mirror planes

also I think it’s worth mentioning that the bag Taako got from Istus almost definitely has that power crystal from cycle 17 in it and I swear if during the end game Lucas barrels in with a fuck ton of soul-powered robots and they get a robot army I’m going to cry

Second Star to the Right

7 September 1940

Ash and smoke bleed into the clouds, and rain beats down on Regina Mills’ windshield. An obsidian plume mars the horizon behind her, casting an oppressive shadow upon the narrow, wet one-laned road as she speeds around a corner, her elbow banging into the driver’s side door as she sharply swerves around the curve.

“Regina, slow down!” Emma Swan shouts, bracing one hand on the dash and the other against a splintered passenger side window, glass fogging around her fingers and palm. “We’re not gonna make it if we crash before we get there!”

But Regina can’t slow down, can’t stop, can’t pause for a minute to think beyond Almost there almost there almost there! and the frantic ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump of her heart beating in her chest.

Sweat beads at her temples, tracks through ash, grime, and a smear of blood at her hairline. She’s shaking, muscles spasming painfully, harshly inhaling shuddering breath after breath. 

Calm down, Regina. Just breathe, she thinks, trying to convince herself that everything is going to be alright.

But there’s a drowning dread brewing in her belly, a gnawing terror clawing at her heart as her eyes dart up to the rear view mirror again and again – the sky alight in an unforgiving red behind them as rubber hitting the road puts more distance between them and the horrors of a bloodbath they weren’t prepared for at the Swan House.

God, all those people. The screaming. The flames.

Robin is missing.

Kathryn is dead.

And the world is on fire.

Emma yells again as Regina jerks the wheel to swerve and miss broken crates and an overturned delivery truck on the righthand side of the road. There’s debris littered everywhere – fallen trees, burning countryside, gaping wounds in the earth the size of craters, big billows of smoke reaching up into the air like skeletal tendrils.

She can barely hear Emma, barely lets her friend’s sharp curses divert her attention. She wonders if she’ll be too late, wonders if Henry and Roland are alright.

She needs to get back, needs to get home, needs to get to her boys.
She’s sure they’re alright, prays they are, hopes they are. For what more can she do with five more miles separating her boys from the safety of her arms and the frantic combing of her eyes over their limbs and faces to make sure they’re untouched by the inferno that came from the sky. She thinks of Henry’s apple cheeks and sweet smile. Thinks of Roland’s curly hair and delicious dimples. Dimples he got from his father. Oh God, Robin. She thinks of Robin, of all their letters and tear-stained parchment, and a million unanswered questions filling the pit of her belly with dread.

Her knuckles turn white as she tightens her grip on the steering wheel and bites down on her lower lip. She needs to get home. Now.

Slamming her foot on the accelerator, the tires grip to the road and yank them forward with a lurch. Rubber meeting ground in a godawful screech.

How did everything turn upside down so quickly? How did it all go to shit? That last question makes her think of Robin again. He’s rubbed off on her, and that makes her smile, makes her eyes water, and goddammit, she does not have time for this. This is why you don’t fall in love during wartime, Regina, she thinks. This is why you focus on duty, why you do your part and keep your heart out of play. But she didn’t keep her heart out of play; it cracked open, slowly at first, and then all at once, letting warmth and comfort and love flood in. Robin and Roland had done that, with their charm and their goofy grins, her love for them had snuck up on her, and she’d been flabbergasted at how much she and Henry had soon wanted the Locksley men in their lives. Their love had laid her heart bare in a way that it hadn’t been in years (not since Daniel, not since before she’d been brokered into a marriage to Leopold, and not since she’d first held her darling Henry to her chest. He’d been lost just like her, an orphan during wartime, and she may not have brought him into this world with blood and pain, but she’d loved him instantly with a force so fierce she hadn’t known where it had come from.

“Regina!” Emma exclaims and grips tightly to her arm to get her attention, pulling her out of the past and into the very chaotic present. “I don’t want to die in this stupid piece of metal! Not after what we just went through! Not after Kathryn…”

Regina whips her head around, glaring at Emma, fighting off tears threatening to fall.

