SUGAR & SAY THAT YOU WILL ● JUNE 2026 EVENT/TDM

[uruz]

TDM & EVENT: SUGAR & SAY THAT YOU WILL

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Prologue: The Pull

Sleep's wave comes unevenly after the heat of the last few weeks stack upon each other, weighed down by something that lingers even after consciousness fades for Veteran Vessels. A newer Vessel's dreams begin in familiar places before the edges darken and lose definition. A tide rolls in slowly, black and glossy, thick like oil spreading across water. Its scent arrives first, unmistakably sweet and heavy, clinging to the senses and pulling you down.

The tide slips through the dream space, seeping beneath doors, climbing walls, pooling around ankles and wrists, remaining close enough to be felt without forcing itself forward. The sensation draws attention rather than fear, offering warmth rather than the pressure of scary resistance.

For younger vessels, or those uninterested in seduction, the darkness softens as it rises. The feeling becomes comforting, like being wrapped in a blanket, accompanied by the sense that something beautiful waits ahead. The promise is simple: a place where indulgence is allowed, where desire is not something to be denied. For older vessels, the closeness carries intimacy: The tide glides along skin with deliberate intent, lingering at throats, hips, and mouths, its presence suggestive without revealing a form. Breath seems to brush against them, and the promise offered is indulgence without apology, to be wanted and consumed without consequence.

The tide does not claim them unless they allow it. Consent comes quietly, through a thought, a movement toward it, the choice not to pull away. When that choice is made, the water surges upward, swallowing the dream and pulling them beneath its surface.

You all will awaken within a Garden.

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Play A Twisted Little Game

( content warnings: substance use, intoxication themes, addiction/temptation, manipulation and coercive influence, loss of inhibition, altered mental state, psychological horror, compulsive behavior, predatory/hunting instincts, animalistic aggression. )

The Garden stretches outward in impossible directions, lush to the point of excess, resembling a marvelously distorted fairy tale. Enormous flowers crowd the paths, their petals thick and glossy, colors saturated beyond reason. Trees twist into arches and spirals, their branches heavy with glowing fruit that hangs low enough to brush against shoulders. Massive mushrooms dot the landscape, their luminous caps casting soft light across the ground like candles and leading the way. Even where you step, flourescense lights your path.

Golden pollen drifts constantly through the air, clinging to skin and hair. Breathing it in brings a spreading warmth that softens one's restraint and dulls hesitation without fully erasing it. Laughter comes more easily, thoughts slow, and the urge to linger strengthens with every sweet breath you take.

The fruit is irresistible, for the record. It looks perfect, tastes even better, and leaves behind a pleasant haze that encourages indulgence. Those who partake may find themselves giving in to impulses they normally deny, choosing comfort over caution, distraction over vigilance, and pleasure over restraint. None of it feels dangerous, is how it entices you. How can it, when it feels this good?

Beyond fruit and flora, the Garden reshapes itself to suit each Vessel's wants and needs. It conjures whatever they love most, presenting it without shame or judgment. A clearing may reveal an entire pyramid of chilled pudding, each cup untouched and gleaming with sugar. A flower may open to offer fragrant tobacco and a lighter placed carefully within its petals. Sheltered spaces may contain alcohol, sweets, games, toys, music, drugs, books, instruments— anything capable of drawing the vessel deeper into indulgence.

The objects are real. They feel real, food tastes real, and they all satisfy, too.

The Garden responds eagerly to its use ever time. Paths widen, flowers bloom brighter, and the air grows warmer as indulgence continues among vessels. At the same time, subtle shifts begin to take hold. The pollen thickens, the sweetness becomes heavier, and vines creep closer to well-traveled spaces, brushing against ankles and legs as though testing their very boundaries. The more vessels indulge, the more the Garden thrives, and the harder it becomes to imagine leaving when everything they desire is right within reach.

Under a pink moon that hangs low above the canopy, the forest responds differently to Beastkin Tokens and Lycan Offerings. Scents sharpen and layer richly in the air. The hum of life beneath the soil grows louder, vibrating through bone and animal instinct. The floating pollen enhances instinct rather than dulling it. Hunger, territoriality, the urge to roam or chase press closer to the surface. The Garden may conjure open stretches of moonlit forest for running, fleeting silhouettes that invite pursuit, or rival presences that vanish just ahead of your grasp. Indulgence here may take the form of movement, dominance, or surrender to instinct beneath that glowing sky. The more these instincts are indulged, the more the forest reshapes itself to accommodate them, you, clearing paths forward, closing them behind, and making your hunts all the more exhilirating.

Token Effects

• Tokens may temporarily lose track of time spent in the Garden.
• A Token who indulges repeatedly may find decision-making delayed or softened, hesitating when asked to leave, choose violence, or break comfort.
• Emotional responses skew toward contentment and nostalgia. Irritation and fear are harder to access unless provoked sharply.
• Tokens may unconsciously rationalize indulgence, defending their choices even when questioned by others.
• After waking, Tokens can retain phantom cravings or habits tied to what they indulged in, persisting for a short time in the waking world.

Offering Effects

• Offerings may feel an increased urge to facilitate indulgence rather than prevent it, guiding Tokens toward comfort, distraction, or pleasure.
• Protective instincts soften; instead of guarding against danger, Offerings may prioritize keeping the Token relaxed and satisfied.
• Offerings might become indulgent themselves by proxy, gaining emotional satisfaction from watching or enabling their Token’s enjoyment.
• When indulgence is interrupted, Offerings may feel mild irritation or disappointment disproportionate to the situation.
• Upon waking, Offerings may recall the dream with unusual fondness, even if nothing dramatic occurred within it.

Beastkin Tokens & Lycan Offerings Specific Effects

• Beastkin Tokens may experience heightened body awareness, reacting more strongly to terrain, scent trails, and movement through space.
• Repetitive motion (running paths, circling clearings, pacing) can become grounding and soothing rather than restless.
• Lycan Offerings may feel compelled to remain nearby without overt guarding, choosing proximity over patrol or vigilance.
• Subtle pack dynamics can emerge naturally, with unspoken positioning, shared pacing, or mirroring behavior during indulgence.
• After waking, both may feel briefly unsettled by confined spaces or inactivity, as if the body expects continued motion.

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I've Developed A Taste For You

( content warnings: sexual content, aphrodisiac/sex pollen themes, coercion and impaired consent, restraint/bondage, dominance and submission themes, group sexual activity, possessiveness/territorial behavior, altered mental state. )

Deeper within the Garden lies a secluded expanse enclosed by dense growth that blocks sound and sight, forming a space that feels deliberately intimate. Vegetation grows close together, walls of leaves and vines pulsing faintly with warmth. Narrow beams of filtered light illuminate patches of soft ground and clusters of flowers that drip thick, honey-like nectar.

The air here is saturated with pollen that acts as a powerful aphrodisiac. Breathing it in heightens sensation immediately, making skin more reactive, touch more intense, and proximity impossible to ignore. Every sound feels closer than it should. Every movement carries weight.

The vines guide bodies together, coiling around ankles, wrists, and torsos, holding vessels in place until closeness is acknowledged. Resistance causes the grip to tighten insistently, while participation loosens it and rewards it with warmth and pressure that borders on pleasure.

The flora actively takes part for those who allow it. Vines may restrain, blindfold, or position bodies, holding them steady or pulling them closer. Some respond to voice and movement, tightening rhythmically, teasing, or delivering sharp sensations when struck or commanded. Flowers open at the sound of breath and noise, releasing thicker clouds of pollen that intensify arousal and blur restraint further.

Nectar drips freely from petals, sweet and sticky, suited for tasting, smearing, and shared indulgence, its effects compounding with every use. For Vessels willing to surrender more fully, the Garden offers deeper participation through vines capable of penetration, domination, and restraint, shaping themselves to suit acts of intimacy, control, and your very desire.

Every indulgence strengthens the ecosystem. The more Vessels give themselves over, the more responsive and possessive the Garden becomes, reshaping itself around desire until intention and influence begin to bleed into one another.

Under the same pink moon, visible here only in fragments through breaks in the canopy, Beastkin Tokens and Lycan Offerings feel instinct surge sharply to the surface of their consciousness. Scent becomes overwhelming, layered with skin, nectar, and earth. Territoriality, dominance, and physical closeness intensify, shaped by their nature rather than restrained by it. Vines will respond readily, coiling like extensions of instinct, guiding movement and contact. The urge to claim space, to press closer, to bare teeth or mark territory grows stronger beneath the moonlight. The Garden magnifies these impulses, encouraging surrender to physicality and sensation as the forest itself seems to breathe in time with their wild pulse.

Token Effects

• Sex pollen dramatically increases libido and lowers inhibition. Restraint becomes difficult to maintain in close proximity to their Offering/Tether.
• Vines respond more readily to Tokens, coiling around wrists, thighs, or hips at their unspoken command, assisting in pulling partners closer or holding them in place.
• Heightened dominance instinct. Tokens may feel compelled to physically position their Offering or guide additional partners into shared contact.
• Delayed climax and intensified arousal curve. Stimulation builds slowly but relentlessly, demanding escalation before release is possible.
• Stronger territorial urges that may manifest as possessive touch, visible marking (bites, scratches, imprints left by vines), or insistence on being the focal point.
• Increased openness to group dynamics. The pollen dulls jealousy and replaces it with competitive hunger or exhibitionistic thrill.
• Sensitivity to visual and auditory feedback. Moans, trembling, and visible pleasure act as accelerants.
• After climax, arousal may reignite quickly if vines remain in contact, creating cycles of repeated stimulation.

Offering Effects

• Sex pollen heightens physical responsiveness. Arousal triggers quickly and intensely, even from indirect contact or vine pressure.
• Vines tend to restrain or spread the Offering more often, guiding posture and exposing vulnerable areas to touch.
• Increased suggestibility. Coaxing from their Token/Tether or physical encouragement from vines feels compelling and pleasurable rather than coercive.
• Shorter path to orgasm. Climaxes may arrive suddenly and powerfully, especially when restrained or held in place.
• Heightened desire to be touched, filled, or pressed against—physical closeness feels necessary rather than optional.
• Greater willingness to participate in shared intimacy. Additional partners may feel inviting rather than threatening.
• Emotional attachment intensifies during and after climax. Physical pleasure deepens the tether bond.
• Post-climax sensitivity spikes; even light contact from vines or skin may provoke aftershocks or overstimulation.

