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Asexuality Awareness Week, Day One: Of Sand and Acceptance

2011-10-24T00:22:22Z

Okay, so in explanation, Oct. 23 - 29 is Asexuality Awareness Week! In celebration of this, and to help spread awareness, I'm going to be posting one ficlet a day centered around, or somehow pertaining to, asexuality. I'm going to try to cycle through my fandoms as I do this, but we'll see how successful I am at that.

For those who don't know about Asexuality, please give the topic a few minutes of your time! You can read more about what asexuality is at the AVEN website. Here is a link to AVEN's brief overview: ASEXUALITY BASICS

Today's fandom is Escaflowne. How could I resist? My favourite character in that series is a canon asexual. Note that Dilandau is aromantic asexual in this story, but in general asexuals are not necessarily aromantic. The two are not the same thing!

Title: Of Sand and Acceptance
Prompt: Asexuality Awareness Week
Word Count: 1422
Rating: PG-13 for mentions of sexuality (obviously)
Summary: Dilandau isn't attracted to anyone. Allen is a bit concerned by this.
Warnings: THINGS YOU NEED TO KNOW. This is in the same universe as a fic I wrote a long time ago, which you cannot read because it is eyeball-meltingly godawful. What you do need to know is that Dilandau deserted the Zaibach army just before the last battle and eventually hooks up with Van and Allen after a series of very weird, twisted events. The madoushi are brought to justice, Dilandau gets a bit of peace of mind, begins the slow process of recovery, is pardoned, and Allen is now his legal guardian. I have another fic in the same 'verse that isn't quite as awful: Dance in Shadows.

Of Sand and Acceptance

Dilandau doesn’t quite believe Allen’s reasons for taking them on a daytrip to the beach (“You could use some sun, Dilandau,” ignoring his ward’s waspish reply that he’s an albino, thank you very much, and doesn’t need sun), but he lets the excuses slide, because really, anything is better than suffering through yet another day of being introduced to increasingly vapid court ladies whose brains seem to be composed of even more lace than their clothing.

They’re a few miles out from Palas, at one of the more popular resort areas. The beach is crowded—shirtless men and boys tumble and laugh until their skin is crusted in sand, which they then wash clean in the frothy waves rumbling up cold from the deep. Gaggles of girls giggle together, all in the extremely lax state of dress permitted on the beach, watching the boys coyly or playing various team games of their own.

The more sensible people, like Dilandau, are huddled on towels beneath shade umbrellas, reading books.

A cascade of yellow tumbles over the umbrella’s edge, framing a familiar sideways frown. Dilandau does his best to ignore it.

“Dilandau?”

“What?” Dilandau grips the edges of his book more tightly.

“Aren’t you going to have some fun?”

“I am having fun. I am sitting beneath some wonderful shade and enjoying an engrossing tale of swashbuckling bloodshed and revenge on the high seas. I’m not even complaining. What more do you want?”

Allen’s frown has taken up residence on his face with a permanence that suggests having paid its rent several months in advance. “I meant more along the lines of enjoying the scenery.”

Dilandau looks up now and pushes his tinted glasses up onto the crown of his head. His silver hair curls around the frames and loops in familiar, comfortable waves. “Schezar, we live in sight of the ocean. I see the ocean every day. Has the sun finally fried what’s left of your brain?”

Allen ignores the insult and instead dips downward to sit, uninvited, in the shade next to his ward. Dilandau scowls and pointedly does not shift over. “I didn’t mean the scenery,” Allen says.

Dilandau stares blankly at Allen. Then he glances out at the beach.

The ocean is an exquisite sight. Blue waters sway, drunk on silver and sparkling with the white light of millions of stars trapped just beneath the waves, their brilliance bursting free with every surge into the sky. Summer is in the sand, in the hot and sizzling grains that, when kicked under heels and toes, spill forth a shower of molten sunlight. The air is golden on the tongue, heavy and salty and hot. Tongues of white fire dance along the crests of the waves and the dips in the sand, sparkling as though all the wild beach is aflame.

Yes, exquisite, Dilandau thinks. “Could do with less people,” he says.

Allen goggles, as though Dilandau has completely missed the point. Maybe he has, but Dilandau’s patience has run out. He snaps his book shut and scowls. “Out with it, Allen.”

