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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Comments

[pointedlook]

I took ballroom dancing courses. [ So, yeah. What about it? ]

Yeah, yeah, not that catering. It really could use some work. [ He has opinions on how this entire banquet is playing out. From the decor to the food to the vibe. A bit ostentatious and stifling, if you asked him. ]

What, you don't like getting flash banged by someone's traumatic memory?

[vocalistyodels]

[The ghoul shakes his head a little.]

Course you did.

[He thinks about his old life, before the bombs, before the layers of lies were pulled back. Arthur would have been great on the big screen. The looks, the charm, the talent.]

Almost as fun as being flash banged by a grenade. Minus the spots in front of your eyes.

[And with a twirl away from the buffet, Cooper's hand moves to brace at the small of Arthur's back, holding his hand firmly as he dips him back, holding him there for a moment with a grin.]

You take tap dancing lessons too? Play the piano? Sing?

[And he pulls him back up the cheekiness there on his face.]

[pointedlook]

What's that supposed to mean? [ It's not offense, more bemusement than anything else. ] Dunno, sometimes it still feels like blinking away the double vision.

[ All depending on the kind of memory. The nightmare he'd shared with Miles, after all, had left him feeling sick and aching.

A thought that is mercifully forced from his mind, as he feels the slide of Cooper's hand to the small of his back. Well honed instincts means he's tense in just the right amount when he's dipped, chin tipping back as he lets out a startled laugh. ]

No, no, I promise you don't want to hear me sing. [ He's matched Cooper's grin as he straightens back up, dimples flashing with the expression. ] Did gymnastics for a while. My sister didn't want to go alone, so she convinced me to join.

[vocalistyodels]

[You know what it means, Arthur!

And Cooper is happy to be a distraction. He's honestly over all this memory stuff and not being able to enjoy drinking without some extra bullshit. He can be miserable and make it everyone's problem without memory sharing!]

What? Can't carry a tune, but you can do a backflip?

[So what he's hearing is Arthur is flexible.]

Now that I didn't expect.

[pointedlook]

[ Wow no he doesn't! Explain yourself, old man! ]

Pretty much. Well, the backflip might be a bit much, nowadays. [ It's been a long time since he's done that sort of thing. Even if he generally exercised and kept limber, doing a backflip was a whole other thing. ] The gymnastics or the sister?

[ With a small, cheeky smile: ] Or that I let someone bully me to anything?

[vocalistyodels]

[Mr. Sassy know-it-all who of course has done insert thing here, that's what it means!]

Figure that's just keeping the peace.

[Doing what his sister wants when they're kids that is. Also maybe it's the liquor he had earlier, but those dimples when Arthur smiles are quite fetching. His hand settles a little lower on his back, comfortable, perhaps feeling that he's obviously still quite fit.]

An' maybe a little of both, what can I say? Think you're a harder man to read than I'm used to. Though I'd pay to see you flip about and whatever else they do in them classes.

[It'd be kinda hot seeing him do that shit in his nice suit, not gonna lie.]

[pointedlook]

Mm, something like that. [ It may have influenced why he'd agreed so readily, sure. Though, it had been less about keeping the peace and more because he'd felt like he'd owed her one; his temper had been terrible then and she'd often taken the brunt of it.

Either way, those thoughts are set aside as he feels Cooper's hand shift lower on his back, slipping into a flirty and possessive territory. Both his eyebrows lift, a quizzical glance flicking up to meet Cooper's gaze. ] Well, I may not be able to do a backflip any longer, but I am still flexible.

[ Perhaps that would be of interest, instead. ]

[vocalistyodels]

[Family is complicated, at least he seemed to try and make up for his failings.

But he's not concerned about Arthur's family relations at the moment. It's more the way he doesn't move away or stiffen at his touch, how Arthur leans into it with his words. Good. Cooper pulls Arthur closer, still swaying with the music, voice low as he leans in.]

And what does a fella have to do to see just how flexible?

[pointedlook]

[ Already caught in the sway of the music and his mood trending positive—despite being trapped in this dream of Sleep's making—Arthur lets himself be reeled in further, their thighs nearly brushing with the motion of dance. There's a smile in his voice as he tips his chin up slightly, lips brushing the other man's jaw. ]

A fella just has to ask.

