Short. Creative. Geeky. Loud. Asexual Sapphic. Writer. Artist. Gamer. 30+. She / Her. Spiritual. Attention Deficient Hyper-Activity Disorder. SYLPH OF LIFE PROSPIT DREAMER My next page and previous page buttons are below this box.
regardless of you being queer or not, did your parents ever gave you the "if you turn out to be gay it would be fine" talk, before you ever had the chance to say anything on your own about that?
gen z, yes
gen z, no
millenial, yes
millenial, no
gen x, yes
gen X, no
baby boomer, yes
baby boomer, no
Remaining time: 2 days 23 hours
because it happened to me and im wondering if this was a product of the ongoing cultural change around gay issues. before i ever had the chance to say to my parents "i am this" my mom was already sitting me aside to tell me "if there is anything you want to tell me, i want you to know ill accept you no matter what"
this makes me so happy as a fat hairy guy who likes skirts and dresses i never get to see guys like me in dresses it’s always skinny twinks this makes me so happy 🥺🥺
Something I really struggle to get people to understand is that like. Sometimes there was no intentional homoerotic subtext, the author was just extremely misogynistic. Sometimes the author wasn't "secretly shipping" those two men, the author literally just hates women so much that they see them as being literally incapable of relationships with depth. Like this is kind of a big thing with misogyny actually. A lot of extremely misogynistic people truly believe that a man can only have meaningful and complex relationships with other men because they literally just think women are so inferior they only exist to birth children and clean the house. It's like when people say along the lines of "no one worships exclusively men quite like straight men do". It's just that phenomenon actually. That happens to be manifesting in a raging misogynist's writing. Writing a man character who literally only puts effort into his friendships with other men while completely ignoring his literal girlfriend or wife is actually an extremely straight thing to write. And that doesn't mean you can't ship those men or that there are no stories with actual intentional homoerotic subtext. I just think it's important to be able to recognize extreme misogyny in writing and acknowledge it without brushing it off and assuming good intentions when literally all evidence is screaming that this was a misogynistic writing choice and not a representing gay men choice.
Thirty-year-old Tamara Rees shows us what trans empowerment looked like in 1954. She fought Nazis, taught parachuting, and traveled the world... but her biggest challenge came when the press learned of her identity.
1950s news coverage of Tamera Rees' transition shows a time before the trans moral panic. Most stories regarded her as brave or heroic for her openness. National newspapers even celebrated her wedding in 1955.
The New York Daily News, which now hosts daily anti-trans editorials, ran a shockingly respectful series on trans people in the 1950s. Tamara Rees's narrative was among the longest and most detailed. She thoughtfully implored the public to respect not only her identity, but also other trans people like her.
Tamara wasn't the first famous trans woman of the 1950s, nor was she the best known. However, she had a unique opportunity to share her own story. You can read Tamara's 1955 autobiography, Reborn: A Factual Life Story of a Transition from Male to Female, at transreads.org/reborn
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV
Rating: Teen & Up Audiences
Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Spoilers for ARR and the late Heavensward patches
Relationships: Lyse Hext & Y'shtola Rhul
Characters: Y'shtola Rhul, Lyse Hext, Iliud
Additional Tags: Garlean Attack on the Waking Sands, Gap Filler
Series: With Lilies and With Laurel
Length: 4,399 words
Summary:
Y'shtola returns from a solo mission to find the Waking Sands ransacked, and a comrade in distress.
Notes:
This is a work of fiction created for entertainment purposes and is not intended to be instructional with regard to espionage, grief and mourning, operational security, or anything else.
AO3 | dreamwidth
---
Y'shtola had not meant to be away so long.
'Twas not unlike her, she could admit, to become overly-engrossed in her work, such that time scarcely seemed to pass at all, until some interruption or bodily need chanced to disturb her concentration. She had had good cause, in this case, to be so engrossed. The Warrior of Light's defeat of Titan was cause for celebration indeed… yet with this victory had come a revelation Y'shtola could not ignore. Ascians and imperials, working together…
Mayhap it had been unwise to undertake an investigation without first consulting the others… alas, after days of receiving the runaround from the Company of Heroes, Y'shtola's patience for collaborative work had been all but spent. She bore no resentment for the Warrior of Light, of course. Adventurers could have their peculiarities, to be sure, but Ariane Clairière was one of the most agreeable Y'shtola had known. Mayhap too agreeable, if Y'shtola were honest. She herself might have had sharper words for Whiskeiat, and sooner, if the Elezen healer's courtesy and patience for running all up and down the coast of Vylbrand from sunup to sundown on menial errands had not put Y'shtola to shame. Nonetheless they had been delayed from the vital task of facing the primal for far longer than they ought to have been, and with that matter dealt with…
Well, there were times when it was simply more expedient to work alone.
