#soaring through the astral plane

[felassan]

[thrashkink-coven]

Lord of the Air

Temple of Ascending Flame

IN Western demonology Lucifer is one of the four cardinal rulers of the world, the others being Leviathan, Satan and Belial. Lucifer governs the Eastern quadrant and the element of Air. As the Lord of the Air and the Prince of the East, Lucifer usually appears as a horned, winged figure, holding a sword. He brings the current of energy flowing from the Eastern quadrant, the Breath of the Dragon. He also reveals visions and insights concerning the nature of the element of Air, as well as the connection of the powers of this Mask to the Intellect and higher spiritual faculties.

His energy manifests both through the astral plane, in its electric blue form and through the mental realm, as a golden solar energy, with physical sensations affecting the throat chakra that corresponds to the element of Air and is connected with the power of speech. Manifestations of this Mask may include a wind blowing in the room, a sudden gust of air, candles being blown out by themselves, or sensations of being inside of a swirling vortex— chaotic and powerful. They may also be accompanied by sounds such as buzzing, wind noise or voices—whispering or howling.

The power of this Mask is movement. It brings visions of wings growing from the back, allowing for a flight or sensations of floating with a vortex of swirling air, soaring in the sky, above earthly landscapes, etc. In messages received through this work, Lucifer speaks of teleportation and travelling by the power of the mind, dream travels, visual journeys and astral explorations. The concept of movement, however, also has a deeper meaning and refers to changes and transitions that accompany each Initiate on one’s path. All is movement on the path, and the nature of Luciferian Initiation is continual change and development. Nothing ever stays the same and the Initiate has to keep moving in order to succeed on the path. The Lord of the Air is the enemy of inaction and stagnation. He prompts the Initiate to keep moving with the force, flowing with the current. His sword cuts the ties that bind us to the mundane world and prevent us from moving forward. It is not unusual to observe a need for a change in your life during this work or shortly after, a desire of transition, a necessity to take a step forward. This change also manifests shortly after or throughout the following months after the work with this Mask.

The following ritual is an invocation of the Lord of the Air. Its purpose is to unite with his energies and initiate the Change—this may bring immediate results or begin a long-term initiatory process. In either case, this work will change you in one way or another—so be prepared for whatever it may bring. The description of this Mask provided above, as well as the invocation below, were inspired by traditional grimoires and books of magic providing depictions of the Prince of the Air, as well as the results of the inner work within the Temple. The sigil used in the working is derived from Grimoirium Verum and is the most popular magical symbol of Lucifer. The focal point of the ritual is a chalice filled with the Sacrament—this may be wine or clear water. It should be placed on the altar, if the altar is in the East, or you may simply put it on the floor.

Face the direction of East and with the ritual blade draw the sigil of Lucifer—Lord of the Air in front of you, above the chalice with the Sacrament. The blade should be anointed with your blood. The sigil is easy to memorize, therefore it is not necessary to have it in the physical form on the altar, but feel free to do so if you are used to such manner of work. Focus on it for a moment—see it manifesting in the air, glowing and pulsating with Lucifer’s blue astral energy, flashing around like sparks of electricity. Envision it as a gate to the Void, the primal essence of the Dragon, the source of the Eastern current of Lucifer.

Sigil of Lucifer - Lord of the Air

When you feel ready for the communion with the Lord of the Air, begin the invocation:

“With my blood, the Blood of the Dragon, I, (magical name), open the Gates to the Void And I invoke you, Lucifer, Lord of the Air, To come to my temple and manifest! In the name of the Dragon,

I call you, Lucifer, Lord of the Air, Prince of the East,

And I offer you my body as your Temple

And my soul as your Altar,

So that I may merge with your timeless essence, The astral current of the Eastern quadrant.

Embrace my soul with your power, The Breath of the Dragon,

Open for me the gateways to knowledge and ancient wisdom, And reveal to me the keys to your Eastern Kingdom. Come with the lightning flash of your Gnosis,

And grant me the knowledge of secrets ancient and forgotten!”

Again, focus on the sigil in the air, in front of you, glowing with Lucifer’s blue astral energy, opening the gateway to his current. At this moment, you may feel wind blowing through the room or hear the flapping sound of wings as Lord of the Air often manifests with specific sounds. You may also see the sigil assuming various shapes and finally crystallizing into the figure of Lucifer. Whatever this will be, you will sense his presence, and when it happens, you should continue the invocation:

“Come to me, Lord of the Air,

Spirit of Movement and Change,

And open the Gates of the East

As I seek the secrets of forgotten Gnosis! Enter this temple and carry my soul on your wings, So that I may rise with you to your Eternal Throne, At the Threshold of the Void!

In the name of the Dragon, Primal Source of All Creation, Ho Ophis Ho Archaios, Ho Drakon Ho Megas!”

Envision now the current of the Air flowing through the Eastern quadrant in the form of a swirling vortex of energy. It flows into the chalice, charging the Sacrament with Lucifer’s essence. When the whole vortex is concentrated in the chalice, drink the Sacrament and absorb the force of the Lord of the Air. Feel how it spreads over your body and shifts your consciousness, pushing it beyond the gates of flesh, in ecstatic communion with the timeless essence of Lucifer.

Open your mind to whatever may come. Do not force any visions, let them come spontaneously and in a natural way. Let the whole experience flow freely and when it is over, return to your mundane consciousness and close the working.

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

Eddie Munson x MKUltra!Reader: Something About Us

I wanted to write something for MKUltra!Experiment! Reader in an attempt to make a more non binary option for readers.

The storyline was inspired by Interstella 5555, which is a visual companion to Daft Punk’s Discovery album. The scene is from “Something About Us”, which I highly recommend watching for the visual effects and story. I believe Interstella itself is available to watch free on YouTube these days.

I’d like to explore more of this character in the future, so let me know if you’d like to see more of the storyline I have in mind.

Trigger Warnings: Main character death, blood, spoilers for Season 4

***

This time… he didn’t run away…

And you tried to help…

What a fool…

You approached slowly, exhausted. Limping from the pain of battle and just as chewed up as the love of your life was. It didn’t look good for him: flattened on the ground, bleeding from the mouth and monster-made orifices.

Dustin looked at you, tears in his eyes as Eddie, his friend, the one he saw as a brother, told him weakly that he loved him.

“Thirteen…” Dustin whispered, “He… He isn’t going to make it… Do something.”

I know… you thought bitterly. Neither am I.

At the end of the day, you knew you weren’t your “sister”. You wanted to help, but what good was your power when all it could do was show rather than do.

You gently but firmly pushed Dustin Henderson aside, reaching out to stroke his chubby cheek. A wet streak of sanguine ran down the pale baby fat, marked by your shaking fingers.

You had a mission. One last declaration to make that you were saving for Eddie.

Eddie Munson coughed. Dribbles of wine colored life running down the corners of his mouth as your beloved looked at you through wet, dark eyes.

“Baby…” he whispered, calling the name he’d given you.

To everyone else, you were Thirteen. A connection to their Eleven. In their eyes, a replacement.

But to Eddie… you were more than that.

I know, Eddie… don’t talk…

You took his hands in yours, resting your forehead against his. This was what you’d come here for. Dragged yourself with the last of your strength, sheer force of mind propelling you forward and to his side. Even though the demobats had taken chunks, you kept going. Pressing on with one mission:

You wanted to make the Pictures for him. Just one last time.

And he knew.

“Pi… pic…”

A bloody finger pressed to his lips.

Shhh… don’t talk. Just let me show you…

You leaned in closer, sharing the last of his breath, closing your eyes. Focusing the last spark of energy. Manipulating the pictures that vividly danced across your imagination. It had taken time. Had taken expertise and five long years to hone.

But Eddie had fine tuned it. His words and beautiful way with linguistics had inspired your imagination, and with his weaving of words you learned to make your own Pictures. No longer were you a surveillance camera forced to document everything and see horrors beyond recognition. You were no longer Papa’s camcorder. You could make your own worlds, your own Pictures of beauty and magic to chase away the dark.

And you wanted to show this beauty to Eddie. Your beloved. Your savior. Just as he’d shown it to you, one on one, playing dice games on the worn out coffee table of the Munson trailer.

Your castle…

You pressed his cold hands to your forehead, eyes opening, irises milky white.

Instead of the Upside Down, your Pictures washed over the landscape, with his touch you showed him how your surroundings in your mind were an elven paradise. No longer twisted, dark blue, or deadly poison. Instead you showed him Pictures of Greyhawk, the worlds he’d described to you from the depths of his vivid dream-like imagination. You used your Pictures to show him grassland dales, the City of Splendors, rivulets of starlight that marked the Astral Plane, dragons soaring through the clouds with red leathery wings cutting through the soft fluff of white against a blue sky…

One last visual burst of color, one last moment of respite to show him that you loved him. You would always love him.

