#and uphold their loyalty to the blacks

[ozgog]

do you think turstin is inherently so so kind and good . do you think he meets the bare minimum of male expectations

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Royal Guards

Royals have multiple layers of servants but there is no set of servants most important that their protection. Royalty are never without some kind of protection and palaces are usually guarded to the teeth. So how do we write royal security. This is for @jamie-ties-writing

Recruitment

Royal guards aren't just any person plucked from the street and put into a uniform. They are usually recruited from within the royal army, from within particular regiments across the army (a mixture of calvary, naval, artillery, infantry). The Royal Guard is usually made of of multiple regiments, not just a single one. These regiments would share and rotate duties. The British Royal family are currently guarded by the Coldstream Regiment, Welsh Guards, Grenadier Guards among others. Royal guards will be selected for their skill, sometimes their birth (they may be chosen if they rank higher socially) and of course, loyalty to the Crown. Royal guards were intended to be a show of force, strength, Majesty so they were usually impressive specimens meant to instill some power to their monarch.

Duties

A royal guard's first order of business is the protection of the family. They may have sentry duty around the palace, guarding doors or patrolling palace grounds or corridors. A Royal Guard may be assigned to one member only but most likely they will rotate through the family as needed. Of course, a royal can request a guard to always be assigned to them if they want. They may escort their charge of the day to their engagements. If assigned a certain royal to protect, they would tail them throughout the day. A royal guard may even perform ceremonial duties such as the changing of the guard or riding in coronations or state funerals. A royal guard is expected to remain vigilant but never speak of what they see, they are meant to keep an ear out for threats but never repeat whatever is said, they are expected at all times to uphold a professional countenance and respect protocol. They will be expected to give their lives if needed, and be loyal to the last.

Rank

Royal guards are a military division and rank is a part of their lives. Their supreme commander would he the monarch first but there would be an appointed commander. Depending on how you want to write Royal Guards, each regiment would have it's own captain and leaders. Of course, not all regiments may adhere to the same ranks but this would be a basic outline for you to follow.

Colonel: Colonels actually have no duties, they are more an honourary figurehead. Many members of the royal family would have a regiment to be colonel of. This usually requires nothing more than a ceremonial role, the wearing of the uniform while inspecting the troops for example.

Captain: The Commander of the regiment. They would undertake managerial duties, issuing commands from the monarch, assigning duties, approving the induction of new guards into the Household Division. The Captain would decide who would guard which member of the royal family.

Lieutenant: The Second in command. They will assume command if the Captain is not available. They would take on a large portion of duties and aid the Captain.

Sergeant: The sergeant would be next in command.

Guardsman: The lowest rank. They will have the least experience but usually the most duties. They would be the ones patrolling and standing sentry.

Uniform

Of course, no royal guard is complete without their uniform. Royal guards would have to stand out, especially in ceremonial duties. This uniform would be distinctive, not only because it is a great honour for anybody to be named to the guard but also as mentioned above, to add a layer of might to those they protect.

Notable Royal Guard Units

Dahomey Mino (the inspiration of Black Panther's Dora Milaje)

The Praetorian Guard

The Imperial Guard of Napoleon

The Imperial German Bodyguard

Varangian Guard

Swiss Guards

The Kheshig

The Janissary

The Imperial Guards of Tsarist Russia

The Cossack Guard

Guardia Real

Coldstream Guards

Irish Guards

Welsh Guards

Grenadier Guards

Medjay of Ancient Egypt

Al-Ḥars al-Malakī as-Suʿūdī

Compagnie des Carabiniers du Prince

Thahan Raksa Phra Ong

[osamucide]

FLAVOR PROFILE—gn+afab!reader, alternate universe - PM boss!Osamu Dazai, interrogation+torture, psychological manipulation, noncon to dubcon—not safe, sane, or fully consensual, perv+sadist!Dazai, knife play, blood play, tiny bit of choking, degradation, cutting, scratching, biting, marking, mindbreak, debatable whether Dazai kills reader at the end? all around depraved, DEAD DOVE/DARK CONTENT—PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION

ABV—3.8k

BAR OSAMUCIDE IS STRICTLY AN 18+ ESTABLISHMENT. FAILURE TO PROVIDE VALID ID/AGE IN BIO UPON INTERACTING WILL RESULT IN REMOVAL FROM THE PREMISES. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

“So, here we are.”

It’s only a matter of time ‘til you start talking, was the last thing the redheaded mafioso told you as his grip on your hair loosened and you slumped forward into the chair once more. We’re gonna kill ya anyway. Just not before the boss gets his hands on you. Don’t you wanna make it easier on yourself?

You really do. You do want to make it easier on yourself. But you pledged your loyalty to your misfit faction of gifteds threatening the Port Mafia’s turf as of late—in a rather alarming way, it’s worthy to note—and as one of their highest profile members, as a leader and exemplar of the values of honesty and fairness that you promised to uphold and instill in your society as part of that pledge, you can not, in good conscience, betray what you know. What you call home.

There’s a cause at stake that is larger than your life. What kind of leader would you be if you crumbled? If you failed a cause that’s meant and hoped to outlive you anyway?

It’s your own fault you got caught to begin with.

It’s your own fault for thinking you could go out on recon in the dead of night by yourself. You’ve long known better that the Port Mafia doesn’t sleep; what you hadn’t known or expected was to run into the ruthless commander of the Black Lizard in a warehouse during the hours too late to be considered night, too early to be considered morning. The boss takes the liberty of reminding you.

“I think we’re all lucky Akutagawa’s built up some restraint over those impulses of his, hm?” he continues, his sharp dress shoes clicking cleanly against the concrete floor of wherever it is you’re being held. It just meant they already had their sights trained on you specifically before you started sneaking around—longer than you’d anticipated, and longer than you’d been prepared for. Had you brought along a few of your subordinates, you might’ve stood a chance—well, maybe against a group of low-ranked patrolmen. But that wasn't the case, and now, here you are. Caught.

You're hunched over, wrists at your back, ankles bound, the way Nakahara left you; assured fingertips—softer this time, but only marginally so—find the spot on the crown of your head that he favored earlier and you find yourself held up by your hair once more, wincing through a crusted-over bloody nose into the eyes of the boss—Osamu Dazai.

What strikes you first, aside from the sting curling across your scalp, is the utter emptiness in his stare—the first brown irises you think you've ever seen entirely devoid of warmth. He regards you with an expression you can only place through your blear as distaste—maybe a little boredom, then maybe a contradictory twinge of amusement when you sniffle. You're wholly unsure. All you know is it feels like whiplash when he lets you go and your chin snaps back down to your chest.

"Pretty thing," you almost don't hear him say; you're focused on registering the cuffs falling away from your wrists, the way your upper body is sent forward, and the fact that you can use the momentum to propel yourself up—or try, rather, but you're absolutely concussed and you forget your ankles, having lost feeling now from the restraints, are still attached to the seat. Your palms hit the concrete, the back of the chair knocks into your lower back and you yelp; suddenly you're a pathetic, twisted mess facedown on the ground.

He's chuckling. You can't imagine it reaching those eyes.

And if he's going to strip you of your dignity by laughing, well, at least you were upright before. Now, as your elbows give beneath your own weight, there's tears springing to your eyes; you're sure if they were to fall they'd streak through a layer of grime. And it's not from the pain—no, if you were going to cry from the pain, you would've a lot long ago. You can't remember how long you've been in here, and there's no window, no clock to give you any grace, but it has to have been at least a couple of days. Your body threatens to cry from the sheer humiliation of being crumpled beneath this chair, unable to scramble up—as your cheek hits the floor, a tear crawls across the bridge of your nose and you swear you can hear it echo as it splatters—while this man laughs at you.

By the grace of some god, you feel your tingling feet and ankles coming back to life as he undoes the bindings around them. And you scramble, not unlike a bug, when he lifts the chair off of you and tosses it aside, but still, your body fails you, and he's walking around you to crouch down near your face.

You see him before you feel him; the Port Mafia boss is willing you up by your arms, setting you on your ass, almost sympathetically, as you combat your sniveling. Still crouched, he speaks again only when you look to him, your eyes brimming with disgust.

He speaks softly, like he almost feels sorry for you as he does. "You're free to go, if you can get up."

But you're not stupid enough to try again. The tingling has morphed to the stage which it starts to almost hurt; you don't trust your feet, and only when you try to draw your knees up to your chin do you realize how badly all of your muscles tremble—too badly to make it up the daunting set of stairs that lead to the exit of your chamber. You wish he wouldn't watch you. You'd surely try if he left you alone. You'd look for something, anything, around you that you could use against him—there's nothing in the room other than your chair, a solid oak dresser with drawers against the wall, and your limp, abandoned bindings. You'd shoot him if your gun hadn't been confiscated first thing, and if he wasn't undoubtedly armed himself. Anyway, he gazes at you, intently, still swirling back and forth across the line that separates boredom from amusement. You won't get away with anything beneath his stare.

So you don't try. Your ass hurts, too—that damn chair wasn't forgiving at all, and your palms sting when you touch your own skin. You ache all over, in every joint, like you've got some mutant strain of the flu, and your head pounds with icepick intensity. It's a struggle just to look at him, despite the dimness, despite your desperation. So you don't. You curl in on yourself, and you don't cry. And he stares.

He hums, standing back up. His eyes on you—they feel like ice.

"Chuuya couldn't get anything out of you," he sighs, recounting it like he's briefing you on the morning news. "But you look pretty close to breaking. I'll have to thank him for getting you started."

"Kill me." You mean to spit it at him, but your voice shakes out, hoarse. "You won't get anything from me. Just kill me."

"Oh, but that wouldn't be as much fun yet." He's smiling; you could almost mistake it for a kind expression if it wasn't for those eyes. He's reaching for you again, deceivingly soft—you know it's deceit, how he gathers you up onto your feet with near-gentleness and leads you over to the dresser. He doesn't look strong, but he must be; you're mostly dead weight when he picks you up to sit you on the wooden surface, let you lean back against the wall.

You know what comes next for someone like you when you're faced with someone like him. You don't know what he's rifling around in one of the dresser drawers for, but it hardly matters; he's shuffled himself between your knees, and your closed eyes will not be enough to shut him out; you're already so exhausted. You're already dead, and you try to take comfort in that fact while he picks up your wrist, trails his fingers over it like you're as fragile as you look.

