//------------------------------// // XXIII - Domain Of The Deity // Story: Leather-Winged Oddity // by Deyeaz //------------------------------// Shadow: This first 1090 words are from Glassed's old blog post. Go check him out! That guy is just... awesome. ~Leather-Winged Oddity~ XXIII - Domain Of The Deity What is it to be a man? And how can we achieve this goal of obtaining what we as a group call “manliness”? We can't simply talk about societal pressures, we have to look at what it feels like to be that boy, that man. How you are treated, the psychological progression from "ok" to "frustrated" to "anger" to "desperate", how you necessarily have to internalise your problems, how you are set up in life only to fall through the gaping hole that is called "the male ego" and then to be ridiculed for being so naive as to want to express yourself. You know how you feel pressure to look good and dress nicely. You feel that everyday, no one tells you but everyone is looking and you feel those eyes on you. You can't help but notice that everyone notices. It's ingrained into society, it's accepted, you don't even realise it's there because it's omnipresent. Like air. The same thing exists with "be a man". No one wants to hear how hard you have it, your problems or your emotions. "Man up" echos everywhere, silently, implicitly. At first an innocent term of motivation, now an ironically desperate attempt to demonstrate masculinity. The term is so confused it is now used to claim opposing behaviors as manly. A real man doesn't cry - A real man cries. Can you imagine hearing someone say "A real woman drinks margaritas"? There is an uneasiness around being a man these days because no one knows what it means anymore. The worst part about these struggles is how everyone seems to be ok with it. There is no visible group advocating for a balanced masculinity or an open discussion on male identity. Male problems aren't even on the radar. If you don't ask for help what do you do? You do the only thing you can do, you internalise your pain, you ignore it and it grows silently. Who is going to help you through this? Is there anything more terrifying to society than a man who needs help? Have you ever seen a grown man cry in public? It's unsettling. You're too ashamed and simultaneously too proud to ask for help. Asking for help means you aren't "manning up" like everything in culture silently tells you to do. And so everything that isn't addressed becomes that dark beast inside you, lurking at the edges. You become so out of touch with your emotions it's a surprise when you're actually happy, like it's an accident. A childish glee of a once happy childhood being crushed by your everyday repressed identity. You lose all sense of proportion. Drugs, alcohol, depression, fighting and other self-destructive behavior show up. At least self-erasure makes sense, at least you can control the rate of your descent. A joyous self-annihilation, like watching your own car crash in slow motion from far away, simultaneously inside the car and outside it. A symbolic interpretation of reality. This is in fact your true position in all this, your emotional self is a 1000 miles away observing this scene with equanimity, your actual self speeding into a brick wall. Your friends have long since stopped caring, ignoring all the warning signs, some may reach out but you're too far gone for kind words or formal gestures. You're desperate and angry. You become fully desensitised and ignore your emotions, seeing them as obstacles. You are now a man "at war" with himself, the motto of this war is "take no prisoners". You snuff out feelings, you do this once and it makes things easier and then again, and again, and again, you're on your way down that desolate road. It becomes a comical routine, your patheticness is a joke even to yourself. You've lost all sense of reality, you're walking down that road of quiet desperation. Every man that's been told to "man up" knows what I'm talking about. Every man that doesn't get lucky or ask for help in time ends up in the same place, in the gutter. Alone, cold and forgotten. Homeless both in reality and spiritually. The old male roles are dying, if not dead. They continue to subsist in obscurity, as an afterthought or a punchline to a joke that provokes uneasy laughter. Young men continue on in the empty space left by these non-roles, without guidance or any solid concept or understanding of themselves or their masculine identity. Education doesn't worry about boys, they've always been fine on their