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

[licensetotrill]

[ Jaskier stumbles a little but he's quick to go where Cooper directs - none of that back sass now even though he's got bruising already forming on his cheek from where he hit the table earlier. It doesn't seem to matter at all to Jaskier, not compared to dropping to his knees as soon as they're out of the hallway to start working at Cooper's belt.

He'd have done it right there in the hallway too, but if he wants Jaskier all to himself in private Jaskier won't argue.]

Oh, we'll see alright.

[ Okay, maybe not entirely gone - that cockiness is still there. ]

[vocalistyodels]

[He's not at all complaining, an eager lover is always welcomed. It seems like Jaskier has something to prove and that'll just make it even better. The rough housing earlier just makes it more fun.]

Hn.

[He'll let Jaskier do all the heavy lifting, undoing his belt and pants, but when it comes to the rest he'll bat his hands away, pulling himself out of his pants with his hand curled around the base of his cock. His other hand grabs the bard's chin firmly.]

You're gonna be a good boy and not bite?

[Cooper doesn't mind some teeth, but not there.]

[licensetotrill]

[ Jaskier shouldn't be this desperate for it. It wasn't like he was in a dry spell before this weird dream, and Cooper's hardly the first he's gotten his hands on in it.

It's like there's an itch he can't reach, though. A thirst he can't quench. Every oartner feels like this might be the one to settle the burning under his skin.

(He's not stupid, he's seen magically induced orgies before, he knows that's what this is. But fuck if it isnt taking him by surprise the level of need hes got.)

So he actually whines when Cooper bats his hands away, feeling his mouth start to water at the sight of his cock when he pulls it out instead and grabs Jaskier by the jaw. Fuck he needs that in his mouth, hes ready to beg if he has to.

The odea of begging makes his insides twist pleasantly, too.]

Gonna pull me back by my hair and spank me of I do?

[vocalistyodels]

Starting to think you like me manhandling you.

[Points to the thread before this as exibit A.]

If you want me to leave my handprint on your ass all you gotta do is ask nicely.

[Cooper lazily strokes his cock, pulling Jaskier's face closer.]

But you've not been good at asking nicely. Think you need some practice.

[The ghoul nods down at his cock.]

Beg for it. Say please.

[licensetotrill]

[ Jaskier does like being manhandled. Likes being shoved around by partners of any gender, really. When Cooper pulls him closer it's so hard to listen to his words when the man's cock is right there but he tries, he does, because that gravelly voice is so good too.

Lips slightly parted, flush and inviting - but that's Jaskier all over right now. Mouth, body, nipples flushed and hard, cock outlined in his thin trousers that are barely hanging on for dear life... ]

Please.

[ This time the breathless word comes easily, even if the increasingly shribking part of Jaskier that wants to fight against it with THIS jerk protests. His eyes are all dark and he needs this. ]

Please. Fuck my mouth, let me taste you, I need it. Please, sir-

[vocalistyodels]

[Oh he begs pretty... looks it too. Guess he just needed a stern hand to put him in line. Cooper smiles, thumb rubbing over those wanting lips before his hand shifts, smoothing into Jaskier's hair, fingers curling as he pulls him in that little extra bit so his cock pushes against his mouth.]

Good boy.

[He won't force his cock into Jaskier's mouth, he wants him to take it eagerly. At least at first.]

Show me how much you want it.

[licensetotrill]

[ Jaskier's tongue darts out to swipe at that thumb, unable to hide the shuddering gasp as Cooper's hand slides into his hair instead, pulls him forward so his cock is touching Jaskier's lips next.

Good boy. Gods. He could cum then and there. Waiting like a dog to be told he's allowed his treat, lips trembling until go, then his mouth is so eagerly opening up for Cooper - tongue sliding out again to stroke against the head of it, to taste him, to lean in to take as much of it between his lips as Cooper will let him as Jaskier reaches out to steady his hands against Cooper's hips. ]

[vocalistyodels]

[The way Jaskier becomes so pliable so quickly has his cock twitching before that warm tongue even touches him. Yet when it does, guiding his cock between Jaskier's lips into his mouth, he moan soft, low.]

There it is...

[His tone is praising, eyes lidded as he watches the way his cock slides into his mouth.]

You look nice with your mouth full.

[And while he wanted to let Jaskier do the work at first, his desire wins over, keeping his fingers curled in his hair as he thrusts lightly into his mouth to fill it even more.]

[licensetotrill]

[ Gods, it feels so good. Hearing Cooper say how nice he looks. Hearing Cooper in particular say it. It goes straight to his cock, and he moans around the one in his mouth. It's so good. It's so fucking good, the texture strange and interesting against his tongue. It makes Jaskier want to explore every moment of it. When Cooper starts thrusting Jaskier relaxes his jaw for it, taking so well to it being fucked into, like he's done it many times before.

One hand squeezes against Cooper's leg, nails digging into the fabric covering it while the other goes down to the laces barely holding his own up to fumble with getting them undone and open. ]

[vocalistyodels]

[He doesn't notice at first, much more focused on watching Jaskier's face, enjoying the warmth of his mouth as he fucks slow and steady in and out, but then he sees that sneaky hand.

