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ssdartvader · 3 months ago

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On Fandom Projections, Misogyny In Disguise, Toxic Shipping and the Erasure of Choice

This is sensitive content. Manipulation, gaslighting, and rape occur in some of the posts (no depiction). I'm writing about my experiences, what I've read, and how some people are active on social media

Before we go any further:

This post is not an attack on everyone who enjoys Galadriel/Sauron dynamics, alternate interpretations, or creative shipping.

I know there are people in the Haladriel tag who are thoughtful, peaceful, and fully aware that canon =/= fanfic. (I love u all!)

People who enjoy the ship as a metaphor, who don’t erase Celeborn, who don’t project toxic fantasies onto Galadriel’s arc.

You are not the problem.

This meta is about a very specific, very loud part of fandom:

The delusional, aggressive, narrative-policing shippers who:

• Erase canon to make their ship “true.”

• Treat Celeborn and Celebrian as obstacles to be deleted.

• Push dark romance fantasies without acknowledging the implications.

• Harass actors, writers, or fans who disagree.

• Call anyone who questions them “anti-feminist” or “boring.”

This is about fandom culture, not individuals.

It’s about patterns that have become so normalized that speaking out against them gets you labeled as bitter, prudish, or hateful.

One of the many topics in this meta is shipping.

But it’s not the only one.

This is about canon, abuse romanticization, fandom accountability, and how we treat women in fiction — and the people who relate to them in real life.

If you’re reading this and thinking,

“But I’m just here to write my dark AU and vibe respectfully” — then you’re fine.

This is about those who demand that everyone else play along with their narrative — and then call it “empowerment.”

Why I’m Writing This – And Why It Might Sound Harsh

I’m not writing this because I hate ships.

I’m not writing this because I want to ruin your fun.

And I’m definitely not writing this because I “can’t handle dark fiction.”

I’m writing this because I love Galadriel.

Because I respect canon.

Because I care about beloved characters.

Because I’ve watched fandom twist one of the most powerful women in fantasy into something she never was — and I’m tired of pretending it’s harmless.

I write this because I know what it means to find yourself in a story — and then watch people burn that story down, because it didn’t match their aesthetic.

I write this because I’ve seen how quickly “it’s just a ship” becomes “your canon doesn’t matter.”

Because I’ve seen fans get mocked, gaslit, and silenced for daring to speak out.

Because I’ve seen people who have lived through real pain — emotional, physical, psychological — be told they’re “overreacting” when they don’t want to see abuse packaged as romance.

I write this because I care.

Because stories shape us.

Because fiction reflects what we celebrate, what we normalize, what we excuse.

And when you say:

“It’s just a ship, don’t take it so seriously” —

I say:

“You made it serious the moment you erased her voice and called it love.”

So no, I won’t stay quiet.

And no, I won’t apologize for being “too intense” about this.

Because if no one says anything, nothing changes.

And Galadriel deserves better than to be remembered as a fantasy for people who didn’t care enough to read her story.

1. The toxic fandom.

There’s a very specific kind of fandom discourse that creeps in whenever a powerful female character dares to do something unfashionable. Something like… fall in love. Get married. Have a child. Make peace. Choose gentleness. Resist power instead of claiming it.

Something like… being Galadriel.

And suddenly, it begins.

“She should’ve chosen Sauron.”

“Her canon husband is boring.”

“Celeborn is a bad husband.“

“Celebrian should be a half Maia.”

“She deserves better than the life Tolkien gave her.”

But the truth is:

Galadriel doesn’t need to be rewritten to be powerful.

She doesn’t need to fall for the villain to be interesting.

And she certainly doesn’t need fandom’s aestheticized headcanons to become worthy of admiration.

Because Galadriel is already one of the most complex, compelling, mythically resonant female characters in all of fantasy. And the worst part is: the people who claim to “love” her often refuse to accept who she actually is.

Instead, they cut up her narrative to serve their ships, their edits, their idea of what “feminism” or “iconic power” should look like. And in the process?

They erase the very thing that defines her: choice.