Allen sighs and looks out at the beach. His blue eyes are not, Dilandau notices, tracing the ebb and flow of the sea, but rather—and predictably so—following the curves of the women. Dilandau rolls his eyes and cracks his book open again.

“You weren’t at all interested in any of the women at the Palace,” Allen says. Dilandau tilts his head back up. “So I thought, maybe, you were…well, there were rumors, what with the young men in Zaibach…” Allen trails off uncomfortably.

Dilandau grits his teeth and sees red. “You mean my Dragonslayers?” he growls. Even though he’s buried them, picked the tatters of his life up and patched them together around the ragged holes where they used to be, their memories still ache like phantom limbs. “They were my command, Schezar. My subordinates. Even if I had been interested,” he says the word with a disdainful curl of his lip, “it would have been highly unprofessional. So no, of course not.”

Allen meets his eyes, and Dilandau holds the gaze, anger bubbling in his crimson irises. Then Allen nods and, surprisingly, apologizes. “I’m sorry. I don’t doubt your professionalism, and I didn’t mean to insult you or them.”

Dilandau is perfectly still, but not quite as bristling any longer. He nods curtly.

Allen runs his fingers through his sheets of golden hair, and sighs again. “What I’m trying to say is, you don’t seem interested in anyone that I’ve seen, regardless of gender, class, or profession. I’m trying to help you find a place in this world, help you live a normal life, but frankly you’re not giving me much to go on here.”

Dilandau closes his book and sets it aside, shifting to give Schezar his full attention. His guardian seems to be listening, so Dilandau is going to take advantage of that while it lasts. “No, Allen, I’m not. Because I’m not attracted to anyone, and neither do I particularly want to be.”

Allen eyes him uncertainly, and a shroud of wary concern clouds his eyes. “Is this something that Zaibach did? Because if it is, we can try to fix—“

“NO!” Dilandau snarls, loud and fiercely enough that several nearby beachgoers stumble in the sand and turn, startled, to stare at them. Dilandau lowers his voice down to a hiss. “No. There’s nothing wrong with me. This is just me. It’s the way I am. I’m not traumatized. I’m not underdeveloped, I’m not repressed.” Repressed, ha. The wild abandon with which he had comported himself in battle probably eliminated that idea from having ever been considered.

Allen’s face goes slack with bafflement. “That…Dilandau, that’s not normal.”

That’s it, Dilandau thinks. I’m setting fire to Allen’s wardrobe when we get home. And replacing his shampoo with purple hair dye. “Normal?” he says out loud, voice pitched high with incredulity. “Normal? Allen, a year ago you helped save the world from a reality bomb created by an insane, centuries old Mystic Moon Scientist, with the aid of a reality-warping psychic witch—also from the Mystic Moon—and a Draconian, in the process of which you not only discovered that Atlantis actually does exist, but also WENT THERE. And you think that me not wanting to snog anyone is weird?”

Allen cringes sheepishly. “Okay, okay, you have a point. But…you aren’t unhappy?”

Dilandau’s voice is wry. “If you mean, ‘Does the lack of a significant other leave a hole in your existence,’ then the answer is no. I don’t need a romantic interest. I don’t need to screw anyone to make my life more fulfilling. Nor do I want to, for that matter.”

“…huh.” Allen processes this, and is quiet for some time. Dilandau follows his eyes out to the sea, then reaches for his book again. He’s gotten as far as the next page when Allen speaks up again. “You’re sure? Really?”

Dilandau nearly splits the book in half between his fingers. “I’m very sure, yes. Look, I’m about as likely to change my mind as you are to wake up tomorrow and find that you think Van is the hottest piece of ass on Gaea.”

Allen chokes, horrified. “Jeture, Dilandau! No!” His normally flawless complexion takes on a green tinge.

Dilandau chuckles, annoyance evaporating into smug satisfaction that his analogy has hit home. “Now you see my perspective.”

“Okay, yes. Point taken. I won’t bother you about it again.”

Dilandau raises a silvery eyebrow. “On your word?”

“On my word.”

Dilandau grins. A heaviness he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying evaporates from his shoulders and chest. “Good.”