The ghoul tsks at him, pulling his cock from Jaskier's mouth as punishment.]

Ah, no touching yet. Didn't say you could do that, did I?

[licensetotrill]

[ Again Jaskier whines when Cooper pulls back, pouting up at him piteously. ]

Please, I'm aching for it, and you feel so good inside of me...

[ So fulfilling in a far deeper way than Jaskier was used to. It was like his whole body was singing at Cooper's touch, like this was what he was meant to be doing. Who he was meant to be doing. His lips part, wet and inviting, tongue darting out to wet them further as he looks up at Cooper with eyes almost gone black with the barest rim of blue. ]

[vocalistyodels]

[He could listen to Jaskier beg for hours, the way it burned through his veins like the best kinda drug and it was only words.]

Oh you ain't felt me inside you yet, but we'll get there.

[Not the way he's thinking at least.]

C'mere-

[He'll pull Jaskier back in, cock pushing back into his wanting mouth. As he fucks that wet heat, pace picking up a bit quicker he moans, low and deep.]

Fuck you feel good. Gonna give you what you deserve.

[licensetotrill]

[ That promise to be inside him sends a shudder down Jaskier's spine, lodges hard in the part of him that urges submissiveness to this fucker. Not that Jaskier can really mind that much right now because when he gives in to that it's so good, better than that time he got dosed with some magic drug that enhanced the feeling of touch and fucked around on it. Everything's as bright as the first time but without all the unsure fumbling that comes with the first time. When Cooper pushes back into Jaskier's mouth he takes him easily, relaxing his throat so Cooper can fuck in deeper, all the way now that Jaskier's mouth has had time to get warmed up to it.

He doesn't go for his trousers again but both hands grip hard at Cooper's legs, tongue sliding against the shaft and swallowing around it with a hum at that promise of what he deserves.]

[vocalistyodels]

[Whatever the fuck has them so easy and pliant for each other is a drug he won't complain about right now. Maybe later he'll be pissed about letting himself get so caught up in it, but hell if he isn't enjoying losing himself to the hunger and heat of physical need. Jaskier makes a wonderful hole, warm and needy, hands gripping at him as he behaves as told.

Fuck it's so good, Jaskier is good and he gives him more of what they both want. Cock fucking faster and harder into his mouth, down his throat. The ghoul isn't quiet about it either, muttering how fucking perfect Jaskier is between heavy grunts and moans. All until the pleasure feels like it builds so fast it's almost a surprise when he comes, a half startled cry of release as he buries his fingers tight in Jaskier's hair to keep him on his cock.

Gotta make sure he takes it completely. For a good minute he keeps them both that way, until his grip eases, fingers massaging through mused hair as he pulls his cock from the warmth of Jaskier's mouth.]

See? I deliver what I promise.

[Slightly out of breath as he grins.]

[licensetotrill]

[ It's exactly what he needs, hard and fast and leaving him no room to refuse - not that he wants to. Cooper's filthy praise, the feeling of him shooting down Jaskier's throat and almost choking him with it thanks to the hand in his hair - Jaskier's cock is aching by the time Cooper finally eases up and lets him pull back to take several deep wheezing breaths. His mouth is so flushed and wet its obscene, still clinging to Cooper's trousers. His voice os utterly raw when he manages to form words. ]

That all? Do I need to find someone else for the rest?

[vocalistyodels]

[Lucky for Jaskier this is a dream and whatever funky business Sleep has going on is making any sort of refractory period almost non-existent. At least for him, maybe it's because that's what he wants in this dream plane?

Who knows, who cares, he's going to ruin this man.]

Keep that attitude up and you might.

[He says that, but he's got every intention of finishing the job proper.]

Why don't you make yourself presentable.

[Cooper points to the bed that's been nicely provided in the room they're in. It really is a dream, because it's clean and not full of holes and stained in filth. Even with all the debauchery going on around them this place is cleaner than most places he's been to back home. That's a dream for ya. Cooper is working his shirt off, tossing it with little care after he's unbuttoned it and tugged it off. This is the time for Jaskier to change his mind, getting to see more of how the ghoul looks under his clothes.

Much like his face, his chest and arms are just as rough. Skin scared and deformed. Jaskier has the tips of his fingers, Cooper has his whole body. Though not from fire.]

[licensetotrill]

I'm always presentable.

[ Said the man panting on the floor on his knees, lips flushed, thighs spread, trousers barely hanging on for dear life and covering his extremely prominent erection.

It does look good on him. Jaskier does 'debauched' well.

The bed's close enough and Jaskier doesn't trust his legs, so have a good show while he crawls that short distance to the bed, stretching out his legs once he manages to climb onto it and shoving his trousers the rest of the way off leaving Jaskier in absolutely nothing except that mask they've all got variations of. Sprawled out like he is, he watches Cooper strip his shirt off. Sure enough, those burns are everywhere, and while his own orgasm hasn't happened yet and he feels ready to crawl out of his own skin, getting Cooper his has granted him some measure of satisfaction. Worship successful.