Robin is missing.

Kathryn is dead.

The world is one fire.

And she has to get home to the boys.

It’s a mantra she keeps repeating in her head. Something to ground her. Truths she can’t ignore.

It keeps her going, keeps her from breaking down.

Regina’s eyes are back on the road in front of her, but she doesn’t miss the reassurance in Emma’s voice when she speaks next.

“I know, and you know, they’re safe–” the boys, she’s talking about the boys “–Maggie and Marcus wouldn’t let anything happen to Roland. And they love you and Henry, as if you were their own blood. They’ll protect them.” Emma lets go of Regina’s hand as they turn onto the long driveway up to the Locksley farm. Emma blows out a breath, and then gasps, turning around swiftly in her seat and craning her neck to peer out the cab of the truck and up into the clouds.

Regina follows her gaze out her driver’s side mirror.

Planes. An entire fleet, flying overhead toward the city center.

Oh God. Changing autumn leaves pass by in a blur as Regina barrels up the driveway, pebbles spinning out from beneath the truck’s tires as they grapple against gravel for traction.

Her fingers grip more tightly to the steering wheel and she presses down on the pedal again, hard. Takes the next turn at an alarming speed, and on any other day, she’d be more cautious. She’s never driven like this before, hasn’t really driven in years, would never drive like this in general, but there’s still a faint metallic taste in her mouth. There’s still the subtle, unwelcomed burn of ash in her lungs. And Kathryn’s broken body is still clearly painted in her mind.

The lower pasture up ahead blurs, goes watery, and then tears spill beyond her lashes like a flood breaking through a dam. “Almost there,” Regina urgently speaks, voice caught in her throat.

“Come on, come on.” She can see Emma staring at her through the corner of her eye.

They pass over hills and into the valley paralleling the lake, getting closer and closer to the homestead as her heart violently beats faster and faster in her chest. Ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump. The sound of it bleeding into her eardrums, drowning out all other sounds, snuffing out the voice in her head telling her she’s not going to make it, shouting that things will never be the same again as more planes fly overhead.

This is it, she thinks. This is how the world ends.

The truck skids to a halt on the graveled drive in front of Maggie and Marcus Locksley’s country home. And then Regina’s pushing open the door, slamming it shut behind her–the key still in the ignition. She doesn’t take the time to wait for Emma before hiking up her skirt and bounding up the front steps of the house, practically throwing open the front screen door; it violently swings on its hinges, bangs against the wall with a godawful snap. But she doesn’t care that that’s probably left a doorknob dent in the drywall. Who the fuck cares about something like that when London has just been bombed and the city is burning?

She’s out of breath when she shouts, “Henry!” careening down the entryway hallway. “Henry! Roland! Maggie! Marcus!”

She sees Maggie first. “Christ, Regina! You’re covered in blood!” 

And she is, but she doesn’t have time to explain, hears the echo of Kathryn’s scream in her head as the ceiling had collapsed on them, remembers the heat of the inferno singing the hair on her arms, and her colleague’s blood on her hands and apron as she and Emma had tried to carry Kathryn out of the rubble of the Swan House. But she doesn’t say any of that, instead blinks back tears burning at the corners of her eyes and says, “It’s not mine!” and begs, “Where are the boys?”

Maggie pulls her into a quick squeeze and runs her palms down Regina’s arms, checking her over for injuries. A mother through and through. “Marcus has the boys. They’re grabbing the dog and then we’re going to the cellar. Bags are already together.”

Regina nods frantically, and then Emma’s behind her, the screen door slamming into its frame again. “We have to go!” she shouts. “Where are the kids?”

“They’re coming,” Maggie replies, handing Regina and Emma potato sacks filled to the brim with clothing, canteens filled with fresh well water, produce, and basic medical supplies. Regina’s eyes widen as she stares at the contents. There are black market items in these bags. Things they’ve been out of for months, things she thought Maggie had gotten rid of, some things that she in fact helped the older woman get rid of. And yet here they are.

