#brennus asks | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

helenaalmost · 2 days ago

Text

When I was in middle school I went through a rough patch socially. I was awkward, had hardly any friends, and was hence a target. I can recall one instance where, returning to the classroom after leaving to use the toilet, a group of boys my age (who were also out of class for some reason) found me and started following me, taunting me. Eventually—and I imagine with some emotion in my voice—I rounded on them "what did I ever do to you?"

This, to them, was hilarious. "What did I do to you?" they started repeating in a sing-song voice. Outnumbered, and with no obvious recourse, I had little option but to continue back, them following, continuing their parody of my outburst. It's a small moment. Nothing ever came of it, no material change was affected. Yet I can still taste the emotion of it. Anger. Powerlessness. Shame. A kind of self-blame and regret.

It's not a story I would share at parties or with friends. Even in circumstances where I might talk of grief, or failures, I would not talk of humiliation. Sharing it now, publicly, feels quite stressful—despite it being the most minor of incidents. I feel the need to add that things improved for me in high school, that I learnt how to play the social game better. That I had friends and girlfriends. To let you, the reader, know that as a grown man I would not tolerate treatment like that.

Why? Why my reticence, why do most of us not talk about such moments? They are, after all, the ones we struggle most to let go of. The answer is simple enough: one of the effects of humiliation is the destruction of status claims. As a result, being—or even recounting being—humiliated lowers our standing. We do not listen to humiliated persons. Frederick Douglass, recounting much more extreme instances, got to the heart of the matter with his usual clarity; "Human nature is so constituted that it cannot honor a helpless man, although it can pity him; and even that it cannot do long, if the signs of power do not arise."

Perhaps for this reason, even in writing that mixes the personal and political, humiliation has not been a major theme. We've frequently (and correctly) discussed the Trump movement in terms of cruelty. I want to argue that thinking in terms of the politics of humiliation adds something to this.

This may sound like a weird phrase. But humiliation, I've come to believe, is important not just interpersonally, but politically. So, I ask the reader to hear me out—to 'go with me' on this seemingly strange thesis—and consider what our political world and our political morality looks like when we start from the perspective of these personal, ugly—but seemingly irrelevant—acts. What is humiliation?

When I say humiliation is an important political concept I tend to get two reactions: a blank stare and an instinctive click—"yes, absolutely, that makes total sense." For those in the former group, we might start by noting it does seem to fill a gap, does it not? Why is Trump so willing to cause massive harm with tariffs just to have world leaders say fawning things about him? Why was there so much glee in Elon Musk's firing of government workers? Why were Trump's victories greeted with an increase in yelling abuse at service workers, and why did the perpetrators so often reference Trump when doing so?

To those for whom humiliation as politics feels intuitive, let me try and add some structure—I'll start with a definition I've developed: Humiliation is the forced recognition of domination.

Consider: In 390 BC, Rome was attacked by Gauls and totally captured apart from the Capitoline Hill. According to Livy, the Romans agreed to ransom their city for 1,000 pounds of gold. While this was being weighed out, the Roman envoys complained that the counterweights being used were rigged in the Gaul's favour. In response, their chieftain Brennus took out his sword and threw it on top of the rigged weights. "Vae victis!" he declared, usually translated 'woe to the vanquished'. The Romans not only had to get even more gold, but they had also been utterly stripped of their dignity.

Brennus was, in this action, humiliating them. Yes, he got a bit more gold, but that wasn't the point. The point was to make it obvious and undeniable how powerless they were. Any relationship where one person has power over another like this—power that is unaccountable, that can be used arbitrarily, at a whim—has the potential for humiliation.

Philosophers call being at another's mercy like this 'domination' or being in a 'relation of domination'. Brennus was—at least in that moment—in a relation of domination with the Roman envoys. An absolute monarch is in a relation of domination to their subjects. Far from being an ancient relic, domination is alive and well in our world, in more or less subtle, and more or less obfuscated, ways. Employment At Will is, I would argue, a relation of domination. A racial caste system, even an implicit one, can be another. As are some of the consequences of inequality.

When we force people to recognise their own domination, their own powerlessness, we humiliate them. The 'forced' part is essential: humiliation is necessarily non-consensual. Imagine some affluent college frat boys, coming home from a night out, encounter a homeless man begging and decide to have some fun with him. They offer him $20, nothing to them, but everything to him. Ah but wait—he'll have to earn it. "Dance for me" they demand "act like a monkey". He's visibly shaken by the request, but they're serious. So, he does.

This isn't a hypothetical, but a real interaction—I encountered a video of it online some time ago. I won't link to it because I think it's despicable. This is humiliation. The difference in resources—and the homeless man's desperation—create a relation of domination between them and they are forcing him to recognise it. If, by contrast, a man with sufficient means to not be desperate, chose to work as a street performer for tips this would be a totally different story.

Humiliation is not 'merely' symbolic. It is an immoral act that has serious, long-lasting consequences. The effect of it is the destruction of our status claims. Even the most desperate among us try to present themselves with a certain amount of dignity. Humiliation removes that. It also isolates us from other people, makes us feel more alone, and leaves a deep and lasting anger. Human parasitism

Our world is structured by relations of domination. Yet, for the most part, we pretend it's not. You work as an 'Employee at Will' in a labour market where a replacement can be found easily. Hence you can be fired at any time, your entire life turned upside down, maybe losing your home, or ability to continue with necessary medical care. Your boss can do this to you at a whim. But in many workplaces this isn't reflected in behaviour. Some bosses, and some work cultures, demand deference. But in many settings, the social norms are those of equality—supervisors are friendly, ask what you did on the weekend, perhaps even socialise a bit after work.

This goes for everything. Classical Marxism tells us there's an underlying structure of power relations in a society, and that we then create an obfuscatory 'superstructure' of ideas, norms, and behaviours to hide it. Unlike most liberals (and indeed many Marxists) I think there's a certain amount to be said for this. Our mental worlds assume a much greater respect for the dignity of persons than actually exists.

What makes humiliation so strange is it operates in the exact opposite direction to the one Marxism imagines. For the Marxist, the obfuscatory superstructure will be punctured from below: the working class will grasp 'objective reality' in a moment of 'class consciousness,' leading to liberatory change.

But humiliation always comes from a position of power. I say position rather than person as, given intersectionality, there may be cases where informal hierarchies 'pull' in different directions—for instance a working class man and an upperclass woman might attempt to humiliate each other in different ways. It is a behaviour concentrated in elites. In all cases it moves down the hierarchy.

It isn't however in the powerful's interests—they benefit from the obfuscatory superstructure; it makes that power less visible, more palatable. Humiliating others can also undermine the justificatory myths the elite rely on—that their position is justified by their intelligence or merit, for instance. Finally, because it makes people so angry, humiliation can spectacularly backfire. Caligula was apparently murdered by his own guards, so furious that he made them say humiliating phrases that they killed him without even planning who would be the successor. Even in less dramatic cases, elites humiliating those beneath them is destabilising. You create people who are angry and will hold onto that anger.

Yet humiliation is a behaviour we see in every system of domination. For instance, the most extreme such relation is slavery. In every known slave system, the degradation of enslaved persons is a central part of the institution. Again, we might ask, as Orlando Patterson does, why "the master so wantonly appear[s] to undermine his own best interests?" After all, if the only goal is extracting labour from the slave, this is often not the best way of achieving that. However there is another form of extraction occurring—that of status and standing. In the dishonouring of the enslaved person, the enslaver indulges his own sadism and feeds his feelings of superiority and self-esteem.

