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horeformilfs · 11 months ago

Text

Dove

Mother Miranda x Fem! Maid Reader

TW: Bleeding, Injuries, Near Death, Major Character Death, Grief, Mentions of Torture, Negative Self Talk

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The grand hall of Castle Dimitrescu echoed with the authoritative voice of Lady Dimitrescu as she addressed her staff, the loyal maids who tended to the sprawling estate. Y/n, a reserved maid with a silent efficiency, stood among them, her gaze lowered as she listened intently.

"In three days, Mother Miranda will grace us with her presence for dinner. I expect nothing less than perfection from all of you. The castle must be impeccable, and any deviation from that will have severe consequences," Lady Dimitrescu announced, her piercing eyes scanning the assembly.

Bela, one of Lady Dimitrescu's daughters, stood by her side, her elegant poise matching her mother's. As the instructions continued, Lady Dimitrescu's eyes eventually landed on Y/n. A subtle nod from the imposing lady signaled Y/n's assignment for the evening.

"Y/n," Lady Dimitrescu's voice commanded attention. "You will be in charge of the kitchen and dining hall during the dinner. After serving the family, you will move to the sitting room to attend to us and Mother Miranda directly."

A murmur of disapproval rippled through the assembly, particularly from the maid previously in charge of the kitchen. She spoke up, "Lady Dimitrescu, it's unfair to have someone else take over our responsibilities. We are perfectly capable of handling the dinner arrangements."

Bela, always quick to defend Y/n, stepped forward, her voice carrying a regal authority, "Mother has chosen Y/n for a reason. She has proven herself time and again with her dedication and efficiency. We trust her to handle this important evening."

Despite the objections, Lady Dimitrescu remained resolute. "Y/n has earned this responsibility. You will respect my decision. The success of this dinner is paramount, and I expect you all to cooperate. Dismissed."

As the other maids dispersed, casting judgmental glances towards Y/n, Bela lingered, offering a supportive smile.

The three days leading up to Mother Miranda's dinner were a flurry of activity within Castle Dimitrescu. Y/n, dedicated to her duties, found herself working late into the night, ensuring that every corner of the castle was spotless. The sisters, keenly observant, had noticed her tireless efforts and sensed the underlying nervousness in her demeanor.

It was in the quiet expanse of the library that the sisters finally caught up with Y/n. As she meticulously dusted off ancient tomes, her eyes betrayed a weariness that didn't go unnoticed.

"Daniela, Bela, look who we have here," Cassandra remarked with a sly smile as the trio approached Y/n.

"Y/n, darling, working so diligently as always," Daniela chimed in, her tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

Caught off guard, Y/n straightened up, offering a polite nod. "Good evening, ladies. Just finishing up some cleaning in the library before heading to the kitchen."

Bela, ever the empathetic one, studied Y/n's face and noted the paleness. "You've been burning the midnight oil, haven't you? Are you feeling alright, Y/n?"

A subtle sigh escaped Y/n's lips as she attempted to brush off their concern. "Oh, I'm fine, really. Just a bit tired. Nothing to worry about."

Cassandra leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Tired? You look like you've seen a ghost. Are you sure you're okay?"

Y/n chuckled nervously, "I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, I can handle it. Just a little pre-dinner jitters."

Bela, sensing there was more to the story, spoke with a gentleness that contradicted her vampiric nature. "Y/n, we care about you. You don't have to carry all this weight alone. If there's anything bothering you, you can tell us."

Daniela, with a playful grin, added, "After all, we wouldn't want our favorite maid collapsing from exhaustion. It would be terribly inconvenient."

Y/n couldn't help but smile at their genuine concern. "Thank you, really. It's just the pressure of the upcoming dinner. I'll make sure to rest after it's all over."

Cassandra, not easily convinced, poked Y/n's side. "Promise?"

Y/n chuckled, "I promise. Now, I should check on the kitchen. Lady Dimitrescu expects everything to be perfect tonight."

As Y/n left the library, the sisters exchanged glances, silently agreeing to keep a watchful eye on their favorite maid.

The kitchen buzzed with activity as Y/n meticulously checked the final preparations for Mother Miranda's dinner. The air was thick with tension, and Y/n couldn't help but overhear hushed whispers among the other maids. They spoke in low tones, casting furtive glances in her direction.

"She thinks she's so special, getting all the attention from Lady Dimitrescu."

"I heard she only got the key to the distillery because she's the favorite. It's not fair."

Y/n clenched her jaw, choosing to focus on her tasks rather than the gossip swirling around her. As she moved gracefully between counters, ensuring everything was in order, the whispers persisted.

Meanwhile, the entrance to the kitchen swung open, and the room fell silent. Lady Dimitrescu entered, her towering presence commanding respect and instilling fear in equal measure. The maids froze, their eyes lowered in submission.

Lady Dimitrescu's eyes scanned the room before settling on Y/n. "You, come here," she commanded, her voice cutting through the anxious silence.

Y/n approached with a mixture of apprehension and deference. Lady Dimitrescu handed her an ornate key, its design intricate and foreboding. "Take this. It's the key to the distillery."

Y/n accepted it, her curiosity evident. "May I ask why, Lady Dimitrescu?"

The imposing figure of the lady leaned in, her voice a low, confidential tone. "Mother Miranda prefers a particular vintage for tonight's dinner. I want you to fetch it from the distillery. It's crucial that the wine is exquisite."

Understanding the gravity of the task, Y/n nodded. "Of course, Lady Dimitrescu. I'll get it right away."

As Y/n turned to leave, she felt the weight of eyes on her back. The other maids, seizing the opportunity, exchanged subtle glances and sly smirks. They had overheard Lady Dimitrescu's request and saw a chance to undermine Y/n.

In their huddled whispers, they concocted a plan. "Let's lock her in the distillery. She'll be too busy down there, and we won't have to deal with her stealing the spotlight anymore."

Unaware of the brewing conspiracy, Y/n made her way to the distillery, the key in hand. Little did she know that the shadows in the corners of the kitchen concealed the treacherous intentions of her fellow maids.

The dimly lit corridor leading to the distillery echoed with the soft footsteps of Y/n, unaware of the silent trio trailing her. As she reached the entrance, ready to unlock the door and retrieve the requested wine, she turned to find the three maids standing behind her.

Y/n furrowed her brow in confusion. "Is there something you need?"

The maid who had been leading the whispers stepped forward, a sly grin playing on her lips as she swiftly snatched the ornate key from Y/n's hand. "We just thought you should take your time down there, finding the perfect bottles for tonight."

Y/n, taken aback, instinctively reached for the key. "What are you talking about? I have to get the wine for Lady Dimitrescu."

The other two maids exchanged glances, their expressions betraying malicious intent. The one holding the key smirked, taunting Y/n, "Oh, you'll have plenty of time. We're just helping you relax a bit."

Y/n's eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping in. "This isn't necessary. Give me the key, and I'll handle the task."

The maid, now holding the key just out of Y/n's reach, chuckled darkly. "We've decided you could use a break. Down you go."

Before Y/n could react, the other maid forcefully shoved her, sending her tumbling down the narrow staircase. As Y/n descended, the sharp edges of the stone stairs greeted her with a painful collision, her head connecting with an unforgiving surface.

A groan escaped Y/n's lips as she struggled to sit up, her vision blurred from the impact. She clutched her throbbing head, feeling the warm stickiness of blood. Disoriented and vulnerable, she looked up to see the three maids peering down at her from the top of the stairs.

"You'll thank us later for the rest, dear Y/n," one of them sneered, and with that, they abandoned her in the darkness of the distillery, the heavy door creaking shut, sealing her off from the world above.

Over an hour had passed since Y/n was locked in the distillery, and Lady Dimitrescu's patience wore thin. The grand dinner was moments away, and there was still no sign of her trusted maid. The frustration etched on her face, she demanded answers from the other maids.

"Where is Y/n? I specifically placed her in charge of the wine, and she's nowhere to be found!" Lady Dimitrescu's voice boomed, echoing through the hallways.

The other maids exchanged nervous glances, their feigned innocence failing to deceive the imposing lady. "We... we don't know, Lady Dimitrescu. She was supposed to fetch the wine, but she never returned," one stammered.

"What?!" Lady Dimitrescu's eyes flashed with anger. "You had one task. I will deal with you later. Give me those bottles."

The maids handed over the three bottles of wine they managed to retrieve, and Lady Dimitrescu, seething with frustration, appointed another maid to oversee the kitchen. With a curt nod, she left the chaos behind and headed to meet Mother Miranda, her irritation palpable.

As Lady Dimitrescu joined the gathering in the dining hall, Mother Miranda's arrival signaled the commencement of the grand dinner. The opulent table adorned with delicacies lay in stark contrast to the tension in the air. The daughters, however, couldn't help but notice Y/n's absence.

"Daniela, where is Y/n? She should be here," Bela whispered, concern evident in her voice.

Daniela exchanged a puzzled glance with Cassandra, then turned to Lady Dimitrescu. "Mother, where is Y/n? Why isn't she here for the dinner?"

Lady Dimitrescu, struggling to contain her frustration, replied curtly, "I have no idea. She was supposed to handle the wine, but she's nowhere to be found."

Mother Miranda, intrigued by the conversation, turned her attention to Alcina. "Who is this Y/n that they speak of, Lady Dimitrescu?"

Alcina, maintaining her composure, explained, "Y/n is one of our maids, Mother Miranda. She has served diligently for years, but it seems she has encountered an unexpected delay tonight."

Mother Miranda's eyes bore into Lady Dimitrescu. "A delay? Inconvenient. I hope it doesn't affect the course of our evening."

The dinner proceeded, the absence of Y/n lingering in the minds of those present.

Y/n, still nursing the pain in her head, carefully navigated the dimly lit passages of the distillery. The air was thick with the pungent scent of wine and blood, an eerie ambiance that heightened her anxiety. Determined to find an escape, she tiptoed through the labyrinthine corridors, eyes darting in search of any opening.

As she ventured deeper, a faint noise reached her ears. Something shuffling, a low growl, and the clinking of rusted swords. Y/n's heart quickened, and she instinctively sought cover behind a stack of crates, praying she would remain unseen.

Peering cautiously from her hiding spot, Y/n's eyes widened as she saw the Moroaicǎ, grotesque creatures with twisted forms and lethal weapons. Their eerie, guttural sounds filled the air as they patrolled the dark passages, seemingly unaware of her presence.

Suppressing a gasp, Y/n tried to regulate her breathing, her eyes wide with fear as one of the Moroaicǎ turned its head towards her direction. The creature's cold, lifeless gaze met hers, and Y/n's heart skipped a beat. Panic set in as the Moroaicǎ, alerted to her presence, began to move in her direction.

Frantically, Y/n scanned her surroundings for a more concealed hiding place. She darted from behind the crates, hoping to evade their attention. The Moroaicǎ, sensing her movement, closed in, their rusted swords dragging against the cold stone floor.

With a burst of adrenaline, Y/n managed to find a niche in the shadows, holding her breath as the Moroaicǎ approached the spot she had just vacated. Sweat formed on her brow as she waited, praying they would pass without discovering her presence. The dim light flickered above, casting eerie shadows that danced around her, intensifying the suspense of her precarious situation.

The dinner concluded, and the group retired to the opulent sitting room, the daughters casting occasional glances towards the empty space where Y/n should have been. Lady Dimitrescu, masking her concern, informed her daughters of Mother Miranda's extended stay.

"Mother Miranda will be staying with us for a few days. We must ensure everything is in order during her visit," Lady Dimitrescu announced, her daughters nodding in acknowledgement, though their thoughts lingered on the absent maid.

As the night wore on, the maids diligently completed their final duties, a subdued atmosphere prevailing in the absence of Y/n. Lady Dimitrescu, growing increasingly uneasy, couldn't shake off the worry that gnawed at her.

Bela, the ever-observant daughter, spoke up, "Mother, shouldn't we look for Y/n? It's unusual for her to be absent like this."

Lady Dimitrescu considered the suggestion, her brow furrowed. Before she could respond, Mother Miranda intervened, "Perhaps a search is in order. Alcina, it would be wise to find your missing maid. I'll assist you in the search."

Lady Dimitrescu nodded, a mix of gratitude and apprehension in her eyes. "Very well. Bela, Cassandra, Daniela, you will search the upper floors. I will handle the ground floor. We reconvene in one hour."

The daughters, understanding the urgency, nodded in unison and dispersed to their assigned areas. As Lady Dimitrescu descended the grand staircase, her mind raced with worry, wondering what could have befallen Y/n.

Meanwhile, Mother Miranda turned to Alcina. "Let's begin below. We'll search the distillery and the dungeons. Time is of the essence."

With a determined nod, Lady Dimitrescu and Mother Miranda parted ways, each with a mission to unravel the mystery of Y/n's disappearance. The grand castle, once filled with regality, now held an air of uncertainty as the search for the missing maid unfolded in its echoing halls.

Y/n, realizing that hiding was not a sustainable option, mustered the courage to resume her search for an escape route. As she cautiously navigated the dim passages, the oppressive air weighed heavily on her. The scent of blood and wine intermingled, creating a sickening atmosphere that fueled her desperation.

Her heart raced as she stumbled upon the Moroaicǎ again. Panic set in, and before she could react, the sharp swing of a sickle sliced through the air, cutting into her arm. Y/n cried out, clutching the bleeding wound. The Moroaicǎ, relentless in their pursuit, closed in.

In a frantic attempt to evade them, Y/n pressed on, but another Moroaicǎ swung a rusted sword, cutting across her back. The pain was searing, and Y/n staggered, tumbling into the pooled mixture of blood and wine that flooded the distillery floor.

With adrenaline coursing through her veins, Y/n forced herself to her feet, the red liquid staining her clothes. Determination fueled her movements as she spied what appeared to be a potential escape route. The Moroaicǎ, undeterred, closed in once more.

In a desperate bid for freedom, Y/n lunged toward the passage, but before she could reach it, a Moroaicǎ struck her in the stomach with a swift, brutal stab. Y/n crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath, her hands instinctively clutching the wound as blood seeped through her fingers.