own, right? Boys and young men have a much different kind of education, a negative education. They are not told that their normal selves are good, fine and valuable, that being energetic, spontaneous and loud is a good thing, no, they are simply told what they can't do. Sit down, shut up, stop interrupting, if you can't control yourself we're going to see the principle, we'll call your parents, we're going to ridicule you. And so they grow up literally clueless, looking to social cues, formal structures and hyper-male caricatures for help. We all know these clueless young men, we all know how bleak a future they have, we ignore it, they ignore it, video games are always fun, right? What a heartbreaking story of normal everyday occurrence. Our sons, our brothers, our fathers pretending everything is fine, no one ever asks them: "Are you Ok?" Summary: Masculinity is a deeply misunderstood concept, almost as if on purpose. Misunderstood by society as a whole, but also by women and, most offensively, by the men themselves. Everyone participates in this "good man" myth, completely unaware that there is no concept of a good man today, masculinity is an unknown which we can use and abuse as we see fit. Can you go a day without hearing something in the news about violence or war? Everyone knows those are male things, right? The bottom line is everyone has a choice in how they treat boys and men, everyone can decide whether they should be treated as human beings or if they can "take it like a man". No one proposes what masculinity could be, no one seeks to glorify or worship it, no one speaks of the hidden potential of our young men today, no one dares to give it it's proper place in society. Male identity is a negative today, ridiculed, feared and marginalised. What do men do in this climate? They do the only thing they can do, ignore all of it, live their owns lives, try to get by somehow, they "man up". Then again, who am I to judge what being the alpha-male is and what it entails? I’ve always been the omega: sitting in last place and watching as all those after me go and do the work, while I sat back and did what? Nothing. I did nothing when my dad got shot, I did nothing when my mother started spiralling into narcotical and alcoholic disorder, I did nothing when she threatened to take my only little brother’s life, I did nothing. And now this big... tree... this Ent... is facing me, looking down on me. It made me feel... nervous? Anxious? No... It may be friendly... but still... It makes me feel ever-so-slightly uncomfortable. It was so... unnerving. It’s funny, innit? How we all think we are indestructible, or invincible, until we see something bigger or stronger than us. “...Damien?” Kaileena’s voice summoned me from my internal musing. “Er, huh, what?” I shake my head to clear it.  “Tree thing asked you question.” Mercutio steps forward. I grimace at the Diamond Dog's words. “Mercutio, please show some respect an’ not call him a tree thing. He’s an Ent.” I look up at the Ent and beat my wings, ascending ten, fifteen, twenty feet into the sky until me and the force of nature are at eye level. “How do you do?” I say, holding my hand out. “Me name’s Damien O’Connor. Nice ta meetcha.” The Ent raises his hand and sticks out his finger, the process making the groaning and creaking noises that signified wood being shifted and moved. His finger was about the girth of the human body, so I had to wrap both my hands around his finger in order for our unusual handshake to be achieved. “Darwishi. Matsimela Darwishi. Nice to meet you, too, Damien O’Connor.” As I get a closer look at Matsimela (Let’s call him Mat, eh?), I see some more figs burrowed in his mop of hairlike branches. I even spotted a white hammock, void of any occupants, and several odd black shapes in his branches. The aforementioned shapes do not look like fruits. “So who are your friends?” “I’m Kaileena,” the Bast says. “Mercutio,” the Diamond Dog then responds. “I’m Osiris,” the griffin says. “My name is Fleur de Lis,” the female unicorn replies. “And mine is Fancypants,” the male unicorn finishes. “With that outta th’ way, I have a question I’d like to impose on ya meself.” “Shoot.” Mat starts walking off, with me and my troupe following him. “What’re ya doin’ out here in th’ middle o’ this emberstorm?” I fly around him a little bit to help rejuvenate whatever feeling in my wings that was lost on the collision. “I had been stranded in this fiery wasteland, looking for a way to leave this place before I burned like a torch, when I saw these strange