Galadriel is not powerful because she’s flawless.

She’s powerful because she’s constantly in conflict – with herself, with history, with the lure of dominion. She wrestles with ambition, darkness, pride. She changes. She grows. She loves. She lets go.

And every decision she makes is hers.

And yet… fandom keeps trying to take that away from her.

By treating her marriage as a flaw.

By replacing her daughter with a divine OC.

By shipping her with the literal embodiment of domination and deceit – and calling it “poetic.”

It’s not poetic. It’s projection.

This post is not just a ship discourse rant.

It’s a reminder that canon matters – not because it’s sacred and untouchable, but because it’s intentional. Galadriel’s story wasn’t an accident. Her relationships weren’t throwaways.

They were written with weight, with mythic resonance, and with meaning. And erasing that because it doesn’t fit your romantic or aesthetic preferences?

That’s not critique. That’s flattening a character to make her easier to consume.

Let Galadriel be canon.

Let her be complex, contradictory, powerful, flawed.

Let her have her husband, her daughter, her choices – without turning her into someone else just to make yourself feel better.

Because here’s the uncomfortable truth:

If your version of female power only includes rage, isolation, or pairing her with the hottest villain in the room…

Then maybe you don’t want a powerful woman.

You want a fantasy you can control.

Disclaimer, because this is Tumblr and I know what lives here: If you’re a die-hard Galadriel/Sauron shipper, someone who thinks Celeborn is a mistake, or you’re still mad that The Rings of Power didn’t give you your hot evil romance… You are very welcome to hit that block button. Really. Do it. I’m not here to debate canon erasure, misogynistic tropes disguised as “feminist empowerment,” or bad-faith hot takes about how Galadriel “deserved better” – when what you really mean is, “I wish she did what I wanted.” I respect creative freedom. I love fanfic. I enjoy exploring alternate versions. But when it comes to canon, character integrity, and the way fandom treats powerful women? Your “opinion” is not sacred. Especially when it’s built on contempt for female agency, canon relationships, and the actual text. So if my stance makes you uncomfortable – that’s fine. You’re not obligated to agree. But I’m also not obligated to care.

Let’s start with the basics: who Galadriel is.

Galadriel is powerful. She is wise. She is old. She is impressive. But she is not a goddess. She is not the strongest being in Arda. And she is not some divine singularity floating above all others in pure, untouchable light. She is… an Elven woman. Born in Valinor. Exiled by choice. Shaped by grief, ambition, and an unrelenting will to survive. Yes, she holds one of the Three Rings. Yes, she is a Noldorin princess descended from Finwë. Yes, she is incredibly old and incredibly wise. But her strength is not in sorcery. Not in god-tier magic. Her strength lies in self-mastery. In restraint. In not giving in when she easily could. In choosing not to become what the Ring wanted her to be. Fandom loves to frame her as a divine witch-queen who could snap her fingers and level Barad-dûr. But that’s projection. She’s not Morgoth. She’s not Sauron. She’s not Melian. She’s not meant to dominate or destroy. She is meant to resist. And that is what makes her powerful. You can’t understand Galadriel’s arc if you ignore how much it cost her to become who she is. And you definitely can’t claim to respect her while rewriting her into a cosmic being of ultimate destruction just because you want her to “stand equal” to a dark lord she canonically rejected. She’s not powerful because she could’ve ruled. She’s powerful because she didn’t.

2. Galadriel Was Never Sauron’s Counterpart.

Let’s just get this out of the way:

Galadriel is not Sauron’s equal. Not in the way fandom loves to frame it. Not as his mirror, his twin flame, his “light to his darkness.” Not as his tragic would-be bride, or the one who almost saved him. In fact, she is his antithesis – not because they balance each other, but because she refuses what he offers.

In The Silmarillion, Galadriel is described as proud and ambitious in her youth – yes. (Like u see it in the series now.) She did desire realms of her own. She did want to rule.

But unlike others, she learned from her pride.

She grew. And most importantly? She chose not to take the Ring when it was offered to her.

“In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night!” – The Fellowship of the Ring

And yet…

“I pass the test. I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel.”