-
She had thought little of the linkpearl silence. True, it had been a few days. Ariane would have borne word of their victory to Maelstrom Command, and then to Minfilia. Thancred and Papalymo would be busy with their own work. Were her presence urgently required, the Antecedent would have called to inform her.
She had picked up the trail of the imperial engineer in Mor Dhona easily enough. The man was not subtle in his movements. Tailing him, however, proved a futile exercise. If Y'shtola had hoped to witness a second meeting 'twixt the engineer and his Ascian accomplice, it was not to be. What she had managed to glean, however, confirmed what she had overheard at the Navel: the Garleans, or at least this engineer, had an interest in eikons.
To follow the engineer into Castrum Centri was riskier still. Thancred would have had an easier time of it, and for such a vital matter, even Y'shtola found herself willing to call for aid. Her friend did not answer his linkpearl when Y'shtola rang, however, and presuming him to be engaged in a covert operation of his own, she did not try again.
She did not go far in, remaining where there was ample cover, knowing that all too soon the engineer would pass where she dared not follow.
Yet she would be glad she had done so, for 'twas there she overheard talk of a group of prisoners brought to the castrum, one of whom was even now under interrogation by the tribunus—and at this, Y'shtola's very blood ran cold—for this captive was possessed of the Echo.
-
She flew now from the castrum with all haste, and made for Thanalan by aetheryte.
There was no certainty that the imperials had captured a member of the Scions. The gifted were many, after all, even if no small number of them understood little of their gift. If it be such a one, however, their chances of having drawn the attention of the Empire were slim. Far more likely it were one of their own—even, Twelve forfend, the Warrior of Light.
The Antecedent was not answering her linkpearl.
Dread swelled in Y'shtola's breast, even as she arrived at the aetheryte in Horizon and saw naught amiss—naught that would suggest an imperial force had recently passed through. This did little to reassure her—there yet remained every chance the imperials had apprehended one of their own in their travels. And if that be the case, the Antecedent must know at once.
-
Naught appeared amiss as Y'shtola emerged from the Footfalls into the late afternoon sun in Vesper Bay. Merchants plied their trade from tents and stalls, locals and adventurers bustled about the sandy square. A familiar salt breeze blew in from the harbor, and with it the murmur of voices, the creak of vessels docking or putting out to sea, cargo being loaded and unloaded, punctuated with the occasional shout. All appeared as it ought to be.
All, save this: the lobby of the Waking Sands lay empty. There was no sign of Tataru at the table where she customarily sat—her ledger, too, was nowhere to be found. What that might signify, Y'shtola could not say.
She hastened down the stairs, and pushed open the doors.
There was a sharp and smokey smell in the air, a smell Y'shtola knew acutely from the Battle of Carteneau. Garlean firearms had been discharged within this building.
Gods be good.
And beneath it, the copper smell of blood.
-
Amongst the Scions ranks were warriors aplenty. The greater part of their number, after all, were adventurers—those possessed of both the blessing of Hydaelyn and skill in battle, that they might face primals without fear of tempering, and send them back to the aether from whence they had come. They were far from defenseless, even caught unawares.
Yet surveying her surroundings, wand in hand, even now gathering aether that she might swiftly offer healing to any survivors, Y'shtola knew not whether she ought to cling to hope. She saw no one, living or dead, yet the signs of battle were plain. Here and there the sandstone walls bore the damage of stray gunfire, shattered bits of stone fallen from scorched indentations. Broad, deep stains marred the stone floor. Much blood had been spilled here.
Yet no bodies. Was that yet cause for hope?
She must make a thorough search of the building, in any case, looking first for survivors. She must also be on her guard. T’was not out of the question that the imperials might have left an ambush behind. She must needs be prepared to defend her own life.
Approaching the Solar, however, she was arrested by a peculiar sound. She could not put her finger upon it. Only as she drew closer, wary, did Y'shtola recognize the sound of someone weeping.
-
Swiftly Y'shtola threw open the door to the Solar, wand at the ready, for Stone or for Cure she knew not. There was yet the chance it might be a trap.
"Oh—" Y'shtola uttered, lowering her wand as the sobbing figure crumpled on the floor looked up at her in shock. "Oh."