Honorific parasitism, of which humiliation is one type, is still a structural part of our society. Marxists will be familiar with the continued existence of economic parasitism—it's a metaphor Marx himself used, describing capital as 'vampiric', feeding off 'living labour'. I wouldn't describe all exchanges under capitalism in these terms, but it's certainly appropriate for some. Living off rents, for instance, either literally in the case of being a landlord, or by passively gaining wealth by sitting on an artificially scarce asset (ie a home you bought in the 80's for a fraction of today's price) could reasonably be described as parasitic. Samantha Hancox-Li convincingly argues that such economic parasitism is not only a core part of the American economy, but a key driver of our political dysfunction. Economic rent-seeking combined with social rent-seeking (being granted a certain status simply by being white, or male, and so on) are the foundation of the 'plutocrat-populist axis'.

Humiliation is yet another type of human parasitism, one enabled by the power structures of our society. Sometimes those power structures will be simple and clearly defined. Sometimes a cloud of smaller power imbalances will combine to create an effective relation of domination. Consider:

Fatima is 25 years old and is in her second week working as a barista in a chain coffee store. One lunch rush she's been left understaffed, with a couple of colleagues she doesn't really know trying to clear a persistently building queue. In the rush, she gets a customer's order wrong. He's—let's call him Mark—45, white, causally but nicely dressed, in shorts and slip on shoes with an expensive watch. "What's this?" he asks, pointing at his drink. Fatima repeats the order back. "And is that what this is?" Mark asks, slowly, like he's talking to a child, but without any warmth. Already flustered she apologizes and offers to make another, but he's not done. Of course he would like another. How did she mishear him? He was very clear. He's not raising his voice, but he's locked her with eye contact, unsmiling.

"Fa-ti-ma", he reads her name off her tag, overpronouncing it with a slight mocking inflection. "How long have you been doing this job, Fa-ti-ma?" She answers, truthfully, she's still in training. "Well, I would have thought they'd train you better." He gets the flash in her eyes he was looking for. But she bites her tongue and looks down. She doesn't know the guy who hired her—he seemed fine, but hardly caring. She's no idea if he'll side with her if she's rude to a customer or gets complaints. She's still stabilizing financially after a period between jobs. And this customer is the sort who'll make a well-worded complaint, in professional language, the type management responds to. She looks around vaguely, but she doesn't know the other staff. And they're busy anyway. The other customers seem annoyed with her for the delay. "Well?" Mark wants to know. She mumbles another apology. "What was that? Speak up" He will not let it go. And he'll do it again when she comes back with the correct drink. Making her apologise yet again, telling her she isn't very good at her job. Mark leaves the interaction with a bounce in his step, energy pumping through him. Fatima will allow herself 5 minutes to cry in the employee bathroom. But only after they've got through the lunch rush. She doesn't tell her boss, but if she did, he'd tell her she "did the right thing" by not "rising to it." She leaves her shift still angry.

A collection of power imbalances have come together to create an effective relation of domination. Mark is in the more powerful position, and he's going to impress that fact on her. Why? Part of the power he's leveraging is economic, but that's not the motivation (the sale of the coffee remains the same). Rather, it's an aggressive form of honorific parasitism; he's going to undermine her dignity, her self-respect, to feed his own. Parasites may depend totally on their hosts (actual vampire bats can only drink blood), partially, or not actually need them at all. Mark is the latter—he has many other ways to boost his ego. He in no way needs to do this.

Parasites can also be more or less efficient; from not even being noticed by their hosts, to killing them. Mark's humiliation of Fatima—indeed almost all instances of humiliation—are a very inefficient form of parasitism. He will ruin her entire day, and quite possibly cause her lasting harm, just to feel good about himself for a few moments. This can be done with some sort of instrumental goal (tacitly, subconsciously) in mind. For example, Kate Manne distinguishes between patriarchy (a system of power) and sexism (a theory justifying that system) and misogyny, the "enforcement arm" of that system. Humiliation can have a similar 'enforcement' role—Mark may have felt offended at Fatima (someone of lower status) making him (of higher status) wait, or perhaps even of addressing him without proper deference, and decided to put her 'in her place'. Similarly, humiliation can serve as a warning to others by making an example of those who 'get out of line.'

A lot of the time though it is purely sadistic parasitism. People do it because they enjoy it. Mark—as I imagine him—has a good eye for powerlessness, and will take opportunities to humiliate others when they present themselves. Gratuitously. Without needing an excuse. He is, simply, a parasite—drawing sustenance from the suffering of others.

Isn't this, to a degree, true of all forms of status? After all, to be 'high-status' necessitates others to be low. The prestige of winning a sports competition comes at the expense of those who lost. There is indeed something necessarily zero sum here, but humiliation isn't just zero sum, it's negative sum—Mark's gains are slight compared to Fatima's losses. I'd argue humiliation is wrong in ways other forms of status exchange aren't. There's a difference between being lower status, or losing status, and having no status. Being dominated, being shown to be totally powerless. The losers of a sports tournament may be disappointed, even embarrassed, but in normal circumstances they are not humiliated. They still retain some standing.

Contrast Fatima with a pub landlord—that great stock character of British literature and social life. Let's call him John. He has had the job 15 years, is a well-established part of the community, is white, male, and, crucially, owns the establishment he is performing customer service at. The power relations, the comparative standing, between him and customers is very different. As a result, he conducts himself with a certain amount of dignity, even pomposity. He is not at the top of the hierarchy, but nor is he dominated. If a wealthy landowner stopped by for a pint, he would be John's superior in both wealth and social status. Nonetheless, if he became truly unpleasant John could (and would) kick him out, and the community would tacitly accept he was within his rights to do so. Two types of 'populism'

Once people get a taste for humiliating, they will fight very hard to be able to keep doing it. Like an addiction, the competitively powerful will often put this urge above all else and behave in profoundly self-destructive ways to chase it. People with others beneath them in a racial caste system almost always prioritize maintaining it over their own economic, social, or cultural interests. As America recovered from COVID, a tight labour market and rising wages for those in service positions partially mitigated some of the power imbalances that allowed Fatima to be humiliated. And the Marks of the world reacted very, very badly to that.

It's often opined that Trump would be more effective if he were capable of some restraint. That a truly dangerous autocrat would mask his designs better. This not only misses a huge part of his appeal, but what one of the central aims of this movement is.

Many millions of Americans love Trump because he routinely humiliates people. It validates their own actions. They live vicariously though him, imagining the humiliation they could inflict if they were given greater power. He also normalizes the behaviour. The symbolic power of having someone of his open sadism in the Oval Office is massive. It is changing our society, making humiliation much more acceptable, and corroding the norms that partially restrain humiliators.

Mark, as I sketched him, is a creature of the pre-Trump world. In our era, particularly after the 2024 election, he would go further. Rather than subtly expressing his racist contempt he would drop a slur. Casually, to show that he can. He might call Fatima a terrorist or tell her how much he enjoys seeing her kind killed in Gaza. It's not that these things were never said before—they were—but our culture has become much more accepting of them.

And this cultural shift is coming from the top down. Again, humiliation is an act that moves down social hierarchies. When we talk about the normalization of racism, I think many liberals still imagine working class white supremacist thugs with shaved heads and tattoos. Those people are real enough, but shouldn't be our mental image of MAGA. This is a movement of businessmen, bankers, landlords, car dealership owners, tech bros, cops, those who live in idleness of an inheritance, doctors, pilots, plastic surgeons, religious leaders, farm owners, tradesmen, and news media personalities. Those who, in their interactions with employees, service workers, and staff, could, and did, humiliate, but wanted to go further. And who self-consciously joined a project to change the norms of the American elite so they could.

And they have been remarkably successful. The torture at Abu Ghraib was, in large part, about humiliation. That coming to light was a leak, and people were shocked. Now similar degradation in 'deportations' is being intentionally broadcast for the entertainment of half the country.

It is also a movement of aspirational humiliators—young men, for instance, who feel (and have been indoctrinated to feel) that being cruel to women, putting them 'in their place' is their birthright. It is not that they have lost anything, rather that women have gained something. Groups 'below' you in the hierarchy having more power makes them less susceptible to humiliation (the forced recognition of dominating power). This, to many, is unacceptable. Women pushing back against harassment or abuse, social norms against open racism, and service workers earning more, all limit the ability to humiliate. MAGA is a movement of parasites seeking hosts.