Just one last moment of happiness before the end came to take the both of you.

You hoped he saw it… before he hissed out one final breath, and before your eyes closed forever…

[brokendreamscreation]

The six blue wings ungulate when they are flapped, a steady rhythmic motion that propels Lucid further into the galaxies. A rainbow palette of ashen clouds and gas that rival Heaven’s beauty, stars twinkling in the distance that remind the angel of tinkling bells. This vast outer space where he could change the scenery with a mere flick of a finger is his domain.

The Dreamscape.

Not many have access here, where the subconscious and fabrics of the universe fold into one another. Astral lines carry life forces and souls like an invisible current through the universe, but also the mind. Doors that open and let the curious wander. Humans have speculated about “dream walking”, astral projections, dream guides and even sharing dreams with another person. It’s these crossroads that Lucid oversees, finding the dreams that need his care and guidance the most. Like a gardener overseeing his crops, nurturing and providing the means for them to grow healthy and strong.

Lucid stops at a cluster of dreamspheres, checking them to ensure there are an ample variety at the ready to be deployed. Carefully woven lucid dreams to hand out to the souls of those that need that nudge, some comfort, or enlightenment to keep their dreams alive. No, he could not save all dreams. Many, like children, dream of the impossible, or not yet possible. Material things that will not influence them towards a better future or staying on the path to righteousness. They are certainly some of the most entertaining dreamers! Lucid adores watching how wild and colorful their dreams can be, not yet tethered to the knowledge and limitations of reality. But his priorities and duties lie in uplifting, comforting and inspiring dreamers, and that is what these glass spheres with small galaxies and worlds inside would do.

Once he is done here Lucid plans to venture further, beyond the boundaries that the few angels that can traverse this plane dare to go. Out there where the starlight thins and darkness enraptures its visitors like a cold blanket. For decades Lucid avoided the darkest reaches of this subconscious scape, frightened of the nightmares that lurk out there and God only knows what else. But one day, the angel felt a force he had never come across before, and like a sirens voice it beckoned him closer. It was there that Lucid found the part of the dreamscape that belongs to the Sinners and Hellborn, where Hell dreams. And at the center of it all, him. This calling was the start of the seraph’s most grand and daring adventure, why he suddenly snuck out of Heaven in search of answers.

In search of Lucifer Morningstar.

Meeting and observing the King of Hell from the dreamscape alone could not keep Lucid satisfied. No, he had to meet him in person! That first leap sealed the Angel of Dreams fate. Again and again he snuck out of Heaven to see his predecessor, joined him for tea and biscuits, meander the palace grounds and practice magic together. For the first time it felt as though Lucid met someone who truly understood him, embraced him, accepted him for who he really was. And in turn the lonely King had a companion, one that refused to stay away. To help uplift and respark those snuffed dreams and rise to the occasion with newfound inspiration and joy.

The Morningstar and Eveningstar. Together they seem to complete one another.

As Lucid becomes lost in his memories and thoughts of the Devil, they manifest themselves into golden dust illusions that run about the open space. The silhouette of two angels with apple cheek marks, one with a hat and the other not. Round and round they go, their silhouette wings soaring them across the sky and leaving trails of stardust in their wake. The Angel of Dreams laughs with delight, watching this little show play out around him as the magic silhouettes dip in and out around the floating crystal orbs.

A brightly glowing spear cuts through the air, slicing through the two angel silhouettes, their faces contorting in agony as they dissipated. Lucid spun around, eyes wide and alarmed as he watched the trusty weapon recall to its owners open hand. To his horror, the one angel the seraph feels nothing but fear for hovered nearby.

It is Micah, one of the lead seraphim and doppelgänger to Archangel Michael.

“I’ve speculated that you were visiting with the Devil for quite some time now, but I could never figure out how it all began. But now I understand. You found him here, did you not?” Micah’s words held the weight of a gavel and cold as stone. Silver hues boar into the younger seraph, like a polished blade with dagger sharp edges. His jaw clenched tight and lips thin, brow heavy. Lucid is more than familiar with the seraph’s anger, but this…it is a look of loathing one may make at a criminal who committed a truly heinous felony.

Lucid remained frozen in place, his body trembling. “H-how did you get in here? You’re not supposed to be here!”

“And you are not supposed to be getting acquainted with traitors. Making “friends” with Heaven’s forsworn enemies.”

Shaking his head vigorously, Lucid snaps his wings like the crack of a whip, frustrated and frightened. “Th-this is the Dreamscape. You can’t be in here, Micah! You’re not allowed to. This is my realm, my work! You need to le-”

Micah’s hand darts forward, closing around the blue seraph’s throat. His steely eyes narrow, a sneer curling upon his lips. In his grasp Lucid thrashes and kicks, hands pulling frantically at the bigger angels arm, raking nails against his skin. He may as well be fighting a statue. Micah lifted the struggling, flapping seraph, tightening his grip until he hears a satisfying choke. “My duty is to serve God the Almighty, Heaven, and my predecessor. You have no authority, not even in your precious little fantasy world of make believe.” Canting his head, Micah growled in a low voice. “Do you enjoy playing Creator, little pin cushion? Spinning your magic to make worlds, animals, light, darkness, and manipulate anyone in their unconsciousness? To sway those from the path with your dreams and illusions?”

Tears bead at the corners of Lucid’s eyes, the grip around his throat crushing his windpipe. He need not breathe to survive but the absolute terror and pain of the grip puts him in a desperate frenzy. Finger digs against the porcelain arm of the black winged seraph, feet kicking but barely making contact with Micah’s front. Not even six wings can break him free of the hold. However he is not shit-outta-luck yet. Along his wings and body open wide dozens of seraphim eyes. In an instant they begin to glow with Heavenly light until Lucid’s whole form appears super charged. Unleashing the power discharges a force that throws both angels away from one another and shatters all the nearby dreamspheres. Their magic glistens and swirls in a massive cloud of colors before dimming to nothingness. All Lucid’s hard work, gone and destroyed. Shattered dreams in an endless void.

The seraph has no time to mourn the loss of his creations, hands clutching his throat and chest as he coughs violently for air, his trachea opening once more. The dull dust of the dreamspheres continue to swirl, the momentum quickening until a vortex of shadows billow around Lucid. The sound it makes is a deep rumble that grows into a roar, what many humans may compare to the chugging of a train. Fear paces the angels heart at an even faster pace, wide blue eyes darting for an exit at the vortex grows taller. All six wings unfurl and pump downward, sending Lucid higher in an attempt to escape. As he nears the mouth of the cyclone, two bright glints appear, crossing a pair of spears into an X above, blocking the seraphs escape. Did Micah summon those? What is he doing?! “MICAH! LET ME OUT! LET ME LEAVE!”

The answer Lucid receives is both spears suddenly pivoting with their arrow tips facing downward, hurtling at high speed towards the angel. Twirling and closing his wings, he barely dodges the attack. But it’s not over. Spear after spear appears, now in the entirety of the vortex, hurtling at him. The vortex itself begins to tighten its radius, giving less room for Lucid to dodge. In seconds a spear pierces through a wing, and then another. Crying out in pain, the angel is set off balance, his right side grazing the edge of the swirling shadows, stripping feathers from his wings. Lucid retracts and falls, screaming as he twirls like a doomed helicopter.

In a final desperate attempt to escape, Lucid once more charges himself with holy light, building it even longer this time before exploding the force outwards. In an instant the vortex of shadows and spears are dispelled, revealing the open space of the Dreamscape once more. Still spears stick through Lucid’s wings, as though an attempt to pin him like a bug to a display had been made. Shimmering, starry tears stream down the seraphs face, choking out a sob. Micah has certainly been violent in the past with him, but never to this degree. What has gotten into the dark winged seraph?!

“Just as I thought. Weak.” A new voice speaks, one Lucid recognizes. Snapping around to face him, Lucid stares in horror at Lucifer. But to his shock, it is not the King of Hell.

Lucid faces himself.

Another Lucid Eveningstar, this one with eyes of ice blue and judging gaze. Instead of the whites and blues of his attire, he is adorned in deep blues and orange. Large blue horns protrude from his forehead, curving backwards over his blond hair. Hands held behind his back and chin tipped high, this Lucid gives a foreboding and commanding air. Confusion and horror rack the young seraphs brain. Is this an illusion put on by Micah? By Lucifer? Or something else entirely?

“Who-who are you? What do you want?! How did you even get in here?!” Lucid shouts at the imposter, golden blood soaking his blue wings from the angelic spears that pierce through them. The doppelgänger doesn’t say a word nor move an inch, simply staring with cold judgement. “WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH ME?!”