They remain where they are, comfortable in shade and silence, with Allen watching the women laugh on the sand and Dilandau lost in a seafaring adventure far away in the pages of his book. An ease has settled between them; the brittle tension has melted away, leaving one of them more enlightened and the other quietly delighted at being accepted, once again, for who he is.

Maybe Dilandau will even spare Allen’s shirts, and settle for just dying his hair instead.

The Ace in Escaflowne

2011-04-19T03:49:30Z

In which I discuss a disturbing trend in fandoms, with Dilandau from Escaflowne as a prime example. I am not f-locking this post. I'm posting this because people need to hear it. F-locking would be counter to that end.

"Male-Character never shows any interest in women, not even Gorgeous-Female-Character! He must be gay!"

I've come across this 'logic' far, far, far too many times over the years. Most often, it's used as the rationalization for a non-canon slash pairing. I don't have any problem with slash pairings. Most of my favourite pairings in fandom happen to be slash. This is not what frustrates me.

People can embrace whatever pairing they like. That's ok. To each their own, right?

But I really, really wish these people would stop using that justification. It is not okay. When you're dealing with a character who never expresses any sexual or romantic interest whatsoever towards anyone in canon, do not assume that said person is homosexual. Do not say "ne is never interested in the opposite gender! Ne must be homosexual!"

Because asexuals are people, too. We exist, and we do not like being invisible. We don't appreciate the assumption that sexuality is implicit and a necessary aspect of one's personality. It is, essentially, telling us that there is something wrong with us, and that we don't exist. Now, I realize that most people don't even know that there's such a thing as asexuality. In which case, the assumption is a natural one to make, if not a reasonable one. But that's one reason why I'm posting here--if no one speaks up about this, how will anyone else ever know or understand?

Let's take Dilandau from Escaflowne as an example. For those who don't know the series, Dilandau is the captain of an elite, special forces team. He himself is considered to be the finest soldier in his nation's (Zaibach) possession.

He is also the transgendered, brainwashed, amnesiac little sister of one of the series' main characters. It's.....complicated. Now, some people might argue that any 'quirks' of Dilandau's personality (aka his asexuality) should be attributed to how messed-up he is, or that he's not a complete person and is only a manufactured persona forced onto Celena. I don't buy into this, because in order to discuss Dilandau's personality in any depth, one first has to accept that he is a person. And the people using the argument mentioned at the beginning of this post are already implicitly assuming that he is a complete person.

At this point, it becomes beautifully obvious how very ace Dilandau is (specifically aromantic asexual). He's a fifteen year old boy and he never shows any form of romantic or sexual attraction to anyone. He gets a fair bit of screen-time, too, and plenty of opportunity to show some form of interest, even crude.

But he doesn't. Ever. In fact, towards the beginning of the series, one of the main characters claims another main character to be his 'paramour', and kisses her on the cheek. Dilandau is right there watching. Out of ALL of the possible reactions a teenage boy could have, he gives THIS one. And then promptly changes the subject.

But strangely enough, no one else in the fandom seems to recognize that he's ace. Most people pair him with one of his subordinates with the excuse that "he never shows any interest in women! he must be gay!" Well, no, he doesn't show interest in men, either. Not even once. Not even a hint. And this is in a series that plays like a soap opera when it comes to the romantic entanglements (seriously).

But I've never seen a fanfiction that focuses on an asexual Dilandau (I am rectifying this with my own story). I've seen the standard Mary Sues, I've seen Dilandau x Hitomi, Dilandau x Celena (people get creative with that one), Dilandau/Allen, Dilandau/Van, and Dilandau/-insert-Dragonslayer-here. And I'm okay with these. Really. I enjoy reading several of these pairings, and my favourite Escaflowne story in the entire fandom has a well-executed Dilandau/Van pairing.

But it would be nice not to hear, over and over, the slash pairings justified by "lack of interest in women == interest in men". It doesn't work like that. Be educated. Please stop. This type of attitude is hurtful, even if that hurt is unintentional. More people need to be aware that being sexual is not a given, and that that's okay. People need to acknowledge the existence of asexuality, and not assume that it's impossible.

I have a paper to write now, otherwise this would be longer and more elaborate. I might expand it later when I'm feeling a bit more energetic and eloquent.

This is the reason I don't have the next Jeture chapter done yet.

