JAWS • DECEMBER 2025 EVENT/TDM

[uruz]

TDM & EVENT: JAWS

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Show Me Those Pretty White Jaws

The dream has been coming in waves for those new to Sleep's touch, as a shoreline that never stays still. As a sky that never remembers to include its stars. Beneath it all, there is a voice. Her voice: silk-sweet, coaxing from just beyond the approaching wave that towers like a moving mountain. She tells you to come home. She promises it won't hurt, even if she never tells you what waits beneath. You see the shape just before the dream ends: a massive black tidal wave, yawning wide and black until it looks like a pair of jaws breaking upon you. You don't have time to resist.

You and your veteran Vessels will awaken in water.

There is no surface. No bottom. No sky. No sound but your own heartbeat and the echoes of water being slashed though, dull and endless in the still, frigid dark. You are suspended, weightless— Some may have difficulty to breathe without inhaling water the first few times, while those aligned with the waves will feel it come like second nature. Once you acclimate yourself, you'll notice that around you drift glowing filaments; thin, pulsing threads that coil like jellyfish tendrils, softly luminescent. They curl and twist through the water, and when you look closer, you realize: they show you things. Memories, maybe. Dreams, maybe. Each one unique to your gaze: a hand reaching for yours in the dark, a goodbye that never finished, a face you haven't seen in years. They are what you think love looks like. What you once needed it to be. And when you touch them, they wrap around you, gently, warmly . . . Hungrily— and begin to pull you down.

To ascend into the next level, you must let go. But not everything that binds you wants to be released. The filaments drifting through the water show you what you think love looks like— what you've built it into. They are gentle at first, beautiful even, but the longer you cling, the more they pull.

There are ways to escape them: You may bind your filament with another's and together speak aloud a shared truth: what you believe love really is. If your hearts align or at the very least come to an agreement, the threads dissolve into light and lift you upward. If your beliefs clash or contradict, the threads knot tighter, and something . . . May take interest in you.

Beneath you, something moves. Huge, silent and almost regal. It glides through the deep like a phantom, almost too large to be real. You feel its presence before you see its flash of pearl white and glowing red eyes, three on each side of its face: a shark.

The shark is here to choose its next meal. It smells grief, fear and seeks out trauma most of all. It is drawn to the most unspoken parts of you, the very parts you thought were buried, roused from the tightened ropes of what you crave in your heart. And when it chooses you, it does not bite immediately. It invites, with its jaws opening like a sanctuary and slow towards you.

Inside is I, whispers Sleep. Allow Me to have you whole, and you will be at peace. Show Me love.

Fight against her, or even with your current partner about what love is, and Sleep will open her maw, spilling tendrils from her throat and begin to stalk you. Best be prepared to fight the possessed Megalodon— She will laugh, amused as you do, like a great cat playing with its food. And if you were to be caught, well. You'll wake in the dream's next level with an undeniable prey drive, whether Token or Offering.

She will do anything to keep you here.

NOTES:

• There is no surface visible at first. Light only comes from the filaments. As characters resist, act, or ascend, a faint stained-glass shimmer begins to pulse upward, hinting at the dream's next layer.
• Sound is muffled— speech emerges as bubbles, but meaning travels regardless. Words feel heavy here. Some phrases may literally change the water (turn to light, birth dream-objects, or ripple with tension). You will do better using The Murmur as a means of communication. Luckily you have your mask on!
• The Shark always circles once it senses trouble within you. Sometimes close, sometimes far, but always felt. If characters listen closely, they can hear the echo of One's voice coming from inside it: pleading with a haunted, at times screaming melody.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• The dream bends subtly around Tokens, especially at the whims of an Aquamancer. Walls of pressure open before them, and filaments shift course as if expecting them. This can make their path easier, unless they start to doubt their purpose.
• Tokens perceive emotional resonance as currents in the water such as subtle flows of energy. These can guide them (or others) toward escape paths, or signal when the shark is near.
• When a Token speaks or acts with strong intent, the dream sometimes translates it into a symbolic structure: A word might become a floating glyph. A gesture might alter the filament's shape. A moment of clarity might reveal a hidden path. Other characters can interact with these dream-objects, but they're fragile, unstable, and prone to distortion by doubt.
• The deeper Tokens go, the more they feel themselves pulling apart and begin to experience dual awareness: one part dreaming, one part watching— some may even see flashes of within the shark's belly, and One's voice much louder. The deeper they go, the more detached they become, and the more they lack the ability to act at all.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• The shark is more fascinated by Offerings. It circles them often, sensing kinship— or potential. The more monstrous the Offering, the more the shark "pauses' near them, almost curious.
• Offerings feel "the pull" more clearly, particularly Merrows and other aquatic-based Offerings—they can sense where the surface might be, and where the shark intends to strike next. They may even see pulses in the water that others miss, similar to Spider Man's "spidey senses".
• An Offering may experience rapid body changes submerged. Fins may appear, bones may shift, teeth may lengthen without warning and so on. This makes their movement easier or harder, depending on how much of themselves they're holding back or how apt their monstrous forms are at swimming.
• Some Offerings may feel drawn to the shark— not in fear, but in understanding. They may see themselves in it, and vice versa— One's song in particular is hypnotic, and for split moments you may understand his pain through his words. This might make you more prone to being consumed, though, so hopefully your partner can help you out of it—?.