“For you to learn.” Raising a hand from behind his back, the devilish Lucid snaps his fingers and summons forth another surge of shadows. They rush the angel with such force it is as though he is dragged by a rip current. Unable to fight it, Lucid cries out as he is dragged away through the dreamscape. The shadows force him to the entrance of the dreamscape and throw him forcibly out. Falling from the domed ceiling of his workshop, Lucid screams. His body crashes to the polished floor of the room, cracking it under the momentum and rendering him unconscious. Not a single light spear remains in his wings, as though they were never there. Above the outer space like world of the Dreamscape continues to rotate as it always has, nothing out of the ordinary except for the unconscious dreamer below.

[Micah is my Michael clone on @promiseofabrotherskeeper ]

[Harbinger Lucid is inspired from the Unholy Crusade event]

[tyrantisterror]

It struck me that my little fictional world didn't have its own take on the Eldritch Abomination trope, and that felt like a big oversight since it is one of my favorite monster archetypes (even if I'm annoyed at how often the label gets thrown onto monsters that don't really count these days). So I tried to figure out where in my cosmology I could fit something that counts well enough, and eventually came to a solution that satisfied me.

In my setting, magic comes from the astral plane, i.e. the dimension between the mortal world and the afterlife, which is limitless like the latter but shaped by the imaginations and minds of creatures that live in the former. Magic leaks out into the mortal world during the Lost Epoch, strengthening the connection between the astral plane and the mortal world, giving even more substance to the concepts that have been developing in the astral plane.

While some mortals wander into the astral plane and colonize it, creating fairylands within it, there are depths of the plane that are too divorced from reality for mortals to enter safely. This is where the true Fae come to be - creatures not made of matter mutated by magic, but of pure magic itself, which is to say, creatures of pure imagination. There as as many of these beings a there are normal mortals, but the strongest of them are the Eldritch Dream Lords, who represent recurring dream motifs that mortals have. They include:

The Lord of the Chase: a primal source of dread made manifest, it is the Thing That Is Going to Fucking Get You.

The Lord of Anxiety: a more complex, existential dread, focusing on humiliating horrors like the loss of hair, teeth falling out, or being naked in public at inopportune moments.

The Lord of Beauty: all that we find lovely and attractive, often exaggerated to impossible extremes and so compelling that we hate to leave its side.

The Lord of Flight: the rush of being able to escape the confines of gravity and the limits of one's mortal form, and to soar high into the splendid unknown with newfound power.

The Lord of Falling: the sensation that one is plunging deep down and fast to an inescapable doom.

The Lord of the Depths: a vast and cavernous space that one is falling into, enormous, inescapable, dark, and lonesome.

The Lord of Comfort: the sensation of being at ease, at home, with what is familiar and pleasant.

The Lord of the Labyrinth: the uncanny and endless geography of the dreamscape itself made manifest, an infinite procession of buildings and locales all sewn together in a ceaseless maze that mortal minds wander through without purpose or end in sight.

There is no death in the domain of the dream lords, for they are so far from the mortal world that death holds no meaning. Everything in their realm is endless, nothing is impossible, and yet they desire to escape it. Without mortal imaginations, they will lose shape and substance, and the individuality they've developed will fade away, which is a prospect they despise. They want nothing more than to fuse their realm with the mortal world, to make imagination real, and to walk among the mortals who shaped them into what they are. The consequences of this could be disastrous for mortal kind, because if imagination became real, then every horror mortals have thought up would become real in an instant. It would quite possibly end badly for the Dream Lords too, as they would now be prey to death, a force they have never understood. So perhaps it is best that, so far at least, their desire to become one with the mortal world seems quite impossible.

But impossibility, like death, is something they can't comprehend.

[worldbuildingwanderlust]

Confessions of an Astral Assassin

What hits me hardest when i return is the weight of corporeal form. How heavy my head feels toppled atop a strained neck. How my arms struggle through invisible molasses, and my legs lug around cement feet. They're always the first to go and last to return; so eager to surrender to the tingle of slumber, and so reluctant to stir.

I don't blame them.

This form is a prison teethered to the yoke of gravity. Of a particular space and time. I miss the bliss of astral fluidity, the weightless freedom to traverse between realms on a whim. Seeping through them as a passenger of reality, rather than a victim of it. How sweet it is to reside in that shapeless space between dimensions for lifetimes on end, seeing reflections of every potentiality play in prismatic array. Where time is merely a plot device in the stories of lives both lived and unlived. Where one can see we are all of one consciousness divided only by partitions of position and perception.

I trace my hand slowly through stray light beams in a dance between motes of dust. They swirl and hang, wafting wistfully. No. Indifferently. Any other assumption would be my projection. Fuck. This earth bound window of the mind is so rigid and hard to keep straight. It would be so much easier to just become the dust. To see and experience this world as it would. What it would be like to dance upon the slightest breeze, and cascade in suspended animation. What it would be like to exist in this material plane without expectations.

The dust has no greater design to be anything else, but itself. No external pressure to be more than the dust that it is. It is simply a spec, free to soar, and free to rest. It does not pay a cost to live, aside from what change existence already demands. It has no malicious intent, or aim. It has no grand agenda for political and strategic dominance. No part to play in any of it. So why must I? Why can't this shackle of a shell be permanently severed? Why must I return?

Returned to be sent back out, pointed and aimed. Returned to be used. A cognitive weapon of mass destruction that threatens to unmake the world, brandished haphazardly by insecure fools in an attempt to keep order. As if peace could ever be preserved through the violence of its preservation. They don't give a damn about order. Only power.

I wonder, does the dust experience the death's I have? Does it feel the existential dread of its  gradual or sudden shift in form? Is it aware of that impending, inevitable metamorphosis from one state of matter to the next?

I've felt the fear of a light about to fade, and the shock when it does so without warning. I have taken the lives of others with their own hands, tugging their limbs with my consciousness as if it were their own. They could only watch from the recesses I relegated them to, before forcing them out as effortlessly as I slipped in. Never to return. It's how I make ends meet. It's how I stay fed in this world where nothing is free.

But perhaps they're the lucky ones. Liberated from the material and immaterial shackles that choke every breath of joy out of life. They are free. Free to roam. Free to find a new reality and call it home. Yet, I remain, clawing and scraping to survive in this world with persistent illusory purpose.

I see the knife in the sheath upon my desk, and press my thumb along the soft tissue of my neck. If I sever my veins, do I break my chains? Or will the death of this life only thrust me into another? Perhaps, I could explore the cosmos? Endlessly, and without shame. Without guilt. Or perhaps, I'll become the dust. Perhaps, I could simply be.

[myhauntedsalem]

Astral Projection: Doorway to a New Dimension

The concept of astral projection has been around for a long time, but until today, it has been hidden from most of humanity. Now, with the aid of astral projection, new levels of knowledge and power enable us to discover the answer to Man’s eternal question about life in the physical body. Death takes on a ​new meaning as we begin to realize that it is only a transition to another dimension, or place of existence. By learning to astral project, we can learn many things about ourselves, and unlearn many things that were previously thought to be true. This leads us to the realization that our physical bodies are only a part of our entire selves, and there is more to our existence than meets the eye!

In our limited awareness, the reality we live and breathe on Earth, with its beautiful landscapes, mountains, rivers, streams, animals and insects, can be compared with the petals on a flower. What we see is not the whole flower, but only a part. This is because man has lost touch with the use of his own mind. He concludes, erroneously, that the physical world is the only reality there is. He believes that his life as an individual has only to do with the flesh body of himself, and concludes that the physical world is solid and real because his senses tell him it “feels” solid and real.

The mind has abilities that go beyond the five senses of the physical world. The petal of the flower that we now experience is the material world or physical plane of existence. It has a specific vibration, just as all creatures on this level vibrate at the same rate.

Because of this, regardless of where we go on this level, all things take on the appearance of being solid, material objects. Just as the colors of the rainbow show the effects of the different vibrations of light, and the melodies on the piano show the effect of the different notes, so, too, does the entire universe contain various octaves, or rates of vibration. These universal harmonics comprise the different levels of existence.

So the Earth plane we live on is only one of many dimensions. There are other spheres that we describe as being above or below us. Actually, they are not really above or below us, but rather at all times around us, permeating all things. Astral projection allows us to discover that the people and objects existing on these other realms can be just as solid and real as any object on the earth terrain. And if we happened to be on another level, looking back “down” into this region, we would view an earth that was not solid. Right now, at every instant, we are living, coexisting with, and walking through people and objects of another dimension! When a person astral projects, he or she can see these other frontiers.

Our Astral Bodies

When we were born into this physical world, we were provided with a physical body to carry out our duties. Astral projection allows us to project “out of the body” and into the next plane of existence, which is the astral plane. When we do this, we are in another body, which is called the “astral body.” We already possess this astral body, just as all other people, animals, creatures and everything on earth possess an astral body.

