JERICHO ● SEPTEMBER 2025 EVENT/TDM

[uruz]

TDM & EVENT: JERICHO

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Prologue: New Characters

You've been plagued with a reoccuring dream, as of late. Every time you sleep, the dream returns to you.

It always begins the same way: As a breath held for too long. As a pressure at the base of your spine. A silence that presses against the skin like confession, like prophecy. A ripple moves through your bones. A tide builds and pulls at your feet, familiar by now. You dream of a black, soundless wave, thick like oil and starlight, swelling across the horizon line. You've seen the wave before, countless times, always rising. With every night, it never reaches you. You always seem to wake before it does . . . That is, until tonight.

The wave moves slow, deliberate— like something ancient and alive. And when it finally crashes, there is no harsh impact. Only warmth. Only submersion. Rather than drowning, you are being claimed with saltwater that's sweet with myrrh. The darkness embracing you pulses with desire. Then, a voice envelops you.

"Come home."
It dribbles with honey-like promise, like a truth you've always known, whispered now from within your marrow more like temptation than a request.

"You are mine. You always were."
The voice offers purpose. Worship. Belonging. And when you wake . . . You wake changed, with a mask on your face you did not choose. Elegant. Sacred. Too important to remove. You have been given a gift. A new beginning.

Welcome home, new Vessels.

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Sink Down Like Precious Stones

( content warnings: drowning, body horror )

Vessels awaken within the dreamscape as the black wave recedes from their skin like velvet falling off the bone, their masks in place over their eyes and left afloat in the watery expanse. All around them, the ocean stretches infinite and lightless— so still it mirrors the sky above, indistinguishable from the void. Far in the distance, massive obsidian walls curve inward, enclosing this vast seascape like a forgotten temple basin. And there, at the far horizon, one glow pierces the dark: a low-burning fire flickering within a half-sunken structure of impossible architecture— arched, ribbed, as though built from marble and cathedral glass.

This is a test, and it begins with belief.

Those with unwavering faith— whether in Sleep, another god, or even themselves— will find the surface beneath their feet holds firm. The sea becomes glass, and they may rise, and walk. But those adrift in doubt begin to sink. Precious stone creeps over their skin. Joints stiffen. Flesh cracks. Breath slows. It is not death, but it is close and might as well be hell. Your only salvation lies in your own conviction . . . Or the mercy of another Vessel who happens to walk.

Those who drown will not die. They will loop this moment— sinking, blackness, return, sink again— until belief takes root in some way. Alternatively, they may awaken in a later dreamspace . . . Changed.

NOTES:

• Pale white fish as well as glowing jellyfish may be encounted. The fish stare at vessels as they drown, and jellyfish may leave behind a shock that could temporarily stop the process of crystalization. But only temporarily— and their stings are excrutiating.

TOKEN EFFECTS:

• Magic becomes volatile— spells flicker, overcharge, or fizzle unpredictably when cast on or near the ocean.
• When you cast, your veins glow from beneath the skin, but not with light. It's writhing. Like something trapped under glass.
• When channeling magic, your mouth may fill with brine and blood.

OFFERING EFFECTS:

• The water responds emotionally— thrashing with fury or calming with yearning depending on the Offering's state of mind.
• The sea amplifies desire and instinct, making base emotions harder to suppress— rage, hunger, longing all churn just beneath the surface.
• The black water feels too warm, too alive, clinging to the body like memory; any stillness invites visions of Sleep's embrace, both reverent and consuming.

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You Taste Like New Flesh

( content warnings: body horror, psychological horror, compulsion, unreliable reality )

The ocean path ends at a palace carved of pearl and spun silk, impossibly perched where water meets nothingness. Whether you have traversed the black sea on trembling feet or simply awaken seated at an impossibly long table, it makes no difference. You are here now, and welcomed, suddenly in attire fit for a gala. Around this table sit countless Dream-Vessels, many silent and still, faces unreadable in the flickering candlelight wearing generic, six-eyed masks. The table stretches beyond sight, arching beneath creeping vines that twist like ancient veins overhead, blooming with strange blossoms that beat with energy. Flames dance atop dozens of candles— some burn on brass holders, others hover, like fireflies caught mid-flight, their shadows flickering and shifting with an otherworldly rhythm. Around you, phantasmal forms shimmer on pedestals: Sleep's ancient Guardians are eternalized through memorial, monstrous and magnificent, lost to time yet enshrined in reverence. On the highest pedestal stands a still living One, silent and watching the feast with somber eyes. Sleep's voice whispers in your ear, encouraging a glance to, perhaps, see what you may become.

"Feast, My Dear Vessels. Until you taste like New Flesh."

The foods before you don not come unmeddled with. Each bite pulls memories from your bones to the surface— moments buried or erased, but these are not just yours. The banquet feeds on shared history, stirring secrets tangled between you and the others here. To eat is to open a door: to risk awakening something dormant, to invite others inside your buried truths, to forge bonds or betrayals that can never be unseen.

Eton Mess: Crushed meringue, tangled cream, and berries that bleed like bruises when bitten. Sweetness melts quickly, leaving your tongue cold. As you eat, a memory rises— but you don't experience it alone. The person nearest you sees what you see, hears what you hear, feels what you felt. Together, you can alter one key detail, and that change ripples outward, shifting how you both remember the event.

Deviled Kidneys: Spiced and seared, the metallic richness clings to your mouth, as if tasting old blood. Eating summons the echo of a painful or violent memory, but your partner experiences it with you.

