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thatforkedroad · 5 months

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Sun-hearted

[ao3] Anakin Skywalker is not human. The people around him try not to think about it.

----

Shmi had always known her son wasn’t like her.

At first, she had assumed that the pregnancy had simply happened without her knowledge. Or that perhaps her mind had blocked out the event — a slave knew better than anyone how the brain killed the past to protect the present, to keep you surviving.

But the more she tried to dig up the memory-that-wasn’t-there, the more she ran through scenarios, the more she realised that nothing that made sense. If it had been�� any of her theories, she would have known, there would have been evidence, Watto wouldn’t have been so angry when he found out. Eventually, she realised she had to give up logic alltogether. Anakin’s father was not something knowable to her. He (it?) had been something else. Something impossible.

A miracle.

The theory only grew more convincing as her pregnancy progressed. She began to sense things no human should have been able to. Objects falling before they’d even been knocked. Watto’s bad mood from two rooms away. Her baby’s strong soul, loudly proclaiming it would be a survivor.

She held her new sixth sense dear for those nine months she had it — but not as dearly as she held her baby boy, to whom the sense really belonged. Her darling miracle baby boy, who always knew too much too soon, who read intentions as easily as he read schematics, and whose quick hands and quicker mind did the impossible on Boonta Eve.

Slaves were supposed to cling to their miracles, so few and far between as they were. But a mother was supposed to do what was best for her son, and Anakin was her boy above all else. She let him go, hoping the Jedi would understand and care for his impossibility better than she ever could.

(And as Shmi died, she did not need Anakin’s sixth sense to feel the anger running through his miracle veins. She did not need it to know what would happen next, either.

She knew with all the certainty her slow-beating heart had that her son’s grief would raze the galaxy to ash.)

—

Obi-Wan knew Anakin didn’t fit in with the other younglings and padawans.

He wanted to believe it was just because of the boy’s upbringing, that it was only because he’d grown up in a much crueler, realer world to the others. Or perhaps it was because Anakin was already a padawan or because of how annoyingly easily it was for him to call the Force. Maybe they just heard the Council had tried to reject him. There seemed to be a few hundred thousand reasons that the children of the Temple would consider him an outsider — but one stood out like a sore and mythical thumb.

There was no Chosen One or such thing as a child born of the Force. There was certainly no chance that the other children (even the ones who tried to accept Anakin with open arms) could sense otherness in his blood. He was just like any other Jedi, if a little more reckless.

As Anakin and the other padawans grew, they grew together. He became like well-sewn patch on an old shirt — the difference was there, yes, but only noticeable if you were really looking. It was better for everyone if Obi-Wan stopped looking for the gap, so he did.

Anakin had never seemed to notice it, anyway.

(And as he watched Anakin’s slaughter of the Temple, the hot drowning of dread and horror and nausea was joined by a cold, parasitic realisation. The gap between Anakin and the other Jedi had never grown smaller; Obi-Wan had only grown more blind.

Jedi were taught from a young age that they could not hold or control the Force, that they were to let it flow freely else they would face the consequences. Obi-Wan had been a fool to think that something made of one half Force and one half heartbreak could be held any more than its parent.)

—

Anakin grinned, and Ahsoka felt every clone in the hangar’s mood lift. Ahsoka couldn’t help but smile in return — and then he cracked a joke, and the worry and grief of the battle became a distant, shrouded memory.

It always went like this. They came back from the latest campaign dirtied, injured, and with a tiredness that ached into their very bones. They all wanted nothing more than to eat and sleep and mourn and not talk to anyone for several hours. But then Anakin — still riding the high of a good fight — would clap Ahsoka on the shoulder, make a stupid comment to Rex, and everything would feel fine. Better than fine even.

Morale seemed so reliant on him that if her master was angry or sad or upset, so was the entire ship. When he was in a mood, meditation became impossible, no matter how at peace Ahsoka felt. She once considered that it was more than just moral, more than just his stupid jokes, but she had grown up in the Temple, raised on lessons of a Jedi’s few limits. A single man could not project his emotions onto an army.

Anakin just had a friendly smile, was all.

(And when Maul told her — warned her — of what her master would become, she did not listen. She could not listen. She thought only of his grin, and the sunny sureness in her chest that always accompanied it.

And so she fought for it again.)

—

Rex knew, theoretically, that General Skywalker was human.

He’d seen enough medical scans from Kix (on the unusual occasion that the general submitted to care) to know that Skywalker’s biology was just like any natborn human’s. He didn’t have strange-coloured blood or an extra eye and all his (mostly-intact) organs were in the right places. The records showed that he was completely, one-hundred-percent human.

Theoretically, this made complete sense.