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Won't You Say That You Will

( content warnings: psychological horror, paranoia, identity distortion/impostor themes, stalking and predation, body horror, transformation, emotional manipulation, obsession/fixation, abandonment themes, possessiveness, isolation, anxiety, mistrust, loss of control. )

There is no sense of departure from the garden following the dream's transition, no moment where the air changes or the ground gives way. One second the dream feels familiar enough to be trusted, and the next it no longer behaves according to the rules it had just taught you. Space stretches in ways that do not correspond to movement. Pathways that should lead somewhere simply continue, folding back on themselves, their angles all wrong.

Suddenly, it's quite cold. Terrible winter winds brew and ice creeps through the newly forming geometry. There are no signs explaining where you are or how you arrived to this now strange, blank canvas of a place stricken with the worst of winter cold. The Backrooms assert themselves through repetition and absence, through hallways that refuse to end and rooms that look as though they were abandoned mid-thought. The air smells faintly of dust and something chemical, thick clouds following your breath. The longer you remain, the more your sense of sequence erodes. It becomes difficult to say whether you have been walking for minutes or hours, or whether the others near you have always been there or only just appeared. Perhaps you'll start losing the feeling you have in your extremities.

Beneath that confusion runs a quieter tension, one that does not feel native to the architecture itself. The space reacts strangely to closeness. When you move nearer to another presence, the lights flicker more often. When you pull away, corridors seem to lengthen. There is an impression, difficult to articulate but persistent, that something is monitoring these shifts, responding the most to hesitation. What does it want from you . . . ? No clue.

That uncertainty carries a familiar weight. Somewhere within the structure of this place is One, though he does not appear in any singular form. His influence manifests through moments of contradiction: doors that almost open, sounds that resemble footsteps but never resolve into a source, and the persistent sense that reassurance is being offered and withdrawn at the same time. There is no overt threat in this presence, but there is desperation threaded through it, a need for proximity paired with the fear that closeness will inevitably end in loss. The environment reflects this conflict, holding you near without fully committing to keeping you around. What's worse— Strange encounters here may happen when paths overlap, when attention lingers too long on a singular spot, or when curiosity outweighs caution.

A Skin-Stealer may be noticed first. At a distance, it looks human enough to pass, moving with an awkward imitation of natural motion, but when closer, details fail to align. Skin does not quite fit the frame beneath it, stretching or sagging where it should not. If you interact with it directly, so much as a call, you may experience a strong sense of familiarity paired with discomfort, as though someone you recognize is wearing themselves incorrectly. Yes— They shall take the form of those you know. Prolonged exposure induces disorientation and mistrust with others. Vessels may begin second-guessing the identities of those around them, hesitating before responding to voices or approaching new figures. If the Skin-Stealer makes physical contact, panic responses spike sharply, and the instinct to flee or isolate becomes overwhelming. The safest response is distance and verification through group presence; these entities struggle to maintain cohesion when closely observed by multiple people at once.

Jerry's presence, on the other hand, is quieter but far more . . . Dangerous? He appears as a thin, dark bird, out of place and almost gentle against the harsh geometry of the Backrooms. Encountering Jerry produces an immediate emotional softening. Characters may feel an unexpected calm, nostalgia, or a pull toward simple comforts that do not logically exist here. Physical contact deepens this effect rapidly. Those who touch or hold Jerry may find their priorities shifting, attention narrowing, and thoughts circling around him with increasing intensity. Speech becomes repetitive, often affectionate or reverent in tone toward Jerry. Decision-making slows, replaced by an urge to stay close and keep Jerry safe. Over time, this devotion can override self-preservation entirely. Characters caught in this state may resist leaving Jerry behind, argue against practical plans, downplay obvious threats, and at their worst— worship or even wish to sacrifice for Jerry. Separation is possible, but it is emotionally painful, leaving behind a hollowed, grieving sensation that lingers long after the encounter ends.

Partygoers announce themselves through atmosphere before they are ever seen. Decorations appear where they should not exist as posters promising celebration and bright colors clashing violently with the monotony of the halls. When Partygoers enter an area, the tension shifts sharply to predation. These entities observe first, testing reactions, learning movement patterns. Characters may feel watched even when alone, with pressure building behind the eyes and a rising sense of being studied. Once engagement with them begins, Partygoers will attempt to herd rather than chase, using obstacles, noise, and misinformation to separate individuals from groups. Physical contact initiates rapid escalation of these effects. Those seized by their arm-mouths will experience intense sensory distortion, pain quickly giving way to numbness and intrusive thoughts that do not feel entirely their own. Early stages of transformation may cause affected characters to fixate on group dynamics, viewing others less as allies and more as resources or threats— until they too, may become one of them. Resistance is possible but time-sensitive, and intervention by others is critical to limit a Vessel's transformation. Partygoers do not act alone, and escape from them often depends on breaking line of sight and disrupting their coordination rather than brute force against them— You'll hardly ever win, in that case.

Throughout all of this, One's influence grows increasingly erratic. The Backrooms respond more dramatically to moments of connection and separation, lights stuttering when bonds are tested, hallways bending when someone considers leaving another behind. His presence presses closer in moments of intimacy as scrutiny, a palpable fear threaded through these reactions, and the sense that reassurance is being sought but never believed. Echoes of his internal conflict surface in fleeting impressions: the urge to cling paired with the certainty that abandonment is inevitable, the desire for closeness tangled with the impulse to wound before being wounded. This tension mirrors the emotional core underlying everything here, from promises feeling fragile, even when spoken sincerely, to Vessels finding themselves questioning not only the intentions of others, but their own.

The longer you remain, the clearer it becomes that progression here is not linear. There is no single path forward, only moments of proximity that rearrange the space around you. What follows this depends not on where you go next, but on who you choose to stay near, who you pull away from, and which promises you are willing to believe, even when you suspect they may not last.

The dream does not conclude so much as it fails to hold together. Somewhere within the shifting halls of the Backrooms, One becomes convinced that what anchored him has slipped away, and that belief fractures his ability to remain. The space reacts unevenly as his presence withdraws: corridors stretch and then collapse into themselves, lights hum without source, entities lose their rhythm, and the emotional pressure that bound Vessels together spikes sharply before snapping. For those still inside, sensations intensify all at once, where closeness turns unbearable, attachment feels abruptly severed, and attempts to reach for reassurance meet only distortion— until the dream can no longer sustain shared coherence. One by one, Vessels are torn awake mid-thought or mid-motion, breath catching as consciousness returns too fast, leaving behind the sense of being dropped rather than released, with unresolved desire, fixation, or unease lingering long after your eyes open.

Something else has awakened. "Awareness".

Token Effects

• Proximity dependency intensifies; physical distance from their Offering/Tethers causes agitation, shallow breathing, and intrusive thoughts about abandonment.
• Heightened sensitivity to tone and micro-expressions. Neutral gestures may be misread as rejection or withdrawal.
• Compulsion to seek verbal reassurance, even if they suspect the reassurance may be false.
• Increased fixation on touch as proof of presence. Tokens may repeatedly initiate contact to confirm their Offering/Tether is still there.
• Jealousy spikes in enclosed corridors; other figures in peripheral vision (real or not) may trigger possessive responses.
• Emotional volatility rises quickly from desire to defensiveness if they sense hesitation.
• After separation or forced distance, lingering obsession or replaying of final words heard may persist into waking.

Offering Effects

• Intensified urge to control or stabilize their dynamic; Offerings may feel compelled to define their relationship in absolute terms.
• Heightened dominance or surrender impulses depending on personality baseline, with less moderation than usual.
• Increased temptation to test loyalty through emotional pressure or loaded statements.
• Possessiveness sharpens in tight, enclosed spaces; they may position themselves physically between their Token/Tethers and perceived threats.
• Strong reaction to perceived emotional withdrawal. Reassurance may be given urgently, excessively, or manipulatively.
• Physical closeness feels like leverage as well as comfort.
• Suspicion of abandonment may cause preemptive emotional distancing or sharp, reactive behavior.
• After waking, unresolved tension may manifest as fixation, defensiveness, or a need to revisit the conversation.

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NOTES

➤ Welcome to Somnia's TDM, which doubles as a gamewide event!
➤ This TDM is considered game canon.
➤ 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!
➤ This is the last TDM before the game's arc change, which will skip a TDM round— Thus, the next TDM will be scheduled only for October. This App round has no character cap, so please feel free to hop on before our break or another character cap!
➤ Questions? Please direct them to the designated questions comment linked below!

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Luca | OC | OTA | Prospective Player

[divine_violence]

[Luca doesn't dream often. When he does, his dreams are disjointed, shifting from one thing to the next without through-line. Some are fragments of near memory, telephone-game retellings of his past relived in the theater of his mind. Others are even less resolved; half-formed tableaus of inexplicable imagery, phantom impressions.

The scene that greets him on the other side of that seductive black tide is neither- too fantastic for memory and too defined for symbolism.]

[OOC: Nested prompts. Open to wildcards but no NSFW please, I'm shy. Message me here if you want to plot something, I guess? Sorry, I'm new.]

Twisted Game

[divine_violence]

[cw: brief animal cruelty mention]

[One summer he'd been struck by a sudden and profound fascination with burying things alive. He'd spent unobserved hours skulking around his mother's garden, interring jars and cardboard coffins only to dig them back up again the next day, and pouring over her books on flowers and horticulture in the interim. She'd ruffled his hair and cooed over her little amateur botanist and then returned to her cooking or laundry.

The smell takes Luca back there, to that summer, to his mother's prized roses and bearded irises- rich, warm earth and sweet, cloying blooms. He breathes it in deep, and the shimmering golden pollen with it. That's where the similarities end, though. He had, in fact, read those books, and he can't identify any of the strange glowing flora that surrounds him now.

He wanders deeper into the garden, drawn by simple curiousity and some other, more nebulous urge down a random path. He reaches up as he walks, casually plucking one of the strange fruits and turning it over in his gloved hand. It, too, is alien to him, its soft flesh pulsing with light. He sniffs it, puts it to his lips to take a bite, when something else catches his eye. A cold shimmer among the floating golden motes further ahead in the path, a quiet thud of something falling.

A knife. A hunting knife, standing perfectly straight like a miniature Excalibur, its tip buried in the dirt. Its curved steel blade glitters in the twilight reflecting the riot of glowing colors around it, the polished black handle inlaid with intricate pearl flourishes. Beautiful. Luca reaches down and pulls it gently, almost reverently from the dirt, and wipes it clean on the tail of his flannel. It feels good in his hand. It feels right.]

"Now where did you come from?" [He turns a slow circle, scanning the strange surroundings for a source, fruit in one hand and knife in the other, and calls out.] "Hello?"

