#northward star

[sodafrog13]

hello to the *checks notes* 2 other people who ship ferrygabe

[ckret2]

Chapter 42 in human Bill Cipher's imprisonment in the Mystery Shack about to get a whole lot worse, featuring:

A history lesson on a second dimensional cult and its obnoxious child leader.

And Dipper making the mistake of asking Bill what "reality is an illusion" means.

And most importantly... The Eclipse: Prologue.

####

The source of light is a completely hypothetical phenomenon.

Just a couple of centuries ago, scientists postulated that perhaps light was a side-effect of magnetism generated by the poles of planets, and that someday the study of magnets might explain how light shifted over the course of a day.

But modern scientists theorized that light emanated from some force or object in a higher dimension, and that the unseen movements of this source-of-light explained how light ebbed and flowed around the perimeters of objects over the course of a day. Physics experiments backed up this hypothesis of a "third dimensional" origin of light.

Scientists adopted the term "sun" to describe this hypothetical light source. Experiments also suggested the third dimension might have a multitude of weaker light sources that provided much less illumination—perhaps spread across the third dimension like water droplets suspended in fog—which they dubbed "stars."

Roughly once a year, light (or rather, the "sun") was eclipsed. This was a very long time; a child born just after an eclipse might already be in school, have mastered measuring angles and reading, and begun learning multiplication and division by the time they saw their first eclipse. Some years were skipped, such that they wouldn't have an eclipse for two, three, sometimes even four or five years—it was possible to almost reach middle age without seeing an eclipse—with no discernible pattern to these gaps. Eclipses usually occurred around the new year—indeed, New Year's Day was fixed to the average date of the eclipse—but eclipse season ranged up to three months in either direction.

Experiments were being conducted to test ideas about the nature of eclipses—the two most prominent theories were that the sun naturally flickered off and on like a lamp, in a rolling pattern that accounted for how eclipses didn't affect the whole plain simultaneously but had been proven to move; or that the sun was obscured by some object in the third dimension, like a ball thrown in front of a lamp. There were solid arguments in favor of either theory, and thus far the data on hand couldn't disprove either.

But where science petered out, religion took up the baton.

A new religious movement called the Higher Dimensional Gate was picking up steam in the northwest. The cult (as some watchdog organizations called it) had been started a few years ago by a married couple—line and trapezoid—who gave largely inoffensive New Age-flavored sermons about spiritual purity and enlightenment. Their shows would have been unremarkable if not for their inclusion of their child—a charismatic young equilateral triangle they claimed had an "inner eye" that granted him clairvoyance. Every show, they put him on stage for a few minutes, where he'd point out audience members and offer seemingly-psychic insights into their lives. As he approached adolescence, he was given more and more stage time, which he'd use to recite the same sort of rhetoric as his parents while tossing in some novel claims about the third dimension that reflected the public's modern scientific fascinations.

It wasn't until the line's death that they evolved from a traveling psychic sideshow with a few zealous supporters into a burgeoning religious movement. The trapezoid adopted a background role as the precocious triangle took over all their speaking engagements, which he used to spin a novel mythology describing the third dimension as a separate spiritual plane found in an unseeable direction "upward, but not northward" from the mundane mortal plane. It was at this time that they adopted the name Higher Dimensional Gate, and their young leader announced that his spiritual contacts in the third dimension had granted him the title Magister Mentium—teacher of minds (or, perhaps more ominously, master of minds).

Higher Dimensional Gate aggressively recruited new followers, with the Magister leaving school to support a frenetic pace of traveling speaking engagements. More and more devotees followed him from town to town, overfilling hotels wherever they went and flooding parking lots with a caravan of RVs and trailers. Fliers they left in their wake offered mail-order pamphlets, sermon recordings, and religious paraphernalia. But the cult didn't break into the national consciousness until a couple of theoretical astrophysicists published a paper debunking pop culture misinformation on the third dimension.

Along with referencing several sci-fi shows spreading the idea that the third dimension allowed time travel, the authors dove into the bizarre beliefs of several New Age authors, speakers, and religious movements. They particularly maligned the ideas put forth by Higher Dimensional Gate, calling their descriptions of angelic aliens and spirit guides "misleading fairy tales" with no scientific basis in reality. They said the Magister Mentium would have done better to finish a basic public education before making claims about the third dimension.

The paper didn't receive much notice outside popular science magazines—until the Magister Mentium released a vicious public rebuttal that made national news for its absurdity.

Soundbites from his twenty-minute rant were broadcast in news segments about fringe religious movements and scientific literacy. Talk shows played quotes as fodder for jokes. Editorialists predicted that the young triangle was the sort of crooked cult leader who'd be on trial in a decade for cheating his worshipers out of their life savings. Only a few programs played even as much as a full minute from his speech:

"These scientists want you to think that the third dimension is some dead realm hidden behind a door you'll never see—and I'm telling you it's not! It's the dream realm! It's the realm of spirits and positive energy! It stretches into all possible futures, and if you could peer into it, you'd see the road to your own best possible future!

"And I know this. Because unlike these pessimistic brainiacs who mock what they don't understand, I can see the third dimension. I can witness the 'sun' in all its glory—a blazing white circle, more dazzling than anything you've ever seen, so bright it burns like fire to stare at it! I can see it pass through the pinpoint white lights of the 'stars'!

"And I can prove it.

"The most 'educated' minds in the scientific community can't predict an eclipse. They look at their historical records and they do a little math, hope they'll get lucky, and shrug if they're wrong—what do they know? All they can do is guess! 

"But with my own all-seeing eye, I've personally witnessed a phenomenon that scientists can't even imagine. I know what passes between the sun and our plane—and I know when it's coming.

"I note all my detractors are in the camp that thinks the sun flickers.

"So let's run a scientific experiment. I challenge the scientific community to predict the next eclipse more accurately than me. I'll give it to you within the minute. In fact—I'll sweeten the deal! I'll give a million dollars to any nerd who can guess more accurately than me! I will personally hand you the prize money!"

"But if you want the prize, you'd better guess soon. Because the eclipse will be here in two weeks. I can already see it on the horizon."

It was nearly seven months until New Year's.

Sources close to the Magister's family claimed he was a spendthrift with nowhere near a million dollars on hand.

When asked to comment on the public ridicule his challenge had inspired, the Magister snidely replied, "We'll see who's laughing after the eclipse."

####

Gideon approached the Mystery Shack disguised in a pair of sunglasses and a camo jacket from his father's closet. The jacket was as long as a dress on him. It was hot.

He kept outside the tree line as he circled the shack, passing the gift shop, the house door, and finally the long side of the house where tourists never parked and the residents rarely ventured.

Gideon peered anxiously at each window for witnesses. He looked up at the attic dormer which once held the window of Bill's face; he caught a flash of bright golden curls pulling out of sight, and flinched. No, that was fine. That was who he was here for. Weren't any other blondes in the house.

When he was sure the coast was clear, he ran across the open ground from the trees to the side door, heart threatening to beat out of his chest. By the time he reached the door, Bill was already downstairs in the floor room, hands and grinning face pressed to the window like a child awaiting a special delivery. He waved excitedly at Gideon.

Gideon hissed, "Shh!" and immediately felt stupid about it.

He partially unzipped his jacket, pulled a manila envelope out of an inner pocket, knelt, and shoved it under the door. As Bill had promised, the door had poor weatherstripping and the envelope slid in easily.

A napkin covered in faint dry marker writing slid out. Gideon picked it up and read it. "Nice work ☆ Boy! I'll pass you the next message at Town Hall. Get yourself something nice, my treat. ◡̈" Inside the napkin's fold was a $5 coupon to the hardware store. It was expired. 

Looking at the coupon, Gideon asked himself what a powerless imprisoned demon could really do to help his father's business.

Inside the shack, Bill checked the doorway to ensure no humans were coming for a few minutes, flopped onto the flat old sofa, and pulled several sheets of notebook paper out of the envelope: the answers to all the questions he'd told Gideon to ask his worshiper. He skimmed past her name to the second question: how had they located Bill?

At the sight of a familiar name, his heart leaped into his throat, then slowly sank into its cage again as he read the rest. "Someone calling himself Stanford Pines reached out, claiming to be an ex-cultist wanting to help other victims of the cult. He said the cult's 'founder' was incarcerated. He sounded like an enemy, but they thought he might know something about your disappearance and sent Sue."

Until the last moment, Bill had held onto a sliver of hope. As much as Ford said he couldn't stand Bill, somebody had had to contact his artists, and who else...?

But there it was. It had been Ford; but he hadn't been trying to save Bill. He'd just been trying to rip the nails out of one more thing Bill had built.

Fine. Bill wasn't wasting time on lost causes. He'd never really seen Ford as a friend, anyway. If Ford was stupid enough to throw away a god's favor, that was his loss. Bill could kill him with the rest when he had his power back. He didn't care. He'd just... really thought he could win him back over.

He crumpled up the pages, tossed them on the floor, and hunched forward to rub his eyelid with his hand.

Well, trying to get Ford back on his side had just been a way to pass the time. He hadn't taken it seriously. Not really.

He leaned back, flopped his head on the backrest cushion, and sighed; and then he fished the pages off the floor and smoothed them back out.

He read through the rest of the information Gideon had obtained. His girls in Death Valley had indeed been awaiting his arrival "as Bill requested"; and when he didn't show up on schedule, they'd taken to waiting for him in shifts for half a year before giving up. The way Bill had "requested" was to stack themselves into a human throne for him—he imagined Sue hadn't wanted to mention that detail on the phone with a kid. And they'd kept that up for six months? In shifts? That was hysterical. What a bunch of lunatics. He couldn't wait to meet the gals in person, he was just going to love them. Sue was set up at an inn a few towns west—not a lot of motels in this lonely part of Oregon—and there were a couple more girls in Portland who could be here in an hour.

They'd also made contact with a few devotees of Bill's teachings in Washington, but hadn't told them his exact location. Unsurprising—if they were the devotees he was thinking of, they were less "hardy New Age hippie spiritualists looking forward to the creation of a bright new world" and more "paranoid doomsday preppers anticipating being the last survivors of the doomed old world." The Death Valley group probably didn't trust them. Just about all of Bill's "students" were freaks of one sort or another—if not when he met them, then by the time he was done with them—but different varieties of freaks usually clashed. He had to keep them safely corralled into separate sects to maintain the harmony and their loyalty.

They were all so, so close—all these humans just waiting for an opportunity to meet him, touch him, save him, serve him, love him. They were so close he could almost reach out and grab them.

But "almost" wouldn't get them into his hands.

Something would come up soon. He was sure. He could feel it.

####

Sometimes, stairs just weren't worth the effort.

Bill understood, intellectually, that stair steps had a "top" surface and a "side" surface. He also understood that, given how gravity worked in this dimension, you could only step on their top surfaces. He knew this. He was smart. He'd personally worked out the equations to calculate how gravity worked in this dimension ages before an apple beaned Newton.

It was just that, when he looked at a staircase, he couldn't shake the impression that someone had simply taken a 2D plane and artistically folded it into a zigzag. And on a folded 2D plane, there wasn't a "top" surface and a "side" surface; there was just the surface, and a 3D body could stand anywhere atop the surface with no problem.