He pushes himself up on his arms a bit to watch - not disgusted, just curious. Thoughtful. ]

...That's not from fire.

[ He's become well acquainted with what those look like by now. ]

[vocalistyodels]

[He does find some amusement out of Jaskier so needy and wanting crawling to the bed. But he's real pretty once he's fully bare and laid out on it, waiting for him. Just for him.

The ghoul gets his pants off next, kicking them aside after stepping out of them as he comes to the edge of the bed, naked now too.]

Very astute.

[He doesn't shy away from any looks Jaskier casts over his body, this form of his now has been his longer than before the bombs dropped and it's just what it is. Most people think it's hideous, monsterous and he doesn't give a shit either way.

There's always that one person who's got a thing for ghouls that'll want a ride anyway. Jaskier seems to be interested more than anything.]

Give you three guesses.

[He comes up onto the bed on one knee, between Jaskier's legs. His hand smoothes across the man's chest, down... down... ghosting close but not touching the hard need between his thighs. He just wants to see him whine with it.]

[licensetotrill]

[ Jaskier has always had a thing for men people find to be monsters, it seems. His legs spread just a bit wider as Cooper rests a knee on the bed between them, goosebumps rising as that strangely textured hand runs down his chest, his stomach, so close but not quite there... He knows it's just a bid to make him whine, but there's no reason to deny Cooper that, so Jaskier whines. He's good at that. Needy, plaintive. A flash of memory not his own, too - a light so radiant is sears. ]

... Magic?

[ Jaskier has no concept of 'nuclear explosion'. ]

[vocalistyodels]

[Lucky for Jaskier, Cooper is a certified monster. At least according to the people of the wasteland. Though is that literally or because of the things he's done? Both? A little of both.

The ghoul smiles at the way Jaskier whines for him, good, but he follows up by making a buzzer noise with his mouth.]

Nope. Two more guesses.

[Speaking of guesses, Cooper leans over grab one of the fancy bottles nearby. Had it been there the whole time? Who can say, but he's pleased to find it's filled with a slick subtance. Some kind of lube, it'll do the job just fine.]

Try again.

[Leaning down he mouths against his stomach, kissing, a hand easing one of Jaskier's legs over his shoulder. He of course continues to ignore his cock, hard and wanting, begging silently for his touch. He does however circle a couple fingers against Jaskier's hole, the lube warming up against his skin as he does.]

[licensetotrill]

[ How's he supposed to think with this kind of attention, huh? Especially with Cooper refusing to touch where Jaskier wants him to touch.

(Sure Jaskier could touch himself, but something about Cooper's denial of that earlier has Jaskier staying his hands, an unusual obedience that's hard to think about or really acknowledge at all.)

His hands go to Cooper's back, his shoulders, short nails digging in to that textured skin as Jaskier gasps at the first touch to his hole which is already getting slick thanks to the effects of this place - the added lube just making it obscene. His own body isn't without mark, those runes tracing along his skin like patterns showing where Cooper's been. Jaskier feels like he's burning up inside, but he loves every second of it.

If not magic, what then?]

... M-monster...?

[vocalistyodels]

[What a good boy the bard is being, he hasn't even had to tell him to not touch himself again. Makes his own cock throb, as much as it'd be fun to punish Jaskier if he acted up, it's a delight that he doesn't.]

Think something bit me and made me like this? Hm?

[Cooper turns his head, mouth against Jaskier's inner thigh in a little smile. His teeth then nip, not hard enough to hurt, just to leave a light red mark.]

Wrong again.

[His finger pushes into Jaskier, the lube and slick giving no resistance.]

[licensetotrill]

[ That bite gets a startled yep from Jaskier, more surprise than pain, light as it is - and god if that doesn't go straight to his cock, too. His whole body feels like it sings when Cooper presses his finger in - Jaskier's eyes go half lidded, mouth agape and back arched. Yes, yes, more -

A bright radiance behind his eyes, matching that heat under his skin. The flames of some nearby candles sputter only to go bright, flames larger.

A small, terrified voice. "Is it your thumb, or mine?"

Buildings so far away, a whole city spread out below like a child's playset high up on the hills, a cloud beginning to form.

"It's smoke, Janey, it's just a fire."

But even as those words escape the smoke continues to rise and rise until the red gold radiance begins to show through it, a phoenix consuming everything for its own birth. Beautiful and terrible. ]

Bomb.

[ The word slips out between gasps, barely more than one itself. ]

[vocalistyodels]

[The way Jaskier sings for him has him aching to be inside him sooner than later, but hell if he doesn't like riling him up first.

The only backlash is how all of this heat and passion creates a bridge between them that the bard can easily waltz right over. Providing him the answer he needs. Though it doesn't feel like he does it on purpose. The tether, the murmur, it seems like it enjoys giving a taste of memories with the lightest tug of curiosity.

He'll be annoyed about it later.]

Now you're just cheating.

[A chiding tone, easing another finger in since Jaskier is so damn slick. He takes to easily, like he was made to. Curling his fingers inside him, Cooper just wants to hear him more.]

But enough 'bout me. Only thing I wanna hear from you is my name begging for it.