Roasted Lamb in Mint Sauce: The sweetness of the meat is cut by mint sharp enough to sting the throat. Your act of consumption awakens a craving, but not in you— in the Vessel sharing this dish. They feel an inexorable pull toward your memory, even without knowing what they seek. The bond persists until the craving is confronted.

Honey Scouse: A thick, golden stew heavy with warmth, but beneath the sweetness, something cloying curls around the edges. Every shared spoonful spreads a slow, creeping influence between you and your partner: intrusive visions, subtle compulsions, small lapses in agency. Neither of you can tell whose thoughts belong to whom.

Starpit Fruit: Plum-sized and faintly glowing, the juice leaves your fingertips dusted in silver, like handling starlight. When bitten, the fruit releases the memory of a forgotten wish, not to you but to the person beside you. They see it clearly— and know exactly what you once wanted most, even if you had buried it.

Marigold Brandy: A golden spirit served warm, glowing faintly as though sunlight has been trapped inside the glass. When lifted, it releases a soft, floral scent. The first sip draws you and your partner into a shared burst of joy— a memory that makes you swell with happiness. The sensation is so immediate, so electric, that when the memory breaks, your bodies ache to move, to speak, to draw more positivity to light. You may feel an irresistible pull to get up and dance on the wide palace floors, even if no music is playing . . . And if others nearby drink as well, the effect multiplies.

Saints Breath Chalice: A dark, wine-thick cordial served in tarnished silver cups etched with symbols that shift when stared at too long. The liquid smells faintly of frankincense and something sweeter— blood-warm and alive. Drinking it floods you and your partner with the overwhelming sensation of being inside someone else's celebration, a memory that belongs to neither of you: a vast mass of black, with branching antlers and six, glowing red eyes. It reaches to sink its claws into your chest as she sings: One. Beloved. We were meant to be. It is impossible to tell whether you're witnessing joy or manic worship. There is chanting you cannot understand but somehow already know, drums that sync with your heartbeat until you can feel nothing else. Your limbs begin to twitch, then sway, then move without conscious thought, drawn into a dance you do not remember learning. If more than two people drink, your movements synchronize perfectly, your breath matching theirs, until the room seems stop to watch.

The table awaits.

NOTES:

• Feasting becomes addictive. The more a character eats, the harder it is to stop. Gluttony may cause physical consequences: nosebleeds, twitching fingers, warping speech, uncontrollable confessions, or dripping nectar from their mouths.
• Those who refuse to eat at all begin to starve in a dream-sense: they lose color, smell burning, and feel the weight of Sleep's gaze. Her wrath isn't immediate— but it grows the longer you reject the feast. She takes offense.

TOKEN EFFECTS:

• Each spell cast after eating releases parasitic energy— manifesting as flowers, thorns, parasitic insects or rot— either from their own body or from someone they recently touched.
• Casting warps your limbs temporarily: too many joints, fingers curl the wrong way, nerves burn like wires.
• Touching others leaves sigils burned into their skin. These will briefly carry over into the waking world during next month's event. Runecasters will get the innate feeling that this symbol has a meaning summed up as "The Night Does Not Belong To God". How they interpret that is up to them.

OFFERING EFFECTS:

• The act of devouring awakens an overwhelming desire, often physical, but sometimes emotional or spiritual. This desire clings to another Vessel at the table, creating obsessive attachment or aggression.
• The more they eat, the more their monstrous traits subtly emerge.
• Consuming another Vessel's memory (if shared or touched) grants a brief glimpse of their deepest fear or weakness.

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There's Something In The Way You Lay

( content warnings: sexual content, voyeurism, body modification, omegaverse traits, loss of agency )

Beneath its pearlescent halls, beyond the banquet of flickering candles and dream-Vessels who eat in hollow silence, a spiral staircase winds downward. Its steps are damp and velvet-slick. The further you descend, the warmer the air becomes— humid, cloying, thick with the scent of sweat, salt, and incense. The sounds reach you first: Slaps, gasps, the wet chorus of bodies and perverse intimacy. Laughter, muffled sobs, the echo of whispered names long forgotten. At the base lies a corridor of "private" rooms. Their doors swing open with dreamlike invitation. Inside, the scenes unfold: past dream-Vessels lost in tableau— arched backs, bitten lips, mouths open in prayer or obedience. Some are alone, coiled in worship. Others tangle in groups, indistinguishable where one body ends and another begins. Vines bloom across the ceilings, watching. The walls glisten with breath. You see their faces, but you can't quite distinguish what or who they are. You may not remember choosing a role, but the dream has chosen for you. α or Ω— and with the naming, your body changes. There is no shame here, only devotion made manifest. This is how Sleep is worshipped now: through cruelty and surrender, through the giving and the taking of flesh.

NOTES

• Masks may optionally offer a sort of glamour for Vessels who wander into these chambers— they will not be able to recognize each other. How much of that, whether it be appearance, voice, and so on, is up to you.
• Past dream-Vessels perform for no one, eyes vacant, movements perfect, as if only a ghost of a memory. Player characters may interact with them and even partake in intimacy with them, but be warned: they are emotionally absent and may cause symptoms of succumbence that could be remedied with a proper, player-character tether.
• Tools hang on the walls: Rods of all sizes, slick with heat. Collars that hum with low, seductive voltage. Blindfolds that intensify physical contact, There's no need for cuffs or chains when there are vines that seem to respond to the α party's mood— tightening, flowering, or reaching for skin. You are free to come up with your own items.
• α perks:: Instinctive claiming (done through biting, rubbing, branding, etc), an almost predatory focus and obsession for those who interest them, pack gravity (the ability to attract one or more vessels at once), emitting a scent that ignites heat/rut in others, darker urges surge and a commanding voice.
Ω perks: High pain tolerance, instinctive yielding, emotional synchrony with those being watched, self-lubricating, hypersensitive, scent tracking, intense need to please or be filled emotionally, physically, and spiritually. When touched, glowing runes bloom across the skin.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• Spells cast during acts of intimacy may provoke a heightened sensation of euphoria for both caster and whoever is affected by the spell.
• Magic may manifest as misty appendages— extra hands, tongues, eyes, etc.
• Divine energy becomes volatile when passed through the body— ecstasy may border on agony, or vice versa, and Tethering becomes impossibly euphoric.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• Flesh becomes malleable mid-act— bones bending, jaws unhinging, skin blooming open, etc.
• Animalistic traits emerge: tails, claws, growls, tentacles, scent glands— all begging to be used.
• Feeding and Tethering are indistinguishable— hunger becomes worship, and worship becomes need.