It's when you feel something cold against your forearm that your eyes snap open again, searching.

He looks sharper than the knife. It's a switchblade, glinting as it lays flat against the vains in your wrist; Osamu Dazai's lips twitch into a smile for the first time you've ever seen as you glance between him and it.

"Please don't," you whisper, but it's too late.

One horizontal slash against your arm. At this point it almost feels familiar, like a routine injection. A shot of whisky. You wince, but don't whine.

It's deep enough to pour. Your blood is warm as it circles your wrist like a bracelet, warm as it soaks through the knee of your pants when he drops it like you're a ragdoll to pick up your other one.

"You can cooperate and they won't have to match," he mumbles casually, tracing the tip of the knife across your palm like a pencil across paper as he studies your face.

You close your eyes again, tilting your head back. This isn't the worst of what you've experienced down here. It'll take more than a few slashes on the wrist to make you talk.

Before you can assert that, another one. Opposite arm. They match.

He clicks his tongue like he's disappointed in you. Like he doesn't like having to do this. But when you open your eyes again, that little smile is still there, cracked into his pale face.

You don't have to say it'll take more than that. He knows.

That's why the tip of the blade presses into the space between your collarbones, above the neckline of your shirt.

You suppose you've been lucky to keep it on this long.

So when he drags the knife down, slicing cleanly through the fabric and catching the skin of your chest, abdomen along it a couple times, you don't budge. You don't let yourself look scared. You don't twitch at the hand gripping your thigh hard while he nudges the tattered piece of cloth down your shoulders to expose your heaving chest. That's the most glaring giveaway—your breathing. And now that your shirt is gone, he can see it clear as day.

"Shame Chuuya had to go for your nose." That almost sympathetic tone is back. His thumb comes to swipe at the blood dried above your lips. You jerk your head away, but fall back into his hand when the icepick stabs again. Fuck, it hurts. Your head hurts worse than anything, probably thanks to said nose shots. Your heartbeat is in your temples. "But it's okay. You're still pretty."

You'd be flattered under other circumstances. It's true you could say the same about him, but it's all clouded, hidden beneath the malice he inflicts upon you with such ease.

That smile widens.

"I might have to mark it up, though," he remarks. That false regret—it makes you boil. "Which is too bad."

You've bargained down here, but you figure through your haze, through your bleeding arms, to try again. "You don't have to do this. We can reach an agreement."

"An agreement, you say," he zeroes in on you, hands on either side of your hips as he leans forward to meet you at eye level. "An agreement. What would that look like for you?"

"You can kill me," you concede, breathless. "Let me tell my men to stand down and then you can kill me. It can be over. We won't have to deal with each other again. Ever."

Osamu Dazai looks at you thoughtfully, like he's considering, like he hadn't thought of that as an option before.

You are, unfortunately, stupid enough to let a flicker of hope arise inside you. Even if you die—when you die, you can spare yourself from more suffering and your faction will back off. You will let yourself be the example of what will happen, and no one part of your cause will be subjected to this treatment; you're okay with that, you're okay with being a martyr, if it only means it can all be over—if it only means it won't happen ever again.

Dazai looks to you again. Cold. "You can tell your men to stand down," he begins, fanning that flicker.

You take a deep breath.

"...After I'm done with you."

You're not fully sure what that means until his fingers are popping the button on your pants.

He's got no intention of letting you die in anything less than agony, you realize, no matter what you say.

Tears well up again. You shake your head, kick at him with your weakened legs, but he dodges you easily, picks up the knife again as your trousers settle beneath your knees and you mutter no, no, no over, over. He pushes them off, with your underwear, to the ground and kicks them away, grabbing your flailing hands and holding them to the wood as he threatens you with the restraints once more.

"You're gonna fuckin' talk either way," he growls through his teeth, the first hint of frustration finally seeping into his demeanor, into his eyes. It's gone in a second; gone, replaced with that stale amusement, more chilling than the frustration perhaps, and you almost wish for him to be angrier, more explosive like the executive named Chuuya had been. This quiet rage that seems to be his trademark is far scarier. You can't bite back at it. Especially with your bare ass against the dresser, you can't find your own volatility. It's stuck in your chest. He disarms it, like magic, with each conspiratorial smile, each gentle caress. You can't get around it.

You get your wish when one of his hands grips the column of your throat, throttles your hammering skull back against the wall. You finally whine at the pain. Your hands flail still, clawing at him more out of instinct than anything, but the switchblade is enough to chase you away as he leans into you, pins you in place with his hips—pathetic, as you collect cuts and gashes across your knuckles, fingers, palms while he undoes his belt.

You can feel his throbbing tip against your pelvis as he scoots you closer to him by the small of your back; the blade flips in his grasp and finds a path to hover, pointed over your eye and you catch his wrist as he tells you—

"Keep squirming and this goes through your eyeball right to your brain."

What else can you do but let all your tense limbs fall to rest? You feel him poking you uncomfortably, hotly as you crane your neck away from the knife; you're caught. You're really caught, more than you have been the entire time you've been down here. Squirm one way, suffer another. You're stuck between a rock and a hard place and the hope you had, so brutally snuffed out by his cutting words, all dead now, like you will be soon, almost lets you look at him like a man you could want. You would, certainly, under normal circumstances. But you're bleeding, you're concussed, your body is giving up and he's the most powerful man in Yokohama and the way his bangs curtain over his eyes after he pushes them back has you, in your delirium, hesitantly linking your ankles around his waist and it's numbly and distantly infuriating, the relief that washes over your body when you drape onto him, but it's relieving no less, and he's almost beautiful to you if you just don't think too hard about any of it.

Don't think too hard about any of it.

Steal it back from him—look like you could like it through the dwindling coherence you have, and maybe you can steal it back from him.

You find yourself smiling, too. Annoying, he thinks—he knows what you're doing. He holds the blade over your eye which falls shut and opens again in an unconcerned blink that could almost be considered sultry—you must be demented. He knows what you must be thinking. Knows what you must've snapped to.

So he flips the knife again—holds the blade, carefully, handle out, and dips it down to your cunt.

He wants to stab you when you roll your hips against it.

It would embarass you, how quickly you get yourself wet from grinding your clit on the handle of his blade, if you weren't so close to total depletion. Maybe, you think, if you grind hard enough you can get him to cut himself with it; you've never gone down without a fight, and just because you're at your wits end doesn't mean that'll change.

In fact, you channel it into everything you can give. You grind on the handle, and he watches you, cold eyes wholly unamused but now totally focused on you. You'll be a project. You'll make it difficult.

Good thing he likes a challenge.

Dazai's smug again when he pulls the knife back up and shoves the handle between your teeth; "Suck," he instructs you, and you do, widening your drooping eyes, swirling your tongue, urging him forward with your legs around his waist.

It's what you seem to want, you think he mumbles before he's pressing himself into you remorselessy; it hurts, the stretch—he harshly bypasses the ring of taut muscle at your entrance, plunging into you deep, and you whimper around the handle of the knife and he pushes that deeper, too, into your throat, and you gag as he splits you open and the tears finally fall. Not because it hurts or because you're overwhelmed but because you know, through all of it, you're going to break him the same way he and his men have broken you—even if not to the same degree, it'll be enough. A little victory to die with.

And he starts fucking you, fast.

With what little strength you have left, you tear the buttons of his shirt open. A bandaged torso, a chest heaving just as much as yours now—you look at him, ravenously, and he twirls the knife one more time to tell you to watch it, watch your hands, and as he fucks you he's grunting in irritation at your response, and the blade is at your throat, pressing uncomfortably close just like his tip had against your tummy and your moans are open-mouthed, loud, shameless as your nails rake up his chest, throat, and land in his hair. Your blood smears across his neck, across his shoulders.

"You're—ngh—you're fucking crazy," he hisses at you as you clench, arch, press your forehead to his almost like you're lovers. You have to be fucking crazy. The worst part for him—he isn't stopping you. Not that he can't, he just isn't; you're not supposed to enjoy this, but you're lapping your own blood up from his milky skin as the threat of a slit throat is suspended between the both of you and you're kissing him, kissing him and biting his lip, clashing your teeth; he tastes both of your blood and he's pressed the knife harder into your neck in his shock because you should be screaming, begging for him to stop but you're not—you're meeting his heavy thrusts with enthusiasm, deranged in your hysteria.

He's dredged up enough of your wetness now that you're squelching around him. You dig your teeth in deep when you feel the sting from the blade on the delicate skin of your neck; he's losing himself as much as you are yourself, and you're smiling still, smiling as finally as he wraps a cruel hand beneath your thigh and pushes it up to hit you deeper and the pleasure registers through the revenge and the hot, sticky blood. He might cut you to death before you cum but not before he does because you pull back and he's ruined—the most dangerous man in Yokohama, the boss of the Port Mafia, Osamu Dazai is crumbling to ruin inside your dripping cunt; you could laugh—you will laugh, when this is over, and you hope it'll haunt him until the day he's in his grave—but for now, you can only dig your fingernails into his scalp (a little more of his own medicine) and moan, gasp, sob over the way he drags himself in and out of you deliciously. It feels like heaven compared to everything you've been through at the hands of his subordinates in the last thirty-something hours.

Since you're not begging him to stop, you should be begging him to let you cum—but you're not doing that either, and the resolve of the boss of the Port Mafia is shattering, slowly—too quickly—as he pounds into you harder, harder, harder. Bandages coming unwrapped, sweat dripping from the perfect, pointed end of his nose; you lick that up too, gently as you can through the way he jostles your body with each of his movements.

"This the only way you get pussy, huh? Capturing and forcing it? Ungh—Pathetic fucking man," you groan out, smirk playing on your face as you fight the way your eyes roll back. Impossibly harder, faster.

"Sh-shut the fuck up, slut," he spits back at you. Those cold eyes burn.

"You're fucking a dead bitch," you taunt. You think he'll break you. You think you want him to. You think he already has. You have to do it back. "Slut."

The knife presses harder into your throat. You can feel the blood flowing freely.

"Talk or I'll fucking kill you before you cum." But his voice, so smooth and suave and bored and casual earlier, is so broken now, so clipped. "Tell me where those six fucking friends of yours are. I'll find them anyway."