Backrooms

[divine_violence]

[The garden was comfortable, inviting. The new space that asserts itself around Luca is decidedly not. There is an uncomfortable familiarity to it, the sickly artifical lighting and musty carpet. The back office of the church, his grandfather's bedroom, some half-forgotten dental office or daycare... But it's none of those things. And there is something predatory about it.

He shivers, his t-shirt and flannel not nearly thick enough to stave off the sudden cold. He moves through the catacomb spaces, unsure of where he's going and where he's come from but what else is there to do? After hours, or moments (Luca can't tell anymore), he rounds a corner and finds himself at the mouth of a long hallway. He is not the only one there.

A figure stands at the far end with its back to Luca- a man, wearing short sleeves in the unnatural cold, motionless under a flickering florescent. Almost motionless. His shoulders rise and fall rapidly with his breathing, like he's hyperventilating. One hand trembles at his side. Luca freezes, his chest tightening with recognition. He knows this silhouette, even from behind. But no, that can't be right. The dead can't breathe.]

Prompto Argentum * Final Fantasy XV * Artificer * New Player

[silversunshine]

Prologue: The Pull

Prompto’s not sure when things started to change. One moment he and his friends were leaving the safe rest room and the next things were changing. His eyes had focused on the darkening metal hallway, noting the sludge leaking through the crevices of sealed doors surrounding him.

With each step he takes it becomes harder to wade through the steadily rising darkness. His legs lock as he loses sight of his lower body yet he can feel a phantom’s touch brushing against his hips in a promise of companionship. He allows himself to slip away with a promise of reuniting with those he left behind.

Play A Twisted Little Game

Talk about a bad time to lose the armiger. Prompto would kill for his camera right about now. He’s all smiles as he saunters closer to the bright colors of the flaura around him. He barely resists the urge to touch everything.

"This is…" He sucks in a breath, inhaling pollen and smiling even more broadly as gold dust settles onto his pale skin.

Finally his reserve tends to snap and he has to touch everything around him. He laughs brightly and asks one nearby:

"Do you think we’re in heaven?"

Won’t Say That You Will

“I’d like to go back, please and thank you” Prompto calls out into the echoing expanse which has replaced the luxury of the Garden he left behind. Shiva’s tits it’s freezing and the cold creeping into his lungs has him wishing he had his Tundra Attire he wore like forever ago.

Prompto frowns as the pillars surrounding him seem to repeat with no identifying marks and it causes him to lose track of both time and location.

He clings to sanity the only way he can, by making up a song:
“Alooone, I’m so very alooone. Lost in cold space, forever aloooone”

[ooc: I'll gladly match prose or brackets. Feel free to PM me as well]

twisted game;

[regulate]

[ Oh, this sweet summer child...

But no, he's certain they are the furthest thing from what anyone envisions the heavens looking like. The lush green plants and flowers saturated with every color the mind is capable of perceiving are clearly a trap, one that Sunday recognizes yet can't seem to dispel no matter how much he tries to bludgeon himself with the reality of their situation.

It's a dream...It's a dream...It's a dream...

As though those words could spike through his mind hard enough to jolt him out of this, but it's a fool's errand. He's inhaling too much of the sweet nectar to focus as much as he wants to, delirium starting to gradually set it. Only barely manages to shake his head amidst the sudden appearance of dancing confections manifesting in his line of sight where there once was a blond man. ]

I am afraid this dreamscape is anything but...I must have fallen asleep while I was hungry. Is the rest of you made out of cake as well?

yuuto kigai | x/1999 | bloodwright

[salaryman]

i. living in a material world (twisted little game)

[ Oh. This is quaint.

Yuuto trots along the beaten path - his steps less steps as they are little half-skips. Dancing over rocks and appreciating the ground glowing bright and friendly to greet him.

As he presses forward, the greenery seems to recede. His head tilts as he steps onto tile flooring instead. He drifts his gaze upward to see florescent lighting of a department store - equally bright and somehow inviting.

A few more steps in - curiosity kills the cat, but satisfaction brings it back - he takes note of the dozens of racks filled with designer clothes. His hand claps over his mouth as he huffs out a brief laugh.

He glances down at his own attire before continuing his playful trot forward. Fingertips glossing over the material, it all feels exceptionally expensive - and fills him with a great sense of peace.

Without further ado --

a. One may find him shamelessly half-naked as he's trying on new pieces of attire. His head lifts up as he offers a friendly bright smile as if to ask to come join the fun. For there is no better fun than looking one's best.

b. Or perhaps, he is dressed and finding some accessories to enjoy. Hair gel, cologne, watches - everything seems to manifest as soon as he takes a step to the side. ]

ii. under the sea (twisted little game)

[ But what would truly, honestly make him happy is to have the full mastery of his powers once more. Yes, he can tap into it some within the dream, but he wants it all back.

He would even get on his knees to beg to be taken back by the cool, indifferent waters.

But luckily (or rather his luck), he doesn't have to debase himself; he doesn't have to humiliate himself so. The water comes back to him as if to apologize for ever being away.

Sitting on the edge of a fountain, the waters swirl and dance impossibly in the air. He swings his feet as he tilts his head back - continuing to manipulate the shape and design. How it dazzles and rollercoasters about - creating little fireworks as it sprays upward before spiraling down to waltz merrily under his command. ]

Oh?

[ In another lap around the fountain, his water brings him a fruit. Holding his hand out, he lets the item drop into his hand -- ]

Would you like to share this with me?

iii. take my hand and don't you ever let go (won't say that you will)

It's a bit dangerous, don't you think?

[ A casual voice cuts through everything. His steps have the same whimsical dance to them. He seems out of place in this space even more than anything else - with his easy smile and easier words. ]

Let's not go any further --

[ Yuuto reaches his hand out. Perhaps, it is because there is someone else that would do this but they're not here. Perhaps, it is because he simply doesn't want to continue to travel alone.

Regardless, his hand extends out - fingers lightly tugging on the other person's fingers, playfully, like this is all a game. And perhaps, in some way it is. In many ways, it is not. ]

Shall we make a run for it?

vi. wildcard Yeah, sure. Throw whatever you like at him. PM me if you have any questions.

iii.

[hallowedly]

( It's the way of the subliminally lethal, crepuscular world, the smell of corporate efficiency supra-imposed on the surgical sterility of a soulless environment. They might be in the cardboard cut-out of a labyrinth, but they're here, now. Diffuse, sketched with a light hand, tentative. When Seishirou tips his head just so, perfectly feline in his assessment, he feels himself adrift, unanchored, entirely happenstance.

They've arrived at this moment, between shadows, the lurking, looming presence of others only gaining incremental contour. The light that bathes them might be neon or dappled moonlight or a heavy-handed smear of alabaster. They could be miracles of hazard or strategically positioned pieces before a capture en passant.

Pawns cannibalizing pawns. Between them, Kigai's hand looks like the hook that cleaves fish and calls it — sleep. )

Are we running to, or from?

victor frankenstein — token: necromancer

[creatoris]

play a twisted little game

( The garden dissolves into a picturesque scene — not one of lush, dense greenery, but well-manicured grass surrounding on all sides, trees and shrubbery carefully tended to. Stone benches surround the circular grounds, allowing for respite and indulgence for any who wander in. It is Victor's personal Eden — the Frankenstein Estate before his mother passed away, leaving it hollow and more akin to a tomb than a home. Victor is dressed just as stately as one would expect, in dark red velvet dripping with opulence and entitlement, resting atop one of the benches with an enchanted look on his face. Indulging in a gold-rimmed glass filled with milk, and a seemingly never-ending carafe sitting next to him, which keeps refilling continuously as he pours.

Victor looks just as sated as anyone has ever seen him, his worries dulled and his pleasure heightened. Gold pollen adorns the dark curls of his hair, and the smile on his lips is genuine, if not a bit surprised when he realizes he's not alone. )

Oh, forgive me— I didn't see you there.

( There's a set of red gloves set aside at the end of the bench, placed there by some unknown companion who has not made themselves known, or since left. Victor pats the open spot with his hand, permitting his guest to come join him, in spite of the discarded clothing. )

Come. There's no need to be shy. Fetch yourself a drink.

( He motions, waving his hand toward a table of refreshments that conjures itself a moment later. How? Victor is far too distracted to question it, but it is filled with whatever his companion most enjoys, just as Victor is allowed his indulgence in milk. )

i've developed a taste for you
cw nsfw, 21+ only

( Victor sheds his jacket and waistcoat as he moves deeper into the garden, the creature comforts of home set aside in favor of something a bit more indulgent. His skin is warm, almost feverishly so, as he winds through the foliage, hands reaching out to caress against leaves and petals. Halting only to pluck a carnation from the ground, lifting it to his nose and closing his eyes.

And then, spurred on by charm or mischievousness, Victor offers it out to his companion, his smile warm and teasing. Utterly entranced by what he sees, staring at their face as if it is the most interesting thing in the world. At this moment, it could very well be. )

It's just us here.

( He speaks low, sultry, closing the distance between them in a few short strides. Close enough for them to touch, and to converse with one another like accomplices, breathy and hushed amidst the lushness of the garden. )

As it should be.

wildcard

( feel free to wildcard if we've plotted something specific! plotting + permissions )

➥ I've Developed a Taste For You (CW: NSFW)

[nestingdevil]

[The flower, if he's being completely honest, is a new one. And while he'd usually have something to say about it, he doesn't, here. Much as his claws grab it, hooking under the plumed-spread bud, to sink one of them into the fresh green at its base. The way he does it is easy and sharp; any moment's hesitation, simply never there to begin with. Sleep's dreams bring their own trouble(s), they always do. But with them, he is able to tap back into some things. Able to find the pieces of him that are missing in the waking(ness) of Manhattan which he, more often than not, misses the feel of.]

[Today is no exception. No, more, he's absolutely wild with the idea.]

[Greed tucks what's left of the carnation into his vest, dropping it inside one of its hidden pockets.] Just us, huh. [He repeats, though his voice hardly makes it beyond a hiss. It's feverish, scathing. The tone of it, edging on the coppery side of tinny as a black slick lowly begins to finger its way up his throat.]

[It pauses at the line of his jaw, showing the barest beginnings of a tusk, and he tongues it thoughtlessly.] Oh, ho. Didn't realize there was anything should be about it. [Victor's close enough that he can bend over and as he does, he sways on his heels, tipping his head to the tune of summoned vulture. The Sin's eyes flutter behind his sunglasses. They move this way and that, and the red behind them sticks to the glass. Sticks and stretches like streaks, chasing down the highway.]