In That line is everything.

Galadriel is not powerful because she could have ruled like Sauron. She is powerful because she didn’t.

And too many people read this like it’s a moment of glorious temptation. A fantasy. A prophecy. A moment of cosmic connection between her and Sauron.

But that’s not what it is.

It’s a test.

A vision of what she could become if she gave in to the very temptation that destroyed others:

Domination. Control. The desire to be worshipped – even for the sake of “good.”

It’s not beautiful. It’s terrifying.

And she knows it.

“I pass the test. I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel.”

She sees what power would make of her – not as his equal, but as his replacement.

Not with Sauron. Not beside him. Not loved by him.

She would become what he is – but worse. (Gandalf would become probably the same.)

Because she’d do it in the name of light.

And she says no.

This is the core of her arc.

Not becoming a queen. Not sharing a throne. Not a twisted fairy tale. But resisting the very path he chose – even when she could have taken it further.

And in The Rings of Power?

When Sauron offers her “a kingdom, not of darkness, but of order”?

When he says “together we could save Middle-earth”?

When he tries to frame it all as fate – the inevitable pairing of two great minds?

That is a direct mirror of the moment above.

But where Frodo offers the Ring in innocence, Sauron offers power as seduction.

And her answer is the same.

No.

Not because she isn’t tempted.

But because she knows what it means – for her, and for the world.

And because she’s stronger than the fantasy.

What fandom insists on:

And yet, fandom – particularly Tumblr, Twitter, and unfortunately some fanfic spaces – won’t let go of this dark, seductive power fantasy. The narrative usually goes:

“But what if Sauron and Galadriel were two sides of the same coin?”

“What if they were fated to fall for each other, but it just didn’t work out?”

“She understood him.”

“She was tempted too – they’re the same.”

No.

No, they are not.

Galadriel wasn’t “tempted” by Sauron.

She was tempted by the Ring – by power, by the idea of dominion, her own inner darkness. That is not the same as longing for the one who embodies that darkness.

Temptation ≠ connection.

Restraint ≠ romance.

In Unfinished Tales, it’s made explicit that Galadriel mistrusted Annatar from the start – yes, even in Eregion. (One reason why I unfortunately hate a lot of things in the series is that Galadriel herself was misinterpreted here.)

“Galadriel was soon aware of him, and guessed that more lay behind this than appeared, and she remained opposed to him.”

– Unfinished Tales, “The History of Galadriel and Celeborn”

Even when Annatar – his most beautiful, most manipulative form – appears before the Elves, she sees through him. She doesn’t fall for him. She doesn’t admire him. She doesn’t buy it.

She distrusts him. She rejects him.

She resists.

3. Why this shipping trend is harmful:

And this is the part where I stop being polite:

Again: You can ship what you want really but:

Shipping Galadriel and Sauron isn’t just “harmless fun” when it actively rewrites her choices into regrets.

It becomes harmful when:

• It erases Celeborn, her actual canon partner, for someone she canonically saw through.

• It reframes her resistance as “denied attraction.”

• It sexualizes a dynamic that, in canon, is about corruption, manipulation, and refusal.

This isn’t empowering. This isn’t deep.

It’s misogyny in aesthetic form.

It’s taking a woman’s strength of will and turning it into romantic longing. It’s saying she was powerful because she almost gave in – to him. And it turns one of the most important moral victories in Tolkien’s world into a “missed opportunity for enemies to lovers.”

Let’s be clear:

This is not about people writing harmless AU fluff or dark what-if fanfics in their own space.

This is about a pattern in fandom that glorifies dynamics rooted in abuse, control, violence, and calls it “romantic tension.”

There is a difference between exploring darkness – and aestheticizing it. Between writing a character’s pain – and fetishizing it. And too many Galadriel/Sauron ships fall into the latter.

And this is where it gets disturbing:

People canonically rewrite Sauron – a figure who manipulates, dominates, and destroys – into a tragic lover or misunderstood soulmate.

And Galadriel?