“Maggie…” she says, “where did you…”

“Does it matter?”

No, she supposes it doesn’t, and they’ll be happy for Maggie’s hoarding of illegal items when they’re down in the bunker.

“Okay, we have to go, seriously,” Emma says again. “There’s gonna be a second wave any minute! This isn’t a drill!”

“Where are the boys?” Regina shouts again, nerves unraveling at the seams.

“We’re here!” Marcus Locksley calls. Roland is propped up above his hip, arms tightly wrapped around his grandpa’s neck, and then Henry is shouting, running past the two of them and colliding against Regina’s body.

"Mom!” He cries as she drops to her knees and clutches him to her, her fingers threading into his hair as she breathes his name in a sigh of relief. Her baby is safe; he’s safe. He’s in her arms, and she’s breathing him in, and kissing his cheeks, and drying tears from his eyes, and he’s safe.

It takes them all of five minutes after that to make it across the field to the bunker, and as they lock the shelter door behind them and start running down the stairs, the next wave begins.

Dust unsettles, the walls vibrate, Roland buries his face into his grandpa’s chest and whimpers.

“Mom, I’m scared,” Henry cries into Regina’s shoulder as they huddle together in the far corner of the cellar.

She hugs him a little tighter, presses her lips to the crown of his head and whispers, “I know, honey. Me too.”

“Regina?” Marcus sets Roland down and the five year old runs over to her.

“Yes, sweetheart?” she says, folding him into her side and giving him and Henry a squeeze. She ushers them to the cot near the shelf with all the canned peaches and beans, and urges them to sit down.

Roland wipes his runny nose on his sleeve and sniffles. “Is my papa gonna be okay?”

“Oh sweetheart, it’ll be okay,” she says, brushing his curls out of his face and situating herself onto the cot so both of the boys can curl into her sides. She combs her fingers through their hair, and whispers reassuringly, “He’s safe; your papa’s safe.” And then she says, “We’re safe. You’re safe, he’s safe, we’re safe.”

She repeats those words over and over.
And then it begins again.


The walls shake.


Dust unsettles.


Roland covers his ears, and Henry buries his face in his mother’s side.

“We’re going to be alright,” Regina whispers, pressing a kiss to Henry’s brow and combing her fingers through Roland’s curls again.

She wraps her arms more tightly around them both and prays to God she’s right.


I am fascinated by tjlc, really. Of all the fandoms I’ve joined, the Sherlock fandom is by far the most … intriguing. Everything is fake. Sherlock is in a coma since the fall. The marriage is fake. the baby is fake. John is in a coma. Mycroft is a villain. Mary is a villain. Moffitiss are evil alpha males. Sherlock is gay bc he said the word pink. The silly hat represents repressed homosexuality. The series 4 is the recycled series 2. The lost gay bar scene, the Lost Special. Elephants, mirrors, planes of death, the fourth episode, the zero episode. 

Originally posted by and-all-that-fandom

Here’s my conspiracy theory: it is tjlc that is fake. One or two persons started this as a joke and the easily influenced fans swallowed it like a young shark. All of the ridiculous johnlock evidence is what it really is- simple misinterpretation.

Originally posted by island-delver-go


Bold Things Your Muse Can Do

bake a cake from scratch. ride a horse. drive a submarine. speak a second language.dance. catch a fish. play an instrument. throw a punch. build a deck. ice skate. unclog a drain. program a computer. change a flat tire. fire a gun. sew. juggle. play poker. paint. fly a kite. sculpt. write poetry. change a diaper. sing. shoot a bow & arrow. ride a bike.swim. sail a boat. do a back flip. play chess. give CPR. pitch a tent. flirt. stitch a wound. read palms. use chopsticks. write in cursive/calligraphy. use an electric drill. braid hair. make a campfire.make a mixed drink. do Sudoku puzzles. wrap a gift. give a good massage. jump-start a car. roll their tongue. magic tricks. do yoga. tie a tie. skip a rock.shuffle a deck of cards. read morse code. pick a lock.

tagged by: @tea-and-hexes

tagging: @darling-alice-angel, @devil-tailed, @cxrtoonangxl, @notmyink, @cynderroseford, and anyone else who fancies a go!