The pain was excruciating, and the distillery floor now mirrored the horrors of a macabre canvas, blood and wine blending in a grotesque dance beneath her. In her weakened state, Y/n fought against the encroaching darkness, the world around her blurred as the Moroaicǎ retreated, leaving her battered and bleeding on the unforgiving ground.

The three daughters reconvened in the upper level of the castle, their expressions a mix of concern and frustration. Bela spoke up first, her voice betraying a hint of worry, "I didn't find Y/n. Did either of you have any luck?"

Cassandra and Daniela exchanged glances before shaking their heads. "No sign of her. It's as if she vanished," Daniela replied, her usual playful demeanor replaced by genuine concern.

As they were about to discuss their next course of action, Lady Dimitrescu ascended the staircase, her towering figure casting a shadow over the hallway. "Have any of you found Y/n?" she inquired, her voice laced with urgency.

Bela, meeting her mother's gaze, shook her head solemnly. "No, Mother. We searched everywhere, but there's no trace of her."

Lady Dimitrescu's expression tightened, worry evident in her eyes. "I couldn't find her either. This is highly unusual. Where could she be?"

Cassandra, ever pragmatic, spoke up, "Mother Miranda hasn't returned yet. Maybe she's having more luck. We should wait for her."

Nodding in agreement, Daniela added, "Yes, perhaps Mother Miranda has uncovered something in her search. We can't lose hope just yet."

The group decided to return to the sitting room, a heavy silence settling among them as they anxiously awaited news of Y/n's whereabouts. The grandeur of the room seemed to amplify the uncertainty that lingered in the air, each passing moment intensifying the worry etched on their faces.

Mother Miranda pressed on through the labyrinthine passages of the distillery, encountering Moroaicǎ along the way. Her powerful abilities easily overcame the grotesque creatures, allowing her to continue the search undeterred. The echo of her footsteps resonated through the eerie silence of the underground.

As she delved deeper, she stumbled upon a haunting scene—a lifeless body lying on the wet ground, surrounded by the unsettling mixture of blood and wine. Mother Miranda approached with a sense of gravitas, turning the woman on her back to reveal her pallid face. The pain etched across Y/n's features tugged at Miranda's usually stoic demeanor.

Kneeling beside the injured maid, Miranda attempted to rouse her. "Y/n, wake up. Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters have been worried about you."

Y/n's eyes fluttered open, the pain evident in her gaze. She offered a weak apology, but Miranda hushed her gently, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "Shh, my dear. You'll be okay. We'll get you out of here."

As Y/n succumbed to unconsciousness, Mother Miranda cradled her in her arms, a fleeting but profound feeling of completeness washing over her. With each step, she savored the weight of the maid in her embrace, a sensation as if a missing piece had been found. The dimly lit passages of the distillery bore witness to this peculiar connection between the two women.

Emerging from the depths below, Mother Miranda ascended the staircase with Y/n in her arms. The grandeur of Castle Dimitrescu's main floor starkly contrasted the eerie solitude of the distillery. The daughters and Lady Dimitrescu, anxiously waiting in the sitting room, were taken aback as Miranda, with a wave of her hand, effortlessly opened the door.

The shock on their faces deepened as Miranda entered, cradling the unconscious Y/n. Lady Dimitrescu, momentarily speechless, found her voice, "Mother Miranda, what happened?"

Miranda's gaze met Lady Dimitrescu's, and she spoke with a calm reassurance, "Y/n has sustained severe injuries, but I can help her. We need to tend to her immediately."

With Lady Dimitrescu leading the way, they entered a makeshift medical room within the castle. Miranda gently laid Y/n on a nearby table, the gravity of the situation evident in the concern etched on everyone's faces.

Miranda, assisted by Bela and Cassandra, began to tend to Y/n's wounds. Lady Dimitrescu, ever composed, attempted to console the tearful Daniela, whose worry manifested in quiet sobs. The atmosphere in the room was tense, a blend of relief and anxiety as the fate of the missing maid hung in the balance.

In the hushed stillness of the night, Y/n stirred from her uneasy slumber, pain coursing through her body. The dimly lit room danced with shadows, and a sense of disorientation enveloped her. As she struggled to make sense of her surroundings, a masked figure approached, causing a jolt of fear to shoot through her.

However, to her surprise, Miranda calmly reached up and removed her mask, revealing her piercing blue eyes and chiseled features. Y/n, caught off guard, took a moment to admire the unexpected sight before her.

Miranda, with a slight tease in her voice, remarked, "Dove, it seems you're quite captivated by my features."

Caught in her reverie, Y/n blushed, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

Miranda chuckled warmly, her husky voice resonating in the quiet room. "No need to apologize, my dear. It's quite adorable how you get lost in thought."

Y/n's blush deepened, and she stammered, "I didn't mean to stare. I just..."

Miranda interrupted with a gentle laugh, "You have nothing to apologize for. In fact, I find it quite endearing."

As Y/n tried to hide her embarrassment, Miranda's reassuring presence eased the tension in the room.

Y/n's mind raced, and the overwhelming realization of the events hit her like a tidal wave. Panic set in, and her breathing quickened, chest tightening with anxiety. Frantically, she tried to get up from the bed, but her legs gave out beneath her. In the moment of vulnerability, Miranda swiftly caught her, gently guiding her back onto the bed.

"Dove, you need to rest," Miranda urged, her voice calm but firm.

Y/n's words stumbled out, frantic and desperate, "I... I need to apologize to Lady Dimitrescu. She'll be furious. I messed everything up."

Miranda, recognizing the distress in Y/n's eyes, gently cupped her face, directing her gaze to meet hers. "Listen to me, dear. Alcina will understand. Your well-being is the priority right now. We will face this together."

Y/n, still struggling to calm her racing heart, insisted, "But she trusted me with the dinner, and I ruined it. She's going to hate me."

Miranda continued to soothe her, "Alcina won't hate you. She cares about you. We'll explain everything to her. Right now, you need to focus on resting and recovering. The rest can be dealt with in due time."

Miranda continued her efforts to soothe Y/n, recognizing the persistent anxiety that gripped her. "Dove, you need to try and get some sleep. Worrying won't change what happened, and you need your strength to recover."

Y/n's restless expression revealed the inner turmoil she was experiencing. "I'm just too anxious, Miranda. I can't stop thinking about how Lady Dimitrescu will react."

Understanding, Miranda decided to take a more hands-on approach. She made her way to the other side of the bed, gesturing for Y/n to scoot over. With a gentle touch, she laid down beside her.

Y/n's eyes followed Miranda's movements, curious and apprehensive. Miranda, careful not to cause additional pain, pulled Y/n into her, cradling her in a protective embrace. Y/n, feeling the warmth of Miranda's body, relaxed against her, breathing in the comforting scent of her warm amber perfume.

As Y/n laid her head on Miranda's chest, Miranda's hand stroked her hair in a soothing rhythm. The calming gesture gradually eased Y/n's tension, and she began to drift back into a more serene slumber.

In the quiet intimacy of the moment, Y/n couldn't help but voice her curiosity. "Why are you being so caring, Miranda? Everything I've heard from the other maids told me otherwise."

Miranda paused for a moment before answering, "I'm not entirely sure. There's something about seeing you hurt in the distillery that stirred a protective instinct in me. You deserve care and kindness, especially in moments of vulnerability."

Y/n's heart swelled at the sincerity of Miranda's words. Miranda gently kissed Y/n's head before covering them both with the comforter. The room fell into darkness as Miranda extinguished the single candle, the subtle scent of warm amber lingering in the air.

As Y/n settled into the comforting embrace, Miranda whispered softly, "Rest now, Dove. We'll face whatever comes together." The quiet reassurance echoed in the stillness of the room, offering solace to Y/n as sleep reclaimed its hold on her troubled mind.

Y/n stirred from her slumber, the morning light filtering through the window. Her gaze wandered around the room, eventually resting on Miranda, who was already awake and watching her. As their eyes met, Y/n blushed and quickly looked away, prompting a soft chuckle from Miranda.

Before either of them could say anything, a knock echoed through the room. Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters entered, their eyes taking in the unexpected scene. Cassandra, always one for teasing, couldn't resist making a playful comment, causing Y/n to bury her face in her hands in embarrassment.

Miranda, with a fond smile, gently helped Y/n sit up, mindful of her lingering pain. Lady Dimitrescu, her expression a mix of concern and relief, addressed Y/n, "You've been relieved of your duties until further notice. Your priority now is to focus on recovering."

Y/n, still flustered, stammered out, "I'm sorry, Lady Dimitrescu. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Lady Dimitrescu's stern exterior softened, and she placed a reassuring hand on Y/n's shoulder. "It's alright, Y/n. Your well-being is what matters most. We'll address the situation in due time. For now, rest and recover."

Cassandra, with a mischievous grin, added, "Who would have thought our dear Y/n would end up in Mother Miranda's arms?"

Bela and Daniela exchanged amused glances, and Lady Dimitrescu, while maintaining her composure, couldn't suppress a small smile.

Miranda, after a moment of silent consideration, addressed Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters, "I would appreciate it if you could give us some privacy while I check on Y/n's injuries."

Lady Dimitrescu nodded, her daughters following suit. As they left the room, Miranda turned her attention back to Y/n. "Let me see how your injuries are healing," she said, her tone gentle.

Y/n complied, allowing Miranda to inspect the stitches and bruises. After a careful examination, Miranda offered a reassuring smile. "Everything seems to be healing well. Just be cautious of the stitches, and don't push yourself too hard."

As Miranda finished her assessment, Y/n hesitantly asked, "Do you think I could go for a walk in the courtyard? It might help me feel better."

Miranda considered the request before responding, "I wouldn't want you to go alone. But if you'd like, I can accompany you."

Y/n's face lit up with gratitude. "That would be wonderful, thank you."

Miranda helped Y/n to her feet, offering a supportive hand. They walked together toward the courtyard, Miranda's hand gently holding Y/n's. The castle's grandeur unfolded around them as they stepped into the open air of the courtyard. The quiet sounds of the castle grounds surrounded them, offering a peaceful backdrop to their walk.

As they strolled through the courtyard, Y/n couldn't help but express her appreciation, "Thank you, Miranda, for everything. I never expected you to be so caring."

Miranda, with a soft smile, replied, "Sometimes unexpected bonds are the strongest. I want to ensure you recover fully. You're important to this castle."

The courtyard stretched before them as they continued their leisurely walk, the soft sounds of their footsteps blending with the tranquil ambiance. Suddenly, Y/n stopped, a subtle wince crossing her features. Miranda, ever attentive, noticed the discomfort and immediately asked, "Are you okay, Y/n?"

Y/n, attempting to downplay the pain, forced a smile and replied, "I'm fine, really. Just a little twinge."

Miranda, unconvinced, studied Y/n's expression. "We can stop and rest if you need to. Your well-being is my priority."

Y/n, determined to continue, shook her head. "No, really, Miranda. I'm okay. Let's keep going."

Miranda hesitated, her concern evident, but she ultimately agreed, "If you're sure, but don't hesitate to let me know if you need a break."

As they continued their walk through the courtyard, the atmosphere shifted when Y/n suddenly stopped, her eyes widening with recognition. Miranda, noticing the change, questioned, "What's wrong, Y/n?"

Y/n's gaze fixated on a group of maids, the same ones who had locked her in the distillery. Memories of that traumatic incident flooded back, causing her to step back, seeking refuge closer to Miranda.

Miranda, sensing Y/n's distress, turned her back to the maids, cupping Y/n's face gently. "Tell me what's wrong," she urged.

The maids, surprised by Y/n's unexpected appearance, attempted to approach her, pretending as if nothing had happened. Y/n, however, instinctively moved away from them, drawing nearer to Miranda.

Miranda, maintaining her protective stance, turned around to face the maids. "What's going on here?" she questioned, her tone demanding answers.

The maids, caught off guard, nervously attempted to justify their actions, downplaying the severity of their actions. Y/n, her voice filled with a mixture of pain and frustration, told Miranda what they had done.

In response, Miranda positioned herself in front of Y/n, a shield against the maids. "You locked her in the distillery? Do you realize the danger you put her in?" Miranda's irritation was palpable.

The maids, seemingly unfazed, tried to dismiss the gravity of their actions, claiming it wasn't a big deal and that nobody would have noticed anyway. Miranda's expression hardened. "You could have killed her! Do you comprehend the consequences of your actions?"

Just then, Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters appeared, the maids visibly trembling at their presence. Lady Dimitrescu, with a stern expression, questioned, "What is going on here?"

Miranda wasted no time in revealing the maids' transgressions, explaining how they had locked Y/n in the distillery, putting her in grave danger. The air in the courtyard tensed as Lady Dimitrescu's gaze bore down on the guilty maids, the consequences of their actions becoming increasingly apparent.

Lady Dimitrescu's gaze bore into the group of maids, her towering figure casting a formidable shadow over them. She questioned them with a stern tone, "Explain yourselves."

The maids, now realizing the gravity of their actions, attempted feeble justifications, but Lady Dimitrescu cut through their excuses with a cold precision. "Enough of your excuses. You endangered one of my trusted maids, and for that, there will be consequences."

Cassandra, Bela, and Daniela, standing beside their mother, wore sadistic grins as they anticipated the impending punishment. Lady Dimitrescu's words carried the weight of authority as she declared, "You will be punished."

The daughters, eagerly awaiting their cue, exchanged glances, their excitement evident. Lady Dimitrescu, without uttering a word, nodded slightly, giving the signal for Cassandra, Bela, and Daniela to take charge.

The trio approached the maids with a sinister gleam in their eyes, ready to carry out the punishment ordered by their mother. Cassandra's grin widened as she spoke, "Oh, you're in for a treat."

Bela added, "The dungeon can be quite... enlightening."

Daniela, the youngest but no less enthusiastic, chimed in, "And we haven't had visitors in a while."

The maids, now fully aware of the severity of their actions, cast nervous glances at each other, realizing that the consequences under Lady Dimitrescu's rule were not to be taken lightly. The castle's cold corridors echoed with a mix of tension and anticipation as the daughters prepared to escort the guilty maids to the dreaded dungeon.