comets of blue light just hurtle towards the ground. Even worse, I heard a voice come out of them a moment later, shouting for something to “shut up”. That’s when I came over and saw you six.” Mat was examining the other five companions I had unintentionally dragged along with me. “That was you who shouted, I take it?” Mat turned his head to me, causing the odd black shapes to... twitch? I nod, slightly embarrassed by what has happened. “Yeah... sorry ‘bout that.” I scratch the back of my head nervously. “Don’t worry about it.” I stop in mid-flight and get in a laid-back position, my hands behind my head. “How on earth are you able to fly like that?” Mat asks. “What, with wings on me head?” I rebut, Mat’s nod confirming my slight suspicions. “Y’know... I’ve been wondering that as well,” Fancypants comments. How have I been able to take flight while I have these appendages of ascension glued to my head? I mean, wouldn’t I be severely uncomfortable? Wouldn’t my neck snap or dislocate every time I pull a stunt? Shockingly, this is not the case:  my predicament, while odd, is not displeasing. Actually, I quite like flying. “...I really have no idea. Yet, so far, me neck hasn’t broken, an’ I’ve never been caused any discomfort other than o’erexertion.” “Speaking of overexertion...” Fleur de Lis whines. “I’m tired~... Can we stop for a moment to recuperate?” OH BOY, HERE WE GO AGAIN. Ah, Brain, you’re back. The one and only! Didja miss me? ...Hell to the no. The only thing I miss about you is that your absence. What in the world have you been smoking? The best shit that this fleshy pink bastard can get his nonexistent hands on, that’s what. ...Oh, joy.... Aw, lighten up, you spoilsport! “Oh, c’mon! We’ve been walking for, what, nine to ten minutes? Man- er, pony up, you pansy,” Kaileena scolds, thus causing Fleur to fire a death glare at the Bast. “Well, you can ride in the hammock for a while, Fleur, until we get to where we need to be... or split up, for that matter.” Mat brushes his hair back with one hand, and the shapes start to quiver again. He lowers his other hand toward Fleur and puts the flat of his palm up. Fleur gets onto his palm, and Mat raises her to the hammock in his myriad of branches. Fleur, after inspecting the hammock - probably for any ‘dirty things’ - gets into the hammock and sighs. “Fancypants, care to join me?” She gives those eyelashes of hers a flutter, specifically towards the blue-maned unicorn. “While that is kind of you, Fleur, I’m afraid I have to decline: I need the walking exercise, after all, no?” Fancypants adjusts his monocle once more with his magic. “And besides, it is Matsimela’s authority that I need if I wish to ride with you in the hammock, after all.” “Please, call me Mat.” The Ent raises a hand and waves it, dismissing the idea of being given formalities. So he prefers Mat, eh? Aha! Called it! “Say, Mat... What... ‘re those?” I ask, raising a brow at them. “Those shapes in yer... hair?” “...One: I think foliage works best; two: these are bats.” Almost at once, the bats that hung on his branches burst out from their shadowy canopies and zoom around us all. Some even start hovering around me. A tsunami of surprise rocks me when they swirl around us at high speeds like onyx sharks in an ocean. Actually, all of us are a bit shocked by the sudden appearance of these nocturnal flying beasts. But Fleur’s reaction, however... “KYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!” ...Is just soooo fucking cash. Seriously, she wails like a banshee getting violently tickled by an army of giant peacock feathers. “Calm down!” Mat leers at Fleur in agitation at Fleur’s screaming. “Ow, me ears,” I say after my laughter-fest subsides, digging my pinkie fingers into ears and twisting until my sense of hearing is restored to normal. “So why do ya have those bats?” “Honestly, these bats decided to take shelter in my foliage a while back. I couldn’t exactly get them out, so I just let them stay in here.” Mat looks left and right, then waves me over. I fly closer, but it’s not enough: Mat waves me over again, and I get closer, to the point where I could make out and distinguish every detail in the Ent’s skinlike bark. The Ent in question leans forward and whispers in my ears: “To be honest, I’ve even named some of them.” ...Okay, what? I mean, I shouldn’t talk since I named my weapon Ellipsis, but still... ain’t that just a little weird? “...Okay...” I say, slightly confused. I don’t want to hurt the guy’s feelings, so I continue with the conversation. “So, what’re their