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Watching Me With Eyes Of A Predator

The surface you breach is not water— it's glass.

You strike it with the force of falling sky. It fractures beneath you in a bloom of painted light. For one weightless moment, the dream hesitates, sputters. Then the world shatters, and you fall with the cascade.

Water pours through the crack in the ceiling, carrying you down in ribbons of color and a shattering splash. Stained glass shards drift like petals through the now collapsing roof, and you eventually land not in sand, but upon a cathedral floor, slick with tide. Around you, the water spreads, pooling across the stone and swallowing the walls in a rising hush as it finds escape through the doors.

The cathedral is vast, impossibly so. Its architecture towers, crooked and immaculate, built more from longing than stone. No altar awaits you. No congregation. Only the sensation of having trespassed into something meant to be private. Veteran Vessels may recognize this cathedral as St. Patrick's— before it was drenched in One's blood sacrifice.

High above and surrounding you, the stained-glass mosaics churn with captured light. f you linger beneath one of the window's rays, your appearance may begin to change under the light. You appear as someone else sees you. Be it a hero. A monster. A disappointment. A god. A weakness. A temptation. Even a burden. That version of you clings to your dream-body like a second skin; uncomfortable, intimate, and undeniable. For some, it may be beautiful. For others, unbearable.

If you and another stand beneath the same window, you may each appear as the other secretly imagines. There is no control and no negotiation. Only truth twisted through the lens of want, resentment, fear, or love. And it doesn't go away until you leave the light.

Eventually, the cathedral doors open by dream's will. Beyond them lies a cloister garden: narrow paths, pale trees, and wild flowers that bloom in stillness. At the far end, behind the overgrowth and ruined arches, you see a hollow.

It is a corridor where the dream collapses inward, twisting, warped, half-swallowed in fog and dread. Its stones pulse faintly beneath a shallow film of water. Black tendrils reach from its depths like roots, veins, twitching toward sound, warmth, and movement. You see them dragging matter into the earth, and between them lie bones, contorted and fresh, half-consumed.

And farther still, a body that still breathes. Glimpsed only briefly, A masked man's form is stretched by the hollow's gravity, arms pinned behind the veil. He does not move, or speak. Or perhaps, he cannot. The hollow does not let him go and will not, should you make your attempts. If you step foot in the hollows that have consumed him, you too will be consumed. A three eyed Tod sits at the hollow's edge, a single bushy tail splitting into three, as its body plays with illusion like smoke put to dance over fire. It says, as its head floats up and its maw splits into a grin too cheshire to ignore: Wearing shoes, yet no feet in sight. You'll hear steps pound in the death of night. What is it that you need, to cross this narrow blight?

It disappears and only leaves you the riddle to chew on.

Nothing living can cross the hollow, you'll soon find. Nothing except . . . The Nightmares.

Just outside the garden's boundary, you'll find horses built from wind and shadow, flickering at the edge of your vision. Their bodies are black— not the color, but the absence, swallowing all light. Some of their craniums cound be seen, others have a jutting horn of bone from their foreheads. Where eyes should be, there are six: three stacked on each side of the skull, glowing dimly red like distant embers beneath ice. Their manes flow like torn fabric, like drifting vapor that trails behind them like the smoke from a snuffed candle. Their maws are too damn wide to be herbivorous, yet they seem to enjoy the act of grazing. They wait, unchained and wild in a herd.

This is the only way forward. Only they can pass through the hollow untouched. But how to ride one—? You may chase them. You may plead, command, kneel. You may offer them all your need and all your love, promises that you will provide if they become your steed. But they were not made to answer it. For every Vessel, there is one single Nightmare that will choose them, and thus you will choose each other. They have their own personalities, some more aggressive or shyer than others. The harder you reach, the faster they vanish or harshed they will attack if unready. Try to mount one through force, and you'll regret ever trying. Try to bind one, and it will break you.

But if you are patient, if you figure out its nature and how to please it— your Nightmare may come closer. One may circle you. It may bow its head. Their snort is warm and real against your palm. If successful, it will lower itself to its knees. If you've got the height, they will simply wait, patiently, for you to get on their backs (Or not; there are plenty of sassy mares out there).

If you accept, you might not be taken somewhere safe, but you will be taken somewhere true, away from here. And if you force your want upon them, if you cannot let go— you will be left with something else.

In the distance, across the flooded cathedral floor, you may see One again. Flashes, glimpses. Always chasing a mare he never reaches, or the opposite— the mare chases after him.