So he would try to get from the attic to the kitchen, subconsciously decide that rather than walking "down" the stairs standing vertically he wanted to walk "up" the stairs standing horizontally, and he'd try to lean forward to put his foot on the side of a step—and then his face was on the floor again.

And even when he kept his ups up and his sides sideways, sometimes over-concentrating on where to step distracted him into tripping anyway.

The stairs in the Quadrangle of Qonfusion never gave him trouble. They worked fine both vertically and horizontally, he'd designed them that way. And also he didn't need to use them. He could float. They were mainly there for the outerplanar Henchmaniacs and because Bill liked the zigzag motif. He was much less fond of stairs these days. When he got home, he was ripping them all out and replacing them with ladders and slides.

He was better with stairs than he'd been when he first occupied this body. But when he didn't focus on every single step, he still tended to slip up. He often got to the stairs and saw his body crumpled on the landing fifteen seconds in the future. If the damage wasn't too severe, sometimes he just resigned himself to the bruises and stepped off the ledge. Had to get downstairs somehow, after all.

But sometimes the future held a broken leg, or an unconscious heap, or a lot of blood. When that happened, sometimes he'd shuffle his footing a bit until the future looked less painful and then try descending. Sometimes he'd creep down to the last safe step and then look for a less fatal route the rest of the way down.

And sometimes he got halfway down the stairs, saw looming disaster, couldn't for the life of him figure out how to avoid it, and thought forget it and just sat down in the middle of the staircase. If he waited there long enough, eventually whatever he'd been about to instinctively do would change, and he could safely finish his journey.

Stairs were, by far, the most frequent and most stupid of his inconveniences as a human.

He never thought to bring something to read in case he hit unexpected delays on the stairs. There was nothing interesting to do, and he didn't so much as have a window to look out of. He got bored. He was constantly sleep-deprived. Sometimes he fell asleep, leaning against the wall.

He'd overheard the humans speculating on why he liked to nap on the stairs. The leading theory was that it had been normal in his home dimension, followed closely by runner-up theory "just to annoy us." None had asked him directly. They usually just left him alone on the stairs. But not today.

Bill flinched out of sleep as his leg was kicked. A fizzling field of white pinpricks filled his vision and faded as he opened his eyes. "Mruh?"

"You're blocking the stairs," Dipper said. This time Bill had fallen asleep on the stairs below the landing, slouched down with his shoulders and head against the wall, legs stretched across two stair steps and knees raised.

"And you're disturbing my sleep." Bill yawned and glanced downstairs. Coast was clear. He could get to the living room with nothing but a fumble on the next to bottom step now.

"Get out of the way." Dipper kicked his leg again.

Well, now Bill didn't want to get up. He kicked Dipper back. "No. Your ancestors lived in trees, act like it."

"What?"

"Climb, monkey boy."

Dipper grumbled, but surveyed his roadblock thoughtfully. He experimentally lifted a foot over Bill's abdomen, considered how far down it was to the next step, and scooted down to Bill's feet instead. Bill watched with a smirk as Dipper clung to the railing and gingerly stepped over one foot to the edge of the stair step, and then the next. Bill briefly considered tripping him, decided it wasn't worth getting in trouble, and instead twitched a foot up as Dipper passed over and laughed when he jumped.

"Jerk," Dipper muttered. "This is why you only have one friend."

The jab ripped at a raw sore in his chest. Ex-cultist. "Whatever!" He laughed loudly. "My real friends are all one little interdimensional rift away, I didn't come here to make pals with humans." He jerked his hood down over his eyes and slouched lower, arms crossed tight. "I don't even care. This entire universe is a hologram and nothing's real anyway."

There was silence. Bill congratulated himself on getting the last word in; and then Dipper said, "What does that mean?"

"What kind of stupid—it means I don't care about you, what do you think it means? You're made from the exhaust belched out of a star's tailpipe—"

"I meant, the hologram thing. You're always saying stuff about the universe not being real, what are you talking about."

Bill thumbed the hem of his hood up and glanced down at Dipper. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up determinedly. He'd pulled out his journal and pen. He was serious. He was all ready to learn about the secrets of the universe.

Ford's little wanna-be protégé with his little knock-off Journal, wasn't he adorable. He wanted so much to be just like his great uncle. And in many ways, he was like a younger Ford. The ignorant, arrogant, insecure, naïve, easily-flattered, easily-exploited younger Ford, back before he grew a personality. Except even back at his most boring, Ford had found the strange beautiful where this kid only found it interesting. You don't have what it takes to be Ford.

Bill was already filling this brat's head with gunk—bogus conspiracy theories, wild goose chases after lucid dreaming, nightmares about whole dimensions that existed only as parables for somebody else. What was a little bit more? He could give this kid something to talk to his therapist about. Something that—in his darkest, lowest, loneliest moments—would come back to mind, and remind him that nothing he did would ever matter.

Plus, he hoped Ford would look in on the living room and seethe about not being his student anymore.

"All right kid, sure! Fine. You just so happened to catch me on a day when I've got nothing to do." Bill stood, stretched, and sauntered down the stairs. He fumbled on the next to bottom step. "You wanna know about the universe? You wanna know the big secret?"

"Uh..." Dipper eagerly flipped through his journal, looking for a blank page. Apparently he hadn't expected Bill to actually indulge his curiosity. "'Secret'?" He trailed after Bill into the living room.

"Okay, okay, maybe it's not a 'secret'—a secret suggests somebody's trying to hide it. It's just that nobody thinks you're important enough to tell and you're too primitive to see it for yourself."

Bill turned around, a lecturer on a stage. Dipper sat on the couch and tried to position his journal on his knees to take notes. He looked so attentive. He thought he was going to enjoy this.

"So you remember what I told you about the second dimension. That from the third dimension's perspective, it's nothing but shadows cast on a wall."

"Plato's cave. Yeah."

"Your dimension is a lot like that. There are higher dimensions than this, and your entire universe is being projected down from one of them. If being in the second dimension and seeing into the third is like being a shadow looking at the entrance to the cave, then being in the third and seeing into the fourth is like a character on a movie screen looking out at the film projector. While you're distracted by the movie, I'm studying the film reel and watching the frames coming up. It's how I tell the future—and you can't even tell yourself I'm lying about that, because you've seen me do it."

Dipper grumbled, "You've spoiled the killer on Duck-tective."

"I've spoiled the killer on Duck-tective! Twice!"

Dipper was furiously taking notes. "Wait—so, the fourth dimension really is time? Mabel and I kinda visited the fourth dimension once, but I wasn't sure if it being 'time' was, like, some kind of metaphor..."

"Ha! Listen to you! That's like asking if the third dimension is light. No. Time isn't the fourth dimension. It's just in the fourth dimension," Bill said. "And for the record you didn't really visit the fourth dimension. The glowing blue tunnel with floating clocks and calendars? That was a metaphor."

"Aw man," Dipper muttered, disappointed.

"So when you say you can see the future, you mean—you literally see it? With your eyeballs?"

"All-seeing eye," Bill said smugly.

"Can... you teach me?"

"No. It's not a learnable skill. You're either born with an inner—what's the human phrase?—a third eye, or you aren't."

Dipper processed that. "How do I find out if I have—?"

"You don't."

"Aw."

Bill waited for Dipper to scribble down a couple more lines before he casually dropped the next bombshell: "In fact, not only have you never been 'in' the fourth dimension—your universe isn't really even third dimensional."

Dipper's pen gouged into the page. "What do you mean, it's not third dimensional!"

"I mean you've got two dimensions and the third's an illusion. Hologram, remember?"

"What are you—" Dipper waved a hand around in the air. "I'm moving my arm through the third dimension right now!"

"No you're not."

Dipper threw his pen on the ground. "Okay, you're messing with me!"

"Not this time. Listen. Got a little riddle for you: what do Plato's cave and a movie theater have in common?"

Dipper pursed his lips angrily, but he'd been issued a riddle and couldn't resist trying to solve it. "Sitting in the dark, staring at shapes?"

"Ha! Look at it, it still thinks it's part of the audience!" Bill wagged a finger disapprovingly. "In both cases, everyone and everything in the show is an illusion—just light and shadows projected on a flat wall."

"But—! The world would look flat if it was 2D—"

"It does look flat. 2D is all you've ever seen," Bill said. He held his hands out, thumbs and forefingers forming a rectangle like a picture frame, his exposed eye staring through it at Dipper.  "Your eyes only see a pair of two-dimensional images that your brain interprets as 3D because it's been trained to. Depth perception is an optical illusion! You can't actually witness the depth of an object—your brain uses context clues to guess it! And the context clues are lying to you."

Dipper scowled. "But." He paused. "It's different."

"Uh-huh." Bill leaned against a wall, feigning a yawn. "Okay, wow me with your philosophy."

"Pictures on paper are 2D, and they don't look 3D, so since the real world does look 3D..."

"Hey, you know that autostereogram art your sister's friend likes so much? Magic Vision Posters?" Bill asked. "Cross your eyes a little and a 3D illusion pops out of the page?"

Dipper's frown deepened.

Bill's smile widened. "And those are just manmade pictures. The projectors I'm talking about are cosmically complex. If it's so easy to trick your brain into seeing something three dimensional in a flat image, then how do you know, really know, that everything around you is 3D rather than an infinitely complex 2D hologram?"

"Be... cause..." Dipper looked around, grasping for another defense of reality as he knew it. He picked his pen off the floor. "Because I can touch an object and feel it's 3D! Even if my eyes can be fooled, I can... look, I can feel the curve of the barrel and everything."

"And?" Bill asked. "If your laundry comes out of the dryer unexpectedly cool, you think it's damp because your species didn't evolve wetness-sensing nerves. And you still trust your sense of touch?"

"Wait, that's why that happens?"

"Uh-huh. Water is wet, your t-shirts aren't, and your third dimension's an optical illusion."

Dipper slouched back on the couch, arms crossed, chewing his pen, brows drawn and eyes unfocused. Bill watched with a smirk as Dipper's faith in an objective observable reality slowly eroded before his very eye. For someone so eager to burrow into the strange, Dipper wanted so much for the world to make sense. That was why he was burrowing into the strange in the first place: to shine a flashlight on the things that go bump in the dark.

Maybe that was what rubbed Bill so wrong about this kid. Bill was sure that, deep in his heart, Dipper didn't really know how to celebrate the weird; he only wanted to expand the boundaries of normal. Disgusting.

Finally, Dipper mumbled, "How did you find this out?"

"This little shadow peeled itself off the wall and flew out of the cave—do you think I stopped there? I've seen further! What looks like an inescapable labyrinth to a two-dimensional Minotaur is nothing but a fun maze in a puzzle book when you can see over the walls from the third dimension's perspective. And once you can see the fourth dimension, your so-called 'third' dimension looks no different! I can see through walls, into boxes, past barriers; and I can see just how flat your world really is. Like taking a photo and looking at it from the edge."

"Hm." Dipper was still staring into space.

Bill's smug smile drooped into a frown. Dipper didn't look like he'd absorbed anything Bill just said. He hated an inattentive audience.

He crossed the room, planting a hand on the couch backrest by Dipper's head to lean over him, and waited until Dipper looked up into his eye. Bill said, "And I can tell you, beyond a shadow of a doubt: you're no more real to the things projecting your universe than the shadows in Plato's cave are to you. This. Entire. Universe. Doesn't. Exist. And nothing that happens here matters."

That little look of doubt edging into dread was so, so satisfying.