Miranda, ever attuned to Y/n's well-being, turned her attention to the shaken maid. "Are you okay, Y/n?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.

Y/n, still processing the recent events, seemed a bit spaced out. Miranda, gently cupping Y/n's face, attempted to bring her attention back to the present moment. "Y/n, focus on me. You're safe now. Breathe."

Lady Dimitrescu, towering beside them, also expressed her concern. "Y/n, are you alright?"

Y/n, with a hint of distress in her eyes, replied, "I never meant for any of this to happen. I didn't think they would go so far."

Lady Dimitrescu, her stern expression softening for a moment, reassured Y/n, "You are not at fault here. The maids will be punished severely for their actions. This was not your doing."

Y/n, still grappling with the aftermath of the confrontation, looked at Miranda and Lady Dimitrescu with a puzzled expression. "I don't understand why you're defending me. I'm just a maid, and my role is to serve the house without questioning anything, to never talk back or question the decisions of my superiors."

Miranda and Lady Dimitrescu exchanged glances, both confused by Y/n's perspective. Miranda spoke gently, "Y/n, it's normal for people to help each other, to care for one another. You don't have to bear everything on your own. We are here for you."

Lady Dimitrescu, realizing the depth of the situation, added, "What you've described is not a healthy way to live. It's okay to seek help, to question things. We're not just your superiors; we're also people who care about you."

Y/n hesitated, realizing the ingrained beliefs she had carried for so long. "I never thought about it that way. It's just the way things have always been for me."

Understanding the sensitivity of the conversation, Lady Dimitrescu turned to Miranda. "I'll give you two some time to talk. It seems like there's much for Y/n to process."

Miranda, sensing the need for a more intimate conversation, led Y/n to a quiet bench where they could sit together. Y/n, seeking comfort, rested her head on Miranda's shoulder, and Miranda gently took Y/n's hand in hers.

As they settled into a moment of shared vulnerability, Y/n began to explain, "I've always felt responsible for taking care of others. It's just how I've lived, and I never expected anyone to take care of me."

Miranda, with a soft smile, asked, "But who takes care of you, sweet girl, if you're always giving yourself to others?"

Y/n sighed, "No one, really. It's not anyone else's job to take care of me, and I shouldn't expect them to."

Miranda's expression softened further. "It's normal for people to care for others and, in return, receive care. You deserve that too, sweet girl." She wrapped her arm around Y/n, embracing her as they sat together on the bench.

They remained in that comforting silence for a while, Miranda providing a sense of security for Y/n. Eventually, Miranda spoke, "We'll work on this together, at your pace. It's okay to let people in and accept help. You don't have to carry everything on your own."

Y/n, feeling a mixture of vulnerability and gratitude, whispered, "Thank you, Miranda."

Miranda pressed a gentle kiss to Y/n's forehead and held her a little tighter, both of them acknowledging the journey ahead, one that would involve breaking down the walls Y/n had built around herself for so long.

Later that night, with Y/n peacefully sleeping, Miranda sat beside her, engrossed in a book. Alcina entered the room, requesting Miranda's presence for a talk. Miranda, kissing Y/n gently on the forehead, agreed before quietly leaving the room.

In the drawing room, Miranda and Alcina sat together. The sisters, sensing the serious atmosphere, joined them, ready for the conversation. Cassandra, with a sinister grin, started, "The maids' punishment has been taken care of."

Miranda, curious yet composed, questioned, "And how was it handled?"

Bela, her tone matter-of-fact, replied, "We tortured them before ending their lives."

Miranda, acknowledging the severity of the situation, simply nodded. "As long as it's been taken care of."

Daniela, changing the subject, asked with genuine concern, "How is Y/n? Is she alright?"

Miranda, a touch of warmth in her eyes, replied, "She's healing. It will take some time, but she'll be okay."

Daniela visibly relaxed, and Cassandra teased, "Oh, Daniela was practically inconsolable when we found Y/n. It was quite the scene."

Daniela blushed, trying to defend herself. "I was just worried, that's all."

Cassandra, chuckling, continued to tease her younger sister, and Bela added, "It's good to see you care, Daniela. Y/n means a lot to all of us."

As the conversation continued in the sitting room, Y/n stirred from her slumber, wondering where Miranda had gone. Following the sound of voices, she discovered them gathered in the sitting room. The attention of the group turned to Y/n as she entered the room, her presence bringing a pause to their discussion.

Daniela, with swift enthusiasm, rushed over to Y/n, enveloping her in a hug. Alcina, ever the protective figure, reminded Daniela to be gentle. Blushing, Daniela apologized, and Y/n reassured her, "It's okay, Daniela."

With a playful glint in her eye, Daniela warned, "If you ever scare us like that again, you won't like what happens."

Y/n settled on the couch beside Miranda, engaging in the ongoing conversation with the sisters. Finding comfort in Miranda's presence, she leaned into her, appreciating the warmth and reassurance. Miranda, in response, gently took Y/n's hand, their fingers entwining.

The sisters, ever observant, noticed the subtle intimacy and exchanged knowing glances. Their teasing remarks prompted Y/n to look down, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Miranda and Alcina chuckled at Y/n's reaction.

Cassandra smirked, "Looks like someone's enjoying the company."

Bela added with a playful tone, "Quite cozy, aren't we, Y/n?"

Daniela, joining in the teasing, teased, "I didn't know maids got such special treatment."

Y/n, feeling the heat in her cheeks, mumbled a response. Alcina, in a motherly tone, playfully scolded her daughters, "Leave the poor girl alone."

As the banter continued, the atmosphere remained light, filled with laughter and camaraderie. Eventually, Alcina and the sisters decided to retire to their rooms for the night, leaving Miranda and Y/n in the quiet sitting room.

Miranda, still holding Y/n's hand, turned to her, "They can be a handful, can't they?"

Y/n, feeling a mix of emotions, smiled and replied, "They're unique, but I appreciate the company."

Miranda, recognizing the lateness of the hour, suggested that it was time for both of them to retire to bed. Y/n agreed, and Miranda walked them to the door of Y/n's room. As they stood outside the room, Y/n expressed her gratitude, thanking Miranda for everything she had done.

Miranda, with a reassuring smile, replied, "It was no problem, Y/n. You're part of this household, and I want to ensure you feel safe and cared for."

Y/n nodded appreciatively but hesitated, a question lingering in her mind. Miranda, perceptive as always, sensed Y/n's uncertainty and gently probed, "What is it, Y/n? You seem like there's something on your mind."

Y/n bit her lip, hesitating before dismissing the thought, "Oh, it's nothing. I'll see you in the morning."

Miranda, not willing to let it go, softly grasped Y/n's hand, turning her to face her. "It's not 'nothing.' Tell me, Y/n. What's on your mind?"

Y/n glanced down, feeling a bit foolish, and mumbled, "It's stupid."

Miranda, with a patient and caring tone, insisted, "It's not stupid, and your thoughts matter. Talk to me, Y/n."

Miranda, unable to catch Y/n's quiet request, noticed the hesitancy in her expression. Gently lifting Y/n's face with her fingers, Miranda asked again, "What is it, dove? I couldn't quite hear you."

Blushing, Y/n repeated in a hushed tone, "I was wondering if... if you'd be willing to stay with me tonight."

Miranda's gentle smile grew, and she replied, "Of course, it's not stupid at all. If it makes you feel more comfortable, I'm happy to stay with you." Her fingers softly stroked Y/n's face, offering a reassuring touch.

Y/n, still uncertain, sought confirmation, "Really? You're willing to stay?"

Miranda nodded with sincerity, "Yes, really. Now, let's get ready for bed."

As Miranda prepared for bed, Y/n settled into the softness of the covers. When Miranda returned, Y/n eagerly cuddled up to her, finding solace in the comforting presence.

Miranda, embracing Y/n, softly whispered, "Goodnight, dove."

Y/n, feeling a warmth she hadn't known before, replied, "Goodnight, Miranda."

Y/n, waking in the early morning hours, felt a sharp pain in her stomach. Touching the area, she discovered wetness on her hands. Panic set in as she looked down and saw blood, a significant amount staining her clothes and the bed. The realization struck her that the stitches must have ripped.

Freaked out and in a state of shock, she urgently tried to wake Miranda. When Miranda didn't respond immediately, Y/n rushed out of the room, her mind racing for help. Without hesitation, she headed towards Bela's room, knocking anxiously on the door.

Bela, expecting another maid, opened the door only to be surprised by the distressed sight of Y/n.

Bela, concerned by Y/n's distressed state, urgently inquired, "What's wrong? Y/n, please, tell me!"

In shock and unable to articulate fully, Y/n stammered, "Blood... stitches... pain..."

Bela caught the scent of blood and quickly noticed Y/n's clothes stained crimson. Realizing the severity, she tried to keep Y/n awake, urging, "Stay with me, Y/n. Don't close your eyes."

Before Bela could leave to fetch her sisters, Cassandra and Daniela appeared, having caught wind of the situation. Their worried expressions deepened as they saw Y/n.

Bela swiftly directed Cassandra, "Stay with Y/n. I need to get Miranda. Daniela, go get Alcina."

Cassandra, determined to keep Y/n conscious, gently applied pressure to the wound, attempting to stem the bleeding. Concern etched across her face, she encouraged, "Y/n, stay with me. Tell me about something, anything."

Y/n, weakened and in pain, mumbled, "I... I don't know... hurts..."

Cassandra, doing her best to offer comfort, helped Y/n lie down, cradling her head in her lap. "It's going to be okay. Help is on the way," Cassandra reassured, her voice a soothing presence in the midst of the crisis. "Just focus on staying awake for a little longer."

Y/n's voice, feeble and strained, whispered to Cassandra, "I feel... so cold and tired."

Cassandra, maintaining a reassuring tone, replied, "Hey, don't worry. You're going to be fine. You just need to hang on a little longer until Miranda and Alcina get here."

Y/n, shivering, continued, "It hurts... so much."

Cassandra, applying gentle pressure to the wound, acknowledged, "I know it hurts, but we're doing everything we can to help you. Just stay with us, Y/n."

Y/n's eyes flickered, a sign of her weakening state, "I'm scared, Cassandra..."

Cassandra, stroking Y/n's hair soothingly, responded, "I understand. It's okay to be scared, but you're not alone. We're here with you, and help is on the way. Focus on breathing, okay? In and out."

Y/n, her breathing becoming more labored, managed a faint smile, "You're... a good friend, Cassandra."

Cassandra smiled back, her eyes reflecting concern, "And you're a strong person, Y/n. We'll get through this together."

The frantic urgency in Cassandra's voice filled the room as she heard the approaching footsteps of Miranda, Alcina, and the other sisters. "They're coming, Y/n. Just hold on a bit longer, help is here."

Miranda and Alcina burst into the room, their eyes immediately assessing the situation. Bela and Daniela quickly explained the circumstances, with Alcina's gaze narrowing in concern. Miranda, with a soothing yet urgent tone, assured Y/n, "We're here now, dear. You're going to be okay. Just stay with us."

Cassandra, feeling a sense of relief with the arrival of help, informed Miranda, "She just passed out, but she was conscious a moment ago."

Y/n's limp form in Cassandra's lap heightened the sense of urgency. Panicking slightly, Cassandra shook Y/n gently, calling her name, "Y/n, wake up. They're here now."

Miranda, taking charge, directed, "We need to get her to the medical room. Alcina, can you assist?"

Alcina nodded, taking Y/n carefully into her arms. "Let's go," she said, her tone reflecting a mix of concern and determination.

Miranda led the way, with Alcina following, carrying Y/n through the corridors. Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela trailed behind, their worry evident as they entered the medical room together.In the stark medical room, the atmosphere was thick with tension as Miranda, Alcina, and the sisters worked desperately to save Y/n. However, it became increasingly apparent that Y/n had lost an alarming amount of blood, pushing the limits of conventional medical intervention.

As the urgency heightened, Miranda hesitated, grappling with the decision that could either save or jeopardize Y/n's life. The only option left was the cadou, a mysterious and potent solution with uncertain consequences. The weight of the decision hung heavily on Miranda's shoulders.

After a moment of contemplation, Miranda made the difficult choice to implant the cadou into Y/n. The room fell silent as they anxiously waited for any sign of change. However, seconds felt like an eternity, and the anticipated transformation failed to manifest.

A sense of despair settled over the room as Y/n's vital signs continued to decline. The heart monitor emitted a flatline, the sound cutting through the heavy air like a painful truth. The sisters, normally composed and poised, began to lose their composure. The reality of the situation struck hard, and panic set in.

Miranda, her expression pained and defeated, spoke with a heavy heart, "There's nothing more we can do. I'm sorry."

Daniela, overcome with grief, couldn't contain her emotions any longer. Tears streamed down her face as she pleaded with Miranda, "Do something, please! Save her!"

As the sisters reluctantly left the room, Alcina casting a sympathetic glance at Miranda, a heavy silence enveloped the medical chamber. Alone with Y/n's lifeless form, Miranda's emotions erupted in a torrent of sadness and frustration.

Tears welled up in Miranda's eyes as she looked down at Y/n. A mix of sorrow and anger consumed her, the weight of responsibility settling heavily on her shoulders. "I'm sorry, my dear," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "I should have seen the signs, done something sooner. This is my fault."

She sank into a chair beside Y/n's still form, her hands shaking as she reached out to brush a strand of hair from Y/n's face. "You trusted me, and I failed you," Miranda confessed, her voice trembling. "I should have known how fragile you were, but I was too blinded by my own arrogance."

The room seemed to echo with Miranda's self-reproach, and she continued to speak to the motionless figure on the bed. "I've spent centuries, seen so much, and yet, I couldn't save you. I can't forgive myself for this."

Tears fell freely as Miranda took Y/n's cold hand in hers, a futile attempt to warm the lifeless flesh. "You deserved better, my dove," she lamented. "I promised to protect you, and I failed. I'm so sorry." The weight of regret hung in the air, and Miranda's sorrowful confessions echoed through the silent room, unheard by the one person they were meant for.

