#a culmination of grievances.

[digitaldollsworld]

Heartbreaking: Minor Inconvenience Makes Guy So So Angry

[ayingdidi]

The dumbass scene with Rhaenyra isn't Alicent's liberation arc; it's simply a shift in who holds her reins. Instead of men, it's Rhaenyra now.

Alicent's true liberation arc should have happened in S1 when she was actively beefing with everyone around her; she was plotting to have Rhaenyra’s treason acknowledged, scheming to outmaneuver Otto, and was not afraid to defy Viserys' wishes.

All of this culminated in the confrontation at Driftmark. That should have been the moment of Alicent's liberation—the point where her worst fears come to life, proving her right; Rhaenyra’s flaunting of her duty finally led to Alicent and her loved ones bearing the consequences.

Viserys, in the same breath as he coddled and protected Rhaenyra, demanded that Alicent let go of her grievances and make peace with the injustices she had endured. At that moment, Alicent realized she deserved better, so she snatched Viserys precious dagger and tried to stab the very woman he ordered her to reconcile with—the same woman who, moments earlier, had demanded that her son be tortured.

Alicent stabbing Rhaenyra should have been the ultimate rejection of Viserys—a moment where she finally broke free from his shackles. That should have been Alicent final stance against her jailor. Alicent refusing to bow to his demands, and is finally free to seek justice for herself.

This should have been Alicent's liberation arc.

[miruscenic]

𝟎𝟎𝟏. 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. kento never thought he would be one for domesticity, until you came.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. nanami kento x gn!reader, soft soft fluff, a bit of angst on kento's part, first writing post on this blog :)) enjoy !!

Kento Nanami has a hard time believing that domesticity was a possibility for him. 

It was his pipe dream ever since he’d chosen to become a sorcerer, despite his aversion to both this job and the soul-breaking desk job. He hates the monotony, and he hates the danger he puts himself in, and he despises the concept of overtime. Because, really, who enjoys working more hours with no increase to the pay? It irks him terribly, but work is work. If he can find stability in the form of money or a career, then it was enough to keep him alive.

It was enough, but it didn’t satisfy him.

He’s come to enjoy some of the mundanely comforting moments during his salaryman days and his gradual return to the Jujutsu world— from the sweet girl manning the counter in his favorite bakery, who knows him well enough that his sandwich is finished being prepared within minutes to the silence he basks in until he inevitably has to stare blearily at his laptop screen during ungodly hours. They were welcome distractions from the emptiness he so often felt, and yet, it still felt like he was going through the motions.

Kento had money, but no means of defining his purpose. His desires of settling down pushed to the backburner, dreams of a golden-eyed child crushed by surrounding deaths and lecherous bosses who saw him as nothing more than a cog of a bigger machine. The only sign of the life he could’ve given himself were the books slowly gathering dust, pictures of the calming beaches of Kuantan a stark contrast to the rigidness of his home.

He didn’t understand how easy it was to let someone in. Someone like you, of all people. More importantly, he didn’t realize just how fearful it made him, now that he’d returned to his life of jujutsu sorcery. 

Looking forward to you was jarring, at first—it took Kento a while to get used to not doing everything alone. Though there wasn’t anything he could complain about being by himself—it was his preferred way of life, in the first place—it did start to feel like this was all he would ever do until the light blonde of his hair turned gray. 

But now, he’s making stops at places he never thought he would visit so casually. He’d made a note to get your lunch from the resto you came to during your first date, snagging your favorite drink from the cafe and almost risking his daily commute on the train. Kento was a man with limitations, but he found himself so pleasantly amused when he ran errands for you. It felt like something he would willingly do rather than come home battered and with a gash in his newly dry-cleaned shirt. 

But even that was a part of his life that you gradually took over. Frequent dates turned into visits to each other’s home, then those sporadic visits turned into sleepovers, often falling into a deep slumber after indulging yourselves in meaningful heart-to-hearts. That would soon culminate into calm knocks on your door one night only to reveal Kento practically limping and his side mangled. 

He felt a lump in his throat then, at the look of horror on your usually pleasant face, but he knew he felt like tearing up when you’d been so gentle with his wounds, inquiring him about what went wrong. It didn’t feel correct to answer your question; what happened to him was out of your awareness, the dangers of his job was a secret until it wasn’t. How was he supposed to explain that a humanoid manifestation of humanity’s hatred for each other—a rather ugly one, to be certain—was very close to ending his life, and how incredibly lucky he was to even manage to limp back to you?

Never mind the hatred simmering in Kento’s chest, not when he was too caught off guard by your generosity to even air out his grievances. All that mattered was that he still had you, time to get to know and love you better. He knew he wouldn’t be able to rest easy knowing he’s left you confused and grieving. 

“Just so you know, I wouldn’t have a problem with crawling back to you if I was more injured than this.” He’d murmured once you were close enough to feel his breath fan against your chin. To this day, Kento isn’t sure what prompted him to be so sentimental, all he knew was that he had all the right reasons to lean in and leave a light peck on your lips right after.

Nothing could’ve really prepared him for the following morning, after a night of endless persistence that he could take the latest train back home. 

Kento was more used to bringing his own things when you ask him to stay over, but waking up in the foreign but cozy texture of one of your shirts and a pair of faded sweatpants wasn’t something to complain about. He’d felt his heartbeat spike at the thought of running late to work, but the slight dimness of the room suggested that he’d woken up a bit after dawn broke. 

The firmness of the bandages around his torso paired with the mild soreness of his wounds weren’t exactly the most comfortable, but Kento had managed to pull himself out of his sleeping situation groggily, pushing the door open. He was starting to wonder where you’d gone, despite his prior knowledge of your own early bird tendencies. It instantly warmed his heart to see you bathed in brighter morning light, quietly watching the coffee maker. In his peripherals, he could see his formerly bloodied suit neatly folded on the couch.

At this point, it wasn’t uncommon for the both of you to start your mornings steadily, though there was something different about this particular one. Stillness fell upon your home, with neither of you showing signs of hurrying just yet.The only audible sounds were the whirs of the coffee maker, followed by Kento beelining towards your direction. You looked lovely, with your head perched on your arms, bent down to be at eye level with the machine.

Kento could only huff out an amused sigh, letting one of his hands rest upon your shoulder as an indicator that he was finally awake. Instead of the usual shock that graced your features, it felt as though you were indulging in the light touch. Slowly but surely, you’re leaning back up to rest your back against his chest, your smaller hand wrapping around his that was still perched on your shoulder. 

The weight was so, so comforting, especially when you’d leaned your head against his shoulder, a toothy smile on your lips. Kento thinks you look rather adorable upside-down, he couldn’t help but leave another affectionate kiss on your forehead when you’d whispered, “Good morning, Ken.”

Now the man was completely left unguarded, with a lovely little thing resting against him and the sunlight softly filtering in through the windows. He doesn’t dare pull away, only brings you to face him instead so you’re more comfortable. Perhaps this was growth—he wasn’t irked by the prospect of slowing down with a companion anymore, despite the deep-seated fear of having so much to lose. 

But he could get used to this. A time when he could just bask in his more human side without worrying about work or death, a time when he could just let himself be without the need to explain himself. Because you understood him, you were willing to understand him from the very beginning. All this was possible, because he believed that something good would come out of letting someone like you in.

Kento decides that he likes this sensation and, for once, he would like for it to stay.  

I’m quite good at being domestic and romantic, don’t you think, darling? 

brought to you by MIRUSCENIC © 2025. all rights reserved.

[3amfanfiction]

Simon Finds a Toy

You had just moved to town when the serial killer who was passing through takes a shine to you. Simon/Reader, 3.5k

18+ cw: kidnapping, hobbling, spanking, animal death

March was practically over when everything went wrong.

Running through an abandoned warehouse avoiding bodies was not how you saw your evening going.

When the first of you began disappearing into the dark, no one noticed. You didn't all know each other, it was one of those friend of a friend types of gatherings, with everyone separating into pre-formed cliques within the first hour.

It was a younger guy who had suggested exploring the old building a mile down the road—no surprise there. Per his words, he fancied himself an urban explorer. You hadn't seen him since the beginning, one of the first to go missing.

You weren't even supposed to be here tonight! You'd just moved into town and you were trying to make friends. When the pretty girl at the bakery invited you to hang out, you thought you were good. That maybe life wasn't so hard and setting down roots wasn't impossible.

Stupid—tempting the universe like that.

Whoever this guy was, he was massive. The kind of massive where if he barreled into you, you would be pancaked. You had watched him take a bear of a man (Jeremy? Jason? Maybe—all you can remember is he said he was a footballer) out half an hour ago—lifted, bent, and broken all in one smooth, brutal move.

It was as awe-inspiring as it was fear-inducing.

So you run.

You run and you hide until you're backed into a corner. He's found every other person and now it's your turn. You're bleeding and bruised, aching where you slammed into sharp corners and machinery in the dark.

This is it, the climax of your story, is anyone surprised that you run your mouth a little? You don't hold back as you tell him everything you think about him, every new fucked up thing this evening had presented, every grievance ever buried down under the veneer of civility.

Why is he just staring? You're caught, nowhere to go, and he's just … looking. He's got shark eyes—pools of inky black that suck you in. Drowning.

He decides to take you home with him.

This has to be a joke.

///

April brings cruelty in it's change, where you're expected to learn the shape of the season.

Stop messing with these knots or you won't like the consequences.

How were you supposed to know this is what he meant? He said it exactly once; the first night in the truck when he hopped out after hours of driving just to find you with the rope halfway undone, eyes glaring at him from above your gag.

He grunted out his warning while retying it, calm as you please, as if it wasn't a bother to him one way or the other.