Nordics as (Gay) Things my Friends and I Have Said
  • Sweden: How many homophobes does it take to change a lightbulb? None 'cause they're afraid of change, even if it makes the world a brighter place.
  • Finland: I dreamt of (OTP part 1) letting off a ray. And (OTP part 2) teaching about plane mirrors and converging and diverging mirrors. The properties of light. It's straight. Not anymore though. It's gay.
  • Norway: I, too, want to teach men the ways of gay and inspire fear.
  • Denmark: Why go single when you could go gaygle?
  • Iceland: I too am a useless gay. We must destroy the heterosexuals.

AU where once you fall in love with someone, that exact moment, a tattoo appears on your skin to represent them. A physical mark to represent the impact they’ve made. And since it’s only the moment you fall in love with someone, you can get a tattoo before the other person does, or you might be the only person who ever gets it if it’s unrequited. When they die, the colors go black and white.

(for my aromantics, don’t worry: platonic love tattoos are a thing too. The moment you see someone as family, that you love them as family.)

And so, this concept in mind, let’s run with it for some popular Ace Attorney ships shall we?

-Phoenix’s tattoo started coming in slow, an outline of a king chess piece on his right wrist during the Skye case. When Edgeworth dies, he thinks it will never fill in it’s color fully, and he stares at it glum, wondering what’s worse; having the outline, or the fact that if it had gained color, it’d be black and white now. When Edgeworth reappears, he’s glad neither happened, that he never fell in love with this utter ass, but as the case goes on he softens. They become friends. And after he loses his badge, after a year of keeping in contact with Edgeworth, of talking shop and having a support system to rely on, Edgeworth sending him pictures of his cases to keep him interested, Phoenix looks down at a photo of Edgeworth actually smiling into a camera and feels the tattoo on his wrist finally fill in a crimson red color.

-Miles gets his tattoo after game three. He’s still in town working on a case locally for once, and when he runs into Phoenix, he can’t help but smile because he’s missed Wright, Wright and his stupid pointy spikes and his lazy grin. They go out for dinner, old friends meeting up for a bite to eat, and when the restaurant shakes from a passing train, Phoenix doesn’t judge him the slightest for flinching, only asking if he wants to eat somewhere else, their food be dammed. That night, as they walk through the rain to get to his car, Miles notices Phoenix laugh as the rain soaks his suit, sinks into his shoes, ruins his terrible red tie. Laughs and smiles at him, not like one of he underlings trying to impress him, or his co-workers trying to keep out of his path, but as a friend.

A phoenix, red with blue flame, comes to life on Edgeworth’s shoulder and that night, staring at it in the mirror with his plane tickets to Europe in hand, Edgeworth can’t even pretend he’s surprised. 

forest-dreemurr  asked:

Drugs tw // Is P okay with weed smoke as an offering? Also I did not know that there were clubs and concerts in the astral! Would he enjoy showing his companion around his favorite ones?

Yes and yes! Well along with the astral having its own realms and such there are also places that mirror locations on our plane :) so like, the casino where I work here also has an equivalent astral location. (Sort of like the Upside Down from stranger things but not nearly as creepy lmao)