[He stops only when he thinks he can see the outline of Victor's pulse.] But if that's the case, maybe you'd like to fill me in, 'doc. [His hands sink down his thighs, smooth and slick, and the former homunculus cooks a rattling pitch on the thicker part of his tongue.] Would be a shame if I missed the message.

Cyrene | Honkai Star Rail | Token: Lightweaver | New Player

[writtenwithlove]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ | A Twisted Little Game

[ The world came into focus slowly, prismatic hues curious even as she rose to her feet. Long pink hair swaying with each step she took, Cyrene couldn’t help but think this felt like some kind of dream but given what she remembered?

Was it even possible for someone like her to actually have dreams like this?

She shook her head, pushing that thought away as she took in the sight of the beautiful flora that made this garden incredibly beautiful and lush. It was hard to miss the pollen floating throughout the air, one hand raising up to sweep her hand through the air and that was when she became aware of the way her own skin almost seemed to glow a little in the dim light.

A soft laugh left her because this really had to be a dream as she knew her skin didn’t do this sort of thing in reality.

Cyrene took a few more steps then twirled around a couple times, her long hair seeming to ripple and catch the light around her. Making the already ethereal young woman seem even more so, surrounded by colorful flowers and softly glowing mushrooms. ]

This is like a fairy tale. So beautiful~

[ Before she touches or indulges in the fruits, she can’t help but just revel in the beauty around her for the moment. Who could say this was a good or bad thing, however. ]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ | Won’t Say That You Will

[ Unlike the sweet garden filled with indulgence and colorful flora, the harshness of the backrooms was quite the stark contrast but at least she seemed to be able to hold onto her sense of self properly here. Her heels clicked against the floor with echoes throughout the seemingly empty space.

Time almost seemed to not matter but she was getting this feeling like she was being watched. She kept her gaze forwards, thoughts positive until she seemed to come across someone else who seemed to be staring out at a stranger not too far away. Halfway to greeting the first person, Cyrene came to the realization that the second ‘person’ looked off in a way that set her nerves on edge.

It was enough for her to follow her instincts, a hand reaching out to grab the first person’s arm as they had started heading towards that second ‘person’. A risky move, given how distracted they were but she wasn’t about to let someone walk into danger when she could do something about it. ]

Don’t go. Something’s not right with them.

[ Her voice is light and melodic, yet held a sense of quiet urgency. Eyes locked onto them and hoping they would notice how unusual that ‘thing’ was, but there was a part of her that knew it was just so easy for them to brush this off too. ]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ | Wildcard

[ Wanted to keep it simple, but if these prompts don’t work? Please throw something at me or hmu on plurk @ indulgentsin or melodicwinds @ discord :D ]

Twisted Little Game, I'm about to faint here

[trashblaze]

[ A heavy beat of heart. It was only once at first, but the thumps progressively get louder. And faster. Golden eyes widen, unable to believe who he's seeing right now. Caelus knows this pink-colored silhouette all too well, instantly recognizable even from the back or at a distance. That pair of large, golden eyes freezes at first, unable to process his whirling emotions.

Is this place playing a trick on him again, or…

Is she real?

Caelus's body burns with yearning, the tears that have been building in his eyes falling as he rushes forward without pausing to reconsider his position. It doesn't matter if it's a trap or anything dangerous. If it's a trick, he'd rather this end quickly. He doesn't want to be reminded of their separation. He doesn't want this Aeon forsaken place to tarnish her precious memory— he won't ever allow it. She deserves her beautiful story. She and Amphoreus worked so hard to earn it.

But… if she's real… ]

Cyrene!!

[ His voice cracks as he calls her name. It's been so long since he last said it. Caelus finally reaches Cyrene, and his warm arms envelop her without restraint. He pulls her close and just bawls right there. No way. He already knows the answer, actually.

Of course, this is his one and only Cyrene. ]

… Of all the places you could've ended up in. Why did it have to be this one?

Lortel Kehelland | The Extra's Academy Survival Guide | Current Player

[vixenish]

plotting post ✦ info ✦ siren song permissions ✦ universal DNI/opt-out ✦ heartfuls ✦ skywardlii

(CLOSED TO MEGUMI) Play A Twisted Little Game

[vixenish]

[ another dream.

after the last, she's particularly apprehensive. she'd rather not do this at all, if she had the least choice in the matter. she's always human again in these dreams, always—

... is this normal for her, anymore? such humanity? after so long, she's become more used to being a monster than not.

it's with that somewhat macabre thought that she wanders through the gardens, arms folded beneath her bust and hands cupping her elbows. she is careful to touch nothing, eying it all with a certain aggrieved distaste.

she feels the pull, as she ever does. the more pollen settles on her skin, the more her thoughts begin to slow into syrupy satisfaction,

and all that keeps her above water is her visceral hatred of that feeling. of realizing it is manufactured, and wanting nothing of it.

she still finds herself taking a fruit, staring at it as she holds it in both hands before she hears— ]

Megumi?

[ she doesn't know why she expects it to be him, other than she wants it to be,

but the person she actually sees makes her drop the fruit she's holding.

it can't be. he can't be here. Lortel still hears herself ask, numbly: ]

... Ed?

[ whole. hale. tall, blue-eyed and blond, and smiling slightly. at her. ]

silco | arcane | current player

[zauns]

info • permissions • plotting • contact: dm / manda@discord / sidereal

play a twisted little game

[zauns]

[Silco, for all his many faults, doesn't have that many vices. But he's not immune to any of this, not the easy languor, not the pollen he breathes in, not the much-too-perfect fruit. He wanders through the impossible garden, knowing that it isn't real, that this is another dream. But he can't quite make himself care the way he might normally. The irritation, annoyance he so regularly feels doesn't rise to the surface, covered with a pleasant ease.

Eventually, he finds a nice, shadowed corner to settle in. A place where he can enjoy the sight of the flowers, the quiet pleasures around him. And he's been provided with his own: a fine cigar, set aside just for a moment, smoking gently in its flower-petal ashtray. Next to him, on a comfortable little hillock of soft grass, a bottle of wine.

Whiskey might be his usual drink of choice, but wine brings back good memories, and who isn't in need of those? He didn't think that hard about it when it appeared, nor about the fact that it's no fine vintage, but rather a just-passable pressing that was all he could afford when he was young and feeling flush.

Silco is in a rare good mood, and he knows it. He waves a hand, loose and easy, at the wine, looking up when someone approaches.]

Care for a glass? I wouldn't mind the company.

[And there is, indeed, a spare glass - as if company is, in and of itself, a sort of indulgence.]

Bartholomew "Bart" Allen II / Impulse | DC Comics | Prospective Player| Token: Chronmancer

[outofresets]

[ ~NESTING TOP LEVELS BELOW~ ]

for a wild card prompt feel free to contact me on Plurk to plot stuff out, or just throw a prompt at me here. i'm open to anything but nsfw prompts. while bart is 19, i would still prefer not to play those out with him

I ~ PLAY A TWISTED LITTLE GAME (CW: all event warnings + dissociative issues)

[outofresets]

(A) - WELCOME HOME

[When Bart wakes up, it's with an achingly familiar feeling. He didn't exactly have a lot of inhibitions to begin with, but even the few he'd managed to build up over the years, felt like they had been washed away. It's like being plugged back into virtual reality. His first "home". His mind feels foggy and slow. It's hard to put thought into why he's here, where he's supposed to be, where he came from, or why he ever left.

Wait...left? Did he leave? He remembers a life outside of here, but was that even real? Does it matter if it was? Hey, no, sprock, why would he think that?! He had people back home, people he cared about. He tries to focus on them, but can't. Instead, his thoughts slip toward someone who should be here with him. And isn't that more important? It's been so long since he'd seen him; shouldn't he be looking for him?

If this was even where he thought it was. Had he really been here before? The jungle isn't familiar exactly. But then, didn't his old home have a way of changing around him? For him.

Wait, Wait, NO. This isn't right, this can't be-! This is-]

[His stomach grumbles loudly, cramping with hunger pains, and oh, hey, there's fruit right there. Lucky!

"The universe provides" Hadn't Max said that? Max...]

[He tries to focus on that name, picture the man in his mind. But one bite of that fruit is enough to make that slip away, too.]

[Hearing someone moving through the foliage close by, Bart perks up, suddenly remembering the name of who he was missing. What if that was him?]

Dox?

[Pushing glowing plants and vines aside, he makes his way closer to the sound of movement. But when he comes face-to-face with the other dreamer, his expression drops. Clearly disappointed. ]

...Oh...

(B) - SKATER BOY

[The small skate park that appeared in the middle of the jungle probably should have been alarming with how much it stood out from the plant life around it. Instead, it feels as natural as any transition in a dream or in his old virtual reality would be. Of course, it should be there. He wanted it here, didn't he? Why wouldn't it be?

It's covered in colorful splashes of graffiti, depictions of non-descript video game characters, superhero logos, and webs of lighting, reminding him of the ramp he'd built on Titans Tower. Like everything else here, it feels weirdly like home, and he doesn't even question it when a beat-up skateboard invitingly rolls up to him on its own. His mind still feels foggy. Blocking out all those pesky concerns, suspicions, and anxieties. It's freeing, like being a kid again.

Skateboarding without his powers was a trip. Being forced to experience skating at "normal speed" is exhilarating! Having to put more effort into getting his timing just right. Really feeling the full momentum as it hits him. Something he could normally only feel when he tried to skate at superspeed (something that had never gone well). But every time he hits the air, he does miss being able to stretch time out and just live in that moment, to just lose himself in it.

Unconsciously, he keeps trying to tap into the part of him that can adjust his perception of time, to force it to work. And it's on a particularly high flip, mid-twisting in the air, that it seemingly works. He's stopped, held mid-air, and for a moment he thinks his powers are working again, but then he notices a small detail. The plants are still moving around him, and so are the particles of pollen in the air. It's just him that's stopped.]

...whoa...

[Moving, to try and test the limitations of this, the spell breaks, and he plummets like a rock. He hits the ramp hard and rolls down to the ground, as his skateboard jetisins itself up and off the opposite ramp to go flying off into the woods.]

(C) - SENSORY OVERLOAD

[It felt like several hours before Bart started to get bored with this place. It's not giving him things to do. Not really. Not like his VR used to. No quests or enemies or stuff to work on. It's just giving him things to distract and indulge himself. And isn't that the biggest sign that this is not what he was being made to think it was? This was something else. And this wasn't fun anymore.