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I am not worthy

( content warnings: body horror, violence, gore, parasitic/invasive feeding, death )

Wherever you are, the palace begins to rot. First slowly, then all at once: vines swell with black fluid, splitting at the seams. They burst from beneath marble tiles, coil up pillars, slither across frames and vacant thrones like arteries choking a heart. The candlelight flickers. One by one, the flames throughout the palace float upward . . . And die. No smoke. No warning. Just wet silence. Then the Dream-Vessels begin to fall. They do not scream as they do. They collapse like marionettes, limbs askew. Their flesh splits open along wounds that should not exist— a rip at the neck, teeth marks prying open the ribcage, a bite that swallows half a torso. Bones jut like sculpted ivory. Entrails slither across the floor like garlands. Some burst mid-air, as if the dream demands spectacle. Others fold in on themselves until all that's left of them is a mound of flesh.

"I am not worthy."

One voice. Ten. A thousand—layered, glitching, sweaty. It echoes from the walls, the bodies, the seams in the floor. The corpses twitch in time with the chant, jerking violently. Some snap backwards, eyes wide, jaws unhinged. Others explode— blossoming in gore, raining viscera. From the heaving pile of ruined Dream-Vessels, something forms.

It lurches into being: stitched from tongues, teeth, torsos. Weeping. Wailing. Worshipping. A monstrosity of raw flesh and faith: all failures made meat. Its eyes (are they eyes?) blink out. Arms claw outwards, too many to count. Its scent is of copper, sweat, and sorrow.

When The Abomination chooses to feed, it seeks not flesh, but the softest rot inside you. An appendage uncoils from its writhing mass and unhinged jaw— veined, slick, and trembling like a violated root. It drives itself into your mouth, splitting your lips with obscene tenderness, and sinks deep into your throat, locking you still.

What it draws out is not blood. It siphons your doubts, your fears, your most secret self-hatred. Your inadequacy. Every buried shame. Your hate. Your negativity. Every flinch of unworthiness. Every moment you believed yourself unlovable, unseen, too small. It gorges on what you hide from even yourself, and the more you try to resist, the sweeter your sorrow becomes. The last thing it takes is your life force, and then your viscera, leaving you wilted and shrivled like a hollow log.

This death is violating and feels painfully slow. You're drained raw of your vitality until you're but a brittle husk that breaks to dust in the wind. It seems near impossible to destroy, always reforming into bits and pieces left smudged behind. Perhaps your best bet it to run, or attempt to wake yourself up from this nightmare.

One's voice repeats in choked sobs: I am not worthy.

NOTES:

• Wounds from the beast linger. You may wake bleeding or marked.
• If devoured, characters will awaken the following month extremely fatigued during the first 3-5 days of the month. They may also sporadically rigurgitate black sludge. Characters who die and are already in the game may requesta plot clue, that will be a vision your character will dream of before awakening.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• Magic recoils violently when used on The Abomination, backfiring with psychic screams or ripping into your flesh.
• Your hands glow uncontrollably, burning what you touch— even those you love.
• Magic becomes hungry; it demands pieces of your body to function. A tooth. A nail. A rib (and so on).

OFFERING EFFECTS

• The rage it stirs in you is monstrous. You begin to shift uncontrollably— flesh blooms, bones crack under strain.
• Your body begins moving before you decide to. Twitching toward The Abomination, and toward the scent of despair.
• During the chaos, you may develop a fixation with another Vessel's flaw. You can smell it on them. It entrances you . . . To the point that you may feel the urge to feed them to The Abomination.

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OOC NOTES

➤ Welcome to Somnia's second TDM, which doubles as our third gamewide event!

➤ This TDM is considered game canon. You are free to have your character remember as many details as possible.

➤ Only new characters are free to experiment with the Vessel options to your liking; this is a dreamscape, so multiple/different situations for you to really test which option you like most is possible. Current characters must remain as their chosen Vessel type unless you requested a switch, which can be done on the Taken page.

➤ All TDMs take place within a dreamscape, meaning characters can interact with the setting without needing to apply. Come have fun with us!

➤ Veteran players, I ask to please refrain from making post-event threads for the time being! We have some important information to take into account in next month's event when characters are slated to "wake up". At the very least, please wait for the information to be offered on the next plotting post. Thank you everyone for your patience!

➤ Please comment on the TDM's INVITE TL if you are a new player interested in joining the game, but don't yet have an invite. Current players or the mod may reach out to extend an invite. Once you've got one, please don't forget to comment on the Invite page so you may properly link it in your reserve and app.

➤ Questions? Please direct them to the designated questions comment linked below!

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[untilldeath]

𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝙳𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜

[At first, he had felt as heavy as stone. His feet and legs had been swallowed by the ocean beneath him, ready to pull him beneath the surface. But someone had reached out to him. Someone had pulled him above the surface, sparking the belief that it was alright- they could do this.

