. BvS made me think about my mum and Wonder Woman made me think about my sisters - I cried during both. And although I may have matured without a stable male role model, I've become who I am today because of these women, not because of some traditional social ideals.

We have a Batgirl film in development, as well as Gotham City Sirens and a sequel for Wonder Woman, but what could we expect from Justice League if all the above is true?

Mad Max: Fury Road barely broke $400 USD million worldwide. Yet it was still successful because of what it held. For Miller to go from producing a little independent Australian film with unknowns in the '70s to a modern Hollywood masterclass in masculinity and action cinema, do you really think Warner Bros. is concerned only about how female characters perform at the box office? It's a good incentive alright and definitely an achievement - as I write this, Wonder Woman is tracking well better than Fury Road did overall in just its second weekend - but a film's worth, its messages and who it inspires, are far more important than the worth it accumulates.

What does this mean for Justice League?

Man of Steel gave us a glimpse of what may happen if Kal lets his Kryptonian blood take hold. Zod showed him that.

In Batman v Superman the Knightmare sequence shows us a post-apocalyptic future if Superman became what Zod wanted him to be. It's a possible future of Kal giving into the blood and rage because of the loss of Lois, who is his hold on humanity. Even at the end of BvS, even after Clark dies, he is fighting to hold onto that humanity. Lois is the last person to throw dirt on his coffin, which then rises.

I don't believe we'll see much of the black suit in Justice League, but what there may be is a final push for Clark against the dominant masculinity as dictated by the Kryptonian blood flowing within him. However, Lois may not be the only person who will help him - Wonder Woman, The Flash, Cyborg and Aquaman will fight for him and believe that he can change. These other 'heroes' are individuals who represent sections of people in society that have been oppressed or othered by a patriarchy and would understand Superman's plight - displacement, isolation, loss - as if it were their own (edit: in Justice League Kal El uses his heat vision, which harks back to young Clark at school unable to control his abilities). It is they who will finally make Clark feel like a leader. For so long he was ostracised for what made him different, but to then have others who are also different but ultimately remained good would make Clark feel like he finally belonged. He will then smile, teeth glistening.

To add to this, in the official Justice League trailer and even the first look presented at San Diego Comic Con last year it is Bruce who goes and recruits Arthur Curry and Barry Allen. Bruce lets Arthur use his dominant, threatening display of masculinity and it is through words - "I hear you can talk to fish" - instead of strength that may make Arthur come on board. With Barry, on the other hand, Bruce uses his money and gadgets to compel Barry to join. In the comic con footage it seems that, although Bruce brings the league together, it is actually Diana that orchestrates it all. As for Victor Stone, I believe Diana will be the one to convince him, using her compassion and love.

If we bring Hippolyta's (Connie Nielsen) tale of the war of the Gods from Wonder Woman into play it is pretty much a representation of the invasion to come - it actually is the tale of the first invasion as she then goes on to tell Diana that it was just a story (edit: Ares was not “bad” at first and it was he who had the final blow on Steppenwolf, but was then used as a pawn and someone to fear by Zeus to protect the Mother Box). 

Therefore, looking at the broader picture of the DCEU, Diana will lead the 'others' - Batman, Aquaman, The Flash and Cyborg - against the invasion of Darkseid's parademon army in Justice League and to stop Clark/Kal from losing what makes him human and compassionate and good. This is why Wonder Woman is not just an origin for Diana.

It's why the only word Zack Snyder could say about her success is 'proud' (source). His true intentions of the DCEU became its success. Audiences will come to see Diana in a ground-breaking turn as the leader of the #JusticeLeague.

I'm gonna bet there'll be many great female-driven moments in Justice League and Wonder Woman has already had white, straight men complaining. If this understanding of Zack Snyder's magnum opi (with powerful work by Patty Jenkins) is any indication to go by, a heck of a lot of damage is going to be done to the patriarchy come November. Justice League will be a superhero, action film for the ages - a film for everyone.

References

Ayers, D. (2008). Bodies, bullets, and bad guys: Elements of the hardbody film. Film Criticism, 32(3), 41-67.

Beasley, C. (2009). Male bodies at the edge of the world: Re-thinking hegemonic and “other” masculinities in Australian cinema. In S. Fouz-Hernandez (Ed.) Mysterious skin: Male bodies in contemporary cinema, (pp. 57-76). London: Palgrave, Macmillan.

Carrier, M. B. (2015). Men and the movies: Labour, masculinity, and shifting gender relations in contemporary Hollywood cinema. Retrieved from Ohio University Thesis and Dissertation Services, https://etd.ohiolink.edu/!etd.send_file?accession=ohiou1430322393&disposition=inline

Combe, K. & Boyle, B. (2013). Introduction: Of masculine, monstrous, and me. Masculinity and monstrosity in contemporary Hollywood films (pp. 1-26). New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan.

Deakin, P. (2012). Masculine identity in crisis in Hollywood’s fin de millennium cinema. Retrieved from Manchester eScholar Services, https://www.escholar.manchester.ac.uk/item/?pid=uk-ac-man-scw:172532

Gjelsvik, A. (2013). From hard bodies to soft daddies: Action aesthetics and masculine values in contemporary American action films. In K. Aukrust (Ed.) Assigning cultural values (pp. 91-106). New York, NY: Peter Lang AG.

Jeffords, S. (1994). Hard bodies: The Readgan heroes. Hard bodies: Hollywood masculinity in the Reagan era. New Brunswick, New Jersey: Rutgers University Press.

