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.

Watch on YouTube

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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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[merged]

[ This kind of dancing is something Sharon has only ever seen on screens, a closeness that feels oddly intimate alongside the slow sway of Jinx's hips. She lets the alcohol dull her sense of place—ignores how much she might rather keep this private—and leans into it, letting her body follow the rhythm.

She'd never say it aloud, but the truth is she's shy. Always has been. She's just good at slipping into other roles, good at pretending she isn't. Sometimes even forgets she doesn't need the act anymore.

Jinx's cocky tone earns a quiet chuckle, Sharon's breath brushing against the girl's ear and neck as her hands trail deliberately down her waist, light and teasing. ] I'd say I've got a pretty solid handle on you right now [ she murmurs, projecting a confidence she doesn't quite feel. ]

[opheliac]

[there are two things that'll thwack sharon through their bond: first, the delightful goosebumps tickling down her arms and spine. jinx swallows a gasp and suppresses the urge to moan over just how good this feels and how starved she is for a touch or intimacy of whatever kind she is allowed to have. but then it's her words
that wavers her smile; it twitches and sinks low slightly despite it still staying in place.]

Menteur...

[she says, quiet and barely above a whisper. she won't translate the word, and maybe thanks to everything around them, sharon might not catch her calling her a fibber. because as much as she would love for it to be true, jinx is aware that no one will ever have a handle on her. those who believe so are just setting themselves up for failure and torment. it's a waste of time, really, and she knows it's only a matter of time until that realization will blossom and gleam. but she won't let that ruin this moment now, even with the slight sense of doubt thickening and balancing on their tether.]

... So how's your dream going? Made anything come true yet?

[merged]

[ The spark that runs through the tether is impossible to miss, the rush of pleasure radiating from Jinx at her touch feeding a satisfaction that curls Sharon's lips into a small smile. But then something shifts, an undercurrent of doubt bleeding through the bond. Her smile falters, though she lets Jinx's questions tug her attention elsewhere, refusing to dwell on the feeling the way she does with almost everything else. ]

Oh, it's just been one long reminder that I'd love nothing more than to kill Sleep. [ She says lightly, though a flicker of anger seeps into the tether all the same. ] Still... it is nice to actually feel clean for once, and that's a dream come true. Even if these clothes aren't exactly my thing.

[ Leggings and a loose top would've been her first choice, but she can't ignore the way Jinx wears her dress. Distractingly well. ]

[opheliac]

Hm!! Nothing like a good assassination to calm the mind. [is this a joke, or does she truly mean it? it's hard to distinguish, but she finally removes her hand away from the back of sharon's head—letting her move freely and all that.]

But come on. It can't be that bad, can it?

[her hands sneak inside her own top, fishing out two unlighted sparklers and sticking them on each side of her footless socks. and being this a dream where anything can happen, the fireworks pop and fizzle as she continues to sway/dance to the music. how strange how the flares are not hitting her skin or causing any harmful damage to her or sharon's legs. and they seem to be everlasting too.]

Should I do a spin and see for myself?

[merged]

[ Jinx fishes out a pair of sparklers and plants them down by her feet. Sharon resists the urge to step back. She knows it's just a dream, knows the sparks can't really burn her, but instinct is harder to silence than reason.

The questions pull a short, amused snort out of her, distracting her. ] I didn't say they were bad, I just said they weren't my thing. [ Truth is, the outfit makes her hyperaware of herself, every curve and line feeling exposed in ways she isn't used to. And yet, at the same time, she doesn't hate what she sees reflected back—doesn't hate the way she looks, even if she'd trade the bodysuit in a heartbeat for a loose shirt.

Sharon lets her hand drift down Jinx's arm, fingers brushing lightly before she catches her hand and gives her a gentle spin, pulling her back around to face her. ] See?

cw: NSFW

[opheliac]

[once her eyes lock onto sharon's attire, her smile drops—her stare intensely focus on the obvious parts and then everything else immediately after.]

Sweet Janna, you're—[—'hot', 'sexy'. the two first compliments blaring in her thoughts before she could grab hold of them, and her cheeks quickly burn as she remembers about their tether.]

Shit! Uh. W-What I mean is... ['don't think about her tits, don't think about her tits.'] Cool. You. Very. [letting go of sharon's hand, she uses it to cough and clear her throat into it, averting her gaze as she tries to bat away her lecherous imagination.]

Nice gigs, Blondie. You, uh, can really evacuate everyone's senses! [....] Get it? 'Cause you're the bomb and.... a threat. Eh heh heh...

[booo, get off the dance floor.]

[merged]

[ The response throws Sharon off guard, and a burst of laughter escapes her before she can stop it, Jinx's stray thoughts crackling through the tether like the sparks off the sparklers. Sexy. She can't even bring herself to argue.

