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SUGAR & SAY THAT YOU WILL β JUNE 2026 EVENT/TDM
TDM & EVENT: SUGAR & SAY THAT YOU WILL
α
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.
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.
α
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
Offering Effects
Beastkin Tokens & Lycan Offerings Specific Effects
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
β’ Tokens may temporarily lose track of time spent in the Garden.
β’ A Token who indulges repeatedly may find decision-making delayed or softened, hesitating when asked to leave, choose violence, or break comfort.
β’ Emotional responses skew toward contentment and nostalgia. Irritation and fear are harder to access unless provoked sharply.
β’ Tokens may unconsciously rationalize indulgence, defending their choices even when questioned by others.
β’ 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
β’ Offerings may feel an increased urge to facilitate indulgence rather than prevent it, guiding Tokens toward comfort, distraction, or pleasure.
β’ Protective instincts soften; instead of guarding against danger, Offerings may prioritize keeping the Token relaxed and satisfied.
β’ Offerings might become indulgent themselves by proxy, gaining emotional satisfaction from watching or enabling their Tokenβs enjoyment.
β’ When indulgence is interrupted, Offerings may feel mild irritation or disappointment disproportionate to the situation.
β’ Upon waking, Offerings may recall the dream with unusual fondness, even if nothing dramatic occurred within it.
Beastkin Tokens & Lycan Offerings Specific Effects
β’ Beastkin Tokens may experience heightened body awareness, reacting more strongly to terrain, scent trails, and movement through space.
β’ Repetitive motion (running paths, circling clearings, pacing) can become grounding and soothing rather than restless.
β’ Lycan Offerings may feel compelled to remain nearby without overt guarding, choosing proximity over patrol or vigilance.
β’ Subtle pack dynamics can emerge naturally, with unspoken positioning, shared pacing, or mirroring behavior during indulgence.
β’ After waking, both may feel briefly unsettled by confined spaces or inactivity, as if the body expects continued motion.
α
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
Offering Effects
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
β’ Sex pollen dramatically increases libido and lowers inhibition. Restraint becomes difficult to maintain in close proximity to their Offering/Tether.
β’ 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.
β’ Heightened dominance instinct. Tokens may feel compelled to physically position their Offering or guide additional partners into shared contact.
β’ Delayed climax and intensified arousal curve. Stimulation builds slowly but relentlessly, demanding escalation before release is possible.
β’ Stronger territorial urges that may manifest as possessive touch, visible marking (bites, scratches, imprints left by vines), or insistence on being the focal point.
β’ Increased openness to group dynamics. The pollen dulls jealousy and replaces it with competitive hunger or exhibitionistic thrill.
β’ Sensitivity to visual and auditory feedback. Moans, trembling, and visible pleasure act as accelerants.
β’ After climax, arousal may reignite quickly if vines remain in contact, creating cycles of repeated stimulation.
Offering Effects
β’ Sex pollen heightens physical responsiveness. Arousal triggers quickly and intensely, even from indirect contact or vine pressure.
β’ Vines tend to restrain or spread the Offering more often, guiding posture and exposing vulnerable areas to touch.
β’ Increased suggestibility. Coaxing from their Token/Tether or physical encouragement from vines feels compelling and pleasurable rather than coercive.
β’ Shorter path to orgasm. Climaxes may arrive suddenly and powerfully, especially when restrained or held in place.
β’ Heightened desire to be touched, filled, or pressed againstβphysical closeness feels necessary rather than optional.
β’ Greater willingness to participate in shared intimacy. Additional partners may feel inviting rather than threatening.
β’ Emotional attachment intensifies during and after climax. Physical pleasure deepens the tether bond.
β’ Post-climax sensitivity spikes; even light contact from vines or skin may provoke aftershocks or overstimulation.
α
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
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
β’ Proximity dependency intensifies; physical distance from their Offering/Tethers causes agitation, shallow breathing, and intrusive thoughts about abandonment.Offering Effects
β’ Heightened sensitivity to tone and micro-expressions. Neutral gestures may be misread as rejection or withdrawal.
β’ Compulsion to seek verbal reassurance, even if they suspect the reassurance may be false.
β’ Increased fixation on touch as proof of presence. Tokens may repeatedly initiate contact to confirm their Offering/Tether is still there.
β’ Jealousy spikes in enclosed corridors; other figures in peripheral vision (real or not) may trigger possessive responses.
β’ Emotional volatility rises quickly from desire to defensiveness if they sense hesitation.
β’ After separation or forced distance, lingering obsession or replaying of final words heard may persist into waking.
β’ Intensified urge to control or stabilize their dynamic; Offerings may feel compelled to define their relationship in absolute terms.
β’ Heightened dominance or surrender impulses depending on personality baseline, with less moderation than usual.
β’ Increased temptation to test loyalty through emotional pressure or loaded statements.
β’ Possessiveness sharpens in tight, enclosed spaces; they may position themselves physically between their Token/Tethers and perceived threats.
β’ Strong reaction to perceived emotional withdrawal. Reassurance may be given urgently, excessively, or manipulatively.
β’ Physical closeness feels like leverage as well as comfort.
β’ Suspicion of abandonment may cause preemptive emotional distancing or sharp, reactive behavior.
β’ After waking, unresolved tension may manifest as fixation, defensiveness, or a need to revisit the conversation.
αNOTES
β€ Welcome to Somnia's TDM, which doubles as a gamewide event!
β€ This TDM is considered game canon.
β€ 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.
β€ All TDMs take place within a dreamscape, meaning characters can interact with the setting without needing to apply. Come have fun with us!
β€ 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!
β€ Questions? Please direct them to the designated questions comment linked below!
β€ This TDM is considered game canon.
β€ 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.