The days that followed Y/n's passing were filled with a heavy atmosphere, grief clinging to the castle like a persistent shadow. The funeral had come and gone, leaving behind a somber emptiness that seemed to echo through the halls. But for Miranda, the pain persisted, and she found herself drawn to the small secret garden on the castle grounds.

In the tranquil enclosure, hidden away from the world, Miranda sat beside Y/n's resting place, surrounded by flowers that mirrored the fleeting beauty of life. She spoke to the quiet air, her voice a soft lamentation that blended with the rustling leaves and distant echoes of the castle.

"I miss you, my dove," Miranda confessed, her tears falling to the ground like silent prayers. "I never imagined your journey would end so abruptly. I failed you, and I can't forgive myself."

As Miranda poured out her heart, unbeknownst to her, Alcina and the sisters had silently followed her to the garden. They watched from a distance, hidden among the foliage, witnessing the raw emotion that Miranda had kept hidden from the world.

Bela, Daniela, and Cassandra exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting the pain they felt for both Y/n and Miranda. Alcina, usually composed and commanding, couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the woman she had come to care for in a way she hadn't anticipated.

Miranda's voice wavered as she continued to speak to the silent grave. "You deserved more than this. A life full of joy, not cut short by my shortcomings. I failed to protect you, and I'll carry that burden for eternity."

The wind carried Miranda's sorrowful words through the garden, mingling with the delicate fragrance of flowers. The sisters remained silent, allowing Miranda the space to grieve, understanding that some wounds could never fully heal.

Miranda's estate, once a grand and imposing structure, now stood as a mere shell of its former self. The emptiness within the cold stone walls echoed the hollowness in her heart. Life had continued for everyone else, but for Miranda, time seemed to freeze in the moment she lost Y/n.

Each week, the journey to Castle Dimitrescu became a melancholic pilgrimage. The once vibrant secret garden now held the weight of memories that refused to fade. Miranda spoke to the silent grave, recounting the events leading to that fateful day, as if reliving the tragedy would somehow alter the outcome.

The hole in Miranda's heart persisted, a constant ache that refused to dull with time. Y/n, who had entered her life so briefly yet left an indelible mark, continued to haunt Miranda's thoughts. The pain she felt was reminiscent of the loss of her own daughter, a wound that had never truly healed.

Miranda found herself stuck in a perpetual loop of grief, reliving the day Y/n died over and over again. The vibrant colors of her world had faded to shades of gray, and the once powerful and enigmatic woman had become a mere shell of herself.

The grandeur of Miranda's estate, once a symbol of her prowess, now mirrored the desolation within. The grand halls, once filled with the echoes of power, now reverberated with the quiet sobs of a mourning soul.

As Miranda gazed upon the cold stone walls of her estate, the pain of losing Y/n weighed heavily on her. The fleeting moments of joy they had shared were overshadowed by the relentless sorrow that now clung to her like a persistent shadow. And so, Miranda remained trapped in the past, bound by the unyielding chains of grief, haunted by the ghost of a love that had slipped through her fingers.

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omagpies · 1 month ago

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We know that after agonist's transformation he'd eventually study sword play. Is this from a lingering need to be capable in duels? An enjoyment of physical activity? Or does he have a goal that requires violence to attain?

agonist's overall quest is to Fix The Bane situation (permanently detangle them? put bane to eternal rest? bring him properly back to life somehow? the details are fuzzy), which along the way semi-morphs into Fix The Scourge Situation.

for that reason, he needs to be mobile and able to defend himself, as a walking talking deer attracts unnecessary (and sometimes violent) attention.

something i haven't talked about yet but you guys may have noticed -- when someone is performing in an official capacity (the emperor, the cradle workers), they wear masks that reflect their affiliation with a profession/guild/etc. of course, this is largely relevant only for bigger cities and their outskirts -- if someone in the wolf mask of the guard appears in a backwater village, they will be regarded with suspicion and ridicule, but in the cities this is very customary.

luckily, rangers wear deer masks -- so, to a degree, agonist can get away with pretending to be one, so that at a glance he doesn't raise much suspicion. but at a second glance something is definitely off (both because, i mean, look at him, and also if he travels through a city, seeing a ranger in the urban setting is odd enough to pose questions), which is where self defense with a sword can come in handy

you definitely got it right with the duel thing -- when agonist can't use his antlers anymore, learning some form of fencing is his best bet (a 1v1 weapon that can be wielded with one hand).

and when he meets snapthaw, the choice of weapon is kind of decided for him as she is a swordsman by (ex-)trade.

(...and then, of course, the three main factions eventually open their manhunt on him, and wielding a weapon becomes of paramount importance)

drawings time :) the boys in their incredible disguise vs what a ranger is supposed to look like. plus bonus emperor because I love them, non-negotiable

#artists on tumblr #digital art #deer art #furry #art #oc: agonist #oc: bane #verse: deer #my art #deer verse: worldbuilding #oc: emperor

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ezekiel-krishna · 8 months ago

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✧ 2nd House Ruler known for (WEALTH & Family) in All Houses

Part 1 ..

{ Vedic Astrology }

⇝ Your Guide to Check Your Placement (Vedic Astrology)

1st Step ⇨ Go to Vedic Astrology Calculator

2nd Step ➚ Enter Your Details & Press { Calculate Sidereal Chart }

3rd Step ⇨ Find the Second House Ruler as per the {Sign & Symbol}

"Example here , 2nd House is Ruled By Capricorn & Its Lord is Saturn which is in 3rd House thus Your [ 2nd Lord is in the 3rd House. ] "

Now Lets Move on ..

2nd Lord in 1st House

This position can make you very wealthy not only will it expand the storage capacity in your life, but it will also pave the way for a prosperous future for your children. This position holds the power to create a generational legacy, where each successive generation builds upon the wealth accumulated before them. As the first generation to embark on this journey, you have the opportunity to lay the foundation for a lifetime of abundance, while your children will take it even further.

This placement make you the employer or the boss who provide & generates job opportunities. The first house presents an exceptional position for anyone venturing into the world of business. On the other hand, the second house represents the importance of family. When the second lord enters the first house, it signifies that you will eventually take charge of the family business and revolutionize it to reflect your unique vision. This is the house where the second lord yearns for a vision. In the 1st house , self-belief is paramount, as it can be tested by the highs and lows of life. Hence, it is vital to constantly question yourself when doubt arises: "Do you truly have faith in your own vision?"

This query holds immense value, as the 1st house represents your true self. Consequently, your prosperity will define you, bestowing upon you prestige and significance. The lord of the second house is a lord of family and when in 1st house, you're likely to have a strong desire for a big, loving family. You enjoy being in control of your household, taking on the role of a nurturing figure like a big daddy or a big mommy. Your home becomes a haven where people depend on you, much like pets and children, creating a harmonious and fulfilling atmosphere..

The bigger the household the happier you become the issue is however that you're quite controlling with the money itself you're even controlling with your family members spending, you get angry with family members when they are wasting resources, money, food etc.. This can cause contention in your life, you don't like to spend too much and giving back to community outside of the family however benefits in the first house or aspect here will help to keep that money flowing outwards which will always increase wealth in any case..

One thing to watch out for , though the lord of possessions (2nd house lord) has gone into your house(1st house) & aspect directly at the seventh house of partner, thus can make you possessive of any kind of partner causing difficulties in relationships. The aspects on seventh house brings forth numerous positive effects too, particularly when it comes to your business endeavors. It acts as a marketplace, attracting the attention of influential individuals who are eager to collaborate and support you. Even if you're not an entrepreneur, your colleagues will be enthusiastic about joining your team for any projects.

2nd Lord in 2nd House

This placement give you the ability to manage your finances, giving you control over your money. While you work hard to build wealth, This position may bring challenges with your children or dependents. You possess a slight inclination towards being controlling, especially when it comes to overseeing the actions of others. Wasting anything, particularly money, is something you strongly dislike.

Occasionally, this controlling nature may create challenges in your interactions with your children. The placement of the 2nd lord in its own house can make you excessively proud of your family traditions, which can result in problems. It's important to be mindful of this tendency and make a conscious effort to avoid being haughty or stuck up.

The lord of the second house assumes the role of a natural protector within its own domain, much like a vigilant guard dog. This becomes particularly evident when the ruler of the second house is a malefic planet such as Mars or Rahu[North Node]. In such circumstances, any encounter with loss triggers a surge of anger within you. However, it's important to clarify that this anger doesn't translate into violence. Instead, it ignites a fierce determination to acquire and safeguard your possessions..

You become unwavering in your efforts to hold onto your wealth, resorting to any means necessary to shield yourself from further losses. Your bank balance becomes a constant source of concern, as you diligently monitor both incoming and outgoing funds. Seeing more money coming in than going out is what you should strive for. It's a reassuring sight that brings a sense of security. However, if you don't witness this flow of abundance, it's natural to feel a bit insecure. The key lesson here is to embrace the concept of letting go. Loosen your grip on money and allow it to flow through your fingers, benefiting others. Remember, the opposite house(eighth house) represents sharing possessions, and by embracing this concept, you'll attract greater wealth karma into your life..

Stay Tuned For Part 2...

Remember This is a General Analysis , Whole Chart is to be consider for Accurate Personalized Predictions..

For Paid Personalized Analysis & Reviews ➤ Check Here

Masterlist ➤ Check Here

🤗 Feel free to chat with me if you have any questions about my service. Don't hesitate, I'm here to help!

#astrology #astro community #vedic astrology #astro observations #astroworld #astro notes #astroloji #astroblr

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littlesparklight · 1 month ago

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I've been reading the thesis version of Meriel Jones' Playing the Man: Performing Masculinities in the Greek Novel, especially the last chapter, which gave me some more meat my bones, so I've elaborated on this post (... essay..?) about effeminacy and Paris.

I. Some general points when it comes to ancient Greek culture and certain attitudes relevant to the topic of effeminacy: Moderation, first of all, was a thing the Ancient Greeks considered paramount; moderation in sex, food, drink, pleasure, clothing - you name it. Self-control and nothing too much, of anything. I think this can be reflected in Menelaos' Book 13 speech: "There is satiety in all things, even sleep and even love, and in sweet song and blameless dance […] But the Trojans are insatiate of battle." He twice juxtaposes (before and at the end of this speech) the Trojans' supposed insatiability (lack of moderation) for war with that one can have "enough" of all things, even those much sweeter than war itself.

Both men and women were supposed to show self-restraint when it came to sex; it was a virtue, and furthermore, self-restraint and moderation was part of what made a man "manly", if you will. Part of Aeschines' speech Against Timarchus argues that he has shown a lack of moderation in his behaviour in all parts of life; seeking out men (whether "unsuitable" or not) to sleep with (as the presumed receptive partner), food, indulging in hiring far too many female prostitutes; all this made him unfit for what was otherwise a male citizen's rights and responsibilities both. Women being modest and chaste were similar for them, and an extra step further than a man's "moderation". At the same time, women were considered "naturally" more sexual, having less self-control (that was why it was extra important they exercise self-restraint and being chaste), and being focused on pleasure, which leads into the connected idea that a man who does not… becomes feminized.

Something illustrated by Lucian of Samosata's A True Story, in the very first parts of it, and talked about below:

And contrary to what one might think, in general the love of boys wasn't feminising (later, it would start to gain that association) - though as always, excessive sex no matter the partner "dooms" you, and being the one taking cock is of course effeminate (because being penetrated is what women do). Instead, a too intense interest in women, whether in sex or just spending time with them, becomes feminising. Like draws to like, and if you associate too much with it, it will "taint" you. Plutarch is of course much later than the Iliad, but this bit from the Amatorius (750f forward) might work as a general illustration:

"Now if this be the passion you talk of which is to be called Love, it is a spurious and effeminate love that sends us to the women's chambers, as it were to the Cynosarges at Athens. […] thus the true genuine love is that of boys, not flaming with concupiscence, as according to Anacreon the love of maids and virgins does, neither besmeared with odoriferous ointments, nor alluring with smiles and rolling glances; […] whereas that other love, nice and effeminate, and always nestling in the bosoms and beds of women, pursuing soft pleasures, and wasted with unmanly delights, that have no gust of friendship or heavenly ravishment of mind, is to be despised and rejected of all mankind."

In fact, a man being willing to break law and convention to be with a woman he desired to such a degree he'd try to sleep with a married woman would also feminise him. Or, throwing that around, being effeminate made a man suspect of being an adulterer. For example, apparently a Syracusan law (mentioned by Phylarcus) stated that any man who paid excessive attention to his appearance and personal grooming could be identified as an adulterer or a kinaidos. So the connection between decorative appearance on a man is tied both to immoderate sexual interest in women (as well as characterising him as attractive to said women), but general sexual deviance - a kinaidos was someone who liked to be penetrated.

There's also parts of Electra's speech to Aigisthos' corpse in Euripides' Electra that are pretty illuminating (930ff): "Among all the Argives you would hear this: "That woman's husband", not "that man's wife". Although this is a shameful thing, for the wife to rule the house and not the husband[…]You were insolent because you had a king's house and were endowed with good looks. May I never have a husband with a girl's face, but one with a man's ways. For the children of the latter cling to a life of arms, while the fair ones are only an ornament in the dance."

Male beauty coupled to a lack of manliness, dance (which can have erotic, if not outright sexual, connotations) contrasted with martial ability and virtue.

II. For the Iliad specifically, Christopher Ransom in his Aspects of Effeminacy and Masculinity in the Iliad (2011) summarises up a couple other points:

"In the Iliad, childishness and effeminacy are often referred to in order to define masculine identity. Women and children are naturally not operative in the adult male world of warfare, and so can be clearly classified as ‘other’ within the martial sphere of battlefield insults. Masculine identity cannot be formed in a vacuum, and so the feminine or the childish is posited as ‘other’ in order to define the masculine by contrast." and "Idle talk is characterised as childish or feminine, and is repeatedly juxtaposed with the masculine sphere of action." as well as "Effeminacy is linked to shame […]; if acting like a coward is a cause for shame, and prompts Menelaos to call the Achaians ‘women’, then effeminacy is seen as shameful in the context of the poem."