Six friends—your executives and subexecutives. It pulls you out of the moment that he knows how many of you there are. But you put on a good show; you're a good leader who will die with their secrets. His threats are empty to you. You clamp down on him, you clasp your teeth into his jaw, his shoulder as his thrusts slow, still bruising but slow as you feel him coming unraveled—it's enough to send you over, too, blacking out and hearing only your own voice as you sob, squirt a pitiable orgasm onto his stomach but it's one nonetheless and his seed is filling you, warm. You come back to and find his eyes one last time as they fly open, glazed over. He's gorgeous. He really is. You don't mind that he's the last thing you'll see. How unfortunate he couldn't be the death of you in some other way. Maybe in some other life.

A final long slash to send you unconscious. A smattering of sizzling red across his face.

He watches your body collapse at the foot of the dresser. You could've been the death of him too, in some other life—he saw it in your eyes.

How unfortunate it all is.

Osamu Dazai, the boss of the Port Mafia, stands and stares at you, your weakening pulse, for a long time before he gets to cleaning up your blood.

[maxdibert]

Alright, let’s dive into the dumpster fire that the Marauders fandom has become last years and threw any sense of canon or character integrity out the window. Because let’s be real, the way this fandom has twisted the characters of the Marauders and the Death Eaters, all while turning Severus Snape into some one-note “creepy stalker,” is embarrassing. The fandom seems obsessed with scrubbing characters clean, romanticizing abusers, inventing tragic backstories for literal sociopaths, and piling up headcanons that turn a few lines in canon into fully fleshed-out, fanon-only OCs. And somehow, the only character who gets relentlessly dragged and demonized is Severus Snape—a character who has actual complexity and trauma. It’s hypocritical, classist, and downright gross.

Let’s start with Severus. Canon Snape is a guy who came from nothing: poor background, abusive father, dead-end town. He didn’t fit into the wizarding world, was relentlessly bullied by privileged Marauders, and still somehow managed to survive and make something of himself. But instead of acknowledging any of that, the fandom loves to reduce him to this “creepy obsessive” stereotype. People act like he spent every waking moment pining for Lily and never did anything else, as if that’s all his character is. Never mind the fact that he was actively trying to get out of a miserable life, or that he was, you know, bullied on a daily basis by James and Sirius, who had wealth, status, and freedom to do whatever they wanted. Nope, to the Marauders fandom, Snape is just the “weird stalker”—because acknowledging his struggles would mean admitting that their golden boys were actually kind of awful.

Meanwhile, the same people are out here bending over backward to make people like Barty Crouch Jr., Evan Rosier, and Regulus Black look like misunderstood anti-heroes. Let’s be clear: in canon, Barty Crouch Jr. was a straight-up torturer, Evan Rosier died laughing as he fought Aurors, and Regulus was a kid raised with a silver spoon who only started doubting Voldemort when he realized he’d been signed up as snake chow. But no, fanon has turned these guys into “tragic, complex Slytherins” who were “just trying to survive.” It’s like they’re desperate for some tortured prince narrative, so they invent personalities out of thin air to give us this dreamy aesthetic of sad, beautiful Death Eaters who “didn’t really want to be evil.” Apparently, actually following the text is too much to ask when you’ve got fanon fantasies to uphold.

Regulus Black, in particular, has become this absurd fanon martyr. In canon, Regulus was a kid indoctrinated into pureblood ideology, who joined the Death Eaters without much hesitation. Maybe he had a change of heart eventually, but it wasn’t out of some grand moral revelation; he just realized Voldemort’s loyalty was to himself alone. Yet, according to the current fandom, Regulus is some misunderstood hero who was only “pretending” to go along with Voldemort and was “forced” into his choices. They’ve built this tragic romance around a character who, in the actual books, doesn’t have even half this depth. This Regulus in fanon is practically an OC at this point, and people cling to this made-up version of him so hard that they’ll defend it like it’s canon. It’s hilarious, and it’s also just plain wrong.

And let’s talk about the Marauders themselves. In canon, James and Sirius were rich, spoiled brats who spent their school years bullying anyone who didn’t fit into their world. They were kids with every privilege, and they used it to torment people like Snape, who had nothing. But the Marauders’ fandom has turned them into these fluffy, “good-hearted” rebels who just made “a few mistakes.” I’m sorry, but nearly killing someone as a “prank” is a bit more than a mistake. Yet people will ignore that or wave it away as “boys will be boys” just to keep up the illusion that James and Sirius were lovable scamps. It’s maddening—and it’s also classist as hell. They erase all the ugly realities of the Marauders’ behavior and then turn around and judge Snape for being “obsessive” and “weird” when he was just trying to survive in a world stacked against him.

The classism in this fandom is so blatant it’s laughable. Snape is written off as creepy and unworthy of sympathy because he didn’t have a cushy upbringing or the social standing to make him likable. Meanwhile, characters like Barty and Regulus, who came from wealthy pureblood families, get excused and romanticized to no end. It’s like the fandom is saying, “Well, Snape deserved it because he was poor and awkward, but the rich kids? They’re just misunderstood.” It’s the kind of privilege blindness that makes you wonder if people actually read the books or if they’re just projecting their own biases onto the characters.

And let’s not forget the army of new OCs the Marauders fandom has invented just to justify this headcanon universe (Mary, Marlene, Dorcas, that that Pandora no one knows why suddenly appears here lol) You’ve got random “best friends” for Sirius, unnamed Slytherins who magically have no ties to pureblood supremacy, and love interests for Regulus who supposedly saw the “real” him. All these characters are based on nothing more than a few throwaway lines, yet people have fleshed them out to a level that they’re practically new characters in the universe. It’s like they need this entourage of made-up people to back up their version of the Marauders and Death Eaters because, without them, their headcanons would fall apart. And all of this, while they keep painting Snape as this creepy loner with no real friends or worth. The hypocrisy is unreal.

At the end of the day, the Marauders fandom has taken a bunch of characters with clear flaws and complexities and rewritten them into these sanitized, tortured souls while dumping all their scorn onto Snape. They’ll go out of their way to redeem a literal torturer like Barty Crouch Jr. or turn Regulus into some tragic hero, but they can’t bring themselves to even consider Snape’s trauma or the systematic abuse he endured. It’s all about maintaining this fantasy where their favorite characters are perfect and untouchable, even if it means twisting canon and ignoring the ugly truths about class, privilege, and abuse that is reflected into the story. And that, honestly, just makes the fandom look shallow, hypocritical, and completely disconnected from the reality.

[thrashkink-coven]

Ended up renewing my vows with Lucifer today! I was gonna do it tomorrow (Venus Day) but I’m gonna be working and might not have the time to do it properly. I felt his presence a lot today and felt now was the right time.

I’ve been getting a lot of questions from you guys about how to make a contract with a deity, or what my contract looks like, so I figured now would be a good time to make a post about it. Some specific details will obviously be left out, in particular I’m not going to be providing my entire initiation ritual. This is just the general outline of my contract.

My Contract with Lord Lucifer

In the initiation ritual I did this process backwards, starting with bounds, then terms of service, and finally concluding with the oath. I sealed my contract with a personal sigil, a kiss, and blood. It’s up to you how you’ll seal your contract.

Oath of the Initiate.

My personal oath is based on a pact written by Kindra Ravenmoon in her Devotionals to Lucifer.

Pledge:

“I, veneficus [your chosen name], hereby scribe my name into the Holy tablet of Venus, the Black Book of Lucifer, and in turn, I scribe his name on my flesh, Lord Atshtari Luciferi. For you, Light Bringer, I pledge myself to the path of Enlightenment, the Internal Flame of Godhood, of Blood, of Thorns, of Shadows, the crooked left path that leads to the Truest Self. I, now and forever, will be under Lucifer’s light, no other God shall come before He. To Venus, to Lucifer, I pledge myself, I shall accept his gifts along with the challenges He has sent for me. Lord Eosphoros is my God! Every path I have taken in the past has lead me into his welcoming arms. I will serve Lord Lucifer with my whole mind, body and soul, my existence is a temple in which he is glorified. I swear to give my full allegiance to Lucifer and to accept his wisdom without hesitation. I am a faithful servant unto his majesty. A soldier of his principles. I am his dear beloved child and holy disciple, forever I shall be a testament of his wonders. If I ever betray this oath, I hearby declare that I shall be cast away into the darkness of oblivion, never to see the glorious light of Truth again.

My soul is sacred and beautified with the loving mark of Venus. With signing the Light Bringer and the Dark Lord’s book, I dedicate myself to freedom. I am the bearer of the Blackened Flame, the gift of Lucifer and the shadow path. This veneficus steps through the Gates of Becoming, the Gates to His Kingdom. I pledge myself to this oath of secrecy and of loyalty to Ashtari Luciferi and will forever dedicate myself to His Great Work. I hereby am the dear devotee and eternal initiate of the Liberator, Lord Lucifer.”

[*Sign Name*]

Ave Lord Lucifer! Hail thyself forever more!

The laws:

After each declaration a ring of a bell can occur, or the initiate can repeat the affirmation: “I do, Forever and always, in the name of Lord Lucifer.”

*Never shall the initiate place themselves lower than any man nor God. By the signing of this pact, he has affirmed his sovereignty.

(“I do, forever and always, in the name of Lord Lucifer”)

*The initiate must always fight to uphold the principles of freedom, knowledge enlightenment, and liberation. They must dedicate their life to freeing the oppressed and uplifting the down trotted, they must always seek wisdom and to expand their understanding of the world and themselves. The initiate turns his back to ignorance and misinformation, for he is now a truth seeker. The intimate must dedicate himself to radical education.

*The initiate must love humanity and embrace it with radical empathy. Even when mankind is cruel and wicked, the initiate must always fight for love and freedom. The initiate may never hold a view that is discriminatory or hateful towards humanity.

*The initiate must never choose cruelty. They must be willing to defend themselves and others from evil without becoming evil themselves.

*The initiate must never perform any act which causes intentional harm to oneself.

*The initiate may never hide anything from his Lord Lucifer, for he knows that the light of Eosphoros reveals everything. There is no path that the initiate will walk alone.

*The initiate’s body is a temple of Luciferian gnosis. Never shall the initiate allow this body to be disrespected or defied for the benefit of others.