She becomes the soft-spoken balm. The prize. The broken plaything. The “only one who ever saw him.”

Some even go as far as to write him as her rapist – not to unpack the trauma, but to eroticize the power imbalance. They reduce her resistance to submission. Her agency to helplessness. Her no to a maybe someday.

That’s not shipping.

That’s violence dressed as romance.

But it’s “just fiction”? Sure. But fiction reflects values.

It reflects what we’re drawn to. What we glorify. What we ignore. And if your favorite “ship dynamic” always centers around:

• A man breaking a woman down

• A woman being “saved” through submission

• Power imbalances being painted as passion

• Abuse being used for character depth

…then maybe it’s time to stop pretending it’s just a preference.

Because when you apply that dynamic to Galadriel and Sauron, you’re not just ignoring canon – you’re rewriting one of the most important female arcs in fantasy literature into a victim story, just so it fits your favorite aesthetic.

Galadriel is not a puppet. And Sauron is not a misunderstood boyfriend.

She is not someone to be “fixed” through domination.

He is not a “project” to heal with love.

And when your headcanon hinges on her being controlled, overpowered, or violated, you are not “adding depth” to the story.

You are romanticizing her dehumanization. That is not interpretation. That is just straight misogyny, plain and simple.

So no.

Galadriel didn’t save Sauron.

She didn’t try to.

The mythic core of her arc:

Galadriel and Sauron are not meant to mirror each other. They serve opposite functions in the myth. He wants to impose order on a chaotic world. She seeks wisdom and healing after chaos. He wants to bend others. She learns to release control.

The deeper message?

Galadriel’s power is rooted in humility.

Sauron’s in control.

They were never fated lovers. They were never “almost something.” They were never meant to meet on equal emotional ground. Because she chose to grow – and he chose to conquer.

Final thought for this point:

Galadriel didn’t lose Sauron. She rejected him.

And that moment – that choice – is why she’s powerful.

Not because she was his queen. But because she looked into the abyss – and walked away.

And here we come to the next:

4. Dark Romance Isn’t Empowering Just Because You Find It Hot – Let’s Talk About It Honestly.

Let’s get something out of the way first (again)

Everyone is allowed to read what they want.

Everyone is allowed to enjoy dark romance, taboo themes, power imbalance, even villainous seduction tropes – with awareness.

This post isn’t saying “don’t read dark stuff.”

It’s saying: don’t glorify harm and call it empowerment.

Because there’s a big difference between exploring trauma – and selling it as romance.

What “Dark Romance” often means in practice:

• He stalks her → but it’s framed as obsession = love.

• He isolates her → but it’s framed as “protection.”

• He lies to her, manipulates her, breaks her down → but it’s okay because he’s hot and traumatized.

• He rapes her → and somehow she ends up apologizing.

• She tries to leave → he won’t let her → the narrative calls it “passion.”

This isn’t just fiction being edgy. It’s fiction training us to associate love with violence, control with attraction, abuse with devotion. And when people – especially women – criticize these dynamics?

Suddenly it’s:

“You’re so sensitive.”

“It’s just fantasy.”

“Don’t yuck my yum.”

“You’re a prude.”

“You don’t understand dark feminine energy.”

Or, if you’re a man criticizing it:

“You don’t get what women want.”

“You’re just insecure.”

“You’re the real misogynist.”

So let me ask this:

Why is it that the moment we question the romanticization of abuse – we’re the ones being shamed? Why is it “cool” to call rape sexy, but “boring” to ask for consent?

And in fandom?

It’s everywhere.

Especially in ships like Sauron x Galadriel, Kylo x Rey, or any version of “villain x heroine” where the man hurts, breaks, betrays, or violates her – but it’s fine because “they have chemistry.”

The pattern is clear:

• A powerful woman is made more interesting when she’s at the mercy of a darker man.

• His violence is rebranded as complexity.

• Her resistance is reframed as sexual tension.

• And the audience is told: “This is love. This is power. This is passion.”

No.

It’s not passion when fear is involved.

It’s not intimacy when autonomy is stripped away.