Johnston, K. M. (2013). Science fiction film: A critical introduction. London: Bloomsbury Publishing.

Kac-Vergne, M. (2012). Losing visibility? The rise and fall of hypermasculinity in science fiction films. InMedia, 2, 1-15.

MacInnes, J. (1998). The end of masculinity: The confusion of sexual genesis and sexual difference in modern society. Philadelphia, PA: Open University Press.

Neale, S. (1983). Masculinity as spectacle: Reflections on men and mainstream cinema. Screen, 24(6), 2-17.

O’Brien, H. (2012). Action movies: The cinema of striking back. London: Wallflower.

Priest, A. (2009). From Saigon to Baghdad: The Vietnam syndrome, the Iraq war and American foreign policy. Intelligence and National Security, 24(1), 139-171.

Tasker, Y. (1993). Masculinity, politics and national identity. Spectacular bodies: Gender, genre and the action cinema (pp. 91-108). New York, NY: Routledge.

Film References

Berg, J., Johns, G., Roven, C., & Snyder, D. (Producers), & Snyder, Z. (Director). (2017). Justice League [Motion picture]. USA; Warner Bros. Pictures.

Coppola, F., & Aubry, K. (Producers), & Coppola, F. (Director). (1979). Apocalypse Now [Motion picture]. USA: United Artists.

Feitshans, B, (Producer), & Kotcheff, T. (Director). (1982). First Blood [Motion picture]. USA: Orion Pictures.

Foster, D., & Turman, L. (Producers), & Carpenter, J. (1982). The Thing [Motion picture]. USA: Universal Pictures.

Gordon, C., & Silver, J. (Producers), & McTiernan, J. (Director). (1988). Die Hard [Motion picture]. USA: Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation.

Hurd, G. A. (Producer), & Cameron, J. (Director). (1984). The Terminator [Motion picture]. USA: Orion Pictures.

Kennedy, B. (Producer), & Miller, G. (Director). (1979). Mad Max [Motion picture]. Australia: Roadshow Film Distributors.

Kennedy, K., & Wilson, C. (Producers), & Spielberg, S. (Director). (2005). War of the Worlds [Motion picture]. USA: Paramount Pictures.

Miller, G., Mitchell, D., & Voeten, P. J. (Producers), & Miller, G. (Director). (2015). Mad Max: Fury Road [Motion picture]. USA: Warner Bros. Pictures.

Roven, C., & Snyder, D. (Producers), & Snyder, Z. (Director). (2016). Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice [Motion picture]. USA: Warner Bros. Pictures.

Roven, C., Snyder, D., Snyder, Z., & Suckle, R. (Producers), &. Jenkins, P. (Director). (2017). Wonder Woman [Motion picture]. USA: Warner Bros. Pictures.

Roven, C., & Suckler, R. (Producers), & Ayer, D. (Director). (2016). Suicide Squad [Motion picture]. USA: Warner Bros. Pictures.

[garavant-temple]

Character Bio: Jake

(character bio’s dont contain much of a chracters likes, dislikes, personality, as seperate posts will be dedicated to them)

Names: Jake Bennett, Dracarnius.

Age: 22 (birthday: 13th of April) (he’s actually 17 in the story but thats set in 2012 for no real reason)

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual.

Physical description: Jake has short tufty black hair and bright blue eyes. He is 5′10′’ tall and has a medium build and a soft tummy. He is fairly pale and doesn’t tan well in summer. He has pierce ears, normally with simple silve studs or small hoops in. Jake normally wears oversized hoodies and dark jeans and wears the same outfits for days at a time. 

He also has depression and social anxiety.

While he might not be able to achieve a god form, since his (semi)reawakening, Jake will sprout opalescent grey wings in time of stress or any extreme emotion. Like Celestia, he has learned to wear glamours to hide them. While his wings are out, Jake will also have pointed ears and brighter eye colour. He is also two inches taller.

Jake is the latest human reincarnation of the God of Destruction, Dracarnius. He only discovered this a month before turning 18 which was coincidentally a month before he was supposed to awaken as the almighty god. That didn’t really happen the way it was expected. and now he lives in Occultia by Celestia’s side in the Temple of Garavant. 

Like Celestia, Jake performs his godly duties of helping the people of Occultia, with particular care towards the Dracarnian’s, the last of his god form’s creations. 

Despite not fully awakening as The Lord Dracarnius, Jake still has incredible power which is fueled by intense emotion, although he hasn’t got very far in terms of controlling it. He currently has the ability to beckon storms and hurricanes and cause earthquakes, as well immense strength when he is able to concentrate his power. His human form however hinders his invulnerability a fair bit.

As a god, Dracarnius was the second of the original 13 from the Early Days. He was born from a black hole and was the God of Destruction, in direct opposition to Celestia. Dracarnius was the god who instigated the Millenium Wars after he grew disillusioned with the Order and jealous of Celestia, believing himself to be the god of greatest power and therefore to rightfully be the one in charge.

After being struck down by the Universe, and Celestia sacrificing herself to bring him back to life, Dracarnius was cursed to live in a human body until Celestia could find and reawaken him. Jake is the 10000th such reincarnation. As part of his curse, each rebirth of Dracarnius would have no memory of their past lives until reawakened and he would be trapped on Urf each time.

Jake is not as well liked as Celestia as people are wary of him being the incarnate of the Lord Dracarnius. Many past lives have brought war and devastation to the lands, however Jake is determined to master his powers and be force for good. Despite this, he is often targeted in assassination attempts.