names?” “Bats! Formation!” At his command, the bats flutter back to Mat’s now-raised arm, the flying mammals hanging upside-down. I quickly count them down and come up with a total of... what, a little less than fifty bats? Now, what Mat just did was pretty cool, but I’m not impressed just yet. Boss, this mate is a little bit of a kook. Let’s ditch ‘em! my brain tells me as Mat starts naming his bats off at a rapid pace. Oi, be nice, Brain! Besides, maybe he got lost or something. So?! We’re lost, too! I want to get outta here! Yeah, and I want a blowjob from Carmen Electra: what’s your fucking point? ...You win this round, you slick little bastard. Of course I win this round. Now shut your face hole and let me think. ............Uh, boss? What is it?! I told you to can it so that I can think straight! I know, but... I wasn’t joking around when I said I wanted to get out of here: this place kinda gives me the creeps. ...How so? I don’t know, but it’d be best to keep your guard up, because something in the back of me tells me that something wicked this way comes. How can you be sure? Just... trust me. Instinct is giving me this information. The last time I trusted you, I got slapped by some woman at a bar for drunkenly groping her boobs.... Will you just trust me?! Alright, fine! Luckily, Mat is too immersed in his recalling the names of his bat friends to notice my spacing out. He is on the thirty-seventh bat or so, judging by how quick he was with renaming them and how they were ordered. Except for one, which hangs on my metallic arm. The lone bat folds its wings closed and shrouds itself from the others. I scratch him behind the ears, and - get this - it lets out a soft squee. IT FUCKING SQUEE’D. “D’awwww....” the others say as they look at the bat and me. Sweet Lord, that is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. “Hey, where’s- Ah, there he is!” Mat looks around and spots the bat on my arm. “D’aww, it appears he likes you!” “No kiddin’,” I say. I hover over to Mat’s outstretched arm, and the bat flies onto his arm and joins his brethren. With an upward swing of his arms, the bats fly off of his arms and go back into his foliage, resulting in Fleur screaming once more. "GAH! MORE BATS! AWAY! GO! SHOO!" "Damn it, quit screaming!" Mat told Fleur. *RUMBLE RUMBLE* A massive vibration resonates from beneath the feet of the others. But with the way it is getting closer... I can tell that it’s not a natural occurrence. Everyone on the ground stumbles from the sudden rumble. Osiris, being the only other flyer here, joins me in the skies. "You feel that?" He pulls his bowstring tight, and a light arrow coalesces on the bow. "Mm-hmm." I stick my hand out, and summon Ellipsis out of the Abyss and into my grasp, the large scythe appearing in a flash. I remember last time I had gone into battle, the scythe had absorbed that acid worm's corrosive spit and had used it against it. I wonder if the effect still works.... Grabbing a feather from my left leg, I pluck it out with a wince and run it on the blade of Ellipsis. The feather is cut at the very instant the blade touches it, but it doesn't corrode. Huh... maybe the acid powers were used up, or they wore off. Something like that. *RUMBLE RUMBLE* “What was that!?” Mercutio barks. Hehe... get it? ‘Cause he’s a dog and... Oh, shut up, I’m funny. Boss, remember what I told ya?! Yeah, yeah, I still remember. The rumbling increases in both volume and proximity, and I feel as if the whole earth beneath me is bound to reach its climax and rupture. With a monstrous noise, and a deafening shifting of boulders and magma, something monolithically long jets forth from the volcano at my three o’clock. When it lands not forty metres from our position, I’m not sure whether to be disgusted or scared shitless. Explaining this thing would be far too long, so I’m gonna show you what it looks like. Yeah, he looks obese and gross, huh? But at the same time, its sheer size and awe-inspiring strength strikes fear in me like a nine-niner on a golf ball. “I aM tHe MiGhTy SuN-DeVoUrInG sErPeNt, ThE aLl-PoWeRfUl DeItY aPeP,” the large reptilian monster, known as Apep, declares, his booming and slightly guttural demonic voice plowing my eardrums like engine pistons working overtime. “WhO aMoNg YoU hAd ThE aUdAcItY tO iNtRuDe UpOn My DoMaIn?” Remember what I said about how we all think we are indestructible, or invincible, until we see something bigger or stronger than us? Yeah, this is one of those moments again. “...........................................AW, FUCK!”