And it made sense he would seem slightly off. Rex had spent the first decade of his life surrounded entirely by his brothers and Kaminoan scientists; his idea of a ‘normal’ person was someone who looked and sounded identical to him, not a tall, barely-tanned Tatooinian with the wrong accent. Even if it hadn’t been, Rex knew Jedi were different from your average natborn. They could do all these crazy things that belonged in storybooks and myths, not the battlefield. Swaying people, moving objects (or clone captains) with their minds, seeing the future — if Rex hadn’t been trained to do so, he wouldn’t have believed a word of it.

But if being a Jedi had been the reason, wouldn’t Rex have noticed the same thing with Commander Tano or General Kenobi? He understood that maybe Commander Tano wasn’t old enough to develop whatever it was General Skywalker had — but Kenobi was older, more trained in the Force. Surely Rex would have noticed the same thing, that same surely-not-quite-human feeling with him?

Maybe he just spent too much time around the General. Maybe this thinking was just a part of having a good natborn friend.

He hoped it was, at least.

(And when Rex heard of the attack on the Temple, he understood his hope was for naught.

He and his brothers weren’t an isolated incident, he knew; Ahsoka had felt the deaths across the galaxy. He had no doubt the clones on the battlefield cut down their generals — who trusted them like they trusted their own right hand, who stood alone in front of a one-thousand strong army — with an alarming ease.

But he heard reports of the Temple, of blue-painted clones massacring all there, and knew they couldn’t have done it alone. Only one Jedi was strong enough to take on a Temple of their own kind and win.)

—

Padmé wondered if her husband was made from the stars themselves.

It seemed like the only explanation, sometimes. How could anything mortal be so beautiful? How could anything born on solid ground hold that much love in its heart? He was impossible. He looked her in the eye and saw right through every mask she wore, saw that all she was at the core was an overworked girl from Naboo — and still beamed like she was the most perfect thing in the galaxy. He loved her for who she was, not what she could do for him nor for the stature of Amidala. That seemed rarer than stardust.

She would see him and her breath would catch with something that had to be more than love. He stood by the window and stared into the Coruscanti night like he could hear every thought in the city-planet, his golden-brown hair catching the edges of the hundred-colour lights. She ought to walk up to him, hold him, tell him she loves him and pepper him with kisses — but all she could do was stare. In those moments, he was perfect and divine, and she could not interrupt them with her mortality.

(And as Padmé lay dying, her life force dragged out by some dark presence, she thought of her star-husband. And she thought of the refugees she had once helped when their sun imploded. It should have been a lesson learnt; stars were beautiful in the night sky, warm in the summer, but dangerous. Able to end entire planets in their own cosmic pain.

Some small part of her knew this when she first said I love you. But she could not listen. She saw only the star-beauty in his eyes and all the love he held in his sun-heart.)

—

Anakin Skywalker had long questioned whether he was human or not.

But as Darth Vader looked down at his mechanical hands, heard his pressurised breathing, and ignored the pain that followed his every half-sedated movement, he found his humanity was no longer a question.

#anakin skywalker #shmi skywalker #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #captain rex #padme amidala #star wars #fic #total write forever

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facts-i-just-made-up · 1 month

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Who was Paracelsus?

Paracelsus was the screen name of Philippus Bombastus Romastus Fantastus Supercalafragalisticexpialadastus von South-Stuttgart-Next-To-The-University-Cafeteria-With-The-Zig-Zag-Roof. His name Paracelsus literally means "Better than Celsus." We do not know who Celsus may have been, but the name is likely a reference to St. Jerome Para-Ezra of Baton Rouge, who was known in his time to have been far better than Ezra.

Paracelsus invented many of the medical techniques used from medieval times to the modern medical revolution, including bleeding, leeching, exsanguination, draining blood from the patient, and ultra-hemorrhagic-cleansing. He also coined the phrase "Only the dose determines the poison," as well as its corollary, "You can eat anything, just some things you can only eat once," and the less impressive but better known, "He who smelt it, dealt it." This was all considered an advancement over the old theory of bodily humors, which is why Paracelsus's friends all said he was a humorless bastard, or so he kept claiming.

Paracelsus was married in a Rosicrucian ceremony based on the Chemical Wedding of Christian Rosenkreutz, which was of course preceded by Chemical Engagement and a Chemical Romance involving a black parade, the theatrical faking of several deaths, and a great deal of sodium (a mass scientifically abbreviated as Na Na Na (Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na). To whom he was married is a matter of much debate, with potential spouses speculated to include Shakespeare, Queen Elizabeth I, Queen Elizabeth II, Martin Luther, Galileo, Ivan the Terrible, Thomas Hobbes, John Calvin, Catherine Di Medici, the Popes Alexander V-VIII, or possibly all at once.