And it’s not empowering if the only “strong woman” you can imagine is one who gets hurt before she’s allowed to be loved.

Feminism ≠ “hot bad boys get a pass.”

If you’re only okay with women being powerful after they’re dominated by a man – If your idea of “feminine complexity” means she has to be broken first – If you write off any critique as “prudish” or “not understanding dark fantasy” –

Then you’re not being transgressive.

You’re being complicit in the normalization of violence as love. You can enjoy your media and still be critical of what it teaches. You can love villain tropes and still admit when they cross a line.

But if your entire idea of intimacy hinges on control, pain, and silencing the woman, then maybe it’s time to ask: why does that feel romantic to you?

Final thought on this:

Dark romance isn’t bad to a certain point.

But the way we talk about it often is. When people glorify abusive behavior and call it “true love,” when consent is erased and resistance is framed as foreplay, and when calling that out gets you mocked, dismissed, or harassed – Then we’re not writing edgy fiction.

We’re feeding a culture that doesn’t know the difference between love and power.

And Galadriel, of all characters, deserves better than to be turned into another woman who “falls” so a man can be redeemed. (Or that Galadriel's attention should belong to him alone.)

5. Why Women Like Galadriel Matter – and Why We Need to Protect Their Stories

Galadriel is not powerful because she becomes a dark queen. She is powerful because she doesn’t.

And that matters.

Because in a world – and a fandom – that constantly tells women their value lies in how much they endure, how much they suffer for love, how much they can survive while still staying “beautiful” and “strong”…

Galadriel does something different.

She says no.

She sees the darkness – in herself, in others – and she doesn’t embrace it. She walks away.

Not because she’s weak. But because she’s strong enough not to need it.

And that kind of female character?

Is rare.

Not because she doesn’t exist, but because fandom keeps rewriting her into something easier to consume.

Galadriel doesn’t burn everything down to prove her worth. She doesn’t suffer for a man’s redemption and attention. She doesn’t win because she’s crueler than the system.

She wins because she refuses it.

And that is exactly why her story is so important.

Because girls and women deserve stories where power doesn’t come from pain, and where being loved doesn’t require being broken first.

Because we need to see women who survive without becoming monsters. Who say no and still walk away with their heads held high.

Who are not mirrors for male transformation –

but legends in their own right.

Galadriel is one of those women.

So stop turning her into someone she never was. And let her story stand. Even when she is a mother and a wife.

6. Stop Hating Celeborn Just Because Galadriel Chose Him.

Let’s be honest:

A lot of fandom doesn’t hate Celeborn because of who he is. They hate him because of what he represents:

➡️ Galadriel making a choice.

➡️ A woman not choosing the ship you wanted.

➡️ A love story that’s not explosive, toxic, or “tragic” enough to be aesthetic.

“He’s boring.” “He’s irrelevant.” “He’s just there.”

That’s the usual take, right?

Celeborn is labeled as forgettable. A prop. A blank space Tolkien couldn’t be bothered to fill.

But here’s the thing:

That’s not Celeborn’s fault.

That’s fandom laziness – and misogyny by proxy.

Because when a man exists in a woman’s story without overshadowing her, when he’s a steady presence instead of a dominating force, when he loves her without trying to control her – fandom calls that “boring.”

What we do know about Celeborn (and it’s more than you think):

• He’s a Sindar noble – not Noldorin. He chose Galadriel, even as someone from a people who were deeply suspicious of the Exiled.

• He ruled beside her in multiple realms: Eregion, Lórien, even later in the Second Age and early Third. He didn’t “let” her lead – he shared the burden.

• He stayed in Middle-earth after Galadriel departed, possibly out of loyalty to his people. That’s grief. That’s commitment. That’s depth.

Celeborn isn’t underwritten.

He’s just not the kind of man fandom is used to romanticizing:

He doesn’t break her. He doesn’t challenge her with cruelty. He doesn’t need to be fixed.

He simply stands beside her. And somehow, that makes him disposable?

What the hate is really about:

Let’s be real – the hate comes from this:

“Galadriel picked him? Really?”