*The initiate is a liberator of natural world. He must always protect the principles of Mother Nature and all of Her creatures and wonders. Never shall the initiate disrespect the beautiful planet and home he has been given. If the initiate uses the natural world as sacrifice in magical workings, he must do the least amount of harm possible, and give back in equal or greater fold to what he has taken.

*The initiate respects all of Lucifer’s spirits of Hell and Heaven.

*The initiate may never use these gifts received from his Lord Lucifer to harm the innocent or to disgrace the honest.

*The initiate must understand that they are deserving of luxury, as they are the precious child of Lord Lucifer whom he holds dear. They must treat themselves as a valuable treasure deserving of the finest things in life. They will never allow themselves to be mistreated. They will never disrespect their own boundaries.

*The initiate must have great humility and be willing and ready to change. The intimate must admit his mistakes and dedicate himself to becoming a better person.

*The initiate will allow his Lord Lucifer to burn away all that does not serve him. He will walk though the flames and emerge a diamond of Luciferian gnosis.

*The initiate will always continue to explore himself in all ways, physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, sexually.

[*Sign Name*],

“I do, forever and always, in the name of Lord Lucifer.”

Terms of Service ~ Contract of Consent

This is where Lucifer outlines all of his expectations for me and the perimeters for our relationship.

When you call me, I will answer. I will never forsake you.

When I speak you will listen. When you speak, I will listen.

You will make your own decisions. I will advise you.

I will protect you. You will honour me. As I will keep you with me, you will keep me with you.

I will never hurt you. I will never be cruel towards you.

You will be tested. You will be forced to change your mind.

I will lead you. I will teach you. You will follow me. You will learn.

You will accept what you are given. I will give you what you deserve.

I will reward you for good behaviour, I will punish you for bad behaviour.

I will be gentle and careful with your body. I will love you as you prefer.

You will receive my approval when opening the circle to any other person or spirit. Your relationships with other spirits may not contradict or disrespect your relationship with me.

You may call me whichever name feels right to you.

[In some relationships, only honourifics, (Lord, Lady) are used.]

I will never lead you astray. You will trust in my direction.

If ever we are separate, you will search for my Light.

You will never be forced to worship me, but you must promise to worship yourself.

We will always communicate with each other.

I will respect your boundaries. You will head my command.

I will love you through all of your mistakes. You will always be perfect to me.

[*Sign name*], I do, forever and always.

Bounds

Here is where I outline all of my boundaries for Lucifer to follow.

Never will Lord Lucifer overstep my bodily autonomy without consent. Never will he take possession over me without my permission.

[Here is where you would specify how comfortable you are with having your body manipulated]

Our craft requires no harm to any living animal or human being.

[Here is where you would specify if you are comfortable performing animal sacrifice, herbal sacrifice, etc.]

Lord Lucifer will never harm anyone dear to me without my explicit intention and permission.

[Here is where you would specify your boundaries surrounding other people in your life]

My relationship with Lord Lucifer may never contradict or disrespect the relationship I have with my human partner(s), [*full name(s)]

I will offer blood, tears, hair, semen, and other DNA to Lucifer through the least harmful method possible whenever I feel called to. I will never be forced to offer if I do not have the means, either practically, mentally, or emotionally.

[Here is where you would outline whether you are comfortable giving blood or other bodily offerings, how often these offerings will be given, and the methods that’ll be used to provide these offerings]

I will give my pleasure and sexual gratitude to Lord Lucifer as an offering whenever I feel called to. I invite Lucifer to use my sexual energy in workings and in the ritual space for manifestation or communication.

[Here is where you would specify if you are comfortable with doing sex magic or giving sexual offerings, and how often this will occur.]

I will wear my devotional jewelry and markings for Lord Lucifer and make him aware before taking them off. I will respect and cherish my devotional wears and keep them in good condition. I will not allow others to wear or handle my devotional jewelry, with the exception of my human partner, [*full name*].

[Here is where you establish if there are any rules regarding devotional jewelry or tattoos]

Lucifer is encouraged to contact me in my dreams and in trances.

[Here is where you would specify if you are comfortable being contacted while unconscious or between states of consciousness without first giving explicit permission]

Lucifer is encouraged to touch my energetic and physical body or otherwise provide me with physical sensations an visualizations in the ritual space.

[Here is where you specify how much physical touch is appropriate for your relationship]

Lucifer may call me by chosen name, [*name], as well as any other terms of endearment he may use to refer to me.

[Here is where you specify if it’s appropriate to for them to call you your common name, a special or secret name, or something more formal]

Lucifer will not force me through any test he does not believe I am ready for.

Lucifer will protect my lover and those who are dear to me.

[Here is where you specify if there are any specific people you’d like Lucifer to look out for]

Never will I reveal the details of our relationship or workings without explicit permission from Lord Lucifer.

[Here is where the rules about the secrecy of your practice are established. Some spirits will demand that you do not share anything you do with them.]

I will love myself as I have loved Lord Lucifer.

[*Sign Name*], I do, forever and always.

Ave Lord Lucifer! ✴️Hail Thyself! 🔱

[jscrawls]

Widows rest

My take on a Black widow! Reader x Batman and Batfam but with a slight twist, reader doesn't know the Bats but they seem to know them...

Warning: contains avengers infinity war spoilers, black widow spoilers, brief mentions of violence, hospitals, poor writing, possible ooc,

Part 8: happy home

🔹🔹🔹

You're officially going ‘home’ today, the doctors have decided that you're well enough to get the boot. It's a little strange to think about, as much as you hate this place it's also the only point of this world you actually know. You have no other base here, no aliases, no hidden safehouse, no Natalia, just you and some strangers. There's been a tension in your shoulders all day, thankfully no one's commented on it yet.

“Are you ready mx Wayne? I've prepared one of the more subtle cars today.” The older man comments respectfully, he's tall, thin, almost haggardly so. yet he carries himself like a military general. Mr pennyworth is an odd one for sure, he eyes the clothes he brought you critically, like he's nitpicking the minute details of you while speaking in respectful deference. It's almost amusing.

“One of the - do you think we'll be attacked or something.” Your tone is flat, yet your words are meant in jest. Though you are curious just how much your husband wastes on cars if there's a selection to pick from.

“If the paparazzi got a sniff of you, then yeah. Might as well count as an attack.” The tall kid mutters as he grabs your bag off the bed, you should probably start calling him Jason instead of the tall one, but eh.

You briefly eye the bag, the only things of ‘yours’ in it is your phone, your medication, and the syringe you managed to keep all this time. You'd tucked that under a layer when you were changing out of the stupid hospital clothes in the bathroom.

“…why would they care about someone leaving a hospital? Isn't Bruce the famous one of the two of us?” The thought annoys and baffles you, most of your experience with press was them accusing you of various assassinations and demanding you be locked away so you're not exactly too keen to run into issue here.

“Mx Wayne, you are a minor celebrity, whether you remember it or not. Being ‘just the spouse’ doesn't mean you're completely hidden in Bruce's shadow.” Mr pennyworth says firmly, his posture straightening slightly, his chin tilting up, he's trying to be firm, He clearly wants to get the message through you.

“…alright, point taken. Shall we?” You start towards the door to your room, both relieved and pissed to leave this place.

“Ahem, are you forgetting doctor's orders?” The tall one- Jason grabs the handles of your wheelchair in the corner, in that moment you want to grab it and throw it off the rooftop.

🔹🔹🔹

You slide the sunglasses a little higher up your nose as you approach the doors, Jason pushing your chair and holding your bag on his arm while Alfred walks in front of you both towards the back exit. Your thoughts drifting towards the next steps, planning your next move…. But why? what exactly are you doing? Playing pretend out of habit, no real mission here. No loyalty or fealty to uphold. No goal in mind. It's a strange train in thought to hit you right as your bathing wheeled out the door by your supposed kid.

You nearly swing an elbow when something is suddenly shoved in your face, a microphone hitting your chin while Jason curses loudly behind you and body blocks the reporter, the duo had been hiding in the bushes like a couple of wild animals.

“Mx Wayne! A word! A word please!” The dark haired woman persists, flailing around Jason while shouting at you, waving her microphone like she's wielding a weapon. “Any comment on your hospital stay? What did you think of your attackers trial? Are the rumors true that you're splitting from Mr Wayne due to your injuries?”

“No comment, don't you people have anyone else to harass?” Jason barks at them, now it's clear to you why he insisted on coming today, he's practically a shield with his stature.

The cameraman tries to slip past Jason, practically kicking at him as he tries to get a close-up of your face. Alfred all but shoves past him as he quickly takes over Jason's job of pushing your chair, grumbling quietly so only you can hear him.

“dear Lord above, no manners these days…”

You're tense, even that small interaction has you feeling put off and unsettled, you're secretive by nature, feeling at odds with yourself already, and now someone's trying to plaster your face on a channel or magazine? Treating you like the press treats Stark? It feels like your skin is crawling, a deeply unsettled feeling nestles in your stomach as you're quickly helped into a car.

🔹🔹🔹

You stare up at the mansion with a neutral expression as you drive up to it, well as the butler drives. Him and Jason have been discussing your physical therapy schedule for a few minutes now while you quietly stare up the long driveway, something about attending every week and needing shots every few days, you really should pay more attention. Gather Intel while you can, yet you're more focused on your newfound freedom.

…Though with the way this place is built, you're still not so free. The manor could pass for a sanitarium, large gates surround the property and you think you can see evidence of security cameras on key points, you agreed to come to this place for appearance sake, but now you kinda wish you'd demanded your own apartment instead. Something private where you wouldn't be locked in a house full of strangers calling you their parent.

“…do you recall anything about this place? Anything…reminding you of anything or…” the butler questions you when he notices your focus elsewhere, Jason glances from the passenger seat back at you with what you can only call a hopeful look in his eyes.

You shake your head slowly, watching as you wheel closer to your next lock-in. “No…nothing at all…tell me a little about it?” Your response is automatic, tone shifting to curiosity and meekness as you meet their stares, though inside you feel hollow as the car parks.

🔹🔹🔹

“-and this is one of your favorite rooms, the library.” Alfred gestures broadly as he opens the double doors, just like with every other room he's shown you.