NOTES:

• If a character successfully forms a bond with their Nightmare, it will return with them in the form of a waking world steed, officially introduced in the next event. You're free to give it the personality you wish.
• If a character attempts to force a connection with a Nightmare at any point (tries to catch, mount, command, etc.), the mare will bite or kick, which Vessels will suffer as a persistent dream-mark that will carry into the waking world.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• Light clings unnaturally to Tokens in the cathedral, especially near the stained glass. It bends around their bodies like a false halo, casting them in divine or monstrous outlines depending on who watches.
• If a Token casts or channels any magic within the cathedral or near a Nightmare, the spell does not manifest, but instead, a cold mist escapes their mouth, and the Nightmare turns to look. The dream rejects force.
• When a Nightmare looks directly at a Token, their eyes eclipse, pupils vanishing into rings of shadow. In that moment, a fragmented vision floods the Token's mind . . . not from the Nightmare, but from another character nearby. It shows the Token how that character once dreamed of them, what they feared, needed, or hoped they would become.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• The stained glass causes a subtle change in scent and physical appearance turning into a more grotesque version of this— Offerings begin to smell or look like what others most want from them.
• Offerings may always know where the Nightmares are, even when hidden. But the more they try to act on this knowledge, the harder the Nightmares are to reach.
• An Offering's body will react before they realize it, flinching from lies, bristling in moments of emotional pressure, pulling away from contact, and so on. They may startle even at gentle contact, as if something inside them is as reactive as they are.

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Where The Delicate Stops

As your Nightmare takes you through the misty hollow, you may begin to notice the empty city of Manhattan as veterans remember. There is no warning but the eerie silence that surrounds you like impossible weights. The cathedral once behind you folds inward— wrong, deep and full of pressure. It bursts through the hollow's path, through the city's street, and then— The dream ruptures.

Stone peels backward like paper. Glass liquefies mid-air. The sky above the city pulls itself inside out. Time bends sideways. And from the edges of the dream, something, someone, begins to hunt. Sleep's presence moves like the very shark she chose as a vision of her physical manifestation. She does not speak or rage. But you feel Her, rising like fever beneath the skin of Her world as the hairs at the back of your neck do. She does not want you this deep, and neither does One.

Somewhere within the collapse, you may see them— entwined, shifting, trembling. One's face is turned toward you, screaming something that doesn't reach your ears. Sleep's hands are tangled in his body. She pulls him back with a gentleness that breaks the sky, and he screams, reaching for you with his last breath before consumption. The dream convulses.

The Nightmares bolt with you still on them.

The city rises to meet you from the shadows, but it's not the city you know. Skyscrapers twist at unnatural angles. Streets flood, then dry, then flood again. Tendrils burst from subway grates and gutters, slashing upward like tongues. Streetlights spin like compass needles. Cars levitate, crash, freeze midair. You move through it all at breakneck speed, but the exit keeps shifting— a hole in the world that flickers just beyond reach where you see your body, fast asleep.

Somewhere in the chaos, a few Nightmares are caught. Sleep strikes like lightning— she coils like a viper and tightens like a vice. One touch from Her, and your Nightmare collapses mid-gallop, its body unraveling into smoke and light. No sound. No scream. Just absence. And you fall right off it like a ragdoll.

Others fall beneath impact, too— a wrong turn, a shattered wall, a burst of heat from One's grief. A broken leg. A crash. A wound too deep to ride through. If your steed is lost, you fall. And if no one reaches for you, you stay fallen. Others are near, and their Nightmares still run. All of you have a terrible dread in your bones— if you are caught or left behind, the consequences will be dire. You might not even wake up. So, call out. Cling. Climb. Share. Two Vessels on one mount. Anything to survive and flee as the dreamscape tightens its wrathful grip around you.

Sleep calls inside your spine. You can't make out what She says. One answers, the same blur of garbled words in your marrow. And then, just before the dream can take you, just before you reach an exit— you rise.

Your body lifts from the Nightmare as it paddles the air with desperation, it too rising. You're pulled upward, weightless, as if a thread inside your heart has been yanked by a furious god. You float, twist in the air. Your vision glows white.

We've got you.

And then you wake up— mid-air in the waking world.

Your body slams into your bed, floor, street, soil, wherever it was that you had slept. Reality greets you with terrible impact.

NOTES

• If a character does not find a mount in time, they may be caught in the dream collapse. They still wake— but they wake broken. These characters may wake up bruised, disoriented, or emotionally fragmented, and this can be explored in the next waking world event.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• Any Tether they feel becomes unstable—splintered. For brief moments, they feel it breaking and re-forming again and again, with slight differences each time.
• The more emotionally charged they are, the more the dream pulls toward them; tendrils snap faster, debris veers unnaturally close.
• Their body flickers with signs of their own magic—sigils, symbols, runes— burning just beneath the surface of their skin like constellations. These glow brighter as the dream collapses, as if trying to tear free.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• Where Offerings are grazed or injured, they bleed light, not red. It floats up like mist.
• They hear One's heartbeat, not theirs, and it speeds in panic. It affects their own pulse, the mare under them . . .
• The Nightmare no longer follows the Offering's will—it will respond to their fear instead.