And while neither dancing nor sex are something that a man who engages in will become effeminate for, the former is explicitly posited as a peace-time pastime only, and sex is only to be had at the right time (and in the right amount). So, in the Iliad's (as well as the whole war) circumstances, neither of those two activities are proper to prioritise, and are at points set up in juxtaposition and contrast to war and martial effort. Additionally, physical beauty alone doesn't make a man in any way feminized - otherwise quite a few male characters would be effeminate! - and in fact, a well-born, "heroic" man will be beautiful because it befits his status. (Insert basically any big-name male character in Greek mythology here.) But, there's a limit and some caveats to this; physical beauty in a man (not a youth) must be balanced out against other "virtues", and if, in especially the context of war as in the Iliad, a man's martial ability is lacking, his handsomeness becomes a source of scorn instead, because he can't "back it up".

Here's our most notable "offenders": Nireus of Syme, who in the second book of the Iliad is called the most beautiful among the Achaeans after Achilles, but "he was weak, and few men followed him". Syme is a small island, but I don't think the "few men" here is supposed to be assumed because of a lack of numbers on the island. His beauty is all there is to him, and no one wants to follow him because he's not sufficiently (manly) able in war. Nastes and/or Amphimachus of Miletus, wearing gold in [his/their] hair "like a girl", which the narrator then calls [him/them] a fool for and that he will be stripped of those pieces of jewellery when Achilles kills him, and, again from Ransom's article; "Thus, the effeminised male, characterised by his feminine dress, is brought down by the ‘proper hero’, and the effeminate symbolically succumbs to the masculine." Euphorbus, the man who first injures Patroklos - this is an edge-case, because the text itself isn't obviously condescending or condemning Euphorbus compared to Nastes/Amphimachus. It simply describes him wearing his hair in a style of hair ornaments that pinches tresses in at the middle. But, the narrator still goes to the effort to make this extra description, not just the more general/usual mention of the hair being befouled in the dust as the man killed falls to the ground.

(In the intent of being somewhat exhaustive, two other potential edge-cases: Patroklos, who does perform some tasks at the embassy dinner in Book 9 that would usually be done by women. And it's not as if Achilles doesn't have women who could deal with the bread and similar. It's not remarked on, or marked in the text in any way, compared to the other characters previous. Menelaos, even more of an edge case when it comes to the Iliad, but like Patroklos he's described as gentle, and by Agamemnon and Nestor's indictment doesn't act when he should, being more prone and willing to let Agamemnon take point. Could say it ties into how Helen in the Odyssey is the more dominant partner in terms of social interaction, as well. In Euripides' Iphigenia in Aulis, this adjacent connection turns a little more clear, for some of the way Agamemnon describes how Menelaos is acting at some points have a rather feminising slant.)

And then there's our last "offender", who we see more of in terms of his lacking in living up to proper (Iliadic) masculinity; Paris. Before going into that, I want to touch on something else.

III. That being what the idea of the Trojans being "barbarians" does to the Trojans in later sources. In the Iliad itself, while the Iliad does have a pro-Achaean bias, the Trojans and their allies aren't really portrayed in the same way as happens later (but not consistently so), coming into shape during and after the Persian Wars. In summary, it's during this time the Trojans gain the negative stereotypes of the eastern "barbarian"; luxurious, slavish (but also tyrants! one basically ties into and enables the other), and effeminate.

Not all "barbarians" were considered the same, with the same stereotypes attached to them; northern (Scythians, etc.) barbarians were considered violent and warlike, "savage" if you will.

Edith Hall's book Inventing the Barbarian (1989), is all about this, but have a couple hopefully illuminating quotes about how these stereotypes were expressed, especially in drama/fiction:

So what happens is that all Trojans get tarred with this eastern barbarian brush, as illustrated by the Trojan Women, for example, where Hecuba's description of Paris' looks when he came to Sparta is steeped in the eastern barbarian luxury terms. Which comes attached with other connotations. Another example is in the Aeneid (by a character, not the narrative);

"And now that Paris, with his eunuch crew, beneath his chin and fragrant, oozy hair ties the soft Lydian bonnet, boasting well his stolen prize."

Notes here: 1. This is said by a character, not the narrative itself, and using this as an argument against Aeneas and his Trojans, but the stereotype itself isn't something new; 2. "That Paris" = Aeneas. While this might be more about Paris as a seducer and abductor of Helen, adultery is as we know effeminate, and given the emasculation of the rest of the Trojans and then the additional effeminate touches with Aeneas' supposed dress and hair, I'd say it's not just about that; 3. The word translated here as "eunuch" (semivir, "half-man"), by a quick look in Perseus' word tool, is also straight up used about effeminacy, though of course an actual eunuch wasn't a "full"/proper man and often viewed as effeminate, too, so they're tied together.

This is a development, of course, and we can't know how completely the later ideas of effeminacy would've been reflected in the times when the Iliad was crystallized. But on the other hand, those ideas about effeminacy wouldn't have sprung ready-made out of nothing in the Archaic/Classical era, either. Even in the Iliad, there are clear criteria for what makes a man properly manly/martial, which isn't really followed along the lines of later eastern barbarians/Greeks. So in the Iliad itself obviously not all Trojan characters would be equally easy to cast in an effeminate light.

But, again, we come back to the easiest target, the one who, by the way he's juxtaposed against another character who exemplifies the "war as (part of the) male gender performance" in the Iliad, stands outside of that. The one who basically, as he is portrayed in the Iliad, by the stereotype of the later eastern barbarian becomes the archetypal "eastern barbarian Trojan".

Paris.

IV. So, let's talk about Paris!

At the very basic level when it comes to Paris and his place in the Iliad, is that he is the foil and contrast to his brother Hektor in specific, as a warrior and as a man. But in that specific reflection he is also the contrast against almost every other male character, Achaean and Trojan, in the Iliad.

What does this mean?

-Cowardice; he's slack and unwilling as Hektor accuses him of. No way to know if this is specifically because he's always afraid of martial engagement, as in the moment we see before his duel against Menelaos, since being unwilling to fight in deadly combat could be for many different reasons. (He is not always slack and unwilling, however; he is out there on the battlefield with the rest at the beginning of Book 3, and after Book 6 he is, as far as we know, out there with the rest of the Trojans, from beginning to end. His unreliability in his martial efforts is another angle.) But the reason(s) why do not really matter; it would be cowardice either way. Not returning to the battlefield and instead sleeping with Helen, and then, again, not returning immediately after they're done be considered part of cowardice as well. Paris' not returning without being prompted (in one case, if he's being honest, by Helen herself) undoubtedly has several connotations and implications.

-He is one of, if not the worst, fighters among the commanders, on both sides. His martial prowess isn't up to snuff. As we see in Book 3 where Hektor calls him out on retreating, he notes that Paris' beauty would have the Achaeans believe Paris is one of the Trojans' foremost champions, for the idea is that this physical excellence would be paired with martial excellence. But it isn't, because of Paris' cowardice and his lack of martial ability, and tying into this, then, is;

-Paris' beauty. As noted earlier with Nireus, physical beauty not backed up by martial prowess makes you less than, and the epithet used most often for Paris to call him godlike is specifically about his physical looks. There are other epithets (also sometimes used of Paris) that mean "godlike" in a more general way, but the one most often used of Paris is specific. And, that particular word is what's used when Paris first leaps forward in Book 3; the narrative is using theoeides every single time Paris' name is used in Book 3. And so we get something like this, from J. Griffin in his Homer on Life and Death (1980): "…the poet makes it very clear that the beauty of Paris is what characterizes him, and is at variance with his lack of heroism…" as well as from Ransom in his article: "Again the suggestion is that Paris’ beauty is empty, and that he is lacking the courage or other manly characteristics that would render it honourable. […] Paris is set against Menelaos, a ‘real’ man by implication, and he is told that his skill with the lyre and his beauty would be no help to him then."

-Being an archer. The bow wasn't the manliest weapon around, and the Iliad disparages its use on the battlefield (selectively!). Paris is basically our archetypical archer, who gets insulted for being an archer and less manly because of that. Diomedes' insult in Book 11 lays this out very clearly; he straight up calls the bow not a real weapon, and by implication in his further speech implies Paris is no different than a woman or a child. Now, many people are insulted on the Iliadic battlefield by being compared to women or children. But none of these men are archers - or Paris, who Diomedes has just insisted has given him a(n insignificant) injury, by a "not real" weapon, that is the same as if a woman or child hit him. He's denying Paris' martial ability and masculinity several times over.

-The first part of Diomedes' litany of insults is worth looking at as well; "kera aglae = shining/glorious in horn", which is variously translated as either splendid in your crown of curls/glorying in your hair/bow. The translation varies because the Ancient Greeks also didn't know what was meant, exactly, and while I prefer the 'hair' option (because the bow is superfluous as it's mentioned right after), bow would emphasise again the uselessness of such a weapon; Paris' martial skill is useless and less manly. But what's more interesting in the case of if it might mean Paris' hair (as a way of dressing it, is meant); it puts an emphasis, again, on Paris' looks and the effort he makes in his presentation. Effort he shouldn't put there. And a third option that I don't know if translators ever use is that it might mean 'penis', which shakes out into "glorying in your penis". So, an insult about Paris' prowess being in the bedroom instead of on the battlefield, which is, of course, unmanly.

-His focus on dancing and music, as brought up by both Hektor and Aphrodite (and, though in a more general insulting context with other sons being mentioned as well, by Priam). The problem is, again, of course not his skill or interest in and with these things, but that he is better at these than combat and that he shows more interest in them and, by especially Hektor's implications, puts more effort and focus in these than martial endeavour.

As a point when it comes to his being a lyrist; that, too, was often edged in ideas of effeminacy. So while, of course, no man is effeminate just because they may take up the lyre at some point, as this was very much part of a genteel and elite culture, if one dedicates one's life to it, that starts to have an effect on how the person is viewed. As an illustration, this quote from The Culture of Kitharoidia (2010) by Timothy Power: "Juvenal is in fact activating, with the added zeal of the Roman moralizer […] a critical topos that Greek comic poets and cultural conservatives themselves had deployed as early as the fifth century BCE: the negative characterization of popular music and musicians, not least star citharodes, as prettified and unmanly, "soft" […], if still highly sexed." and also "[…]and as singers of aismata gunaikon. This latter phrase could be understood to mean "women's songs" or "songs sung for the enjoyment of women". Again, the conceit of the musician as effeminate seducer is operative." The way Hektor connects Paris' skill with his lyre together with his beauty as contra-martial in the Iliad seems to me like a nascent seed of this. And then we have the below quoted ode by Horace where Paris is playing for "his women", and thus their enjoyment, away from the battlefield and undoubtedly in private/the women's part of the house, and this, together with his sexuality and reputation for seducing (Helen), and we're probably right smack dab in the "woman-focused effeminate" of the musician spectrum. Aelian's Varia Historia has a similar point about Paris' lyre/singing; "what were sung but adulterous airs to take and seduce women?".

-His sexuality. As noted earlier, a man should show moderation and self-restraint. Paris, giving in to his desires and having sex in the middle of the day and during a tense moment, even if the forces aren't supposed to be fighting at that very point in time (neither he nor Helen would know Athena has induced Pandaros into breaking the truce), is certainly not showing any sort of moderation. He shows no hesitation in bringing up his desire to sleep with Helen, and has to be fetched from the innermost parts of his and Helen's home. The place where the women clearly are considered to be, which is not where a man should linger. There is a similar lack of moderation and self-control in how Paris doesn't just sleeping with, but runs off with, someone else's wife - he wants Helen so much he (through whatever means) removes her from her husband's house.

I can't emphasize enough how much especially his speech about how much he desires Helen and the subsequent sex isn't some epitome of macho male sexuality and prowess. Rather, this is the epitome of feminized weakness to sex and pleasure. Paris goes through several possible words to describe his ardour and the pleasure of sex to Helen, and Paris throws himself whole-heartedly into the weakness he is displaying. And again, in the versions of story where Helen and Paris sleep together in Sparta before they leave, Paris thus having part of adultery, would, as noted earlier, also be attached to effeminacy, through the same lack of control over one's sexual urges.

-Paris' physical presentation. There is a lot of focus on his dress and how it makes him look (Aphrodite practically objectifies him for Helen's pleasure when she describes him to her!), and that his clothes are gorgeous. Again, have a quote from Ransom about that Aphrodite-Helen scene: "This scene captures his essence perfectly. Once more Paris’ looks and dress are emphasised […] and, in Aphrodite’s speech, the poet explicitly disassociates him from his martial endeavour." Connected to this we have his first appearance earlier in this book, where he's described as not wearing full armour but a leopard pelt. Here's Griffin again: "[…] so he has to change into proper armour before he can fight - and we are to supply the reason: because he looked glamorous in it." Now, I don't think it's that simple, because other people wear animal pelts in the Iliad; Agamemnon and Menelaos both do so, as does Diomedes and Dolon. However, Agamemnon and Menelaos both wear theirs as part of a full martial dress and they're clearly meant as part of a display of authority and martial prowess. Diomedes, though he's not otherwise fully armoured as this is part of his dress during the meeting before the night raid, is clearly meant to be similarly glorified (Dolon is more of a question, considering how he's portrayed otherwise). Paris is specifically not wearing a full set of armour, even if he apparently has it at home, so in the end I'd agree with Griffin that, given the other instances of Paris' clothing being extravagant/beautiful, this is indeed an instance of "because he looked glamorous in it".

But as Ruby Blondell puts it: "The destructive power of "feminine" beauty is most ostentatiously displayed, among mortals, in the person not of Helen but of Paris. In contrast to the veiling of her looks, Paris's dangerous beauty is displayed, glorified, and also castigated. […] His appearance is unusually decorative, even in battle. His equipment is "most beautiful" (6.321), glorious, and elaborate (6.504), and his outfit includes such exotic details as a leopard skin (3.17) and a "richly decorated strap (polukestos himas) under his tender throat" (3.371)." (Helen of Troy (2013)) And aside from the Iliad, Euripides in describing Paris in the Trojan Women and Iphigenia in Aulis, makes much of his beautiful clothes.