Looking back at it he was probably hoping you would ignore the warning, the psychopath.

The next morning he had to tighten them again after your long night spent fiddling but he didn't say anything—just adjusted the knots and walked back around to continue the drive. He hadn't stopped that day other than for gas and one bathroom break on the side of a cracked and potholed back road, where if there had been any traffic, they would've gotten quite the show.

He didn't even have the decency to take you into the trees.

You had gotten one hand completely out of the hog tie by the time you two reached your destination; this little tin-roofed shed with just enough room for him to pull all the way in and close the doors behind him was the only building you'd seen in hours.

He doesn't address your unbound hand—simply refastens it into the tie while ignoring how you had removed the cloth gag with your partial freedom. What follows is the culmination of days worth of you sitting in enforced silence, thinking up every creative thing you could call him. Unfortunately he ignores you cussing him out, and throws you over his shoulder to begin his trek through the woods.

He doesn't seem to mind you screaming your head off, at least other than making sure you don't do it directly in his ear. That got a sharp adjustment of your torso across his shoulder; your grunting wheeze in response not very demure.

Now you're here—staring at your hands. Or rather, your thumbs and where they were taped in little braces to stop you from moving them. Sweat and dirt making the skin itch beneath the bandages.

He told you you wouldn't like the consequences. He TOLD you. Did you think he was lying?

Well—kind of, yeah. What sort of monster breaks someone's thumbs?

Your stare turns into a glare, unseeing of anything around you until a heavy hand landing on your shoulder makes you jerk in surprise.

"Leave it, pet. No use thinking on it now," is grumbled down at you before he huffs in something resembling amusement as you lean sideways, trying to get out from underneath his grasp.

You've been waiting for the day when he loses his patience and murders you too, but it hasn't happened yet. Maybe he finds it entertaining when you act like a kicked dog around him.

Which is a funny thought considering he has a dog that damn near idolizes him.

He ignores him most of the time—takes care to feed and water him but that's the extent. No scratches behind the ear, no tummy rubs, no kisses between the ears. As if you needed another reason to hate this guy.

You watch him put together three plates, two in bowls and one on some kind of wooden board. You snort to yourself when you think of this guy enjoying a charcuterie board, ignoring him when he cocks an eyebrow back at you, waiting for an explanation that won't come.

At least you've gotten better at keeping your expression blank when he sets the two bowls on the floor, before taking his charcuterie board wanna-be into the dining room.

Asshole.

///

May saw flowers blooming and lessons learned.

You have use of your thumbs again. That's a win.

Puttering around this stupid cabin is driving you insane. You've learned a few things since you've been here—his name is Simon, he's military, he murders people in his free time, and his dog's name is Dog.

Fucking. Psychopath.

You're not allowed outside. Simon had told you this as he was unwrapping your thumbs for the last time, break yer ankles if ya even try f'r the door. So you don't. You make your displeasure known in other ways, pushing to see where the lines are, so you know where to press to cause the most damage.

He annoyingly stoic. Nothing you say seems to get a rise out of him and other than breaking an established rule—don't touch the rope, don't go outside, don't try and stab him with a kitchen knife—he leaves you to your own devices.

He's always around, hovering. He responds if you talk to him civilly, ignores you if you scream at him, and bends you over his knee if you start swinging.

The cup you threw at his head was ugly anyways.

You screamed yourself hoarse that first time he pulled you across his lap, other leg pinning yours down with a forearm pressed between your shoulder blades. You thrashed but could barely move, well and truly immobilized.

You began pleading as your pants were pulled down, begging him not to touch you, telling him you were sorry. He acted like he couldn't hear you.

The first slap was more shocking than anything. Your voice caught on a hiccup of air as his palm made contact, the fat around his strike rippling. You don't get a moment to process before he's smacked you three more times, alternating cheeks.

Eons later, after he's reached whatever preconceived end he had decided on, you're a limp, sobbing mess, your face pressed into the cushions, great gasping sobs rolling their way out of your chest.

He cleans your face before applying cooling balm to your skin and that was a greater gut punch than the spanking had been. He doesn't get to be both—he doesn't get to hit you over and over again and then hold the tissue while you blow your nose. You can't handle him being both.

You don't sit comfortably for days and a new rule is created—don't throw things inside the cabin.

///

You're allowed to eat at the table with him now, no more guarding your bowl from Dog who was surprisingly nimble. Simon and Dog have the same conversational aptitude so at least you can eat in peace.

That's another good thing he has going for him (are you going to go to hell for thinking of good qualities in a murderer?) he never stints on portion sizes.

You were quite pleased to realize you had stayed delightfully soft over the past couple of months. Locked in the cabin as you are, the only exercise you've gotten was for your tongue, which had been honed razor sharp by this point with the vitriol that never seemed to cause as much damage as intended.

He was a decent cook too. Nothing insane, his meals were basic and limited by what he had stored in his kitchen and cellar, but you hadn't had a bad meal yet.

He left sometimes to restock. Or for other excursions. When it came time for him to leave you would be moved to the bedroom, regardless of how much you kicked and snarled, and a leg chain would be connected to a hook under the bed.

Those days were some of the worst. If he noticed the salt encrusting the pillows when he eventually returned he never said anything.

///

June saw the temperatures rise, tensions following suit.

You don't like to think about the start of summer.

You had a nervous breakdown one day when the heat was intense. Simon had gone to pick up food and he had left you unchained. You were standing in the living room, looking at the front door, free to walk through it whenever you wanted.

So why were you standing here?

Simon would be upset if you left the cabin. It was one of the rules, don't go outside, that you were supposed to follow. There were consequences if you didn't follow the rules.

You ignored the tremble in your knees as your fingernails dug crescents into your palms, the door taunting you with its presence. You could do it; you should do it. Run. Get away, get to the police, have him thrown in jail.

You were going insane, you were losing your mind. Was any of this even real? Why were you still standing here?

In an attempt to get yourself out of the standstill you were in, you forced yourself to take a few trembling steps . . .

. . . towards the kitchen where you got yourself a glass of water, and ignored the door behind you that was taunting you by calling your name.

You taught Dog a few tricks instead.

Nothing crazy—sit, lay down, shake. Still, you were pretty proud. Something good came out of this.

You didn't make eye contact with Simon for a week once he was back.

///

July is sunburns and fingermarks left where you touch him.

All you see is Simon, he's all you talk to (that sometimes talks back), all you hear. Was it any surprise you said fuck it?

You remembered reading something once that said humans required touch, if they didn't get it they'd go crazy. Heh. Maybe that was what happened to Simon, living up here in this cabin, hard to find anybody to touch.

So you bend first; you always bend first with Simon. Every day with him was a yielding in one way or another. You're not sure if you even know how to stand upright any longer.

It starts with a pat on the shoulder.

He had brought you back a puzzle book from his last murder spree. Some giant workbook with a dozen different types of puzzles. If you had any dignity left it would've been lost at how excited you got for that stupid book.

So, you thanked him. You took the book, patted him on the shoulder, and then went to sit at the table to play with your new entertainment. Simple, simple, simple.

So explain how you ended up here.

Don't swallow, keep your throat open for me, don't you fucking swallow—fuck, fuck, fuck.

///

August was a sticky heat and you were careful not to dig too deep.

You had to butcher your first animal at the end of the summer months.

Simon was out on a short trip when the dog caught a fox. He came dragging it in just like his papa, proud of the innocent blood dripping from between his jaws, his own muzzle bleeding where sharp teeth and claws had sank in.

When you pried it from his teeth, you realized the fox was still breathing, little heart thrumming against your fingertips, vibrating at an almost continuous hum.

The dog's fangs had punctured its stomach. Organs and muscles ruptured and bleeding. Another mark in the 'just like papa' column. Not decent enough to kill cleanly. Have to play in it, enjoy it.

You knew what you needed to do but still you hesitated. Weren't you going to attempt to save it? It was what you would've done before. Before Simon, before this cabin, before the nightmares.

One hand held it firmly, keeping it from attacking out of fear or pain while you softly dragged the other through the damp fur of its back, attempting some sort of comfort.

You could see yourself in it; living your life with your own sharp little teeth as protection until something bigger came along. Something that saw you and decided you would taste best in its maw, your blood coating its throat.

It drug you as a prize back to its home, uncaring of the blood you leaked on the floor, the bile you spit at its feet. You wondered if it would hurt less, to be the dog.

You did the fox a favor when you sliced its neck. No more pain.

///

September saw the leaves changing and witnessed your further plummet into Simon's orbit.

He had been home for weeks. Continuously. No little camping trips, no missions, nothing. He was beyond pissed but it was his own damn fault for getting stabbed in the leg.

You had cackled when he came limping in, blood oozing through the fabric he'd tied tightly around the wound. Looks like his latest quarry had sharper teeth than he realized. Good for them.

Stitching him up was repugnant—he laughed in your face when you gagged at the blood that coated you up to your forearms and were thankful to wrap him up and be done with it so you could bathe. The blood left a stubborn stain under your fingernails for days.

After weeks of him following you around—touching you constantly, sticking his fingers in your mouth or in your cunt whenever he liked, eating the food you made for yourself—you were fit to burst.

Go find your next plaything, just get him out of my hair!

///

October saw the trees shedding their leaves, their bare branches showing through. It saw you without a mask of your own.

You were allowed outside when Simon was home. It had been such a subtle decline, you thinking of escaping, that you didn't notice its absence until now, when you were watching the cold sun create shadows on the ground with no desire to wander farther than the front porch.

You were allowed outside, you were no longer chained up when he left, you could leave. You could pack a bag, pick a direction, and walk. For however long you needed to.