Not in a god. Not in some kind of crazy, powerful being or something. None of that mattered to him. In fact, he couldn't give a fuck about some sort of strong authority like that. Since when in his life has a god ever given a shit about him?

Not once.

The belief in other people, however, is different. People are capable of compassion, or strength, love, and light. The hope he had in a person is what allowed him to make it through every day of his life. And it was the help of another that lifted him out.

So when he sees someone else struggling, now, he doesn't hesitate to reach out a hand.]

Hold on-! I've got you!

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚃𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎 𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝙽𝚎𝚠 𝙵𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚑

Option 1

Yeah. As though this isn't creepy as fuck.

[Till snorts. Who the hell wants to eat with Creepy McCreepy face watching them like some kind of judging spirit? And the voice whispering in his ear doesn't particularly endear him to the idea either. Freaks.

. . . He sighs, eyeing the feast though. He's never seen so much food in his life.

Not that humans were allowed to touch, anyway. His guardian and the other segyyein didn't have an issue feasting on all their weird ass foods in front of him if he was around for it. What he usually got to eat was pretty bland and simple. And unlike the other kids, he didn't get many snacks unless they shared. His guardian certainly wasn't going to provide something like that to him.

So the longer he watches, noting others as they break down and have a bite, he hesitates a little too. It feels weird NOT to eat if everyone else is, and he's hungry.

Eventually, he winds up with a plate and stares down at it while he sits at the table. He doesn't make a move to try something yet, though. Without looking up, he speaks aloud to the person beside him.]

Hey. Have you tried anything yet?

Option 2

[He's become intoxicated upon the feast. Once started, it is difficult to stop. Licking his lips, he can taste a sweet nectar on his tongue and isn't at all sure where it came from. He doesn't seem to mind too much, though. It feels as though he's been rambling for some time now, but if asked about what, he couldn't even pinpoint it. His head is way too fuzzy.

Usually, Till hates when his mind buzzes with some sort of drug. But right now, he just feels warm and happy. A bit of brandy spills over his hand, and he attempts to lap it up before it can spill further down his arm.

When he realizes he's being watched, he drunkenly lifts the mug, offering it with a flushed smile.]

Did you want some too? ♪

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎'𝚜 𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙸𝚗 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚆𝚊𝚢 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝙻𝚊𝚢 Ω
(*See wildcard)

[There is something strange beneath the floors of the banquet hall that Till didn't anticipate when he escaped from above, in search of a place to calm down. Calm isn't what he feels down here in the cloying heat that sticks to his skin. The atmosphere is something like a dream, though. It entices him forward in its hypnotic allure, curiosity burning in his core as he moves through the surreal space as though time has no bearing here.

He should probably... find his way back upstairs. The scents and sounds that greet him are unfamiliar and new. When he stumbles across an open door and witnesses the mass of naked bodies rolling against one another in pleasured gasps and moans as they stroke and touch, feel and grind- he is sure he is suddenly in over his head. For a little while, he can't tear his eyes away, though.

Eventually, he does. Body thrumming with warmth and need, he stumbles from the doorway and licks the taste of honey from his lips. Tugging at the collar of his shirt, his legs feel weak, his thighs damp with arousal, and his clothes slick with wet desire, making itself evident. His scent permeates the air, sweet, enticing, and strong as his eyes cast about for help.]

Hah-

[He's breathless. Please... he claws through the connection of the few tethers he has, begging to see one of them, aching for their touch and attention. He'll do whatever they ask, just help him.

One particular scent catches his attention. He doesn't recall making the conscious decision to seek it out, but in a drunken haze, he moves, one hand guiding him along the wall until he finds the source. Or maybe the source has found him. It doesn't matter.

His hand reaches out to clasp hold of them, catching their shirt, and his eyes lift pleadingly to their gaze.]

Don't go-

𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚍

[Want to try something not listed above? Feel free to start something new or hit up my plotting post! Or-! Feel free to catch me on plurk @ hakuboo or on discord as heatchi!

*As a final note! I am only interested in Till going all the way with one person whom I have already pre-planned things with! However, I don't mind kissing or some confused groping until they come to their senses and try to get out of there, or run into said person, I suppose. Either way-! I'm down for light fooling around and shared confusion. He has no experience, so.... yeah!

Lastly, if you feel like it, hit up his aura color form! As a lightweaver, he can see colored auras around people sometimes!]

You Taste Like New Flesh - 2

[lupusxylem]

[It's funny, because sitting next to Till as he is, Wolfwood actually has a glass of the very same brandy with him. He just hasn't had a sip for a while, because it makes him feel a little too good. So good that he's a little afraid to lose himself in it, so he's trying to temper how much he drinks. It's a mixed bag as to how good he's been at doing that, since trying not to eat has failed completely so far, but at least he's not drunken himself stupid. An achievement, to be sure.

His companion, on the other hand...

Wolfwood kindof slightly lifts his own glass between curled Valkerie claws, looking sidelong at Till past the hooked beak of his mask he's reluctantly still wearing.]

I got plenty. Might wanna take it easy, kid. You're gonna hate the hangover you have tomorrow if you overdo it.

Re: You Taste Like New Flesh - 2

[untilldeath]

You're worrying waaaay~ too much. ♪

[Or maybe someone's not worrying enough. When you're not used to feeling this happy in a while, though, it's damn near addictive. The alcohol leaves his head pleasantly buzzed, and that doesn't even account for the bursts of joy that bubble up in his chest and leave him restless to move and laugh. He's sure as hell never tasted or had something like this back home. Certainly not him. His owner wasn't going to waste any luxuries on him.]