Stubbornly sticking to that conclusion, and refusing to give in to more distractions, seemed to set off a turn in this place. The pollen got thicker, like it was trying harder to influence him, make him compliment again. The sweet smell of the place turned from pleasant, to pungent and cloying. And the light of the flora and ground have gone from mystical and fun, to headache-inducing. But the worst part was the vines growing in number. It felt like they were constantly in the way now, always finding a way to brush against him or to snake around a limb in a way that made his stomach churn.]

[It was all so much, too fast. And when he couldn't find a way to get away, to escape it, he let instinct take over and just took off, blindly running through the jungle to try and find a way out. An end to it.

Instead, he almost runs right smack into someone else, just barely stopping short of hitting them.]

Sorry! I-I need- [To run! To get out of here! Away from all of this!] 'M sorry! [Stumbling back away from them, he tries to take off again, but stepping backwards, his ankle catches on a vine that wasn't there a moment ago, and takes his foot out from under him, pulling him up in the air like a snare.]

Maki Zen'in || Jujutsu Kaisen || Offering - Lycan

[tojiv2]

Twisted Little Game

[Maki was not in a good mood when she woke up. She didn't like the way the strange dream made her feel. Most nights she didn't dream, so this was odd. She also didn’t remember falling asleep.

The fact that she wasn't in Japan anymore was just another thing that pissed her off even more. The last thing she remembered was killing Noya for the final time. She doesn't let her guard down as she looks around.

The pollen in the air slowly eroding her bad mood, but there was something else about the way the place flet kept her on edge. She was restless. She didn't stop wandering. She paused a few times to look at a few things, but nothing could hold her attention for long.]

Tch.


The Backrooms

Great. Now where am I?

[The Garden was bad enough. Now this. She looked around as she began to follow a hallway. She couldn't hear much besides the hum of lights.

She kept her guard up as she rounded a corner. She might not be able to sense cursed energy, but she could feel the slightest shifts in the air. She rounded a corner, eyes scanning the hall before she froze. The light flickered as she saw someone down the hall.]

Hey! You!

[It wasn't the nicest greeting, but it was standard for her.]

Wildcard

Want to do something else, hit me up! I don't bite.

backrooms

[potentialman]

[ All things considered, Megumi finds the backrooms preferable to the gardens that preceded them. They may smell like trouble, but it's a much more straightforward trouble than the syrupy placations from before.

This is the kind of dangerous he knows how to deal with.

He's given a few noises a wide berth already, figuring from the lack of audible distress that they're either functioning okay on their own, or they're something he might be better off avoiding, but then there's a voice --

-- a voice he knows well and was definitely not expecting here. ]

Maki?

[ She looks about like the last he saw of her. He, on the other hand, has picked up a few new scars since the beginning of the Culling Game, so he's clearly been through a bit since she's seen him. ]

Martel || FullMetal Alchemist: Brotherhood || Offering - Drake

[flexible_chimera]

Twisted Little Game

[Martel thought death was supposed to just be the end of things. An endless void of nothingness, or maybe hellfire. She wasn't sure. What she did know was that she wasn't going to any sort of paradise after her actual death. The one on paper didn't count. She was technically still alive for a lot longer than the military wanted others to know about.

She blinked as she looked down at herself. She could still taste the copper in her mouth from her blood and the damned blades of Bradley. Her clothes were still covered in her own blood, but she didn't have any wounds on her. ]

Looks like someone didn't want me gone for good.

[She began to wander around, not caring that she was covered in dried blood and looking like some sort of killer. She paused for a moment as she reached up to grab one of the fruits from a nearby tree.]

Why not have a snack since I'm still here.

Taste for You - Potental NSFW

[I'm up for this, but let's plan something out!]

Explorin' the Backrooms

[Now this was the kind of hell that Martel could see herself being sent to after her death. The garden was nice, but this place was creepy. Even the sewers were better than this. But why did it have to be cold?

She was already half snake and whatever this place did to her made the cold hurt even more. She needed to find better clothing. What she had on wasn't going to do her much good. Her movements began to slow as she wrapped her arms around herself.]

Gotta...keep moving...

➥ Backroom Tragedy (CW: Violence, Military Violence, War Crimes)

[nestingdevil]

[Years didn't matter to him. Not in the long run, not for anything actually worth its salt. Time was and is a thing that passed him by. A blink, a decade. A sigh, a century. Yet, he still remembers them all. Remembers all those two hundred years, and the additional set he swindled at the end of it.]

[But there was a time where he did forget. Where the names had been boiled out of him, bubbled thick in lead so sinking, so deep, his had taken every moment to savor it.]

[Her face is always going to be one he carries with him. The sewer had been the last time he'd seen her, after all. The last time he saw her as she pounded her fists and screamed at a cage that wouldn't, that refused, to let her out. The blood had run heavy that day. Not just hers, but all of them, as their last breaths circled down the drain.]

[And him, he'd been pinned down. Stiff and unable to do a single, fucking thing about it.]

[Greed's vest is out before he second-guesses it, fur collar clutched in his claws, and the weight of leather on her shoulders, the same way he'd done, time and time again. Cold-blooded. Even here, it seems, Sleep has done her the (dis)favor; the chill of the halls, as bitter as any night in Dublith, yet far, more scathing.]

[The Sin hums, half-tentative, half not giving a single shit if she's real or not. It doesn't matter. Sleep could cut him down now, he'll take the time.]

Mn. Not too sure about that, lovely. [His voice, smooth as a chaser and just as heavy, plays behind her neck. A love language of monsters, finding the kin it chose.] Dol was always a bit faster than you, anyway. Might be high time you let me take care of it, hmn?

Lenalee Lee | D.Gray-Man | Token: Aeromancer | OTA | Prospective Player

[darkwaltz]

► Prologue
[When it comes to dreams, they're a familiar presence for Lenalee. While they're not incredibly frequent, they come by enough time for her to recognise the usual patterns. Peaceful dreams of living with her brother and dear comrades, whether in the old house she used to live or the Order's halls.

Or nightmares showing her worse fears, their dead bodies amidst scattered wreckages. Sometimes there's water, as if a flood had recently happened.

What's new, however, was the black tide rolling in. Lenalee don't know or remember if she ever saw it before. But it seems to call out to her, beckoning her to follow.]

► Play A Twisted Little Game
[After her initial confusion (and good ol' pinching herself) upon waking up, Lenalee set off to carefully explore her new, strange surroundings. Wild foliage, trees and other flora grown everywhere without restraint, as if untouched by human hands. Although she have yet to see signs of fauna, be it prey or predator.

It makes her wary, as if wondering if she's caught in a trap by the enemy.

Until she came across a large clearing, fairly spacious at a glance. Except at the centre of it are a rather curious, surprising sight.]

... Chocolate cake? So many of them?

[There's many, many plates of sliced chocolate cakes. They're all neatly arranged, showing off their perfect layers of cake sponge and cream. Even from a distance, one can smell the decadent chocolate and cocoa in the air.]

This is a trap... right?

[It's so strange, not even a hint of trying to look normal. But it smells so nice...]

► Won't You Say That You Will
I. Who?
[From overwhelming colours, foliage and scents to an incredibly barren, lifeless corridors of nothing. Nothing, nothing as far as the eyes can see. Lenalee's unease only continue to grow as she walks carefully through the strange land. It's so quiet, she doesn't know if she should speak up to break the silence.

And almost jump out of her skin when she heard footsteps. Her hands immediately covering her mouth to muffle her shriek. At least she didn't feel any danger, yet. So her powers aren't activated, yet. Just yet.]

... Who's there?

[Friend? Or foe? Or something else entirely...?]

II. Skin-Stealer
[While exploring this strange place, Lenalee pauses when she saw something at the corner of her eyes. Or seemingly, someone. She turns her head slowly until she saw a familiar looking figure in the distance. The strange movements by the other "person" almost didn't trigger the warning signs for her, almost.]

... Brother? Is that you...?

[After all, sometimes, her dear brother can act and move strangely when he's being silly. The only strange thing and worrying thing here is... being in this strange, uneasy place. Her worries for her most important person are at odds with her caution. This might be an enemy's trap.

But maybe it's her brother over there. She should check...!

In this strange place devoid of signs of life, Lenalee's words and movements might get other people's attention. As she move closer and closer towards her "brother".]

► Wild Card
[Bring your scenario here! No NSFW, since I'm not interested at this point + Lenalee is currently 17 at this point. Contact me over DMs or Sonica if you want to hash out things or other planning.]

skin-stealer | i had to..........

[a_silent_due]

( Not her damned brother. Not her saviour, not her saint, not her beanstalk, not her tenderly tolerated bookman. Just Kanda, smear of speed and blistering anger and senses animalistic, alive.

He's listening, gaze darting each way as the blurs of shadow and skins skid in their horizon, always just out of hand's reach, always drawing in. Prowling. Wanting their teeth cracked, their throats strangled. His teeth grit. )

Don't insult me.

( Think shorter, meaner, all edges. Think a hand on Lenalee's wrist, already drawing, billow of his — borrowed coat a round, haggard swell. Finders, keepers. Unless you're the sticky-fingered exorcist commandeerng their apparel. All for the Order's greater good. All hail.

Smoother, when he pulls her toward the nearest wall. Better their backs to solidity, to keep cover. )

...don't snitch, either. ( Hell hath no fury like Komui Lee whimpering his precious feelings were hurt. )

Harang Kang | The Snake and The Flower | Current Character

[blindserpent]

Token: Illusionist
Nested open prompts down below. Wildcards are welcome! You can also talk to me on plurk Nicholaj, Discord: 25thNicholaj, or PM to plot or if you want a closed starter. Plotting comment, will match format. Enjoy!

Play A Twisted Little Game

[blindserpent]

[The splendor of the garden was lost on Harang. Although the fragrance of flowers made him pause, a hint of a long forgotten memory at the edge of his mind. It stirred his curiosity enough for him to venture further in. He should be more cautious about the food here after the disaster with the tadpole last time, but from some reason he couldn’t resist the fruit that hung low enough for him to reach.

As he relaxed he noticed the scent of cherry blossoms in the air, followed by the faint sound of music. Lady Aehwa’s words echoed in his mind as he followed the sound of an ensemble of traditional korean instruments. The sound of each individual instrument may be small, but when they are gathered together their magnificent harmony is enough to fill the entire palace. It was the imperial concert that he always dreamed of. The flicker of fear he felt when something touched his hand vanished when he recognized the familiar feel of a haegeum and he sat down to join the concert. His expression shifted into a rare soft smile as he got lost in his playing.