“Alright…”

You step inside with Jason grabbing your arm like you'll fall on your face, and take it in, the room could pass as part of a public library. It smells musty and old, aging paper and real leather furniture apparent, you walk towards a random shelf and slowly trail your fingers across the spines as you read the titles, Austen, Dickens, Hemingway, Woolf, brontë, the Wayne's are big collectors of the classics it seems.

You glance over your shoulder, catching Jason settling on an armchair with a book in hand, Alfred stands at the door and just…watches you. The old fellow is quite observant you've noticed.

“Something wrong, Mr pennyworth?” your voice is gentle, watching him as closely as he watches you. He shifts just slightly, expression not changing even as Jason looks up from his book to watch.

“Not at all, master Wayne. Are you feeling up for more of the tour? There's still the sitting rooms and the sleeping areas, oh, and the cellars. Silly me.” He's equally gentle, yet you get the feeling this is suddenly a game of some sort. Something telling you to keep a lid on around him.

You fully turn to face him, hand dropping back at your side. “I'm surprisingly tired, to be frank. As little as I've done today…” you don't need to put on an act for that, you're actually exhausted, have been since the paparazzi incident as you left the hospital.

It's silent for a beat, Jason looks between the two of you with a confused furrow on his brow. You and the butler staring at each other like this is a game of cat and mouse. Finally the butler speaks.

“Yes that would happen, being hospitalized for as long as you were can have…. Strange effects on one. Come along if you're able.” He turns on his heel and leaves without waiting to see if you'll follow.

Your brow furrows just a second as you walk after him, was he implying something?

🔹🔹🔹

A/n: we're finally out of the hospital! It only took *checks notes* eight chapters. Lol the interactions are gonna be a lot more interesting now hopefully 😉

Taglist: @cxcilla @mercuryathens @dind1n @redsakura101 @ninihrtss @let-me-dance @ladykamos @one-piecelover @cuntiesweet

[sophieseals]

FURIOSA SPOILERS

Dementus parachute cape going from white in the beginning like a ‘saviour’ to covered with red paint once he meets a war boy and darker towards the end of the film has a GRIP ON ME. I’m torn as I think it could relate to two things.

1) how his followers see him as a saviour figure, and how active he is to use them as cannon fodder/ no true loyalty or freedom he pretends to uphold in order to gain followers. (See the Citadel Speech)

We all know Dementus is a manipulative prick the first time he ever meets Furiosa however, would be able to hide his true intentions to any child that wasn’t trained/like Furiosa. Taking the best care of her and saying he was going to take her home if she gave him directions seeming as if he was a good man when he did this in order to find, destroy and parasite off of the green place. His followers at this time see him as a saviour maybe not to the effect of immortan Joe but they see hope in finding a ‘better land/resources’ (See beginning of the film/ fruit tent scene)

It first becomes muddied when he encounters his first war boy (not after he commits his first act of violence!)This scene is later followed by his Citadel speech scene and follows his followers getting fucking blown to pieces by his arrogance and he doesn’t even try to save them. He only goes after Furiosa and the poor man who’s his walking dictionary only to further his own needs. His followers see him less as a saviour and the gang starts to split between leaders (see gas farm decoy scene that follows this, where there is tension between gang leaders AND he starts shooting his own men for decoy). (Also the Citadel I just mentioned)

And then lastly we see it towards the late second to third act of the film once he is separated from Furiosa where the top of the cape has gone black almost like it is covered blood. This is when he acquires gas farm and bullet farm (the black could also represent tar and the fossil fuels of both plants/greed). However this is when he is at his most volatile, his own people in the respected farms are planning a district 8 style uprising and he can’t keep his own gangs together due to his reckless behaviour. This is also best shown in the final act when he uses two out of four of them to be literal decoys for him so he can escape with his life. His followers no longer see him as a saviour and he has only has core followers left.

[thebat-musicman]

There were a few things almost all the Bats had. Some even called them the requirements to be a Gotham vigilante. Tim is a person who likes upholding traditions. If something is repeated several times, it’s probably repeated for a reason. That was why he had created a checklist with the bat standards before volunteering himself as Robin.

Black hair: check

Blue eyes: check

Orphan: …well Tim’s mother had died in childbirth and he never met his dad’s on again off again girlfriend so he guessed that was a half check

Penchant for running into danger: Check. Tim’s life was inherently dangerous.

Daddy issues:

Tim looked up from his notebook at the wanted posters covering the walls of various buildings. He walked closer and read one of them.

WANTED: THE JOKER FOR MASS MURDER, DOMESTIC TERRORISM, KIDNAPPING, AND ARSON

Tim ripped the poster off the wall and stuffed it into his bag.

Check.

——————

An AU where Tim Drake grew up as the Joker’s secret weapon, his biological son. Tim became obsessed with Batman and Robin so his father killed Jason as punishment. Tim ran away and decided to become Robin while ignoring the loyalty and love he still has for his father.

[thisfeelslike-iykyk]

romance tropes ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

hp boys x reader (ft. harry potter, ron weasley, fred weasley, draco malfoy, cedric diggory, remus lupin, sirius black, james potter, tom riddle) backtrack: “daydreamin’”, ariana grande inspiration: tropes are just fun

harry potter

secret relationship

harry hugged a friend and ended up on the front page of the newspaper for it. now, granted, that was because that absolute piece of sh rita skeeter was stalking him. but it doesn’t change the fact that harry is like an actual celebrity. and it’s not like he’s an attention seeker or likes having eyes on him at all times, and he hates it when other people get dragged because of him. so he’d place a lot of importance on hiding your relationship to protect you.

first love

harry in the books just gives naive, first love energy. he’s not used to actually being liked by people, and the concept of dating was foreign to him until like third or fourth year anyway. he’d most likely be nervous and awkward around you at the start of the relationship, and you’d go through many little arguments and larger trials. but if you can work it out and stay with each other, you will find that your love is like the view at the top of a mountain--well worth the climb.

ron weasley

friends to lovers

maybe this is subtly influenced by his canon romance with hermione, but I feel like ron is so defined by his loyalty and his “being a good friend” that being friends with him is a crucial predecessor to becoming his partner for life. he notices good looks just as much as any teenage boy would, but for him to really develop a connection with his soulmate, he needs to get to know them too. ron’s best friend is his soulmate, and his soulmate is nothing short of his best friend.

fake relationship

ron pretends to get into a relationship because his mother is always on him about when he’s going to finally get a partner. pretty self-explanatory. he gets teased relentlessly about it by his siblings--even they don’t know it’s fake--and he’s constantly apologizing about you having to always go over to his house and talk to his family. but you love his family, so you don’t mind. and after a few months of awkward hand holding and family dinners, you start to love ron too.

fred weasley

best friend's brother / brother's best friend

honestly, these tropes are similar. you spend a lot of time around each other when you’re young. at first you just think he’s cute and funny, but as you start seeing each other more, you find yourself constantly thinking about him. and he’s thinking about you too, but he knows you’re supposed to be off limits. when you start hanging out together, alone, you’re initially both opposed to the idea of being in a relationship. but after gathering up the courage to ask your best friend / brother and receiving some grudging approval, you get together.

unrequited love

I debated between ron and fred for this trope (maybe it’s just the weasley family, I’m sorry but they’re so awkward and nervous around their crushes, absolutely no game). fred has had his eyes on you forever. when you were younger he’d constantly ask you out; and you’d reject him every time, thinking he was always joking or pranking you. but when you’re in your fifth year he tries again, one more time; and when you meet him in the courtyard like he requested he has a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. his face is bright red as he gives them to you, and you can’t resist teasing him a little before finally agreeing to date him.

draco malfoy

arranged marriage

this is the trope that started this post. draco’s parents find him a suitable partner to marry, and at first you start off kind of awkward and distant around each other. but then something in the wall cracks, and you start to open up more and more. soon polite touches and awkward glances become genuine laughter and instinctive hand-holding. and next thing you know, an unbreakable bond is formed.

forbidden love

draco’s got a reputation to uphold. the malfoy family has a reputation to uphold. and maybe this is wishful thinking and idealizing his character, but I like to think that he wouldn’t care about his soulmate’s blood status if you have a true connection. initially, you sneak glances at each other during classes. these glances turn into short notes handed subtly to each other while in the hallways or in the dining hall. these notes turn into brief meetings in the library or the courtyard where nobody can see you. there’s no need to showcase your relationship. and draco wouldn’t mind keeping your meetings secret for a little while longer. besides, there’s something about meeting secretly and knowing you’re not supposed to be together that gives him an adrenaline rush like nothing else. I don’t know. I mean, in canon he married astoria greengrass, who wasn’t a part of the “true” pure blood line, so I’m hoping he’d be willing to go a step further. I don’t know. maybe this trope would be a better fit for sirius.

cedric diggory

childhood marriage pact

this is so cute. imagine baby cedric and baby you rolling around in grassy hills, looking up at the stars sprinkled across the night sky. on one of these nights, cedric asks you if you think you’ll get married. you say you don’t know, and cedric offers to marry you. you hold an impromptu wedding, with cedric grabbing a dandelion and dramatically getting down on one knee in front of you. you dramatically gasp and say yes, and proclaim your love for him. little did the two of you know that many years later, you’d be reliving your childhood memories as you walk down the aisle. (because cedric definitely doesn’t die and you graduate hogwarts together and get married and live happily ever after.)

grumpy x sunshine

cedric is the sunshine. that's it. that's it.

remus lupin

love at first sight

remus had never been interested in dating until you. you were the first person who could capture his attention better than his books could. the marauders are walking through the courtyard one day while you’re sitting on a bench with your favorite book in hand. you look up as they pass and lock eyes with remus. immediately his face lights up a little as he gives you a shy smile, an instant connection and spark forming between you. (is this a trope I desperately wanted to give to cedric because cedric is my absolute favorite? yes. do I regret giving it to remus? no.)