Here.

[A little more brandy sloshes out as he lifts his cup up.]

Let's do that toast thing I heard about.

[lupusxylem]

[It's not like Wolfwood doesn't remember his first foray into alcohol. It feels so long ago now, yet not very long at all (he and Till are much closer in age than he realizes), though these days the best you can get back home is straight vodka, which...isn't really as pleasant to be drinking as this brandy is. Maybe it's for the best that, if he were to be having anything, it's this stuff. A drink that makes you feel nice both literally and figuratively.

Sighing, Wolfwood relents after a moment, if only because he's afraid Till might actually fall out of his seat if he doesn't.]

Fine...careful, you're gonna spill your booze all over me.

[He lifts his glass and lightly taps the rim against Till's before taking a VERY small sip because he doesn't want to start crying into his drink again.]

[untilldeath]

Don't worry about it!

[He clanks glasses together with the taller guy and grins, before drinking long and hard, in contrast. The euphoria is immediate and bursts to life in the form of a short, but happy memory. A time when he was just a kid, surrounded by a bunch of other children as he plays a lullaby on the xylophone while singing with the others.

They're happy... simply singing and having fun with one another for the sake of it, despite the fake trees and the painted clouds on the walls of their cage. Back then, there genuinely were times he felt happiness. Back when they were all still alive.

He could drown in these memories over and over and over again. These things are shared, though, so perhaps the other guy has something just as nice.]

[lupusxylem]

[Oh. That's...

The memory hits him, and it's as happy as it is bittersweet. Wolfwood feels it rolling through his entire body, and for a moment, it's so...familiar it's almost hard to breathe.

And then, a memory of Wolfwood's own springs forth unbidden. A child- much younger than Till in his own memory- with dark tousled hair and sandals, his cheeks kissed by the sun. He's holding a baby, no more than an infant, soothing the babe as he stands at the heels of a woman who isn't his mother, but definitely their caretaker. She speaks softly to them both as she cooks breakfast for what must be dozens of others, with Wolfwood watching with rapt attention even though he can barely see over the countertop. It isn't long before other children file into the long dining hall, chattering excitedly. Breakfast is simple, bland even...but it's a comforting memory. You can almost smell the kitchen before it fades.

As their shared memories fade, Wolfwood speaks without thinking, like he's stating fact:]

You're an orphan too.

[untilldeath]

[Ah... how warm. It is familiar. And different. The warmth shared between the people there is similar, even if he suspects, the environment was quite different. What he says, though, rings untrue. To Till's situation, anyhow. Though maybe ultimately the distinction isn't so different.

He blinks, setting his glass down and reaching for one of Wolfwood's hands to try and pull him up and toward the middle of the floor.]

Ahhh~ I wasn't an orphan, though. I had a provider.

[The feeling that accompanies the name 'provider' is likely similiar to what one would feel toward a parent, though.]

At least before I was taken away.

[Only a flicker of a negative memory penetrates the happy mood through the murmur, before the elation of the happier memories and good cheer around them swims back into place to replace it.]

All of you looked happy. So that was an orphanage...?

[Someone used that term recently when speaking to him. He doesn't think there were things like that for humans back home. Probably the Segyein, though.]

Did that Provider just take care of everyone?

A & Ω cringe

[snaggletooth]

[ When Till excuses himself from the table Ivan doesn't object, nor does he follow, deciding not to cloy him with his presence. Their tether is all he needs to find him again should he need to. He returns to eating, hoping to feel the mind on the other side start to settle down. A minute passes, two. Just as Ivan wonders if his bowl of stew should be making him feel so hot, a desperate plea hammers his heart.

Abruptly, he stands from his chair and follows their thread down the stairs. The heat is still with him. A simmer before, boiling now, pulling glassy beads of sweat to the surface of his skin. He's unaware of the perfume of allure it now carries. Sounds start to reach him, like someone being tortured, but—not quite, before he runs into Till at the bottom. His eyes dart to the fingers that instantly become snagged in his cloths, then back up.

Till looks utterly sick with something, stricken with fever. Both of his hands are on Till's hips before he processes his own movement. There's almost no distance between them as he looks down at him like more than dancing partner. ]

You called for me, Till.

[ He needed him... for what?

His thoughts dull, forgetting urgency. There doesn't appear to be any actual danger, anyway. The things he thought were screams of pain are almost hypnotic now. Trying to think of going back upstairs just reminds him of what a racket it was, all that talk with too many dishes clanging.

He still hasn't addressed the situation with his words, but his hand moves upward along Till's side, cupping the base of his ribs underneath his suit jacket. It's just so easy to do that he can't remember why it was once only a daydream. ]

Why would I leave when I've only just found you?

[untilldeath]

[Did Ivan always smell this heavenly before...? Certainly, he was clean. Back home, sometimes he would return from his modeling work to the garden seeped in different colognes from his business with his guardian. His natural smell was light and fragrant, though. Till was simply familiar with the differences between what the segyein liked to dress him up in and how he ordinarily was when leaning up against him.

Right now, though, Ivan's presence and scent cloud his mind with a magnetic pull that he can't step away from. The deep red of Ivan's irises swims in his own eyes, and Till's tongue flicks out to wet his lips as his fingers curl tighter into the white of the suit beneath his hands.

He hates this suit. Flushed with heat, his lips part when Ivan's hands shift up his body, and he releases a shaky breath. Oh. He wants to feel more- the desire for touch transfers through the tether, inviting, at the same time, his hands shift to tug the outer jacket of Ivan's from his shoulders.]