Too much attention to one's looks would, again, be feminising. (Taking it as an aside because I don't remember where I read it or the source of the statement, but a note to an article I once read quoted a source as saying that a man paying too much attention to his hair was an indicator of either being an adulterer, or effeminate.) Men who were excessively interested in women were then stereotyped as decorating themselves further to attract them, with cosmetics, perfume, and even feminine clothes (because this sort of decorating oneself was thought to be attractive to women when a man did it). In the Heroicus (Philostratus), Paris is described as having white skin (suggesting he, like women, keep out of the sun), polishing his nails and painting his eyes, and in conjunction with the Iliad's focus on Paris' hair and his perfumed bedroom, this could be contrasted with a description of an effeminate character from Longus' novel Daphnis and Chloe: "His hair was glistening with perfumed locks, his eyes were shadowed; he wore a soft cloak and fine slippers, heavy rings sparkled on his fingers." (trans. Goold)

And Paris' pretty hair gets insulted at least once (by Hektor) and potentially twice, the second time by Diomedes in Book 11. (The phrase used is uncertain whether it's about Paris' hair or his bow; that it could be his hair, being worn in a particular style, has been an idea from ancient times.) And we know what sort of fuss the Iliad makes of pretty hair in men who do not otherwise live up to being properly masculine according to its ethos.

-His attitude towards the whole (Homeric) heroic ethos of the Iliad. Not just his unwillingness or lack of martial prowess, but rather the "personal motto" he expresses to Hektor in Book 6; "victory shifts from man to man". And, while I wouldn't say this is at all a typical mark of an effeminate man in terms of the Ancient Greek outlook on these matters, you do have to set it in connection to his other martial "failings". As Kirk in his The Iliad, a Commentary, vol. 1 (1985/2001) says: "He thus attributes success in battle to more or less random factors, discounting his personal responsibility and performance." and, another point of view from Muellner in The meaning of Homeric εὔχομαι through its formulas (1976) about this same "motto":

-A comment on Paris' epithet of "husband of lovely-haired Helen". While I heavily doubt there's any implication of unmanliness made in the Iliad itself by Paris being called this epithet, compared to the other elements to how Paris is portrayed, in Euripides' Electra Electra has a statement about Aigisthos that it's shameful for man to be known as being a woman's husband, instead of the other way around. My guess is that Iliad-wise (or within the epic tradition of the Trojan war), Paris' epithet is factual; he is the husband of Helen, nothing more or less. But by the point we get to Archaic/Classical Greece, the audiences would look at such an epithet - while still factual - differently. Especially in conjunction with everything else around Paris, I think.

So what you have, then, in sum is Paris being very much non-masculine. In the Iliad itself he is, at the very least, not conforming to the martial and cultural expectations and mores of the Iliad's/the Homeric masculine ethos. Even if you add in/change some of how the Trojans might view things, Paris would without a doubt still be non-conforming. Myth-wise, he certainly is so, both before and after the Persian Wars and the changes to the Trojans' general perception at the hands of the Athenian tragedians happened.

Here's Christopher Ransom again, to tie things up: "If gender is performance, Paris is simply not playing his part; if ‘being a man’ requires a concerted effort and a conscious choice, it seems as though Paris’ choices are in opposition to those of his more heroic brother."

V. And lastly, some scattered quotes from ancient sources about Paris, roughly ordered from earliest to latest:

"Accursed Paris, outstanding only in beauty, woman crazed, seducer-[…]The long-haired Achaeans howl in laughter thinking you our first champion, because your appearance is beautiful - but there is no strength in your heart, nor any courage.[…]Your lyre and the gifts of Aphrodite would be of no use to you, nor your hair and looks[…]" "[…]he is on his bed in his own room, radiant with beauty and dressed in gorgeous apparel. No one would think he had just come from fighting, but rather that he was going to a dance, or had done dancing and was sitting down. (The Iliad, Book 3) -I think these two Iliad quotes boil things down nicely. Hektor's lines are very much haranguing Paris for his lack of manliness in what Hektor chooses to insult. The focus on his beauty and the clothing in Aphrodite's lines add to it, for the clothing (and their emphasised beauty) especially would enhance said beauty. Aphrodite also bringing up dancing, and this is yet another notch in how he is so attractive and sexual/sexualized; the dancing grounds and dancing by young women and men were loci of sexuality.

"No! my son was exceedingly handsome, and when you saw him your mind straight became your Aphrodite; for every folly that men commit, they lay upon this goddess, [990] and rightly does her name begin the word for “senselessness”; so when you caught sight of him in gorgeous foreign clothes, ablaze with gold, your senses utterly forsook you." (Euripides, Trojan Women) "in robes of gorgeous hue, ablaze with gold, in true barbaric pomp;[70]" (Iphigenia in Aulis) -These two quotes are pretty straightforward, especially keeping in mind all the above and Edith Hall's discussion of the words connected to eastern "barbarians" by this point. And, too, however, that 'ablaze with gold' would imply he's wearing (a lot) of jewellery, which is not really a manly thing to do. The description in IA once more has him in lots of jewellery, and the "gorgeous hue" more literally says "flowery", so either presumably the various colours of flowers, or the clothes are embroidered in flowers.

"Vainly shall you; in Venus' favour strong, Your tresses comb, and for your dames divide On peaceful lyre the several parts of song; Vainly in chamber hide

From spears and Gnossian arrows, barb'd with fate, And battle's din, and Ajax in the chase Unconquer'd; those adulterous locks, though late, Shall gory dust deface." (Horace, Odes) -Double focus on his hair, and through that, Paris' behaviour (playing music, avoiding battle), all of it disassociating him from martial effort and into a more "feminine" sphere.

"So then Achilles you, who overcame the mighty, were subdued by a coward who seduced a Grecian wife! Ah, if you could not die by manly hands, your choice had been the axe." (Ovid, Metamorphoses, Book 12) -Quite literally spelled out in the text that Paris isn't manly, and that he's so very much not manly that Klytaimnestra, a literal woman, would've been the preferred slayer instead!

"[…]shall we endure a Phrygian eunuch hovering about the coasts and harbours of Argos […]" (Statius, Achilleid) -Again, like in the Aeneid quote, the "eunuch" here is "semivir", so Paris is explicitly emasculated and made out to be effeminate, for while it might be used of a eunuch (who is a "half-man") it's otherwise attached to effeminacy or other gender/sexual deviance. And certainly it is here, in the form of the effeminate man who is a great seducer of and greatly attractive to (and sexually weak towards) women.

"He attached panthers' skins to his shoulders, he did not allow dirt to settle on his hair, not even when he was fighting, and he polished his fingernails. He had a rather aquiline nose and white skin, his eyes were painted,[…]" (Philostratus, Heroicus/On Heroes) -Including the full and not just paraphrased quote here in the interest of fullness sake; the fussiness to his appearance is very clear, never mind the implication of his pale skin as noted earlier.

"And he washed him in the snowy river and went his way, stepping with careful steps, lest his lovely feet should be defiled of the dust; lest, if he hastened more quickly, the winds should blow heavily on his helmet and stir up the locks of his hair." and "he [Paris] stood, glorying in his marvellous graces. Not so fair was the lovely son whom Thyone bare to Zeus: forgive me, Dionysus! even if thou art of the seed of Zeus, he, too, was fair as his face was beautiful." (Colluthus, Rape of Helen) -I don't think I need to say much about that dainty description of Paris' behaviour and the care he takes to still look as put together and beautiful for when he reaches Sparta, do I? The second quote, though, I think deserves some comment, because Collutus twice in short order compares Paris to Dionysos, and as we saw in Hall's book, Dionysus in the Bacchae is associated not just with a foreign man, but someone who would be tarred with the stereotypes of the eastern "barbarian". And Dionysos has long, of course, been portrayed with a particularly feminized beauty, not just in drama.

On top of this, much earlier than Colluthus we have Cratinus' Dionysalexandros, a satyr play where Dionysos takes Paris' place for both the Judgement and kidnapping Helen. To note is that while the satyrs are followers of Dionysos, their uses as chorus in satyr plays wouldn't necessarily have them attached to Dionysos (often, they seem in fact to have removed themselves from him). And in this circumstance, then, Paris isn't just compared to the effeminate Dionysos, Dionysos straight up (though disguised as Paris) replaces him for a part of the play.

It all starts in the Iliad, but it certainly doesn't end there, and by the end his effeminacy is just all the more explicitly stated in text as effeminacy.

(Christopher Ransom's article can be read right here: https://www.academia.edu/355314/Aspects_of_Effeminacy_and_Masculinity_in_the_Iliad Edith Hall's book can be downloaded on her own website: https://edithhall.co.uk/product/reading-ancient-slavery/ Meriel Jones' Playing the Man: Performing Masculinities in the Greek Novel can be found as an unpublished thesis here: https://cronfa.swan.ac.uk/Record/cronfa42521 (but also exists as a published book) Timothy Power's The Culture of Kitharoidia can be read here: https://chs.harvard.edu/book/power-timothy-the-culture-of-kitharoidia/ )

#greek mythology #paris of troy #greek myth thoughts #the iliad

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ihavenothingtodo10220 · 9 months ago

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Hi, I was wondering if u could do Felix (skz) ideal type 🫶🏻 ty

Of course!

Quick disclaimer: His exact birth time is entirely unknown, so I calculated his natal chart with that in consideration. As such, this is not going to be as accurate as it could be, but as accurate as it can be with what I have to work with. This is all for fun, and not confirmed. I can be entirely off, as astrology isn't...An exact art when it comes to these things, but this is just based on astrology. This is not meant to be malicious, and take this with a grain of salt. With all that out of the way, please enjoy! Also i'm so sorry for how long this took it took me forever to start this then I had to rewrite it in my new format so...yeah.

Placements

First off, with his Virgo Sun. A Virgo Sun looks for a partner who possesses a strong sense of responsibility and reliability. They are attracted to people who can match their level of commitment and dedication. Someone with a well-organized life and a structured approach to their goals and aspirations will catch their attention. He appreciates a partner who can handle their own affairs with efficiency and precision. Intelligence and intellectual compatibility are highly valued by him. He wants a partner who can engage him in deep and meaningful conversations, stimulating his mind and inspiring his analytical thinking. Wit, a thirst for knowledge, and a rational mindset will captivate Felix's heart. He can appreciate a partner who can challenge their intellect and offer new perspectives.

In matters of emotions, Felix looks for someone who can provide stability and emotional security. He is drawn to individuals who are emotionally mature, grounded, and have a good handle on their feelings. A partner who can navigate through life's challenges with a level-headed approach and a calm demeanor will be deeply appreciated by the Virgo Sun.

Attention to health and well-being is paramount to him, and he seeks a partner who shares this value. A physically fit and health-conscious individual will be highly attractive to him. He appreciates someone who takes care of their body and mind, and who understands the importance of a balanced lifestyle. Felix also values humility and a certain level of modesty. He is not fond of big displays of ego or arrogance. Instead, he is drawn to people who have quiet confidence, understated achievements, and genuine humility. A partner who can appreciate the little things in life and find joy in simplicity will resonate with Lixie's practical and down-to-earth nature. He seeks a partner who shares his desire for personal growth and self-improvement. He is attracted to individuals who are constantly striving to better themselves, both intellectually and emotionally. A partner who is open to self-reflection, willing to work on their flaws, and constantly evolving.

Now with his Aries Moon, he wants a partner who exudes confidence and assertiveness. He is attracted to individuals who are not afraid to take charge and pursue their desires with unwavering determination. Someone who can stand their ground and meet their passionate energy head-on will definitely win his heart. Independence and a strong sense of individuality are highly valued by Felix. He wants a partner who can maintain their own identity and pursue their own interests, while still being able to come together and create a dynamic and exciting partnership. Freedom and autonomy are important to him, and he appreciates a partner who can respect and support his need for personal space and self-expression.

In matters of emotions, Felix looks for someone who can match his intensity and enthusiasm. He craves a partner who can keep up with his emotions and engage in passionate exchanges. An adventurous and spontaneous spirit will bring out that fire in him, and someone who can meet his emotional needs with equal fervor will earn his admiration. Felix is drawn to individuals who embrace challenges and are not afraid to take risks. He looks for a partner who can share his thirst for excitement and novelty. Someone who can push his boundaries, encourage him to step out of his comfort zone, and embark on thrilling adventures will win the Aries Moon's heart.

Honesty and directness are highly valued by the Aries Moon. He appreciates a partner who can communicate openly and transparently, without beating around the bush. He wants someone who can match his straightforward approach to life and relationships, as he has no patience for hidden agendas or manipulative behavior. Felix also values loyalty and commitment. He wants a partner who can be his rock, someone he can rely on through thick and thin. A steadfast and devoted person who is willing to stand by his side and support his ambitions will earn his respect and admiration.

Furthermore, Felix is attracted to individuals who possess a strong sense of self-belief and are not easily swayed by others' opinions. He wants a partner who can inspire and challenge him, someone who can match his fierce determination and encourage him to reach for the stars. He looks for a partner who can handle his occasional bursts of anger or impatience with grace and understanding. He appreciates someone who can diffuse tense situations and help him find balance when his emotions run high. A partner who can provide a calming influence and support his emotional growth will be deeply cherished by him.

With his Libra Mercury, he is attracted to individuals who possess beauty, charm, and can have intellectual conversations. His ideal type would be someone who is not only physically attractive but also intellectually stimulating. He wants a partner who can engage in deep and meaningful conversations since communication is very important to him.

In terms of personality, Felix is drawn to individuals who are diplomatic, fair-minded, and cooperative. He wants someone who values harmony and believes in compromise rather than conflicts. He is attracted to someone who can bring balance and stability to his life.

Felix also values partnership and seeks a relationship that is built on equality and mutual respect. He desires a partner who understands his need for balance and supports his quest for harmony in all aspects of life.