secret admirer / love letters

remus was so shy as a kid, he could never gather up the courage to chase his crush like sirius or james would. so he could only admire you from afar, a dreamy smile on his face as he props his head up on his fist. he wants to find some way to confess to you, but he could never do it in person. suddenly he’s struck with a stroke of genius, and the next day when you come down to breakfast your owl delivers to you an unassuming letter with a dried, pressed flower on it. the letter is written in perfect cursive, the black ink standing out on the yellowed paper. it’s from a secret admirer, and reading the depth of his feelings makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. you want to know who it is so badly, but they leave no hints as the days pass. your owl brings you new letters every day and sometimes little presents. soon you start writing back, begging him to tell you who he is. after a few months of this back and forth, remus finally gathers up the courage to meet you in the owlery. when you realize it’s him, you’re giddy, immediately giving him a hug that makes his eyes widen and his face flush red. needless to say, you’re happy with who your secret admirer is.

sirius black

second chance romance

you and sirius had a thing when you were in school, but it never went anywhere. it could have, as after you graduated you were spending a lot of time together. but everything went wrong when sirius was framed for the potters’ murders. he was suddenly whisked away to azkaban, and you had never felt so confused. you know sirius couldn’t have done something so cruel, but you have no idea who could have actually done it, and you’re not allowed any contact with him now that he’s in prison. when he escaped, you had no idea that the first person he’d come looking for was you. it took time, patience, and respect to rebuild your relationship, but soon you grew close and rekindled that flame that maybe once was there. it wasn’t easy getting together, but throughout all the trials and tribulations, your love for each other remained constant.

bad boy x good girl

sirius is sirius, and you’re more like remus. he loves how studious you are; he hates studying, despite being extremely naturally skilled at magic. when he first approaches you, you turn him down; you know exactly the type of guy sirius is, and it’s two words: bad news. but he keeps persisting, and he knows exactly how to turn on the charm and get you out of your shell. the first time he sneaks you out to the shrieking shack, you’re terrified, but sirius warns you to keep it a secret. you always just thought he was a classic playboy, but sirius proves you wrong. he protects you and takes care of you before anyone else, even himself; he genuinely cares about you, and you are so, so glad you decided to give him a chance.

james potter

enemies to lovers

the classic. it’s not my favorite trope, but come on. it’s so james potter coded. this might also be unconsciously influenced by his canon romance with lily, but young james was such a shitty guy that it’d be hard to like him. you’re not even enemies, per se, but you don’t respect him. that is, until something happens that draws you two together; maybe you’re on the quidditch team together, maybe you’re on opposing quidditch teams and you catch the snitch before him, maybe you’re paired up together for a project. but you start to feel grudging respect toward each other, and before long it turns your rivalry into a friendly competition. and not long after that, your friendly competition turns into flirting and fleeting shared laughs and touches. and the whole world watches as you fall in love. (side note: girlfriend effect is real with james.)

forced proximity

all the “seven minutes in heaven with a harry potter boy” quizzes come to life with this one. you’re at a marauders party when someone suggests a game of seven minutes in heaven. you draw a snitch out of the bag, and next thing you know you and james are shoved in the closet together. it’s uncomfortably small, and you’re pretty much pressed up against each other. nobody knows exactly what went on between the two of you in that closet, but when you walk out together, james’s tie is a little crooked. and the next day, you’re a couple.

tom riddle

star-crossed lovers

poor you and tom. you could’ve been a love for the ages, meeting at hogwarts and quickly becoming attracted to each other. tom’s so charming, handsome and intelligent that he quickly sweeps you off his feet. but there’s something in his eyes that makes you a little uneasy. sometimes tom gets a look of terrifying fury on his face; his eyes go cold and unemotional, and it makes you nervous. you know tom can be possessive, a little overboard with his anger sometimes (a bit of a red flag, if you will). you can only hope nothing happens to him. you love him, you think he loves you too, and you don’t want anything to tear you apart. unfortunately, tom’s anger outweighs his love for you, and you’re forced to watch your lover turn into a cruel, twisted monster.

time travel love

every time I think of this I have to remind myself that harry potter isn’t a k drama, it’s a fantasy. but who says I can’t combine the two? I feel like I’ve read this in a fanfiction, but I really can’t remember where it’s from: in order to save tom riddle from becoming voldemort, you go back in time (whether accidentally or on purpose) and encounter the dark lord when he was still a teenager. and despite you knowing what he becomes, and knowing what you’re supposed to do, you can’t help but start to fall for his wit and charm. if you play your cards right, you might just be able to help tom wake up and walk away from his evil desires. and let’s hope you can play your cards right, because if anything happens to you or you walk away from him, voldemort will unleash hell.

divider by @saradika-graphics

taglist: @raysmayhem-72

[27moremoons]

Press Statement, Hamas:

The crimes of the occupation against Palestinian journalists will not silence them or deter them from continuing their role

We call for the protection of the journalists and hold accountable the perpetrators of crimes against them

The Palestinian people commemorate the Day of Loyalty to the Palestinian Journalist annually on December 31, following a decision by the Palestinian government in Gaza to honor the Palestinian journalists and their efforts and sacrifices in conveying the Palestinian narrative in our conflict with the Zionist enemy, enhancing the image of heroism and steadfastness of our people, and exposing the crimes of the occupation and its aggressive plans.

The anniversary falls this year amid ongoing Zionist aggression on the Gaza Strip and the legendary steadfastness of our people and resistance in the face of genocide, starvation, forced displacement and ethnic cleansing, and the failure of the occupation to achieve its aggressive goals and establish its false narrative and propaganda, and to confirm once again the importance of this national day in honoring our heroic Palestinian journalists who are united with our people, living their pains and hopes.

201 journalists have beed martyred, as they sincerely conveyed the truth about the crimes committed against our people in the Gaza Strip, and narrate the scenes of their steadfastness and perseverance on their land.

On the Day of Loyalty to the Palestinian Journalist, we affirm the following:

First: The ongoing aggressive occupation war against our people in the Gaza Strip has revealed that the Zionist occupation is the most dangerous enemy to the press and journalists in occupied Palestine, as the journalists were truly the prominent tool in exposing the crimes and massacres against our people, and the major means of debunking its false narrative and black propaganda against our people's legitimate rights to freedom and independence and the bravery of our resistance in defense of our land and sanctities.

Second: We salute all Palestinian journalists who risk their lives in order to convey the truth, heroism and steadfastness of our people and resistance, and to convey the brutal and hideous crimes and massacres committed by the Zionist occupation against our Palestinian people across the occupied territories, especially in Gaza, which has been subject to the most heinous aggressive war and genocide for 15 months.

Third: We warn against the grave danger of targeting the Palestinian journalists and its dangerous effect the national unity. We renew our call to all national factions and rights groups to work to adopt a media ethics code that enhances the role of the Palestinian journalists and their noble message, provides them a safe environment, and protects them from murder, persecution, harassment or arrest.

Fourth: We call on the rights and humanitarian groups to continue their work in exposing the crimes of the occupation against Palestinian journalists and condemn them. We urge for immediate action against the Zionist perpetrators involved in the crimes against Palestinian journalists and hold them accountable before international courts.

Finally: We also urge all media institutions worldwide to uphold the values of objectivity, honesty, and integrity in reporting the realities of the situation in Gaza and Palestine, and not to succumb to the Zionist media deception and lies.

Islamic Resistance Movement (Hamas)

1, Jan

Official website - Hamas movement

https://t.me/+kUoQCMfm8bI1NWE0

[urialnathanonwright]

Pardoning Jan. 6 Rioters: An Erosion of Accountability

JD Vance’s defense of Trump’s blanket pardons for over 1,500 Jan. 6 rioters is an endorsement of lawlessness and a assault on accountability. It’s a “bad idea” that undermines the foundation of justice and the rule of law.

The January 6th attack was an unprecedented assault on American democracy, resulting in the deaths of nine people, including law enforcement officers, and injuries to 140 others. It was not an isolated act of protest; it was a violent insurrection. To excuse such violence by framing the Department of Justice’s prosecution as “weaponized” or “politically motivated” is an insult to the victims and an abdication of responsibility to protect democratic institutions.

Vance’s claim that pardons were necessary to rectify a “denial of due process” is an attempt to rewrite history. The rioters were given fair trials under the very judicial system they sought to undermine. To suggest otherwise diminishes the sacrifices of law enforcement officers who defended the Capitol that day and the countless Americans who believe in accountability, regardless of political affiliation.

The false equivalence drawn between Jan. 6 rioters and Black Lives Matter protesters is yet another distortion of reality. The vast majority of BLM protests were peaceful, and even The Washington Post noted that deaths linked to those protests were “almost never actually part of the protest movement.” Jan. 6 was not a protest, it was a coordinated attempt to overthrow the results of a free and fair election.

By aligning himself with Trump’s sweeping pardons, Vance contradicts his own prior statements condemning violence against law enforcement. This hypocrisy lays bare the fact that this is not about justice, it’s about political expediency. It sends a chilling message that allegiance to Trump and his agenda matters more than the rule of law or public safety.

This decision also sets a dangerous precedent. If violent attempts to disrupt the peaceful transfer of power are excused and even celebrated, what is to stop future acts of insurrection? Pardoning those who attacked the Capitol effectively invites more violence by signaling that there are no real consequences for undermining democracy.

JD Vance and Donald Trump have chosen to defend sedition over justice, prioritizing partisan loyalty over the principles they claim to uphold. Pardoning insurrectionists is not “rectifying a wrong” it is perpetuating one. It’s a betrayal of law enforcement, democracy, and every American who values accountability and peace.

We cannot afford to let this be normalized. Accountability matters, and the dangerous revisionism from Vance and Trump must be condemned at every turn. Our democracy depends on it.

[sailorgoon13]

Regulus Black

Basics:

Full Name: Regulus Arcturus Black

Nickname: Reg, Reggie

Gender: Male

Date of Birth: 28 June, 1961

Heritage: English

Blood Status: Pure Blood

Wand: Walnut, Phoenix feather, 11", Rigid

Appearance:

Hair Color: Black hair, natural curl

Eye Color: Grey eyes

Skin Tone: Light

Height: 5'9"

Body Type: Slender, lean.