++Mod Vi


I love the detail in this show. For example, the mirroring with this plane to the diamonds. There’s four diamonds near the back that symbolize the four that used to be, but there’s only 3 on the side, symbolizing the fourth diamond, Pink Diamond, being gone. Not only that, but I did a bit of research and found that Dhawar (The plane’s company) means “wanderer”. Dhawar is also used in astrology! It’s crazy how much detail is in this show. Thank you SU

okay but consider this i mean slytherin-centric groups where they all are rich and pureblood are great but why doesn’t anyone give me ravenclaw-centric groups?? exclusive secret groups where they would sacrifice anything for knowledge, dabbling in the dark arts, trading the entire world and their humanity if necessary just to gather ancient power (the spells of the old age, the dead age, the spells made at the beginning of history, the spells that turned ordinary people into worshiped figures) like why the fuck is this not a thing we could explore so much and go beyond canon because what they want to learn is not taught at hogwarts and therefore not described in the books (how about summoning things?? transcending reality? walking through a mirror into another plane???? ominous entities that have been dormant for so long humans didnt even exist when they walked the earth). I want sleep deprived, under-fed Ravenclaws walking through the forbidden library section, fueled only by their purpose, holding hands and sharing opinions and blinking in the dim light like ghosts, I want absolute devotion and the unforgiving obsession that would eventually consume them because you can know too much and some things are not meant to live in the new world why is this not happening yet

From ages 11-14, I carried a ‘bug-out bag’ with me at almost all times. Its contents included flint and steel, a Worst Case Scenario handbook, a water filter, a 2000 calorie survival bar, an emergency space blanket, a small mirror (for signaling planes), a first aid kit, a spool of fishing line, a bungee cord, a set of screwdrivers, a UV pen light, sterile medical gloves, pliers, a small sewing kit, scissors, a magnifying glass, an ACLU for interacting with the police, a condom, a moleskin, pencils, ink pens, and, at one point, a collapsible frying pan and a number of packets of salt and honey.

I’m not sure what sort of situation I thought I might wind up in on my way to and from middle school in a small rural town, but goddamn if I wasn’t prepared for it.

This habit has served me well, though. In Morocco, I carried a satchel for my notebook, along with various other survival supplies that included a miniature stove made out of a soda can, a packet of litmus paper, a physics reference manual, iodine tablets, pregnancy tests, condoms, dental dams, a super strong glows stick, and the emergency space blanket. Among other things. The other students mocked me at first, calling me a paranoid Mary Poppins, but by the end of the first few weeks, I was running a small Planned Parenthood out of my bag.


The slanted mirror of Sherlock’s Mind Palace

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the slanted mirror and the effects it evoked since my first viewing of “The Abominable Bride”. Given how important mirrors have been on this show,  I did a mirror-specific TAB rewatch and checked His Last Vow, too.  

What I’ve found, in a nutshell: There are exactly three mirrors in TAB, whereas there are usually more. The two major mirrors of TAB - one at Baker Street, one on the plane - are used to far lesser extent to achieve cinematographic effects, but when the mirror at 221B does more than show the people’s feet, oh myyy. Lots of support for TJLC and maybe something to help untangle the MP/reality confusion going on on the plane

Keep in mind that I’ve never really written long meta of my own. This has lots of pictures sprinkled with deductions. Let me take you on an illustrated journey through my findings, and hopefully this will aid the fandom shed more light on this one prop that’s been bugging me. You see, I’m totally selfless here *winks*

Bear with me - I’m pretty sure it’ll be worth it! 

Keep reading


To Be Reproduced

Interactive installation by Bram Snijders puts the viewer into a virtual room and moves according to their viewpoint - video embedded below:

To Be Reproduced is an interactive video installation that revisits the classic painting Not to be Reproduced a work made in 1937 by the Belgian surrealist painter René Magritte. The installation reflects on the pervasiveness of virtual spaces that have become an integral part of our daily social lives, and the way data traces are used to build sophisticated reproductions of the user.

In To Be Reproduced the viewer enters a hybrid space where the physical and the virtual world are closely intertwined. Positioned in front of the mirroring plane the viewer is enveloped in a virtual space where it meets a faceless digital reproduction of itself. As other participants are mirrored correctly the viewer takes on the role of the person depicted in Magritte’s painting.

This uncanny representation of the faceless user in a graphical point cloud refers to the voyeuristic nature of modern communication culture and to the data traces that are used to generate sophisticated consumer profiles. Instead of depicting people by mimicking nature, models are in-formed by analyzing metadata.