Bill pushed himself upright and sauntered to the door, his hex cast, ready to leave Dipper alone with his budding existential crisis. "So that's why I try to have fun with it! Your whole dimension is like an amusement park. Why hang out in a cave unless you're leaving cave paintings, who cares what the shadows think about the graffiti?"

"What's in those higher dimensions?"

Bill paused, glancing over his shoulder. "'Scuse me?"

"Something's gotta be running the 'projector' or whatever, right?" He asked it with an edge of desperation, like if Dipper could just make it that far, the world would make sense again. "Movies have audiences. Who're they?"

Bill stared at Dipper—and then slowly grinned again. What a glutton for misery. Feed him a bitter spoonful of poisonous knowledge and he asks for the bowl. But of course—tell him that reality isn't real and the next thing he wants to know is where to find reality.

Okay, fine, Bill would keep playing—this was almost fun. "Higher dimensional beings! Duh."

"What are they like?"

"Wretched incomprehensible shapeshifting contortions of flesh and bone that appear to gorily mutate as their vast bodies pass through the dimensions your limited eyes are capable of viewing. Seeing them will drive you mad."

"Ah. Great," Dipper said. "But what are they like as people?"

"From your perspective, all-knowing and unknowable. Talking to them will also drive you mad."

"I'm detecting a theme here," Dipper grumbled.

Bill gave him a polite golf clap. "Another win for human pattern-detection instincts! Give 'im a hand." (Oh, Bill wished he had his powers. It would be so funny to give Dipper a giant disembodied hand.)

In spite of his visible irritation, Dipper was still taking notes. "Is it possible for a human to meet one?"

"You've got more pattern-detection instincts than self-preservation instincts," Bill said wryly. "But sure, of course it's possible. In fact, I think you already met one."

That got him looking up from his journal. "I did?"

"Sure! Not here, but in a parallel universe that doesn't exist anymore. No clue what you talked about, I steer away from that guy when I can. But hey, maybe you'll remember it someday."

"How can I remember it if it happened to a parallel me in another universe?"

"When things like him speak, they leave vast echoes. Even across timelines."

Dipper considered that. "Could I meet him again?"

"Maybe if he takes an interest in you. Pray he doesn't. Prayers won't actually help, but it's something to keep your mind occupied!"

"Is it possible to be more proactive about meeting one of them?"

Bill laughed. "Kid, you're stupid. And that makes you very entertaining."

"Great?"

"But if you wanna break into some cosmic horror's living room, sure! If they don't come down here, all you need to do is go up there."

And back to taking notes Dipper went. "You gonna elaborate, orrr..."

"Ha, fine. The issue is you're not built for higher dimensions. Like I said, you might seem real to yourself here, but there you'd just be a light on a wall." He made a circle between his forefinger and thumb, turned his hand upside down, and peered through the circle like a monocle. "If you want to ascend, you need an aperture to translate between dimensions—something through which fourth-dimensional spacetime can be compacted enough to appear three-dimensional, or pseudo three-dimensional spacetime can be augmented with a fourth dimension. With an aperture like that, you can climb up and down the dimensional ladder to visit anywhere level of reality you want—from the zeroth dimension to the billionth."

"Including wherever our universe's projector is?"

"Bingo. Unfortunately for your suicidal ambitions, inventing an aperture capable of manipulating spacetime like that needs a lot of science humanity is nowhere near mastering; but with the materials humanity currently knows how to manufacture, I bet building one would be pretty simple if you got instructions from a species that's already done it." Bill arched his brows mockingly. "Hey, might even make a fun little summer project, if you don't mind going insane. Something to take to the science fair next year, huh?"

"Shut up," Dipper said. "And—if you got out of your dimension—do you know about species that can give those instructions?"

"Suuure! Heck, give me a couple pieces of paper and a pen and I could probably whip up the blueprints myself."

Dipper nodded. Dipper processed that. Dipper glared at Bill. "Wait a minute. Are you trying to get me to build another portal for you?!"

Bill cackled, doubling over. Voice shrill, he said, "I was wondering how long it'd take you!"

"Oh my god."

He groped for an arm chair and dropped down, still laughing. "I was this close to saying 'why don't you ask your uncle for the blueprints' to see if you'd get it!" He wheezed, "Can you imagine the look on his face!"

Dipper chucked his pen at Bill. "I hate you."

"Hook, line, and sinker! You idiot!" He slid halfway out of his seat, covering his face with his hands.

Dipper groaned. "So you made up all that stuff about the third dimension being fake and the universe being a hologram?"

Bill struggled to control his laughter enough to catch his breath. "No—no, all that was true. A hundred percent scientifically verifiable!"

"Shut up, man." Dipper got off the couch, kicked the back of Bill's armchair as he passed, and trudged into the gift shop.

####

"Hey Grunkle Ford? Is the third dimension actually an illusion being projected out of the fourth?"

"Been talking to Bill again, have you?"

Dipper winced. "I mean. Well. But he's not telling the truth, is he?"

"Mmm..." Ford waggled a hand uncertainly.

"What."

"Based on our current knowledge of quantum mechanics, it's not impossible," Ford admitted. "And it would explain some things about black holes."

"Ugh. That's the worst thing I've ever heard." Dipper rubbed his eyes. "How do you live with that?"

"With what?"

"Thinking the entire universe might be, just... some kind of projection? Like a movie?" Dipper said. "I mean... what's the point of doing anything if everything's fake. That's awful."

Ford pressed his lips together.

####

1981

"The universe is what?" Ford asked.

His muse shrugged apologetically. "Sorry to break it to ya, kid! I figured you'd rather hear it from me than—"

"But—but that's amazing!" Ford started pacing across the dreamscape's translucent grid floor. "The implications for physics, for faster-than-light travel, for, for—for religion?" He looked at Bill. "Is the projection a natural phenomenon or someone's creation."

"Uh," Bill said. "Creation?"

"Then who made it? Descartes' 'evil genius'? A demiurge? God?"

Bill laughed. "Kid, depending on your interdimensional political opinions, those are three names for the same guy."

"He's real?"

"Define 'real'," Bill said. "And 'he.' And 'is.'"

"I... I cannot do that!" Ford resumed pacing, muttering again about the implications.

Eye crinkled in amusement, Bill said, "I've gotta say, Stanford, you're taking this pretty well. Most humans don't like hearing they're secretly flat."

Ford barked a laugh. "'Most humans' didn't like hearing that the Earth isn't the center of the solar system. I'm a man of science! If we could prove this, it would be the biggest leap forward in physics since special relativity!" He beamed at Bill. "Do you realize what this means?"

Bill pointed at their portal calculations. "It means if you want to get this working, you need to zero out all the depth values."

"Ah." Ford's shoulders sagged. "Yes. That too."

"Wish you'd taken that fourth semester of Fifth-Dimensional Calculus now?"

"Hush," Ford said sourly, and was immediately mortified at himself for being so disrespectful to his muse; but Bill laughed with what sounded like genuine delight.

####

2013

"Right," Ford said self-consciously. "Awful."

####

At three a.m., Dipper lay in bed, gnawing at his shirt collar, staring at the ceiling.

Yeah. Oh yeah. He could feel it. Wondering whether reality was real would haunt him the rest of his life.

####

Bill slept like a baby.

Nothing like bullying a child to improve a miserable day.

####

Bill woke the next morning from a nightmare about—what had it been about. Being trapped in the bathroom as a metaphor for... something or other. Being trapped in general, probably. Great, had that incident given him trauma? Was he gonna start having recurring nightmares? Would this be a thing he had to deal with? What a miserable malfunctioning species humans were.

He could see the beforeimage of Mabel coming upstairs; not enough time to pull out his dream diary. He'd just have to remember it to write down later. He sat up, cracked his sore neck, and shuffled to the stairs in search of breakfast.

His foot missed the first step and landed on empty air, his stomach lurched, and he braced for a rough landing. In the split second he hung in the air, he thought that he wasn't supposed to fall, he'd looked. Hadn't he looked? He was sure he had—he didn't remember looking, but he could always see, if there'd been an injury in his imminent future he would have subconsciously noticed it and stopped to evaluate, the fact that he'd just walked meant there was nothing for him to notice—right? Idiot, why hadn't he double checked before he just walked off half-asleep—

It occurred to him that this split second was lasting a lot longer than it was supposed to.

He caught the handrail. His fall stopped as he gently bumped into the wall.

"Huh." He straightened up, gave the stairs a puzzled look; and then, experimentally, did a little hop. He went higher than he'd meant to, and hung in the air longer than he should have. He repeated the experiment a couple of times; and then, took a bigger jump forward, aiming for a couple of steps down. He seemed to float in the air for a moment before his feet gently settled on the wooden board. "Oo-oo-ooh." He looked around the stairwell, baffled; and then he looked up, eye burning as he stared through the roof and into the sky.

A chill ran up his spine. "Uh-oh."

####

Dipper frowned at his syrup bottle as the syrup painstakingly oozed out. When he let up his squeezing even a little bit, the syrup sucked back in.

"Come on." He squeezed again and shook the bottle over his pancakes. Like morning dew on the fruits hanging above the head of Tantalus, a round drop of syrup glistened under the skin-softening kitchen light, but never fell. "What's the problem?" Dipper wiped the drop onto his finger and wiped his finger on his pancakes.

Mabel slammed the door open and pounded into the kitchen. "Dipper! Come outside, I need to show you something!" They ran out.

Mabel stood on the edge of the porch, held up an orange glitter-filled super bounce ball the size of a walnut, and said, "Watch this!" She flung the ball down on the porch step as hard as she could.

It rocketed up into the sky, arcing away from the Mystery Shack toward the forest. Dipper's jaw dropped. "Whoa!"

"I just lost four balls that way!" Mabel planted her hands on her hips, watching with satisfaction as the pinprick point of the latest ball soared upward until it disappointed. "I'm gonna get some more!" She ran inside and bolted up the stairs.

Ford passed from the gift shop into the living room, frowning. He picked up a magazine left on the dinosaur skull, flipped through it, and observed how slowly the pages fluttered. "Hmm."

From the entryway, he could hear Stan down the hall on the office phone: "Hello? Doctor? This is Stan Pines. Yeah, I got a medical question. I stepped on the scale this morning, and it says I lost twenty percent of my weight overnight. Do I have cancer?" There was a pause. "Eighth call this morning?! What is this, some kinda bug going around town?"

Dipper closed the door as he came back inside. "Hey, Grunkle Ford? I think there's something..."

"Something strange going on? Yes, I've noticed," he said. "It seems that gravity is about twenty percent lower than usual." He pulled his sparkly birthday pen out of his coat pocket and dropped it from several feet up into his other hand. It fell just a bit slower than normal—not enough that it looked like it was on the moon, but enough that the motion looked uncanny.

"What's going on?"

"I don't..." Ford trailed off as a flash of bright yellow appeared in his peripheral vision. He turned toward the stairs.

Bill had stepped onto the landing. He looked at the bottom half of the staircase with a critical, calculating gaze; and then jumped off the top step. In a single smooth, slow arc, he leaped over all the stairs and descended, slow as a feather, to land lightly on the floor.

"Whoa." Under his breath, Dipper said, "That's a lot more than twenty percent lower."

It just figured he had something to do with this. "Bill," Ford snapped. "What's going on?"

He wasn't expecting Bill to give him such a solemn look.