The screeching sound of someone playing the instrument for the first time cut through the concert, making Harang pause with a quiet laugh. He leaned his head back with a nostalgic smile.]

Ah that brings back memories.

Hanzo Urushihara | The Devil is a Part Timer! | current character

[closetdweller]

Play A Twisted Game - A

[He wasn't going to fall for it.

That was what Hanzo Urushihara told himself when he awoke in the garden, in clothes that he was familiar with from his home and his hair the familiar purple that Sleep had decided didn't suit him. For the moment, he was merely human- and he could feel the hum of magic just beyond his reach in the idyllic gardens. The pollen was cloying- and he sneezed when it hit his sinuses.

It wasn't enough to save him.

The grass was soft against his feet and he explored, looking for familiar faces and small indulgences. In a clearing, he found a shaded pagoda filled with tables, every table filled with snacks he had taken a liking to in Japan: mochi, dango, taiyaki, onigiri... Even boba teas and ramune soda.

He bit his lip, eyes wide--]

Ah, screw it!

[He said to himself and dove in, grabbing whatever he could as if it were going to disappear.]

Play A Twisted Game - B

[But material indulgence wasn't enough, and Urushihara quickly became bored with the gluttony. He wanted a little mischeif, too.

If anyone has any missing items, the pathetic looking dweeb with the emo hair probably took it. If it's an accessory, he would be wearing it himself- and he was quite pleased about his ill gotten rewards.]

Won't You Say What You Will

Damnit!

[Now he was mad.

The garden had given way to something eerie- and that was where his memory went fuzzy. Lucifer remembered bits and pieces of glossy feathers and a tender beak that had reminded him of a certain little someone who was left in Japan. Her shining smile was oddly delightful, and her little hands were sticky with whatever it was that a baby that popped out of an apple could get into...

And then, nothing.

But.

Everything was gone.]

That bird took my stuff!

[He squawked. Then: ]

I'm gonna stuff that guy and get it all back!

[Except. It wasn't his to begin with. ]

Wildcard

[Don't like a prompt? Make one up! HMU @ woodrift to chat.]

tartaglia (childe) | genshin impact | trickster.

[vapour]

twisted game.

[ Wandering through the garden long enough may have you stumble into an area where something whizzes by your head to embed into a ... monster(??) not far behind you. a voice that sounds surprised with your arrival follows a moment later. ]

Oya? I get this is a dream and all, but that's still probably gonna hurt if you become an unintentional pin cushion.

[ in fact, you've entered an area where there are many 'creatures' all focused on trying to attack an individual in a uniform that's holding a bow made out of what seems to be condensed water. he manipulates the water to deconstruct the bow to turn it into a pair of daggers so he can meet one of the monsters head on as it lunges for him. he doesn't seem distressed or concerned in the least— did this someone happen to want more than anything for a bunch of things he could fight?

he sure did! ]

Enjoying your stroll? [ he asks, offering a smile in your direction as soon as he takes out the next monster before he's casually moving to do the same to the next. apparently he doesn't see a need to be antisocial while busy messing around with the garden's perks. ] Say, you wouldn't happen to know what all this's all about, would you?

[ he can tell that this isn't his own dream, at least. ]

won't you say that you will.

a.
[ here's something else that can be followed in the backrooms.

a fox, with multiple tails that sway in a mesmerizing back-and-forth, may show up if you're heading in a direction towards one of the dangerous entities in this place. the fox will not let anyone get that close to it, but it will lead them off away from any party-goers and skin-stealers to a (at least temporarily) safer direction.

once in a safe place, the fox will disappear into the shadows, re-emerging as a young man with sharp but lackluster blue eyes. while he did intentionally lead the other individual in this direction, that doesn't mean he's confident they're worth trusting. still, he'll cant his head and offer a friendly smile despite it not quite reaching his eyes. ]

Lost, are we~?

b.
[ Childe's eyes shift towards the sudden appearance of various celebratory accessories that weren't present in the hall a moment ago. he has more than enough sense to recognize a warning of what's to come even if this is his first time experiencing it. although he's normally one to stand his ground and clash head on, without the enemy immediately present it's better that he get out of the area and try and catch them off guard instead of the other way around. picking a random hall, he immediately starts moving down it at a quick pace, water flowing about one of his gloved hands as if at the ready. he doesn't even pause for the person he strides right on by, although he'll call to them once he's passed them. ]

Don't go that way.

[ follow him or don't—just go a different way than where he just came from. ]

---

( ooc. up for any wildcards, including NSFW prompt (OTA so long as 18+.) For reference, he's 20~22. feel free to pm me to discuss, too, or leave a comment requesting a starter. )

twisted game.

[fatedfinality]

[ Desensitized as he is, all Ardyn does is tilt his head slightly to prevent whatever projectile rockets by from doing any real harm. It wouldn't have even if it hit him, of course, but that's neither here nor there. Who is here though is a new(?) face to him, fighting energetically against the creatures laying in wait in the garden's shaded depths.

Funny enough, his fighting style is a bit familiar. The way that weapon changes so easily is reminiscent of the Royal Arms that Noctis could wield. He preferred his scythe to any of the many in the kings arsenals- A fun bit of symbolism, certainly, but also something he was used to wielding back in the day as a mortal man tending to fields amongst the commonfolk. ]

I was, [ he says, bringing up a bottle of some kind of alcohol to drink deep from briefly. Why would he resist the temptations of this dream? ] And now I am even more. This is far more entertaining than anything here so far. [ Look at him go... It's as tiring to watch as it is somewhat impressive. ]

As for what's going on, I couldn't tell you. I just happened to wake up in a garden [ instead of a ditch ] and decided that was simply how the day was going to be. Some days are just full of nice surprises though.

Gale | Baldur's Gate 3 | Token (New)

[karsiteweave]

>> Play A Twisted Little Game

Gale awakens within a garden.

The lush floor, and certainly the incredibly large mushrooms on display, make him wonder if he has somehow ended up in the Underdark. He remembers falling asleep, some kind of bizarre dream, and he doesn't recall taking a portal. Then again, things have been strange for some time now. Weave only knows what happened. Perhaps they have been all collectively kidnapped and left here for dead.

Again.

Hopefully the local flora and fauna are mostly of a friendly sort. That would make a pleasant change, to be able to walk a short distance without being ambushed by something or other.

He's idly wandering the landscape, trying to find his bearings, when a clearing appears to open to a large collection of wine bottles. Gale pauses, staring, then slowly begins to take a few steps closer.

"Now, this is unusual. I can't say I'm familiar with wine bottles simply growing in the wild, certainly not -- is that Sembian wine?"

Gosh, when was the last time he had Sembian wine? He's been missing the opportunity to have a nice glass of an evening. Watching the sun set over his balcony in Waterdeep, a glass in hand, the cool ocean breeze.

He steps forward, picking up one bottle to inspect.

"A good year, too.

... Would it be wrong to have just one glass? There's so many of the bottles, just left here seemingly. Surely it couldn't hurt? Surely he deserves just one glass of wine. He could even pay back the owner, should they choose to appear.


>> Won't You Say That You Will

The transition is abrupt, and Gale shivers as the new weather bites through his robes. Some kind of strange building, perhaps? One that is being swept through by the most horrendous weather, it seems. Perhaps there is an opening, somewhere. One they could do with closing up, in Gale's opinion.

An oddly empty building, too. Whoever decorated it could use a few tips.

He collects himself, taking in the disorientating layout.

"I'm starting to miss the wine," he grouses, beginning to... walk. The layout of the building is odd. Confusing. He pulls at his cloak, trying to get warm as he wanders through endless hallways. It feels... disorientating. He pauses, frequently, looking back to try and ascertain if he's still trying to go the right way.

What is the right way? Is it this way?

Weave save him, he just wants somewhere warm and safe to sit down. His knees are starting to ache.

Turning another corner, Gale spots a distance figure over in one corner.

"Hello?" he prompts, pausing. The figure... might be human? Or perhaps something lumpier. An angry ogre would be just his luck, something to be avoided. He shivers, then takes a slow step closer. Any company at all is theoretically better than none, but deadly company is less than ideal. Hopefully this one is... friendly?

[ OOC: if you prefer brackets, switch and I will match! Have the skin-stealer transform for your character, or I can have it transform for Gale. Either works! ]

Play A Twisted Little Game

[markingnight]

You should be careful of her gifts. Even in a dream.

[ A man in green-scaled light armor, who sounded like he, too, enjoyed his drink. The burn of a good whiskey, perhaps, enjoyed after daylight had been eclipsed by the fall of evening. Despite being clearly dressed for the outdoors, he looked slightly out of place next to the riot of too-vibrant foliage all around him -- all except the unnatural blue of his eyes. There was a bow strapped to his back. There were probably more weapons on him. ]

Though I don't blame you for being tempted.

Aether | Genshin Impact | offering: seraph | new player/character

[startraveler]

☆ Twisted game

[It's far from the first time when he awakens in a strange space. At some point in life Aether decided that this is how things just are for him, considering his unusual aptitude for handling various powers. In Teyvat, at least. Something feels off here.

Maybe because it's a dream. Maybe there's no rhyme or reason to it. And so Aether follows the paths of the garden, curious, but with some sort of wariness, like everything about this place was trying to put him at ease to get his guard down. He passes through food suddenly appearing and only smiles at it, thinking of Paimon and her endless appetite. She would love a dream like this.

Then he stops, his eyes widen. In front of him is a field full of flowers, but not any flowers. It's the one that grew in his lost homeland. Aether steps into the endless sea of those blooms and kneels down, trying to pluck a few. They feel real and suddenly he's overwhelmed by emotions of finally having a living piece of his home in his hands. In this very moment, nothing else seems to matter.]

☆ Skin-Stealer

[The change in the scenery is jarring, to say the least. All the pleasant sights are replaced with confusing corridors, endless and ever changing. Aether has been in this kind of situations before as well, so he doesn't panic, all too sure that there has to be an exit somewhere.

Upon finding someone along the way, the lights flicker, causing Aether to look around. Then he notices something in the distance. Immediately, he positions himself between that strange form and the person he's found.]

Be careful. Something's there.

[The longer he looks at it, the more he realises that it looks like a person, but one that has skin hanging off its shape. Much to his horror he notes how familiar its blonde hair is, the flower ornament clipped to it. The creature is dressed in blue and white with flickers of gold, yet tattered in many places.

Aether really hates this sight.]

...Lumine. [It can't be her. It's just a trick, a trap. Yet, he couldn't stop himself from uttering that name.]

☆ Wildcard

[Choose your own scenario or contact me at spiritualwhisper and let's plot! Not really interested in anything spicy, but feel free to talk to me about it!]