The astral body has some amazing properties. Unlike the physical body, which is held down by gravity, the astral body can overcome this limitation by the effort of thought alone. While out of the body, we can not only walk around as if in the physical, but also soar above the trees, or go out into space. Another property of the astral body is that it cannot be injured. One of the greatest fears while on earth is pain or injury. While out of the body, this normal human reaction can be unlearned, because there is absolutely nothing that will cause damage to the astral body! In the next dimension, fire, knives, guns, falling from great heights, electrical shocks, disease, wild animals or being run over by a steamroller can do no harm. Many people receive lessons about this in their dreams. Watch for them, because you’ll discover that you always survive — don’t you?

In this next level of existence, which all of us can visit, there are many familiar things, such as cars, trains, planes, and highways. Everything that is on this Earth right now comes from the astral plane. Many people get this backward. They think the astral dimension was molded from earth. The truth is, the Earth was fashioned from the ideas and discoveries which originated on the astral.

When we are out of the body, communication is accomplished by thought. Another word for this is telepathy. In other words, it is not necessary to move our lips in order to be heard, although we can do this if we wish. Sometimes, when we hear what we think is just a thought, this could actually be someone communicating to us from the astral.

This next plane of existence has been sought after, researched, and argued about by philosophers and religious people from time immemorial. Until now, it has remained elusive and has evaded discovery to all but the most diligent. The individual who looks within instead of without, who looks to correct his own imperfections, and who treats others as he wishes to be treated will have the door of discovery swing wide open for him.

Conquering Our Fears

When we begin to explore this, we must first overcome the obstacle of fear, which will present itself in many forms. The fear of death, pain, injury, the unknown, evil, devils, hell and Satan may loom up before us. We must conquer our own fears head on, and they will rapidly disappear.

We are mental creators, and out of the ether of the next dimension, we can create that which we wish around us. If we are convinced a devil is out there to trick or deceive us, and if we have already pictured in our minds what this devil looks like and what he plans on doing, we should really not be surprised when our worst fears are confirmed.

The devils we create become real and solid in the next dimension because we created them.

In the astral plane, we can meet those we love, or that which we fear. If we have no fear, we won’t meet fear. It’s as simple as that. So we can save ourselves trouble by putting nonsense like that out of our mind. Remember there is nothing that can harm us while we are out of our bodies. This teaching of fear has held people in mental bondage long enough! Its exposure is sure to cause a fury in those who have become trapped in the habit of their own thinking. We must release ourselves from the death grip of fear and set ourselves free.

In the astral plane, we can also visit our loved ones who have passed on before us. We can then ask them face-to-face how they like their new surroundings. We can see schools and universities, and may even find ourselves in a classroom, listening to a lecture.

This is also where we can discover the history of the world, and the history of our lives.

The “Hall of Records” contains our present lives as well as our past. In it, are recorded our accomplishments and our failures. We can meet our spiritual teachers – which the churches have termed our “guardian angels” — and we can ask them for advice and guidance on our problems.

The astral plane is a vast dimension of existence and contains life in abundance. It does not operate by the very same laws of the earth plane, and so many things that are quite impossible on earth, are quite commonplace in the astral. Mind over matter is common.

Colors are more beautiful, and we may experience endless fascination with new and exciting things that there are to see and discover.

For many centuries, the teachings of certain churches have been that some things are mysteries and are not to be questioned. Eve eating from the tree of knowledge and the subsequent expulsion from the Garden of Eden was sighted as proof. This erroneous interpretation was made by those who were ignorant, or by those who wanted to keep the masses of people in subjugation. Man’s redemption, in the final analysis, will come from his knowledge of himself and his love of his neighbor, not from his ignorance.

Tapping the Subconscious

The astral plane contains many things that are not on earth at this time. Some of them may appear in the future on earth, and some are from the Earth’s past. Many different types of animals that have become extinct on earth exist in the astral. Remember, there is no death.

Astral projection enables us to use the part of our mind that has been dormant or sleeping. We can wake up this part and put it to work. It is called the subconscious, and it can be used to give us the knowledge we need to find out more about ourselves, our purpose on Earth, and our relationship with God. Most people think of their mind as only that portion they recognize as their conscious mind, or waking mind. It has been said that the mind is 10 percent conscious, and 90 percent subconscious. We can learn to expand this 10 percent.

Everyone goes to the astral plane at night while they are asleep. Think of this! Astral projection takes place without a person even being aware of it! As strange and hard to believe as this sounds, it is true. To begin exploring astral projection, pay attention to your dreams each night. Eventually, you will come to the realization that you were in the astral plane, but did not realize it.

When we take the first step, of allowing for the possibility of multiple dimensions and astral projection as realities, we can then focus on ways to understand, explore, and actually experience these things. In doing so, we can open the door to an amazing and expansive existence that was heretofore beyond our wildest imagination!

[blackjackkent]

Brought Lae'zel into the party in our flex slot, since we want her on hand for the Orphic chaos. (@zenjestrr tells me we'll have one more chance to update our party before the big ending battle, so we'll probably swap Minsc back in for that.)

Voss is still waiting for us where we last saw him in the sewers. Patient fellow, especially given how much it must stink down there. However, he has a buddy down here with him who wasn't here before!

Who dis?

"Have you brought the Orphic Hammer?"

Hector has questions before he's going to hand over the hammer.

"Who is this new companion of yours?"

"Not a new companion, but an old one. And a loyal one. A proper introduction is in order - but I will let him do the honors."

Poor Voss really looks and sounds worn out as hell and tore up from the floor up. Rebelling against Vlaakith is clearly not a relaxing occupation.

Also that's not technically an answer, but Hector lets it pass for now.

"Where are the rest of your allies?" he asks.

"The remaining honor guard serve as my eyes and ears," Voss answers. "Vlaakith's forces hunt you and the Prism. My allies have slayed more than you know, so that you might travel freely. As for those that break through - you've proven more than capable of bleeding them yourself."

This is rather unsettling for Hector to hear - that there have been many battles going on behind the scenes in defense of him, while he had no knowledge of it at all. He looks at Voss steadily and wonders - how many of this man's friends have died to keep me alive?

"I've retrieved the Hammer," he says quietly.

Voss's head lifts and he lets out a heavy breath, as if a weight he has been carrying up a steep hill has shifted a little, some burden eased just slightly. "The Prince of the Comet is not dead..." he whispers, and Hector recognizes the tone of recitation, of a religious litany. "The Prince of the Comet will come again. The Prince of the Comet will liberate us from the lich queen's tyranny..." He gives a nod of satisfaction. "The prophecy is one step closer to fruition."

"Gith's son will soon ride against Vlaakith, Voss," Lae'zel says sharply. It is the same tone of eager obeisance that she once used in honor of the Lich Queen - and yet not quite the same, too. Hector has watched her grow older and stronger in the time they have traveled together; it is a devotion tempered with, if not yet self-determination, then at least greater self-possession.

Voss nods back at her soberly. "And you will wield the greatest gift Mother Gith ever granted her dauntless children."

"A silver sword," Lae'zel murmurs reverently. "I will carry it for the honor of Gith, the great liberator, and her unforgotten son."

Voss smiles, gives a slight nod of approval, and then his eyes flick back to Hector, all business. "Istik, now that you have the Hammer, you must find a way to enter the Astral Prism. Once inside, smash Orpheus's bonds. His cry will shake the planes, and I will fly to your aid. The Prince of the Comet will soar the heavens again. First we'll defeat the Absolute; then we let the lich queen tremble!"

His voice rises eagerly-- and then Hector feels a stab of pain through his temples as the Emperor speaks, his voice like a slap through Hector's mind.

"Think again," the illithid snaps. "I will not permit your entry."

Well, there it is. The proverbial cat is out of the bag. Not that there was any question of the Emperor noticing what was happening; it was just a matter of when. Hector doesn't bother arguing with him; what would be the point? The creature that once was Balduran has shown no sense of flexibility in smaller matters up to this point, and Hector very much doubts that any sort of appeal now would get very far.

Ignore the Emperor.

"Questions, istik?" Voss asks, unaware of the one-sided battle being waged inside Hector's brain. "You seem to be lost in thought."

Hector shakes himself, trying to ignore the creeping sense of the Emperor's presence watching him, listening to every word. "Getting into the Astral Prism will be... complicated," he says, with deeply dry understatement. Jaheira snorts softly behind him.

"Yes," Voss answers gravely. "But you will meet this challenge, as you've met so many others."

"Glad he's so confident about it," Karlach quips in an undertone, low enough for only Hector to hear.

Hector resists the urge to smile and keeps his eyes focused on Voss. Giving the other man a sharp nod, he steps back.

Leave.

"Istik," Voss says sharply, offering him a githyanki salute. "Friend to Orpheus. Together we will end the elder brain which shakes this city. Then I turn my sighs to Vlaakith, the queen of deceit!"

-----

Voss gives us a very nice looking githyanki sword.

That goes to Lae'zel. And now I get to figure out where the hell we go from here.