2011-03-27T18:01:26Z

I have been reading too much Avatar: the Last Airbender fanfic. No, wait, scratch that; there is no such thing as reading too much AtLA fanfic. But it still hasn't been good for my productivity. Well. Not Jeture productivity.

So it occurred to me that Dilandau could totally be a Firebender. I mean, come on. And without a teacher or anyone who even knows what he is, his lack of control is totally explainable. I could say that the Sorcerers' Fate Alterations had something to do with making him a Firebender. Somehow. It's possible! ~~I AM A TERRIBLE PERSON~~ DON'T JUDGE ME.

This little AU has consumed my mind over the past two weeks, whispering you want to write me you know you do. Just a drabble or two! C'mon! It's perfect! This NEEDS TO BE DONE!

So I caved. I wrote a little something last night. Of course that wasn't enough, but I don't have time to write a full-blown epic for this (and I'm already working on Jeture and that avatarbigbang mini-bang fic that became a monster) so I'm turning this into a request meme. Meme is probably not the right word for this, but oh well. I can get away with this with my current schedule because I know there aren't many people watching this journal, and the active Escaflowne fandom is kind of small. Poor fandom :(

The Rules

1. Comment with your prompt: a character, a scene from canon to redo, or something else you'd like to see done. You can request any point in the timeline, though I might ask that you don't request anything post-series or near the end of the series just yet, as I have no idea how the plot for this will pan out.

2. You can request as many times as you like, but wait until I've filled your current request before you ask for another. Put each new request in a new comment.

3. Official deviation from canon begins when Dilandau is created. The first notable deviation is the thing I have written at the end of this post.

4. I am open to the idea that other canon characters might become benders. If they do, it is all Hitomi's (accidental) doing.

5. Bending is unknown in this Esca-verse. People don't know what bending is or even that it exists. In fact, it probably shouldn't exist, but messing with Fate does funny things.

6. Repeat requests will be deleted (I'll let you know if yours is a repeat)

Timeline/History:

World Building: where bending comes from, and how Millerna is a waterbender
World Building: bender population distribution (second half of the post)
World Building: Folken's role in all of this

This timeline will get filled in as prompts are requested and answered.

Pre-series:
Dilandau discovers fire

During series:
Millerna heals with waterbending for the first time

Post-series:
Celena knows that something is missing

And here is the (first) thing I have written for this AU. I might put this in a more convenient location later, when I think of a more convenient location.

Dilandau Discovers Fire

Dilandau is seven, and he is in a room with the sun.

He has never seen fire burn before. Candles are nothing like this. Candles are small and weak and know nothing of hunger, of potential, of ambition. Candle flames cling quietly to the wax-wrapped string that is their entire world and wait, placid and content, for their lives to be snuffed. Dilandau is a fighter; he cannot respect something that has no spirit.

So it isn’t until he accidentally knocks over one such candle from its perch in his master’s study that he realizes what fire can do. His master notices the mishap instantly, of course, and rushes to stamp out the flames, cursing Dilandau’s clumsiness with each breath.

It will never occur to Dilandau to wonder why the fire didn’t die. It should have—the flame is small and the master’s boot is large and heavy—but instead it sparks and sputters and clings desperately to the dry cloth it has fallen upon. It darts through a forest of winding threads, one boot-step ahead of the curling smoke trail that the master frantically follows.

Dilandau watches, mesmerized, and does not hear his master snarl at him to don’t just stand there you foolish child! Help put this out! All he hears is the ragged crackle of the fire’s breath, desperate for life, fighting to survive and consume and rise.

Dilandau understands that desperation, and suddenly all he wants is for the fire to win.

Go! he thinks, and his fingers clench into the soft centers of his palms, where they feel—but don’t register—the heat budding beneath his skin. There, catch on the papers! And the tapestry behind the desk!

Dilandau doesn’t think it strange when the small blaze follows his mental commands. The fire is not a thing; the fire is a brother in arms. The fire is a kindred spirit. The fire is him.

Dilandau draws in a breath and he feels something break loose inside him like a crusty scab peeling away, like the roots of a baby tooth tearing from the pressure beneath: painful, startling, and liberating. Something hot kindles in his stomach.