But.

It was getting colder at night. You'd be out there for days if not weeks before you found a road to follow if you were lucky. Plus you had no idea which direction to go. What if you ended up deeper in the mountains?

What if you continued to lie to make yourself feel better?

///

November saw the winds begin to howl with your feral side howling along, music in the dark.

Simon was gone—getting the last of his energy out before you were snowed into the cabin with the winter storms that were starting up. The eerie howling having long become a background echo in your ears.

Dog had been acting strange all day. Staring out the windows, growling at the door, barking when the trees brushed the roof. You'd let him out to check several times but he always came back inside after circling the cabin.

Strange.

The sun had almost set when you saw movement outside the window, a dark mass moving between the trees, too deep in the dusk to make out.

Dog hadn't come back yet from his last perimeter check, leaving you alone inside the cabin. You watched out the window for several long moments, only hearing the wind moving through the trees.

A loud bang on the opposite side of the cabin had you looking away from the window with a start; when you looked back after a few short seconds, the shape was gone—faded back into the trees.

Your heart pounded in your chest, mouth drying up and palms becoming damp. You ducked out of sight of the window and creeped into the kitchen, pulling one of Simon's knives out of the knife block.

One benefit to living with a serial killer, the knives were always in pristine condition. You knew if you needed to stab someone, this knife would be slicing through them like butter.

Pressing into a corner, your mind spun in rapid circles. Who was that outside? How did they find the cabin? Were they there to hurt you? Dog never came back in. What if they murdered him and left his body to rot in the leaves? Dog was a good boy, he didn't deserve that.

You gripped the knife tightly, steadying your nerves. You weren't going to be the victim again. You'd been there, done that and you knew how it played out. When (if you told yourself, it might not happen, they might leave, there might not be anyone out there) they came through the door, you would defend yourself. If someone came through that door, it means they killed Dog and they would be coming for you.

You took a deep breath while wedged into the corner with the door firmly in sight, holding your shaking knife in front of you, ready to attack. You would do it. If they thought you wouldn't, they were about to be too dead to relearn.

The door opened between one heartbeat and the next, the wind's grasping fingers catching, causing it to slam back against the wall, a dark hulking mass standing on the doorstep. You pounced, screaming like a wild thing, knife flashing through the air. They snatched your wrist and wrenched it behind your back, kicking the knife away.

Thought we were past this, pet.

Oh. It's just Simon.

The following let down had your body shaking like you'd spent all night out in the cold. Tremors wracked you from head to toe as you tried not to think about how readily you'd been to commit murder.

The last few moments replayed in your head as you breathed in a steady manner, attempting to regain control of your body. It's only Simon, it's only Simon you repeat to yourself, self soothing, it's only Si—what?

Since when had the fact that it was Simon been comforting? Have you forgotten what he did to you?

No, of course not. You hadn't forgotten. You knew Simon wasn't the good guy of the story. You were simply happy for the devil you knew . . . right?

///

December saw the snow begin to fall, walls following suit.

Simon finished last minute preparations around the cabin, within ears reach all day, every day. You spent a lot of time trailing after him, watching him work. Helping occasionally when he'd hold out nails for you to pass him as needed, or holding a board steady as he cut.

You asked him questions—things you hadn't bothered wondering before, how long have you lived up here, do you have any family, what do you do for your job?

He answered truthfully, as far as you could tell. It made you offer pieces of yourself in return.

///

January saw the snow pack everything in, forced proximity tightening bonds.

You and Simon spent all day together, every day. He never ran out of stories to tell you about his past mission or murdering sprees. Listening to him talk, you realized he really did get rid of the annoying ones first. A strange thought to have with no feelings attached—you didn't even notice their absence.

///

February was dark. February was cold. Hadn't it always been you and Simon?

///

March saw the snow melting, the sun waking earlier each day. When Simon left to stretch his legs, March saw a second body following along behind him.

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[affogato-analysis]

Caitlyn as a symptom of Piltover’s violence

No because i need to throw hands with both her haters and lovers.

Mass spoilers for Arcane, season 1 & 2, for every characters.

(post is like 2k words)

(small edit it's been five hours and you guys are so kind and positive?? i love you so much, the conversations are so fun! the reblogs i see u and ily, my ego is soaring! i got more arcane rants coming if u wanna tag along idk lmao)

(thanks a lot is all i mean to say)

Was what Caitlyn did in season 2 act 1 terrible? yes. Does that make her a terrible person? debatable. Is she the best girl ever and above any criticism? also no what the fuck.

What happens to Caitlyn, essentially, is that she loses her mother and burns for justice and vengeance, and is willing to do all she can to reach her goal. Which is not an uncommon arc in Arcane, to be willing to burn it all for your family and getting overwhelmed by anger and loss.

The main difference is the scale and power dynamics. Because the chembarons have their shimmer, Vi has her gauntlets, Powder and Jinx have bombs, Silco and Vander have allies but they quite match each other when it comes to power until the very end.

So why is Caitlyn’s case so apart from the others? Here’s the thesis: Caitlyn is a symptom and the harm she causes is a consequence of Piltover’s domination over Zaun. I will argue for it thank you.

The main characteristic of Caitlyn, in the context of Piltover leading a targeted assault on Zaun, is that she is the one with power. Caitlyn is, first and foremost, a Kiramman. The show’s explicit about the power of the name, because with the name comes respectability, status, wealth. The Kiramman family is a powerful one, that’s why Ambessa chooses her above Salo. Both Cait and Salo have enough hatred for the Undercity to follow her lead if she plays her cards right, but Caitlyn, even if not officially appointed, has the power to exist in the Council’s room. Salo is nothing beyond the Council — and while it gives him power, his own family or personal entreprises are irrelevant enough that we do not know of them — while Caitlyn is powerful even without the Council — she does bypass every standard enforcers recruitment procedures to get Vi in, and thus we are told that she is one of the most important if not the main funder of the enforcers. In a state holding its peace through sheer violence and constant repression (especially after Jinx’s rocket), if one private actor owns your police force, you are at that actor’s mercy (which, yes, does turn on Cait when Ambessa’s soldiers take over).

Most importantly for us, the Kiramman hold one monopoly of power over Zaun. A vital need of Zaun they are the only ones to answer. Yes, we’re talking about the vent system. Caitlyn, in her anger and in her determination to do whatever it takes to get to Jinx, is willing to use every power she has. That includes her rifle and her aim, when she takes the shot at Jinx despite Isha and Vi standing in between, but also the vent system.

And as we’ve said, Caitlyn is going through a fairly usual character arc in Arcane of becoming a monster for love, for family, only to be brought back by love and family (Vander i’m looking at you) (and then that culminated into nothing to serve Viktor’s character arc tihi) (i mean it when i say Caitlyn has an amazing arc). It just so happens that Caitlyn owns Zaunites’ right to breathe. Is it immoral to weaponize it? Absolutely, and we can deplore the lack of political repercussions on the Kiramman in the show but that’s a more general criticism: the audience and the Zaunites are expected to just forgive Piltover to ally against Noxus. We can have sincere grievances about that (i do, and a lot of caitlyn hate comes from there from what i’ve seen) but it’s not a Caitlyn exclusive problem.

The thing is, Caitlyn’s weaponizing of the vent system isn’t the root of Piltover’s oppression or of enforcers’ violence. It’s a symptom of this violence. Cait can weaponize the vents because she owns them, because Zaun’s clean air is her possession. Because Zaun’s vital needs are dependent on Piltover. Cait doesn’t even realize just how much she’s hurting Zaun. She knows she’s gassing them but, and to her credit, it’s a fairly targeted assault (what Cait is doing isn’t terrorism!) but she is a reminder that whatever little fresh air they have, it’s still a mercy from Piltover. Piltover engineers a problem and a solution and holds that solution above Zaun’s head to silence their protest. This is domination, this is the root of that vent system being oppression still: the Kiramman hold Zaun’s air hostage and it took two mourning girls for that hand to cut off the air flow.

Caitlyn makes herself an enforcer of that violence in her grief, and that’s the symptom of a deeply ingrained disease. The root of that disease is always, always the inequalities between Piltover and Zaun.

The violence is the symptom of a system that is critically failing, repression means your governing body is illegitimate, weaponizing clean air is oppression to its finest.

To argue this point a bit further, we’re gonna circle back to Silco and Vander and how their power dynamic influences their behaviors and how their power struggle drives the entire undercity.

Vander and Silco both benefit from powerful allies. Vander has Grayson, Benzo and his position as bartender of the Last Drop makes him a valued member of the Undercity for Zaunites. Silco has Singed, Sevika and an entire network himself. They are two pillars of Zaun, creating a status quo that they work to maintain (at least their own position of domination) while furthering their own goals: Vander wants to raise his kids, Silco wants the independence of Zaun. Two vastly different sets of goals admittedly and that’s what leads them to reach out to vastly different individuals to help maintain it. Vander seeks out Grayson with whom he strikes a deal, while Silco allies with Singed for shimmer.

And when power suddenly shifts, when the right conditions appear, when the status quo is shaken, that’s when Silco asserts his power over Vander and his domination over the Undercity. Vander is put in a vulnerable position (his deal with Grayson isn’t enough anymore and he’s arrested) and Silco seizes the opportunity, deploys a power he has a monopoly over (shimmer). And after Silco wins against Vander, he can deploy his power over all of Zaun.

The status quo between Piltover and Zaun is constantly imbalanced. Piltover has already won at the beginning of the show and has been asserting, over and over again, through violence and in an abusive fashion, its domination on the Undercity. Caitlyn is like Silco in that comparison, she uses a power over which she has a monopoly (vent instead shimmer), in an unbalanced situation that puts her in the situation of the oppressor.