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OOC NOTES

➤ Welcome to Somnia's third TDM, which doubles as the month's gamewide event!
➤ This TDM is considered game canon. You are free to have your character remember as many details as possible when they wake up.
➤ Only new characters are free to experiment with the Vessel options, Token or Offering 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!

network ᛗ logs ᛗ ooc ᛗ memes ᛗ navigation

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Comments

QUESTIONS

[uruz]

➤ TDM/Event related questions can be asked here. General game questions can be asked on the FAQ. Some questions from our plot post have already been answered:

● characters that do not run will be overtaken by sleep and "tethered" by force. this will be extremely invading and overwhelming for characters that do not wish to become "one" with her (much like the end of the music video from dye fantasy, and it is much like witnessing an eldritch being— it is way too much for the mind and incomprehensible to understand and will cause the vessel to fall apart — this means that the character, essentially, cannot contain "her wonders" and turns into hosts.

at the end of the dream, two and three will keep this from happening in the real world and wake everyone up— but those that got caught will feel firsthand succumbence rooting within them. better get to those tethers to revert that!

● if character's have never met before under the stained glass, there's always first impressions; if a character looks at someone and gets the thought "yikes, they're scary", they'll probably look much scarier than they are, and so on.

● character's appearances can be played with in the second prompt; they may feel their transformation or see what they look like on a reflective surface and not suffer the actual physical change, or not be aware of it at all; this is flexible. Play with what you find the most interesting!

INVITES

[uruz]

➤ Interested players who do not have mod invites or a friend to get an invite from may comment to this top level to solicit one. We encourage activity on the TDM so current players and Mod may see how you play with the characters and setting, and extend an invite. If you receive an invite from either a current player or the Mod, head on over to the Invite Page to post your invite and have it ready to use for your reserve and app. Please keep in mind that soliciting an invite does not guarantee one.

At this time, there are currently 30 open player slots.

TOP LEVEL DIRECTORY

[uruz]

➤ Comment with your character's name and canon in the subject line with a link to your top level, for easy access!

[shatteredlenses]

Just double checking, is there anything about characters' changed appearances in the second prompt that would keep Ignis from catching glimpses of them through the Murmur?

I have the feeling the time I don't ask is the time something will change! LOL!

[sorte]

What if more than two people meet under the stained glass? If there are 3 people, for example, and two of them each have a different opinion/view of the 3rd, what would the 3rd person see themselves/their reflection as? Would it be one over the other, either, or a mix of both kinda thing?

Monika | Doki Doki Literature Club | New Player

[writetheway]

A; show me those pretty white jaws
[Time is slippery and Monika measures it in pain. The static-sharp pain of deletion leaves remembered, aching echoes in a dream that she can't be sure she's having--a shoreline, a voice, sweet promises, a wave. This has to be death.

Then she wakes up, twisting and choking reflexively in the water. She doesn't notice the luminescence all around her until she calms down, though her chest still heaves as she catches her breath, turning her head slowly, her body clumsily, as she tries to figure out where she is.

Memories and feelings twist through the filaments: scratchy, overwhelming sensation, sound and light and touch and taste and smell enough to stop thought itself brought to an end, and the boundless, grateful relief that follows. A person who is not a person, smeared and indistinct. A song played, inexpertly but sincerely, on a piano. Three girls with pink, dark purple, and coral hair, chattering together in a classroom. Hands covered in blood and static, trying to tear a hole in a wall through to the blinding brightness beyond. An empty classroom surrounded by starlight. Everything. Everything. Everything.

Monika is caught by the images, transfixed. When the tendril curls around her leg and tugs, it catches her so off-guard she shrieks, bubbles like needles flying from her mouth.]

watching me with eyes of a predator
[Monika feels like she's wandered into one of Yuri's preferred novels. When Monika looks at grazing creatures, she can only think of horses, but they're also not horses. She knows kelpies, knows Sleipnir, knows hippocampi. None of those fit. Yuri would know.

(Yuri would have known.)

She starts talking before she can keep thinking.]

Did you know that when you're in pitch blackness, you don't actually see real darkness? You see a kind of dark grey called eigengrau. It was hard to wrap my head around, but these things really look like they're just holes cut out of the universe, huh?

C; where the delicate stops
[Monika isn't exactly riding her nightmare at this point so much as she's clinging onto its back, the tips of her fingers white from gripping before they disappear into void black. The world is shattering impossibly around her, and it's only her familiarity with such things that allows her to keep any eye at all on anything beyond her steed.

She sees someone on the ground, and thinks simultaneously they need help and you of all people don't deserve to ignore anyone. With one arm wrapped desperately around the neck of her nightmare, she reaches out.]