[santmat]

Hedonists and Gnostic Cave-dwellers Somewhere in Time By James Bean

The classic Gnostic soul struggled against the cruel hand of fate, astral archons (rulers), principalities, powers, emperors, and bishops. The Gnostic teachings from the Coptic/Greek period have quite an ascetic tone. "The material universe is evil", "be not of this world." Holy texts were studied by Pachomian monks living in caves not far from Nag Hammadi, Egypt. The discovery site of the Gnostic Gospels was near those caves. On the walls of some of those caves are examples of graffiti: crosses and fish symbols. After the Fourth Century, Gnosis mostly disappears from the scene in the Roman Empire due to extreme persecution from those who paid lip-service to phrases like "love your enemies", and' "turn the other cheek", but they had no concept of democracy and freedom of religion -- freedom for all religions. The Library of Alexandria was burned, the Nag Hammadi Library, buried.

In the East however, Gnosis continued to develop and evolve, taking on more of an ecstatic, poetic ethos during the medieval period. The type of Eastern Gnosis I follow isn't so ascetic as Nag Hammadi mysticism. After all, the lower material universe is no longer a "prison" for those who can freely come and go as they please. This changes everything. I know of some mystics that are very otherworldly and yet can also enjoy looking at the stars, feasting on great Indian food, love the ocean or a beautiful sunset. Very out-of-this-world during meditations, and at the same time, we come to see the Light of God everywhere, within everyone, in this outer plane of existence as well, all as a result of those advanced meditation experiences. "His Presence fills the Three Worlds". (Adi Granth) Such extremists we humans are, either hedonists or cave-dwellers. We were meant to go from state to state, from the world of action to the world of contemplation, from the waking state to the dream state to the unconscious state of deep sleep, and there is also the Fourth State beyond. This too can be divided into several levels or states: astral, causal or akashic, mental, etheric, and spiritual, the True State (Timeless, Sat, Haq, "Spirit and Truth". Full circle we come. The spiritual state can also be perceived as four different stages, ranging from the "drop" (the soul) remaining separate, to "nearness", and all the way to that of Oneness or merging into the Divine Ocean (Kaivalaya, Anadi, Anami, Ra-Dha-Swam-I, the "Nameless One in the Eighth").

Know also that the Reality has described Himself as being the Outer and the Inner, Manifest and Unmanifest. He brought the Cosmos into being as constituting an Unseen Realm and a Sensory Realm, so that we might perceive the Inner though our unseen and the Outer through our sensory aspect. (Ibn `Arabi, "Ibn Al `Arabi - The Bezels of Wisdom", Paulist Press) Not an easy balancing act, this concept of having one's feet upon the earth and yet one's third eye-soul ascending through various realms going toward the Great Light during practice each day, yet everyone will make it back there eventually. It's simply a matter of "time" and how receptive we are to this experience during the present life. Some are in a hurry to return while others travel much much much more slowly. It was for the sake of the God-conscious beings that our True Lord created this earth, and began this play of birth and death. (Guru Nanak) To Him We Shall Return I died as mineral and became a plant; I died as plant and rose to animal, I died as animal and I was a man. Then why fear disappearance through death? When was I less by dying? Next time I shall die To soar -- with angels blessed, But even from angelhood I must pass on; All except God doth perish. When I have sacrificed my angel soul, I shall become what no mind ever conceived. What you cannot imagine, I shall be that. Oh! let me not exist, for non-existence Proclaims in organ-tones, 'To Him we shall return.' -- Rumi "We have come from the Light and will return there again." We're already in heaven if we did but know it. A great Master by the name of Huzur Baba Sawan Singh was once asked, "How long does it take you to go to Sach Khand (the spiritual realm, Sat Lok)"? He closed his eyes for fifteen seconds, and then opened them again, saying, "just that long". This is the real Secret. Thy Light is within the beings, And the beings are all within Thy Light. O supremely Incomprehensible Lord, Thou Art perfectly filling all things. It is the Light that lives in every heart, And Thy Light that illuminates every soul. It is only through the guru's teachings that Light comes to be shown. (Guru Nanak, Peace Lagoon translation of the Adi Granth)

[lunaetis]

Ever since their shared experience in the mysterious realm called the Astral Plane, Vergil and Eden had become close in their time there. It was sad to say goodbye after the two of them corrected the glitch in the Astral Vortex, a core of the world that had become corrupted by the energy of Astral Express and Vergil's portal cutting, causing both energy fields of their portals to collide and create a shockwave that disrupted the natural flow of interdimensional time.

Before the two parted ways, they agreed to keep in touch, Eden even gifted him a special smartphone from her world that connected to other dimensions, the couple swore that they would always remain connected, and would visit each other when they had time.

A few weeks later, after some back and forth texting, with a few calls in between, the two had eventually made plans to meet up in a dimension similar to Vergil's, just one where earth in that realm, was peaceful, and humankind was undisturbed. Texting her the coordinates of the meeting place for her to portal to: he made plans for them to meet on top of the one of the skyscrapers, but Vergil had a playful little surprise in mind, he was going to watch from a building just a few roofs away from their meet up.

Patiently waiting, the half-devil watched as a rift opened up, and out came Eden after he watched her drop down onto the roof from the Astral Express. The second her rift closes behind her, Vergil stays in the shadow, and spreads his four large devil wings, as they appeared in the form of manifested blue energy, a bright blue glow radiating from them.

Taking off, Vergil makes sure to stay out off sight, in seconds, Eden would feel strong arms wrap around her firmly from behind, and in a blink, she was scooped up into Vergil's arms, wrapping around her waist, his hands interlocked over her stomach, making his grip on her strong, frim and comfortable so she could relax feely in his arms as he took her up high into the night sky offering them both a breathtaking view of the cityscape and all its pretty lights.

[{ 🗡️ }] "Well hello there, my adorable little raccoon. Do you like the view?" He asks with a chuckle.

As they fly through the night sky, the couple can see the entire city from up there, making all the lights of the buildings, digital billboards, and other lights, all look like nothing more than little stars on the ground, the air around them is cool, but comfortable as they soar through the sky.

[{ 🗡️ }] - "Hold on tight my dear Eden, because we've only just begun~"

Tightening his grip around her, his wings flap at once, sending them off into a burst of speed, with Eden firmly in his arms, using the rush of speed he begins to do a few aerial figure eights, before stopping and throwing her up into the air, giving her a chance to enjoy the feeling of being up high freely and take in the feeling of being in the open sky-- although it's only a matter of seconds before he swoops by again, catching his into his arms with relative ease as he soars a bit lower again, slowing down a bit so they can once again enjoy a peaceful flight, with an astonishing and rather romantic view.

[{ 🗡️ }] - "So, how was you're first flight? Did you have fun?"

unprompted. ( @darksonofsparda. ) || always accepting

─「エデン」─  the TRAILBLAZER was used to saying goodbye to people. this journey had given her more than enough experience of parting ways with those she had met. that was the way of the nameless, the ones traveling upon the ASTRAL EXPRESS. they became stories after all was said and done. however, there was something about HIM that eden couldn't quite let go the same way she had bid farewell to those she encountered before. a connection that was formed, the man bearing blood of a demon had become significant to her enough that she didn't want to let go.

                so much that she ended up gifting him with a communication device so they could keep in touch.

                it did catch her by surprise, however, his invitation after a few weeks. a reunion, he said, after not seeing each other for a while. it put a smile on her face as she tilted her head at the specific coordinate he sent to her. in a way, eden had learned from the brief time they got to know each other that he could be quite unpredictable if he wanted to be. always keeping her on her toes and catching her off-guard, this one. but those challenges were exactly what kept their dynamic interesting.

                the sight of the view greeted her the moment she jumped off the astral express. upon the SKYSCRAPER, her golden hues instinctively searched around for a familiar figure. was he late ? that seemed unlikely. he was the one who asked her to —

                — that was when the WIND whipped close to her ears, and she felt her entire frame being swept right off her feet.

                " — !!! " the WARMTH and familiar aura along with the scent she had longed for all this time were what prevented her from thrashing out of his grasp. his grip was strong and firm but not painful, and the TRAILBLAZER could feel the strong gust of wind whooshing past her as they soared higher. aureate optics widened, reflecting the sight of the city getting smaller as they defied gravity in the flight.

                " vergil — whoa ... " the sound of his name was all that came from her lips, before her whole expression LIT UP at the sight being shown to her. arms held onto him instinctively, feeling her breath getting knocked out of her lungs. it was literally breathtaking, this view. the feeling of the breeze caress her skin, whipping through her ashy-brown locks as her HEART thumped. louder, faster. she stared in awe, feeling his embrace enveloping her entirety and it felt ... safe. there was not a single doubt or fear in her mind, only utter wonder.