Paracelsus died in the 1540s after suffering a minor splinter which he treated with his own experimental technique known as "setting the patient on fire and stabbing him with a fork in his balls until he barfs then laughing at him." He was then cremated with his urn displayed at the University of Hohenheim for several centuries, until he was accidentally misplaced during an American tour and is presumed to have been used as ash in some Humboldt Fog Cheese, which was considered an affront to his Swiss heritage.

Also he apparently invented Zinc. Good job.

#paracelsus #history #alchemy #science #my chemical romance #unreality

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 1 month

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The Ranger (Part 3)

Summary: The reader and Dean are in trouble as they come face to face with the person who's been pulling the strings all this time...

Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!reader

Word Count: 2,800ish

Warnings: language, angst, mentions of murder/manipulation

A/N: Please enjoy the finale!

_______

“Stand down!” a voice shouted, holding up a closed fist. “He’s fucking feral!”

Feral? You reached a hand down between your thighs, pulling it back and grateful to find no blood. On the one hand, you were grateful Dean went feral. It was like a shit’s hit the fan reflex in an Alpha. Knots deflated instantly so pairs could escape danger. He would be stronger than five Alpha’s combined. Dean’s hair stood upright on every inch of his body, sense hyper aware of everything right now, searching of a way to protect his omega.

But going feral meant that in a few hours, Dean’s body would force him to play catch up for going into overdrive and knock him out for a while to recover. You had to find a way out of this and fast.

“Are you fucking…” said a heavy sigh, your head popping out from behind Dean. Your heart skipped when one of the men ripped off his mask. “You fucking mated him? You let this fucker knot and claim you all the way didn’t-”

“Did, did you just come in here to try and kill my mate? My Alpha? My goddamn true mate?” you growled, stepping around Dean but held back by his extended arm. “If anyone takes a step towards him, I’ll kill you myself. I don’t care if you’re my dad or not. Don’t fuck with my mate.”

“He’s your dad?” said Dean, his scent threaded with a sharp twinge of heat, like burning ash, anger pulsing with every heartbeat.

Your dad, turned his back, shaking his head. “Put on some damn clothes. We aren’t doing this right now.”

“Get these people out of my house and maybe I will,” you shot back. He grumbled but you watched as the others in the room walked out the broken front door, gathering at the far end of the front porch. The two of you dressed quickly, Dean always keeping an eye on you. Your dad grunted when he turned around, eyes narrowed at Dean. “Of course it had to be you, you sniveling little shit.”

“Dad, back off. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“He’s full of shit is what he is,” said Dean, picking you up before he stepped over the back of the couch to avoid the glass. He set you down by his side, careful to make sure you stayed behind him. “You were gonna kill your daughter’s true mate before we could cement it. The only reason I’m not dead right now is because it’d destroy her.”

“Why would you want to kill Dean? You told me he was innocent,” you said, brushing past Dean to join him at his side. He didn’t like that but he was the one in danger right now, not you. “Why?”

“Because you’re The Boss, aren’t you. You’re the one that gave out orders to my team lead for who to kill. Didn’t you?” Your dad stared at Dean, his jaw clenched. “Don’t deny it. I know there was someone above him calling the shots.”

“Listen you little shit,” he said, taking a step closer, resting his hand on his holster. “You don’t get to walk away from my business. You were all supposed to die that day but you lived. I let you live, Winchester, don’t forget that. I told the bureau you were a good kid with shitty luck to lose your whole team. I told them to help you get accepted to be a fucking forest ranger in the middle of bum fuck nowhere. I told them I’d watch out for you like the good person I am. I let you go, Dean. I let you think your little conspiracy theories were right. I was going to let you go but you just had to be her mate, didn’t you.”

“Touch her and I’ll-”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he snarled. “That’s my fucking daughter.”

He wiped a hand over his face, breathing deeply as Dean grabbed the back of your sweatpants, holding you close.

“Seeing as how killing you would make my own daughter hunt me down, I’m going to let you live.” Dean scoffed, your dad cocking his head. “Boy, don’t you think for one second if I hadn’t gotten here five minutes sooner you’d be still breathing. I won’t fuck up my own family but yours? I have no problem sending Sam and his little girlfriend a visit or your parents. You fucking work for me again and this time? You’re not hiding behind your team. You’re killing who I say when I say it.”

“No he isn’t.” You took a step forward, Dean’s grip still there. “In case you didn’t realize, those people you just threatened are my pack now. They are as much my family as you are. Dean let go of me.”

“Be careful,” he muttered, reluctantly dropping his hand. You raised your chin and took a few more steps, as close as you dared. He wouldn’t hurt you but you still couldn’t trust him.

“I know you love me, dad. If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be talking right now.” He shifted on his feet, keeping his face blank. “Today was supposed to be my day to spend with him. Today’s supposed to be the best day of my life and you stole that. He’s not a hitman. He’s my fucking soulmate and if you do not stop hurting him right this second, I will call her, call them both, and tell them everything.”