(And facing her, there is someone who is willing to turn that power against her. Just like Vander using Shimmer to protect his children, Sevika and Jinx using the vents for their own colorful clouds.)

Cait isn’t a poor innocent victim of circumstances but you have to acknowledge context and, in a show where parallels are so frequent, you can’t pretend she’s a completely unique character going through a completely unique arc completely unrelated to anyone else. If you hate her, hate a lot of other people too!

And, as is typical in Arcane, characters are monsters for love, and brought back by love.

And Caitlyn’s arc shows that! Past arc 1, she was lost. Vi had left, Jayce was missing, her mother was still dead even if after all she did, her father was a shadow of himself, the only one she had was Ambessa who was fueling her vendetta to further her own colonialist agenda. Suddenly she was alone, serving as a puppet on top of a pile of gold and too much power she couldn’t control. She can’t call back the gas once it’s out after all, she can’t call back the martial law Ambessa installed now that the resentment is growing in Zaun and that Ambessa is the one holding the reins of enforcers.

That’s why her switching sides was so immediate: when Vi calls her cupcake, she brings the girl forth, before the monster. She gives her love and Cait latches onto it, and uses it to pull herself away from that trap she walked right in. “Why does anyone commit acts others deem unspeakable? For love” & “Is there anything as undoing as a daughter?”: love is forever the way in and out of hate.

I am very disappointed that we never got a proper conclusion to the tensions between Zaun and Piltover. I wish we had witnessed negotiations between Ekko/Sevika/Jinx/a representative of Zaun and the Council, I wish they had gotten control of the vent system, promises of fair trade, independence, something. I wish Caitlyn had been made to apologize and deliver herself the keys to the vent system to Zaunites. I wish for a lot of things about the political resolution in season 2 and the show did not go how i wanted it to. Does deviating from what I wanted inherently make the show bad? No, although I do think it wasn’t the greatest this time around.

I however can not talk shit about the character arcs. Not all are as well crafted as Caitlyn but i will take no more Caitlyn slander on the basis of “she’s a fascist!”. 1- that’s not what fascism is, although she did walk a line close by; 2- she’s a symptom of oppression, and by reproducing she makes herself an agent of it. She weaponises Zaun’s air because she can because she’s in power because she’s the heiress to the Kiramman. Doesn’t make what she’s doing less harmful, but it has to be treated in context. Caitlyn is still a twenty something grieving girl with her entire world shaken up, she just so happens to also be the heiress to an extremely wealthy and powerful family in an oppressive system and every path that opens to her, in the midst of her hatred, brings her to reproduce that domination in the most efficient way she has access to: the vents and the enforcers.

And, yes, by reproducing domination she is also an engineer of it. It’s important to acknowledge that what she's done is bad to put it simply, but do not denature her character to fit a conception of her that is easy to hate. I will put part of the blame on internalized misogyny too, as it pushes us to have less leniency and tolerance for women’s mistakes. No because I haven’t seen half that much hate towards Silco who, reminder, made the Undercity kneel by giving them severe shimmer addiction (engineering an issue and making himself the sole owner of the solution while maintaining it as a form of domination, everyone see where i’m going with this?).

Again, do I wish we’d seen more of the political consequences on Caitlyn of that? Yep, absolutely. But I will not blindly hate on her while ignoring the global context of her actions and I invite you to do the same.

Tell me, do you hate Jinx for her so-called terrorist acts or do you see them as part of resistance against Piltover? You can not see the context when you like it only i’m afraid, and, in an unprecedented show of nuance for the internet, we can understand context and acknowledge moral complexity and still hate someone.

Hate Caitlyn if you want, but do it in a constructed way so we can argue together please! I need to talk about this show so badly, please hate the enforcers and the change in Cait’s character but do so in a well-argued fashion, i beg of you.

[utilitycaster]

Here’s my C3 hot take: I think Matt just messed up. I think att just didn’t do a good job DMing this one, and I’m sad but I don’t think the players could have solved the problems entirely on their own. The lack of a session zero makes no sense, but more to the point I think Matt just has to much Catholic Trauma tm to have told this story. His blind spot to religion v. Personal worship in his world building is to big to stick this one. His excitement about the culmination of these narratives after 9 years made him play story beats to close to his chest looking to surprise and shock his players, and also, because he was so tied to it, he didn’t pivot, or change the story to guide the players through. The pacing, especially at the beginning feels like he was entirely to excited to get to the clever plot.

Honestly… and this makes me sad, a lot of the issues feel like he sort of started believing his own mythology. I am so happy for him to be self confident but this all feels like a story guided by someone who thinks their terribly clever and so don’t have to rely on the same level of hard work, collaboration, prep, planning etc. of previous works (and also wanted to be novel, I just think of their original campaign announcement where they said “anything might happen” and sigh a little).

My bit of hope? That’s a really easy thing to come back from! I hope they reflect and improve going forward!

p.s. this isn’t to say the others couldn’t have made things BETTER, they could have, for sure.

Hi anon,

I disagree with most of this. Most crucially, this is not the form of campaign I think would come of Catholic religious trauma. Matt's mentioned he was raised nominally Catholic but he's also mentioned his parents were artists, hippies, and D&D players, and he seems to be on pretty good terms with them. I think this is a vast overstep on your part that came from basically nowhere, especially since the logical outcome of a Catholic Trauma campaign would in fact be one that actually did portray Vasselheim as a vast controlling force within the world regulating the worship of the gods across it. A pretty massive hole in the worldbuilding, at least as this campaign demands we see it, is that we really haven't seen religion as an oppressive force except in one highly specific case, and even that was spearheaded by mortals and not the gods and is indistinguishable from a purely political land grab. Like, the blind spot you mention is actually a sign that he was not raised particularly religious; someone who was raised strictly Catholic would be extremely aware of religion as a highly organized hierarchy with clear rules and a vast worldwide network and not "a few missionaries who didn't kill anyone or even forcibly convert anyone, Vasselheim seen as a good meeting spot for a worldwide conference, and Ludinus's grievances are all highly personal." Like, the Catholic Trauma version of Exandria has Vasselheim at war with the Empire for their banning of half of the prime deities, or going full Inquisition/Crusade on Hearthdell.

I want to be clear: when I accuse fans of projecting religious trauma it's because they outright have said shit like "I always like when a narrative kills the gods bc I'm a white southerner who was raised Christian". I do not say it just because they are affiliated with a specific religious denomination.

I also don't think the issue is so much believing his own mythology as much as the one major correct thing you said, which is the lack of not just a session zero but a heavy hand in character development, coupled with a very specific plot he wanted for this campaign. Campaign 1 worked because he tailored a campaign heavily to the interests and stories of the characters, and built a world around them. Campaign 2 similarly allowed for that same give-and-take; characters like Trent and Uk'otoa and Marion and the Gentleman came from the backstories the players came up with. Some of the players' ideas were changed as part of that heavier hand in character creation. The guidance for that campaign (morally gray and complex) was actually accurate, and when the characters took a sharp turn away from the planned story, Matt was able to pivot quite gracefully.

The problem really is that it's clear Matt had a very developed vision of this campaign and didn't realize that the characters of Bells Hells largely failed to fit within it. I don't think hard work wasn't done (I think there was in fact a TON of prep that we haven't seen, eg, I 100% believe Matt has an extensive amount of work done on Otohan, Ozo Cruth, Marquet, the Apex War, etc that Bells Hells simply did not see); I think, in fact, that like three hours of work that probably would have resulted in scrapping or drastically changing the characters to fit the intended story would have fixed the vast majority of problems here. It is only, frankly, because the characters are such a bad fit that the issues we're talking about (little establishment of organized religion vs. personal practice) even became issues! But it's literally that - it's not realizing that even a longform campaign can live or die on character creation. It might even be that too much prep was done ahead of time and he was too unwilling to abandon it.

[pikahlua]

I mean at least with ochako, deku and shouto the author had them fight with the intention to try to save or understand himiko, tomura and touya. These characters were constructed under this little idea. But at the end none of them managed to do it and all the villains died as villains anyway and the ones that lived didn't change and afterwards the author decided to show a random kid being helped by an old lady as the proof of hero society changing or something. It felt cheap to me i guess.

"fight with the intention to try to save or understand himiko, tomura and touya" "But at the end none of them managed to do it"

...Do...do you really think they didn't manage to understand Himiko, Tomura, and Touya? Why? Why do you think that? I don't know how it could have been any clearer that understanding was achieved??

And I'm very concerned about this notion that "saving" these villains means they don't die and after surviving they completely change. Like, I'm sorry, but this confuses me the most about people who claim to be fans of the villains when they imply things like this. Think about what this would mean. Somehow these villains' grievances with society should have all been immediately and completely resolved and they change their tune like "Oops, guess I was wrong about everything ever! I love society now! Everything that happened to me was justified and I should never have complained! The heroes were right all along and I was just being silly! I will take steps for improving myself and rejoining this society that I used to hate because I mistakenly thought it wronged me!" Maybe that's not how you truly expected it to play out, but if Izuku, Ochako, and Shouto managed to talk-no-jutsu their villains in one go out of being villains, it would absolutely have come across that way. It would have been the message behind the culmination in Izuku and everyone "becoming the greatest heroes." It would have said yes, the status quo is good and correct, and people should just open up to the right people before they become villains and then they wouldn't be a problem for everybody.