Can we remove this?

[He's longed to all night. Right now feels like the perfect excuse. It's only as he strips it from his body and Till's hands slide over his shoulders that he realizes he didn't answer him. Drawing into Ivan's warmth, suddenly, it feels strange that Till regrets the other only has one set of arms right now.

What does he tell him? That right now, all Till can think of is recreating the explosive ecstasy he can recall feeling the other week?

God, yeah... actually, that is exactly what his body craves right now. Ivan had wanted it that day. That was what he had tried so desperately to recreate when he had been willing to hurt himself all over again. Till doesn't want to see him brought to harm. But maybe he can sate that hunger. He wants to. ]

I just...

[He what....? He should be embarrassed, he thinks. But there isn't time to allow that to slow him down when he wants to feel more. When he wants to give Ivan what he had longed for. Hips pressing against his instinctively, Till moans as the all-consuming need leaves him aching.]

Ivan. I want to feel what we did the other day.

[Finally, he admits it. His eyes find his again to dare him to laugh while simultaneously begging permission. Glowing brighter, power thrums in Till's body. How can he use it? How can he make Ivan feel good? His fingertips slip beneath the white of Ivan's shirt to press flush against his skin to release a tingling energy to pulse through his body. It spreads as light through his veins in intricate, delicate patterns as it reaches into his core, imbuing him from within.]

[snaggletooth]

[ With Till's fingers flush against his unprotected stomach, free of that tough black plating, even breathing feels indulgent, the way it brings his skin bowing into the touch he's longed to feel. And breathe Ivan has to, as Till delivers unto him something like a burst of adrenaline, readying his body for a different kind of fight. Latticed light shines momentarily through all the layers of his clothing, torso rolling as it travels from the level of his navel downward, following his inguinal lines.

If it was a knife, it would be cutting him deep, but his gasps indicate anything but pain. ]

Till — Till, it's working. Oh — ❤︎

[ All of it frantically whispered, Ivan having been left a little breathless. He doesn't know what's happening, but he welcomes it all the same. This is their strange new life, of magic that sends their souls into euphoria and flesh that twists into whatever pleases their new god.

As he comes back to himself, a nagging thought awaits him. You can't just let Till do everything. Ivan pushes him backward until they crush into one of the velvet walls, trampling his old white costume coat under their stumbling feet. He has no plans of retrieving it. The only thing either of them need when it's this hot is their skin, Ivan thinks, spreading open Till's suit jacket and working it over his shoulders, dragging it down his arms in clumsy jerks. The way he can't stop pressing his weight against him slows down the process incredibly. Ivan explores his eyes throughout every moment of it.

Those eyes are trying to tell him something he desperately hopes his own body isn't misinterpreting, stiffening between his legs. Just brushing up against the spot where Till's thighs meet makes him light-headed and less able to think.

A robed figure passing by turns their head to look, making Ivan lean in closer, square his shoulders even more broadly over his claim. No one has been watching longer than he has. No one has waited longer. Ivan has a vision of taking Till's wet lips into his own and righting what he made wrong, of taking all the time in the world to tell him his meaning, but what he ends up saying is even more insane. ]

I've heard mating can feel incredible, too.

[ It's a dream. Anything can happen in a dream. ]

Do you want to try...?

[untilldeath]

[It worked. The pleasure that warms Ivan has a secondary effect upon Till, too. Euphoric, it ignites delight and a desire like fire that quickly consumes his thoughts as the flames lick up the edges of his melting insecurities, and beg for more fuel. The high sets his nerves blazing with a near-unbearable anticipation, wondering what more he might be able to give him. For them both to experience-

He doesn't blink as his back is pressed to the wall behind him. Instead, he struggles to help Ivan slip the stuffy clothes from his own body. How incredible that they had been freezing not so long ago. The passage of time, though, is something he can't quite figure out in this place, and neither does he care to. Not right now, anyway. Here in the present, with Ivan's hips pressing against his own, all he finds himself wondering is how much closer they can get.

Till doesn't know when his hands moved, but fingers thread into Ivan's hair and curl. The sense of awed amazement he feels could leave him speechless. He's here. Ivan is. He's with him. Ivan is alive, and his hands and body and his eyes are upon his own. Those red pupils, like a camera bore into his own as though photographing him with his mind. The steady gaze causes his stomach to curl in excitement and his pulse to pound. Not even a month ago, those eyes haunted him. Now, he wants to be devoured in them.

Body tingling as though electrified, Till craves more touch, longing to be fulfilled in a way he can't explain, while desperate to gratify Ivan further. Iridescent gaze shifting to Ivan's mouth, he can't draw his eyes away.

Not... until Ivan's question partially penetrates the haze of his thoughts. He blinks, his attention rising back to his face proper. Mate... he asks. Never in his life has Till imagined he would mate with, well... anyone. He was a pet human who grew up in Anakt Garden. He was destined to compete and probably die on the Alien Stage.

That doesn't mean he hadn't ever used his imagination, or... taken care of himself. He felt the same urges as anyone else his age. His recent conversation with someone else on mating echoes in the back of his mind, though. Mating isn't always done for the sake of breeding. That would be impossible for both himself and Ivan, anyway.

That hot, persistent ache between his legs that left him clawing at his tether to Ivan hasn't dissipated. If anything, it's only grown with their nearness, relentless in his thirst, like molten lava in his veins that reaches out in eagerness toward him.

Before he knows it, Till nods. Anything is possible in a dream. And dream or not, he needs Ivan right now.

Hips rolling forward in a pleading grind, Till's arms circle Ivan's neck.]

Fuck...