The fire has caught a corner of the papers. It flares, bright and joyous in its success, and flings itself across the desk, spreading out as the master tries to beat it down with his coat.

Heat roughens Dilandau’s throat; it burns as though he’s run for miles. The kindling in his stomach catches with his next breath, and a fever floods through his legs and arms and wraps around his scalp. But none of this feels uncomfortable. None of this feels alien.

Dilandau does not feel as though he’s on fire; Dilandau is the fire. When he raises his hands up and fills his lungs, he is not even conscious of his motions; all he can feel is a fierce swell of triumph as the flames on his master’s desk snag the tapestry on the wall and begin to climb.

The flames will not touch Dilandau. He knows this instinctively, so it is without hesitation that he urges them to circle around the desk and cook the door’s circuits.

The enemy cannot be allowed to escape.

Seconds later, the fire has won, and Dilandau is standing in a room with the sun while his laughter drowns away the sound of his master’s screaming.

Because I have too much to do already...let's add MORE!

2011-02-23T00:42:39Z

Fiction Meme! Yeah, yeah, I know. But I wanted to request one from messageredacted , so I have to subject myself to the same thing.

The first TEN people to comment (like I have that many watching this journal, HA, as if), in this post get to request that I write a ~~drabble~~ ficlet of any pairing/character of their choosing.* ~~In return, they have to post this in their journal, regardless of their ability level.~~ You don't really have to. I want stuff to write. Give me prompts, please!

(1) messageredacted : (Batman: Nolanized Earth-3) Jokester & Duela. [Filled]
(2) dracomaleficium : (Escaflowne) Dilandau & Folken [Filled]
(3) bluealoe : (Escaflowne) Moleman [Filled]
(4) disklobos : (Escaflowne post-series) Adelphos' thoughts on Celena [Filled]
(5) alpha_hydra (AtLA) Jetko: Brainwashed!Jet knows there's something about Li. He just can't remember what.
(6)
(7)
(8)
(9)
(10)

*Fandoms include Avatar: the Last Airbender, Chrono Trigger, Escaflowne, Disney's Animated Robin Hood, Doctor Who, Equilibrium, Harry Potter, Improbable Island, Nolanverse!Batman (including Nolanized Earth-3), Sid Meier's Alpha Centauri, Star Wars, Tokyo Babylon/X1999. (These are just the ones I actually feel comfortable writing for)

This meme is currently OPEN!

A Wish for Jeture: Prologue

2011-01-28T17:21:28Z

Title: A Wish for Jeture
Fandom: Vision of Escaflowne
Characters: Dilandau, Dragonslayers, various others
Ships: none
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mild language. (It's Dilandau for crying out loud).
Summary: Jeture lives within your desires. He knows what your soul longs for, even if you yourself do not. Sometimes he will speak to you, if you wish fervently enough. Sometimes he will even grant your wish. But not all wishes are meant to be realized...

This story was heavily inspired by some scenes from the Escaflowne Drama CD. In a section of that CD, Jeture actually does speak to Dilandau in his dreams, and insinuates that Dilandau's wish isn't what he thinks it is (power, at the time). I highly recommend reading the transcripts to this CD, if for no other reason that it really sheds much more light on events in-between some of the earlier episodes, as well as on Dilandau's past and how exactly he got to be such a high-ranking officer (and in command of an elite squad) at such a young age.

A Wish for Jeture: Prologue

Power is meaningless in dreams. It doesn’t matter who you are, what rank you hold, or who is afraid of you; the moment that your subconscious slithers to the surface, it swallows your free will whole, gorges itself on your uncertainties, and vomits nightmares into the unguarded pits behind your eyes. Nothing is ever secure in dreams. One night you may be aware and able to influence the intangible forms around your illusory self, but most nights you will be helpless, unaware that you are even asleep—trapped within a morphing reality.

Dilandau hated dreams. He'd learned long ago that he could not count on control there, lost within the blind abyss of fear and desire. He'd dreamed of cold tables, foul-tasting air, and syringes that injected terror into his heart. He'd dreamed of Escaflowne, charging, charging, charging and slicing his cheek with a stone-coloured steel blade. He'd dreamed of his Dragonslayers, melting within liquid silver and electric flames that were the same shade as their soul-shredding screams.