In men, their Venus can show what they're attracted to. With his Libra Venus, Felix wants a partner who embodies beauty, grace, and elegance. Physical attractiveness plays a large role in catching his eye, as he appreciates refined aesthetics.

However, it's not just about appearances for him. He wants a partner who has inner beauty as well. Kindness, compassion, and a gentle nature are traits that he values deeply. He wants someone who can bring balance and harmony to his life, someone who can be his equal and complement his own harmonious nature.

Intellectual compatibility is also important to Felix. He is attracted to individuals who can engage him in stimulating conversations, and who have intelligence and wit. A partner who can challenge him intellectually and share his love for art, culture, and beauty will surely capture his heart.

In relationships, Felix looks for fairness, compromise, and mutual respect. He values a harmonious partnership where both partners have the freedom to express themselves and make decisions together. He wants a relationship where both parties feel heard and understood, and where conflicts can be resolved through open and honest communication.

Now with his Leo Mars, Leo Mars men are known for their fiery and confident nature. He wants a partner who can match his enthusiasm and share his zest for life. He wants someone who can ignite his passion and keep up with his energetic spirit.

Physical attractiveness plays a significant role in catching the attention of a Leo Mars man too. He is drawn to individuals who exude confidence, radiance, and a strong presence. A partner who can command attention and carry themselves with grace and style is likely to capture his attention.

Beyond physical appearance, Felix values a partner with a magnetic personality. He wants someone confident, charismatic, and has a strong sense of self. A partner who can stand beside him as an equal, supporting his ambitions and encouraging his creative pursuits, will truly win his heart.

In relationships, he wants loyalty, adoration, and unwavering support. He wants a partner who can appreciate his need for attention and admiration, someone who can shower him with praise and affection. However, it's important to note that he also values reciprocity and expects his partner to have their own passions and ambitions.

Intimacy is an important thing for him, both emotionally and physically. He wants a partner who can match his intensity in the bedroom, someone who is open-minded and willing to explore new experiences. Emotional connection and passion go hand in hand for a Leo Mars man.

Aspects

With Mercury sextile Chiron, Felix has a keen intellect that is both insightful and sensitive. He is drawn to deep conversations that touches the soul and wants a partner who can provide emotional support and understanding.

The Jupiter opposition Pluto aspect indicates a powerful magnetism to him. Felix is attracted to intensity and transformative experiences. He wants a partner who can match his passion, someone who is not afraid to explore the depths of their own desires and ambitions.

The Mercury sextile Pluto aspect further enhances his allure, as he has a magnetic charm and persuasive communication style. He is attracted to people who possess depth and a mysterious aura, someone who can engage him in stimulating intellectual exchanges.

The Sun sextile North Node aspect suggests a sense of purpose and destiny in his relationships. He is drawn to partners who inspire growth and help him fulfill his potential. A supportive and encouraging partner who shares his aspirations would be his ideal type.

The Mars trine Ascendant aspect gives him confidence and assertiveness. He is attracted to individuals who exude strength and independence. A partner who can stand alongside him as an equal, supporting his ambitions while pursuing their own, would be highly appealing to him.

The Venus trine Uranus aspect adds a touch of excitement and unpredictability to his love life. He is attracted to unique and unconventional people who challenge societal norms. A partner who embraces their individuality and is open to exploring new experiences would captivate his heart.

With the Moon sextile Neptune aspect, he has a sensitive and empathetic nature. He is drawn to partners who are emotionally attuned and can create a deep emotional connection. A compassionate and nurturing soul would be his ideal match.

#astrology #astrology observations #skz #skz astrology #stray kids #ideal type #skz ideal type #stray kids ideal type #stray kids imagines #stray kids felix #stray kids scenarios #felix ideal type #felix #lee felix #felix astrology #lee felix astrology #skz felix

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yandereworlds · 1 year ago

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Immersed in the enigmatic world of bounty hunting, Dantae emerges as a formidable Hispanic figure, his reputation an embodiment of unyielding success in tracking down and apprehending individuals.

Whether the targets are debtors evading their car loan responsibilities, fugitives eluding the clutches of justice, or mere individuals evading the reach of law enforcement, Dantae's prowess remains unrivaled, attracting the attention of government agencies and bail-bond companies alike, who eagerly seek his services. With an unwavering commitment to his profession, Dantae dons the mantle of his role with utmost seriousness, each mission an opportunity to showcase his tenacity and skill. However, behind the facade of a resolute bounty hunter lies a complex individual known intimately only to those within his personal circle. Within those intimate spheres, a contrasting portrait emerges—one of smugness, confrontational tendencies, and an arrogance that refuses to be subdued. Within the realm of bounty hunting, Dantae's name resonates through the collective consciousness of his peers. A formidable figure among his counterparts, he is driven by an unwavering determination to carve his presence into the very fabric of the space. Commanding attention with an aura that demands respect, Dantae weaves a tapestry of influence, ensnaring the admiration and deference of those who cross his path.

Fully aware of his esteemed status as a bounty hunter, Dantae skillfully manipulates his reputation as a weapon, exploiting it with calculated precision to fulfill his own desires, no matter how self-serving they may be. With a keen understanding of the respect he commands, he deftly employs it as a tool of persuasion, skillfully coercing others to yield to his will. Such is the nature of his cunning; he skillfully maneuvers through the labyrinth of human interactions, effortlessly obtaining what he desires. Driven by an insatiable hunger for superiority, Dantae relentlessly pursues his aspiration to be the epitome of bounty hunting excellence. Refusing to allow any obstacles or detractors to deter him, he boldly strides forward, each step a resounding declaration of his unwavering resolve. Cockiness courses through his veins, interwoven with playful taunts, always seeking to elicit a reaction, to test the limits of those around him. In every exchange, he cunningly asserts his control, weaving a web of influence that entangles those in his path. Dantae, consumed by an unshakable belief in his own invincibility and superiority, basks in the conviction that he stands above the law, an unparalleled force amidst the multitudes. Whether this perception aligns with reality is a question irrelevant to his unwavering faith in his own greatness. It is a conviction that permeates his very being, fueling his relentless pursuit of opportunities to assert his exalted status and leave an indelible impression upon all who dare to cross his path. Each encounter becomes an opportunity for Dantae to revel in his untouchable aura, reminding both friend and foe of his seemingly insurmountable prowess. The mere mention of his name conjures images of an indomitable force, and he takes pleasure in cultivating a reputation that sets him apart from the masses. With a twinkle of arrogance dancing in his eyes and a self-assured swagger in his step, he revels in the belief that he is destined for greatness. However, the zenith of Dantae's arrogance met its reckoning on a fateful day when he received a mission of paramount importance—to capture an elusive individual who had managed to elude the clutches of law enforcement for months on end. Undeterred by the gravity of the task, Dantae's unwavering confidence remained steadfast. With an impeccable track record that seemed immune to failure, he dismissed any notion of difficulty, accepting the mission without hesitation, convinced of an effortless triumph awaiting him.

Clad in his formidable gear, Dantae slipped into the driver's seat of his meticulously equipped car, a vehicle purpose-built to aid him in his relentless pursuit of the target. Every inch of its interior brimmed with an array of cutting-edge devices and tracking mechanisms essential to the success of his mission. With focused determination etched upon his countenance, he revved the engine, the vibrations serving as a symphony of impending capture. Methodically traversing the city's labyrinthine streets, Dantae's inquiries and relentless questioning led him to the outskirts, where an abandoned warehouse stood as a silent sentinel.

Undeterred by the desolate facade, he forged ahead, resolute in his decision to tackle the mission alone. He harbored an unyielding belief in his own abilities, dismissing the notion of backup as an unnecessary hindrance that would only impede his swift progress. As he stepped foot into the cavernous expanse of the warehouse, his hand instinctively gravitated toward his trusty revolver, ensuring its chamber was fully loaded before a swift spin of the barrel sealed his readiness. With a blend of grace and urgency, he moved through the shadows, meticulously scanning every nook and cranny in search of his quarry. Moments of fruitless exploration tempted his departure, yet a flicker of intuition beckoned him to remain.

And there, concealed behind a stack of crates, a figure materialized—a tantalizing glimpse of the elusive target he pursued. In a commanding voice, Dantae demanded their surrender, only to find himself caught off guard as the figure deftly hurled a gas grenade in his direction, engulfing the surroundings in a dense cloud of smoke. A rare sense of exhilaration surged through Dantae's veins, a potent blend of adrenaline and excitement at encountering a target who dared to outsmart him—a feeling as intoxicating as it was inexplicable. Undeterred by the unforeseen turn of events, Dantae burst through the veils of smoke, his senses heightened and reflexes honed, chasing the fleeing figure into the vast expanse of an open field. With each stride, a newfound vigor surged within him, propelling him forward with a fervor unmatched. In that moment, he felt truly alive, immersed in the thrill of the hunt, determined to capture this elusive quarry and savor the taste of victory.

Dantae's relentless pursuit culminated in a moment of triumph as he launched himself at the elusive target, overpowering them with a primal force that brought them crashing to the ground. With sinewy arms enveloping the figure beneath him, he maintained a firm grip, a tangible display of his unwavering dominance. Eyes ablaze with an intensity that mirrored the inferno of his desires, Dantae found himself captivated by the face unveiled before him as he tore away the mask, revealing a countenance that stirred his very soul.

His heart faltered, its steady rhythm momentarily disrupted as an unexpected surge of attraction coursed through his veins. This unforeseen allure clashed with his purpose, with the understanding that he ought to surrender this captivating figure to the hands of justice. Yet, a mysterious force deep within him stirred, igniting the embers of an inexplicable infatuation—an emotion that whispered of love or perhaps the nascent seeds of an obsession. Dantae dared not acknowledge the burgeoning complexity of his feelings, but one thing was clear: he had to whisk this captivating individual away from the prying eyes of the law.

A wry chuckle escaped Dantae's lips as he bound their wrists together, deftly manipulating a pair of handcuffs from his utility belt. "Seems our game of cat and mouse has reached its conclusion," he mused, his voice tinged with a mixture of amusement and a hint of something more sinister. “Such a shame.” With deft precision, he propelled them to their feet, his grip unyielding, as he guided them towards the awaiting vehicle. Despite their futile resistance, Dantae displayed an uncanny ease, each step a testament to his unwavering determination.

"But fear not, mi amor, you’re in good hands." he uttered cryptically, his voice laden with ominous undertones. Securely confined within the confines of his trunk, their ankles bound by another pair of handcuffs, Dantae reveled in the dangerous thrill of his actions. He was well aware that his path deviated from the legal, but the intoxicating prospect of possessing you outweighed any concerns of consequence.

In the shadowy realm between right and wrong, Dantae had made his choice—a choice that propelled him towards the unknown, a world where desire mingled with danger, and where he was willing to risk it all for a taste of the forbidden fruit that had captured his heart.

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ofherpinkways · 11 months ago

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Glitches

(guess who changed her theme lol -🧸🩰🤍)

Slight self aware for these beautiful mofos (with my own personal take on it)

Nah I'm starting think they genuinely are becoming aware (because everything down below has happened to me at least once)

But imagine them purposely glitching out all your other games or parts of your gaming console?

Let's say you were playing GtaV and they messing with radio so you couldn't listen to the music

Or if you were play it's campaign right at end of important mission suddenly they crash your game completely booting out to your consoles home screen

All that time spent trying rid that five start wanted level after dying multiple as you already restarted the mission tree times before?

Of course you got frustrated and decided to abandon the game all together for the night and move onto cod instead

Or about while playing Mortal Kombat so home odd reason no matter what level you set the games you keep losing all the matches even if the combos ?

How after you just finished making a nice ass house in the Sims only the game to crash right before you were gonna save the game?

All the work gone to complete waste

They don't just stop at fucking up your other games soon they start going after your streaming services

Had shitty at work and your only way of escape was watching your favorite comfort show or movie ?

Guess what? Netflix keeps buffering and the wifi is working perfectly so it's not a problem with the internet (writing this one because quite literally no matter what my Paramount won't play Scream 3 :-:)

After about twenty minutes of going through buffering hell hole . You have no choice but to move onto your next set of comfort characters and play cod instead of watching anything

Yes they'll feel bad about crashing all your other favorite games or shutting down any other entertainment apps after seeing how upset it made you

All the progress in other games gone

No ability to laugh or smile after getting treated like shit at work by rewatching your favorite show or movie

But they would do anything to make you pay attention to them instead

Even if comes to the cost of ruining your happiness for at least little while

As long you run back them and their game at end of the day, giving them all your attention

They'll keep doing so

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dailyanarchistposts · 6 months ago

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“Revolutionary suicide does not mean that I and my comrades have a death wish; it means just the opposite. We have such a strong desire to live with hope and human dignity that existence without them is impossible. When reactionary forces crush us, we must move against these forces, even at the risk of death.” – Huey P. Newton, Revolutionary Suicide

“It seems to me that one ought to rejoice in the fact of death—ought to decide, indeed, to earn one’s death by confronting with passion the conundrum of life. One is responsible for life: It is the small beacon in that terrifying darkness from which we come and to which we shall return. One must negotiate this passage as nobly as possible, for the sake of those who are coming after us. But white Americans do not believe in death, and this is why the darkness of my skin so intimidates them.” – James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time

Aaron Bushnell, before self-immolating in front of the Israeli embassy in Washington, D.C., sent notice to a few radical platforms including CrimethInc. (henceforth: the Outlet) informing them of his decision to commit “an extreme act of protest” against the ongoing genocide in Gaza. He asked simply that they preserve the footage of his action and report on it. Most complied, but in the face of such a humble request, the Outlet was confused: “All afternoon, while other journalists were breaking the news, we discussed how we should speak about this. Some subjects are too complex to address in a hasty social media post.” It’s telling that they self-identify as journalists.

Still, the white man’s burden of “anarchist” journalism demanded that they not ponder too long before releasing a statement , even if half-formed. Within hours, they hastily published their garbage take. Putting Aaron’s actions in the context of another self-immolation that occurred on December 1st by a woman in Atlanta, (who, despite the Outlet’s misinformation, is still alive) they said: “It is not easy for us to know how to speak about their deaths.” Such dis-ease surely disquieted the spin-doctors and self-appointed spokespeople of revolution. For a project which only contributes to struggle by knowing what to say, the imperative to speak is paramount. In light of what they wrote, it would have been better for them to contemplate a little longer, or just say nothing at all.