“Why him when she could have ruled the world?”

“Why him when she could have had Sauron / power / darkness / something more exciting?”

Because too many people think love only counts if it’s painful. If it’s tragic. If it’s hot and dangerous and full of betrayal.

But Galadriel didn’t want chaos.

She didn’t want a man who needed to be rescued.

She didn’t want someone to match her darkness – she wanted someone she could build a life with.

And that’s what makes Celeborn powerful.

Love doesn’t need to be loud to be real.

Celeborn is not the problem. He is not an obstacle to Galadriel’s arc. He’s part of it. Chosen. Trusted. Loved.

If that’s not sexy to you – that’s fine.

But don’t erase a canon relationship just because you’re bored by healthy masculinity.

7. Celeborn and Galadriel: A Love That Doesn’t Hurt – And That’s Why Fandom Hates It.

Let’s be brutally honest again:

Celeborn doesn’t get hate because he’s bad.

He gets hate because he’s not toxic enough to be interesting to a fandom that’s been trained to romanticize suffering.

People want Galadriel to be paired with a man who:

• Challenges her violently.

• Controls her charismatically.

• “Matches” her only if he’s darker, stronger, more powerful.

• Or better yet: hurts her, so she has something to “overcome.”

But Celeborn? He doesn’t do any of that. He doesn’t try to “tame” Galadriel. He doesn’t get jealous of her power. He doesn’t manipulate her or need her to break first before he can love her. He just… exists beside her. Equal. Steady. Chosen.

And somehow, fandom hates that.

Why is a healthy relationship so threatening?

Because it’s not dramatic enough to romanticize.

Because it doesn’t feed the fantasy of “power as passion.” Because it doesn’t let Galadriel be the tragic woman who’s always almost-destroyed.

But here’s the radical truth:

There is power in quiet love.

There is meaning in a relationship where the woman isn’t broken first. Where she’s not “earned” through suffering.

Where she’s just seen – fully – and still loved.

That’s Celeborn.

And that’s terrifying for people who only understand love when it’s laced with pain.

Let’s also talk about what this reveals:

This isn’t just about Celeborn.

This is about how fandom treats female characters who don’t center male pain. Because Galadriel’s arc doesn’t revolve around a man in first place.

She doesn’t fall in love with potential.

She doesn’t build a man from broken pieces.

She builds a realm with someone who stands with her – not on her. And that’s not boring. That’s revolutionary.

The real reason Celeborn gets erased?

Because people think a man who doesn’t dominate isn’t worth remembering.

And if your definition of a “worthy love interest” requires a man to:

• Hurt her first

• Control her growth

• Make her question herself

• Destroy her stability

Then you don’t want a love story.

You want a narrative of submission – disguised as romance. And Celeborn refuses to play that role.

Which is why he’s not boring.

He’s threatening.

To the fandom fantasy. To toxic masculinity. To the idea that women need to suffer first in order to love “deeply.”

Final reminder:

Celeborn is not a footnote.

He’s not “just a husband.”

He’s not a placeholder until the villain shows up.

He is Galadriel’s partner – by choice, by respect, and by mutual power. And if you can’t handle that kind of love story?

Maybe it’s not the canon that’s boring. Maybe it’s your idea of what love should look like that’s broken.

8. Headcanons Are Not the Problem. The Entitlement Behind Them Is.

Next. Here’s the thing:

Headcanons are beautiful.

They’re creative. They allow readers to explore, interpret, play with gaps in canon, and give characters more dimension.

But there’s a line.

And that line gets crossed the moment people treat headcanons as moral truths or necessary corrections to the story. (It's like when you take interviews and take them out of the context and make your own new, better answer out of them)

Enter: the Half-Maia Celebrian discourse (help)

The Half-Maia Celebrian Headcanon – and why it’s not just “innocent fan fun” anymore:

Saying Celebrian is the daughter of Galadriel and a Maia instead of Celeborn isn’t just a cute little fantasy when it’s built on the idea that:

• Celeborn isn’t “special” enough to father her.

• Galadriel wouldn’t “lower” herself to marry a Sindar elf.