His lips parted as he took in the threat, the way you stood your ground. You honestly weren’t sure what he’d do. Clearly he wasn’t the easy going nice guy you’d always known him as which made your gut churn. But you’d deal with that later. Right now you needed this resolved.

“Well?” you asked, crossing your arms. “Am I calling them or what?”

He raised his hand and did a twirling motion with his finger. The people on the porch shared a look but you watched them retreat off into the woods. Your dad let out a long breath before crossing his arms back at you. “Alright. I will leave your…mate and his pack out of this. Happy?”

“What the fuck is going on?” mumbled Dean behind your back.

“My dad has two mates. My mom and his true mate he met a few years ago,” you said, turning around for a closet down the hallway. You ripped it open to find a broom and dustpan, happily grabbing them before tossing them at your dad. “Clean up the mess you made.”

“Y/N,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “You don’t understand the kind of liability this kid is.”

“Clean. It. Up.” He grumbled but picked up the broom, sweeping the glass into a pile near his feet. “What Dean chooses to do is not your decision to make. You’re going to live with the consequences of your actions. Unless you want me to tell mom what kind of man you are? Tell Sasha who you are before you claim her?”

“You haven’t claimed your true mate?” asked Dean, your dad turning so his back was to your both as he worked. “How the hell did you hold off?”

“Dad always said it wasn’t fair to mom since he loves them both but when he met Sasha, he was strangely against it. Seeing as we both know just how hard it is to not claim a true mate, I’m going to guess it’s something else,” you said, glancing at Dean.

“He’s on Novi-Alpha,” said Dean, shaking his head. “You can’t claim her or you’ll kill her.”

“It’s why you moved out here away from mom for a ‘covert’ job huh? You don’t want your mates near you,” you said.

“Thanks for being such a sympathetic pup to the fact I have cancer,” he said, throwing the broom down. “For the record, miss know it all, I’ve been on Novi-Alpha for a decade. The kind I have is extremely aggressive. If I stay on it, the cancer stays away. Hopefully.”

“Hey,” you snapped back, holding up a finger. “I don’t want you to be sick. I don’t want to know that you’ve been…killing people for hire for who knows how long. I am so angry with you but do not think that means I want you dead.”

“Oh? What if he wants me dead?” asked your dad, nodding towards where Dean stood beside you. “You going to let him do that?”

Yes, I would. He’d forced Dean to be part of a group that relentlessly made him to be part of their hits. Maybe he hadn’t pulled a trigger or taken a life until it was his own team but he’d participated. Helped plan, coordinate. All against his will so his family would stay safe. So yeah. Dean could walk over there and kill him this second and you wouldn’t be more than a little upset.

But you hid that gut instinct to yourself for the moment.

“This may come as a shock but I don’t like killing people unless it’s absolutely necessary.” Dean bent down, palm wrapping around the broomstick. He held it out to your dad, staring him dead on. “My friend is an oncologist. A good one. He’s the one that was giving me access to Novi-Alpha the past few years while I thought someone was hunting me.”

Dean nodded his chin, looking him up and down.

“It’s better than the basic crap your insurance covers. I could talk to him, see if we could get you on the new stuff. It might actually heal you and you could be with your mates again.”

“Why the fuck would you help me?” he asked. Dean glanced over his shoulder at you, giving him a smirk.

“You have a lot of making up to do with your daughter and your new pack family. We need you alive to do that,” said Dean. Your dad reached for the broom, Dean holding it back. “Why’d you kill in the first place?”

“Why do you think? When I was diagnosed, Novi-Alpha didn’t exist. I was trying to get money fast to pay off the house, pay that one’s student loans, make sure my family was taken care of. They didn’t know it could cure cancer when it first came out so I kept at it.”

“So you went Walter White on the situation,” said Dean, handing over the broom. “Maybe you ought to quit the business while you still have a family willing to take you back.”

Your dad pursed his lips, gaze wandering to you. “Not sure that’s possible anymore.”

“Probably not. But that’s your pup. You have two mates, one you’re overdue to claim. You owe them.” Dean turned, giving you a small smile. “You want to give him a second chance?”

“We’ll see. But first, you need to do something else for me.”

Three Months Later

“Good morning,” said your dad, hopping out of his truck as you sat on the front porch with a cup of coffee. “Surprisingly sunny today, isn’t it?”

“Yes it is, Harry,” you said, taking a long sip, eyeing him up and down. “Coffee?”

“No thanks, got some in the truck,” he said, Dean walking out the front door, adjusting his coat. “Dean.”

“Asshole,” said Dean with a smile, tilting his head. Your dad hid his frown well, Dean taking a seat across from you with his thermos. “To what do we owe the pleasure, Harry?”