What we get instead is the heroes coming to an understanding of what their villains' grievances are (again, why do you think this didn't happen?) and showing those villains that yes, there is at least one person in the world who understands them and wants to give them hope, that wants to make their lives easier. Tomura and Himiko both die with hope in their hearts. A piece of darkness inside each of the three of them is resolved by their respective heroes. Touya is granted his last wish to talk things out with his family before he dies. Himiko is faced with the question of incarceration or death, and she chooses death as a means of staying true to herself (i.e. her desire to never be caught, to live and die as she wants to). She also is able to live this new form of "love" in giving her blood to Ochako as she goes out. In destroying himself, Tomura also destroys the man who used him and was responsible for the existence of "that house" that represented all his trauma. Tomura also left a legacy for Spinner to continue in his absence and a question for Izuku to observe of society in the aftermath (which is why we see that moment with the old lady, who represented the legitimate grievance Tomura had with the society that failed to save him from AFO). All the villains maintain their LEGITIMATE grievances with society and refuse to bend to society's wishes, and thus their points, their ideals, their legacies live on. They endure within the hearts of others who are aggrieved by society, and they leave a stark impact on the heroes who couldn't change them. That's how we get Ochako dedicating her life to children's welfare. That's how we get Izuku telling all children they can be heroes whether or not they become pro heroes in the law enforcement system. That's how we get Shouto living a life where he can be and discover himself separate from the tainted legacy of his father. The lessons they take from their villains stay in their hearts forever because they are failures. Their failure was the point. They aren't perfect, they can't save everyone by themselves, they have to dedicate their lives to being the change society needs if they want to save more people, and their failures guide them in the directions where they can make that sort of impact.

Believe it or not, Crimson Riot says it best...

Yeah, that's right, the message has been prevalent in the story for a long time. It didn't come out of no where.

If the message feels cheap to you, I implore you (and EVERYONE) to engage in a thought exercise. Genuinely, try to imagine that someone in the world other than you finds the message of this story as not cheap but as earnest and meaningful and robust. Now imagine why this person would think that. What evidence is there in the manga that they would use to support it? What meaning would they derive from this ending? Try to understand the opposite point of view. Try to honestly engage with the text in this way. Horikoshi devoted a decade of his life to telling this story. Sure, some of it probably suffered from bad editing and weird changes due to elongating the story at times. It was a big story with a giant cast, and that can be a lot for any one person to manage perfectly over the course of 10 years. Maybe there are parts of the story that aren't as tight or clean as they could be. But, in good faith, please try to imagine WHY Horikoshi felt this story needed to be told. Try to imagine what message Horikoshi wanted to convey that matters to him. Don't just dismiss the ending out of hand because it doesn't immediately click for you. I think it's great you asked me about it, and I hope my answer gives you more to think about.

[afyrian]

ch. 1 - grievances and clay m.list

    the sun's rays permeate the shop's front window. it lingers in the room as the dust particles float throughout. you stare at the clay bowl in front of you. something about it seems off; the rim looks a little wavy, maybe there's not enough space at the bottom of the bowl. although grabbing out your measuring tape and your template don't seem to reveal either of those issues.

  even when you stare intently at it, your elbows resting on your knees, hands clasped in front of you, you can't see it. it looks so different and yet so similar to that of the other bowls. biting your lip, you stuff your earbuds in and let the nearly deafening song block out everything that's distracting you. 

  the light construction on the front of the store, the people lining up for onigiri miya, your lousy morning when trying to park. everything culminates into a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions as you push the wheel's pedal. it spins rapidly and you can finally see what the issue is, the base of the bowl is slightly too large. 

  to most, it wouldn't be noticeable, especially if they only saw this one. however, you can't help but immediately wet your hands and run them up the inside and outside of the bowl. pushing in slightly, you bob your head to the music, letting your free foot tap aimlessly against the vinyl flooring. 

  this moment, this morning routine is the only thing keeping you together right now. even with the slip on your forehead, drops on the floor that need cleaning, and the mess on your clothes, it's the greatest thing you've ever learned to do. it's relaxing (sometimes) and gives you a chance to think things over, it's your alone time-

  just as you find yourself happy with the bowl, someone's knocking at the back door. your eyebrows furrow slightly, gaze flickering to the clock. it's ten o'clock, your shipment of a new wheel was supposed to be coming. you groan slightly, shaking your head. you don't even have time to remove the bowl from the wheel as you rush for the door.

  you pull out your earbuds, setting them on a nearby table. pretty much everything within the shop has dried clay on it, another deep cleaning day coming. even the door handle has spots of clay on it, more caking on as you open the door, "hello?"

  "yeah, i'm here with your shipment, i've been told we need to bring it inside. this is the correct address for the pottery wheel, yes?"

  "yeah it is, thank you. i almost forgot it was coming in this morning!" you try to laugh off your poor time management, your smile falling as the delivery man keeps his stubborn frown in the same space. 

  "okay, haru, let's get that wheel out.." he grumbles to his younger coworker, slowly walking to the back of the moving truck.

  you bite your lip, taking in the fresh air. some mornings you get in at five and stay there until the end of the day. stepping outside and smelling food cooking, hearing the birds chirp, it is rather comforting. the only thing ruining it is the sound of a drill running. of customers out front raving about the reviews of onigiri miya.

  blocking it out some, you look around the back area of the shops, noticing another delivery truck nearby. it's emptying out fresh veggies and stored boxes of what you assume to be meat. you narrow your eyes, not even noticing the man standing beside you. he follows your eye sight and wonders why you're staring at it, his head slightly tilted.

  "everything okay?"

  "oh yeah- oh.. uh yeah, just wondering what they're delivering for the new restaurant," you barely look at him, not noticing his cap and apron, his arms crossed over his chest. 

  “you could just ask you know,” he leans towards you slightly, giving you a smile.

  only now do you give him a once over. he’s rather tall, his hair hidden from a baseball cap. some grey streaks escape from the bottom of the hat… onigiri miya’s logo embroidered into the front. your eyes open a little wider as you finally look him in his eyes. they’re grey, matching his hair and the monochrome look of his outfit. the only thing sitting out is an old rag on his shoulder.

  “oh you work there?”

  “i mean, you could say it, it’s my restaurant,” he shrugs his shoulders, looking back at the truck, gaze moving back towards you some, “hi, i’m miya osamu.”

  your lips part slightly, a few things running through your mind. firstly, he looks quite young to be owning his own restaurant. secondly, he watched you stare down his ingredients like you’re hardcore judging him. and thirdly, he keeps looking at you like some enigma. a mystery for him to solve and understand. 

  part of you wants to immediately tell him off for the loud noises and long lines and the odd look. however, a frog gets caught in your throat and attacking him makes your hands sweat, “uh you are? that’s- good for you. i’m l/n y/n, i own the earthen kiln, the pottery shop. i’m surprised you’ve opened your shop before the front is finished.”

  “yeah, thank you. due to the costs of improvements, i wanted to get opened quickly,” osamu looks over at you, noticing you looking at your own moving guys, them slowly bringing a large box down from the truck.

  “yeah that’s.. understandable. honestly, it can be rather loud at times, the construction and all of the customers. my customers preferred the quiet pace of the last restaurant…” you take in a deep breath, not wanting to make eye contact with your new neighbor.

  he nods slowly, unable to tell if you can see or not. osamu understands they’re loud, his customers can definitely hear that, but there isn’t much he can do. not until everything is finished and secure, “right, well they shouldn’t be too much longer. but i should be heading back inside to help finish cooking for the lunch rush.”

  “i have a class soon as a well.. just make sure you get your customers to calm down some,” you finally get a good look at his eyes, hoping it comes across as more than just a joke, your tone trying to stay lighthearted.

  “you do? well, this may help you look a little more professional,” osamu grabs the rag from his shoulder and bring it up to your forehead, wiping off the clay you had somehow gotten on there, “but of course it’s a pottery class, so that probably doesn’t matter much to them.”

  you can feel your heartbeat quicken as he reaches over, his finger touching your hair and upper forehead. however, you can’t help but feel like you could’ve been more assertive. to tell him just how much you dislike the constant noise, how it worries your typical customers for the future. but for now, the joking and unusual interactions will be enough.

a/n: so much happier with this :D hopefully you guys like it taglist: @causenessus @osakis-gf @eggyrocks @brkfclub @marisabel14

@bbybibi @etoiile @miyamoratsumuu @girlokarina @gsyche

@cherrypieyourface @zephestia

[starsreminisce]

ACOSF could have foreshadowed a rejected mating bond, a fake bond, or even a two-mates theory if SJM had chosen to explore those possibilities with Neris, simply by canonizing a mating bond between Eris and Nesta.

For the two-mates theory, SJM could have had both Eris and Nesta experience two mates each. For instance, Eris could have a confirmed bond with Mor and later develop a second bond with Nesta. Similarly, Nesta could have had both bonds snap simultaneously, giving her a choice between two mates. Eris’s situation would then prove that a second bond can manifest without requiring significant passage of time.

Mor and Nesta could have mended their grievances more effectively, particularly if they both shared Eris as a mate. Mor could then have shared her reasons for rejecting the bond. This setup could have also demonstrated that mating bonds don't necessarily involve the same three individuals. For example, Nesta wouldn’t be mates with Mor, nor would Eris be mates with Cassian. Instead, their second mates could be entirely different individuals.

For a rejected bond, SJM could have written Eris as Nesta’s mate, rejected in favor of Cassian. This would have proved that love does trump over the mating bond.

For a fake bond, Eris’s proximity to the Cauldron, Koschei, and Rhys could have created the illusion of a bond with Nesta. The Cauldron might have used Eris to manipulate Nesta into returning her stolen powers, Koschei could have leveraged him to lure Nesta into his side, or Rhys could have orchestrated their union to secure Eris’s loyalty. After all, Eris did propose to Nesta. Rhys would simply have needed to seal the deal as a political strategy.