• Celebrian must be magical or godlike to be “worthy.”

• Women need divine bloodlines to matter in epic tales.

Again. This isn’t about having headcanons in first place. But:

This isn’t creativity. This is elitism.

And – whether intended or not – it’s a rejection of the idea that ordinary love, parenthood, and feminine lineage can be powerful on their own.

And here’s where the problem explodes:

When people criticize that headcanon – not out of hate, but to talk about the implications –

they’re immediately hit with:

“You just hate Celebrian.”

“You’re silencing fan creativity.”

“You’re anti-woman.”

“Let people enjoy things!”

But let’s be real:

Wanting Celebrian to matter without giving her celestial DNA is not anti-feminist.

(and this goes to the people who really take everything seriously and really mean everything!)

It’s the opposite. Because if a woman can only be relevant in your story when she’s divine, immortal, or glowing with some cosmic inheritance – then what you’re really saying is:

regular girls aren’t (interesting) enough.

The Headcanon Defense Squad – and its double standards:

Here’s the irony:

Fandom screams “don’t erase women!”

But then turns around and literally erases:

• Celeborn

• Celebrian’s actual identity

• Galadriel’s canon choices

…all in the name of “fixing” the story.

You’re not “uplifting women” if the only way you can respect them is by making them superpowered, unrelatable myth creatures.

You’re not “loving Celebrian” if you erase her actual family and replace them with headcanon fantasy archetypes that are more interesting to you.

This is not about creativity. This is about control.

What does it say when…

…a character like Celebrian – who survived torture, made it through the long dark, and still loved and lived – isn’t considered “interesting” unless she’s half-Maia?

What does it say when emotional resilience, quiet legacy, and maternal strength are seen as lesser than celestial bloodlines and magical sparkle?

You’re not empowering her.

You’re saying that real pain, real healing, real humanity… isn’t epic enough. And that’s not just a weird take.

That’s a toxic one.

You can headcanon what you want. REALLY.

But if your entire version of a character erases others, rewrites canon choices, and treats dissent like blasphemy?

Then maybe it’s not a headcanon anymore.

It’s ego. And Celebrian doesn’t need to be half-Maia to matter. She already does.

But What Does That Say About Galadriel?

Because let’s be clear again:

When you erase Celeborn, when you rewrite Celebrian’s parentage, when you insert Sauron into the story as Galadriel’s real “match” or “true father of her child” – you’re not just erasing two side characters.

You’re rewriting Galadriel’s entire arc to fit your fantasy.

The “Half-Maia Celebrian” trope doesn’t just replace Celeborn – it redefines Galadriel.

It says:

• She would never fall in love with someone “ordinary.”

• Her daughter must come from divine union, not mortal partnership.

• Her love is only meaningful if it produces power, not legacy.

• Her body is a vessel for a myth – not a woman who made a choice.

This turns Galadriel from a woman who chose stability, peace, and love into a goddess-like womb whose value lies in producing more powerful offspring.

It’s not empowering. It’s mythologized objectification.

And when Sauron is written into that narrative – as the “real father,” or the “forbidden lover” – it becomes outright disturbing.

You are literally turning a story of agency, resistance, and healing into one where Galadriel is manipulated, violated, or rewritten against her will – and calling it interesting.

What are we saying when we do this?

That Galadriel is only “worthy” if:

• Her love is dangerous

• Her child is supernatural

• Her choices are undone

• Her husband is erased

That’s not fanon. That’s not “creative liberty.”

That’s replacing a female character’s autonomy with your fantasy. And it reinforces one of the oldest, ugliest tropes out there:

“Strong women aren’t truly strong unless they’re exceptional, divine, tragic – or ruined by a man.”

No.

Galadriel is strong because she wasn’t.

Because she chose life. Chose love. Chose a flawed, non-magical partner – and built a legacy with him.

So ask yourself:

If Galadriel needs to sleep with Sauron to be “compelling”…

If Celebrian needs to be half-Maia to be “worthy”…

If Celeborn needs to be deleted to make room for your fantasy…

Are you really celebrating Galadriel?