After grossly overestimating their importance as journalists “speaking to people of action,” they ultimately write:

“Just as we have a responsibility not to show cowardice, we also have a responsibility not to promote sacrifice casually. We must not speak carelessly about taking risks, even risks that we have taken ourselves. It is one thing to expose oneself to risk; it is another thing to invite others to run risks, not knowing what the consequences might be for them. And here, we are not speaking about a risk, but about the worst of all certainties. Let’s not glamorize the decision to end one’s life, nor celebrate anything with such permanent repercussions. Rather than exalting Aaron as a martyr and encouraging others to emulate him, we honor his memory, but we exhort you to take a different path.”

While it would be easy to dismiss this as the Outlet cautiously mitigating any potential liability if self-immolation generalizes, the rejection of the framework of martyrdom demands attention. The question is not whether Aaron qualifies as a shahid within the Palestinian context, although demonstrators in Yemen have proclaimed Aaron a “martyr of humanity” and an argument can be made for him having become an anarchist martyr in the lineage of Louis Lingg, Avalon, and Mikhail Vasilievich Zhlobitsky. The bigger issue: the Outlet’s assertion that an individual’s death, particularly in the context of the US, is the “worst of all possible certainties” reveals a deep disconnect with the context of this entire decolonial struggle. In the days following October 7th, anti-colonial anarchist thinkers such as Zoé Samudzi argued that the figure of the martyr marked a fundamental contradiction for the secular left’s ability to fully comprehend and act in solidarity with the Palestinian resistance. The martyrs constitute a force in the present for all who live and continue to struggle. Aaron framed his self-immolation as “not that extreme” compared to the ascension to martyrdom of tens of thousands in Gaza. By implying that Aaron’s choice was too extreme, the Outlet dishonors the reality of the struggle within Palestine and undercuts the potential of Aaron’s sacrifice.

In denouncing any action taken with “such permanent repercussions,” the Outlet reproduces the anti-death paradigm of capitalism itself. The philosopher Byung Chul-Han, commenting on an exchange between the filmmaker Werner Schroeter and Michel Foucault, says:

“Schroeter describes the freedom unto death as an anarchist feeling: ‘I have no fear of death. It’s perhaps arrogant to say but it’s the truth… To look death in the face is an anarchist feeling dangerous to established society.’ Sovereignty, the freedom unto death, is threatening to a society that is organized around work and production, that tries to increase human capital by biopolitical means. That utopia is anarchist insofar as it represents a radical break with a form of life that declares pure life, continued existence, sacred. Suicide is the most radical rejection imaginable of the society of production. It challenges the system of production. It represents the symbolic exchange with death which undoes the separation of death from life brought about by capitalist production.”

The fact that an anarchist media syndicate cannot recognize the anarchic nature of a sovereign death, or the symbolic exchange of a uniformed US airman’s self-immolation (which cannot be simply reduced to suicide) is in and of itself a disgrace. Even worse, this conforms to a long established pattern where every time a comrade’s actions pass a certain threshold of intensity, the Outlet is first in line to call for restraint. While Michael Reinoehl was still on the run after shooting a fascist, they wasted no time issuing a hasty social media post denouncing his action and urging their followers to “reject the logic of the guillotine.” The Outlet preferred to remain palatable for liberal eyes, ears, and politicians, rather than express solidarity with a comrade on the run for his life.

In his “Letter to Michael Reinoehl,” Idris Robinson exposes the logic at the heart of the contradiction of those who chose to parse Reinoehl’s actions as nonstrategic:

“What the double-standard with regards to your situation reveals is how violence in America will always necessarily have a profoundly racial dimension. And it is precisely this—the terrifying core of racialized violence—that they are trying to repress when they lie to both themselves and others that their issue with what you did is a question of strategy or tactics. I mean, give me a break: in a country that is literally saturated in violence, from blind mass shooters to murderous police, no one can honestly claim that the few shots that you let off could in some way be construed as an escalation. There is simply no way to avoid the spiral of violence that began at the very moment when the first wooden ships reached the shores of the Atlantic.”

While the Outlet has no problem sanctioning enlistment in the fascist-dominated Armed Forces of Ukraine or calling for the US to keep troops in northern Syria, it seems even a single white death in the United States is a red-line they refuse to cross. For them, the self-sacrifice of a white person in the US military (a fact they fail to ever mention in their response but that was, without question, important to Aaron’s action) in solidarity with colonized people might be even worse. Rather than a liberatory or truly life-affirming position, this timidity betrays a fundamental discomfort with anything that challenges the fragile unity of whiteness and the American racial order. Neoconarchists at it again!

The Outlet quotes Kropotkin (who broke with anarchist internationalism by supporting the Allied imperialists in World War I and is therefore a fitting predecessor to their brand of pro-NATO anarcho-liberalism) on the contagious nature of courage, yet their analysis downplays Aaron’s courage again and again. They call death “the worst of all certainties,” showing that they share Western civilization’s pathological fear of death, yet feel confident in making pronouncements about the impact and efficacy of Aaron’s offering mere hours after it happened. Those who are truly comfortable with uncertainty know that it remains to be seen what the full repercussions will be. The Outlet assumes the universality of a rationalist teleological perspective in the context of a gesture that is best understood deontologically: its essence, independent of outcome, is of distinct and ineffable value.

It’s clear that the Outlet fears any form of struggle that challenges the sanctity of liberal democracy that they feel comfortable operating within. Echoing a line they have often used in the past, they frame themselves as protestors and militant lobbyists, not insurgents or practitioners of direct action (which is not about influencing government policy, but rather creating direct results of destruction and ungovernability.) They say: “The kind of protest activity that has taken place thus far in the United States has not served to compel the US government to halt the genocide in Gaza.” While Aaron did call his self-immolation an “extreme act of protest [within U.S solidarity with Palestine],” the resulting question for anarchists should not be what more effective forms of protest might be, but rather how to honor Aaron’s act of personal refusal through our own deeds. His action was directed towards the rest of us. He looks us in the eye and asks: “What will you do?”

While the authors of the Outlet have called Aaron’s decision “self destruction” and “sacrifice,” we read little in their text of the long tradition of self-immolation as an ultimate form of self-expression against repression and war. They make only a diminishing reference to Tunisian Mohamed Bouazizi’s self-immolation to protest police bribery, which lead to the Sidi Bouzid Revolt and impelled the Arab Spring. In 1965, Thich Nhat Hanh wrote to Rev. Martin Luther King:

“The self-burning of Vietnamese Buddhist monks in 1963 is somehow difficult for the Western Christian conscience to understand. The Press spoke then of suicide, but in the essence, it is not. It is not even a protest. What the monks said in the letters they left before burning themselves aimed only at alarming, at moving the hearts of the oppressors and at calling the attention of the world to the suffering endured then by the Vietnamese. To burn oneself by fire is to prove that what one is saying is of the utmost importance. There is nothing more painful than burning oneself. To say something while experiencing this kind of pain is to say it with the utmost of courage, frankness, determination and sincerity…

The monk who burns himself has lost neither courage nor hope; nor does he desire non-existence. On the contrary, he is very courageous and hopeful and aspires for something good in the future. He does not think that he is destroying himself; he believes in the good fruition of his act of self-sacrifice for the sake of others…”

The Outlet claims that Bushnell, in the rhetorical tradition of the notion of the selfishness of suicide, was “denying the rest of us a future with [him].” But the monks who self immolated in the sixties teach us that perhaps that is the pain we must bear as witness, just as those who chose fire bore the pain of their death or injury for the expression of their will.

“But why does he have to burn himself to death? The difference between burning oneself and burning oneself to death is only a difference in degree, not in nature. A man who burns himself too much must die. The importance is not to take one’s life, but to burn. What he really aims at is the expression of his will and determination, not death.”

Pain can be a motivating factor towards life, just as the witnessing of an autonomous death can inspire us to live deeper into our convictions now.

The question remains: what is the “different path” the Outlet urges readers to take? They admit that no act of solidarity in the US, however massive or targetedly destructive, has been able to slow the war machine. And yet they claim what the ruling class fears most is “collective action.” They give no examples of what said action might be. It doesn’t take too much creativity to imagine how disenchanted members of the US military could strike against the war machine, especially if they’ve overcome the fear of death. We could list those actions of desertion, sabotage, and fragging (and their long history in the anti-war movements of generations past) and theorize on their efficacy. However, we have no desire to reduce ourselves to the indignity of the anarcho-commentariat, issuing self-serving hot-takes about the grave actions of someone more courageous. We can only imagine what they will say when (not if) the war is brought home in even more escalated ways. What are they to do when a revolution based on summering in squats in European social democracies and engaging in ritualized playfights with police is no longer intelligible? Their greatest fear is not of state or economy but of an epochal shift that will render them incoherent.

The Outlet’s pontification on the inappropriateness of Aaron’s action is beyond disrespectful. Faced with such acts of self-sacrifice, the appropriate responses are pause, prayer, contemplation, remembrance, and solidarity. Instead, the Outlet doesn’t fail to make the selfless about themselves: “Choosing to intentionally end your life means foreclosing years or decades of possibility, denying the rest of us a future with you.” Lacking any real other direction, this future seems to amount to years of patient readership and faithfully following the lead of well-platformed self-declared strategists. Their obnoxious tendency to quote their own past texts illustrates their narcissism and self-importance. This self-reference demonstrates a deepening dogmatism on their part, a commitment to stay the course on a sinking ideological ship.

The ill-timed call for recruitment is made explicit in the closing paragraphs: “Prepare to take risks as your conscience demands, but don’t hurry towards self-destruction. We desperately need you alive, at our side, for all that is to come.” Just as in recent weeks they celebrated those who fight side-by-side with the Azov Battalion in the Ukraine, they would prefer active US military personnel alive and well, ready to fight for Western interests at home and abroad.

The time has long passed to dispense with these bloggers who, through their appeals for restraint and moderation, stand in the way of the resistance movements they imagine themselves to lead. The Outlet’s inadequacy was already evident in the “both sides” narrative of their initial coverage of Al-Aqsa Flood. Instead, we choose to act out of affinity and solidarity with the resistance axis of the Palestinian struggle itself. Compare the milquetoast equivocations of the Outlet to the statement of unconditional solidarity with Aaron Bushnell and his loved ones issued immediately by the PFLP:

“The act of an American soldier sacrificing himself for Palestine is the highest sacrifice and a medal, and a poignant message to the American administration to stop its involvement in the aggression.

The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine affirms that the act of the American soldier Aaron Bushnell from the U.S. Air Force by setting himself on fire in front of the zionist embassy in Washington, D.C., in protest against the war on Gaza, which he called for the “liberation of Palestine,” confirms the state of anger among the American people due to the official American involvement in the zionist genocide war being waged on the Gaza Strip. It also indicates that the status of the Palestinian cause, especially in American circles, is becoming more deeply entrenched in the global conscience, and reveals the truth of the zionist entity as a cheap colonial tool in the hands of savage imperialism.

The Front expresses its full solidarity with the soldier’s family and all the American sympathizers who took a honorable stance and whose struggle and pressure to stop the genocide on the Strip have not ceased, confirming that the act of an American soldier sacrificing his life to draw the attention of the American people and the world to the plight of the Palestinian people, despite its tragic nature and the great pain it involves, is considered the highest sacrifice and medal, and the most important poignant message directed to the American administration, that it is involved in the war crime in Gaza and that the American people have awakened and are rejecting this American involvement, calling on the American administration to stop this support and bias for the zionist entity.

The Front sends a message to the Arab soldier to take this American soldier who sacrificed his life for a noble cause like the Palestinian cause as an example and role model, and to leave the trenches of waiting, incapacity, and move to the trench of confrontation in support of Palestine and its people who are being slaughtered, besieged, and starved in full view and hearing of the world and just a few kilometers from Arab lands and meters from the borders.

Palestine will be victorious as long as it has deeply engraved itself in the conscience and consciences of the world, and history will record in golden letters the names of all the sympathizers and free people of the world who stood with it and sacrificed their lives for its sake.

The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine Central Media Department 26-2-2024″

Those golden letters of history will not record the name CrimethInc., whose version of anarchism cannot hold, comprehend, or move with the young militants taking increasingly bold and dire action. While the pro-Ukraine anarchists continue to stumble again and again over the question of militarism, Aaron’s act of self-negation resolved the contradiction. This is not to say his was the only way to resolve the contradiction, but it was a powerful way that threatens the worldview the Outlet desperately clings to: a view inextricably affixed to Western epistemological hegemony. The decline of the neoliberal consensus indicates the inevitable illegibility of their explanation of the world. The coming days and years will surely see a proliferation of increasingly drastic actions, marked by an intensity which surpasses what the Outlet can accept or condone, positioned as it is. For the Outlet, the death of this world conjures the existential anxiety of dissociation. For others, ourselves included, the end of this world is essential for the legibility of our perspective.

Aaron left us a will. That will, in the many senses of that term, is our inheritance. It reads: “I wish for my remains to be cremated. I do not wish for my ashes to be scattered or my remains to be buried as my body does not belong anywhere in this world. If a time comes when Palestinians regain control of their land, and if the people native to the land would be open to the possibility, I would love for my ashes to be scattered in a free Palestine.”

Whatever Aaron was in the preceding years of his life, he died as an anarchist, and will be remembered as one. His action points to a new organic anarchism emerging out of the present moment, one disconnected from the scenes, subcultures, and cults-of-personality that constitute the anarcho-mainstream. This development threatens the hegemony of the anarchist talking heads as much as the rest. His death is already drawing unprecedented attention, at new levels, to the cause of Palestinian liberation, and likely to anarchism as well. Those who cannot adapt to the changing tides will be washed into historic oblivion, toward which they’re already careening. The rest of us must act within the unsayable. Deeds must speak where words fail.

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