"There's an eclipse coming," Bill said. "I'd give it three days."

####

(Be honest how long did it take you to figure out Bill was just seeing if he could get Dipper hyped about building a portal. Anyway, hope you enjoyed!! We're heading into the biggest storyline so far—plotwise, lengthwise, and emotionwise—so I'd love to hear what you're thinking and expecting so far!)

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Okay, this is really nitpicky, but I have to say it. When the Fëanoreans landed in Middle-earth, Celegorm did not lead an army south and relieve the siege of the Falathrim. I’m seen that referenced or mentions in a lot of meta and fics, but it never happened. And there is no indication that Celegorm even met Círdan or any of his people, or was even aware of them prior to Fingolfin’s forces arriving.

What happened was that Morgoth reacted to the Fëanorean forces’ arrival by pulling his army besieging the Falathrim away and sending it north towards Ard-galen. And then, when it was in the north, far from the Falas, attacking the Fëanoreans, Celegorm defeated that army.

Yes, this is minor, and yes, it’s beneficial to the Falathrim that the arrival of the Fëanoreans made Morgoth decide he needed that army more elsewhere, but there is no direct “showing up and rescuing them” moment, and none of the Fëanoreans are anywhere near the Falas during the Battle-under-Stars, and Celegorm has no more to do with the benefit to the Falathrim than anyone else does (though he gets the Fëanorean forces out of a tight spot) and this just seems to be a weirdly common fanon misconception?

Under the cold stars before the rising of the Moon the host of Fëanor went up the long Firth of Drengist that pierced the Echoing Hills of Ered Lómin, and passed thus from the shores into the great land of Hithlum; and they came at length to the long lake of Mithrim, and upon its northern shore made their encampment in the region that bore the same name. But the host of Morgoth, aroused by the tumult of Lammoth and the light of the burning at Losgar, came through the passes of the Ered Wethrin, the Mountains of Shadow, and assailed Fëanor on a sudden, before his camp was full-wrought or put into defence; and there on the grey fields of Mithrim was fought the Second Battle of the Wars of Beleriand. Dagor-nuin-Giliath it is named, the Battle-under-Stars, for the Moon had not yet risen; and it is renowned in song.

The Noldor, outnumbered and taken at unawares, were yet swiftly victorious; for the light of Aman was not yet dimmed in their eyes, and they were strong and swift, and deadly in anger, and their swords were long and terrible. The Orcs fled before them, and they were driven forth from Mithrim with great slaughter, and hunted over the Mountains of Shadow into the great plain of Ard-galen, that lay northward of Dorthonion. There [in Ard-galen] the armies of Morgoth that had passed south into the Vale of Sirion and beleagured Sirion in the Falas came up to their aid, and were caught in their ruin. For Celegorm, Fëanor’s son, having news of them, waylaid them with a part of the Elven-host, and coming down out of the hills near Eithel Sirion drove them into the Fen of Serech.

If you will indulge my very bad edit of the Beleriand map:

The orcs coming from across Ard-galen from Angband cross the mountains and attack the Fëanoreans up at Mithrim, in the top. The Fëanoreans drive them back over the mountains into Ard-galen. The orcs that were besieging the Falas, brought up as reinforcements for the other orcs, come up all the way into Ard-galen. Celegorm, attacking from Eithel Sirion (which is north of the Fen of Serech), drives them south into the Fen.

At no point are the Fëanoreans - Celegorm or other - anywhere near the Falas. Celegorm's actions have no more impact on the Falas specifically than anyone else's.

[bsd-bibliophile]

Scorpio's red gaze stares As the eagle Aquila's wings do spread And the puppy Canis Minor's eyes shine blue While Serpens the snake tightens its coils made of light

Orion sings proudly from up on high Showering down frost and dew As the clouds of Andromeda Gather in the shape of a fish's mouth

Stretched northward at five times its reach Is the paw of the great bear Ursa Major And above the lesser bear Ursa Minor's forehead Lies Polaris, our guidepost, as we circle through the stars

- Miyazawa Kenji, “The Star-Circling Song” from Night on the Galactic Railroad

[radiofreederry]

A map of the galaxy in 9 ABY in @gabajoofs and my Star Wars timeline. By this point, the Galactic Civil War is considered by many to be effectively over, as the centralized Galactic Empire no longer exists, with only a handful of remnant factions remaining. The New Republic governs much of the galaxy, but their hegemony is not singular, and several other groups exist which are able to project power in the galaxy.

The factions which hold territory include:

The New Republic: After the Battle of Yavin, the Rebellion restructured itself into the New Republic, initially based on Chandrila. Over the next several years, the Republic waged a campaign against the fracturing Empire, securing the Galactic South and the Core before finally liberating Coruscant in 7 ABY. A series of escalating scandals brought down the leadership of Mon Mothma the following year, and she was succeeded in her role by Leia Organa, who pushed through governmental reforms and currently serves as the Republic's Chief of State, with Cal Omas as her Prime Minister. The Republic now sits at a crossroads, with several political factions vying to influence its destiny - including a right-wing political coalition led by Mon Mothma's daughter Leida.

The Pentastar Alignment: The largest and most successful of the post-Endor Imperial splinter states, the Pentastar Alignment, known in Republic space increasingly as simply the Imperial Remnant, controls most of the galaxy from Ord Mantell northwards. It has been so successful largely by avoiding conflict with the Republic and the Mandalorians, instead targeting smaller Imperial warlords including Warlord Zsinj. Pentastar has absorbed much of the remaining Imperial fleet and many of its greatest remaining military minds, including Grand Admirals Martio Batch and Gilad Pellaeon, the latter of whom acts as supreme commander of the Pentastar fleet. Governed from Bastion, the Pentastar Alignment is led by Ardus Kaine, former Grand Moff of Oversector Outer. Though he has taken the title of Legate in reference to military leaders of Bastion's ancient history, in all but name he is Emperor, and inspires great loyalty in his men.

Mando’ade Aliite be Te Anila Grat’ua Mand’alor (United Clans of Mandalore): After Endor, Death Watch veteran Vasili of clan Bev’miir, who had spent several years uniting the disparate Mandalorian clans, launched an assault on the Empire's holdings in Mandalorian space. After securing Mandalore, Bev'miir, now known as Mandalore the Uniter, waged war to expand Mandalorian space to historical heights, helping to crush the Warlord Zsinj and destroy the power base of the Hutts. Since securing the borders of Mandalorian space, Bev'miir has been content to rule his worlds in relative peace, reforming Mandalorian society and restoring the supremacy of the clans. He recently signed a treaty alongside Chief of State Organa in which the Republic recognized him as the legitimate representative of the Mandalorian people and his government's sovereignty over the worlds it controls.

The True Mandalorians: Supporters of Bo-Katan Kryze's claim to lead the Mandalorians, including her own Nite Owls and several smaller clans, united as the True Mandalorians and attempted to gain their own foothold to unite the Mandalorians. While the Republic recognized Kryze as the true leader of the Mandalorians and offered support, ultimately Kryze's forces were only able to secure Onderon's moon Dxun, losing the planet Jabiim to Bev'miir's faction. Now, languishing on the jungle moon, they have lost even republic recognition, and their future is uncertain.

The Hapes Consortium: The small, independent enclave of the matriarchal Hapans has gone unmolested since Endor. Chief of State Organa is planning a diplomatic mission in the hopes of bringing them into the Republic.

The Greater Maldrood: Treuten Teradoc's Imperial remnant, governed from Togoria, has been hit hard in the campaigns against Zsinj and the Mandalorians, and struggles to protect its remaining borders even with Grand Admiral Rae Sloane in command of its military. Reluctantly, Teradoc has opened annexation negotiations with the Pentastar Alignment.

The Neimoidian Socialist Confederation: After the election of socialist Thog Rutak as Trade Monarch, Neimoidian society was thrown into a civil war in which the socialists emerged victorious, and set about reforming Neimoidian society and nationalizing the Trade Federation. The confederation has grown to include much of the former Corporate Sector after its own socialist revolution, and is aligned with the Republic as an independent affiliated observer state.

Zakuul Space: The ancient worlds of Zakuul and Iokath have remained uncontacted for centuries, and some say they no longer exist. Others insist that they are out there, filled with riches and waiting to be plundered.

The Chiss Ascendancy: In the Unknown Regions, the Chiss control their territory and watch for threats known only to them. They have not established relations with the Republic.

The New Confederacy of Independent Systems: After Endor, rather than joining the New Republic, a group of former Separatist worlds, led by Magisterial Porro Linn of Balan-Quod and mainly from the Tion Cluster, formed a revival of the CIS. They have received little support, and have not normalized relations with teh Republic.

The Proto-Sith: A number of dark side factions, including the Knights of Ren, the Prophets of the Dark Side, the Lost Tribe, elements of the Reborn and the Inquisition, and the Sorcerers of Tund have gathered in what was once Sith Space and the Centrality. The Rule of Two died with Palpatine and Vader at Endor, and it is time once again for the Sith to cheat death...

Black Sun, the Iron Triad, the Exchange, et al.: In the wake of Endor and the decimation of the Hutts, organized crime has grown in power. Several worlds in the Galactic south and former Hutt Space are now openly run by crime organizations, in particular the Iron Triad, founded by former Imperial officer Ubrik Adelhard, which is based on Klatooine. After the death of Prince Xizor, the leadership of Black Sun remains unclear.

The Central Committee of Grand Moffs: A small group of Grand Moffs working in concert with Supreme Slavelord Trioculus of Kessel - who claims to be the Emperor's son - has monopolized the spice trade with a small fleet of Imperial ships, conquering the Pyke Syndicate and incorporating it into their own operations. They are considered of least concern to the Republic.

Hutt Space: Campaigns by the Mandalorians and Iron Triad, and a revolt of the Evocii on what was once Nal Hutta, have destroyed most of the Hutts' power in the galaxy. Individual crimelords such as Dertykop of Taris or Teemo of Tatooine still exert power, but the Ruling Council has retreated to Varl and the Bootana Hutta, and only a sliver of Hutt Space remains.

The Imperial Royalist Confederation: After Ysanne Isard launched a coup in late 4 ABY, Sate Pestage and Mas Amedda fled Coruscant for the fortified Deep Core, where they set up their own government on the Emperor's throneworld of Byss. There Amedda rules as Imperial Regent, surrounded by sycophants, and the Republic is content to let him stew.

Other factions which hold no territory but still have a measure of influence in the galaxy include:

Moff Royen's Imperial Remnant: A small fleet of ships which remains independent of the other major Imperial remnants, mainly patrolling the Red Hand Cluster.

The New Jedi Order: After a quest of several years to uncover secrets of the Force and find Force-sensitive recruits, Luke Skywalker, now a Jedi Master, has reformed the Jedi Order, heading the new Jedi Council. The location of his temple is a closely-held secret, with rumors placing it anywhere from Yavin to Ossus to Tython to the mythical world of Tanalorr.

The Children of Ghorman: The Republic Commision for the Prosecution of War Crimes and Crimes against Civilization was established in 6 ABY for the prosecution of Imperial war criminals. Valarr Ulgo, an Alderaanian former ISB officer and member of Republic Intelligence, formed the Children of Ghorman in order to secure these criminals, a group of Rebel veterans who were all impacted personally by Imperial atrocities with the sole objective of capturing those Imperials who were beyond the Republic's reach and bringing them to justice.