Style: Tailored robes of rich, deep colors—charcoal black, midnight blue, and emerald green. Beneath his robes, he favored crisp, white shirts paired with fitted trousers. His hair, dark and tousled, fell effortlessly across his forehead. Around his neck, he wore a simple pendant

Features: His hair dark and possibly slightly unkempt. His stormy grey eyes. Stoic exterior

Personality:

Traits: Determination, Integrity, Compassion, Selflessness

Likes: Music, Art, Nature walks

Dislikes: Arrogance, Close mindedness, Prejudice, Injustice

Hobbies: Quidditch, Reading

Fears: Voldemort, What Voldemort planned on doing

Family and Friends:

Father: Orion Black

Staunch believers in the supremacy of pure-blood wizards and witches

Likely authoritarian parents who expected strict obedience and adherence to family traditions from their sons. Their rigid upbringing likely contributed to the conflicts and tensions within the Black family.

Mother: Walburga Black

Was infamous for her enchantment of the Black family tapestry, which displayed the family's tree.

She blasted off the names of any family members who were disowned or deemed unworthy, including Sirius when he left home.

Friends: Regulus upbringing within the pure-blood supremacist Black family, suggests that he may not have had many genuine friendships, especially outside of those who shared his family's beliefs. His relationship with his brother Sirius suggests that he may have harbored feelings of loyalty and affection towards him, despite their differences. Though strained by their ideological divide, their familial bond could have provided a foundation for understanding and mutual support.

Magic:

Special Abilities: Was taught Dark Magic at a young age

Boggart: Voldemort

Patronus: He could not produce one

Polyjuice: Would appear to be black with silver specks. Smells like old parchment and ink, mixed with earthy tones. The taste would be subtle and similar to dark chocolate with a hint of bitterness.

Amortentia: Subtle undertone of smoky incense or burning parchment, a faint scent of lilies and fresh air after a storm

Backstory:

From a young age, Regulus Black was groomed to uphold the traditions and beliefs of his prestigious pure-blood family. His parents, Orion and Walburga, had high expectations for both him and his older brother Sirius, expecting them to excel in their studies at Hogwarts and uphold the family's legacy of loyalty to the Dark Lord Voldemort.

As children, Regulus and Sirius were inseparable, bound by their shared experiences and the weight of their family's expectations. They dreamed of making their mark on the wizarding world together, fueled by their ambition and thirst for recognition.

But as they grew older, Sirius began to question their family's beliefs and rebel against their parents' authority. His defiance strained their relationship, leaving Regulus torn between his loyalty to his family and his affection for his brother.

Desperate to prove himself to his parents and earn their approval, Regulus stepped up to fill the role that Sirius had abandoned. He embraced the teachings of Voldemort and joined the ranks of the Death Eaters, believing that he was serving a noble cause and fulfilling his family's expectations.

However, as Regulus became more deeply involved in Voldemort's dark agenda, he began to witness the true extent of the Dark Lord's cruelty and ruthlessness. Horrified by the atrocities committed in his name, Regulus started to question his allegiance and the values instilled in him by his family.

It was during this tumultuous time that Regulus learned of Voldemort's Horcruxes—objects containing fragments of his soul that ensured his immortality. Fueled by a sense of duty and redemption, Regulus resolved to atone for his past mistakes by destroying one of the Horcruxes—the locket hidden in the cave.

In a daring and selfless act, Regulus defied Voldemort and ventured into the treacherous cave, facing countless dangers to reach the locket. Though he ultimately succeeded in retrieving it, he paid the ultimate price for his bravery, sacrificing his life to ensure that Voldemort's reign of terror would be brought to an end.

Regulus Black may have started his journey as a pawn of his family's ambitions and Voldemort's manipulation, but in the end, he found redemption in an act of courage and self-sacrifice, leaving behind a legacy of bravery and defiance that would inspire others to stand up against darkness and tyranny.

Academics:

Best Subject: DADA

Favorite Subject: Potions

Favorite Professor: Slughorn

Worst Subject: Muggle Studies

Least Favorite Subject: Divination

Least Favorite Professor: McGonagall

Student Life:

Regulus was quite active and had a love for being on the Quidditch team

Was in a few extracurricular activities such as Dueling Club and also Slugclub

He was one of Horace Slughorn's favorite students and excelled at potions

As Sirius began to rebel against their family's beliefs and traditions, tensions between the two brothers would have escalated

Template: @hazyange1s

[moonys-bf]

making my case for a chinese house of black: 

      » [family tree by ethel cain] «

 0:00 ─〇───── 3:41

     ⇄   ◃◃   ⅠⅠ   ▹▹   ↻

chinese culture is all about the value of tradition, hard work and loyalty. and stubbornness. 

walburga teaches her children that love and pride have to be earned through discipline and obedience. sirius is neither disciplined nor obedient, but regulus was both because sirius would act out enough to make him look way better in comparison. 

while this current generation of the black family weren’t the ones to build the house from the ground up, their ancestors were. they believe they should honor this labour by upholding the family name and pushing it to greater lengths - and that all comes down to heirs, the next generation after that. 

their names are traditional - carefully chosen to follow the line of sirius and regulus blacks to take the family to greater heights based on how the others were before them. 

family is the most important thing on earth to them outside of upholding the old ways - any sign of deviating from their values or any hint of betrayal is grounds for blasting them off the tree. 

walburga’s love is different - she wants to protect sirius from scrutiny, but sirius is adamant. he left on his own, and she disowned him out of anger. she doesn’t love him how she should, not with his best interests in mind all the time, but with the weight of the family on her shoulders. 

with one heir gone, walburga places all the pressure on regulus. he’s their only hope, and she essentially grooms him to be the perfect heir. she plans his life out for him because she’s not going to be around long enough to bring the house back to its former glory. 

these values of loyalty, tradition and hard work are ingrained in sirius after leaving - he feels this sense of having to work for the potters’ love. for remus’s love. for everyone else’s love. he doesn’t believe he’s entitled to anything in this world, though he acts like it so he can outwardly reject his family’s values tied to blood supremacy. 

he struggles with hurting his family, but he remembers that he is not part of a hive mind. he is his own person, and he needs to stand up for what’s right, even if he’s the last man standing - the one chinese traditional value that was not passed down from hand to hand in the house of black. 

everyone else views his fighting against his family as an act of betrayal of tradition, of culture - but he views it as a last attempt to grasp onto and uphold what things should’ve been like for him. 

[idkhowtopickausername]

YESSSS IM SO HAPPY YOU FINISHED BLACK SAILS!!!!!!!!

Omg I'd love to hear your thoughts on it, what did you think about the ending?? <- big question sorry, I just love your analysis so much aaaaaaa black sails is so good

Aaaahhhh I have so many thoughts it was so good!!! I am having a very hard time focusing on like school and stuff I need to do because it’s filling up my brain with thoughts. I would also love to hear your thoughts too! I also think my thoughts are limited to a certain degree by the fact that I watched it over a pretty long period of time and I haven’t had much time to reflect on it yet either so there’s probably lots of connections and things that I’m missing, plus I don’t remember at all what happens in Treasure Island so I’m probably missing some important contextualizing info that I should look up.

I feel like the last season was really powerful in how it dealt with some of the central themes of the show and it really brought them together in a way that felt nuanced and insightful, I thought the pirates’ alliance with the maroon community was so crucial and I really loved Flint and Madi’s friendship and their characters in the last season. I feel like it really sort of broke down the dichotomy of choosing between war/liberation and loyalty to people you love and it showed that that is a real genuine conflict and something that most of the characters struggle with in very real ways but I think it really transcends the idea that those things are mutually exclusive/a dichotomy and asserts that love and community can exist through mutual commitment to a shared opposition to the empire and that Silver was deluding himself by continuing to believe in that false binary so that he could justify his own final decision—not that the danger of losing loved ones or having to make sacrifices and difficult decisions is any less real, the show makes it clear how real it is, but that Flint and Madi’s revolutionary aspirations were born out of genuine love and hope (and necessity, especially in Madi’s case) on a collective level that Silver could have shared in if he had chosen to, and that his decision in the end was a form of betrayal and disloyalty in itself.

I also thought the way that lots of other characters went against some of their own values or their initial position and eventually sided with the empire in one form or another for their own individual motivations like with Eleanor, Billie, Jack and Max was really well done and the shifting of each of their goals in accordance with their status and priorities felt very realistic. The calculated-ness and effectiveness with which the empire would divide people or offer wealth, safety, and influence in exchange for changing loyalties and betraying one’s former values while also never guaranteeing safety for those already on the margins and being ready to break any promises that were no longer advantageous to it felt very realistic, and the way that the British and Spanish empires worked together to defend their colonial interests was a really chilling and important plot point too I thought.

Max’s storyline in particular really broke my heart because I think she had a more intimate understanding of what working to uphold the empire meant but she still makes the choice that she feels will bring her a greater chance of stability and safety after being denied it all her life even at the expense of others, and tries to set out boundaries about what lines she will and won’t cross so she can be as much at peace with herself as possible but the contradictions and precariousness of holding this position are always there.

I also really loved the monologues and the theme of how stories are crafted and people are vilified to fit the agenda of those in power…the idea that the empire needs people to believe that its reign is inevitable and unbeatable and to not imagine anything else is such an important theme and I love that it voiced that, I love stories that articulate that so much.

I also really loved how many female characters there were who had so many different complex relationships with colonial power and gender roles based on their race and class and sexuality and their personal outlooks and positions and priorities, it felt very rare to see that and I’d like to think more in depth about it because there was so much going on with it thematically.

The ending made me so emotional because it’s like Silver crafted a “happy” ending for Flint without giving him a choice, although what makes it most sad is that the show does clearly illustrate his mindset and how he comes to it and I think he does understand the weight of his decision. The idea of being institutionalized/imprisoned in a “humane” way as a way of getting rid of people who don’t conform to colonial society or actively oppose it is very significant I think in a story about people who have been abandoned or deeply hurt by colonial society trying to find a place for themselves, and treating Flint’s revolutionary mindset as a problem that needs fixing and that can be fixed by a relationship with one person feels like a hollow interpretation of his story that the show itself as criticizing, although I do think the draw of being able to have a loving relationship and be free of the pain and responsibility of warfare is real for Flint like it is for the other characters. I think there’s also an element in the final few episodes of the characters finding the comfort they can in the love and companionship they can salvage despite everything which is sweet and contributes to the complicated emotions but I think it’s very telling that this is not possible for Madi and Silver (at least not with each other).

[ancientforgcd]

"Strength is where you stop; for me, it’s only the beginning."