Grab on!

Monika | Doki Doki Literature Club | New Player

[writetheway]

top level

kim soleum | gdcg | new!

[roedeer]

A) POUT FOR THE PICTURE

Show Me Those Pretty White Jaws

[ everything's underwater. the fear of not understanding makes it difficult to breathe at first. his hands come to his neck, wrapping around it in an attempt to have some semblance of control: if he chokes himself it's not this doing it to him. he figures this is another noose, while metaphorical, trying to catch him again. fear blankets him, it washes over his entire body, but bubbles that filter out from his mouth prove to him that he's alive. he hasn't died yet. closing his eyes, soleum takes a deep breath and tries to assess his situation. he would have died by now if that were the case, it's another darkness trying to catch him off-guard, all he has to do is breathe.

but even then, soleum still needs to choose an accomplice for his next step. his arm reaches to another source, a familiar hand that he knows, a reliable one that catches him off guard but he doesn't reject it. not now, not in these conditions. the moment he comes into contact with the grip, an anchor that will steel him where his mind cannot at the moment... he's quick to find that this is another mistake on his end. it's not a hand, and it's definitely not one that he knows, instead it's alien to him in it's touch and appearance. the tendril anchors him, a loving embrace, trailing up his arm to wrap around his body like a lover, and it curls around him tight.

soleum gasps from the pain coursing through his body, another parade of bubbles leave from his mouth, and he's unable to move. along the surface of another filament, it flips through various scenarios on beat, and when soleum looks away, it remains there. it beckons for him to keep watching scenes of his memory play out. it makes him feel uneasy: a bird's eye view of him with a pink plush keychain in his hand beheaded, and a pocket knife in the other. the appearance of a comical, yellow dragon in a mascot's suit that's breaking a flower from branched horns. it continues to flip through them like it's telling soleum something.

however, this creature is greedy, and it plays the same role again by reaching out as an anchor much like soleum needed. another tendril slither up from below past him, and once again, it tries to tempt someone in the same manner. it needs two, two people who can understand love. ]

B) IF THERE IS A GOD, IT'S ME

Watching Me With Eyes Of A Predator, option one

[ he's been wandering for some time, unknown scenery around him, and a chill crawling up his back with every step. there are no answers, no signs, and no one he can fall back to in his time of need. it's simply another hurdle he has to face, and maybe once he finds his way through this, he can get out of this odd 'darkness' he's found himself in. luckily for him, glass isn't scary. there's nothing about it that calls for soleum to fear for his life.

but as he examines his reflection, strange red halo and all, soleum's eyes catch something else in mirror. something that causes his eyes to go wide behind his deer-like mask. a terrifying monster looms not too far away, and he's unable to tell if it's looking his direction or not with the sort of face it wears. soleum remains in place as he can hear his heart begin to beat erratically in his ears, and he's doing everything in his power to keep his legs from shaking. the previous location must have left a sour taste in his mouth that's possibly plagued his mind. he doesn't move to turn around. instead, he's racking his brain to think what's his move.

break the mirror and use that as a weapon? run? would that make it give chase? no, he has to do something even better. donning an overly polite smile, and in the best customer service voice that he can muster without it cracking: ]

I've been waiting for you, dear guest! Are you ready to begin your tour?

C) ALLADAT

Watching Me With Eyes Of A Predator, option two

[ he can hear it, the constant neighing and smack of hooves against the ground, but no matter what... soleum doesn't move from his spot behind this nicely sized rock made for him. this isn't his problem. never is it his problem.

it's yours.

you may be trying to bond with their own nightmare, or perhaps they're trying to stay out of the way, but whatever you're doing, you'll find that a nightmare has galloped up to you in a display of dominance. it's almost like it wants to scare you to send you packing by any means possible, the creature even forces itself on back hooves to stand upright to make sure its victim understands. now, if you manage to deal with its eccentric personality, the creature will find you worthy, and it's with determination that sharp teeth come to bite down on your shirt to try and pull you along.

a few tugs, and this peculiar nightmare will bring their victim to the large rock where a certain individual is crouched down behind it with his eyes closed and ears covered. as long as he doesn't see it, hear it, or have anything to do with it, it'll go away. no matter how much soleum feels about this, the nightmare thinks differently, and it pushes it's victim forward as though they'll be of some use here. the eyes of the horse blink one after the other before tilting it's snout in soleum's direction with glee and a whinny.

the creature stomps its front hooves against the ground showing its excitement, and it's counting on your character to give it a good review to soleum because they're not going anywhere until they do. ]

D) WILDCARD

[ hii! if you want anything special, have a different scenario in mind or want to hash out some details send me a pm! if plurk's easier then you can reach me at anjonala and the titles of my prompts are from plvtinum. give him a spin. ]

kim soleum | gdcg | new player

[roedeer]

here!