This non-economic, non-instrumentally-rational side to the Trump movement is often swept awkwardly under the label 'populism.' It is imagined that it comes from similar discontents as left populism. That there is an 'anti-establishment' vibe out there that is channelled in different directions, that Bernie and Trump are drawing water from the same well. Using humiliation as a political concept however, we can see that the emotional base of the movements are not only different, but opposite—directly opposed to each other. Right populism is driven by the desire to humiliate, left populism by not wanting to be humiliated. The anger that fuels protest movements often comes from experiences of humiliation.

I was active during the Black Lives Matter protests following George Floyd's killing. My impression was that, for many people there, this wasn't just about that murder—horrific as it was. They were angry. Angry perhaps at their own unpleasant encounters with law enforcement. Angry at various smaller instances of disrespect in their lives. Moments where they were made to feel powerless. Police killings were the spark that activated that anger. It's worth noting that the most high-profile of such incidents, the ones that generated the most outrage, often involved elements of humiliation. Derek Chauvin, knee in Floyd's back as he begged for his life, was—in addition to murdering him—humiliating him. He was impressing on him, violently, his own powerlessness.

While the socialist left is more economic in focus, I think a lot of the energy it draws on also comes from anger at being humiliated. My friend Matt McMannus, a member of this political group, recounted a formative experience for him the last time he was on my podcast:I've worked a lot of different jobs . . . one of the most important for me was when I was working at McDonalds . . . I'll never forget when my boss used to tell me to go into the dumpster to cut into all the trash because people had thrown stuff away that they weren't supposed to. And it wasn't just me; all the people there had to do this. And he treated us like shit. He was just like 'go do this, and I don't care that you think that's dirty or disgusting, and that it's 50 degrees out' . . . and it's this lack of respect and feeling like you're under someone's thumb that really grated me in that situation . . . it's exposure to things like this that lead a lot of people to become socialist.

As an aside, I think this explains a lot of left anger at liberals. When they say 'middle-class liberal' they're imagining someone who has not had experiences like this and does not understand—indeed, arrogantly dismisses—the perspective of those who have. It isn't a fair characterization of all, or even most, liberals (loads of us have also had shit jobs), but it is of some affluent libs, and it does make them incredibly frustrating to talk to. While there will always be people who will try and stereotype liberals, we could do a better job at avoiding this image, at not letting people like this be the face of the movement.

Finally, we should note that just because anger at humiliation is a significant driver of left-populism, this does not cleanse individuals within it of the desire to behave badly. Indeed, this noble input can often curdle into the urge to humiliate in turn, just to humiliate a different group—"the enemies of the people" (whoever they turn out to be), or even just other progressive factions. And some join precisely for this reason. There's a certain type of lefty (who will be familiar enough to anyone on politics social media), who has some status markers—college educated, usually white and male — but is downwardly mobile relative to their parents, yet still utterly convinced of their own importance and intelligence. To them, the cause is a chance to cosplay as the high-school bully they wish they could've been. They are truly pathetic. Again, this isn't all, or even most, left-populists, but they can often be the loudest ones. The left could do a better job not allowing itself to be defined by them. This is nothing new

The desire to humiliate and the desire not to be humiliated are huge drivers of our politics, but then, they always have been. So much of our world would be unintelligible to the Roman authors, but the core emotional instinct behind MAGA would have been clear enough to them on its own terms. Sallust wrote of the wealthy:. . . what hope have you of mutual confidence or harmony? They wish to be lords and masters, you to be free; they desire to inflict injury, you to prevent it; finally, they treat our allies as enemies and our enemies as allies. Are peace and friendship compatible with sentiments so unlike?

Machiavelli—a thinker who drew heavily on Sallust—continually uses the concepts of 'the few' and 'the many' to explain why political events happened. They are presented as in perpetual conflict that, even in a well-ordered Republic, can never be fully resolved. At its root, is the competition of different desires; Machiavelli's "discussion of class-behaviour often appears more psychological than economic". The rich elites, whether the Roman senate or the Florentine Ottimati, were motivated not just by the desire to defend their power and property, but by a contempt for the lower orders and a desire to degrade them.

Destabilization of a state was hence more likely to come from above—"disturbances are more often caused by the 'haves'". Elites would both make incredibly foolish decisions, and provoke occasional explosions of popular anger with their arrogance. History for Machiavelli was an endless cycle of these forces that repeated, but never fully resolved.

Our world today is more democratic, giving 'the many' more opportunity to check elites. But it is also much more affluent—there are many, many people who can afford to have coffee made for them every day. This affluence can allow the middle-class opportunities to humiliate others, and we have often structured our economy to provide them. As wealth has concentrated at the top in recent decades, the oligarchs have (in a way that would have been obviously predictable to Machiavelli) become all the more parasitic in their honorific demands. It's never enough for them to live in unimaginable luxury. We must all always be praising them, never contradicting them. They have now found common cause with a much larger assortment of parasites and aspirational parasites and are in the process of making our world a much crueller and more unstable place. Domination and freedom

If humiliation is a big factor (not the only factor, but a big one) in explaining why political events happen, does that mean it also impacts how we should think morally? That it should influence what type of world and politics we should aim for?

I think so. To put it in wonky terms, humiliation is both an important descriptive concept and an important normative one.

To start with, the converse of domination is often taken to be freedom. There is a long tradition in political philosophy of defining freedom as not being dominated. That to be free, it is not enough to not have anyone actively interfering with you, there shouldn't even be anyone in a position to use power over you in an arbitrary and unaccountable way. The story I've told buttresses that: If domination is persistently used to humiliate, and humiliation is harmful, then that's yet another reason to avoid domination.

I think it also tells us something about the nature of domination. It's not just that it has bad effects, or that it can be abused, there's something intrinsically inhuman about it. We all have a deep need to make certain core status claims for ourselves. That we deserve a certain minimum of dignity, that we are an agent whose desires matter, that we are not simply a tool of others. Humiliation is wrong because it destroys those status claims, but it also shows how incompatible domination is to those core human needs. So much so that being forced to look directly at domination is a grave form of psychological harm to people. It is fundamentally destructive of our ability to stand in community with others, and hence our humanity.

Humiliation allows us to ethically distinguish between acceptable and unacceptable forms of status exchange. People, after all, will always compete for praise, recognition and standing. And to some extent, this is always at another's expense—you need to exceed other people to win the tournament. And you can do so, you just can't dominate them—that's the ethical line. That violates their fundamental dignity as a person in a way that simply gaining more recognition does not. It is also far more destructive of the bonds between us. A losing sports team might (assuming good norms of sportsmanship) be happy to join the winners for a drink after the match. Fatima would never (willingly) go for a drink with Mark. It is not possible—as philosophers have long recognised—to have a society, particularly a complex society like ours, with no distinctions of status. It may be possible to ensure everyone has a certain minimum. And humiliation shows why 'not-dominated' is the minimum we should aim for.

What does this mean for freedom? First—and most obviously—it means that freedom is about having power, not just being protected from it. It's not only a matter of constraints on the powerful, but of actively empowering all of us. Yes, freedom is not being dominated, but we might go further: Freedom is having the power to not be made powerless.

A free society is one of confident pub landlords, not isolated and insecure baristas. I do not think this means we need to do away with all market exchanges, but those with the potential for humiliation (which is to say those with domination) must be restructured. More empowered workers, the end of Employment at Will, democracy in the workplace, bottom-up wage growth, and so on are all obvious places to start. Hierarchies based in race and gender are also enemies of freedom in this conception, as are extreme concentrations of wealth (and hence power).

This provides a freedom-based argument for workers cooperatives, public institutions, and a strong public sector. That these institutions create barriers to humiliation is one reason why the right opposes them. For instance, I've often suspected the real bone-deep hatred many American conservatives have for the DMV is because their staff have greater job security and are hence harder to humiliate. Their stereotype of a DMV worker is of a middle-aged-to-older Black woman who will not tolerate being disrespected. The mere thought of this is enraging to them.