Twisted game

[trashblaze]

[ Oh, no. This innocent newcomer is already too deep in this place's whispers of temptation. It appears that Caelus is too late to arrive and notice what's going on here, but either way, it doesn't stop his concern from rising… If anything, it rises higher. That alone motivates him to approach quickly, then attempt to convince this young boy to leave the flowers behind.

So, Caelus runs over and then lowers himself to match the younger-looking boy's level, reaching out gently to pause the boy's hands by holding onto them. The Trailblazer then sees it: a fond look the boy has for the flowers, but it doesn't make him falter in his decision. Still holding onto those hands, he carefully aids the boy in standing back up to make him stop picking more. ]

Sorry, little one. These flowers aren't what they seem, so you shouldn't hold onto them.

euntae hwang | unholy blood | token: bloodwright | new player!!!

[intravenous]

a. TWILIGHT//play a twisted little game.

At first, when he finally drifts off after making sure that Hayan was comfortable, his surroundings are familiar — the same wooded clearing they had found after fleeing from the village under his control (it didn’t fucking matter that Yohan was her childhood friend, Euntae wouldn’t forgive the clear distress that he had caused Hayan after revealing his identity as “God” and his intentions, never mind the literal thousands of lives impacted from his selfish actions, including Euntae’s own). The selfsame woods where he could maybe calm the myriad of thoughts running through his head that would normally terrify a person if they stopped to think about them for too long. He’s found ways to compartmentalize a majority of them, but sometimes vague wishes still came through, wishes that things were simpler, that he wasn’t literally fighting for his life and the lives of so many others that had been so irrevocably changed over a decade ago.

He couldn’t afford to stop moving forward, though.

Not if he wanted to make sure that things would end the way they needed to.

Not just for his own sake.

The further he walks in this dream, though — half-real, but slowly dipping more into the surreal with every step he takes — the more his steps become cautious, slow, even if the glow around him is soft and reassuring. Recent experience has taught him nothing else than to be wary of something that is so accommodating without being cognizant of something else lurking beneath the surface.

A flicker of movement crosses his periphery, and he hesitates, eyes narrowing slightly as he turns his body toward the movement. His expression does soften slightly once he sees that it’s another person, shifting to something much more personable as he notes with a slight bit of relief that at least he’s not the only one lost.

It comes with a sigh of relief that also, unfortunately, seems to have allowed him to breathe in more of the pollen than originally anticipated. He lets out a sneeze, which at least probably helps to cut down how serious he seems to be otherwise.

“Ugh — uh. Hi. You got some time for a couple questions?” Oops, and there he goes into detective mode.


b. PARANOIA//won't say that you will.

The shift in the space around him is substantial enough to actually give Euntae some pause, even in his adjusted state — his eyes dart around the space even as it feels like it’s constantly shifting around him. It’s not an illusion, he thinks. But the lingering sense of unease is not helping to reassure him in any way, forcing him off-kilter just enough to shake some of the vestiges of contentment that still lingered from the forest.

No, that doesn’t come until he continues further inside, eyes narrowing at the harsh lighting as he tries to let his vision adjust. The phantom itch under his skin that comes with the scenery change almost feels like a physical reminder of his wariness, and unfortunately feels slightly more familiar. The passage of time feels worse here, somehow; while the Garden had felt syrupy-sweet, here felt like too much time and not enough. The (unfortunately) familiar sense of someone, or something watching — it’s enough to put him on-edge, and though he tries to come off as being relaxed, there’s an underlying current of readiness and tension in his movement, hands curling even though claws don’t appear at the end of his fingertips like they normally would. He shakes his head quickly, relaxing his hands — he knows better than that. No point tipping his hand this early — even if he hasn’t seemed to notice that in this dreamscape, he’s not the same he once was.

Euntae closes his eyes, takes a breath.

In.

Out.

His eyes open again, and while his surroundings have shifted just enough to try and throw off his sense of direction, he continues to press forward.

 At one intersection, a figure can be seen, and Euntae hesitates. The shock of white hair is recognizable enough, but something about the gait, her movement — it couldn’t be, right…?

“Hayan??”


c. WANTED//wildcard/pwm.

( hi yes i'm here - if these don't strike your fancy and you still wanna thread with this doofus, feel free to pm this journal or hmu on plurk @ wolfknights! i’m also open to some slight nsfw stuff even if it's not been brought up in the prompts above, fair warning that it’s been a hot minute since i wrote it, just let me know~! )

gray. | void stranger. | token: shadowbinder. | current player/new character.

[addastra]

— ooc.
////////////////////////////// notes ///////

( nested prompts are below. feel free to wildcard.
contact via vandalisto or PM if you need me; i'm also in the discord server.

for potential smut threads: gray is 30+ years old and she is more easily interested in other women; men and nonbinary people aren't off the table, but she's mostly attracted to women.

threads with gray will involve heavy void stranger spoilers; please let me know if you'd like to avoid those. her canon point is directly post non-voided trial ending. )

[addastra]

— the pull.
////////////////////////////// dream garden ///////

( This doesn't feel like the Void any longer. Though that place is a special kind of agony, to put it lightly, she'd rather be there than here. At least there, she had purpose, and she had her right mind. The deeper she wades into the dream, the fuzzier her mind feels.

It's not right.

She moves through the garden freely, though she remains confused. Anyone she comes across will be met with a panicked expression and panicked words: )

Where am I? What is this?

Rosemary Winters | Resident Evil | OTA | Offering : Daemon | new character, old player

[fourflasks]

I. I SAW SOMETHING SITTING ON YOUR BED

A teenage girl in an old oversized jacket is wobbling, unsteadily. Looking down past her jeans to her feet, it’s easy to see why: she’s trying to balance on two cloven hooves. Instead of the human feet in the sneakers she’s used to.

Her face is grit in concentration, looking down at the ground, arms spread out wide for balance. She makes it a few more steps before she falls to her hands and knees. She shrieks, more in frustrated anger than pain.

“Dammit!”

Her eyes are covered by a delicate feathered mask. A small mercy for a shy girl, who would rather sink into the ground then be perceived right now.


II. I SAW SOMETHING TOUCHING YOUR HEAD

Rose never realized she was so tired. So hungry.

Her mind drifts to the past few weeks. The training, the drills…when was the last time she took a day off? Not just a day where she was able to sneak away from her handlers, but one where she was actually given some real time to herself? To rest or go out like a normal teenager.

She reaches for a fruit, soft yet firm when she squeezes. She sinks to the soft grassy floor of the garden, rests her back against a thick trunk.

…

It tastes like birthday cake frosting, like being six and her mama passing her the spoon to lick. It tastes like strawberry jello. Peach ring gummies. Lollipops. It tastes like home. It tastes like innocence, like life before she knew what she really was. When she thought she was just a normal girl.

Before mom got sicker and sicker. Before she left her behind.

Rose curls in on herself among the plants and hanging vines.

“I miss my mom.”

But here, it’s like she didn’t leave at all. It’s like she’s sitting with her again.


III. IN THE ROOM WHERE YOU SLEEP

Rose feels bolder now. When she spots a stranger she doesn’t feel that urge to hide herself anymore. The lingering shame of being perceived is gone. She even waves! The other hand clutching a bottle of soda, of all things.

Here in the garden, her body has changed again but she doesn’t mind so much. The white fluffy ears that part her hair, the nubs of horns growing from her head, it almost feels natural. Dreams aren’t supposed to make sense, anyway. What’s the point in worrying about it?

“This stuff is incredible.”


IV. YOU BETTER RUN

Rose knows how it goes. The dream becomes nightmare. It’s not unlike the stratums inside the megamycete. She knows she’s going further, can feel herself tumble down the rabbit hole with each step. Every single one, the wrong direction, somehow.

She touches her hand to a smooth wall, recoils. Something is wrong. It creeps over her senses, unidentifiable and impossible to ignore. She feels like a fool, she trusted the dream, and now its lead her here. To these endless hallways of sickly yellow.

When she hears footsteps she forces some kind of authority into her voice. She may be a teenager, but she’s also a BSAA agent in training. She squares her shoulders. Gathers her courage. Feels her power gather in her hands, a glowing white pattern of fractals, revealing the pattern of the mycelium that lives under her human skin.

“Identify yourself!”


V. YOU BETTER HIDE (wildcard)

(dm if you want something a little more personal, or want to try something a little different.)

Sirius Uhr | Original | Offering:Wraith | current character

[guidingbookworm]

Offering: Wraith
Nested open prompts down below. Wildcards are welcome! You can also talk to me on plurk Nicholaj, Discord: 25thNicholaj, or PM to plot or if you want a closed starter. Plotting comment, will match format. Enjoy!

Play A Twisted Little Game

[guidingbookworm]

[Sirius had been here long enough to know to be wary of the enchanting garden. However it tugged at the memory of the first dream he had in this place. Some of those memories were precious to him and his expression softened with a nostalgic smile as he hesitantly plucked one of the low hanging fruit.

In the dream Sirius returned to his true self, a mage whose human body was crafted from his memories of when he was still human. Physical sensations were fleeting, just like in a memory but the taste of the fruit didn’t fade. It took him back to a simpler time and the garden reshaped itself to to reflect that past. The vines crawled upward, weaving into an elegant, arabesque courtyard with a bed of sand that glistened like gold and crystal flowers that glowed with a light blue light, similar to the magic is Sirius’s silver glowing eyes.

The flowers were magical as well as beautiful. It could conjure anything you wanted, as long as it was proportional to the small amount of magic inside the flower. The glow of his eyes softened as he watched the small wolf made of snowflakes dance above his open palm with a wistful smile. His glowing eyes faintly flickered with a small spark when he sensed someone approach and he hid his hint of sadness behind a warm smile.]

Would you like to try?

[After all, the thing Sirius wanted most was to be able to share his world with others.]

Ichinomiya Kantarou | Tactics | Token: Runecaster | New Player/Character

[minzokugaku]

Play A Twisted Little Game

[ This definitely, surely, ain't Japan anymore. Ichinomiya Kantarou is a man who has spent quite a lot of time in nature, and he's never seen flora like this in his whole 28 years of life. It's beautiful and daunting, looking like the realm of a god, infested with some power he can't sense. His bracelet isn't budging. This is something entirely new.

He feels heady, like the air is thick and filling him with warmth. It's comforting and sickly. He tries to cover his nose with his sleeve, though the effectiveness is miniscule. He's never been drugged before (unlike poor Haruka), so he can't make sense of his body right now. It's different than the numbness of alcohol. It's like falling into a dream. He can't walk steady and his progression is fairly slow.