'hikaru' // the summer hikaru died // bloodwright

[paravore]

🩸 show me those pretty white jaws

[ The tendrils are beautiful in their own right. Glowing, gossamer strands of silk swaying in the current. What they show him is extraordinary — love, as misunderstood by this cthonic entity crammed into the shape of a boy.

To others, it will be very strange indeed. You might expect a teenager's concept of love to be stereotypical performances: chocolates on White Day, a kiss under the bleachers, sappy late-night text messages. But the visions manifested from 'Hikaru's dreamself are bizarre and cryptic, often veering into the abstract.

An iridescent sheen of gasoline on the surface of a muddy puddle. The wobble of a mirage, hovering above roadkill, as it cooks in the summer heat. The back legs of a mouse, kicking helplessly, as a snake slowly inches it down its throat.

And then — a stack of children's books in a school library. A large hand slapping the top of his head, tangling fingers into his hair as it playfully shoves him downwards. The feeling of being torn in half, literally torn in half, with all the pain you'd expect but no fear of death. Only a swell of determined devotion.

'Hikaru' doesn't fight against the tendrils, but willingly tangles himself in them. This feels good. So good. He doesn't understand love, after all — his visions are proof of that — but "love" is the closest approximation to what he feels in this moment, and it's so hard to let that go.

He can feel the presence of others around him, and Sleep lurking in the darkness. He sighs out a lungful of cold water. ]

I can't. Not without Yoshiki. [ speaking aloud, maybe to Sleep, maybe to the person beside him. ] I don't... I don't think this stuff is quite right, either, ya know.

🩸 watching me with eyes of the predator

[ 'Hikaru' spend the last three weeks in this cathedral. He is intimately familiar with it by now, and this allows him to recognize immediately that something isn't right.

Sitting up, he blinks through the water trickling out of his hair and over his eyes and looks around. Ah. Eyes. His eye is back to normal, uninjured. That's impossible, as he'd tried to cut it out to give it to sleep. Between that, and that ocean-like void, and the uncanny state of the cathedral... this has to be a dream, right?

It has to be, because he feels like himself again. Not like a Bloodwright, but an ████ pretending to be a human. The desire to eat, drink, and sleep are all gone, as they should be. And instead of just seeing people around them, he can see through them once again, to the glimmer of the soul laying within their bodies. ]

We're dreamin' again.

[ he says aloud, as he stands up. there are others here. ]

Y'alright? Can ya get up? [ he offers a hand. ]

🩸 wildcard!

[ Or, tag him! I plan on tagging out for Nightmare stuff but feel free to hit me with a starter for that prompt or any of the others. Send a PM or message to oddlazdo on Discord if you wanna plan anything out! ]

'Hikaru' / The Summer Hikaru Died / existing player!

[paravore]

Here!

Toki Wartooth | Metalocalypse | Current Player | daemon

[dethangel]

[A. Show Me Those Pretty White Jaws]

[Toki loves sharks. Maybe that's why he pauses when he sees the megalodon. He's already in the water, already stuck with all this... everything, what else is he gonna do? It distracts him from the tangling things.

Or maybe it's because he can hear One's voice. It's definitely not because of Sleep, he can't stand Sleep, even if he accidentally left her an offering. But maybe that's part of it, his frustration with everything superceding the relief he felt upon finding out One was still out there.

Maybe it's just the way the shark draws him in with the song of his friend, the way he wishes he could play along, fingers sluggishly reaching through the water to mimic matching chords on a non-existent guitar.

Whatever it is, he's staring, not moving. That thing's gonna fucking get him.]

[B. Watching Me With Eyes Of A Predator]

[Toki's been through the cathedral when it was normal before, so he hurries to get the hell out of there. See, his demonic nature makes all the religious iconography super uncomfortable. It's much better, then, when the doors open.

He's drawn, eventually, to one of the Nightmares that feels a little... awkward, standing away from some of the others. He smiles at the sight of it.]

Brutal.

[Sometimes it moves away from him, but he's doing his best to make friends whenever they cross paths again.]

Hey, [he says, voice gentle, hand out like he's trying to encourage a cat to come to him. All animals basically work like cats, right?] I'm not gonna hurt you.

[If someone comes up behind him, the startled noise he make just might make the horse run away again, but he's determined by now. Once he makes friends with this thing, he's naming it after Nathan. It just seems like a Nathan.]

[C. Where The Delicate Stops]

[Toki reaches back for One, and he feels like if he just stretches out further, maybe he can help him somehow. Just when he feels like maybe he's got it, the horse starts running. Devastated, he shouts out for him, but everything's falling apart.

As they travel with absolutely no input from him, his wings spread out and he's holding on to Nathan (the horse) for dear life. Please don't trample anybody, please don't trample anybody...]

Watch out!!!

[At least he's doing a good job at clinging; he's still got the horse. Or, at least, the horse has him. Get on, if you can.]

[D. WILDCARD]

[hi new pals!!! toki's a daemon so look out for his big giant wings. he's kind of having a bad time because he's seeing his friend one everywhere and it's not good! wanna do something else? bring your own prompt, plot with me, or ask for your very own starter here or at agentkaz! plotting post is here.]