Forgotten fears made themselves known. Past mistakes mired his thoughts in despair.

After the massacre at Godashim, his dreams had not waited for Dilandau to surrender his head to the pillow in his dark and empty quarters; rather, they had reached up, laughing at his pain and confusion with the ghostly, sobbing voice of a little girl. He had passed out on a lonely catwalk: one of the few on the Vione that ventured far enough from the fortress’s metallic bowels to taste the sharp, frigid air. After the rush of failing blue and the onset of granular greys fading into black vision, he’d watched, frozen, the replay of their deaths—his Dragonslayers’ deaths. He’d screamed soundlessly until he was alone, utterly alone, and then he’d screamed even more for someone—anyone—to come.

And then a voice had answered.

He’d heard this voice only once before, and only in his dreams. He could not remember when—only that he knew that voice from somewhere. Deep, calm tones rolled like waves and resonated with every bone in his body.

<<Now do you know your true desire?>>

Dilandau was floating. He realized this as he struggled to understand what was being asked of him. His mind felt clearer than it should have in a dream, although his thoughts were sluggish with shock.

“Who are you?” he demanded. His voice did not carry in the depths of midnight blue. He sounded small and meek. Dilandau was never small or meek. But here, in dreams, none of that ever mattered.

<<I am Jeture. I have heard your soul’s cry, and I have answered. Speak your desire, mortal, if you yet realize its nature.>>

Jeture? Dilandau found his head tilting upwards, ballooned by an invisible weightlessness. There, the serpentine form of a regal dragon darkened the curtained seascape like a black bruise upon deep deep blue. Dilandau stared, oddly devoid of fear—perhaps because this was only a dream. Or, perhaps, because Dilandau did not believe in gods. Gods were legends made up by mortals, security blankets thrown up in desperation to shield themselves from the cruel knowledge of death.

Death.

Dilandau noticed, abruptly, how the colours of the water enveloping him were the same colours as his Dragonslayers’ deaths: blue armor, blue Alseids, blue liquid flames. They had been the best soldiers in the entire Zaibach copper army. He’d made them the best in the span of a single year, and they’d idolized him for it. They’d loved him. They’d loved him so dearly that they’d reached their grey fingers from beyond the stillness of death to save him from joining them.

They’d loved him, and he needed them. They represented everything that he’d achieved. They’d stood as the sum of his power: young and gifted and unsurpassed. Power was everything. Without it, he was hollow. Without them, he was an opened shell.

What was he going to do without them? Gatti, Shesta, Dalet, Viole… He didn’t know what he’d done wrong. He didn’t understand how he could have misjudged the battle so severely. He didn’t understand how Escaflowne could have destroyed every single one of them. If only they hadn’t died.

And suddenly, he knew his most fervent desire.

“I want them to live. My Dragonslayers.” His voice sounded stronger this time. “Something went wrong today, and they died. They should not have died. I want to change what happened.”

The sea god rumbled thoughtfully, and it sounded like wet thunder. <<And if it was their fate to—>>

Dilandau cut the god off unthinkingly, blinded by sudden fury, and shouted, “I’m sick of hearing about fate! You asked me what I want! That’s what I want! So either help me or quit screwing with me!”

Deep, consuming silence clogged Dilandau’s ears after his voice quieted. Only in that moment did fear press at his heart, hindering its beating. He had dared to interrupt a god. Even though he knew that this was a dream, and even though he did not believe in gods, his surroundings were too vivid for him to blanket himself with total apathy.

All motion died. Currents ceased. The serpentine blue-black bruise burned in stillness against the backdrop like congealing spots in his eyes after a bright flash.

Dilandau expected to wake up, or die, or both. Or for the dream to freeze entirely, then morph into something less coherent, something more like the nightmares. In the uncertain seconds that followed, Dilandau hoped desperately for anything but that last possibility.

He felt the roar before he heard it; his entire frame jerked in its force, thrashing angrily like a doll throttled by a furious child. Earthquake. It was only once he realized that he was not in pain that he understood why the ocean was shaking.

Jeture was laughing, and his voice was tearing the dream down with its force.

The god never stopped laughing, even as the blue currents around Dilandau turned to grainy noise and fell away as waves of colourful sand into nothing.