Freedom, seen from the view of humiliation, is not just about formal rules and economic structures. Being free is also about the type of society you live in; the kind of norms people abide by. These matter. People, I find, can all too easily jump from recognising that people desire to dominate to assuming it's an intrinsic and unchangeable part of human nature. Hence, that there's nothing really to be done about it. We shouldn't allow ourselves to fall into this fatalism. The parasites have effected a great change in norms to make it easier for them to feed on us. These things are not fixed in stone. We should be equally ambitious in forcing not just a change back, but moving towards a truly decent society.

Part of the reason Fatima was able to be humiliated is she did not have strong relationships with her coworkers. Also, none of the other customers saw it as their role to challenge Mark, and her boss would have praised her for not challenging him herself. All this at least tacitly endorses the view that Mark's actions were acceptable. In a truly free society, people of different jobs and backgrounds would share a resolve to not allow one another to be treated this way. At the level of belief, a critical mass would be united in the conviction that everyone should be able to walk with their heads held high. Weirdly perhaps, this is not a million miles from how Machiavelli thinks of freedom. For him, to be in a state of non-domination 'the many' must perpetually reassert themselves against the desire of 'the few' to dominate them. What emerges is a conception of liberty as an active holistic property of 'the people' as a whole, a set of traditions, customs, mores, and attitudes. Constitutional design and laws are ways of maintaining this liberty, but do not in themselves constitute it.

I would add to this that the project of liberty is also one of rebuilding and reconstruction, not just of our society, but of ourselves. Being humiliated strips away our bedrock of our sense of self, it leaves us alone and angry. Liberating a society will require mutual reaffirmation of our dignity and worth. To be free—in the term's oldest roots in the Indo-European language—is to be "among the beloved." Taking the time to listen to a person, meeting their eye, gently correcting them if they put themselves down too much, remembering names, or, in the digital post-COVID age, commenting on people's pet, food, and nature photos—telling them how good their home baking project looks and so on—these are not just nice things to do, they are liberatory practices.

Those subject to humiliation have always found ways to rebuild their ties with others, their dignity and self-worth. Consider for instance fictive kinship—referring to members of a group as 'brother' or 'sister'. This is common to religious communities that are (or started life as) a despised minority, historically oppressed racial groups such as Black Americans, and workers groups such as unions. It bonds the group, but also affirms that the person is valued, that they are, in a sense, among the beloved.

There is much more to say on all of this (how, for instance, does this vision of freedom reconcile with a liberal one?) For now, I just want to make a comparatively simple point: humiliation is not just an unpleasant or unethical act, it is politically important. Politics is—and always has been—significantly impacted by it. Moreover, when we try and think clearly about what humiliation is, we see that it has significant implications for our ideal of freedom, and our vision of politics more generally.

Political philosophy often starts by imagining people at their very best—at their most rational, most cooperative, most long-sighted—and works backwards from there. I want to ask what emerges when we start with people at our very worst.

#mein Post

0 notes

jaybelard · 6 months ago

Text

Faralda Chronicles: Promises

"Now for your test scores," Faralda said, smiling over class.

They were in the Ritual Room. The air was frigid, and the students stayed seated in their coats. They lazed, crossing their arms tight over their desks, or huffing warm breaths into their fists. Others were catching up on their sleep, and the mention of the test had roused them up.

Faralda walked over to the lectern, and thumbed through a stack of paper, "Most of you had done well, and as I've promised, I'll return them. Remember, this is your last test. Next is your final exam which will cover everything, so make sure to study everything."

She called up their names one at a time, and students, one at a time, dragged themselves out of their seats and walked to her. Some glanced at it, others didn't bother, but they all thanked her in their own ways, and hurried out the door.

When it came to the final student,"Brennus," she said, Faralda behaved a little differently.

Brennus, all alone in the corner, swayed his head up. Lines of sleep had indented his skin red. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, and blinked quick in disbelief, like an infant in a crib. He slid out of his chair and walked over to her. He went to take it, but Faralda pulled the paper back and didn't let him have it, "Wait."

He blinked a bit more, "...what?"

Faralda gave his test back. She looked to the lectern and pulled out the sheet that recorded the total grades for the entire class.

He crept over, "Yes professor?"

Her quill travelled along the row from his name to his test score. "20%", she said, "20%, so with your 32% in the last test; you'll need:" She threw her fingers up in the air. Her nails, painted and sharp, began to inscribe floating numbers. They glowed blue and neat. She did some quick calculations. Divide, multiply, subtract, carry, "You'll need 94% on your final exam to pass." She dropped her hand and the numbers faded.

He smiled, nervous, but playful. He shook his head, "Just 94%?"

He was by far the worst student in her class. He was the one who risked dragging the class average down to the 50s, and because she had a reputation as a difficult professor, Faralda disliked it deeply. "Usually, I tell students who are in similar circumstances that it might be better if they drop out of my course early and focus on their other classes."

"What?" He said. He looked like a mess. A slacker. He was a nord, and his hair was greasy and frayed every which way. He ran his fingers through his hair, and the strands drooped when he dropped his hand down, "I can't."

"Sometimes when a limb is necrotic, it's better to saw it off."

"But I can't," he said, "I understand what you're saying, but I don't have much of a choice. I can't just give up."

"You should. You're likely to fail my course, so I think it's in your best interest to focus on others that are important to you."

He began to get teary eyed, "I can't. This one is important to me," he said. It annoyed her a bit, because it wasn't important to him, clearly. He would've paid attention if it was. Brennus shook his head, "I'll try, professor. I'll get my act together."

Faralda blinked away her frustration, and sighed. She wasn't so cruel as to push a man off a cliff if he didn't want to jump, "If you're going to try, you're going to try."

"I will, I will."

She was unconvinced. She fixed her papers on her lectern, "I leave my office door open for students to visit and ask questions. If you're the kind of student who needs someone to watch over you while you study, then come by. Study. Who knows? I may even give you a bonus."

"I guess I am that kind of person." He chuckled, trying to tease out her approval, "But um, okay. When are your hours?"

"It's on the syllabus. Weekday evenings. This evening."

"Okay, okay." He walked away, "See ya, Professor."

She eyed him till he left the door, out to the Hall of the Elements. She shook her head and sighed.

That evening, Faralda made it to her office. She walked in with a bowl of jeweled millet. Steaming. She kicked the door closed and sat herself down for the evening. There she prepared lecture notes for a more advanced class. She did it, pouring through sheets of notes while wiping her lips, and sipping a bottle of honey beer.

A knock came at the door. She waved her hand. The door clicked open on its own and swayed a little out.

"U-uh," Brennus said outside.

Faralda looked up. She was surprised to see him. She covered her mouth with her hand. "Come in," she said, then chewed on.

Brennus crept in with his backpack behind him. "Hey," he said, and looked around, studying the office. His eyes were wide. It must've looked exotic to him with the schrarers, and the decorative stanes.

She washed down her food with the honey beer and ran her tongue over teeth. She set her bowl aside. "You came," she said, "I admire the aptitude. Take a seat."

He nodded, and moved in the jilts and jolts of a movement watched. He scootched the chair closer, and banged his knee against the desk. "Oh! Ow. Sorry."

"It's fine," She chuckled, "Relax. I'm not going to kill you. If you have any questions dear, just ask."

There was a blush in his cheeks, but he nodded. He took out his textbook from his bag, and set it down on the desk. The textbook was old and stained. Threads loosely bound the spine, and the cover was torn. Used, she thought. He began to read.

Faralda sought to ignore him for his sake, and returned to her work. She reviewed through some textbooks. She got into her rhythm, but she kept being interrupted by a peeve. She noticed that Brennus read in a very strange way in that he simply read the book.