Toki Wartooth | Metalocalypse | Current Player

[dethangel]

here!

Ironeye | Elden Ring: Nightreign

[markingnight]

[ Contact: Tetradecimal d: tetradraws.

Plotting post link here!
Wildcard is always an option, current player, LMK if you'd like something specific. ]

Show Me Those Pretty White Jaws (A, Romantic Love)

[markingnight]

[ ooc: This is an assumed CR dream! Ironeye will act like he knows your character, up to you whether your character knows him by weird dream logic or not. Age 20+ or the equivalent for this one o7, if you would like things to lean more casual or more serious, or if you've got other ideas, lmk! Basically for a lot of these prompts I'm experimenting a bit since canon is sparse lol. ]

[ There is a warmly-lit room here. Hardwood floors, a center table with chairs, shelves with tools and books and all the usual accoutrements of living. There is a sense of familiarity, even though this place is wholly unfamiliar. And one unexpected element catches the eye:

There is something on the table.

It doesn't belong to you, and yet you know that it cannot possibly be meant for anyone else. A pocketwatch like the one your grandfather had, perhaps, or a book about the secret techniques of the old painters you most love, long out-of-print. Maybe a greatsword shimmering in pale green, its blade drinking in the ambient starlight, perfect for your hand. Whatever it is, it's something you've desired quietly, something you wouldn't think to get for yourself -- an indulgence. Only someone who knows and cherishes you could have thought to tuck it away for later. And yet... ]

You weren't meant to see that.

[ There is fondness and faint exasperation in that normally cool baritone. A tall, dark-haired man has rounded the corner, and now leans against the wall, arms crossed. What he doesn't add: yet. You weren't meant to see it yet. ]

But now the cat's out of the bag, maybe you can tell me if I've got it right.

[ Of his appearance, there is nothing to suggest his identity except for one thing: his eyes are so blue they don't seem to belong on a human. No hiding that behind a mask. ]

Show Me Those Pretty White Jaws (B, Motherly Love)

[markingnight]

[ A sense of unreality permeates the dream. For one, the room's floor is covered with a mountain of letters. Some bear a crimson seal on them, pressed wax with a whorled, spidery insignia. From others, blood seeps slowly, soaking into their neighbors. Attempts to read them result in the symbols simply slipping off the page. They speak of duty, of the slain, of traitors and allies.

And there is this: a woman, her face concealed beneath her mantle. She is so tall she can hardly fit into the room, and must kneel to mind the ceiling. She is a giant. Her arms are held out to encircle, but not touch, the man dressed in pale green scale before her.

When she speaks, it is without sound. Yet from the movement of her lips, words can still be understood: 'Ironeye, beloved child of the Fellowship.' The voice of a woman who had seen much in her years, yet was not wholly resigned to fate.

'I had a dream.' ]

[ There is a softer edge to the Ironeye's baritone. The coolness of steel etched in by rain. One gloved hand he lays upon the woman's oversized wrist. ]

...I know.

Show Me Those Pretty White Jaws (C, Comradely Love)

[markingnight]

[ A large table inside the remains of a crumbling sea-castle hold, its roof and far wall open to the misty skies above. Yet the interior of the room was bright and cheery, made moreso by the little fire, and its inhabitants. Eight Nightfarers, plus a little jar merchant and an automaton of war, repurposed for domestic service.

A great big bear of a man held his stein up in the air, laughing as he boasted and joked.
A kindly witch of quiet smile and motherly manner.
A moody young warrior with a greatsword as long as he was tall on his back, dressed in armor that obscured even his eyes from view.

All these and more, in celebration of their latest expedition. Two were a little apart from the rest: a swordsman in bronze armor, engrossed in mute sketching, and the Ironeye himself. He had a seat by Raider, the man with the overflowing beer stein, but seemed content to enjoy the merriment of the others in quiet. There was a small smile on his lips as he lifted his own mug to drink.

A sense of belonging, of gladness... and yet melancholy, too. Soon, their time would be at an end.

The Raider slapped the young knight in blue on the back with a guffaw. "Ahh, you should have seen it! The instant he peeked around the corner, there was a blast like you'd never heard! That troll was waiting for our boy here! Pot nearly took his head off!" ]

Where The Delicate Stops

[markingnight]

[ When the dream began to collapse: a midnight blur of horseflesh and light armor, swift as a nightmare. Yet if this was some knight errant, he was a dark one. Hues of blue-violet clung to Ironeye's cloak like the last vestiges of lingering night. A black bow, not a gleaming silver sword, was at his back.

Should he spot someone lost or without mounted steed, he'd simply reach out with gauntleted hand and haul them up into the saddle in front of him. Or worse, catch a falling Vessel in both arms as he and his mare sped along. ]

Hold fast.