-Lux

General Info:

Name: Lux Magnum Titles: Admiral Lux, Heavenly Justice Age: ???'???'???'??? Birthday: December 12th Race: Vacosian Gender: Female Sexuality: Homosexual Occupation: Admiral Allegation: Universal Government Handedness: Ambidextrous Height: 178 cm Eye Color: Red Hair Color: Black, with two white bangs Misc: She does have a tail as well.

Personality:

Lux Magnum, known as Heavenly Justice, carried herself with fierce independence and a pride that few could match. Growing up in the shadow of her older sister Ruby, she felt a mix of deep admiration and a determination to prove herself. When Ruby was banished, Lux’s sense of loss drove her to push herself harder, channeling her grief into becoming the perfect prodigy her parents desired. She was resilient, driven, and possessed an unshakable resolve, qualities that would come to define her as a leader within the Universal Government.

Though she rarely expressed it openly, Lux had a powerful loyalty to her family, especially Ruby. Even after years of separation, she felt a fierce protectiveness toward her sister, carrying that bond deep within despite her stoic demeanor. Her relationship with Ruby was complicated; while Lux respected Ruby’s free-spirited nature, she also felt a responsibility to uphold the family’s name. This protectiveness often showed in subtle actions rather than words, her loyalty evident to those who truly knew her.

Her pride was matched only by her ambition. She thrived on challenges, driven by a relentless competitive streak that refused to settle for mediocrity. In battle, she was fierce and calculating, pushing herself to outmatch each opponent with precision and efficiency. Her commitment to her goals sometimes made her seem distant or harsh, but to Lux, every action had purpose. She believed strength went beyond brute force; it was about discipline, perseverance, and constantly honing her abilities.

Her loyalty to the Universal Government was strong, but it was loyalty on her own terms. Lux respected the hierarchy, yet she maintained her own code, refusing to serve directly under a Celestial Dragon as a matter of principle. She viewed justice as something personal, a balance she sought to uphold based on her own values rather than blind allegiance. This independence made her both respected and cautious, as those around her often wondered where her loyalties ultimately lay.

At her core, Lux was motivated by pride, loyalty, and an unrelenting drive to excel. Though she presented a solitary front, she valued strength in others and respected those who demonstrated resolve and integrity. To her, family and loyalty ran deeper than any formal duty, even if she rarely showed it openly. Beneath her reserved exterior, Lux carried a fierce devotion that only a few would ever see; a silent vow to protect those she held dear, no matter the cost. She didn’t need recognition or praise.

Backstory:

Lux Magnum was born three years after her older sister, Ruby, into a family that valued strength and discipline above all else. From the beginning, she idolized Ruby, who felt like both a protector and a best friend. They were inseparable, two siblings navigating the world together, with Ruby often guiding Lux and showing her the ropes. Lux felt safe and inspired by Ruby’s presence, and their bond was one of the few constants in her young life. But when Azathoth decreed Ruby’s banishment to the forest, everything changed. Lux, still too young to understand why, was left heartbroken and lost, the world suddenly feeling much colder without her sister beside her.

With Ruby gone, Lux became the center of her parents’ attention. Magnolia and Surtr, in their own way, tried to fill the gap by channeling all their focus onto her, training her with an intensity that went beyond simple guidance. They wanted Lux to be the perfect prodigy, a successor worthy of their name and reputation. Feeling the weight of both her parents’ expectations and her own sense of loss, Lux threw herself into training. Day after day, she pushed herself harder, driven by a mix of duty, ambition, and a longing to live up to the family name, even as she wondered where her sister was and what had become of her.

When the events of Voidal came to pass, Lux and her father, Surtr, joined the Universal Government. It was a new chapter in her life, one that would test her resolve and skills. Lux quickly made her mark, throwing herself into every task with the same unyielding dedication that had guided her since childhood. Rising through the ranks was no easy feat, but Lux’s commitment and drive set her apart. She was determined not only to succeed but to prove that she could be more than what was expected of her. Her rise was fast and hard-won, and she soon gained a reputation as one of the most promising officers within the Government’s ranks.

In time, Lux became one of the youngest to ever earn the rank of Admiral. Her superiors recognized her as Heavenly Justice, a title that captured the strength and conviction she brought to every mission. Though she carried herself with pride, there was always a part of her that looked back, wondering about Ruby and the life they had shared. Despite everything she had accomplished, Lux knew that her sister’s absence still left a gap that nothing could fill. She remained loyal to that memory, hoping that one day, their paths might cross again.

As an Admiral, Lux commanded respect and authority, but beneath the titles and accolades, she was still the sister who missed the one person she had once felt closest to. Standing at the pinnacle of her career, she remained true to the ideals her family instilled in her, driven by the same fierce loyalty and strength that had shaped her from the start.

Trivia:

-Though Lux is known for her stoic demeanor, there’s one expression that strikes fear into the hearts of her opponents: a small, confident smirk that appears only when she’s certain of her victory. This smirk is a rare break in her otherwise serious expression, signaling that the fight is over in her mind. Those who have faced her and seen this expression describe it as the moment they realized they had already lost. The smirk isn’t mocking; rather, it’s a simple acknowledgment of her power and control over the battle’s outcome. In those rare moments, Lux’s pride shines through, leaving her opponent with a final reminder of just how far beyond strength she truly is.

-Lux has an unusual preference for silence, often seeking out quiet spaces to meditate and reflect before missions or after intense battles. Silence, to her, is a way to reconnect with her purpose and find focus amidst the noise of life and duty. She finds peace in solitude, appreciating the moments when she can simply breathe and think without interruption. Her meditative practice is a grounding ritual, and it’s rumored that she has a secluded spot within the Universal Government headquarters where she retreats whenever she needs clarity. For Lux, these quiet moments are as vital to her strength as any physical training.

-Lux has always kept her personal life and thoughts shrouded in secrecy, even with those she considers allies or friends. This habit began early in her life, as she learned that silence often spoke louder than words and left her intentions unreadable to others. Her enigmatic nature, combined with her stoic demeanor, has led to many within the Universal Government seeing her as almost mythical. To them, Lux is not just a warrior but a mystery—a figure who seems unshakeable, beyond reach, and wholly focused on her own code of honor. People around her often speculate about what truly drives her, but Lux gives them no answers, preferring to let her actions speak for themselves.

-Due to plenty of training with her father Surtr, who is the strongest Vacosian after Azathoth herself, her base power is rather high. Lux is able to match up to True Ultra Instinct Ruby in her base form. She does have access to Super Vacosian and Super Vacosian 4 as well, but only ever uses those forms in rare occassions.

-Much like any other Vacosian, she has a tail too. Much like her hair, it's black in color, but doesn't have any white highlights. Furthermore, she keeps it wrapped around her waist, disguising it as a furbelt that way.

[horizon-verizon]

I don’t understand the fuss. Not long ago, people were complaining that it didn’t make sense for Rhaenyra to carry a sword, completely ignoring its symbolic meaning. Yet, just a week later, Audrey Benjaminsen’s artwork for the new Fire and Blood edition by The Folio Society shows Rhaenyra holding a sword. Seriously, it feels like people are just hating for the sake of it.

Anon is responding to this post, where I reblog many things that are in response to S2 Rhaenyra holding out a sword before S2 aired. My personal thoughts, I had way more issue with Rhaenyra a sword around like she either had intention to use it or she knew how to fight with it more than her holding a sword at all. And bc it's these writers and I trust none of them, I thought they they might try to make Rhaenyra into a swordswoman like Visenya when she was nothing like that. And thus, in the writers' eyes and after the producers have:

seemingly decided to both have Emma say the "power" the blacks/she should have will not be in jewels and clothes and appearance when canon Rhaenyra very much both just loved these things/"beautifying" herself and used these things to signify her status (femme-coded things) to make their Rhaenyra more "serious" as if canon!Rhaenyra was not a fierce woman and "girliness" means "not strong" bc the idea is you lean into "femmness" and "femininity" is socially coded as inherently "weak"

remade older!Rhaenyra into a much more people-pleasing person than she originally was, her in hotD seemed like it'd stay on track of her being too eager for approval from men instead of feeling entitled to support and loyalty as she was

(Yes, Emma waving the sword around could also be interpreted as just Rhaenyra trying to practice feeling powerful or pondering her own limitations, the issue is that bc it's these writers who remain...weird about how to write their female characters, well you know?)

All in a bid to make her more "likeable" or to get already sexist-based audiences to think she is a better leader simply because she (show!her) refuses to recognize a danger when it apears and properly prepare for it. Is it commendable and necessary to try to neotiate your way out of possible violence, yeah...that's not what show!Rhaenyra did, though. And it makes as if the book was not showcasing an imperefect victim-turned to victmizer was still only usurped bc se was a woman.

It's very important in how Rhaenyra was not as compassionate as Daenerys or even Alysanne, but it is important to not react to the gender violence and injustice of the entire war being predicated on upholding male entitlement (regardless of a woman's true character) and the slander done against her. Her being NOT a swordswoman, leaning more into the femme-coded aspects of womanhood as understood in Westeros, and thus NOT being closer to the Westerosi/Western ideal of a "nongirly" woman lends to the idea of a "girly" irl being "strong", even with GRRM not allowing her to participate a bit more in the non-fighting aspects of war when he's writing so much about war and its effects--one cannot and should not expect a person, man or woman, to repress their grief and also do a fabulous "job" in order to prove trhey are definitively a good leader...Rhaenyra lost sons successively, the same ones she worked for years to protect from the court and the greens after having had little choice to marry a man who no one would ever believe fathered her heirs.

Which is why I do not care for the "show is different from the canon" argument, bc the show has been doing a horrendous disservice to a huge element and point of the Dance from the very beginning of S1. A show's characters and stoeyline can deciate, but HOW do they do so, that's rthe question that matters!

So, it appears that people are misunderstanding each other or misunderstanding the PRES2 priemere comments of Rhaenyra with a sword. The fuss is what exactly Rhaenyra's seen with a sword means as her being a woman trying to defend her lawfully-given rights towards leadership. And people are ignorant of how women in history has and continue today to impress others and esp men that they should and can be a leader or occuoy a previously male-dominated position OR create and enforce performances of leadership to affirm their power traditionally outlawed, excluded, or proibited to them. And some people are just hating to hate, but some are trying to bring a level of nuance.