[vocalistyodels]

[A pleasant warmth spreads through him as Arthur meets his flirtation, that light brush of his lips against his rough skin. Stilling their swaying, the ghoul turns his head towards Arthur's face, closer than they've been now.]

Think we're gonna need a new dance floor.

[Pulling away, he keeps his hand in Arthur's, a firmer grip as he nods towards this door he's heard so much about.]

Think I know where we can go.

[And if Arthur allows it, he'll pull him along as he takes them to that very door, opening it to the soft sounds of debauchery wafting up from downstairs.]

Shall we?

[Cooper grins, giving a mock little bow and wave of his hand for Arthur to go first. He's a gentleman after all.]

[pointedlook]

[ Warm breath fans along his jaw and neck as Cooper tilts his head towards him. Between that and the more than obvious suggestion they get out of here, a shiver thrills down his spine, his natural curiosity bubbling up.

And perhaps a small bit of amused affection, for the way Cooper continues to hold his hand to lead the way. He follows along with the tug and steps through the threshold as he's gestured, throwing the other man a look of faux exasperation.

Arthur waits a beat for Cooper to come in as well, the door slowly shutting behind them. As they descend the stairs, an oppressive humidity settles on his skin, muddying his senses alongside the clear sounds of pleasure laced in the air. ]

Quite the venue. [ That's definitely an orgy happening down the hall, easily seen from the bottom of the stairs. While he wouldn't necessarily be opposed, he'd come down here for one person, so he'd rather have something more private. Trying the first door he sees, it's definitely occupied. As is the second. With a sigh, he pauses by the third door, hand hovering on the handle as he concentrates. The layout of the floor plan and the room is simple, which makes it an equally straightforward task to bend it.

When he finally opens the door a few beats later, it's unoccupied, and the decor is glaringly different from what Sleep has chosen; everything is done up as mid-century modern, with mild wood tones and dark blue accents.

After he walks in: ] Coming?

[vocalistyodels]

[Oh don't worry, he's right behind Arthur as he heads down the steps, close as he can get without tripping them both up. As the heat of everything surrounds them he can't help but adjust his collar, eyes focused on the skin that peeks over the top of Arthur's as they continue down.]

Maybe I've judged our host a little harshly.

[Cooper chuckles, gaze leaving Arthur long enough to see what's going on, yet soon his eyes are back on him, following along as he tries a few rooms that are already occupied. Now Cooper would have no problem sharing a room, even if they kept to themselves, an audience can be fun after all.

But thanks to Arthur they don't have to concern themselves with anyone else. The door for the third room opens and Cooper can tell Arthur's done something again, it's different than anything he's seen when it comes to the dream so far.]

That's the plan.

[He smirks, stepping in and closing the door behind him. Glancing around, he'll slip his jacket off his shoulders, moving over to a chair to hang it across the back of it.]

Nice digs... comfy, this something like you got back home?

[He's not forgotten why they're down here, but he's nosy. All the while he's rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, getting a little more comfortable himself.]

[pointedlook]

Comedian out here, huh. [ Arthur rolls his eyes at the silly joke, shaking his head while he works at the knot of his bow tie. The silk pulls loose and he slides it out from under his collar, letting it drop to the floor. His jacket joins it a moment later, uncaring of it getting rumpled. It's a dream, after all, he can just shake it back out. ]

Sort of. My one apartment is more industrial than this. [ Mostly due to the fact it was partially a renovated warehouse. Covering over the exposed brick and iron loft would've been a sin.

Like Cooper, he continues divesting himself of layers, slipping the cuff links out and putting them in his trouser pocket. Tiny, gold knot-shaped buttons are undone on his dress shirt and he untucks it, leaving it to gape open at the front.

Stepping over to the other man, he slots a finger into the placket of his shirt, hooked loosely over a button. ]

So, [ He starts, conversationally, as he nudges Cooper towards the low bed. ] what kind of flexibility did you want to see?