Any of these possibilities could have served to minimize the significance of the mating bond in Prythian, showing that it isn’t as absolute as it seems.

However, SJM ultimately used Eris as a narrative device to bring Nesta and Cassian to confront what was holding them back from fully embracing their relationship—a confrontation that culminated in the snapping of their bond.

These theories are often used to minimize the bond between Elain and Lucien, suggesting that Elain’s story would focus on breaking free from the bond and replacing it with love and choice. Yet, SJM has consistently written characters who view the mating bond as precious, worth the heartache and trials they endured before meeting their mates.

In every instance where SJM wrote forbidden relationships, they ended in either death or separation. Except for Rhys and Feyre, whose mating bond was the very reason they were both brought back from the dead.

SJM continues to connect Lucien to the central story. He remains engaged with the Night Court’s affairs, directly involved in conflicts Rhys seeks to resolve, while Elain’s potential role in those resolutions is subtly foreshadowed.

This fits SJM’s storytelling pattern: two characters with similar dispositions working toward a shared goal, where the female often holds the key to its resolution.

[thesiltverses]

tsv ep38 has got to be one of the single most affecting pieces of media ive listened, read, watched, whatever. it hits quite close to home for me in multiple ways. the storyline with faulkner and his father culminates in an incredibly tragic but almost cathartically relieving way. faulkner not only gets to lay out his grievances, but they are acknowledged! and even sort-of apologized for! he gets complimented on his transition! im also estranged from my father and i actually couldnt imagine a better possible conversation with him. also the way you created uncle just is one of the few pieces of fiction to inspire the emotion of actual fear in me. i did have to shut it off when i made the mistake of listening while driving because i was actually having a visceral and physical fear response. thanks to the both of you for an exceptional show and especially for "shall wither in ruin and rust"

Thank you so much for listening! Really glad you enjoyed the episode and it struck home for you.

It was a definite challenge trying to figure out how to balance the tragic elements around incomplete relationships and unspoken feelings, and the need for some recognition and catharsis in Faulkner's dad acknowledging his transition - you don't want to make something that feels too neat and easy to the point of being dishonest, but it felt like an important moment to portray, and I'm so thrilled it hit for people. (And, you know, B. and Steve both just do an incredible job.)

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

The devastating thing to contend with regarding Veilguard is that you are left with two choices:

1) You accept that the story we’ve been waiting a decade for to conclude ended with the lore retconned, our memorable characters flanderized and misused, the world itself far less impressive and interesting and unique than it had originally set itself up to be.

or

2) You disregard Veilguard. You pretend it doesn’t exist, and that means the story is forever incomplete. You don’t receive closure. You don’t receive that last wave of clever, intricate, intriguing, wonder-evoking dynamic writing culminating in a world-shattering conclusion that we’ve been building up for 15 years. Solas and Lavellan are never reunited. The question of Solas’s past, the true nature of the Evanuris, and Solas’s relationship with them remains unknown. The enslaved elves of Tevinter remain sitting in chains. The hinted-at fragmentation and divestment of certain pockets of Dalish and city elves to Solas’s cause remain a potential interpersonal culture war stuck in stasis. Your world state is in eternal limbo, sitting on the hazy precipice of a climax that will never trigger. You as a fan will never have the opportunity to thrust yourself into a rich, magical, poignant universe of political intrigue, culture clashes, historical grievances, metaphysical and philosophical arguments, and relatable moral and ethical struggles to rise from the dirt, dusty and panting, and feel that relief and bittersweetness and mourning of an epic finally reaching a long-awaited end.

It is the fact I have to lie to myself in order to keep what I originally enjoyed so much about Dragon Age alive in my heart. I have to actively delude myself and pretend this game doesn’t exist because it actively and aggressively subtracts and undermines from all that came before it and in doing so retroactively ruins all the enjoyment I derived from the series. The furious debates we had, the essays we wrote for each other analyzing symbolism, characters, personal motivations, the parallels to real life politics regarding classism, racism, colonization, imperialism, marginalization, the nature of power, the nature of memory and history, oppression, legacy, vengeance, justice, love, hate, ambition..

I am not saying that because we were ardent fans that we somehow spiritually or informally own the Dragon Age IP. I’m not trying to come off as entitled, but this is absolutely unacceptable. It is a slap in the face. To say it is a departure from the previous games in tone, feel, and writing is like saying bulldozing a ghetto with citizens still in their beds in order to make room for a heat-trapping super highway is a case of radical “urban planning”.

We were so hopeful. We were so optimistic. We needed to be, because the alternative was despair.

And they gave us this generic fantasy Action-“RPG” with Dragon Age as the negligible setting. It is negligible, because all of the uniqueness of Dragon Age has been filed down to appeal to potential newcomers who want nothing more than a vague fantasy setting with puddle-deep lore that they could easily ignore if they wished so they could get back to hacking away at mobs and demons with shiny combat mechanics; the romances are tacked on and shallow, the character writing as insightful and engaging as a 90s arcade Beat ‘em up. The “Dragon Age” in Dragon Age: The Veilguard is a costume, an excuse, a misnomer. With this entry, Bioware/EA have established they care more for action than RPG, that deep, genuine storytelling that can make an IP a household name is not nearly as lucrative or worthwhile as endlessly chasing gaming trends and trying to appeal to new fans by being hip and cool.

But if you sit down and are honest with yourself, could anyone have been able to tie all the threads together in a satisfying way? The people currently left at Bioware certainly couldn’t, but could the entire old crew have helped steer this in the right direction? Was this story simply too epic, the plot threads too numerous, the concepts too far-reaching for adequate exploration to be satisfied with a single new game entry? It stretches belief. But perhaps if that 70% of effort devoted to combat had been instead implemented into the story (rather than the 7% it was allotted. The other 23% was on other bullshit) I’d be thinking differently. The story was what brought Origins to life. Character relationships and the direness of the moral shitshow of the mage oppression were what saved DA2 from being mediocre; the companion romances and the revelations from the Trespasser DLC were what saved Inquisition from being another honestly half-baked entry.

Writing is why Dragon Age fans accumulated. Writing is what made us stay. Writing is what made us hope and pray for a fourth game. And now writing is what has invalidated all of our collective time and efforts in ever daring to give a shit about this world and these fictional characters.

In order for my love of this series to not be snuffed out like a flame in a blizzard, I need to be delusional. I need to pretend this game doesn’t exist. And that means I need to live with a self-imposed false sense of mourning for something that never came to be, because what *did* come to be—what actually exists in reality—is more devastatingly heartbreaking and . It hurts either way. You just have to choose which hairshirt to wear and wear it.

All of our theorizing and hypotheses and headcanons are now retroactively emboldened by a newfound sense of superiority since we were positing them from a place of genuine desire to see a well crafted and thematically sound and intriguing story. But for people like me, no amount of headcanons and fan works can truly compare to a video game or comic or book that crafts a competent, even exemplary, addition to the Dragon Age story.

I am sad and disappointed that I wont be able to play that game and bask in the glory of good storycraft. It’s one thing to read it in a fanfiction, it’s another for it to be in an officially licensed piece of media. It feels more real that way, and because what we got is so lackluster, fanfiction has to serve as the less filling ersatz. It’s somewhat nourishing to me, but it isn’t what I truly crave. I WANTED the story and writing to have been good in Veilguard, but it ISN’T, and no there isn’t any way to just ask them to withdraw the game and come back with something better. This is what we got. This is what they decided to do with something so integral to our lives. It sucks how much it hurts because it is just a video game at the end of the day, but fuck if it doesn’t make the bugs crawl over my brain in lament over this monumental blunder of something I held so near and dear to my heart.

[mapsontheweb]

The Punic Wars, 264-146 BC

« Atlas historique mondial », Les Arènes, 2019

by cartesdhistoire

Rome and Carthage stood as the dominant powers in the western Mediterranean. Between these two influential states lay the island of Sicily. Situated at the crossroads of Europe and Africa, and bridging the eastern and western Mediterranean basins, Sicily held immense strategic importance. Rich in wheat and boasting a heritage of prosperity bestowed by both the Carthaginians in the west (in Palermo) and the Greeks in the east (in Syracuse), the island flourished. The Carthaginians established their capital at Lilybaea (modern-day Marsala) and maintained a major naval base at Drepane (modern-day Trapani).

In 264 BC, the onset of the First Punic War marked the first engagement of Roman legionnaires outside of Italy. While battles were fought in open fields, guerrilla warfare, and sieges, the defining feature of this conflict lay at sea. The pivotal Battle of the Aegate Islands in 241 BC resulted in the defeat of the Carthaginians, triggering another conflict, the far more perilous Mercenary War, on African soil. Fueled by grievances over unpaid wages, mercenaries and local allies revolted against Carthage, plunging the region into turmoil until order was restored by Hamilcar in 238 BC. A peace treaty with Rome was signed on March 10th.

The Second Punic War, commencing in 218 BC, was marked by an intriguing characteristic: personalization. The conflict became synonymous with the personalities of Scipio, later known as "the first African," and Hannibal, one of history's greatest military commanders. Hannibal's audacious invasion of Italy, driven by a desire to avenge Carthage's honor, catalyzed the war's escalation.

The war culminated in the Battle of Zama in 202 BC, leading to the signing of a final treaty in 201 BC. From this point forward, Rome emerged unchallenged in the Mediterranean. However, it wasn't until 197 BC that the Senate formally established the two provinces of Spain.