“I uh, wanted you both to know I’m leaving town. I sat mom and Sasha down last week and…told them the truth about everything.” He kicked the dirt with his boot, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I was always worried about them getting along and now they’re closer than ever with how much they hate me. Guess I got what I wanted.”

“I’d try groveling,” said Dean, slurping up the steaming hot coffee with his best bitch face. “You’re starting to get good at it.”

“Yeah,” he laughed dryly, gaze shooting to you. “I need to go try to salvage something with my Omegas.”

“Sasha will let you back, eventually. She’s hardwired into you. Mom might be a different story, though,” you said.

“I just wanted you girls to be okay when I was gone,” he said as you sighed. “Sorry. I know. Not an excuse.”

“I know you’re trying but you’re going to be making up for this the rest of your life. So go try with your mates. Dean and I will be fine on our own for awhile,” you said.

“You still hate me,” he said.

“Travel safe, Harry,” you said, your dad nodding before heading back for his truck. “I heard the new Novi-Alpha strain you’re on is working better.”

“Are you happy about that?” he asked.

“I’m not unhappy.” Dean reached over to take hold of your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Call once you’ve settled in back home.”

“Take care of her,” he said, Dean humming. With that, he was gone, down the gravel driveway and you could feel Dean relax beside you.

“He won’t do anything,” you said, raising your hand and running it through his brown strands. “S’okay, Alpha.”

“I know. He makes me nervous. S’like my body remembers going feral because of him and will always be on edge.”

“I doubt he ever moves back here. Mom and Sasha are making him donate every penny he ever made from killing, volunteer, be a blood donor once he gets the all clear from his doctors, therapy, and a whole bunch of other stuff.”

“I like those two,” he chuckled, closing his eyes when you scrunched up your fingers against his scalp. “Oh, you’re making me want to go back to bed, Omega. A nice massage sounds like heaven right about now.”

“You are the sheriff. You can show up late you know,” you said, trailing your finger down the side of his cheek, tickling his jaw.

“Ugh, raincheck. I have a staff meeting at eight I’m supposed to run.” He nuzzled into your touch though, his breathing calm, steady. “Why’d you make your dad call the bureau and tell them to give me a job as a cop?”

“Because you’ll never get to go back to being an agent. Because you deserve to be able to help people how you always wanted to.” He inched closer, resting his head on your shoulder. “You never have to be The Ranger again.”

“I know,” he said, sighing against you. You frowned, reaching into his coat pocket to pull out his phone. He lifted his head when he saw you dial, watching you hold up a finger.

“Hey, Caleb, it’s Sheriff Winchester’s wife. Listen, Dean’s not feeling too great today so he’s calling in sick,” you said, Dean flashing wide eyes at you, trying to steal back the phone but you got up before he could. “Yeah it is too bad, just a touch of flu. Well he’ll be in tomorrow if he’s feeling better, alright? Take care.”

“Omega!” said Dean when you hung up, his hands on your hips as you shrugged with a smirk. “You…you…”

“Yes, sheriff?” you purred, scratching under his chin, scraping over the bonding gland in his neck. He mewled at the sensitive touch, losing the urge to turn into it. “What a good Alpha you are when you relax for me. Hopefully with Harry being gone you’ll relax more. I do love helping you relax.”

“I do like relaxing with you,” he mumbled when you squeezed his hip. “I…I still don’t like it when you call me a good person. It doesn’t feel right when I killed four people and researched how to-”

You pressed a hand to his mouth, Dean staring at you with soft green eyes.

“Think of it this way…you were doing what you had to to protect your pack, just like a good Alpha does. You are not a bad man, Dean Winchester.”

“How do you know that?” he whispered.

“Because I can feel your soul and yours is one of the best.”

“Oh, Omega,” he said, voice smooth as honey, the sweet smell of cinnamon rolls in the air. “Your soul is my favorite too.”

“Want to finally relax?” you asked, sliding your hand down to his. He laced your fingers together, smiling when he found your face.

“Yeah. I think I finally can after all this time, Omega.” He pressed a kiss to your lips, grinning through it. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Alpha.”

_______

#spn #supernatural #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #dean x you #alpha!dean x omega!reader #abo

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katrinegrey · 2 years

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It's time!!! With just a few days left, it's time for the pre-release reminder to prepare our feeds for the upcoming release of A Light in the Flame.

All friendly suggestions! Every release day there is one person who doesn't think to, forgets, or just doesn't care to add a spoiler warning to their posts. And every release day there is someone who gets their experience dampened. I don't want any of my mutuals to have a bad time!