[vocalistyodels]

[Someone has to get the audience laughing out here. It's a burden he doesn't carry, but endulges.]

Well...

[His eyes trail along the skin exposed of Arthur's chest, letting him lead him towards the bed. Cooper walks backwards blindly, trusting Arthur not to let him bump into anything.]

Was thinking I'd have your legs over my shoulders, bend you in half.

[Let's not mince words at this point, they know what they're in here for after all. A rough hand smoothes into the open shirt, over Arthur's stomach, along his side.]

But let's not rush into this dance, hm? Think we could have a little fun before the big flourish.

[pointedlook]

Speaking my language. [ Because they definitely know what they're here for. Despite his conversational tone, Cooper's words do find their mark, sending a thrill of arousal through him at the imagery. While he'd be effectively pinned in such a position, he knows he could get out of it.

Besides, sometimes he likes feeling held down and made to simply take what he's given.

A small shiver blooms across his skin at the drag of Cooper's hand, and right before the edge of the bed he stops their steps, slowly working the buttons open on the other man's shirt. ]

What kind of fun? [ Arthur tilts his head in query, interest clearly shining in his eyes. ]

[vocalistyodels]

[Good, it's nice that Arthur seems just as on board for what he says. His hands move to hook in Arthur's belt, pulling him closer, so their bodies touch, but he happily let's him undo his shirt as he talks.]

Well...

[He glances to the side, at the wall adorned with many sexual impliments. A grin tugs his lips wider.]

Those your touch too?

[And as much as he doesn't want to pull away from Arthur, his body warm and desiring nothing but to touch him more, he does. With reluctance of course!

Walking to the wall the ghoul admires all the options there for them. Multiple things to use on or in their bodies. Lifting a pair of cuffs hanging on the wall he raises his brow at Arthur.]

Like getting tied up?

[There was rope too among other things for binding people in different ways.]

[pointedlook]

[ He gives an amused hum as he's reeled in by his belt, undeterred by his task in working Cooper's shirt open. Soon enough, he's triumphant and he untucks the tails. Before he can do more, he slides his glance to where the other man is looking, noting all the implements on the wall. ]

Ah, I saw them in the other rooms, so they got subconsciously filled in. [ Even so, he doesn't seem terribly bothered by any of it. Cooper pulls away and he lets him, watching with faint amusement as the other man plucks a pair of cuffs off a hook, dangling from the curl of two fingers. ]

Sometimes. [ Arthur shrugs a slim shoulder, unseating the gaped open collar of his shirt. With another motion, he lets the whole garment drop to the floor in a puddle of expensive cotton. After, he walks over to join Cooper's contemplation of the toys. ] I've tried most things at least once.

[ Take what you will with that information, Coop.

Reaching out, he pulls a crop off the wall, the stem of it decorated in a candy-floss pink braided leather. ]

Actually, I think this is Tatiana's. Huh.

[vocalistyodels]

[There's something ugly that curls up from his gut at someone else's name coming out of Arthur's mouth. He's not the kinda man at this point in his life to get jealous over stupid shit like that, but something about this place digs into his mind, making him frustrated over the mere mention of some woman who's not even here. Cooper grunts, a non-comment really, but a reply in it's own way.

Giving a little toss of the cuffs, his eyes wander more happening upon a smooth box with a latch closure. Opening it his head tilts, not entirely sure what he's looking at. Multiple rods of varying thicknesses, some with added texture of varying orbs placed along the rods, some smaller, some bigger. Well they certanly are too small for the hole he'd assume they're for... he raises his brow at Arthur with a little smirk.]

Y'tried most things, huh? These too?

[Not that he wants to hear about some other person doing things to Arthur, but he wants to know either way.]

[pointedlook]

[ Cooper grunts in response and his curiosity sparks. It comes on the heels of an odd tug somewhere in his middle, an almost magnetic pull towards the other man. And not just for proximity, since they're already quite close, but for the sure press of his hands, for the steady feeling of being possessed.

He's so thrown by the thought that he misses when Cooper initially opens the lacquered box, momentarily baffled. But then, they're in Sleep's hands here, aren't they? That must be her influence, amping such a sensation up. Because while he could tend towards bottoming, submission hardly came into the equation.