Her grin lingers as Jinx fumbles, words tumbling out with no filter, her mind too wrapped up in not thinking about it. With anyone else, Sharon might've bristled, felt cheapened, or stared at in the wrong way, but with Jinx, it just... lands different. ]

Shut up. [ she fires back through a laugh, rolling her eyes as her hands disappear into the deep pockets of her orange trousers. The teasing edge in her voice softens the jab. ] It's like you've never seen a hot girl before, damn.

[opheliac]

[with the embarrassment illuminating more, jinx flings the blonde a glare with an expression that reads more of a childish pout rather than anger. the teenager hmphs and twists her back towards sharon, now going back to dancing (while giving her the middle finger) because... well, how dare she make her feel such a girl? similar to violet whenever that princess long-legs waltzes by and her brain switches to "simpleton" mode.

never in her life did she think she would stoop down to her older sibling's level when it comes to courtship. she is a genius, a prodigy, the queen of zaun, and the piltover's most wanted, for crying out loud. jinx is meant to be better than her dopey (yet loving) big sister.... and here she is, being as smooth as sandpaper. at least when she dances, the sparklers hooked on her feet are changing all different shades of colors. when embarrassed? colors and fireworks.]

[merged]

[ The pout is irresistibly cute, and it doesn't lose its charm even as Jinx turns away, flipping her off like she's just insulted her. A laugh escapes Sharon, bubbling up uncontrollably. She's never seen someone glitch out like that before, and she takes it as a compliment.

Leaning over her shoulder, Sharon teases ] Oh, come on. Does it help if I say you look damn good, too? [ She can't help the grin tugging at her lips. After all, she'd been watching Jinx for a moment before daring to approach. ]

[opheliac]

[a lovely chill rolls down her spine again; her confidence fluffs her feathers, and a smile returns to her. sure, she thought she believed she looked nice in this outfit, but she hadn't received a compliment from anyone since this banquet. sharon is the first, and surprisingly (not really), her opinion is the one she holds the highest.

jinx doesn't answer with words, but she responds with another turn—facing the other before grabbing her wrist. with a giggle, the bluenette skips off while tugging the blond along, weaving through other vessels to an area more exclusive, not as bright. the music can still be heard within earshot and when they reach a dead end to a wall, jinx lets go and confronts Sharon, biting her bottom lip through her smile.]

... I just want you to myself. Without everyone staring.

[she answers, simply predicting what her question could be as she uses the wall to sway her hips smoothly against. her hand reaches to rest on her left shoulder, but then lightly caresses along her neck, trying to gesture her to get a little closer.]

[merged]

[ The next thing Sharon knows, Jinx is pulling her through the pearl palace, away from the banquet and the chatter of the other Vessels. She locates a section of a hall, somewhere more private, and Sharon's heart thrums painfully in her chest, caught between anticipation and a gnawing anxiety—the moment charged with an energy she's still unsure how to handle. ]

I don't think anyone was staring. [ she whispers as she leans closer to Jinx, letting her body fill the space between them, one hand finding the girl's thin waist and slipping around the draped fabric of her dress. Despite the constant, suffocating awareness of Sleep's presence, she feels marginally less self-conscious, almost ready to sink into the moment. ] But I kind of thought you were the type of girl who liked a little attention.

cw: possessive behavior narrative

[opheliac]

[she hums deeply, now her arms curling around the other's neck while she still rocks her hips at a such slow tempo.]

Oh, believe me, I love attention. ... I pulled you in, didn't I?

[jinx coos, her pinks shimmer faintly through her blindfold as her grin twists sensually. there's that need to devour her again, to claim her with more than just a silly dirt initial of her name or just saying," you are now one of mine". it's whirring all over their tether, but it cools gradually—knowing deep down, it's... not the way to go. she attempted that with her sister, but it only drove her and caitlyn closer together somehow.

to this day, she doesn't understand it—how this particular behavior seems to work well between her and silco, but not... with her and her sister. isha explained to her one afternoon that it makes people feel unhappy, afraid, or sometimes smothered. but wouldn't people want to know their loved one is crazy about them? love songs seem to normalize that idea and make it what everyone longs for. so how is her tactic different? how is it...scary? but that doesn't matter now (at least she thinks so), and keeps her smile warm, and genuine.]

... Thanks. For... saying I look nice.

[merged]

[ Jinx did pull her in, though Sharon would argue Jinx never really wants people's true attention, not with her 'curse'. Sharon's wrestled with the same fear, that gnawing worry she carries some curse of her own. But where Jinx tries to push people away, Sharon can't. She craves connection too much.