Remember to tags the posts for spoilers (#alitf spoilers and #a light in the flame spoilers seem to be the most popular). Also, if you haven't already and it's something you tend to do for releases, you may want to consider temporarily blocking tags related to ALITF, B&A, F&F, and any related character tags right now. Some people will get their books before others and if they have a Tumblr, it could mean trouble.

Also, headlining with a big bold colored headline makes everything so much more obvious. I don't know about the rest of you, but the page break "read more" line isn't an option when posting from mobile. In that situation, my headline will look much the same as it did for TWOTQ in March:

ALITF SPOILERS!!!

I'm spreading this into as many ALITF related tags as I can think of, but if I missed any obvious ones, please help a girl out!

Happy reading, y'all!!

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mayasaura · 22 days

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why do you think cytherea targeted the fourth the way she did? we know why she killed the fifth, and we know why she killed people generally, but the writing in blood and the chasing jeanne after killing isaac feels weirdly personal

It does seem personal, yeah. I'm sure it was intended to. I'm also sure it wasn't. I doubt Cytherea even noticed they were people enough to have beef with them.

Let's look at her goals:

She's using the heirs as bait to get John's attention, but doesn't want to make the real stakes apparent. So she kills them off, one by one, slasher movie style. She's playing with them, creating a narrative so that when the terrified survivors call for help, John is curious enough about whatever theory they've come up with to come take a looksee.

That's probably why she planted the idea of vengeful angry ghosts so early. She knows it's something that's bound to get John's attention without alarming him enough for him to be on the defensive. His old house is haunted by violently angry revenants? That doesn't sound right, but you never know with ghosts. Seems both interesting and a bit concerning, he'd better take a look.

The Fourth specifically were targeted because their investigation into Abigail and Magnus' murder posed a threat to her plan. They had found Dulcinea and Protesilaus' ashes in the incinerator and raised the alarm, which put them way too close to asking the right kinds of questions. Like: "Whose ashes are these?" and "Is this connected to the other murders?" They had to die, and they had to die in a way that drew attention away from their investigation and lent credence to Cytherea's angry ghost narrative, or the story they had to tell when they called John might be a little too close to the truth to get the intended effect.

So. Giant bone monster in the basement laboratory, a sleeping child skewered in a locked room, and ominous writing in the victim's blood. A tableau designed to be so horrifyingly personal it doesn't occur to anyone it might have been pragmatic.

#the locked tomb #cytherea loveday #tlt meta #gideon the ninth #gtn spoilers #jeannemary #jeannemary chatur #isaac tettares

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emilystheories · 1 year

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Aelin Galathynius created Prythian. She is the Mother.

This theory contains TOG, ACOTAR and (slight) CC SPOILERS!

Many, many thousands of years ago, Amren recalled that a huge "rip in the sky" appeared in her home world. Out of curiosity, Amren flew through this rip, and landed in Prythian.

This perfectly aligns with Aelin ripping a hole in the sky of the God's realm. This is the most concrete piece of evidence that Throne of Glass took place in the past (something I have already theorised about).

However, and most interestingly, it is suggested that Amren entered Prythian when it was being made - when the world itself was beginning to form.

If Aelin indeed created the "rip" in the sky that Amren went into - the timing suggests that Aelin's actions led to the creation of Prythian.

And, although subtle, we actually have proof of this.

Recall that Wyrd was described as the thing that "keeps the realms apart:"

But, when Aelin shut the gates between worlds at the end of Kingdom of Ash, we have this VERY important (and often overlooked) clue:

Aelin caused for all worlds to overlap.

I believe this is how Prythian was born.

The Cauldron.

According to the mural that Feyre observes, Prythian was created by a female with "glowing, slender hands," who tipped a fluid with "strange symbols" (wyrdmarks), from the Cauldron, onto the land.

I believe this was Aelin - perhaps not literally, but metaphorically.

But this begs the question; what exactly is the Cauldron?

For starters, we know that the Cauldron has 3 "legs". These legs provide most of its power (and this is an important clue!)

This is very similar to the 3 wyrdkeys in TOG; the very 3 wyrdkeys that Aelin embedded into her arm (and subsequently her blood) when she sealed the gates.

Aelin then gave over the 3 wyrdkeys, and all of her fire power to forge the new lock. It is this very power that is the essence of the Cauldron.

As evidence of this, when we see the Cauldron's power in ACOWAR, it presents as Aelin's own power; "raw fire power," capable of burning an entire army to ash within seconds.

The Dread Trove.

The Cauldron also created the Dread Trove - and this is another very important clue.

The Crown.

The Crown can control and influence people - just like the wyrdkeys (and subsequent wyrdcollars and rings controlled people in TOG).

The Mask.

The Mask can control the dead - just like the wyrdkeys could create armies of dead people; a power Erawan desperately wanted.

The Harp.