Kantarou is trying very hard to not pay attention to the fruit. Why's he so hungry all of a sudden? Is it the pollen? Everything is tempting and he's getting more ravenous by the minute.

He opts to sit down by a tree, head in his hands to cover his eyes as he tries to focus on getting his head back together. ]

Ugh... come on. Haruka... Haruka... hey, where are you? Help me out...

[ As if Haruka is here. As if he can hear him. He knows better, but it's comforting to ask for him all the same. ]

I've Developed A Taste For You

Just what the hell is this?

[ He's been bound by kuji before, but this is... deeply wrong. And usually he can break out of it! Vines are a different story, and him being a thin wristed scholar helps nothing as he attempts to squirm around and wriggle free. How sensitive he feels, the cloying sweetness of the air... it's embarrassing. He feels nearly sick from the stimulation of it all.

For him, who has had such a complicated relationship to his body and its existence around other people, will likely make him a bit nervous if he's shoved jut up against someone. People at home are often disgusted by him due to his albinism and the 'sin' it represents. He's quick to apologize to his fellow unfortunate body near him, face red from embarrassment as he continues to wiggle his arms. ]

Sorry, if I can just... damn it...

[ If he could just get his hands free, he's sure he can free the both of them, but he's not having much luck here.

If this is a dream or a curse - if he's laying in his bedding with his youkai trying to wake him - he hopes the state of his real body is not the same as the state of him right now or he'll never live it down. ]

Won't You Say That You Will

[ Reality shifts on him anew. Still, his bracelet makes no sound. The impossibility of this place is well beyond the dreams he normally has, and the new environment he's in is deeply unfamiliar. The architecture is foreign and the foliage has faded too quickly for him to comprehend. No amount of knowledge of the supernatural and spiritual is helping him out here. The rules of the world he's lived in so long have been ripped away from him and brought unease, though his face continues to hold a semblance of calm only marred by the anxious tightness at the corner of his mouth.

Kantarou tries to keep his hand against the wall as he walks, trying to treat this space like a maze though he's realizing quickly that the path he's taking makes no sense if he thinks about it too long. How long has he been here? Is he making circles? No, maybe it's more like a spiral? But there's no center to be found.

Oh to be lifted into the air and out of this hellhole by his precious, grouchy tengu. Do Youko and Haruka even know he's gone? Is he even gone? Is this a curse trapping him in his own mind, filling it with a drifting nightmare?

He sighs, resting against a wall that soon shifts in a way that makes him stumble onto his ass. He feels like he just slipped through the crack of something and landed lower than he was first standing, though the floor is flat as ever. ]

Ugh... I'm really. Really. Getting sick of all of this. Hey! We can talk this out! Whoever is doing this, really, I'm a sensible guy!! Let's just have a chat!

Lady Maria | Bloodborne | Lycan | Existant Player | OTA

[whomthebelltolls]

[1: Play a Twisted Little Game]
[Additional CWs: Blood]

[Another dream. They're almost predictable at this point, honestly. Every other month or so, One's - she's pretty sure it's One, but she's also sure there's some kind of Sleep influence to it, too - dreams spread to the waking world like a Great One's, and sucks them all into his Nightmare. At this point, she expects it. She also knows that, no matter how beautiful the garden is, such a thing will inevitably collapse into some kind of horror eventually.

What she can't do is predict it. What she also can't do is predict how she reacts this time. Being a Lycan, she doesn't realize that the effects are so much stronger now. She starts off able to resist the temptation of the ripe, bursting fruit, even when it smells so strongly like Blood (real Blood, the kind from the Great Ones, the kind that tastes like the moon and an awful, cloying sweetness she cannot resist), but time here erodes her defenses. It's not long before a fleeting shadow grabs her attention, and something within her lunges after it, an undeniable activation of her prey drive, a wordless chant of


Ĥ̸̛̛̛͇̻̮̓̑̇̀̑̓̌̋̒͒̋̕u̷̡̢̡͎͈̩̬͕̘̭̓̐̅̽̃̇̍̐͐͋̎̕͘̕͜͝n̴͔̬̟͋t̶̳͔̜̘̙̣̆͑ ̶̧̡̟͙͙̱̹̜̟̪̝̥̞͚͙̈́͋̈́̽̌̍͋̀͗̿̕͘ͅh̵̘̗̫̺̞̣̤͎̞̰̩͚̾́ų̶̢̢̖̝̬̼̺͖̬̪̼͕̭͍̠̺̾͒ṉ̷̙͓͙̝͎̑ť̴̢̢̛̹̝̙̤͓͚͚̘̤̮̠̝͉̩̮̈́͗̀̿̈́́̈́̚ ̶̪̟̞͙̤̫́̔̀̍̅̄̋̈́̑̄̌͗͆̚͠h̵̗̎̀́̂͂̏͂̈́̏̊̄̽́͘u̸̧̨̜̗̬̱̮͔̜͎̹͈̰͐͋͂́̇̀̌n̷̛̹̅͋͆̆̑͊̓̾͘̚ţ̷̭͚̤̄̈́͒̍͛͋̍̊͋͐̌ ̵͇̯̣̠̎͌̈́̅̈́́̄̎͒͑̕̚͜͝ḧ̴͎̝̪̩̼͔̠̰̲̯̤̝͚̖͚̗̙́ú̶͚̠̫̪̓̏̀̂͐́́̈̇̊͛̇̕͘ń̴̥̣͎̠̜͌̈́̈̆͂̉̄͌͗̾̃̍̕͝ṱ̴͔̮̺̜͔͔̗̅̆̐̋̿̉̽̿̽͌̃̐͂͒͘̕ͅ


that writes itself into her very flesh and blood and bones.

So she gives chase, her human form melting seamlessly into the absolutely massive white wolf of her lycan form, and when she leaps and tackles, she rips one of the overripe fruits from the boughs of the trees. It cracks on impact with the ground and splatters her in its thick, blood-like contents, and her maw comes down to rip the soft flesh off of it - it pulls and stretches like living flesh, and every part of her shudders as the flesh gives way to all the blood. She indulges in the fruit, then flops onto her side, rolling in it, coating her muzzle, and her chest and her belly in the bloody contents. Only when she's done rolling in it like dogs roll in powerful scents does she stop and lift her head, because someone is there. Someone is watching.

Normally, Maria would be mortified by her behavior. Instead, her tail thumps against the ground, lazily excited, and her head lifts. Blood-drunkenness flows through her veins. A long, pink tongue curls over the side of her muzzle, licking the blood from the otherwise pure white fur. Then, she hoists herself to her feet, and it looks almost like a human standing, but then she falls back into all fours, and approaches.

Running will likely end in a chase as her prey drive is running wild, and standing ground may just end with a guardian wolf. Pick carefully!]

[2: I've Developed A Taste For You]
[Additional CWs: Blood and bloodplay, teratophilia of a werewolf is possible]

[She should not be here, this deep into the garden. She's far over-indulged on the fruit, and now she's blood-drunk. The Hunt, the Blood, they sing through her veins, along with all kinds of new and exciting sensations and desires. But the pollen shapes it into something new. The Hunt always excited the hunters, of course, in many different ways. More than a few of them would fuck it out afterward, as bloodlust melded with sexual desire, and animal instincts ran wild. It was more common than any of them ever wanted to admit. Maria almost never joined in; she'd been brought up too rigidly, with too much pomp and circumstance from her Cainhurst background.

She wonders if she was missing out, now, as she lazily lifts an arm to rest it against a tree branch above her head. A dribble of blood works its way from the corner of her lips and down her neck, past the scar on her throat and into the thick, white fur on her chest. She's in her human form, of course; all seven feet of Maria, but she's almost unrecognizable as Maria. She's naked here, in the garden; she is always naked when the Beast relinquishes its hold on her, but this time she hasn't even tried to find her clothes, or conjure new ones. Her hair is down, leaving her pale locks to drape in loose curls around her shoulders. She is covered in scars, but many of them, especially the thick, noticeable ones on her chest and stomach where it looks like she's been impaled over and over again, are softened around the edges by the white fluff that now covers parts of her body. It spreads over her chest and over her breasts, but not quite covering her nipples, then narrows down her stomach, ending over her groin. Her lower forearms, and upper, outer thighs. Her upper and lower back, connected by a thin ridge along her spine that joins the fur over her hips toward her thighs. It doesn't look like normal human body hair; it's thick, and seems to have an undercoat like fur. When Maria is usually completely covered from neck to foot, it's hard to tell how her lycan-ness has changed her, but here, it's obvious.

Her gray-green eyes shine in the dim light, reflecting the moonlight out of her pupils with a bright flash. The corner of her lips tilts up, just enough to reveal the fangs that she had before she came to this place, but are so much bigger now. She tilts her head back over her shoulder in an invitation to anyone who - well, looks old enough to join her abed. Maybe don't think about how her nails - both foot and hand - seem to be claws right now. She'll be gentle, she promises.]

[3: Won't Say That You Will]

[It's like stumbling into a Hunt completely hungover. There's a heaviness in her limbs, a dullness to her mind. What happened before this is basically heaven compared to the weird ways things change, and the lag that her body experiences trying to catch up to it.

She barely has the time to conjure her clothes back on before she's accosted by something, and recognizing she's not exactly in any shape to fight, she retreats, stumbling though the Backrooms as she tries to fumble her Rakuyo and put both halves back together. She can't quite line up the ball-and-socket, and spends too much time trying to get it to work before she eventually comes to a halt in some kind of small dead end. Her brow draws down, and she fumbles with the sword for a moment later, before cursing softly under her breath and deciding it's not worth the effort anymore.

A noise grabs her attention next, and though she's hardly in any kind of shape to be pursuing anything, she approaches anyway. The dreams almost never give them time to relax, and she knows this well.

Except... the noise is a bird. The confusion softens a bit as she approaches closer. She'd seen some really horrifying humanoid shapes out of the corner of her eye as she'd made her way here, but this bird is... new.

She reaches out, and pokes it with the tip of her sword. It squawks softly, but it's the kind of noise that sounds like a sudden dog's whimper or cat's meow when one accidentally steps on a paw; the kind that elicits an immediately sympathetic response, and she withdraws her sword.] What is this thing?

[She turns when she realizes she's not alone, and her brow is furrowed in confusion as she regards whoever joined her.] Why a bird?

[4: Wildcard!]

[Wildcard prompt! You can hit me up on my plotting post, or my contacts at Reslari, Reslari on Discord, or PMs!]