The possessive tug along the tether unsettles her. She can feel Jinx's need to claim, to hold people as hers, and she doesn't quite know how to sit with that. And yet... it isn't entirely unwanted. Her own feelings knot together, tangled, tense. There's heat in them, a lust, maybe, that sparks at the edges of every glance, every touch, but there's also the soft lining of friendship there. She isn't sure what to call it, or where it's heading, but she knows it's real.

When Jinx thanks her, Sharon only shrugs, trying to play down the thrum in her chest. ] You look unforgettable, [ she says softly, eyes catching on the other girl's face. ] You've always looked unforgettable.

[opheliac]

[the heat is climbing to her ears again, spreading over her freckles, which are, luckily, buried behind her blindfold. this is something that's been happening more often, she's realizing. whenever these little moments happen when sharon is in her space. jinx is aware of what it is; it's something she shares with a certain boy savior whenever he stumbles upon her perimeter. and like with ekko, jinx should wedge something between them so things won't get too messy, so things won't crumble between her fingers.

and yet, it's been so hard to push away when everything inside her is itching for... whatever this is. and naturally, being the genius that she is, she contemplates over the equation before them, searching for a different solution, another method. sharon is supposed to do this, not her. the blonde is meant to drive while she lounges in the passenger seat and relishes whatever road she takes this on. but... maybe, maybe just this once, she can give her a hint—a tiny suggestion. it couldn't hurt, right?]

What's next after we dance, Rabbit? [she says, her heart racing just a touch.] ... This dream, right now with me, ... it can go however you want it to go. You got any ideas? 'Cause I'm listening.

[her fingers curl and uncurl behind sharon's neck, her metal prosthetic carefully tracing against her skin, drawing little swirls and circles.]

[merged]

[ Jinx wants more—Sharon can feel it pulling taut along the tether, humming with need—but she isn't certain what more is when she doesn't even know what this is, let alone what she wants from it.

Her hands settle lightly at Jinx's waist, fingers brushing just above the curve of her hips. The hold is loose, tentative, but enough to anchor her as she leans in, the space between them charged with something sharp and unspoken. ] What if all I want is to keep dancing? [ Voice low. It's safer than admitting the temptation tugging at her, safer than suggesting what waits downstairs. She knows why Sleep dangled those particular options like bait, but she won't fall for it.

So instead, she clings to this. The rhythm. The heat of another body pressed close. The tension drawn tight enough to leave her pulse racing. Jinx is one of the few things she can let herself focus on—that makes her forget, even briefly, that they're trapped in a dream that verges terribly close to a nightmare. ]

You make it easy to tune out the rest of the shit. [ Sharon admits, her voice barely above a whisper. ]

cw: very very very subtle self-harm + brief schizophrenia

[opheliac]

[somehow, that question stings her just a bit, and she can feel a certain someone manifesting ever so shrewdly in the shadows. there's a muffled snicker that chimes in both of the girls' ears, and while jinx recognizes that tone, she straightens her spine and masks as if it's just some bystander passing by who is probably chuckling at someone's joke. because maybe if she played this as nothing, then maybe her counterpart would follow suit.

her fingers coil behind sharon's neck again, except now, her fingernail grazes against her thumb—toying with a hangnail that pricks her each time she presses. this is becoming way more... soft and mushy than she anticipated, and she's not quite sure how to handle it. she knows how to be gentle with isha, but even with her daughter, things unexpectedly twist into a feverish mess—where they take a sudden sharp turn to the left and travel down the most jagged street imaginable just to spice things up.

sure, sharon seems like the type who would enjoy an adventure or two, it's just... this. this right here. what is she supposed to do with this? and jinx has half a mind to just shove her lips against hers as hard as she can so this won't be so tender and sweet. and mylo is ready to open his mouth to speak, so eager to throw in his two cents on how all of this is pathetic, sad, and of course, her fault. but sharon interrupts him, and it forces him to lock up completely and to return into the void with the rest of her ghosts. and then jinx eases on her thumb, moving her index finger away from the torn skin even though it throbs somewhat. the bluenette huffs out a small laugh, averting her gaze as she imagines a band-aid covering around her thumb. and just like that? hangnail is shielded away, no more picking.]

Heh, out of everyone in the slammer, I'm the one who does it for you? ... Are you sure it's not the wine talking?

[merged]

[ The snicker in her ear makes her go rigid; she tilts her head, scanning the corridor for a source. There's nobody close enough to have made that sound, and her stomach drops into a cold knot. Jinx barely blinks, just straightens. Had that been one of the voices? Had she said the wrong thing?