Faralda was no deep judge on how students study, but the way he bounced his eyes from line to line, and word to word, then flipped a page to do the same. It annoyed her. That wasn't studying at all. She tried to get over it, but Faralda was neurotic. "How goes the studying?" she said.

"Good. I guess. It's pretty easy."

"What is the fundamental process by which frost spells function?" Faralda said, and turned to him. Brennus furrowed his brow and tried to think, but ultimately, only shook his head confused. She gestured to his textbook, "You just read it."

"Oh," He flipped a page back and scanned the page, and then flipped it back and scanned another page, "Found it. It says 'Frost magic is facilitated by the exchange of heat, which notes to its difference towards fire magic, primarily based on combus--'"

"That's enough. Why didn't you remember that?" She tilted her head.

He looked nervous, frozen. A boy being scolded, he crossed his arms over the desk, "I don't know. Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry if I did."

She eased her glare, a little guilty, "No. This is just how I talk. I'm being facetious. The answer to my question is: you're not studying. How do you usually study for your exams?"

"I read."

"Yes, that isn't studying at all." Faralda said, "Here, try to underline it at least," She pulled out a pencil, and stood up. She hovered her pencil over, searching for the sentence to underline.

Brennus threw his hand over the page. "W-wait! I borrowed this from the Arcaneum!"

Faralda stopped. She shook her head, "Why don't you have your own book?"

"They're too expensive," he said. "I can just borrow, it's no big deal."

"But it's a worthwhile expense."

"So is food, I think."

She tried to not smile. "Very well, then." She stepped to her bookshelf, and slid out an extra copy of the textbook, Elementary Destruction. It was as good as new. She handed it to him, "This is yours if you make it yours. Otherwise, it'll stay mine."

"Oh no." He said, nervous and laughing, "It's fine."

"Nonsense. It's hard to study from a book that isn't yours," She set the Arcaneum's book aside, and placed his new book in place. "Open it to where you were reading," she said. He flipped the pages until he returned to where they were. She handed him the pencil, "Now underline what's important to you."

He looked around the page, and then underlined a sentence, "This one's pretty good."

"It is. Underlining helps engage your mind with the words. It also makes it much quicker to revisit the important parts."

"But it feels as if I'm desecrating the book."

"Because you are. This is a book, and you are an animate creation. Torture it, scratch it, punish it for keeping its knowledge from you. Look how it looks just like the others. It isn't yours, you make it yours. If it's uninteresting, you make it interesting. After all, it's just a book." She smiled at him.

A shy, fearful smile returned, "I'll try."

"Good boy." She went to return to her work, glancing at him ever so often. He was doing good work, diligently underlining words and thinking about what he was reading.

An hour later, Brennus looked up at her, "Hey, I finished the chapter," he said, and swung the book around to show her.

She looked in, "Oh." Indeed, he underlined through every page. It was about fifty pages, impressive to do in an hour. She looked up at him, "What are the three mechanisms of heat transfer?"

"O-oh. Um," He looked back at the book, "I know convection. Crap, um." He began to flip chunks through the textbook, "Ah, aha! Oh wait-- Um," He flipped a few pages more, "Here it is, convection, conduction, and radiation. Did I get it right?"

"Not for a test," Faralda said, "I'm impressed you underlined it all in an hour. But it's just one of a variety of ways to study. Here," She showed him how to write in the margins of a book, "There are various types of ways to mark a book that move beyond underlining. First, is the summary. You can note the overall structure of the book on the sides, making landmarks." And she told him the various forms of other annotations. "A gloss is a definition, while a clarification is a more thorough explanation of difficult content. A reference is where you note a relationship to another work. When you read more, you'll either confer, disagree, or consult another work. That is when you truly master the conversation."

"When did you learn to do this?" he said, blinking.

"Marking? When I was young, I suppose. My father used to mark his books, but it's fundamental to everyone, you learn to do it as you learn more."

"I see." He looked aside, and nodded. He leaned against her arm, "I like this."

"Good, because I want you to go through your textbook and decorate the book with what I taught you. Make it more than it is." She tapped her fingers on the page.

He continued on like that until midnight, and returned tomorrow to do it again. Over the days, he worked on the book that way. His spirit was sharp, and passionate. Faralda couldn't help but warm to him, seeing him come in, and focus for hours on the book. He grew less and less shy, and showed him a charming young man. He spoke, and joked. He took and played to Faralda's grim sense of humour, and it made the evening office hours something to look forward to.

One evening, finally, Brennus revealed his accomplishment. He sat down, pulled out his textbook, and handed it to her. She checked it. She saw his development, how he extended it with his own scribbles; the underlines, and the comments. A topography of his mind, melded, and formed to the ink. All his quirks. She looked at him, "This is wonderful." She flipped through, smiling. "I'm very proud."

He grinned till his cheeks were red, and huffed, scratching the back of his head. "Thanks."

She glanced up at him and smiled with him, "That made you happy?."

He crossed his arms over the desk, "Yea. I didn't think I'd be able to read it all. Thanks for helping me."

"Why didn't you learn to read like this before? Everybody marks their books."

He looked at her and lost his smile. He shook his head, "I guess I never knew. The only books I got were from libraries. And my parents are miners, my family's not too educated. My father actually didn't really want me to study here, but I convinced him I can help with mining if I knew a bit of magic."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"I guess, but I don't really care. I love magic," he said, "And knowing things. Knowing how everything works. I love destruction magic especially. But it doesn't matter. It's why I need to pass. If my father asks how well I've done, or he learns I failed a course, he'll just ask me to come back home."

"Then why are you doing so poorly with an incentive like that?"

"I don't know. I don't know this kind of place. I don't know what I'm doing. Nobody talks to people around here, they just do things. Nobody told me anything."

She looked away, unsure of how to answer. She then looked back, "It's difficult, and cold here. But that's the world. Nobody will tell you anything. You have to do it for yourself." She flipped through his book a little more. Faralda felt, and this is the truth, that Brennus simply had to get over it. But she wasn't cruel enough to say it, so she tried her best, "There are other things I can teach you, that can help."

"I'm all for it."

She showed him then how to keep a notebook, and take notes; how to write his own questions from the book. She told him the importance of not missing a lecture, and so on and so forth. Every day he came and did better and did more. Adding to the book, filling his notebook. She taught him to pay attention to the "further reading" sections, and the fun in "further reading" things. It was all going so well.

A week before the exam, Faralda was in her office. She left the door slightly ajar for Brennus to come in. She tapped her foot, and expected Brennus to knock his soft knock, but he hadn't. The minutes stretched into hours, and she eyed the clock. He was absent. Why? She didn't know. A doting kind of nerve, dull, ached her stomach. She tried to ease her mind off it by focusing on her work, but her thoughts trailed to the clock. Maybe he slept in, or was sick? She tongued the feather of her quill. He'd tell her if he gave up, no? She eventually had to accept that she couldn't guess the reason.

But when Brennus didn't come the next day either, the nervousness was felt twice more. He had skipped her class, so she wasn't able to corner him and interrogate as to his missing. When he hadn't shown up for the third day, she started snooping. She went to a breton who sat beside him, who used to speak to him sporadically in class, and asked him.

"No idea," he said.

"Aren't you his friend?"

He frowned and shook his head, "I don't think he has any. Want me to tell him you asked?"

Faralda blinked, wondering. "No no, it's fine," she said, and walked away.

After classes had finished, she decided to look in the Arcaneum next. Plenty of students were there studying during the evening, filling up the chairs and tables in a deep silence. Brennus was nowhere to be seen there, not among the groups, or the few lone stragglers studying at the edges. She walked over to Urag. Urag was standing at attention at the counter, eyes shooting from group to group, like a dog ready to bark. He glanced at her, nodding, but kept his attention strictly to the students.

"Hey, have you seen a student?" Faralda said.

"Who?"

"Brennus. Nord. Young. Blonde hair. He wears a hood often."

"Yea, I know him, he's usuall-- No eating in the Arcaneum!" He said, and smacked the counter.