-
Privately, Y'shtola had never approved of Papalymo's indulging the girl so.
That he had made a promise to Yda, she understood. Certainly they should not have turned their dear friend's sister out in the streets; she would ever have been welcome among the Circle, and later the Scions. That Papalymo had wished to accommodate young Lyse's… peculiar way of grieving, she had allowed, foreign as it was to the manner of Y'shtola's own upbringing. You shall walk this path with your eyes open, or not at all. Master Matoya had never suffered her pupil to face anything less than the brutal truth of the world, from the first day of her apprenticeship to the day Y'shtola, then of age, had left to become a disciple of her mentor's bitterest rival. Needless to say, they had not parted on the best of terms…yet the lessons her master had imparted remained with her nonetheless.
'Twas not as though any of them would be fooled by the sight of young Lyse, masked and playacting as an Archon a decade older, their colleague and friend of many years… and yet, at Papalymo's urging, the others of the Circle had agreed to grieve their fallen comrade in secret, and to play along until such a time as Lyse was ready to unmask herself and face her sister's death. Y'shtola had wondered at Papalymo's willingness to accept the charade, but even more at Master Louisoix's doing so. Were it not for his acquiescence, she might have pressed the matter further. In any case, she had expected to keep up the pretense perhaps for a moon or two… certainly not for six years. More than once, she had approached Papalymo, asking whether it wasn't about time to have a talk with the girl and put an end to this. If nothing else, the falsifying of an Archon mark was a serious offense, one which put Papalymo himself at risk of censure should his actions be discovered by the Forum. Papalymo had not disagreed, but bade her leave the matter to him. I shall speak with her… when the time is right. Whether he had, or had not, Y'shtola knew not, but in any case nothing had ever come of it, and they had all carried on as before.
And so she continued to call the girl "Yda," and to pretend, though her heart knew the lie, and misliked it.
-
Yda's black eyemask was fallen beside Lyse where she sat on her knees. Her turban had come loose, letting her long hair spill messily over her shoulders. And when her wide, reddened eyes looked up at Y'shtola, there was fear in them. Fear of what had become of their comrades, certainly.
Mayhap too, a fear that she would have to explain herself.
Y'shtola knew not. And at this moment, it mattered not.
"Yda," she said, gentle but firm, and knelt beside her. "Are you hurt?"
Lyse's face crumpled, and fresh tears spilled over her cheeks.
"I can't find him," she wailed at last, wiping futilely at her eyes, only for them to well anew. "I can't find Papalymo. He won't answer his linkpearl… I've looked everywhere…"
"You've searched the building," Y'shtola said, relieved. She would repeat it herself, of course, but 'twas good to know that much had been done. "Did you find anyone else?"
Lyse hiccuped, and shook her head. "No one. Just… all the blood…"
Y'shtola took a deep breath, gathering her own thoughts. Above all, she wished to act. 'Twas tempting to press Lyse for further information. What else did you see? Any clues as to what happened? When did you last speak with Papalymo? Why were you apart? When did you arrive here? When did you last hear from Minfilia—
She restrained herself. 'Twas plain that Lyse was in no shape to be interrogated, and 'twould be ungentle to treat her so. She had had a shock, and was in great distress. Much as Y’shtola might wish to spring into action, Lyse's wellbeing must needs be her primary concern, for now.
"Are you hurt?" she asked again, and Lyse shook her head. Good. No need for physical healing. Y'shtola's magicks could not heal the turmoil of heart and mind, but other things might. A cup of tea, for one, would not go amiss.
She made to rise, and Lyse grabbed at her wrist. "Please—don't leave."
"I have no intention of leaving you," Y'shtola reassured her. "Pray, accompany me, if you will."
Lyse blinked, and then scrambled to her feet, collecting her mask as she did. "I—yes. Of course!" That this simple request seemed to have rallied her spirits was encouraging.
Y'shtola noticed only then that she had put her foot in some sticky, colorless substance—not blood—which had soaked the rug. As she stepped back from it, examining the sole of her boot, Lyse followed her gaze, and said quietly, "Sylph-blood… it's like tree sap. Not red like ours…"
Noraxia. The sylph ambassador.
Y'shtola said nothing, but closed her eyes briefly in acknowledgment.
-
She had every intention of tending to her companion's wellbeing as best she could, but of primary import was ensuring, insofar as she was able, that their environs were secure. To this end she led them in a sweep of the building.