The Mining Guild: The fall of the Empire was a boon for the Mining Guild, which regained its independence. Under the leadership of Athor Skarhill, the Guild has moved in a left-wing direction, and affiliated itself with Garm Bel Iblis' People's Union Party.

[cilil]

AN: Combining day 1 of Sapphic September and @ainurweek if I may - hope you enjoy!

┊ ┊ ┊ ⋆★ Prompt: Astrology | Valinor | Varda x Nienna ┊ ┊ ★⋆ Synopsis: Nienna asks Varda what is written in the stars. ┊ ◦★ Warnings: / ★⋆ Drabble

"Is it true that you write the future in the stars?" 

Gently, Nienna rested her head on Varda's shoulder and gazed up at the night sky. 

The Queen of Stars laughed quietly. "Some of the Children believe that, don't they? But no; mostly not." 

She lifted her hand and pointed northward. 

"The secrets of the future I leave to your brother and Ilúvatar, but the Valacirca is my promise to the Children — and to you." 

"Oh? To me as well? And what is it?" 

Varda turned her head to kiss Nienna's forehead. 

"That the Dark One won't hurt you again." 

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @edensrose @elanna-elrondiel @eunoiaastralwings

@i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @melkors-defense-attorney @stormchaser819 @urwendii

@wandererindreams

[waitingforsecretsouls]

The amount of times I've seen the Dagor-nuin-Giliath misconstrued as a defeat, or "first sign" of the inevitable failure for the Fëanorians is just baffling if you consider the actual events.

But the host of Morgoth, aroused by the tumult of Lammoth and the light of the burning at Losgar, came through the passes of Ered Wethrin, the Mountains of Shadow, and assailed Fëanor on a sudden, before his camp was full-wrought or put in defence; and there on the grey fields of Mithrim was fought the Second Battle in the Wars of Beleriand. Dagor-nuin-Giliath it is named, the Battle-under-Stars, for the Moon had not yet risen; and it is renowned in song. The Noldor, outnumbered and taken at unawares, were yet swiftly victorious; for the light of Aman was not yet dimmed in their eyes, and they were strong and swift, and deadly in anger, and their swords were long and terrible. The Orcs fled before them, and they were driven forth from Mithrim with great slaughter, and hunted over the Mountains of Shadow into the great plain of Ard-galen, that lay northward of Dorthonion. There the armies of Morgoth that had passed south into the Vale of Sirion and beleaguered Círdan in the Havens of the Falas came up to their aid, and were caught in their ruin. For Celegorm, Fëanor’s son, having news of them, waylaid them with a part of the Elven-host, and coming down upon them out of the hills near Eithel Sirion drove them into the Fen of Serech. Evil indeed were the tidings that came at last to Angband, and Morgoth was dismayed. Ten days that battle lasted, and from it returned of all the hosts that he had prepared for the conquest of Beleriand no more than a handful of leaves.

-The Silmarillion, Chapter 13: OF THE RETURN OF THE NOLDOR

The Battle was a victory, not only barely eeked out but an utter eradication of Morgoth's armies. Not only the forces specifically marshalled against the arriving Noldor (what seems to be a reconstructed eastern host, with the last one mostly destroyed in the First Battle) but also Morgoth's initial western host occupied besieging Círdan and people, that had to be diverted for attempted reinforcement. Which the Fëanorians quickly shatter without issue, despite having to divide their forces. Something important for me to bring up because you'll often see the argument that the Fëanorians doomed themselves by cutting of the Nolo-and Arafinwëan manpower, which both ignores how Nolofinwë at the time was actively disputing Fëanor's leadership and therefore would not necessarily have led to an effective united front (with the implied 'solution' mostly boiling down to "Fëanor should have let Nolofinwë usurp his kingship because he would have made a better king anyway" and never "maybe Nolofinwë should have stopped agitating against the guy who was rightful king by all procedures of inheritance we ever see (and Fingolfin himself would adopt) to get himself crowned as his first priority"), as well as how even just the Fëanorians alone completely curbstomped the forces of Morgoth that had previously scattered the Laiquendi, confined Thingol to Doriath and besieged Cirdan. Sure, eventually they would have likely been overwhelmed by the unending stream of new armies, but that's exactly the same thing that eventually happens in canon anyway, even with the rest of the exiles present. Trying to argue that the Dagor-nuin-Giliath in particular already demonstrates the certainty of the Noldor's defeat is nonsensical.

It was "renown in song"! And given that this is mentioned in context of the victory it was, it feels safe to say the renown in question was of celebratory nature (as opposed to the often celebrated Fingolfin duel, which in-universe is explicitly described as thus: "The Orcs made no boast of that duel at the gate; neither do the Elves sing of it, for their sorrow is too deep."). Given how sparse the details and hints we get towards the Fëanorians and east Beleriand side of things can be, the vast majority of it in implications or one-liners (such as most of their alliances and friendships) and after-the fact admissions ("bereft of their power and glory of old" being the most prominent one that comes to mind), this just makes me very happy. Also disappointed-but-not-surprised how often it goes ignored or straight-up inverted. No doubt in large part due to the following:

Thus it was that he [Fëanor] drew far ahead of the van of his host; and seeing this the servants of Morgoth turned to bay, and there issued from Angband Balrogs to aid them. There upon the confines of Dor Daedeloth, the land of Morgoth, Fëanor was surrounded, with few friends about him. Long he fought on, and undismayed, though he was wrapped in fire and wounded with many wounds; but at the last he was smitten to the ground by Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, whom Ecthelion after slew in Gondolin. There he would have perished, had not his sons in that moment come up with force to his aid; and the Balrogs left him, and departed to Angband.

First up, any and all attempts to try and paint this as a pathetic end are straight-up ludicrous (especially for people who are impressed by Fingolfin's duel with Morgoth later on). Fëanor in this is not only taking on a variety of Balrogs but also what seems like the remnants of the eastern host that his forces had hunted into Ard-Galen in the previous section (once they notice his separation from his army they turn from flight back towards him; the Balrogs are even specifically noted to "aid" them!). And he's doing it. By. Himself. Not only that, putting up a long and fierce resistance against multiple Balrogs (compare this to Fingon in the Nirnaeth, who gets quickly tripped up by two of them).

The Balrogs are always depicted as Morgoths elite troops, their last appearance in the story having been to drive off the empowered Ungoliant:

But Ungoliant had grown great, and he less by the power that had gone out of him; and she rose against him, and her cloud closed about him, and she enmeshed him in a web of clinging thongs to strangle him. Then Morgoth sent forth a terrible cry, that echoed in the mountains. [...] The cry of Morgoth in that hour was the greatest and most dreadful that was ever heard in the northern world; the mountains shook, and the earth trembled, and rocks were riven asunder. Deep in forgotten places that cry was heard. Far beneath the ruined halls of Angband, in vaults to which the Valar in the haste of their assault had not descended, Balrogs lurked still, awaiting ever the return of their Lord; and now swiftly they arose, and passing over Hithlum they came to Lammoth as a tempest of fire. With their whips of flame they smote asunder the webs of Ungoliant, and she quailed, and turned to flight, belching black vapours to cover her[...]. -The Silmarillion, Chapter 9: OF THE FLIGHT OF THE NOLDOR

(Though I'll grant that there might have been less Balrogs present in the battle against Fëanor)

I'll also point out that the Balrogs retreat the moment the rest of the Fëanorian host and sons arrive as reinforcement, indicating they were not confident in their chances to take them on (otherwise why not take this chance to destroy your enemies once and for all, before they can properly encamp and establish themselves?), which seems reasonably, given the extended struggle even Fëanor alone put up against them (to the point that despite drawing "far ahead" of his van, said van caught up in time to prevent the last of it).

So, obviously the death of their father and king still would have been a heavy blow, far be it from me to deny this (despite the stories refusal to give us any details on the emotional impact of it...), but I reject the notion that it turned the battle into a net "loss", especially if you keep in mind the unusual circumstances of it that are already kind of separated from the battle proper. Which leads into my last point, no longer about the battle itself but still relevant:

Then his sons raised up their father and bore him back towards Mithrim. But as they drew near to Eithel Sirion and were upon the upward path to the pass over the mountains, Fëanor bade them halt; for his wounds were mortal, and he knew that his hour was come. And looking out from the slopes of Ered Wethrin with his last sight he beheld far off the peaks of Thangorodrim, mightiest of the towers of Middle-earth, and knew with the foreknowledge of death that no power of the Noldor would ever overthrow them; but he cursed the name of Morgoth thrice, and laid it upon his sons to hold to their oath, and to avenge their father. -The Silmarillion, Chapter 13: OF THE RETURN OF THE NOLDOR

Even if you are a fervent believer in the fact that Fëanor truly had a clear revelation about the future somehow (at the very least in part because you prefer the omniscient narrator to the in-universe chroniclers, I presume), even if you believe he, dying, would have known this epiphany for what it was: in-universe this would have been ludicrous to assume and incongruent with the very recent lived experience of him and his people. The Fëanorians, it bears repeating, just won a crushing victory against Morgoths forces, which they near obliterated, and even his most elite soldiers fled before them, the only notable casualty occuring due to singular circumstances (which fandom is not slow to point out when it comes to more humoristic purposes). There is literally NO rational reason for the Fëanorians, and indeed, Fëanor himself, to see their cause as doomed based on their experiences with Morgoth and his forces! So even if Fëanor truly gained this "foreknowledge", why should he have heeded it? The guy laughted in the face and threats of his worlds angels! These characters do not know they are in a story about fate and doom without recurse from either, and are determined to fight against such forces whenever they are presented or threatened with them. So the argument I see that uses this as another ammunition why "Fëanor sucked and was a bad dad!" (his sons are literally men grown...) because he urged his sons to remain committed to a cause he "knew was doomed" just ignores everything about recent events and the Fëanorian mindset and determination.

Since it's one of my greatest gripes, I also have to once again ask: where, in this, do people see this infamous "second oath" (which...wouldn't that make Celegorm's recital of it in Nargothrond a "Third Oath"? Yet I've never seen that argument, funny that) ?

(I also disagree with the occasional choice to present Maedhros' capture as somehow still part of it, which it very much is not, however close to the battle's conclusion it might have happened, since the concession of defeat by Morgoth's embassy necessitates for that battle to be regarded as concluded by both parties imo. I'd also argue that the Fëanorians took some time to recover from the ten day battle and fresh grief of loosing their father, as well as time to debate the offer for a few days at the least, something which Maedhros needing to convince his brothers of his idea kind of implies, nevermind the other practicalities of it, such as agreeing upon the place for negotiations and numbers of troops allowed (which both sides break, but would still have been negotiated) with Morgoth's embassy, which would have taken additional time. Which is not even mentioning Maedhros potential coronation. But that's neither here nor there...)

[thecryofthegulls]

On Elwing's Bird Forms

In the educated opinion of me, a slightly wine-drunk semi-professional seabird specialist with a Tolkien hyperfixation, procrastinating from a work presentation I should be preparing let's gooooo.

Too many people think of Elwing in the form of a random bird thing, when there are so many interesting species!