[emblemxeno]

Cindered Shadows Thoughts

Btw if you don't wanna see thoughts on my 3H playthrough block this tag #playing fe3h

-Finished it in exactly 8 hours, at least 2 of which could've been an email /s

-It is truly a microcosm of my foundational issues with 3H as a whole, besides two things

-One is that exploration isn't as tedious because Abyss isn't as big as the monastery, but I guess that isn't really a point in its favor since that's the whole point lol

-The second is I feel like Byleth's dialogue and text selections with the characters is a bit better. There's less instances of , what I describe as "characters extrapolating how Byleth feels in 1-2 text boxes before actually responding to what they said", which I swear is a cause for why the main game reads as if it's 10% longer than it's supposed to be.

-IMO unique map objectives don't save map design that's pretty uninteresting at the end of the day.

The first map's layout is cool! Until it gets reused in chapter 4, where it's only saving grace is a new objective utilizing prior knowledge established in chapter 1. Clever, but still a reuse in a game that infamously spams repeat maps. And outside of Chapters 2 (a slog where you defeat enemies in waves which isn't fun in FE) and 7 (a cramped hall where you have to brace against a monster boss), the other maps are reused from the base game, even chapter 3 is a slightly modified sealed forest.

-Combat itself is so slow, I'm really just debating turning off animations in general when tackling the main game. Not only do the animations take forever, but they don't look interesting, are surrounded by washed out textures and models, and-my personal biggest grievance-have absolutely no momentum nor weight behind them. The Tellius games, from what I've seen, yeah the animations take decades, but from a visual and sound design point, fighting feels significant. 3H also being sandwiched between Echoes (the gorgeous culmination of handheld 3D Fire Emblem presentation after half a decade) and Engage (which to me set a new, high bar standard for 3D FE presentation going forward) is an extremely unfortunate situation and I feel really sorry for it.

-Music still hits though, Shackled Wolves never gets old

-Another thing that 3H does that this DLC reminds me of is the amount of -Stand Around- cutscenes there are. It confused me that Engage gets the most heat for this, when this game does it more, due to more drawn out dialogue, simpler camera angles, stiffer models with fewer animations, and an absolutely diabolical background setup. For a game with an expository selling point, it repeatedly falls short at being engaging in a visual sense, with its scenes always being saved by the phenomenal voice acting. Almost always, at least. The scenes where the Wolves are getting their blood drained while they just stand there is so jarring and bad, it's nearly funny, when it's obviously not supposed to be given the lines, their delivery, and the accompanying music.

-The story from A to B is sweet I guess, but given that the devs said the Cindered Shadows version of events is basically non-canon to what happens in the main game sours me on it. Like, yeah it's cool that the Wolves can technically be capable enough to do it offscreen on their own, but then what's the incentive then for me to recruit them beyond the player's pre-established care? There's no narrative payoff in the grand scheme :/

-Also the whole plot is "what if Yuri, Rhea and somewhat Claude/Linhardt do everything and also these other goobers are here" which became really funny, because after a while even the lines had characters deliberating the sheer amount of coincidences and melodrama that was occurring. 3H style writing shoved into an 8 hour timeframe is accelerated, exhausting nonsense.

-Sothis not being in the plot is fine, because even though it doesn't make sense why she wouldn't comment, it's not like there's anything of value she would contribute beyond her usual schtick of "bratty banter, where are my memories, i sleep now".

Not having Jeralt though? Absolutely ridiculous. I don't like Jeralt as a character (he's my idea of pretty face and that's it), but there's no convincing me why he couldn't be here but Alois can. Love Alois! But he was a device used to have the Knights on standby and nothing more, which Jeralt could've done and it would've let him have a proper impact on the ordeal with Aelfric.

Speaking of which, revisiting this DLC had me thinking... wow this love of Aelfric is veering very close to cult-like, and it's cut short after chapter 5 because we don't go back to abyss once that map's done. I'm left with wondering how the Abyss denizens would feel after knowing that their caretaker was Like That™️, which is a completely foreign feeling to me when discussing 3H's narrative since the game normally never lets it be remotely unclear how the characters or the player should feel about anything ever. So... props for that for making me flex that part of my brain! You did it Fodlan, the creepy custodian plotline that was left dangling was great fridge horror material.

-The constant suspicion throwing and animosity towards Rhea and the church is tiring as usual, and also sometimes downright baseless. Like, at one point it's said that orphans are among those who are relegated to Abyss or otherwise ignored on the surface which is flat out not fucking true, Rhea literally takes in former bandit kids and Remire orphans, what are we doing here.

-Balthus has a cringe "fight the system line" meanwhile he's an irresponsible jackass pushing 30; Constance is written like a joke; Hapi's writing is a joke; Yuri is as incomprehensibly competent and storied as ever and I love that cuz it's nonsense.

-Overall, not godawful terrible, but nothing in it that's worth coming back to in my eyes.

[iridescentmirrorsgenshin]

The final quest title of cyno’s story quest 2 being entitled ‘The Dead Past is the Living Present’... now i have many thoughts!

on the whole, this is in direct reference to Cyno and Cyrus’s relationship and their connection to The Temple of Silence and Sethos, as well as the ancient past of Sumeru, such as Tighnari’s lineage. these ties all stem from past close, or familial, connections, especially with how sethos is described to be like cyno's brother - so it’s also interesting when applying this quest title to Alhaitham and Kaveh

Alhaitham and Kaveh’s ‘dead past’ would be their initial friendship, and their joint thesis, dissolved due to their respective ideas of “correctness”. As this notion of pride has been overturned (which i've written more about here), however, they have been able to reconcile, and this has manifested in them willingly working together once more – which can be observed in cyno commenting on the unlikeliness of this in the House of Daena

Alhaitham and Kaveh’s connection to the House of Daena is something repeatedly observed in relation to their relationship. For example, the two first meet in the House of Daena:

They have their first interaction witnessed by the player in the Archon Quest within the House of Daena:

Kaveh’s interaction with Alhaitham occurs in the House of Daena in his Hangout:

And in cyno’s story quest 2, the two are left in charge of the House of Daena in order to research together.

This is such a noticeable difference as compared to their usual rapport that the only reference to their improved relationship is made by cyno, where he comments on his disbelief in seeing Alhaitham and Kaveh actively studying together.

their ‘living present’ appears to have culminated here, where they first met in the House of Daena, in cyno's story quest 2 they have now accepted their past grievances and actively aim to further reconcile in combining their efforts in researching together once more.

in current game, Alhaitham and Kaveh’s relationship has softened considerably, and a new understanding seems to have been established between them. Within their dead past being the living present, the two work in tandem; they research together, spend time together in, and out, of their shared home, and the bitterness is completely gone from their dialogue. It is shown that they respect, and listen, to the other's opinion, and work off of each other in order to form conclusions. Here, the two have rediscovered family within each other <3333

(This analysis snippet is from my Haikaveh queercoding essay found here!)

[fauxmystique]

Dungeoneer's Guide to Monstrous Races

Chapter 2: Gnolls Now I must admit, dear readers, that I am biased here. Gnolls are a particular fascination of mine, and though I seek to omit any biases from these entries, my inherent glee in their existence may peek through every once in a while. Gnolls are a tall (7 ft average) bipedal/quadrupedal species closely related to awakened hyenas. Typically each gnoll is as strong as two standard humans, though much less creative. They are brutish, crude, and throw fantastic parties. As long as you don't mind the ensuing orgy and possible cannibalism.

Gnoll packs are typically found to the south of great deserts upon the savannas and plains of the world. Unlike goblins, gnoll birth genders are more statistically distributed, including intersex members.

Aside from the inherent danger in having a 7 foot tall hyena-man that can punch through a tree trunk, every gnoll is capable of SOME basic magic. Though most cannot cast spells, they each have the aptitude to craft HEXES and CHARMS. Adventuring Guilds usually attempt to clear out gnoll nests before they can become too entrenched, as after a few months the areas they inhabit are so full of minor negative effects that any who set foot in them become almost immediately lost, ensnared, and used for sport.

Gnolls are a playful people, for the most part. They take great delight in games and napping, as well as the eating of "fine meals". Oftentimes they trade with lizardmen who dwell in swamps nearby for various kinds of meats to use, as both species are carnivorous by nature.

Gnolls revere the natural world to a fetishistic degree. They willingly allow themselves to be charmed by Fey creatures, as they share a delight for games and recreation (as well as being fantastic in the art of bestial lovemaking which some Fey enjoy).

It is recommended that no less than 3 rank 2 adventurers attempt to kill a gnoll, for as soon as you kill one you will have to contend with the rest of the pack. They are fiercely loyal to one another, and do not forgive ANY grievance, no matter how slight. Fortunately, they take payment immediately and in kind, meaning that they will usually take one of the adventurers as recompense for the packmate they lost.

Being captured by a gnoll clan is not a pleasant experience, by any stretch of the imagination, and usually involves several months of unintentional psychological warfare. The HEXES they frequently make for fun (which do not affect them) turns the mind to mush and the legs to jelly, until all you can do is beg for more. Eventually this culminates in the unfortunate begging to be turned into a gnoll themselves, thus gaining the pack a new and powerful member. It is recommended that, should a party member need to be sacrificed, the order of operation is thus:

Elves first, then the healer, then the tank, then the mage. Under no circumstances should a Necromancer be allowed to be captured by a gnoll pack.

Ah, I have digressed. The social structure of a gnoll pack is a loose hierarchy wherein the most magically gifted typically "rule". The Gnoll Shaman advises the Gnoll Pack Leader (who may very well be MORE powerful than the Shaman themselves). There is also usually a roughshod council of sorts, consisting of the "best" gnolls in the tribe. I have my own names for these roles, but to use gnoll terminology: The Big, The Bad, and The Soft. Hilarious, I know.