                " it's beautiful ... " she muttered under her breath. so this was what it's like to have wings. now she couldn't help that hint of ENVY for those who could travel the air like this. no wonder the xianzhou pilots loved to take flight. the sensation was liberating. she could feel excitement and rush of adrenaline running through her veins. how exciting. the night sky acted as the background as he performed little aerial tricks. she let out a few gasps here and there — surprised, but the joy and delight were undeniable.

                even when she was free-falling in mid-air, she was laughing in excitement. the rush and THRILL consuming her before those strong arms caught her safely once more. she instinctively coiled her arms around him, face brightened with that exhilarating sensation as blood pumped through her. the smile on her lips stretched from ear to ear. she was practically vibrating with energy.

                " hey you. " that bright grin would've been an answer enough to his question, if the way she was still laughing a little while coming down from the excitement high didn't tell of it already. she loved it. " can't decide whether the flight or getting to see you again is better right now. " what a rush ! she could've gone for a few more rounds of that. she placed a quick kiss to his jaw. her own way of saying it was nice to see him again. her smile was a little cheeky when she pulled back.

                " missed you too, vergil. "

[valentine-cafe]

I saw Orion's introduction and I ALREADY LOVE HIM!

ONE CHANCE ORION, ONE CHANCE PLEASE *SOBS*

Sending you a request for Orion x GN! reader where they ask Orion to take them out on a flight in his dragon form and it's just fluff where they soar across the starry skies?

Thank you!

-🍒 anon

. ˚◞♡ 𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒆𝒔 ꒰ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒚𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 ꒱◞ ₊˚

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ orion / gn reader ꒱ he takes you out on a fight 

𖹭. content warnings◞  none! . 0.5k

𖹭. receipts◞  oh darling, he will give you all the chances you want.

. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔 ꒱ m.list . guidelines . characters . lorebook ⊹ ۪ ࣪ 

“are you sure- I know how you usually feel and—”

“Xin gan.” the soft spoken, melodic deep voice interrupts you. orion’s delicate hand coming up to caress your cheek.

“you do not pester me daily about dragon this, dragon that. I want to. it would be fun. and it would be a good way to get away from the dark and shadow we always see. no?” he explains.

“but your angel form.” you try to suggest, wanting to be sure.

“darling.”

silence falls over the both of you.

“I want to have you, on my back, in my dragon form. so that I can get you even closer to the stars and you can see them. please.”

shivers run down your spine at the amount of words that come out of his mouth. he doesn’t speak in such long sentences, unless there is something he really wants.

you feel your eyes flutter at his request, and you smile. nodding against his hand before tilting and turning your head slightly to press a warm kiss full of love against the palm of his large hand.

it didn’t take for him to shift. the second you had gone outside of the perimeters of your room. his body had morphed.

you huffed at the small, breathy purr that left him at your attempts at crawling up on him. you knew he was chuckling at your failure. and you weren’t having it.

giving him a little turn of your head and crossing your arms, he stopped quickly. the big, black and golden scaled hand picking you up gently and pulling you up on top of his back. feeling you get ready and making sure he had verbal confirmation before he took off.

“ready?” his voice drawled out and echoed through the realm. your breath stuttering at the wind hitting against your face. the pathway out of the abyss right before you.

“ready.” you breathe out and smile.

It’s as if your gravity was lifted from you the second he took off. Your arms wrapped around his neck tight as the rest of his body flows through the air, moving like that of a serpent’s.

the stars begin to come into sight as you exit the abyss and the gate out of nadir. greeting the material plane and soaring through the sky.

you don’t know what verse you are in, you don’t care. all you care for at the moment, is being able to see the stars. it feels amazing.

the happiest of little chirping noises leave your lover as well. the celestial bodies shimmering in his now fully gold eyes. you know if there is one thing he misses, it is the real stars.

the abyss has stars of their own. but. . . nothing can compare to those of the astral sea. the eyes of the abyss has always been fond of them. it reminds him of his earliest days, before he arrived in the abyss.

and the sight that it leaves before you is so beautiful, it brings forth such a beautiful onslaught of laughs, you can’t stop them from coming. the night breeze tugging at your hair gently, as the two of you continue out into the horizon. his body spinning behind the both of you in all sorts of ways.

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. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒔 ꒱ tip jar . masterist ⊹ ۪ ࣪

[musicarenagh]

Reggae's Phoenix: Mighty Joshua's "DREADUCATION" In the verdant labyrinth of "DREADUCATION," Mighty Joshua sculpts a sonic odyssey that catapults us through gossamer clouds of unity and plunges deep into chasms of raw, earthy roots. Each track sashays robustly between realms—where reggae meets an astral plane adorned with jazzy flecks courtesy Plunky Branch's saxophone swirls, Ras Mel’s guitar riffs paint iridescent streaks across our cerebral canvases including other great features. https://open.spotify.com/album/27Rn7hnLna6XY0RDLObk0x Ah! Here lies not merely music but alchemy; where song becomes incantation, melodiously melding continents in pulsating rhythm—and what rhythms they are! They rise like Phoenix flames from Dr. Dubenstein's fiery dub lab then soar skyward to baptize us in showers thick as molasses yet liberally sprinkled with stardust finesse engraved by Studio-Karamel mastering magic all over France. Might ovarian links each composition—a thread golden-thick—as we journey sans compass through messages potent enough to ignite dormant soul volcanoes or quiet troubled oceans within chest cavities yearning for respite...or revolution? [caption id="attachment_55749" align="alignnone" width="768"] Credit: Jacky Flav[/caption] Ecstasy? Yes. Agony? Oh yes—for those who dare sip this bubbling cauldron finding their feet igniting on fire paths laid bare by throbbing bass lines whispering secrets only kinetically understood when flesh sweats ecstasy under bone-marrow-deep frequencies! So take heed: “DREADUCATION” isn’t just heard; it invades you until every pore reverberates its truth unto cosmic tapestries unwoven henceforth forever changed after such auditory seduction leaves one delightfully disoriented amongst kaleidoscopic echelons conjured brilliantly alive—one euphoric beat at a time. Follow Mighty Joshua on Website, Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, Instagram and TikTok.

[nexgenforge]

Slumber Sanctuary: Unveiling the Secrets of a Dreamy Bed

Amidst the hazy sunlight filtering through the gossamer curtains, nestled deep within the folds of a cloud-like duvet, lay Alex. The world outside continued its relentless hustle, but in this room, time meandered. The Slumber Sanctuary: a realm where the bed served not merely as a resting place but as a portal to ethereal destinations. On this particular afternoon, as a soft breeze whispered secrets to the leaves beyond the windowpane, Alex found themselves suspended in the liminal space between wakefulness and sleep. It was here, in the tranquility of the Sanctuary, that the whispers of astral projection beckoned. The idea of exploring boundless dimensions without ever leaving the comfort of this cozy haven was more than tempting—it was irresistible. With each breath, Alex felt their consciousness lighten, lifting away from the physical confines of the body nestled among the plush pillows. A serene weightlessness enveloped them, as if they were a feather on the breath of the universe, ready to be carried to unseen worlds. The room around them began to dissolve, the walls and ceiling giving way to a shimmering void that pulsed with the colors of dreams. It was as if the Sanctuary had unlocked a secret door, one that led to unfathomable depths of adventure and discovery. And there, suspended in the cosmic dance of astral planes, Alex found themselves adrift. They soared over landscapes that defied imagination, where mountains breathed and rivers sang in harmonious languages lost to time. Each blink revealed a new wonder—a city of crystalline towers, a garden where the flowers hummed with vibrant life, a distant planet bathed in the light of twin suns. But it wasn't merely the sights that captivated Alex; it was the profound sense of connection, of being woven into the fabric of the universe itself. Here, in this dreamy expanse, there was no loneliness, no longing. Only the pure, unbounded joy of exploration, of witnessing the universe's vast tapestry unfold. As the lazy afternoon waned, a gentle pull tugged at the edges of Alex's consciousness, a reminder of the physical world awaiting their return. With a soft sigh, they let the celestial currents guide them back, back through the void, through the morphing walls of the Sanctuary, until once again, they felt the familiar embrace of their bed. The transition was seamless, a tender landing amid the pillows and duvet. The room, bathed now in the golden hues of late afternoon, seemed to smile, its secrets safe within its walls. With a contented stretch, Alex opened their eyes, carrying with them the luminous echoes of their journey. The Slumber Sanctuary had revealed its magic, a treasure trove of dreams just waiting to be explored. And as they lay there, basking in the afterglow of adventure, they knew one thing for certain: this was only the beginning. Read the full article

[splinteredhq]

**CHARACTER NAME:** Geneviève Ilse Dupont | “Evie” | Helga Hufflepuff Reincarnate **CHARACTER FACECLAIM:** Danielle Galligan **CHARACTER AGE/DOB:** July 5, 20 **CHARACTER PRONOUNS/GENDER IDENTITY/SEXUALITY ETC:** she/her/hers, cis female, pansexual **OC OR CANON:** canon **CHARACTER PROFESSION IF RELEVANT:** healer **SCHOOL ATTENDED & HOUSE IF RELEVANT:** hogwarts, hufflepuff **ALIGNMENT (the order/death eaters/etc) + GENERAL OPINIONS ON THE WAR/THEIR SIDE:** Order of the Phoenix, Voldy Bad. **CHARACTER BIOGRAPHY:** Evie has the classic case of gifted kid burn-out syndrome. She was brilliant growing up. Her parents sent her to a muggle French primary school, where she absorbed information like an amoeba. Sure, Evie might have accidentally set her gym teacher on fire after he started picking on another student once or twice (or… five times), but she was astonishingly bright, soaring to the top of her class and staying there for a long time. She took dance (ballet) and played piano, volunteered, and was a perfect child. When she turned 11, Evie was accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, whereas her brother had only been accepted to Hogwarts (he had been hoping the Durmstrang Institute would take him, too). Evie chose Hogwarts, because her father very much wanted her to go to the school he went too.