Sensing a question being angled towards him, he shakes the strangeness off, ignoring how Cooper's smirk makes something inside him clench with a sharp stab of want. Leaning over, he peers into the open box; surgical steel rods are inset and laid out, varying in angle and width. Ah. ]

Twice. [ Is what he gives in response, sliding his gaze up to meet Cooper's, a faint smile curling his mouth. ] Why, do you plan to make it a third?

[vocalistyodels]

Third time is the charm, so they say.

[Cooper curls an arm around Arthur's middle, keeping him close as he picks up one of the rods. Eyes roaming over the shiny steel he then looks to Arthur.]

Don't seem to come with an instruction manual. Gonna have to give me the low down on how to use em.

[The ghoul can hazard a guess on where these go, but maybe he wants to hear Arthur say it. Lightly pressing the cool rod against Arthur's bared chest he'll slowly drag it down the warmth of his skin.]

Just so I don't hurt ya.

[Unless if he likes a bit of pain...]

[pointedlook]

That they do.

[ He says with amusement, the small smile brightening. And then it's shifting, as Cooper loops a possessive arm around his waist, tugging him in close enough that their hips touch. Deft fingers pick up one of the sounds, the tip of it dragging down the center of his chest. Between the purr of Cooper's voice, the cool touch of steel on rapidly heating skin, and the sheer eroticism, dark eyes go even darker, his mouth parting with interest.

Licking his lips, he pulls his gaze away from the glint of metal in the warm lights, slanting upwards to meet Cooper's glance. ] Well, you'll need a lot of lube and some patience, because those go in my dick.

[ At that, he'll gently extricate himself from Cooper's hold, heading towards the bed. As he does, he kicks off his shoes and slides his trousers off, letting them fall to a puddle on the floor. All he's left in are his socks and a pair of dark red lace boxer-briefs. ]

Bring the case, would you? [ Arthur casts a glance over his shoulder as he modifies the bedside table, giving it more length space to hold the lacquered box. Opening the drawer, he sets out a bottle of lubricant and a packet of alcohol wipes. Sure, it might be a dream, but he isn't going to cut corners. ]

[vocalistyodels]

[Guess his inkling of an assumption was right. He grins as Arthur speaks it, lips wet from licking them and those eyes of his dark with something Cooper is very interested in as well. He lets Arthur go, but turns to watch him move, eyes trailing over all the exposed skin.

He's slim, but fit, clearly muscular under it all and Cooper can't wait to get his hands on him. So much so he starts to step to head over when he's so very politely asked to bring the box with him. Right right, closing it he'll bring it over, setting it on the newly modified table. Cheeky little shit is really getting comfortable isn't he?]

Starting to think you wanted this all along.

[Cooper smiles, gaze falling to those red lacy briefs. A hand skims along the band of them before slipping underneath. It doesn't take long for his hand to smooth along smooth skin around to give a bit of a grope to one of Arthur's cheeks.]

Cute as these are, they'd look better on the floor.

[pointedlook]

The subconscious wants what it wants. [ Arthur says, shrugging a slim shoulder, clearly unbothered by both the implication he'd set up with this in mind and that he was enough of a cheeky slut to do so. Neither are true, at least not to that extent, but he's never found any reason to get weird about what happened in the bedroom. Sexual shame was for Catholics or whatever.

All of that washes from his mind as Cooper steps over, dry fingertips rasping along the edge of his waistband. His breath stutters as the touch dips lower, under the delicate lace, a rough palm giving his ass a playful squeeze. Rocking back on his heels, he reaches behind him to curve his hand along the side of Cooper's neck, drawing him in closer. ] Then you should take them off of me.

[ His composure hasn't fully cracked, though he's clearly affected, cock gone half-hard where it's contained in the lace briefs. With his free hand, he unlatches the box on the table, drawing his thumb across the smooth inner edge as he selects one of the steel rods. Choice made, he plucks up one that's slim nearly all the way through, the end of it capped off by a slightly wider teardrop shape. A safe, conservative start. ]