[It's such an insane question. Only Ivan would ask like that.]

Please.

[Maybe his response is just as insane. His body is driving him insane, though. Does Ivan need to feel it as badly as he does right now? His hope and desire fill Till's own veins. With a soft gasp, his lips find the other idol's. He has no experience in this, other than The Once, so he can't even say if he's doing things correctly or not. Ultimately, he lets his body lead without trying to overthink it. He speaks breathlessly against him with another roll of his hips.]

Maybe we should find a room somewhere.

[Instead of the hallway. Not that he has a lot of shame right now, but he imagines it might be more comfortable elsewhere.]

[snaggletooth]

[ Till tastes perfect, and it's not because of the sweet drinks he's been downing all night. He tastes like dreams fulfilled. Ivan's lips respond with an explosion of enthusiasm, not thinking of technique, just enjoying, feasting, little more than a hungry amateur himself. Books don't accurately describe how humans are meant to kiss. They affix adverbs like softly or passionately. Well, passionate to Ivan is pushing his tongue against Till's without a plan. There's no wrong way to partake in each other in his mind.

The idea that Till would even agree to be his for the night is pure, unbelievable elation. The signs of his wanting were already there in the sopping wetness down his legs. Even that smell he's giving off, somehow Ivan knows it's there to invite him, but he still had to be sure of Till before he could be sure of himself. He needed to hear him say it.

Somewhere between that crucial confirmation and their mouths suddenly smashing together, Ivan hikes Till's legs up around him so they can forego separating. He tries to kiss him on the move, tries to keep him supported upright, but—by design—not enough that his weight isn't bearing down on his trapped erection, exciting some kind of heavenly agony; he tries to have it all before they're even in bed. He can't care how awkward it is, the last doubt keeping him at bay torn down. ]

Till, I've always wanted you as my mate

[ Their position as they stumble through the sinful hall reminds him of the one he used to use while entertaining himself with thoughts of them. He couldn't often. Anakt Garden had few private areas and fewer the flowers wouldn't see. If he didn't want word getting back to Unsha that his pet was acting inappropriately, he realized it was better to wait until he was taken out for a job.

He feeds the memory through the tether like a treat. Watch me, Till.

Fashionable slacks around his ankles, he supports himself with one hand against the wall of a toilet, thrusting into his other. He imagines himself rubbing against different parts of his favorite slender, silver-haired idol. He isn't sure how it would work between the two of them, physically, so his preferred way is from behind through his thighs. If pressed together enough, that would do the trick, surely.

In the too short minutes he has to spare before a PA came looking for him, he comes to a silent climax behind clenched teeth. The evidence is easy to wipe from the washroom tiles, and then he returns to work.

Do you see him?

Risking his reputation so stupidly, even to be with just a figment of you. ]

You're perfect for me.

[ A bed nicer than anything they'll ever find in the broken city receives Till bouncily, Ivan's hands flying to the button of his pants after he releases his body from his arms.

He frees himself first, groaning in relief as his hard-on springs into the open air, his tip teary with pre-ejaculate and flushed heinously pink. Till will have a few moments to contemplate it as Ivan knees his way onto the bed between his legs, intending to unzip him too. ]

[untilldeath]

[Desperate and touch-starved for affection is perhaps the only way to describe the delirious, frenetic manner in which they claw at and seek to devour the other. Ivan's tongue invades his mouth with explosive fervor, forcing his lips apart. Till has no idea what is supposed to be considered right or wrong. How would he or Ivan know? It isn't as though they were ever taught beyond the basics of breeding.

All they have in the end are their base instincts.

Maybe that does make them like animals. Right now, Till can't care. Mouth parting, he welcomes the invasion while his tongue pushes back to stroke Ivan's. His appetite is whet, and the idea that Ivan could pull back now feels unthinkable. He clouds his head in every way imaginable. His tongue fills his mouth, his scent fills his nostrils, and his eyes burn into his own to flood every sense. Not to mention the addictive feel of his erection bumping against his groin as Ivan hefts his feet up from under him.

Fuck...

It feels amazing. And he feels like he's drowning in the overwhelming ocean of Ivan's desire. The memory surges like a flood breaking down a dam. Till doesn't think he ever imagined anyone ever actually wanting him. The bit of shock and embarrassed fluster it ignites intermingles with the realization that he was desired. Till never thought he cared what anyone thought of him. But deep down, everyone wanted to believe there was someone who found them special somehow.

He never realized the depths of Ivan's feelings, though. It's difficult to wrap his head around, but the realization? Oh, that leaves him squirming even worse than before.

For once in his life, Till doesn't mind the height difference between them, or that Ivan is strong enough to support his weight to begin with. His legs tighten around Ivan's waist as they move, and Till doesn't make it easy on him. Clasping hold of him, he grinds against him with a needy whimper. He wants more and he'll take whatever he can right now.

It isn't long before Ivan has found a room, though. Till bounces lightly as his back meets the bed. He's amazed by the comfort and softness of it, but there isn't much time to contemplate that. Ivan's dick lifts free of the constraints of his pants, and suddenly everything is more real. This is happening. Maybe it's because they are on a bed, or maybe it's because Ivan's erection is larger than he might have initially imagined, but this is happening. It's real for him.

And damn, Till's body feels hot as though he needs it and he needs it now. Evidence of his own arousal soaks through his pants, giving him away. That should be humiliating, he thinks, but all he can think of is just how badly he wants to mate right now. He might wonder what he is supposed to do about his clothes after this, but that isn't at the forefront of his mind.