First, the source text (emphasis by me):

"... they told that Elros and Elrond were taken captive, but Elwing with the Silmaril upon her breast had cast herself into the sea. Thus Maedhros and Maglor gained not the jewel; but it was not lost. For Ulmo bore up Elwing out of the waves, and he gave her the likeness of a great white bird, and upon her breast there shone as a star the Silmaril, as she flew over the water to seek Ëarendil her beloved. On a time of night Ëarendil at the helm of his ship saw her come towards him, as a white cloud exceeding swift beneath the moon, as a star over the sea moving in strange course, a pale flame on wings of storm. And it is sung that she fell from the air upon the timbers of Vingilot, in a swoon, nigh unto death for the urgency of her speed, and Ëarendil took her to his bosom; but in the morning with marvelling eyes he beheld his wife in her own form beside him with her hair upon his face, and she slept."

"On those journeys Elwing did not go, for she might not endure the cold and the pathless voids, and she loved rather the earth and the sweet winds that blow on sea and hill. Therefore there was built for her a white tower northward upon the borders of the Sundering Seas; and thither at times all the sea-birds of the earth repaired. And it is said that Elwing learned the tongues of birds, who herself had once worn their shape; and they taught her the craft of flight, and her wings were of white and silver-grey. And at times, when Ëarendil returning drew near again to Arda, she would fly to meet him, even as she had flown long ago, when she was rescued from the sea. Then the far-sighted among the Elves that dwelt in the Lonely Isle would see her like a white bird, shining, rose-stained in the sunset, as she soared in joy to greet the coming of Vingilot to haven."

The Silmarillion CHAPTER 24 OF THE VOYAGE OF EARENDIL AND THE WAR OF WRATH

Mute Swan (Cygnus olor)

Right out of the gate, a swan is a popular choice for Elwing. Makes sense, they are beautiful, regal birds with a graceful baring on the water. There is a strong association between mute swans and England, they are indeed an old world bird and as part of Tolkien's worldview as oak trees. They are also vicious and brave defenders of their young. A tough bird, symbol of the Teleri Elwing's elven clan. However, not the best for Elwing. They are not sea birds, and while powerful fliers, do not fly particularly high or far. Mute swans are heavy, needing a lengthy run on the water to take off with a clacking of their wings. Not the ideal shape to fly across the ocean undetected to find your mariner husband, or meet said husband in the morning sky when he comes back from being a star.

Dalmatian Pelican (Pelecanus crispus)

No, not a Great White Pelican, but a Dalmatian Pelican. More silvery than its pale African cousin, the Dalmatian Pelican has the advantage of being present in more Mediterranean climes, which might be representative of what Sirion was like (thank you @outofangband). Pretty much the largest freshwater bird, this choice for Elwing suffers the same problem as the mute swan. Not a sea bird, doesn't really do long-distance flights. Though I could imagine this large silvery-grey bird being mistaken for a cloud in the night, and you KNOW that the Silmaril is tucked nice and safe in that big pouch!

Wandering Albatross (Diomedea exulans)

Now that's a sea bird! Another popular choice for Elwing, this graceful soaring beauty is essentially the biggest flying bird in the world by wingspan, with a sweeping 11 feet/3.5 meters. The older they are, the whiter they become, with only bit of dark plumage on the wing tips and tail. The wandering albatross is the textbook example of a great white bird. Albatross adore storms, and can use strong (storm) wings to carry them over vast distances very quickly. They nest on steep hills, because they need the sweet winds to give them lift to take off. All in all, like the others above, large enough to carry a Silmaril without affecting flight capabilities. Though I really can't imagine Ëarendil cradling an albatross to his bosom, long wings flopping down on both sides of him. (Elros and Elrond are definitely albatross chicks muppets, as per @swanmaids' point).

Black-legged Kittiwake (Rissa tridactyla)

A gull! Yes, of course, but which gull? There are 54 gull species, and so many of them are herring gulls. But for Elwing? Ulmo would transform her into a Black-legged Kittiwake. A graceful, almost dove-like gull, Kittiwakes are bright white with wings topped in silver-grey. They fly like they are playing in the wind, and spend most of their lives at sea. Gorgeous sea bird. Ëarendil would hug. Am I biased because I love them? Maybe.

Ross's Gull (Rhodostethia rosea)

You want a more white and daintier gull? I was going to write about the Ivory Gull (Pagophila eburnea) but if we are going with a rare Arctic species, there are many good things about the Ross's Gull. I mean look at it! White and silver-grey with a rosy blush like it is continuously bathed in sunset, a black collar like Elwing is still wearing the memory of the Nauglamír. I also prefer to go with Ross's gull because every time I have seen an ivory gull in the wild it was slightly blood-stained (they feed off polar bear kills) which has very unfortunate implications in Elwing's case really...

But really, if you want a pure-white dove that actually goes sea for your Elwing imagery, go with ivory gull instead!

Roseate Tern (Sterna dougallii)

Terns are gorgeous sea birds with impressive flight capacity, and pack an absolutely ridiculous amount of fight and spite in 100 g. I have a scar on the top of my head from a tern chasing me off a beach where it was nesting. That beak sure pinches. Roseate Tern are particularly pretty, and if you subscribed to raven-haired Elwing, that cap is an excellent match. The adults also gain a pink sunset stain on their underparts, so you get that poetic match again. Terns would absolutely yell at Manwë, and probably have.

Northern Gannet (Morus bassanus)

Now if you think Elwing was pale-haired and blue-eyed, a Northern Gannet would be more for you. Northern Gannets are sea birds of great size, swift and fearless. They quite literally launch themselves into the sea. They are powerful enough fliers to evoke thoughts of storm-wings and clouds under moon. Gannets also follow boats, which works nicely with the imagery of bird-Elwing meeting Vingilot.

White-tailed Tropicbird (Phaethon lepturus)

Look at this beautiful thing, is she not fitting of a daughter of Dior, of Lúthien's line? I hope I see one for real one day. These long-tailed sea birds are excellent, graceful in flight, easy to see at a distance due to their tail. More active in the morning and in the evening, more to catch the morning and evening star. White-tailed Tropicbirds also come in a spectacular 'golden' variety. Absolutely fitting for someone named Star-Spray.

Snow Petrel (Pagodroma nivea)

When I first read the Silmarillion years ago, and I read "... as a white cloud exceeding swift beneath the moon, as a star over the sea moving in strange course, a pale flame on wings of storm" I immediately imagined a glowing white creature that I eventually witness in real life: the gloriously beautiful snow petrel. And while Elwing might not endure the cold and pathless void like a snow petrel would around Antarctica, I think she would revel in the shining feathers, the swift, fleet wings, and, as a feature of being a petrel, the tube nose that would allow her to smell and find Ëarendil anywhere at sea or in the sky. They soar with such joy. Perfect hold-to-your-bosom sized. Snow petrels are one of my favourite sea birds, and you should know more about them!

Like how they have the most hilarious defence mechanism:

...

Rock Ptarmigan (Lagopus muta)

No absolutely not.

[bowl-of-ramen-and-mushrooms]

If you're in North America, look northwards! At around eleven pm till like two am there will be northern lights visible!!! I have no clue for how far, but I'm in California and saw them. Keep your eyes on the sky!

ANYWAY! In honor of this, here you go.

It, it was cold. She should've expected it, but, it was nice. To feel cold again. To be able to feel that.

It was strange, to be out. After she had spent so long in that digital hell. The breeze on her skin, in her hair, the goosebumps running along her arms from the chill.

Perhaps the best part of it was being able to drag her friends with her, both human, and, well, ai.

The silently gaping figures could attest to that. Small forms staring up at the sky in awe.

She couldn't blame them, she was doing the same thing herself. It wasn't everyday that the northern lights were visible in Oregon.

The sky was red with streaks of green near the bottom, occasionally darting through the red in a brilliant display of color.

The whole city had lost its power, lights blacked out to reveal the milky way. Shining and stable as opposed to the ever changing light in front of them.

"What? What is this?" The NPC asked from beside her, she turned to look at him, seeing nothing but his silhouette in the comforting darkness. It was almost never dark I the circus, and certainly never to this level.

"The northern lights," she said breathlessly, looking back at the sky. Shooting stars making themselves known as the lights in front of them changed on it's whims, something that goes against the usual stillness of the stars.

"Aren't those, y'know, in the North, aka, not in," Jax took a look around, but ultimately didn't have a clue, "someplace where overalls and a T-shirt is appropriate clothing."

Someone behind her snorted a laugh, but her eyes were solely on the sky.

"It's a cme!" Kinger piped up, startling her slightly, "a coronal mass ejection, it's when the sun spits more energy at us than usual, knocking out electronics and making the Aurora visible."

She huffed a small laugh while Ragatha made a questioning noise behind her.

"How do you know all this Kinger?"

"Know what?"

"About, about the sciency stuff you were just spewin' out," Gummigoo said in confusion, looking around at the other circus members for support.

She silently shook her head, knocking her side against his gently. He stumbled slightly, probably from the lack of a tail to help balance, but recovered quickly.

The sky was beautiful, and the silence they descended into was comfortable. A barrier against the storm of emotions that would surely batter them tomorrow.

But all that mattered right now was the sky and the breeze, this is what she'll hold on to, this moment, this feeling.

Nothing would be able to take it from her again.

[sodafrog13]

"but with you, my dear, i'm safe..."

[ebaeschnbliah]

Following with his keen eyes the trail to the river, and then the river back towards the forest, Aragorn saw a shadow on the distant green, a dark swift-moving blur. He cast himself upon the ground and listened again intently. But Legolas stood beside him, shading his bright elven-eyes with his long slender hand, and he saw not a shadow, nor a blur, but the small figures of horsemen, many horsemen, and the glint of morning on the tips of their spears was like the twinkle of minute stars beyond the edge of mortal sight. Far behind them a dark smoke rose in thin curling threads. There was a silence in the empty fields, arid Gimli could hear the air moving in the grass.

'Riders!' cried Aragorn, springing to his feet.

'Many riders on swift steeds are coming towards us!'

'Yes,' said Legolas, 'there are one hundred and five. Yellow is their hair, and bright are their spears. Their leader is very tall.'

Aragorn smiled. 'Keen are the eyes of the Elves,' he said.

'Nay! The riders are little more than five leagues distant,' said Legolas.

'Five leagues or one,' said Gimli; 'we cannot escape them in this bare land. Shall we wait for them here or go on our way?'

'We will wait,' said Aragorn. 'I am weary, and our hunt has failed. Or at least others were before us; for these horsemen are riding back down the orc-trail. We may get news from them.'

'Or spears,' said Gimli.

'There are three empty saddles, but I see no hobbits,' said Legolas.

'I did not say that we should hear good news,' said Aragorn. 'But evil or good we will await it here.'

The three companions now left the hill-top, where they might be an easy mark against the pale sky, and they walked slowly down the northward slope. A little above the hill's foot they halted, and wrapping their cloaks about them, they sat huddled together upon the faded grass. The time passed slowly and heavily. The wind was thin and searching. Gimli was uneasy.

'What do you know of these horsemen, Aragorn?' he said. 'Do we sit here waiting for sudden death?'

'I have been among them,' answered Aragorn. 'They are proud and wilful, but they are true-hearted, generous in thought and deed; bold but not cruel; wise but unlearned, writing no books but singing many songs, after the manner of the children of Men before the Dark Years. But I do not know what has happened here of late, nor in what mind the Rohirrim may now be between the traitor Saruman and the threat of Sauron. They have long been the friends of the people of Gondor, though they are not akin to them. It was in forgotten years long ago that Eorl the Young brought them out of the North, and their kinship is rather with the Bardings of Dale, and with the Beornings of the Wood, among whom may still be seen many men tall and fair, as are the Riders of Rohan. At least they will not love the Orcs.'