The common room was utterly ransacked. Whatever the imperials had sought, they had not been delicate in their search. Crates and barrels lay cast asunder, tables and chairs overturned, some of the furniture outright smashed to bits. And of course, more blood. A bitten-back sob told Y'shtola that her companion would prefer to be anywhere else, yet it was a moment before she could tear her eyes from the scene, tail swishing back and forth in consternation.
Here would have been gathered the greatest of their numbers, when the assault had come. Some—those with the skill and weapons to hand—would have rushed to meet their attackers in the corridor. To defend the researchers, the Antecedent… those who could not defend themselves.
Here they would have been forced back before the numbers and the firepower of an imperial legion. Here they would have made their last stand.
This was all, of course, conjecture. With no bodies, it was impossible for Y'shtola to be certain of what had transpired. She could say with confidence only that the room now lay empty; neither friend nor foe remained.
Wordlessly she turned, and led her companion back the way they had come.
-
On the far side of the building lay the Scions' library, and beyond it a little kitchen and the wing of private quarters where some of their number lived. Urianger, for one. A part of Y'shtola had hoped she might find him there; alas, 'twas not to be. His bed was unmade, his desk piled with various tomes, a quill and ink, a cup of tea half-drunk. Y'shtola was loathe to invade the privacy of her comrades, and peered into each chamber only long enough to assure herself that none remained within.
Satisfied at last, she led them back to the library, the one common space not soaked in the blood of their comrades, for a mercy. Urging Lyse to sit, she withdraw briefly to the kitchen. Water on the boil for tea. A cup for Lyse, with honey. A cup for Y'shtola as well. She could do with something bracing at the moment.
As she waited for the pot to boil, she considered. What was to be done? There were none left to decide but Y'shtola, and so it must be she.
It was not for a certainty that the others had all perished. No, she would not accept such a thing without proof. The absence of any bodies was mystifying, given the quantity of blood spilled here, yet it offered hope as well. Some might yet have survived. And surely Y'shtola had not been the only one out in the field at the time of the attack.
She would succumb neither to panic, nor to despair. Should any have survived, they would have need of her.
As Yda's sister had need of her now.
-
By the time she returned with the tea, Lyse had set her mask back in place, and bound her hair back up beneath her turban. She took the proffered cup, but then sat staring at it a moment, unmoving.
"Pray drink it," Y'shtola directed gently. "It will help."
"Shouldn't we…?" Lyse trailed off, helpless. Plainly, she had no idea what they ought to be be doing. And yet, Y'shtola understood the impatience, the desire to act.
Good. They would need that later.
"Drink it first," she urged, and Lyse took a sip, offering no further protest.
Bringing her own cup to her lips, Y'shtola found herself standing before the portrait of their late master which hung on the library wall. The candles Urianger kept ever-burning on the table beneath had burnt out, the rings of remaining wax long since cooled.
She looked up at their master's gentle smile, and it struck her like a kick to the stomach that Alphinaud might have been here as well, when the attack occurred.
Gods be merciful. She could only pray Louisoix's grandson had been spared.
Pray watch over him, if he yet lives. Pray watch over us all.
Turning back to Lyse, she said, "Pray give me your linkpearl."
Lyse did. Y'shtola plucked her own from her ear, and stepped to the edge of the room, where the rug did not cover the stone floor, before setting the two pearls on the stone and crushing them beneath her boot.
She heard a gasp issue from behind her. "What are you doing? What if he tries to call me?"
"He will not, not if he knows what we face. The Scions are under attack by the Empire. Signals may be traced." Mayhap this was how they were discovered in the first place, Y'shtola thought grimly. They had made every effort to secure their channels, to conceal their location, but there were no guarantees… Scholar's quill. How could this have happened?
Kneeling, she swept the fragments into one hand, and cast them into the rubbish bin. "I'm afraid we cannot stay here. There is a chance those who attacked may return. We must seek safe harbor elsewhere."
Lyse nodded. "Oh—of course. Father Iliud!"
"Indeed." It pleased her that Lyse remembered. Father Iliud of the Church of St. Adama Landama was an old friend, and any member of the Circle of Knowing would know to shelter there in a storm.
-
The journey would be faster by chocobo, and Y'shtola had ample funds in her purse to hire a porter. It would be best, however, that they not be recognized. She had no chamber at the Waking Sands herself, nor had Lyse, as both of them worked primarily in the cities and dwelt in inn rooms when not on the move. Nonetheless, they found some spare changes of clothes among the Scions' stores. Y'shtola found for herself an unadorned mage's robe, with a hood that would keep her Archon marks suitably covered. For Lyse, she found a rough linen shirt and trousers. Rifling through the lost-and-found bin, full to overflowing with the misplaced effects of adventurers, she found a nondescript linen scarf as well, and tossed it to her companion. "This ought to do."