Tongue flicking out to wet his lips, Till welcomes Ivan into the cradle between his legs. The friction of his cock straining against his own pants is uncomfortable, but his attention is on Ivan. He saw a little of what was happening in some of those rooms he passed, not even ten minutes ago. Ivan called him perfect for him. Maybe, even though they aren't biologically compatible for breeding, they can find a way around it all, just like Ivan had imagined between them once.

What he knows is the desperate desire to satisfy courses through his veins. The steady glow about him emphasizes the flush of his skin, and as Ivan nears, his hand reaches out to grasp hold of his thick erection, slick already with pre-cum. This is all so new, so when he speaks, he's honest even despite the moan and husky notes in his voice.]

I don't know the right way to mate like this...

[Not with another guy, he admits a little lamely. Not that he has been with a girl before either. But does there have to be a 'right way' if this is for pleasure, though? Everyone in those other rooms had been creative. And, Till does, at least, know what feels good. His thumb smooths over the tip of his cock, teasing, before smearing his arousal into his hands to slide down his length.

Ivan is hard because of him. Fuck... why is that such a turn on?]

So tell me what feels good. What you want-

[They can figure it out together.]

( there's something in the way you lay )

[offseers]

[ noah stills, a little caught off guard. it's not often he's asked for. he tends to blend into the background, a steady shadow. always at your back, but never one to be called for. and surely it couldn't be him, could it? ]

— Till?

[untilldeath]

[His fingers don't loosen once he's got a hold of Noah. He needs something to ground himself with. He needed someone he liked- someone he trusted. At the same time, holding on feels dangerous, too. His head and body riot against one another. Cheeks flushed with desire, he licks his lips, fighting to sort his head out from what every cell in his body tells him that he needs, and the small part of his mind that warns him that this wasn't how he felt prior to stepping foot into the heated floor beneath.

Leaning forward, his head slumps against Noah's shoulder.]

Hah-... [He's breathless. Hot. His skin is flushed with restless longing and heat, and all he wants right now is to draw nearer. Every instinct begs him to.]

Noah.

[He licks his lips. How is Noah feeling? Every impulse tells him to check in, to see what he wants- to see if he can help.]

There's... something weird happening.

[offseers]

[ noah is gentle, hands upon till's shoulders to keep him steady. he feels his breath upon his skin, heated and sharp, sending a flush down his own. it's a strange sensation, both familiar and unfamiliar. the prickle of the past makes his hair rise. ]

Yeah. I feel it too.

[untilldeath]

[His fingers curl ever so subtly upon Noah. Not restrictive, but rather, a silent pleading for some sort of solution to their plight.]

Glad I'm not going insane, then.

[Not that he wants Noah in these same trenches, but Till has never felt so desperate and full of... need before. It's clouding his mind and making coherent thought difficult.]

Damn, I feel so dizzy and hot.

[offseers]

Yeah, it's . . . weird.

[ should he know what this is? what is he meant to do? this heat that spreads . . . he's never heard of anything like this. ]

Maybe we should both sit down. Just . . . breathe.

[untilldeath]

How are you keeping it together?

[Till's... trying. But he feels like a mess. He does take a moment to try and breathe and work through the hormones raging within his body.]

You don't flap a lot.

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡.1

[sorte]

[ a wolf whistle precedes Aventurine's voice making the response, although his answer has absolutely nothing to do with the question asked. ]

Till, look at you. How hot are you in that getup because I'm bothered~.

[untilldeath]

[Glancing up, Aventurine's own outfit vaguely reminds him of one he's seen before. It's not the same, but... his hair color is similar, and it has that same flowiness to it that another particular blond favors.

If anything, Till simply looks confused for a moment.]

Why would YOU get bothered over my temp?

[Weirdo. It's thought good-naturedly at least.]

It is kinda hot, though. If it gets even more....wet, I'm gonna take the jacket off.

[He's honestly not used to humidity at all.]

[sorte]

[ Aventurine had admittedly figured it might go over Till's head, but it was more an immediate afterthought and also just too good an opportunity to bully him a little.

Not that anything he said is a lie, but he's still looking to get some kind of reaction out of him. 'Affectionate bullying' is a better term, maybe?

His laugh is brief, but it's easy on the ears in volume while sounding friendly and playful. ]

Oh, I wasn't talking about your temperature but rather how good you look. If I said you're very handsome, does it make more sense to you?

[ as much as he would love to keep teasing Till with compliments and suggestive commentary, he switches gears. ]

Is it too stuffy in here for you? We have been in really cold conditions for the past while now, too...

[ he wants to make sure something isn't wrong with him. ]

[untilldeath]

Oh-

[Well...! He does fluster a little. Since when does anyone use that as a descriptor for him? Especially from someone so pretty and all that. His cheeks do color a nice shade of pink, and he glances away.]

Um, thanks.

[He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, before clearing his throat.]

I guess stuffy is the right word for it. Maybe because there are so many people in here? Or the humidity from the water.

[He pulls at his collar.]

Back home, the garden was temperate, I guess. But outside of it, the place was a desert, so it was pretty dry. I'm not used to the extreme cold or the heat inside this building either.

[sorte]

[ so cute! okay, he got a reaction, that makes him happy. he'll be nice for now. ]

It's absolutely from how many people are here. The water may or may not be affecting it, too, it's hard to tell.

Would it help if you had something cool to press against your neck or face?

[untilldeath]

Huh... maybe? I think I just need to get out of this outfit, but barring that, maybe something cold would work?

[He glances down at the food and drink in front of them and then back up toward the freak watching them all and snorts.]

I think that guy's annoyed that we haven't dug in yet.

[Flips the asshole the bird! And then doubles it because he CAN.]