Then Jinx laughs, and Sharon lets the prickling unease slide away, attention turning back to the girl pressed between her and the wall. ]

We really need to work on that self-esteem of yours, [ Sharon says, half-teasing, half-serious. Jinx is sure of herself around inventions and traps, but people are different—or, with her, it's different. ] Just trust me: I like your company. I don't need booze to enjoy it.

[opheliac]

"We"?

[she repeats, reminiscing about a moment she and her sister shared, a time when things were growing so beautifully. and she can't help but wonder if she can have something that lovely too with sharon. two girls just spending time together, to have someone to give her feedback over her inventions, to draw with, to talk to, and do all sorts of feminine things like shopping or maintaining skin care.

but could a life really be that simple and carefree for her? after all, she is trying to break the cycle just so she can have a second chance without harming the people she grew up with. and, well... this is a dream, so indulging in those sweet things should be okay—none of it this is fiction anyway. when her eyes flicker back up to her companion, a smile gleams on her face and a very careful hand rests against the other's cheek.]

I. Uh, uhm. Heh. — I like... your company too, Sharon. You're not half-bad, I guess. For an ordinary chick.

[a tease, but says her real name to show she's serious, that she's genuine. and it's then her body shifts on its own, her head tilting upward without her permission, with her eyes slowly becoming half-lidded. her attention for reasons she can't begin to explain now solely on the blonde's lips. they are a dangerous territory; she knows this, and yet they are drawing her in like some gravitational pull—an alluring siren.

one side warns her to not get close, that once she makes contact, all of this will become real and she'll need to run. but something else within her argues, reminding her that this is a dream no matter which way she slices it. they can do whatever they want, and it wouldn't matter; it wouldn't count. maybe a light kiss to the cheek would be more beneficial; it's something they've exchanged already, and they both seemed to be satisfied with it... but her lips still call to her and dare her to cross that forbidden line. she shouldn't, and yet....]

[merged]

[ The corner of Sharon's mouth tugs upward when Jinx's hand drifts from her neck to cup her cheek, fingers warm against her skin. She can feel that the other girl yearns for something simple. A part of her aches at that, because she doesn't know if those kinds of simple things even exist for them anymore. ]

I am so far from ordinary, Jinx, [ her voice is low and colored with faint amusement. As Jinx tilts her head upward, Sharon doesn't need to see her eyes to understand where her focus is, what she longs for. Maybe it's the haze of alcohol warming her veins, maybe it's the intimacy of the moment, but Sharon closes that small, fragile distance. Her lips press to Jinx's in a kiss that is unexpectedly sweet and simple—chaste, but tender.

Sharon's chest tightens as she pulls back, her mask still hiding most of her expression, though her eyes betray a flicker of uncertainty. Some part of her mind whispers that this might complicate everything, that it risks unraveling the careful threads holding them together. She doesn't even know what this is, let alone what she truly wants from it. And yet, for that brief moment, it didn't feel wrong. ]

[opheliac]

[it's so bizarre how a simple yet tiny kiss can make her brain crackle and short-circuit. their tether pops almost identically to the sparklers hooked to her feet, and when the other is the first to break it, jinx immediately bites her bottom lip—savoring the tingle and the buzz it left behind. and at that instant, she craves another, and her fingers grip the back of her collar jacket with slight desperation.

and although every bit of her is starving for more of this touch, this feeling of being liked and wanted, the bluenette holds her ground and lowers her head instead—tucking away the blush even with the blindfold concealing it. but with how severe the heat is rising suddenly, it might still bleed through the white fabric.]

Welp, you gotta be if that's how you're kissing people.

[once again, when in doubt? throw in jabs and comedy; take that situation and twist it like it's some joke.]

— Are you sure I don't need to take a number to get in line, Hot Lips?

[merged]

[ Sharon feels the tug on the back of her jacket, Jinx clinging like she's been shaken, hungry for something Sharon can't give—at least not here, not in a dream that doesn't belong to either of them.

The joking is familiar; Jinx has done it every time things have gotten a bit too serious, a shield like Sharon's own sarcasm, but it cuts through the moment all the same. She eases back just a little, lips pressed thin. ] You know, not everything has to be made into a joke.

[opheliac]

[she scoffs then, rolling her head back (almost knocking herself out against the wall, oop) while shrugging both of her shoulders.]

Oookkay, then how do you want me to act? Say,"Thanks for the kiss; now scram?" or "Hey, babe. Let's go for seconds, more tongue this time."

[jinx exhales a defeated sigh, more so towards herself than this entire situation. everything in her slumps but she continues to sway smoothly from one side to the next as her fingers lace together behind sharon's neck.]

I'm... I'm not used to things where the answer to an equation isn't a bullet to the head or explosions. It's my go-to thing with everything. And you're... — [she pauses, her voice dips down to a lower octave.] ... not exactly someone I wanna blow up.