'But Gandalf spoke of a rumour that they pay tribute to Mordor ' said Gimli.

'I believe it no more than did Boromir,' answered Aragorn.

'You will soon learn the truth,' said Legolas. 'Already they approach.'

At length even Gimli could hear the distant beat of galloping hoofs. The horsemen, following the trail, had turned from the river, and were drawing near the downs. They were riding like the wind.

Now the cries of clear strong voices came ringing over the fields. Suddenly they swept up with a noise like thunder, and the foremost horseman swerved, passing by the foot of the hill, and leading the host back southward along the western skirts of the downs. After him they rode: a long line of mail-clad men. swift, shining, fell and fair to look upon.

Their horses were of great stature, strong and clean-limbed; their grey coats glistened, their long tails flowed in the wind, their manes were braided on their proud necks. The Men that rode them matched them well: tall and long-limbed; their hair, flaxen-pale, flowed under their light helms, and streamed in long braids behind them; their faces were stern and keen. In their hands were tall spears of ash, painted shields were slung at their backs, long swords were at their belts, their burnished skirts of mail hung down upon their knees.

In pairs they galloped by, and though every now and then one rose in his stirrups and gazed ahead and to either side, they appeared not to perceive the three strangers sitting silently and watching them. The host had almost passed when suddenly Aragorn stood up, and called in a loud voice:

'What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?'

With astonishing speed and skill they checked their steeds, wheeled, and came charging round.

JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers,  The Riders of Rohan

The picture of Eorl the Young in the Golden Hall of Meduseld (painted on heavy canvas) is taken from the Appendices: The Two Towers - 'Designing Middle Earth'

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Silmarillion Daily - Of the Great Journey (Years of the Trees 1115)

The Great Journey of the Elves to Valinor begins in the year 1105 of the Ages of the Trees, 20 years after Oromë first meets the Elves and 5 years after the Valar defeat Melkor.

It is told that when the hosts of the Eldalië departed from Cuiviénen Oromë rode at their head upon Nahar, his white horse shod with gold; and passing northward about the Sea of Helcar they turned toward the west. Before them great clouds hung still black in the North above the ruins of war, and the stars in that region were hidden. Then not a few grew afraid and repented, and turned back, and are forgotten.

They’re not in a hurry, and are inclined to stop whenever Oromë isn’t there to chivvy them along; despite choosing the journey based on the advocacy of Ingwë, Finwë and Elwë, they’re still not sure about it, and are not enthusiastic about the idea of leaving Middle-earth. The world is still new to them, and they find the new places they stay beautuful, and prefer to stay there.

Long and slow was the march of the Eldar into the west, for the leagues of Middle-earth were uncounted, and weary and pathless. Nor did the Eldar desire to hasten, for they were filled with wonder at all that they saw, and by many lands and rivers they wished to abide; and though all were yet willing to wander, many feared rather their journey’s end than hoped for it. Therefore whenever Oromë departed, having at time other matters to heed, they halted and went forward no more, until he returned to guide them.

It takes the Elves 10 years to reach the lands that we’re familar with from The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings: Greenwood the Great, the River Anduin, and the Misty Mountains.

And it came to pass after many years of journeying in this manner that the Eldar took their course through a forest, and they came to a great river, wider than any they had yet seen; and beyond it were mountains whose sharp horns seemed to pierce the realm of the stars. This river, it is said, was even the river which was after called Anduin the Great, and was ever the frontier of the west-lands of Middle-earth. But the mountains were the Hithaeglir, the Towers of Mist upon the borders of Eriador; yet they were taller and more terrible in those days, and were reared by Melkor to hinder the riding of Oromë.

Some of the Teleri decide they like this area, and between that and being intimidated by the Misty Mountains, they decide they would prefer to live here than continue on to Valinor. These are presumably the ancestors of the Wood-elves of Greenwood (later Mirkwood) and of the original elves of Lothlórien, and are distant (or not-so-distant, given the long lives of Elves) relations of Thranduil, Celeborn, Galadriel, and the Sindar who later join them there.

Now the Teleri abode long on the east bank of the river and wished to remain there, but the Vanyar and the Noldor passed over it, and Oromë led them into the passes of the mountains. And when Oromë was gone forward the Teleri looked upon the shadowy heights and were afraid.

Then one arose in the host of Olwë, which was ever the hindmost on the road; Lenwë he was called. He forsook the westward march, and led away a numerous people, southwards down the great river, and they passed out of the knowledge of their kin until long years were past. Those were the Nandor; and they became a people apart, unlike their kin, save that they loved water, and dwelt most beside falls and running streams. Greater knowledge had they of living things, tree and herb, bird and beast, than all other Elves.

This reminds me of a lot of good stuff in The Nature of Middle-earth about the Great Journey, and the Teleri in particular. The Teleri have a less centralized ethos than the Vanyar or Noldor, and it’s Elwë (later Thingol) who stands up for the rights of all elves to choose what they prefer in terms of the journey, and not feel compelled to all act as a single unit. It’s also him who expresses the idea of the Great Journey as a way to see other parts of Middle-earth and decide where they want to live, not necessarily continuing on to Valinor. This lines up with the later patterns of different groups of Telerin elves (Nandor, Sindar, Falathrim, the Teleri who continue to Valinor, and later the Green-elves of Ossiriand) branching off in a variety of directions.

Elwë says, “I will go with my friend [Finwë], but I do not choose for anyone but myself. Let all my Folk do likewise. I do not see what harm dividing the Kindred will do - and it cannot be avoided, unless some are to be forced to do what they do not wish to do (to remain or to go). No doubt (indeed this is guaranteed) we, or any who wish, will be free to return to our homes when the War is over.” Also he says, “We are a great company - the most give n to wandering afar. Let many of us at least go with the safe conduct of the Lord Oromë and see what Endor is like, and the Sea! We need not pass the shores!”

One thing that strikes me from this is the surprising commonalities between Elwë and Fëanor. In the first place, in the attachment to Middle-earth and the desire to explore its ‘wide lands’ - Thingol in NoME, in contrast to the Silm, prefers the starlight of Middle-earth to the Trees of Valinor, and his choice of Valinor at this moment is based on his friendship with Finwë rather than on the appeal of Valinor itself. In the second place, in the emphasis that if the Elves do go to Valinor, they need to be able to return to their homes if they later choose that. The contrast, though, is that Elwë is all about everyone making a free choice of what they want to do, whereas Fëanor (at least by the time he’s wanting to return to Middle-earth) becomes hostile, angry, and insulting to anyone who does not adhere to all his ideas.

[guerrerense]

Taking Flight in San Diego por James Belmont Por Flickr: Taking Flight in San Diego On June 28, 2024, I spent some time watching mass transit doing its thing at the Santa Fe Depot in San Diego. While looking northward along the maze of trackage, I saw a jet fly by. It seemed really close to my vantage point, and quite low to the ground. San Diego International Airport is unique, competing with Washington National as the busiest single runway air terminal in the United States. The landing strip is only half a mile from the train station! 😮 I knew a photo of a train with a jet (between the tall buildings) was a must. Capturing it was a challenge, to say the very least. After multiple attempts (that failed miserably), I nailed a photo I was pleased with. Luck was on my side as the jet I captured wore a one of a kind livery. In 2021, Southwest Airlines released a Boeing 737-800 in special paint to commemorate the carrier's 50th anniversary, dubbed "Freedom One". A few stats: • Freedom One took 14 days to paint using a crew of 8-10 people working per shift. • It took more than 60 gallons of paint and primer to paint Freedom One, and the aircraft features 15 different paint colors, with the predominant two being red and white. • Just like the flag of the USA, Freedom One features 50 stars and 13 stripes. Each star measures 39 x 40", the same size as the Heart on the belly of each Southwest aircraft.

[irithnova]

Sakha and Evenkia's relationship

In this post I’m going to be talking about Sakha and Evenkia's mentor-student relationship. In my master post about Sakha I talked about how we can see how the Sakha people assimilated certain peoples into their own through observing certain traditions of theirs, the most prominent being their shamanic traditions which were greatly influenced by the Evenks and Evens.

The Evenks have had a profound influence on Sakha culture in particular though, which is why I headcanon Sakha and Evenkia to have a mentor-student relationship, or more like, they used to have a mentor student relationship. The Sakha’s people genesis began when they migrated from the area of Lake Baikal/Southern Siberia up Northwards, most likely because of pressure from the expanding Mongol Empire.

When Sakha first migrated, he came into contact with a number of different people, such as the Yukaghir, Even, and Evenks, who he considers all his mentors to an extent, however Evenkia was the most prominent one and had the most impact on his culture.

Sakha was young, bright eyed, eager and somewhat annoying, especially to his older neighbours who were pressured to move upwards because of him. Evenkia was also kind of irked by him, but was much more willing to guide him than the others were. Close contact and intermarriage between the Sakha and Evenk people

Let’s first compare both Sakha and Evenkia folk epics about the universe and see how similar they are, and then talk about Evenks influence on the Sakha language.

Sakha Folk Epic Olonkho:

- Sakha epic poetry envisions the universe with three levels: Earth (middle), Heaven (upper), and Hell (lower).

- The universe is symbolised as a giant tree, Aal Luuk Mas, housing these levels.

- Lower level: Devil (abaahy), Middle level: ajyy people, Upper level: deities and some evil spirits.

- Earth and Heaven are interconnected, with Heaven representing spirituality and Earth as a material entity.

- Animism features gods (ajyy), demons (abaahy), spirits (itchi), ancestors, and animals (üör) across the three levels.

- Different regions in the upper world are designated for creators, good spirits, ancestors, and evil spirits ruled by Uluu Toyon.

- Heavenly bodies influence life on Earth; the Sun is associated with Yurung Aar Toyon, the god who rules destinies.

- Olonkho describes Heaven with 7 (sometimes 8 or 9) layers and 4 parts (East, West, North, South).

- Yurung Aar Toyon (upper God, the white master, white creator) is the Master of 9 heavens, Tsar of 8 heavens, and prince of 7 heavens.

- Heaven writers record each person’s destiny, and shamans, transforming into clouds, encounter different cloud types.

- Cloud characteristics (all clouds have their own characteristics): ‘aahar bylyt’ (passing), ‘kuotar bylyt’ (escaping), ‘jetineh bylyttar’ (thunderstorm clouds).

Now let’s compare to Evenki tradition about the universe:

- Evenk epic envisions the universe, which they call Buga, with three levels: upper (Ugu Buga), middle (Dulin Buga), and lower (Hergu Buga).

- Ugu Buga (heaven) has parts like Juri Jultjen Turinyn (place of the rising sun), Jenin Nadar Bomchar (mother of the seven canyons), and Nadan Buldjar (land of seven seas)

- Earth, referred to as Sivir, is described as the “mane of our Earth,” the middle green world.

- Ugu Buga, the upper world, is portrayed as a place of eternal summer and well-being. God Seveki resides there, creating the middle world.

- Warriors from the middle world journey to the upper world to seek brides – daughters of the sun Dylacha Khunadin, moon, and stars Bega Khunadin.