The Harp can open portals to different locations, and potentially different worlds and realms. This is one of the key features of the wyrdkeys.

In fact, it was said the 3 wyrdkeys were needed to create a wyrdgate.

The Cauldron has 3 legs (that I believe are the 3 wyrdkeys Aelin yielded to seal the lock).

Thus, the Cauldron *IS* a wyrdgate.

Cauldron = Wyrdgate.

As further proof of this, to "nullify" the Cauldron, Amren had to:

give up her current body,

forget about those she loved,

and unleash her power of "light and flame."

Which is just like Mala Fire-Bringer; who also had to:

give up her current body,

forget about those she loved, (in fact, both her and Amren both warned that they will no longer "remember" their loved ones),

and unleash her power of "light and flame", in order to forge the lock, and shut the wyrdgate.

But, recall that when Mala's plan didn't work, Aelin (and Dorian) had to give all of their power to reforge a new lock, in order to seal and shut the wyrdgate once more.

This is just like Rhys in ACOWAR; in order to re-seal the Cauldron, he had to give over every inch of his power.

In fact, when Aelin and Dorian's power were used together, and in combination with the wyrdkeys, it was described as "creation and destruction," and the "beginning and the ending."

These are the exact same terms used to describe the Cauldron - and I'd argue the exact same *power* of the Cauldron (but more on that later).

And, as a side note - at one point, the Cauldron's power was even described as "fire and ice"... (ring any bells?)

The Lock.

Further, when Aelin and Dorian were sealing the wyrdgate shut, they had to make a "lock."

The lock they made was the Eye of Elena. This is perhaps the most important clue in this theory; that this very symbol and mechanism allowed for the creation of the Cauldron.

However, we learn in later TOG books that this symbol isn't just known as the Eye of Elena, but also as the "Eye of the Goddess." This is because it was first a sacred witch symbol, created by Rhiannon Crochan.

Crochan means Cauldron.

Additionally, the Eye of the Goddess was named as such, as it is said to represent the Three Faced Goddess (that the witches worshipped), and her three counterparts;

The Maiden

The Mother

The Crone.

It's for this reason that I believe the Cauldron was created from the Eye of Elena, or the Eye of the Goddess lock, as it too follows the principles of Maiden, Mother, and Crone.

We see clear evidence of this when Elain, Nesta and Briallyn were thrown into the Cauldron.

Elain was made into the Maiden.

The Maiden often symbolises innocence, beauty and blossoming.

In TOG, the Maiden was represented by the Blueblood witches, who were the "oracles, mystics, and zealots."

Elain was made into a Seer.

The Bluebloods also required more iron (as it was said that they were the most powerful), and it is rather interesting that Elain (presumably) wears an iron ring.

Nesta was made into the Mother.

The Mother often symbolises maturity, responsibility, and power.

In TOG, the Mother was represented by the Blackbeak witches, who were the warriors - known for their "obedience, discipline, and brutality."

Considering the multiple references to Nesta making a fine General in an army, as well as the parallels between Manon's thirteen, and Nesta's Valkyries - it makes perfect sense.

Briallyn was made into the Crone.

She was, quite literally, turned into an old woman by the Cauldron.

Creation and Destruction.

Knowing that that the Cauldron was made from the Eye of Elena/Eye of the Goddess, as well as the 3 wyrdkeys, as well as Aelin's own power that she donated to forge the lock, and seal the gate - this can explain Nesta's own power.

Nesta's power manifested as "cold" flame, one that seemingly burned without a trace.

We have already seen this before;

Aelin's moon-fire,

and Kaltain's shadow-fire.

The commonality between these two? Both women were in possession of the wyrdkeys.

The same wyrdkeys that the Cauldron now possess; the same power that Nesta stole.

And, all in all, this makes perfect sense. The Cauldron is a wyrdgate. Wyrd is the "language of the universe," it is the power of both creation and destruction, life and death.

Nesta's power symbolises one half - Death.

And, it's for this reason that I believe that Elain's powers (that are yet to be revealed), will symbolise the other half - Life. Creation. (And, I also have an inkling that she will be the one to rebuild the Dusk Court with this very power).

We also know that the Cauldron loved Elain. If the Cauldron was indeed created by Aelin - that she is it's Mother - then perhaps it's no coincidence that "Elain" is an anagram for "Aelin"....?

A portal too?

If the Cauldron is indeed a wyrdgate - then recall that Feyre threw the Book of Breathings into it.

Now, Jesiba Roga possesses that exact book.

Does this tell us that the Cauldron is in fact a wyrdgate to Lunathion, and the Crescent City world...?

Knowing all the connections between the Cauldron and the witches - and Jesiba being a witch herself, it makes sense...