Lyse gazed blankly at the scarf a moment. "…Oh! The marks! Of course." She wound the scarf round her neck. "Sometimes I forget I have them."
Y'shtola could only let out a chuckle of fond exasperation.
-
Thus attired, they might travel to Camp Drybone by way of Black Brush Station, in the guise of simple pilgrims. At Drybone they relinquished their birds to the chocobokeep, and took a brief rest, before setting north for the church on foot.
It was evening, the day's light fading and the desert heat beginning to abate, as they climbed the steep path through the lichyard. Even now, Y'shtola dared not lower her hood, not until she could be assured of their safety. She prayed Father Illiud had not yet retired for the night.
Her prayers were answered. The good father came out from the sacristy when Y'shtola inquired, and by his greeting, their disguises had proved effective. "Welcome, good pilgrims, to our humble sanctuary. How may we serve you this evening?"
"We come seeking shelter," Y'shtola said, "and to inquire whether the wild roses yet bloom here."
Understanding registered upon the good father's face. "Thal be praised, that He has not yet seen fit to call you. Be at ease, for you are among friends here. Y'shtola, is it, and Yda? It has been some time. I regret that we must meet again under such circumstances. Yes, your companions have been here. Your Warrior of Light came first, but she is here no longer. She departed not long ago, with Master Alphinaud. He spoke of…" Here Father Iliud lowered his voice. "He spoke of the Ixal… and of Garuda."
"Then Alphinaud is safe." This alone was a great relief. That the Warrior of Light yet lived was a mercy as well. "Full glad am I to hear it."
"What about Papalymo?" Lyse asked urgently.
"Your thaumaturgical friend, yes? I'm afraid he has not been here. However…" Father Illiud brought a book from behind the lectern, and Y'shtola recognized it at once as Tataru's ledger. "Yes, I thought not. According to what Ariane was able to discern, Papalymo was not among the dead."
The dead. Y'shtola had known, of course. With what they had seen, the quantity of blood… it had been all but a certainty. All the same, the words landed heavy upon her heart.
-
The list of names was long.
Somberly, she and Lyse walked the rows of the lichyard, lit by a soft green glow from Y'shtola's wand. Father Iliud had assured them that proper rites had been performed for the fallen, though there were not yet stones for most. Though the sun was fully down now, and night deepening all about them, neither could think of sleep until they had paid their respects.
Notably missing from those marked deceased were Tataru, Urianger, Papalymo, Thancred, and Minfilia. None of these the Warrior of Light could have failed to recognize, having worked closely with all of them. Bitter as it was to rejoice with so many others fallen, Y’shtola could not help but feel some relief.
Lyse wept openly as they stood before the fresh mounds, the stones not yet laid. Y'shtola stood solemn at her side. Master Matoya had misliked it when she cried, as a child, and Y'shtola now found it difficult to summon up tears, even when mayhap she ought to have done. She was not without sentiment, nor without grief. Those interred here had been both friends and comrades-in-arms. Even now, she called to mind their faces, their names: A'aba, Aulie, Liavinne, Percevains, Satzfloh, Una—as if to assure herself she could yet remember, even as she reconciled herself to the reality of their deaths.
Walk this path with eyes full open, or not at all.
She could remember. Small comfort, and yet… in the days following the Calamity, she and her comrades had found some portion of their memories shrouded in an impenetrable fog. For those myriad adventurers, among them no small number of Minfilia’s Path of the Twelve, had vanished at Carteneau without a trace, and they had soon discovered that none the realm over could call to mind either their names or their faces—only the certainty that they had, indeed, existed, and fought beside the Grand Companies.
Many a time had Y'shtola discussed it with her friends, most frequently Urianger, and with no small frustration. No answers had they found. Yet years later, certain adventurers had come to the Waking Sands, insisting that they had friends among the Scions, that they had worked and fought at their side. Y'shtola, it's me, Una! Blast it all, don't any of ye know who I am?
Una Tayuun, now laid to rest for good at such a tender age.
“They’ll pay for this,” Lyse hissed, hands clenched to fists, even as tears streamed from beneath the mask. “By Rhalgr’s fists, someone will pay for this, I swear it. I swear…”
"We shall avenge them, every one," Y'shtola said quietly. "We shall not forget."