Here is where things went downhill. Evie had always suffered from headaches as a child, but never to the extent she did while at Hogwarts. Headaches plagued Evie from the moment she stepped foot on Hogwarts grounds. The stupid sorting hat had taken his damn time when sorting, refusing to tell her anything other than cryptic musings, before she told the hat that if he was going to waste her time and the staff’s time, he should just pick one. It didn’t matter where she went, they were all here to learn, weren’t they? He put her into Hufflepuff soon after. But her headaches worsened into migraines, and she was often in debilitating pain. She tried to force through it, which resulted in a rather unfortunate incident in potions where she melted Professor Slughorn’s sleeve and a poor Ravenclaw girl’s stool. She spent a lot of time in the hospital wing, and despite fighting tooth and nail, she was still behind in many of her classes.

She barely scraped by with her exams, and her parents were angry until they realized just how debilitating her migraines were. The summer between first and second year, she could hardly do anything but lay in bed with the shades drawn. What’s worse, she had very strange dreams that had her screaming at the top of her lungs. Upon returning to Hogwarts, she made a pact with herself that things would be better this time. She would work harder than ever before and push through the pain.

And then, Evie slammed into Sebastian O’Shannon, literally, just after Christmas rightoutside the Great Hall. It all came flooding back to her. Helga’s life – in reality, she liked being called Hela, rather than her full name. Her history washed over her… and little 12 year old Evie punched 14 year old Sebastian hard in the face, thinking he cursed her or did something else unsavory to her head. She had gotten detention for that by a very baffled Professor McGonagall.

Sebastian helped, sort of, with the memories. Once they realized that a big cause of her migraines was all six of her previous lives trying to break through at once - blood and vengeance in their voices -, they knew they had to do something before the overwhelming of memories made her body give out. It didn’t help that she had fits - they realized she was having _visions_ when she had a full prophecy in front of her friends. She was a seer.

The rest of her Hogwarts Career was spent touching base with Helga Hufflepuff’s knowledge of divination, picking through journals and learning how to control her 6th sense on the astral plane. Evie kept her secret, except for the other founders. Evie insisted on keeping it a secret even from Albus Dumbledore, as she had one of her 6th sense BS and went _i’m not touching this old ass man with a ten foot pole i don’t trust that shit at all_.

It ended up being a good thing, because Evie had a very important prophecy before Sybil’s… Foretelling of a snake in the grass, once thought to be a friend betraying everyone, leading to a path of endless suffering for a long, long time. Once deciphering it with Sebastian, they went and murked Severus Snape, allowing Lily and James Potter to live their lives without Severus Snape telling Voldemort the Big Prophecy.

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[oldschoolfrp]

Immortal PCs soar through the Astral Plane -- beyond level 36, with ability scores up to 100 (Larry Elmore, Players' Guide to Immortals, from D&D Set 5: Immortals Rules, TSR, 1986)

[clayanddust]

Nightjars and Nightshade (Clay and Ariana)

Participants: Ariana Bennett (Hannah-Werewolf), Clay Hale (Tapir-Hunter)

Continued From: Sleepless Above and Below

Location: Hartvlinder Mists (Astral Plane) 

Summary: When Ariana’s guilt takes her deep into the fog of trauma-eating beings, Clay offers her the choice to go numb. 

Content Warning: Memory Loss

Hartvlinder drifted in a thick mist. Each fist-sized mass of tentacle ferns joined thousands of others in feathery fog banks that muffled the outside world. Clay lay in a field of purple nightshade flowers holding a whippoorwill carefully cupped in his hands. The brown-feathered whippoorwill’s warbling whistle sounded out through the belladonna only for the sound to be swallowed up in the Hartvlinder mist. 

Clay stayed there in the mist-shrouded fields of deadly flowers without any concept of time, just listening to the whippoorwill. There was no hurry. There was no sorrow. There was no joy. Clay wasn’t sure if lack of turmoil was really the essence of peace, but he was content, or at least could not feel dissatisfied. 

Clay looked over his shoulder from where he sat as footsteps rustled through the nightshade field. “Heya …Ariana right? From the…” Clay frowned, dark eyebrows scrunching together as he searched from the memory, but placidity soon smoothed his face back into calm. “The uh…y’know.” 

One minute Ari had been running through the familiar patch of brush through the forest and the next she found herself in a disorienting mist. Everything felt just slightly wrong. The ground beneath was not as rugged, the air a little cooler than it had been only moments ago. The smells of the forest had all but faded and she was almost positive she was in another nightmare. 

Ari harshly pinched her own forearm only to grimace in pain and realize she was in fact awake. Which meant either she took a very wrong turn or something White Crest was happening. Whatever it was, she guessed it was just happening now and she didn’t have the energy to fight it. 

She trudged through the mist as if it was normal and ignored the uneasy feeling. Ari whipped her head around when she heard her name and a familiar voice. “Clay,” she asked stunned, “What are you doing here?” Her eyes tried to make out their surroundings through the mist. “And do you know where here is?” 

Clay shook his head. “I’m just …chilling I guess,” the Hunter said with languid uncertainty, as if his purpose for sitting here amidst the nightshade and Hartvlinder swarms had been obvious until Ariana had asked him to actually put it into words. “This is the Hartvlinder fog…I think…like it is, but kinna all…” Clay made a vague wobbly motion with one hand. 

The whippoorwill flew out of Clay's hands and soared into the swarms of ephemeral tentacle ferns. Its brown-feathered form vanished, like the outline of a stone sinking into the sea. Only the stochastic whistling that occasionally escaped the floating masses of Hartvlinder proved Ariana and Clay weren’t alone in an island meadow of nightshade. 

“What brought you here?”

The explanation only made Ari more confused. The field of nightshade they were in didn’t feel like the forest. It wasn’t something she could quite put her finger on. It didn’t smell right and everything felt muted. Her instincts were fogged by literal fog, not that it made any sense. In White Crest, she learned sense was irrelevant. Sense said they had to still be in the forest, but it felt more and more like that wasn’t true. “Chilling,” she said slowly as she tried to wrap her mind around what Clay could possibly mean. He was a bit cryptic, but she figured that something to do with the heart thing he had mentioned. 

“Harvlinder fog,” Ari started as she remembered how clay had framed the whole heart thing, “Like the legend you mentioned, the fog that steals hearts?” It would explain why everything around her felt dulled. Some small part of her mind screamed she should be more alarmed by that than she was. It was enough for her try and figure out a way out. “So,” she asked unsurely, “How do we get out of the fog?” 

“Stealing?” Clay shrugged with lackadaisical slowness. “Sure if you walk into the drifts there the Harvlinder might latch on,” he affirmed while gazing into the undulating coils within coils of incandescent floating ferns. It was easy to get lost in those spiraling tentacle fronds, to just let your eyes slide down, around, and deeper along the whorls. “But a lot of people give their hearts willingly, the mist offers a kinna freedom I guess,” he mused in the slothful trailing off of someone who could have put the thought more clearly, but gave up halfway through.``

“You sure you want to leave?” 

How could someone make so much sense and none all in the same breath. Ari thought over what he said. There wasn’t a clear answer on how to escape the fog and she felt oddly calm about the possibility. She took a step closer and felt her body conflicted on whether she should just plop down or run. “Stealing… And what happens if the Har- Harv-,” she tried to wrap her head on how the fuck it sounded when Clay said, “What happens if it latches on to you?” 

The next part was what really made Ari contemplate accepting the situation. People gave their hearts willingly. Would it really be so bad to not feel the crushing weight of guilt and grief every day of her life? She wouldn’t have to worry about her deteriorating mental health affecting the control she had over shifts outside the moon. “I’m not sure,” she admitted quietly. It was tempting, very tempting and some small bit of logic told her there had to be a catch. There always was. She also knew she deserved the pain she lived with, but what if she could just let it go? “What is it like… not having your heart?” 