#acotar #acotar theory #throne of glass #sjm theory #sjm multiverse #sjm #sjm universe #sarah j maas #aelin ashryver galathynius #aelin galathynius #tog #crescent city theory #crescent city #elain archeron #nesta archeron #pro elain #pro nesta #manon blackbeak

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lady-harrowhark · 1 year

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I promise I’m going somewhere with this but I am currently fixating on how seeing Naberius’s trident knife in the beginning of HtN gives Harrow the Gideon Memory Migraine™, despite no clear connection to Gideon:

Ianthe considered this. She nudged the confection basket hilt of the rapier at her hip aside, and took out a long knife that, again, ran a hot rill of pain down your temporal bone. It was—though you had never bothered to learn—Tern’s main-gauche, his trident knife, a long blade from which two other blades would spring at the press of some hidden mechanism; she flicked that mechanism now, and with a snickt they burst out like a firework, two hard points of gleaming steel. She flicked it again, and the blades went snickt back into their housing.

Is it simply that it’s something from the Canaan House era in general? Or is there more going on? Stick with me here.

One of my pet theories I’ve been harboring since Kiriona’s wounds were revealed is that Harrow herself wounded Gideon after she threw herself on the fence, paralleling Jesus’s side wound from being speared after his crucifixion. They needed to ensure Jesus was truly dead, and presumably Harrow also needed to be well and truly sure that Gideon was dead before proceeding. Ianthe says she put a sword through Naberius’s heart to pin his soul in place for her ascension, and we see his body run through with the sword. Harrow needing to do the same to Gideon would certainly be some very juicy angst fuel.

The other crucial component here is one of my other favorite pet theories: that Harrow knew Gideon’s sword was haunted, likely before even coming to Canaan House. I’ve seen a few people do some more detailed explanations about that, but I’ll do a brief rundown here.

Harrow says as far back as GtN about the sword “I never liked that cursed thing anyway; I always felt like it was judging me.” After the events of HtN with the River and Canaan House 2.0, we know she has an innate and potentially subconscious talent with spirit magic; it seems likely she was able to sense what was in the sword whether she knew exactly what was going on or not.

In HtN, Guideline #3 in her her pre-lobotomy letters to her post-lobotomy self has several stipulations (wipe it down with arterial blood nightly, coat it in regenerating ash, don’t cut flesh or bone with it) that sound a lot like precautions one would take to keep a soul from hopping out of it.

When discussing the sword with Abigail in Canaan House 2.0, we get some very specific qualifiers around how much information Harrow is able to provide about the sword. Directly before remembering that the sword was Gideon’s we have: “Harrow’s brain, though still a jumble, was no longer a mess in a darkened room. Memory had gifted her a small torch she could light the disarray with.”

After that, she struggles to recall further details, her own brain providing obstacles: “The light was not proving helpful enough: she was, in desperation, kicking over piles of the rubble in her own brain.” In the end, she’s able to tell Abigail: “I hated that damned sword for years. I don’t know why; it just felt strange - rancorous. I cannot deny that I often assumed its edge would be the last thing I saw. I don’t know.”

Circling back to the final battle of GtN, we get my favorite little nugget of support for this: Harrow is described as looking “affrighted” when Gideon tells her to go get her two-hander. I’d initially taken that to mean she was startled (and maybe a bit annoyed) to find out that Gideon had brought it at all, or freaked out at the situation in general. But I’ve begun to wonder if she specifically didn’t want Gideon to bring that sword with her to Canaan House because she knew, or at least suspected, what it contained.

Which brings us to the trident knife. If Harrow needed to fix Gideon’s soul in place by impaling her herself, and she knew there was a malevolent soul in the two-hander that could conceivably hitch a ride in another body that it came into contact with, she would have needed a different tool for the job… Which may very well have been the trident knife. Seeing the weapon she used to mutilate her cavalier’s body with seems like exactly the sort of thing that would bring on one of Harrow’s Gideon-induced headaches, no? It’s also notable that when Harrow sees this knife, it’s directly before Ianthe stabs her through the hand, again analogous to crucifixion wounds. I gotta say, if this holds water, there’s a certain poetry to both Harrow and Gideon receiving versions of the Holy Wounds on the blade of the same knife.

(Edit to add: further theorizing prompted by @camilla-rekt‘s fab addition can be found on this reblog)

#this is really just a jenga tower of theories but i'm still sitting here rubbing my hands together like a cartoon villain #i am just ripping biting tearing to know what happened between those two chapters #(and incidentally there may have been actual ripping biting tearing involved but i digress)#i wonder if this could have anything to do with the favor harrow owes ianthe… hmm #Nona the Ninth spoilers #harrowhark nonagesimus #Gideon nav #kiriona gaia #ianthe tridentarius #Nona the Ninth #ntn #the locked tomb #tlt #tlt meta #tlt theories

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