-
"What now?" Lyse asked, haltingly, as they made their way back to the sanctuary at last. So familiar, those words—the selfsame words she had spoken when, bereft of their master, they had gathered in the wake of Calamity in a small room in Ul'dah. "We should—We should go find Alphinaud, and the Warrior of Light, right? Alphinaud will know what to do… Maybe Papalymo is even with them!"
Plainly, Lyse was eager to be about it. Y'shtola could scarcely fault her, though there was no chance of them departing tonight. The good Father had offered them supper, and shelter for the night. They would avail themselves of these gifts, ere they set out again.
"Father Iliud said they went in pursuit of Garuda," she said. "If that is the case, then Alphinaud must have known of a summoning, and judged it most urgent. You and I are powerless against primals, I'm afraid. No, we would achieve naught in pursuing them. The Warrior of Light will do what must be done."
"But—" Lyse stammered, hands curling to fists once again in frustration. "But we can't just sit here and do nothing!"
"Certainly not."
"Then what…?"
"I have reason to believe that Minfilia, and mayhap others, have been taken captive—that even now, they may be held at Castrum Centri."
"What?" Lyse exclaimed. "But—why didn't you say so?"
Because I could not trust you not to fly there at once with naught but your fists, and promptly be captured or killed yourself, Y'shtola thought. Instead, she said, "I could not be certain… until I saw the ledger. And I had first to ascertain who else had escaped, and to ensure our safety."
She expected further protest. Instead. Lyse drew herself up tall. "I—I understand. We need a plan, then—we need intelligence, yes? But we'll do it—we'll rescue them! We will!"
For a long moment Y'shtola regarded her companion. Yda’s sister was impulsive, and stubborn, and Y'shtola could not deny that she had on many occasions questioned her judgment. The false marks Papalymo had so boldly laid upon her skin belied an impetuous heart and an immature mind.
Yet there was in her as well an admirable courage and strength of spirit. Aye, Lyse Hext would make a fine Scion in her own right… if she would only let drop the pretense, and claim her own name once again.
Y'shtola thought too of Yda—the real Yda, she who had given her own life to save those she could—Yda who must be on Lyse's mind even now. Y'shtola might have liked to offer some word of comfort.
But Lyse had chosen to pretend, and they had all agreed, for better or worse, to respect that choice. When Lyse was one day ready to speak of her sister's death, to bear her own name, Y'shtola would welcome it.
'Twas not her place to force it. Certainly not now, with more pressing matters at hand. (Was this indeed what Master Louisoix had thought, six years ago?) Y'shtola could no more storm an imperial castrum alone than could her young companion. She would require aid—and if that aid came under the name of Yda, and wearing her mask, Y'shtola would not refuse it.
"Aye," she replied, resolute. "We who remain shall strike back, and bring our comrades home."
the light leaving yoshi p's eyes not because people wanna walk around ingame with badonkadonks but because of the mention of zenos's badonkadonk is frying me rn
i think my favorite ff14 narrative gimmick is that the savage raid unlocks are explicitly just the WOL having adhd daydreams about the cool shit they've done. the omega raids are even explicitly about cid trying to put on an ASMR tibetan meditation spotify playlist to calm them down but the WOL is unmedicated so it really only makes the problem worse
i know the way people talk about their pets now is probably how we’ve been doing it for all of history. a cat owner in ancient rome saw their cat lounging on the dining pillows and commented “he thinks himself to be the senator claudius 🤣”
The first attested cat in Japan was given to a young 9th century emperor and his diary about it includes such gems as 'I affixed a bow about its neck, but it did not remain for long.", "The color of the fur is peerless. None could find the words to describe it, although one said it was reminiscent of the deepest ink.", "When it lies down, it curls in a circle like a coin. You cannot see its feet. It’s as if it were circular Bi disk." and "I am convinced it is superior to all other cats.” Basically posting about how his void is the best little void and so good at getting really round
The Blessing of Light is something that is intentionally left pretty vague by the story, probably as another way to let the player fill in the gaps with whatever they want, and while sometimes this manifests in the story treating the blessing like a bodysuit of kevlar, I think the much more interesting interpretation is to go full whump with it and establish that the only rule is that the warrior of light cannot die. Aside from the subplot in post-ARR/HW being more interesting with the real threat of death now upon them, it just adds so much sauce. We can magick away the possibility of their head getting chopped off with the superhuman reflexes Hydaelyn hath granted, and so it is very delicious to imagine someone who, rather than being unable to be meaningfully injured, is instead able to just keep going despite catastrophic bodily harm. The warrior of light just keeps fucking going, no matter how much they may wish they were dead. More blood than humanly possible spilling out onto the ground, face pale, hands shaking, still moving with eerie grace and agility, screaming with pain every time they bring another desperate strike down? Thats the good shit.