A girl yelped, and put a cracker back into her backpack, "Sorry, sir." She said, "Sorry."

"Your only warning. Next time, you'll be expelled."

"Sorry," the girl said. She turned to her friends, whispering, "How did he even spot that?"

Urag shook his head in disgust.

Faralda patted the counter to get his attention, "So did you see Brennus?"

Urag looked at her, nodding, "Yea, he comes by here and stays all night. Why? He your student?"

"Yes." She said, sighing, "He's been absent. I thought he left the school. Don't tell him anything."

"Mm, yea okay." He nodded.

Back in her office, Faralda mulled on what to do next. She could leave it alone, and let him fail, but she also felt quite hurt that he would so easily give up on his own studies, after she had tried to give him so much. Indeed, she would at least ask as to why he would abandon her studies. He stole her book, and her advice, as far as she was concerned, and didn't even bother to apologize. By midnight, her pride had dripped and soaked her soul. She stood up and grabbed her coat.

She marched her way to the Arcaneum through the cold, and entered. She scanned the tables. There he was, Brennus, in the edges of the room with a lamp on this table. She marched over.

When he spotted her, his eyes widened, "O-oh. Professor Faralda."

Faralda crossed her arms, and stopped by him. She thought to scold him, but she turned concerned instead when she got a look at him: Dark bags covered his eyes, and his hair was a dirty, greasy mess. Flakes and food stains had covered his robes, and she could see smears of oil in their folds. He had a stamina concoction beside him, and a book on blast magic was on the table, filled with writing and annotations, even drawings. He looked like he hadn't slept in days; with his eyes wide to death, and blinking hard. His head and hands twitched, he took in a deep breath, "Hey, sorry," he said, "I was going to see you, sorry."

"You should've told me you'd given up," Faralda said, "It's very rude to keep people waiting. A senior wizard, especially."

He began to stammer, shaking his head at every odd word, "I-I didn't. I didn't give up. It's just; look, I have obligations to my family. And I must meet these obligations, this entire thing-- It's a joke. So I'm just, listen, I'll do it. I don't care anymore, I'll still do it," he said a little loud.

Faralda furrowed her brow and put her hand out, "Shh, it's alright, I was teasing." She glanced at Urag, who was not so subtly eavesdropping. She returned her focus to Brennus, "But why are you studying blast magic? Your finals are a week away. If you don't want to study for my class, you're welcome to come and study for others. I'm not to judge."

He blinked hard, and sniffled. His eyes were still wide, he rubbed them, "Mfmmsh."

"Are you on skooma?"

He squinted at her, "What? No. I didn't sleep." He rubbed his eye.

"Why?"

He teared up. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it swallowing his spit. He suckled his lip after.

Faralda took that time to grab a chair and set it near his, "What's wrong?" she said, sitting with him.

He blinked back his tears, "I got a letter from my father."

"Oh."

"He'll no longer be sending money. He doesn't care what I get. He wants me back in Dawnstar. I'm a bit stressed. I was thinking of convincing him."

"I see." She looked aside, taking in a deep breath, and letting it out, "We can figure out a way."

"Yea, if I learned blast magic, I can start helping them. It's this idea I have, and also searching out new prospects to help my family. I can find a few prospects out in Hjaalmarch that were abandoned, there are a bunch of them, along the mountains, and devise a way to extract the gold. I have all I need, right. Like I'm smart, it's so easy to do this, so I just need to learn enough, and then make a lot of money. Make a lot of money, then I can come back later to continue and, like, help my parents with their money issues and..."

He rambled on and on about this scheme to start his own mine in Hjaalmarch. Mind you, any mining operation in the 4th era requires, almost at minimum, the expertise of not just blast magicians, but metal-workers, rockcrafters, architects, alchemists, etc. The amount of things one must know; ventilation engineering, waterwheel construction, furnace construction, even something as mundane as the placement of these things requires expertise, and is far more than any person can be capable of. It was quite a thing.

"...and so that's why I'm studying this, because I have to," he said, "I know it sounds crazy, but I think it can work, because they don't employ that much magicians, I can exploit that. It's insane, I know. Like, I'm insane, yes. But I can't not do this."

Faralda raised her eyebrows, "Do you know anyone willing to invest in your scheme?"

"No, not yet. That's the easy part."

Faralda stayed silent for a moment. She tilted her head, "Do you know any architects? Metallurgists? Mining directors?"

"No, but-- I can ask," After that he went quiet quickly, opening to continue, but he shook his head. "I know what you're thinking."

Faralda took in a deep breath, and sighed, "Dear, if money is a problem, why don't you take a job for the college. Many students do. Or we can find you a job at Winterhold, I'm sure."

"I tried. I'm not good with jobs. But yea, I guess so. I don't know."

"Focus, one at a time, on what matters right now. Don't be carried away by phantoms."

He nodded, looking away. Shame crossed him, "I know."

"You seem sleep deprived. So how about you go and rest. Come meet me tomorrow during office hours, and we can try again."

He was struck quiet, hanging his head low, and down over his notebook. She saw in it a great deal of creativity, and intelligence. Drawings, answers, equations, highlighted, bolded. She saw commentary, and thought. It was a shameful thing, and she kept her arms crossed. She was embarrassed for him, and wanted to raise a towel to hide his shame.

He nodded, ultimately, "You're right." He rubbed his eye, a tear or two left him. He began to pack up his things. "Good night professor," he said.

"Good night."

He left, and she hung back to think. She couldn't think much, other than a worry that she won't see him again tomorrow, and that she was too harsh on him.

The next day, she taught her classes. Brennus didn't come to class. Afterwards, she returned to her office and didn't carry too much hope. Until a knock came. She looked up, and the door widened. It was Brennus.

She perked up, "Hello."

His hair was fixed, and his robes were new and clean. He smiled at her, "Hey," he said, "I wanted to say sorry for yesterday. I wasn't in my right mind. I was awake for like 2 days--"

"It's fine, dear. Stress gets to the best of us. I'm just happy you're here." She helped him in, and they both sat, and studied on as they did before.

He returned to his charming self, smirking and smiling right. Teasing her. Surprising her by the speed of his learning. He could wade through a chapter an hour there, and would come out well. And he came back, day after day, to brighten her evening with his presence. Young, hopeful. She lost her fears that he may miss another day, he'd come to all her final classes, and all her office hours.

Finally, when the exam arrived, Faralda administered it, cowing the students into a room. She walked through the rows of desks, and gave them each of their exams one by one, "Good luck. Good luck." When she came across Brennus, she gave him a smile brighter and a tone softer than the others, "Good luck." He smiled back, "Thanks."

He got a 92% on his final test, shy of the 94% he needed. No matter, she bumped it up to 95% when adding the 3% participation bonus for all those times he came in during office hours, as she promised.

She was able to tell him during the start of holidays what he received, he was quite proud of himself, and that made her proud. And as to his financial concerns? She learned he had found part-time work with the Jarl.

Faralda thought things went well. Next semester, she was finishing up a class.

"Ms. Faralda." He said.

"Brennus." She smiled warmly, "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, no. I was just wondering, is it still okay if I can come to study during your office hours?" He said, "Even if I'm not your student?"

Faralda smiled strange, "Why? Are you struggling again?"

"A little bit." He said, "It's a nice place to hangout."

Her heart hurt, "I'm sorry. It's not right to do if you aren't my student. I'd be giving preferential treatment otherwise. You can always ask your other professors, I'm sure they'll enjoy your company as much as I did."

"They're not as kind as you are." He said, giving a flat smile, "But that's alright. Arcaneum’s useful that way. Thanks anyways." He gave her a curt wave, and walked out the door.

Faralda didn't see much of Brennus after that. He had moved onto his Journeyman studies, and since she never taught Journeymen courses, she never really saw him. When she did see him, it was only a courtesy hello, and how do you do. He always said he was fine, but Faralda could see that something in his spirit was very tired. Faralda didn't know just how much until spring.