[ Are you a bad enough dude to be princess carried, idk live your best life ]

Ironeye | Elden Ring: Nightreign | Current Player

[markingnight]

wheezes I'm tired boss

Shelley Lang | oc | new character, current player

[dustyroad]

Jaws- Drowning

[The detective, all weathered layers covering lanky limbs, awoke with a jolt of panic. Anxiety rattled his nerves and made his heart tapdance in his chest- his last memories were of a winter snow storm, with the creeks frozen over and power lost to the cabin they were hunkered in.

There was no indication of which way led to the surface, only a sweet voice beckoning him to join her. Swimming anywhere would quickly spell his doom. His vision, still blurred from a recent brush with death, started to grow dark as the seconds ticked by-

His lungs rebelled. Instinct forced him to gasp to--

Nothing.

Shelley Lang, bweildered, coughed in his surprise and stared at the bubbles that trickled forth. There were tendrils, gossamer thin and glowing like a creature from the abyssal zones of the oceans, tangled up around his arms and legs

...

He tried to swear, but it only created more bubbles.

What the fuck had he gotten himself into?]

Jaws- The Meg

[He wasn't a scientist, but Shelley knew that physics wasn't supposed to act like this. Water was a sound amplifier in his memory- sounds carried across distances but didn't breach the surface, as if the space between the bottom of the lake and the unbroken divide that separated water from air were it's own dimension. He wasn't a diver, but he always had respect for bodies of water.

It could give life as swiftly and easily as it could bring death.

And hide death.

The weight of grief was with him, always. It lived in his bones as a heavy weight- shadowy, shapeless, constant. It was his memories of his friends from his youth, how death had come too early for one of them and caused Shelley to flee from the wreckage it left behind.

He couldn't stay when it was important that he did. And, while he couldn't undo the past, he could make it up to those he had abandoned before they even had a chance to meet.

These weren't things he had ever spoke of- but the water, the water...

He had found one of those he had abandoned in the water, and it was hard to forget the glassy look in those dark eyes.

Shelley shook his head and pocketed his useless glasses in a compulsive move, trying to set the grief aside in favor of action.

He had to get out. But, the currents shifted and a shudder went down his spine.

Something was here.]

Nightmares- The Cathedral

... Really? Really?

[Hair dripping and plaid overcoat soaked through, Shelley turned around in circles as he stared up at the vaulted ceilings and stained glass of what was obviously a traditional cathedral. Now on the 'surface' where details mattered, he found himself squinting and putting his glasses on as he tried to make out the details through the halos gaussian haze that made up the current bulk his vision.]

A church. Why a church- what is this, St. Mary's? Notre Dame?

[Any visible text was indistinct to him- and he was holding out his glasses a few inches in front of his nose, as if that would help him make sense of anything.

It didn't.

He sighed, dramatically.]

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. [He intoned with gravitas, not knowing what else to do.]

I'm not a church goer, and I'm pretty sure I shot someone I thought was a friend.

I'll take my place if this is hell, but I need to make sure a couple of people are okay first.

Wildcard

[Don't see anything you like? Make something up. It's Basil here, so HMU on Plurk at woodrift if you want to chatter.

Info about Shelley is on his journal. Basically- he's a very stressed middle aged detective who has seen a lot of loss and now has the effects of chronic illness and a peppy little nature spirit to help him deal with it.

Oh and don't ask him to read anything. He's not totally blind but his vision has taken a hit with everything.]

B

[markingnight]

Are you sure that's wise?

[ It wasn't that Ironeye had never ridden a horse; he came from medieval fantasyland, after all. It was only that... well, they hardly seemed like normal horses, and even normal horses were half-ton nervous death machines. He ought to know, as some psychotic armored knight motherfucker was always trying to stomp him out with one. ]

Shelley Lang | oc | new character, current player

[dustyroad]

Here!

watching me with eyes of a predator

[markingnight]

Is that what it's called? I've never heard the term.

[ They were only 'horses', Ironeye thought, in the way that the hippopotamus had been called a water horse. He was clad in scaled cloak and light armor, and looked the sort that might very well leap astride one of the things. In truth, he wasn't sure he trusted horses inside a dream, much less Sleep's nightmare. ]

...But I have seen something of that color before. Only once.

Another second prompt question

[digitalprincess]

... Though I think reading this post kinda answers it. But just to check.

'You appear as someone else sees you. Be it a hero. A monster. A disappointment. A god. A weakness. A temptation. Even a burden.'
Is this just first impressions other characters on the tdm have? Or would it include how other characters in their canon feel?

B

[dustyroad]

Yanno- I heard once that one of the requirements to get a job as a cowboy was being able to sing. Softly.

[Shelley, somehow still wet from their dip in the dream ocean, had been watching this whole process with interest. He didn't know where he was and couldn't read anything in a way that was meaningful, so he had fallen back on old habits: observe, assess, and take a few guesses.]

They're big creatures, but they get real nervous.

... Sweets might help, too.