I recall the devs saying that party wipes in a dungeon are just the WoL having Echo visions on what Not to fucking do, implying that they hallucinate their death repeatedly before triumphing.
So I'm sure most of us are sick to death of reading takes about the Fragments author and the incident on June 2nd that exposed the biphobia, misogyny, and racism that said author harbours. I've had some thoughts stewing in my head, though, and I really want to get them off my chest. If this post somehow breaks containment, please note that I am writing this for myself first, but the reason I am posting this and not just writing it in a private journal is so that if there are others who are feeling as I do, maybe this can help sort through some of those feelings.
With that in mind, read on. Skip to the TL;DR at the end if you need.
As is common after a person is outed for some kind of controversy, there are people who say "oh I knew there was something off about them". There will be many a post of people proclaiming they never liked the person nor the thing associated with them. There will be laundry lists of the things they saw or heard that indicated there was something wrong going on, that there were red flags, or straight up evidence of bad behaviour.
If you're someone who saw all this, then this post isn't about you. And nor this any kind of callout or judgement of this! I'm not saying you're wrong to point these things out, or that wrong for seeing them at all. Your insight has helped me see that this isn't just a one off incident with the Fragments author, but a pattern of behaviour stretching back years.
But, ultimately, this is for people like me who enjoyed the Fragments comic, who chatted with its author, and are now going "how did *I* not see it?", and are now left feeling upset and confused, and maybe even guilty that they didn't see any of these warning signs.
I had only just started reading Fragments for a month before everything blew up, but I had read all 80 something pages, enjoyed what I saw, and was looking forward to future updates. I enjoyed my odd chats with the author in the comments of his posts, analyzing characters and motivations, and I didn't sense that anything was amiss. Perhaps if I had been following along longer, or if this incident had occurred later, I might have noticed some of these red flags sooner. But I might not have, as well.
For those who don't know me, I oft describe myself as the "capybara of people". As in, I try to be mellow and calm amongst others. This is a conscious effort I make, as I actually have issues with emotional regulation, particularly around anger. I do stupid things and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind when I'm angry, so I do my best not to let myself get to that point. This means I often try to give benefit of the doubt to others.
One of the things I've seen talked about in regards to Fragments is the behaviour of the canon characters, and when they were behaving out of character, and how this ties into the fact that the Fragments author hasn't actually *played* past Heavensward (more on that later). When I read or watch or game a story, there are things that I miss. There are things that I clock instantly. Sometimes it's plot stuff, but somethings it's things about characters themselves. In the Pandaemonium Raids, where we are dealing with Ancients and Present Day characters, I immediately caught that one of the present day characters was the Source Shard of one of the Ancients we were working with. I have friends who didn't catch that until the end of the raid series. On the other hand, a friend of mine recently made a post talking about Stormblood, going over the gender-based violence experienced by three of the characters at the hands of Zenos: Yotsuyu, Fordola, and Krile. Her post was immaculately written, bring up things that I simply hadn't caught during my play-through of StB, and left me almost feeling aghast that I hadn't!
But that's just how it is sometimes. Even when you generally have good reading comprehension, you're going to miss things. I know that I do that, and I know that others do too. Combine that with the fact the G'raha and Emet-Selch in particular are characters who have unique attachments to the WoL, and thus depending on who your WoL is in your mind their characters' can be interpreted differently, nothing in how the canon characters acted caught my attention as being a red flag. If someone wasn't matching how I would normally read/write them, then it was just a discrepancy between what I took away from FFXIV, and what the author of Fragments did.
With that in mind, it is also obvious to miss glaring red flags of bad behaviour in a person. Maybe you miss a post that would have tipped you off, because you were at work when it got posted and didn't scroll down your timeline enough to see it. Tone is lost over text, so maybe what was written in all seriousness you thought was teasing or sarcastic. There's a million and one reasons a person might not see the rotten core of an individual.
Another thing I saw recently was talk about how certain sections of the ShB story were missing from the Fragments story, and how it's more evidence of how the author hasn't played past HW, or that he doesn't care about the characters involved in that scene. To me, though, a missing scene is not indicative of anything, as fanfiction as a whole relies on the fact that its intended audience knows the material the fanfic is based on. Readers regularly fill in the gaps of what an author doesn't show, and usually the assumption is that the missing scene happens as we see it in canon, or that it isn't, for whatever reason, important to the fanfic as it is being told. Some fanworks may choose to show every scene, even if unchanged from what the game shows us, but it's perfectly normal to skip over even plot important scenes when writing certain kinds of fanfic.