Or are you just replacing her with someone else you like better?

9. You claim to love Galadriel — but only when she fits your fantasy.

Let’s talk about the hypocrisy.

Fandom is full of people shouting that they “love Galadriel,” that she’s the embodiment of female rage, of divine feminine power, of “finally a woman who takes no shit.”

And then what?

They say:

“She needs someone to challenge her.”

“Sauron sees her like no one else does.”

“She would fall for him — because she understands him.”

“Their power would be unstoppable.”

“It’s female empowerment if she chooses the villain.”

But the moment someone disagrees — the moment someone says:

“Actually, Galadriel doesn’t need to fall to be compelling,”

“She already said no,”

“Maybe let’s not romanticize manipulation,”

suddenly we’re the problem.

“You just hate women.”

“You don’t understand dark feminine energy.”

“You’re anti-ship.”

“You’re invalidating fan creativity.”

No.

What we’re doing is critically engaging with fandom patterns that actively erase female agency.

This isn’t about ship-shaming.

This is about calling out a side of fandom that’s become so wrapped up in its own delusions that it’s treating canon as an obstacle — not a foundation.

And worse?

That toxicity doesn’t just stay in fanfics. It spills into real people’s experiences.

Some of us know what abuse looks like. And we see it when you romanticize it.

Not all of us are engaging with these stories from a place of distance. Some of us — many of us — know what it means to be manipulated.

To be gaslit. To be broken down by someone who claimed they loved us. To be told that pain is passion.

To be silenced, again and again, even in fictional spaces, for daring to say:

“This ship reminds me of real trauma. This is not empowering.”

We’re not here to censor you.

We’re here to say:

Your fantasy doesn’t outweigh our reality.

And when you gatekeep Galadriel’s story to serve your ship, when you erase her canon resistance to frame her as someone who “wants” the darkness, when you twist one of fantasy literature’s most powerful female arcs into a dark romance delusion — That’s not empowerment. That’s retraumatization, dressed in aesthetic.

10. And for those clinging to hope for Season 3: You will be disappointed.

Let’s be honest (again)

There will never be a canon confirmation that Galadriel and Sauron are “a thing.”

Not in Season 3. Not in a flashback. Not in anyone’s dreams.

Because it’s not there. It never was.

Canon is still canon.

Sauron hates Galadriel. Galadriel opposes Sauron. That’s the entire point.

Charlie Vickers and Morfydd Clark have said multiple times that they do not see the dynamic as romantic, that it’s not their thing, and that they actively push against the shipping narrative.

But guess what?

They still smile for interviews.

They still lean into the tension.

They’ll still say things like “they see each other” —

because it’s their job to market a show.

Not because it’s canon.

Not because they ship it.

Not because it’s secretly true.

So when you take vague promo quotes and start screaming “SEE? IT’S REAL!”

You’re not uncovering truth.

You’re proving you don’t understand how TV works.

And finally: Tolkien Estate? Yeah, they’re watching too.

Let’s get one thing crystal clear:

No one — not a director, not an actor, not a costume designer — can make canon decisions. Only the showrunners.

And even they are bound by the Tolkien Estate.

Do you really think the people who fiercely protected the Professor’s legacy for decades are going to approve a storyline where Galadriel — one of Tolkien’s most carefully written women — gets reduced to a pawn in Sauron’s redemption arc or something like that? This isn’t a love story. It never was.

Absolutely not.

They’d burn the script first.

Final word on this:

This is not about hating shippers. I love all shippers who are chill, love their little bubble and spread positivity. This is about holding fandom accountable when it becomes hostile, delusional, and dangerous.

You’re allowed to like tension.

You’re allowed to enjoy villain/hero dynamics.

But don’t you dare turn around and call people “boring” or “prudish” or “anti-feminist” for not romanticizing abuse.

And don’t you dare speak over survivors, feminists, and canon-respecting fans who are tired of watching one of the most powerful female characters in fantasy literature get reduced to a dark love interest — just because you’re addicted to the aesthetic.

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