- Buga represents the upper entity governing nature, taiga life, and human-animal spirits, with Buga Musin (mistress of the universe) depicted as a moose cow, reindeer, or an old woman in charge of spirits.

- Humans are associated with heavenly entities like Dylacha (sun), Gevan (dawn), Nyangnya (heaven), and sky. Humans are living things that are a subject to these entities.

- Tribes like ai, aji, agbea, aji ajmak, ai tegel have names reflecting qualities of help, rescue, goodness, and beauty.

- Their purpose is to create good in the middle and upper worlds, opposing the Avakhi tribe from the lower world, engaged in constant conflict without intermarriage.

As we can see, they both share the same HEAVEN – MAN – EARTH triad. However there are some differences along with the similarities. In the epic worldview of both the Sakha and Evenk, the structure of the heavens is remarkably alike. However, the Sakha cultural narrative doesn’t distinctly portray heaven and earth as realms of good and evil. The Sakha envision heaven as not only inhabited by gods but also by evil spirits and ancestors, while for the Evenk, heaven resembles a paradise. According to Evenk epics, devils and enemies are only confined to the lower world, whereas Sakha epics depict evil spirits across all three worlds.

The sky god, recognised as the Creator of the Middle World, is referred to as “Yurung Aar Toyon” in Sakha and “Seveki” in Evenk. The Sakha term the middle world as “ajyy land” and its inhabitants as “ajyy ajmaga,” whereas the Evenk collectively call the residents of all three levels as “aji.”

The Sakha and Evenk people also share the concept of the Serge as being the model of the universe:

- A Serge is like a pillar used to tie horses in Sakha culture.

- In Sakha, it's important for shaman traditions and used in rituals during celebrations, weddings, and the summer holiday Yhyakh.

- In Evenk culture, Serge is a special object representing the world's structure. It has three parts: the upper dome for the upper world, the disc-shaped part for the middle world, and the rounded part for the lower world.

- A sacred reindeer tied to the pillar serves as a connection between humans and God, specifically the Master of the upper world, named Seveki.

So Sakha and Evenkia do have a number of similarities when it comes to their religious practices from their time living together. The Sakha people adapted aspects of Evenk belief into their own.

When Sakha first arrived, as I said before, Evenkia was initially irked by him, as the migrations pressured his own people to move further Northwards. However this did not last long. Evenkia certainly took a liking to Sakha. In Evenk culture, many of the children’s activities mimicked adult duties, and so it was almost natural that Evenkia would want to teach a (younger) Sakha and take him under his wing, especially considering how keen Sakha was to learn because of the fact that he only just recently moved there and needed to help around. Evenkia was a huge relief for him.

A lot of the words Sakha borrowed from Evenkia was a result of him trying to adapt to new living conditions:

- In phonetics, some changes occurred in Sakha due to Evenk influence, like certain sounds not occurring at the beginning of words (g, h and p) and changes in intonation.

- Morphologically, Sakha borrowed affixes like -chaan and -ndja, -ndaa from Evenki.

- Vocabulary-wise, Sakha borrowed words related to landscape, flora, fauna, clothing, reindeer breeding, and dwelling from Evenk.

- Polish scholar S. Kaluzhinsky found around 400 Tungusic words in Sakha and listed more words related to various aspects of life.

- Evenk words were likely borrowed during the Sakha adaptation to new living conditions, with a focus on clothes, bird names, geographical features, animals, plants, and reindeer breeding terminology.

So in this sense Evenkia truly was Sakha’s teacher/mentor, and was one of the reasons why Sakha was able to adapt to and make sense of the new living conditions he found himself in. They got comfortable with each other pretty quickly, and Evenkia tried to instill in him certain values that he thought were important – such as not gossiping or rumour spreading. In Evenk culture, gossiping/rumour spreading is greatly frowned upon, and most likely had something to do with not screwing up the accuracy of the location of an animal during a hunt. I’ll refer back to this later, but all in all, Sakha learned a lot from Evenkia, and Evenkia was more than pleased to teach him.

They certainly got comfortable with each other quite quickly, and Sakha definitely found Evenkia’s more bawdy jokes in particular to be quite funny, but was careful not to make them back (in Evenk culture, bawdy jokes are acceptable but elders are allowed to make them in front of younger people and men in front of women, but not the other way around)

Now onto Sakha and Evenkias relationship with Dolgan. I talked about Sakha’s relationship with Dolgan and how he’s like a father to her in a previous post:

“Quick sidenote on the Dolgan: I see Sakha as being quite close with Dolgan. Dolgan culture incorporates aspects from different groups, including reindeer herding from the Evenki, herd dogs from the Nentsy, and women's fur coats from the Sakha.

In fact, the Dolgan people originated from a few Evenk clans that later adopted a dialect of the Turkic-speaking Sakha (Yakut).

So Sakha does try to look out for Dolgan and imagining him like. Dressing her up/giving her clothes and jewellery is so cutee. He's a lot more involved with her than Evenkia is, much to his annoyance.”

I also see Dolgan taking after Sakha personality wise, as I see Sakha as someone who is quite hard headed/outspoken (I jokingly called him the Saul Goodman of Siberia) and I see Dolgan being that way too, as the Dolgan people wield a lot of influence in Siberia despite their small numbers,

“The 2002 Russian census recorded 7,261 Dolgans in the whole Russian Federation. The Dolgan people today are one of the most politically powerful groups in their territory, and many senior officials of the Taimyr Autonomous Okrug are Dolgans.”

“The Dolgans and other indigenous peoples in the Taimyr Autonomous Okrug have created an Association of the Indigenous Peoples of the Taimyr Autonomous Okrug through which they are demanding the rights to control their own destinies. The Association has declared that indigenous peoples in Taimyr have priority rights to the land and its subsurface resources and hopes to be able to use revenues from mineral exploitation and economic development to fund programs addressing the many social and economic problems facing indigenous peoples today.”

So Dolgan really is like Sakha’s protégé/junior (and yes he’s very proud of her).

This is more of a crack headcanon of mine but seeing as the Dolgan originated from Evenk clans that took on a dialect of the Sakha language, I see Dolgan as almost being their child. Though I believe that Sakha had a much greater hand in her upbringing considering they, again, took on a dialect of the Sakha language, took on Sakha attire and personality wise, she’s also very much like Sakha. However she physically looks more similar to Evenkia. Due to the fact that Sakha had a greater role in her upbringing he uhh holds some resentment towards Evenkia for dumping her on him for not having a bigger part in it, he was his mentor after all. Evenkia dismisses his complaints as silly rumours (“didn’t I teach you the importance of not gossiping?), which only annoys Sakha further.

It’s okay though, Sakha is now bigger and stronger than his previous mentor and can make him pay him back in his own way ;)

But in all seriousness, Sakha does credit Evenkia with helping him adapt and survive when he first moved and won’t ever deny that, though he sometimes finds Evenkia irksome to deal with these days. Yukaghir defends Evenkia because she’s also an oldie and so she uses his age to defend him most of the time.

[lawrenceleemagnuson]

Hans Vandekerckhove (Belgium b. 1957) Wild Geese (1999) https://www.hansvandekerckhove.be

Tell Me a Story -- Robert Penn Warren [ A ] Long ago, in Kentucky, I, a boy, stood By a dirt road, in first dark, and heard The great geese hoot northward.

I could not see them, there being no moon And the stars sparse. I heard them.

I did not know what was happening in my heart.

It was the season before the elderberry blooms, Therefore they were going north.

The sound was passing northward.

[ B ] Tell me a story. In this century, and moment, of mania, Tell me a story.

Make it a story of great distances, and starlight.

The name of the story will be Time, But you must not pronounce its name.

Tell me a story of deep delight. *                   *                *

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Twenty (Part 5)

It’s not my alarm that wakes me. It’s the sound of the front door slamming. I come to life confused, full daylight beaming in through the windows, their linen curtains still open. I forget where I am for a few moments after what felt like the deepest and most comfortable sleep of my life. I stretch and rub the crusty sleep out of my eyes, and it’s only when I hear a car starting outside that a cold bolt of realisation hits me. What time is it? 

I scramble around in the egyptian cotton sheets for my phone, and panic when I can’t find it. It has to be here somewhere. Maybe the alarm hasn’t gone off yet. Maybe somehow it’s still four in the morning and I still have time to make it for breakfast. I finally find it, cold metal making contact with my palm, and I turn on the screen to be hit with the most stomach wrenching sight I think I’ve ever seen. 

It’s eight o’clock. 

My mind is racing. Did I forget to set an alarm? How could I have done that? Maybe he’s still here. Maybe the flight was delayed. Maybe I’ll catch him before he leaves. I run to the window and look down over the driveway where the car is manoeuvring out onto the road. I pray that Jude will be in it, but he isn’t. It’s just his dad, and he’s just going to work. 

A desperate, panicked noise escapes me and I clamp my hand over my mouth as if the motion will stuff it back into me. I pace back and forth in disbelief. How could I have let this happen? How could I have missed the perfect sunrise breakfast? I think I’m going to be sick. I make a start to rush out into the hallway, just in case his bags are still there and there’s a whisper of a chance that he is too, but something on the floor right by the door stops me. I bend to pick it up. 

It’s a small piece of grey cardboard, a corner torn from what looks like the lip of a cereal box. I turn it over in my hands to see a note scrawled on the back in black marker.

Sweet dreams, Evie. 

See you later, alligator. 

J.

I feel like dropping it on the floor and bursting into tears, but I can’t do that here. Not now. I stuff it into the front pocket of my bag then methodically dress myself, make the bed and pack my pyjamas away, all while feeling I’m on a knife’s edge, quietly pulling myself together, scolding myself for being weak. I take my bag and go out into the hall where, of course, there are no bags, and then I go downstairs, praying that nobody sees me or worse tries to say anything to me for fear that I’ll unravel like a spool of thread rolling across the floor. I go into the piano room where sleeping bodies sprawl over couches, and quickly and seamlessly I slide Goodnight Mr. Tom into my bag. It doesn’t even feel like a choice, I just do it, and then I go straight to the door and I let myself out.

I still don’t cry as I charge down towards the seafront, I’m feeling beyond the point of tears now. I’m bordering on numb, and it’s like too many emotions are flooding my body all at once and all I can do is switch myself off. I don’t look into any of the faces that I pass and the people around me just blur together like smears of paint on canvas. 

I cross over the bridge onto Bull Island, and when I get to the very end of it I sit on a bench beneath the Star of the Sea with my bag at my feet, looking blankly out over the sky. The long arms of Howth and the Great South Wall curl around the bay like they’re trying to embrace me, but I sit frigid and stiff, my jaw set and my face throbbing. The dregs of the summer breeze licks my face and murky waves collide with a tiny scut of beach facing northwards, and I keep my chin pointed upwards, waiting for the planes to cut through the clouds. 

They fly low, cruising to and from the airport not ten kilometres from here, and with each departing flight I imagine that somehow Jude is on it, and maybe that if he could look out the window and really squint his eyes he could see me sitting here, at the edge of the island, wishing him the best and trying my best to hold it all in so that I can pretend that the shattered pieces of me haven’t been blown apart into irretrievable places, that nothing has changed within me, that I’m still the same Evie I was in June, and that I’ll be okay.

 Eventually, maybe, I’ll believe it. 

END OF PART 1

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