But this does bring me to my next point, which is the evidence pointing to the Fragments author not *actually* being invested in FFXIV, but merely using it and fans of it as a way to make money. In other words, grifting fans of FFXIV through his comic via patreon and other such sites.
I'm not here to talk about whether its right to make money from transformative works. That's a whole other long post that I am certainly not qualified to make! But the idea that this whole comic was merely a way to make money, and not to actually engage with the game and other fans of the game... man that hurts. That hurts almost as bad as knowing what the Fragment author really thinks of me as a queer woman. To not have seen that my emotional reactions to the story being told, that my chatting with someone who I *thought* enjoyed picking these characters and story apart like I did, was just an attempt to get me to sign up to a patreon?
Yeah. That hurts.
I've heard and seen the evidence about how, grift or no, the Fragments author does not engage with others this way. He does not uplift others, he does not engage with discussions of FFXIV's story or its characters unless it is related to Fragments. I did see one claim that he doesn't engage friendly with people praising his works unless they are a parteon, and though I can say that wasn't the case for me (I even made a comment on one of his posts that I simply cannot afford it at the moment) as we engaged somewhat frequently in a very friendly manner on his posts, I *was* being very vocal about support Fragments via reblogs and shout outs, so perhaps that was seen as enough. I don't know, and I will never be able to know for sure.
I *love* engaging with people over the stories I like. Even when someone has a different read from me, if it's an *earnest* read of the source material, I can enjoy it and usually even take away something to add to my own understanding! I never thought much of Urianger as a character until I started chatting with folk who have picked him apart like I've picked apart Emet-Selch, and now I appreciate him way more! I love reading other people's fics and art, and engaging with them about their creations, even if they never engage with mine. I know my writing and art won't appeal to everyone and that's okay. So it didn't strike me as odd that he did not engage with my writing and art in return. The fact he does not engage with the community *at all* outside his comic, however, and even then only wants certain kinds of engagement with his comic, is certainly indicative of someone who doesn't understand what community means. You can decide you don't want to engage with the work of others, but to then demand that people engage with yours *and* belittle those who do not? It is, at the very least, rude.
But is any of this evidence it's all be a grift?
I think unless we see a direct "I picked FFXIV because I knew I could get enough of its fans supporting me through patreon to make a living", I don't think we can know for sure. In my points about mis-characterization and missing canon scenes, I think there's enough room for "this is genuinely how he read these characters and scenes, and these are genuinely scene he felt comfortable leaving out" that we cannot say with any kind of certainty that they're evidence that he hasn't earnestly engaged with FFXIV.
In regards to the fact that it seems that he himself has not played past HW, I am hesitant here, too, to say that this means he has not engaged earnestly in the story.
One of my favourite games of all time is Deadly Premonition. It was released on the Xbox 360 in the early 2010s. It's gloriously janky with a surprisingly compelling story and characters. I could tell you almost word for word not just the main story, but many of its silly side quests and little secrets.
I have never played Deadly Premonition.
It's hard to find an original 360 copy, assuming you have a working 360 to play it, and its ports to the PS3, Steam, and Switch are... bad. They make the jankiness pretty much unplayable. But I have watched the same Let's Play of the game many, many times over the years. I have put time into enjoying the game in the means available to me.
There are many reasons why someone might not play a game whose story they find compelling. Maybe the gameplay doesn't click for them, maybe their system doesn't handle it well, who knows.
I am not saying that it's not possible the Fragment's author wasn't just using FFXIV and its fans to make a buck. Just that there are other possible answers when taking into consideration that this might just genuinely be his take away from the ShB story, and that his lack of interest/consideration of other parts of FFXIV's story does not indicate he did not engage with them in some other manner.
My TL;DR is that for those of us who were caught by surprise when that ask dropped, and the absolute insane doubling down that is, as far as I am aware, still occurring, remember to be gentle with yourself. You are not necessarily someone who fell for a grift. You are not bad by association for not catching the warning signs other did. There's many logical reasons why you did not notice these things.
None of my points above absolve the Fragments author of what he did.
We are feeling the way we are because we enjoyed something and feel used or betrayed. The best thing for us is to move on, find other works that bring us joy, and to engage with them earnestly.
titsay
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blakekathryn
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