There was a great commotion in the courtyard, just before dawn. The guards had been knocking on the courtyard gates. Other senior wizards and professors had gathered around, talking and mumbling. From the gossip, someone had dropped from the college windows, down to sea. They didn't know what, but others guessed it was another suicide.

Faralda shuffled through the crowd, nodding to others when they said "shameful thing", and "get it cleaned before the other students wake up". She made it to the front and saw the body in the cart. Lazily thrown in, and rigid.

She froze, and her face went pale.

It was Brennus.

#faralda #skyrim #the elder scrolls #fanfic

1 note · View note

brennustheskeleton · 15 days ago

Note

gives u a banan

POTASSIUM

#brennus rambles #brennus asks #mlp changeling #thanks?? idk

17 notes · View notes

wizardingworldlibrary · 9 months ago

Text

Goth/Gothic Masterlist

A Certain Slant of Light (ao3) - onebedtorulethemall Hermione/Draco E, 110k

Summary: The ghosts of Hermione’s past have risen, and they carry with them a message: Come home, come home, to where it all began. Driven to the cusp of sanity by a curse without a name, Hermione has no choice but to obey.

It’s silent as the grave in Wiltshire, and the manor stands nearly empty save for a dying woman and her reclusive son. But something stirs in Malfoy Manor that shouldn’t be there. Something with teeth.

And when she walks at night, she doesn't walk alone.

artifacts of some strange dream (ao3) - Anonymous Hermione/Draco, Hermione/Tom N/R, 33k

Summary: A man in the mirror speaks to her. Hermione fears there is something very wrong with her.

A Symptom of Being Human (ao3) - diplobeanz Theodore/Pansy, Neville/Pansy M, 3k

Summary: Shadows lurking in the dark no longer remain hidden, and the Lady of the House is convinced something is out to get her. When Pansy’s husband dies of a mysterious disease, our widow is left to her own devices in the eerie old Nott Manor. In fear of her own life, she turns to Neville, resident scientist and supernatural skeptic, to help crack the case.

Beautiful Creatures (ao3) - potterhead_fic Sirius/Remus, James/Lily T, 94k

Summary: Is falling in love the beginning... or the end? In Remus Lupin's boring hometown Hogsmeade lies the darkest of secrets... There is a beautiful boy. Gray eyes, long black hair, black rockstar clothes, chains and makeup. Sirius Black, is a boy who seems too out of place in Hosmeade. The same boy who had hunted Remus's dreams for a while now. There is a curse. On the seventeenth year, the darkness will take what it's been promised. Sirius has to prevent it. To save himself and his brother.

In the end, there is a sacrifice to make.

Sirius and Remus become bound together by a deep, powerful love. But Sirius is cursed and on his seventeenth birthday, his fate will be decided. Remus never even saw it coming.

Bite Me (ao3) - LilacsintheRain Hermione/Pansy E, 1k

Summary: Hermione Granger has always been one to overthink things; work, relationships, sex. Luckily, her girlfriend Pansy, has the perfect if monstrous method of helping her relax. And oh, does Pansy want to show how much she missed her girlfriend by making her feel good.

from my body, roses will bloom (ao3) - moonsandroses Draco/Harry N/R, 2k

Summary: Draco's life is a curse. He didn't know when he came to this realisation, but letting go has never felt so easy. And falling victim at the hands of the boy he has always loved is the greatest blessing he ever would know.

Gothic (fanfiction.net) - Brennus Harry/Ginny M, 67k

Summary: A bored Ginny Weasley finds her world turned upside down when a handsome and mysterious young wizard with a dark reputation offers her a job. Together, they seek a lost treasure and battle monsters while she learns many new things about herself.

Growing Entanglements (ao3) - apricitydays Minerva/Pomona T, 200

Summary: Minerva has a crush. Pomona has something else.

Harry Potter And The Holy War (ao3) - LunaPL M, 58k

Summary: A sequel to "Harry Potter And The House of Terror "

lick your wounds (ao3) - invisiblemuseum Barty/Pandora E, 5k

Summary: before they were bodies, there was barty

or, a bartydora vampire au

Lily of the kirkyard (ao3) - harbingerfrost James/Lily G, 840

Summary: She holds the hands of the dead.

The Crow (ao3) - sycadelex Hermione/Draco E, 12k

Summary: "O’ Lord God, I ask for thy protection from the evil one. I pray thy keep me from the hands of his wicked. I beg thee give me strength to resist temptation and the wisdom to know."

She is pious. She is contrite. She is obedient. Perfect in her prayers, zealous in her devotion, unwavering in her faith.

God doesn't notice.

The Devil does.

The House on the Hill (ao3) - Ciule Hermione/Tom E, 6k

Summary: Her husband cocked his head, looking at her, and just like before, her fear seemed to amuse him. “You’re right, though,” he commented, proving that he could indeed read her thoughts. “Many things have happened here. You probably wouldn’t like to know. In fact, you’ll be happier if you learn to close your eyes to … certain … things.”

The Picture of Sirius Black (ao3) - lynxindisguise Sirius/Remus M, 34k

Summary: A Dorian Gray AU in which Dumbledore encourages Sirius to indulge his baser impulses and desires... of the murderous variety.

You Put A Spell On Me (ao3) - writetimewrongmuse Hermione/Draco, Hermione/Tom E, 8k

Summary: Professor Tom Riddle came to Hogwarts to acquire Gryffindor’s Sword, but he intends to leave with Gryffindor’s Golden Girl. The only problem?

She’s just like him.

2 notes · View notes

bremont · 1 year ago

Video

(via (18) John Mearsheimer: US complicity in Ukraine as Final blow to liberal order, Russia use Nuclear Weapon - YouTube)

CLOVIS 👑 BRENNUS ⚔️⚖️🛡️ Washington 1776 civilization has a problem and to solved it has to change everything that has exist on your mind since RA RE / and ask any scientist and they will tell you is a complicated task and no AI will solutioned neither computer NASA attempts / How are you going to give a new concept name to a republic without using re same goes to reason re a 🔊 color & musical notes as speech are sounds voyelles from Rimbaud to Baudelaire 🤔👼 Râ, également connu sous le nom de Rê, est l'une des divinités les plus importantes de la mythologie égyptienne antique. Il est considéré comme le dieu solaire et le créateur de toute vie. 👑🔯🌎👑👽

#youtube

0 notes

deadangelos · 2 years ago

Note

So it’s a theme for the augurs to be back stabbers/liars/traitors? Cool cool cool cool cool-*inhales deeply* aaaAAAAAAAA

#pjo #percy jackson #dee keystone #brennus brinley #ask #drawn response #demigodseameg16 #grace event #tbm event #event #athanasius macbeth #cadeyrn avitus #jason grace #reyna ramirez-arellano #blood //#implied death //

177 notes · View notes

thecreaturecrossroads · 5 years ago

Note

Zombie for Puck

Zombie apocalypse? Yes please. Just for starters I see Puck and Draconna banding together to protect a forest where they have made a successful safe haven from the zombies and from arseholes that want to use the chaos for their own gain and an excuse to bully people. I see the zombie problem as something that at first is just humans affected by it. But the virus evolves quickly to where it would spread to magical creatures and beings.

Imagine it getting to be a problem where even Dragons could be affected. Which could mean that the virus might have been created magically. Meaning it could potentially spread to demi, or full elder gods. And if that were to happen then there’d be no stopping it. And being that Fire dragons are few, especially in more modern times, that’s a serious issue. Most creatures of Ice and Snow are off the hook as their body temperatures are too low to support the virus. Draconna, as one of the last fire breathing type dragons left is one of the only few that could potentially survive an infection is an old battle axe kind of gal because she’s directly involved in protecting the village. Fire Witches become spearheads of the fighting and protection. And become good luck for families and communities to have one among their ranks. What Unicorns are still around are hard at work trying to work out a counter curse/cure for the disease.