Clay stayed where he sat among the violet belladonna blossoms, leaning back on his hands as if he were watching a sunset on a hill. “Plants get energy from the sun and whatnot obviously,” Clay said with an air of balanity that belied the extraordinary circumstances. “But Harvlinder take anguish through their squiggy frond things like a plant root would water. Sometimes its small like…embarrassment you felt fucking up a speech way back when or whatever. But,” Clay rolled his head from side to side in an ambivalent moment. “Not always.” 

Arianna’s second question drew Clay’s dark eyes up to her, managing to stare his blank gaze away from the claustrophobic horizon of undulating mist. “Uhhhh,” the Hunter’s held dull tone perhaps bore witness in an of itself. “Everything you remember is less intense. There’s no pain, but it can be like paintings with some colors palate missing I guess. Nothing hits as hard,” the soldier confessed, admitting to the true source of his unbreakable bravery. “Which is nice, like it kept going, but uh.” 

Clay shrugged again, returning his gaze back to mists. “Used to draw alot as a kid, sketch shit, birds, cars, mountains, and whatnot,” the man said with a tone of apathetic distance from his own experiences. “But when I draw something it's just…,” said the hunter who could never be a Leanan Sidhe’s prey. “Nothing.” 

 Ari had to listen carefully. She knew it was easy to miss some of the comparisons Clay made, especially seeing as she didn’t get most of the references. Was a creature that fed on anguish and took it away really all that bad? Plants took energy from the sun. Harvlinders took energy from anguish. “I see,” she mumbled as she thought it over, “So they take away your pain, essentially.” 

It was too fucking tempting. Ari knew she deserved to feel this hurt. Even going to bed with a more positive mindset after their last chat didn’t stop the dreams. She was haunted and she had to believe there was a reason. If she couldn’t feel the guilt, could she trust herself to care enough to keep control and not hurt others? Would control even be an issue if she couldn’t feel at all? She let her fingers graze through the flowers that surrounded them. Normally, it grounded her, made her feel more connected to the earth, but nothing here could do that. She listened. It was nice. He didn’t feel any of the pain, but colors were duller. Did it matter that she was already colorblind? 

The more Clay explained the more Ari could wrap her head around it. It made sense, if you couldn’t feel the pain, you couldn’t feel the other emotions like joy and love. Was that really worse? She supposed she had a first hand source. She let out a quiet sigh and plucked one of the flowers. “Is the feeling nothing worse than feeling the pain?” 

Clay laughed, the sound soft and devoid of passion or derision, a lukewarm flicker. “I can feel. I still enjoy things. I still feel all the animal stuff: hunger, thirst, getting hurt,, the endorphin rush after running, and so on,” Clay said, assuming Ariana was worldly enough to extrapolate the other primal experiences without going into them. “But alotta the more mental stuff is still there but uh, not as deep or long lasting I guess.” 

Clay watched his companion run her fingers along the deadly violet blooms in their little meadow. Something seemed to knock at the back of his numbed skull. Perhaps outside of this astral reflection, Clay’s morality might’ve recognized that talking about trauma-sapping fern leeches with a young person who’d admitted to guilt-ridden insomnia wasn’t acceptable. But although the facts of the matter were currently in Clay’s head, they didn’t stir up any bigger picture of what was happening, of why his next words might be unwise. “But no. I had a job to do, one that a ton of people’s lives depended on, but I couldn’t keep going as I was. Harvinder let me become who others needed me to be.” 

The man who’d finally destroyed his monster, but had been left as less than either at the end of his quest, let out a long breath. “Is there something you wanna give the Harvlinder?”

The easier choice was obvious. Glaringly so. Part of Ari longed to take it, longed to know a single minute of peace again. The option was right in front of her for her to grab if she so chose. Even now as she wrestled with the choice, the different whispers in her head made her feel guilt for even considering it. You’re supposed to be better than this. The problem was, she didn’t feel better than anything. People had died because of her, for her, and what did they have to show for it? A lost, slowly spiraling werewolf with no real direction? The part of Clay’s explanation about being who others needed him to be struck her. There were still people that needed her, even if they shouldn’t, and would she be able to be who they needed if she could no longer truly feel? At least properly. “I get that,” she pondered aloud, “Being who others need you to be. And you feel at peace with your decision?” 

Ari wondered if he could even feel peace fully. Clay was thoughtful but had an air of indifference almost. Like things just were what they were. Could she live like that? Could she continue going at the rate she was? The question brought her back from her internal debate. “Oh, I.” she looked down at her hands and tossed away the irritating flowers that left her fingertips itching, “Guilt, I think. My sister died saving me. Two of my friends died because I couldn’t just do what needed to be done and feel like I could live with myself. And I still can’t live with myself, so great call there. I-” She couldn’t even begin to remember the face of the person she mauled during August’s full moon or the fucking tiny fae that made her snap at work. 

“I guess I have a lot of shitty memories of loss and I’m always the one left behind, even when it should have been me. But,” Ari let out a long, shaky breath, “I still have people who need me. I don’t know if I can be what they need if I don’t feel it all.” Even if she wanted so badly not to.

“Not really able to feel otherwise,” Clay reminded with a soft smile touched by a thin curve of playfulness at the edge, unable to see anything wrong with his condition other than a touch of humor. As a boy, Clay had been a class clown who saw humor in the basic awkwardness of what it meant to be human. Now, a zombie apocalypse later, Clay’s humor was touched with a bleakness his more innocent self would’ve recoiled at. “But I guess I’m reassured by checkin’ in on the people who were saved, just knowing how they’re doing makes it more tangible I guess,” said the Hunter whose midnight work often estranged him from the sunlit lives of those he was sworn to protect.  

Clay waited as Ariana thought through things, neither urging nor dissuading. The whippoorwill’s warbling lilted from the mist, giving life to the nightshade meadow’s unnatural stillness. Ariana made her choice in her own time and Clay nodded without surprise or understanding. “Guess, we gotta get you outta here,” the hunter said as he stood up, dusting dreams of petals and leaves off his jeans. 

While the choice was made, Ari couldn’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment. Things could have been easier, but part of her knew the easy choice wasn’t necessarily the right choice. Knowing as much didn’t make turning away simple. It didn’t mean she didn’t long to stop feeling this way all the time. She had to remember the people she loved that were still there. Kitty, Kaden, Kyle, Mina, Emilio, Bex– they deserved a friend who could feel their highs and lows with them. She pushed herself up from the patch of flowers she’d been sitting on. With one last resigned sigh, she said, “I guess we do.” 

Ari looked around through the midst and tried to gather her sense of direction. Things still smelled dulled somehow, surreal. Somewhere in the midst was a path home, a path to the people she loved and swore to herself she’d do anything to protect. She turned to Clay and asked, “Any chance you know the way out of the midst?” 

Clay shook his head. “No, but he does,” the hunter said, pointing to the mist. 

The whippoorwill burst from the fog like a salmon jumping in an evening lake, ethereal Harvlinder tendrils trailing off its brown wings. The bird landed amidst the nightshade blooms and looked up at Clay and Ariana with eyes the exact shade as Clay's own. The songbird’s scrutiny was not the furtive attention of an animal, but rather the focus of someone, or something perhaps, attending to their purpose. 

“Like, I don’t know how,” Clay admitted, perplexed by the strange sense of unspoken ‘knowing’ that often accompanies events in dreams. “But he does.”  

“Who knows,” Ari asked, completely perplexed even as she saw the bird float in front of her. Somehow it only made things even more surreal. She didn’t think this was a dream, it was far too nice even if confusing. What mattered was there was a way out and back to the real world from… wherever this was. She moved closer to her guide and asked earnestly, “Are you coming too?” 

Clay and the whippoorwill exchanged another glance in perfect unison. A silent understanding seemed to pass between Hunter and Fylgja. Clay groaned and rubbed his temples as if suddenly suffering the groggy headache of waking up, the first sign of discomfort he’d shown in this numb eye of the Harvlinder drifts. 

“Yeah I uh,” Clay’s jaw cracked in a graceless yawn. “Think I have folks out there that need me or ..something. Gotta be somewhere,” he said with groggy uncertainty. 

Ari watched as he rubbed his temples and seemed to think over the option. She hoped he followed though she wondered if there was ever any truly escaping the mist for him. He seemed content either way. Or at least not capable of feeling the depth of any discomfort. Part of her couldn’t help but feel sad for him, even in her current ongoing state of lows, she was pretty sure she’d miss the highs. She looked over the field of nightshade with a final grimace. “Off we go then,” she exclaimed, “And, uh, thanks. For this. And for last time too.” 

“No problem, I was just …” Clay began, but the lilting mad song of the whippoorwill grew in intensity, rising and falling with a warbling cacophony  that swallowed up everything.