"The Big" refers to the largest, most physically powerful gnoll in the pack. A Gnoll Big can typically take 5 human foot soldiers in combat.

"The Bad" refers to the most playful member of the pack. Likely a trickster, this one is always getting into trouble and making a mess of things. Their input is usually used to decide what NOT to do.

"The Soft" is the most dangerous of the three. Gifted in black alchemy and trained by both the Pack Leader and the Shaman, the Gnoll Soft is both the stealthiest and the most cunning of the group. A Gnoll Soft is almost always a female rogue adventurer who has been turned, though sometimes a normal gnoll can manifest these tendencies as well.

[mariacallous]

In May, pro-independence demonstrations spread across New Caledonia, a small Pacific island territory that has been ruled by France since 1853. Waving the flags of the Indigenous Kanak people as well as the flag of the pro-independence Socialist National Liberation Front, demonstrators took to the streets to protest voting reform measures that would give greater political power to recently arrived Europeans.

Curiously, however, they also waved another flag—that of Azerbaijan. Although the similar colors of the New Caledonian and Azerbaijani flags led some to speculate whether the demonstrators had inadvertently acquired the wrong flag, other observers viewed the presence of the Azerbaijani flag as an indication of ideological support from Baku.

It turns out, the Azerbaijani flags were not mistaken. Since March 2023, Baku has strategically cultivated support for the New Caledonian independence movement under the guise of anti-colonial solidarity. As payback for French diplomatic backing of Armenia after Azerbaijan’s 2020 invasion of Nagorno-Karabakh, Baku has disseminated anti-French disinformation related to New Caledonia. Following the outbreak of protests this May, France publicly accused Azerbaijan of doing so.

Baku’s influence campaign successfully inflamed long-simmering hostilities toward French descendants in New Caledonia, culminating in violent demonstrations and riots, which triggered a visit by French President Emmanuel Macron—as well as French police forces—even though Macron ultimately issued a de facto suspension of the reforms.

The incident in New Caledonia is hardly an isolated one. Anti-colonialism, which rose as a powerful ideological force during the 1960s and 1970s, is having a resurgence, and its philosophical underpinnings continue to shape some of the biggest geopolitical crises of the day, from Gaza to Ukraine. But unlike the decolonization movements of the Cold War era, this wave is being driven by opportunistic illiberal regimes that exploit anti-colonial rhetoric to advance their own geopolitical agendas—and, paradoxically, their own colonial-style land grabs.

The basic aims of the decolonization movement during the Cold War were twofold: securing national independence for countries colonized by the West and preserving sovereignty for postcolonial countries in Africa, Asia, and Latin America, whether through armed struggle or ideological diplomacy. Focused on ending the Vietnam War and fighting white minority rule in southern Africa, the movement quickly became the cause célèbre of the international left.

Despite divergent views on economic and social issues, the movement’s proponents coalesced around a central belief that Western imperialism, particularly the U.S. variant, singlehandedly held back the advancement and development of what was then known as the third world—ignoring the fact that many anti-colonial movements often had their own internal issues of graft and corruption. Disheartened by the West’s history of imperialism, many on the left even embraced authoritarian leaders, such as Zimbabwe’s anti-colonial freedom fighter-turned-despot Robert Mugabe and even former North Korean dictator Kim Il Sung.

Today, the anti-colonial movement is less about securing independence for the few remaining colonial outposts or debating the proper developmental pathway for countries in the global south. Bolstered by powerful state-backed media corporations in the capitals of authoritarian states, the current movement is largely a Trojan horse for the advancement of global illiberalism and a revision of the international rules-based order.

Authoritarian governments in Eurasia have taken their influence operations to social media, where they hope to inflame grievances—possibly into actual conflicts—to divert the attention of Washington and its allies from areas of strategic importance. This is the case for not only Azerbaijan, but also for China in sub-Saharan Africa, as well as Iran, which provides financial support to anti-Israel protest groups in the United States.

But more than any other country, it is Russia that is attempting to ride the resurgent anti-colonial wave and position itself as a leading voice of the global south. Russian leadership describes itself as the vanguard of the “global majority” and claims to be leading “the objective process of building a more just multipolar world.”

After his visit to Pyongyang in June, Putin wrote in North Korea’s main newspaper that the United States seeks to impose a “global neo-colonial dictatorship” on the world. In the United States, several Russians alleged by prosecutors to be intelligence agents have been accused of funneling financial support to an anti-colonial Black socialist group to promote pro-Russian narratives and justify Russia’s illegal military actions in Ukraine. And in regard to New Caledonia, Russian Foreign Ministry spokeswoman Maria Zakharova fanned the flames when she said in May that the tensions there stemmed “from the lack of finality in the process of its decolonization.”

Moscow’s primary stage to project itself as the spearhead of a new global anti-colonial movement is Africa. During the Cold War, the Soviet Union provided ideological and military support to numerous national liberation movements and anti-colonial struggles in sub-Saharan Africa on the grounds of proletarian internationalism and socialist solidarity. According to a declassified 1981 CIA report, Namibia’s SWAPO guerilla group received nearly all of its arms from the Soviet Union, and Soviet military personnel trained South African anti-apartheid guerrillas in Angola-based training camps. Moscow also trained and educated a large number of African independence fighters and anti-colonial rebels at Communist Party schools and military institutes back in the Soviet Union.

This legacy of Soviet internationalism and socialist goodwill generated lingering sympathy for the Kremlin, and Russia continues to be widely perceived as a torchbearer of anti-colonial justice and national independence on the continent, particularly in the Francophone Sahel region. Before his death in August 2023, former Wagner Group leader Yevgeny Prigozhin blamed instability in the Sahel on Western interventionism, saying, “The former colonizers are trying to keep the people of African countries in check. In order to keep them in check, the former colonizers are filling these countries with terrorists and various bandit formations. Thus creating a colossal security crisis.”

Despite Moscow’s own imperialist legacy and its current war of recolonization in Ukraine, Russia is increasingly seen as an anti-Western stalwart in the Sahel and a key supporter of anti-French political movements. Kremlin-backed mercenaries from the Wagner Group’s successor, Africa Corps, have supplanted French security services as the primary counterinsurgency force for fragile West African governments. And in addition to the counter-insurgency operations, Russian mercenaries have provided personal protection for key African military and government leaders.

But the shift from French to Russian interventionism in the Sahel raises the question of just how much national sovereignty the governments in the affected countries have.

Military juntas in West Africa exploit anti-French sentiments among the general public in order to obscure the fact that they are merely relying on a different foreign state for regime security, effectively trading one colonialist power for another. Most importantly for the juntas, unlike the French, the Russian security forces have no qualms about violently cracking down on political dissent and committing war crimes. For example, in late March 2022, Russian mercenaries assisted the Malian military in summarily executing around 300 civilians in the Malian town of Moura, according to Human Rights Watch.

With its colonial baggage, France has struggled to penetrate pro-Russian propaganda in its former African colonies. For instance, Afrique Média, an increasingly popular Cameroon-based television network, often echoes the Kremlin’s positions on international events. In April 2022, Afrique Média promoted a Russia-produced propaganda video that depicted a Russian mercenary escaping his African jihadi captors and then revealing U.S, and French flags behind an Islamic State flag, suggesting that these Western countries are supporting religious extremists.

Russia’s anti-colonial crusade belies its efforts to advance its own political and economic interests. Moscow’s efforts in Africa are borne from a desire to undercut Western influence in the region; shore up diplomatic support for itself in multilateral forums, such as the United Nations; and reinstate Russia’s reputation as a global superpower. Moscow may also seek to secure access to Africa’s vast natural resources, including criterial minerals, and take advantage of illicit networks, such as illegal gold mining, to circumvent international sanctions and fund its war in Ukraine.

Authoritarian regimes, including those in Russia, China, and Azerbaijan, would not exploit anti-colonial rhetoric if it did not continue to resonate in the global south. Long-standing economic disparities with the global north and painful histories of Western interventionism, especially the post-9/11 U.S. wars in the Middle East, have fostered sympathy for revisionist authoritarian regimes. The current humanitarian crisis in Gaza has heightened feelings of Western hypocrisy among some commentators and public figures in the global south.

As Kenyan journalist Rasna Warah explains, “There is deep sympathy and support [in the West] for Ukrainians who are being bombed and made homeless by Russia but Palestinians being killed and being denied food and water are seen as deserving of their fate.”

Therefore, it is crucial for Western governments to acknowledge the shortcomings of the current international liberal order to governments in the global south, rather than attempting to gaslight them into believing that it is equitable and just. The Western-led international order has a long history of violence and instability in the developing world. The trauma of Western imperialism and colonialism should not be forgotten but rather reworked into developmental programs that help to build robust institutions and infrastructure in the global south.

For example, Germany’s joint declaration with Namibia in 2021, which acknowledged the genocide of the Herero and Nama peoples between 1904 and 1908, committed $1.2 billion over the next 30 years to funding aid projects in Namibia, which are more likely to have a long-lasting positive effect on the development of Namibian institutions than individual financial handouts to descendants of colonial-era violence.

In the near term, the United States and its Western allies should actively counter propaganda from Baku, Tehran, Moscow, and Beijing that seeks to portray these nations as free from interventionist pasts. Exposing their disinformation campaigns in the global south—starting with labeling social media accounts linked to state-run media—could help to alert the public to the presence of bad-faith actors, who exploit genuine anti-colonial grievances for their own political and economic goals.

While the Soviets were certainly no saints, there was a genuine internationalist and collectivist spirit in their interactions with the Cold War anti-colonial movement. The same cannot be said for Russia today.