What Old gods that are left are holding onto their territories and either taking in what survivors they can, or are just waiting till this whole thing blows over. A lot of the latter.

The cities are reclaimed by nature and animals are roaming free after a long while. There is still the threat of zombies but it’s a little less terrifying as the initial waves of it calm down. Meaning there is more wild areas than there were before but there’s still a LOT of healing that the earth has to do before Puck (And Keeva if she’s in this world) could cleanse it and rise to full power again.

If we’re talking a Gay forest Dads base then what we have is Brennus meeting Infernum during a zombie attack. Maybe when Draconna is still a child. The outbreak hit and it’s what gave him his memories of who he really was back. But he’s struggling to adjust and learn how to control his powers because of all of this mess. They meet when Brennus is trying to get through to the Sanctuary to get Draconna and his brother out because whoever created the virus had gotten in and had trapped them all inside. Draconna is a child and can’t control her powers or anything, and her Uncle is taken a huge blow to his own powers as a Sorcerer. But he has made sure that he and Draconna and some of the people in the sanctuary are safe for now. But they need to get out of there.

Brennus begs Infernum, as a creature of Fire, to help him rescue his daughter.

Imagine a long trip fraught with danger either from zombie attacks, or marauders (you know what type of creeps I’m talking about), and hungry wild animals. Or malicious creatures out feeding on the slaughter and pain and suffering this all has caused. Drunk on how much of it there is and out of their minds so they can’t control themselves. Or people that would try to enslave anyone who has an affinity with fire or Ice to make themselves powerful or more safe.

Que Brennus and Infernum helping and protecting each other, making a great team and falling in love in the weeks it takes to get to the only openly visible entrance to the Sanctuary. They get there and have to bust everyone out and deal with the person who started all of this.

#frostymuses #Puck #AU discussion ask meme #Infernum #Brennus #Gay Forest Dads #Zombie apocalypse Au #got a little long

5 notes · View notes

letterstosestrilles · 3 years ago

Text

Dear Brennu,

It will be a bit before I can send this one, and believe me, I’m going to be very relieved when Kirim is connected to wider communications networks, which is apparently due to happen in the next year or so, so it will be much easier to keep up with family here then, and to keep up with everyone at home when I’m here.

This time, at least, I have many of the people I care about with me—my Sestrilles family are all here for nearly a full month, and Maliah and Niko have promised to stay as long as I need them.

I’ve needed them, because even great joy is hard sometimes.

The first thing I had to do when I got here, aside from settle into the house set aside for us here in the city of Sunwest, was collect my Kirimi family around me: my grandmother Am’elyn, my aunt Khama’air, my cousin Tidge. I told them enough of what my latest and biggest quest was to explain why gods would feel they owed me a boon, and then I told them what that boon was. There were tears, and a lot more explanations, and we all took a few days to prepare, to talk about all of it some more, and in my and Am’elyn’s cases, to stop by the temple to the Lady of the Stars to give her fervent thanks.

Mishakal gave me the power to cast the spell three times without cost, and I thought that I could probably do them all at once, but that it was likely to drain me of nearly all my energy and bring my parents back to life with the very poor welcome of their daughter fainting on the floor.

So instead I wasted a whole day debating with myself what order to bring them back in, when I was so desperate to have all of them close enough to hold at the last moment that I couldn’t for the life of me decide. In the end, with a bit of cowardice, I decided to go not on my own desires but on the other family members left to my parents: to give Am’elyn back her son, Khama’air her sibling, Tidge his cousin.

That meant that, when I finally gathered everyone together (nearly a week ago now—as you might guess, I’ve been busy), I prayed to Mishakal and to the Lady of Stars and drew on my magic and called back my father Kadan. I’ve cast Raise Dead a few times, and Resurrection, watched a dead body stir back into life, but there was something strange and almost unbelievable in casting a huge magic and then there being a person where there wasn’t before, from nothing at all to someone who hasn’t been alive in half a century standing there in front of me, taking me in his arms, both of us staggering a little until we ended up on the floor.

I talked without realizing I was talking, trying to tell him everything at once, until he quieted me a little to say the more important things, and then I could pull myself together well enough to introduce him to my family, and my family to him. They all greeted him warmly, asked him questions but not too many, until both of us started to nod off, at which point my brother carried me off to bed over my somewhat muzzy objections.

The next day I brought back Hanai, who stepped forward to press our foreheads together almost immediately. They’re the one who gave me my earring before they put me in an escape pod and saved me, and they commented on it, with an apology for leaving me alone, and what could I say but that I wasn’t, with that close—and with the rest of my family as well? And then they could be introduced around as well, and to hold on tight to Kadan, to meet Alion and have a few pleasant minutes of scientific conversation. I was hardly out of range of touch of either of them for the rest of the day.

And the next day, with the last of my reserves of magic from Mishakal, with one more prayer, I brought back Ezenki, my other father, who paused just long enough to be startled at the very impressive match of our hair colors before hugging me, holding on tight until I beckoned and Kadan and Hanai could join us, all four of us together again for the first time since the day the Procyon wrecked.

Since then, it’s been days upon days of talking, in every possible combination. None of us wants to let the others out of our sight, so we’ve mostly set up camp in the house’s living room, only peeling off one or two at a time to take a break and cry or take a walk or simply nap alone.

The rest of my family seems to know exactly when to stay close and when to find things to do elsewhere. Maliah has been wandering the trails outside of Sunwest, sometimes taking Tidge or Niko along, and Niko has been exploring some textiles and working on learning a bit of gnomish. Alion and Tiriel, my Sestrilles parents, have after some brief awkwardness seemed to decide to adopt my Kirimi parents as honorary siblings, and my Kirimi parents have decided that since I consider Tyko a brother, he’s another son to them. I’ve already found Alion and Hanai talking about data storage, Tiriel getting a recipe from Ezenki, Kadan asking Tyko about his plans for buying the shop he runs.

It hasn’t all been easy. I never expected that it would be. Ezenki and Tidge have been working through a lot of awkwardness and grief, since a lot of their branch of the family was on the Procyon, Tidge’s parents included, and I couldn’t bring back everyone. Hanai and Khama’air have had at least one hissed argument they thought I couldn’t hear. Am’elyn can hardly seem to look at Kadan without crumbling into tears. I keep waking up at night wondering if I’ve made it all up, if I died after all in Onver’s lair and this is all just something I’m imagining.

We’ll be here a while, as we work through it. A few months, I’d say, though I hope you’ll get this letter before that, and more letters too. When my Sestrilles family goes home, maybe they’ll do a relay, or if Gaizka finds a diplomatic excuse to come as they threatened when they found out what I was doing, they should be able to set something up, or take a relay likewise.

And then I’ll come back, and start learning what I want my life to look like now. There are a few fixed points: the quest for Jhasdej, my own and Maliah’s, which I want to help her with. Giving some concerts, now that I’ve promised you, Maliah, and Tyko that I’ll do some. Devon’s college tour. You.

Other things are a mystery, but I can almost see the shape of them. I’ll find a somewhat permanent residence, and my parents want to live near me, to make up for some lost time, so I’ll have them close. I’ll find something useful to do, more about building than searching or destroying. I’ll have the people I love around me. And, I hope, very soon the joy will feel more real.

I think it will. One of my fathers just called for me, and it didn’t cause a moment of disbelief. It’s a good beginning, isn’t it?

Love,

Elyn

#in character #in character: letter #letter to: brennu zahin #episode 210 #location: kirim #person: kadan'riv ni huilin far-ehsan #person: hanai'fe ni huilin sul-saani #person: ezenki'maah ni huilin ken-asisan #people: alion and tiriel #person: tyko #person: maliah #person: mehrnikorsa(niko)#person: am'elyn'nar ni huilin far-ehsan #person: tidge (tehi'nem ni khisa ken-asisan)#person: khama'air ni udyati sul-saani #the search for the procyon #elyn and brennu

1 note · View note