β€ All TDMs take place within a dreamscape, meaning characters can interact with the setting without needing to apply. Come have fun with us!
β€ 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!
β€ Questions? Please direct them to the designated questions comment linked below!
Harry Mason, Silent Hill: Shattered Memories (current player, new character )
Play A Twisted Little Game Prompts
( A: WAKING UP )( B1: WANDERING - if you're a normal-enough looking human )( B2: WANDERING - if you're not very human-looking )( C: DESIRE )
β desire (hi dad)
so by the time she ran into this harry, she's eyeing the scene before her with an agitated energy. another memory to toss back into her face? yet there was something off about this and when the man finally spoke up, she turned to him, ears perked up and pointed at him as she looked him over. he looked like a xerox copy of a copy of someone she once knewβ she can't quite pin it but for now she relaxed a bit. he was a father, worried about his daughter. her ears flattened against her head and she looked at the sketchbook with a softer expression. )
She's not here....is she?
( if she is, heather can only feel so sad for this poor man. )
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No, I haven't seen her. [ He looks back at the opened sketchbook with that despondent reply, down at the amateur of rabbits and flowers, colours to brighten them up. But he realises now, looking back at the girl with some amount of hope, but also at their surroundings: ] Have you seen a young girl? I don't know what's going on, but I don't want her to be lost in this place.
[ Is she here? It's one crazy thing after another, and Harry doesn't know if it's right to be sitting here, looking at her things.
Why is everything so complicated? ]
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yet she doesn't want to spook this man, she doesn't want to make him worried. her appearance is already doing a good enough job at that. so as the atmosphere about them swelled up and felt almost heavy, she moved closer to him, taking a sniff at him before looking once more at the open sketchbook. )
What's her name?
( might as well get the elephant out of the room, but she followed up withβ )
I mean many people get brought to this world, maybe she's here after all.
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Actually, there's a few things here giving Harry pause. More than the...ears, the certain traits, the fact he's in some equivalent of an open field by trees with his daughter's belongings. Something in the young girl's face, or-- is it familiar? It could be the way she's dressing, some style or fashion that most girls her age take on.
Many people get brought to this world is also a choice of words, but it doesn't matter. He's pulling at his coat jacket, grabbing at a wallet in the inside pocket. ]
Cheryl. She's about-- she should be seven, dark hair, or maybe you've seen an older girl that might look like her?
[ What an odd choice of words for himself, too. But Harry is desperate, willing to sound insane as he opens up the wallet to show the picture of a young girl inside. There's a driver's licence beside it, name and age and town.
Mason, Harry. ]
I know that sounds crazy, but... [ So he starts, but trails off--as if blocking off anything that might distract from what he's searching for, the important part.
Younger or older, he wants to know if anyone's spotted her. ]
cw: death mentions and sh3 spoilers
as he spoke, she moved closer, feeling the tight grip of nostalgia and familiarity wrap itself around her shoulders, tightening and nearly suffocating her as the scene became more and more obvious. the moment he said that name, she was holding her breath. her eyes were wider now, nervously shifting as her heart began to beat faster. flashes of her father sitting in his favorite chair, dripping with blood and lifeless, limp began to flow into her mind. the world was shaking before her, at least in her mind and she was left gasping for air.
her clawed hands rose up, touching at the young girl inside. not quite like her but quite like her, a xerox copy of a copy. who was this cheryl? not heather nor sharon but vaguely familiar. it was him alright, a version of him much like sharon was a version of her and vice versa. )
You sick bitch....
( she muttered under her breath, referring to sleep, certainly not harry nor his cheryl. )
Harry Mason, father of Cheryl Mason....you ever hear of a town called Silent Hill?
( that would be the true nail in the coffin. )
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She swears under her breath, and it kicks him momentarily out of his own thoughts. ] What? [ coming out from him, but she's already speaking, the alarm that's already found itself in him growing at the way she says his name, his daughter's name-- and the town.
Something's going on. There's something here. ]
You know her. You know us? [ There's the name in his wallet, he knows, but it's her tone, something about her. Harry's focus is on the girl, and he reaches out, puts a hand on her wrist; head angling to look at her better, to not miss a reaction, to glean something. ]
Have we met? If you know something--
[ He allows her to speak, but the growing desperation in his voice says what he means: tell me. ]
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was he even real, or just a figment of her imagination? did he know where he was? no he couldn't, but did he know why he was called harry mason?
all she can do is weep, ears flattening against her head as her little snout whimpered and she was back to being school aged all over again. )
You're my dad.
( no that wasn't right either, that girl in the photo wasn't her! but it was? )
Or at least some distant version of him. I'm sorry, this is just too much for me right now....he's....you're.....you're alive? And younger too....
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The words hollow him out, sound as delirious as they should be to his ears. That thing he was looking to click into place becoming disjointed, and Harry's felt this before, carried it around since he saw that photo of Cheryl--an older Cheryl, the one living on Simmons Street, a life and address he's never known. The girl goes on, and she's speaking about different versions, something, younger, and the hold he has on her wrist isn't as firm as it was a moment ago.
He feels dizzy, or disconnected--he's the one disjointed, not fitting correctly into place. But he needs to hold on, to keep himself grounded, and they're both losing the plot, he thinks. Her with her tears, and Harry doesn't know what to believe, but he moves his hands onto her shoulders now, a more comforting gesture this time. ]
Hey, breathe, okay? It's this place-- whatever's going on, it's doing something to our heads. It's okay-- [ This could be a joke, a trap; the girl isn't even fully human, and some vague acknowledgement that this situation could flip upside down and that he'll be in trouble crosses Harry's mind, but he doesn't want to just up and leave her. Not like this. ]
You're going to be okay.
[ Nevermind how unsure he is of that fact--how unsure he is of everything. This isn't about him. ]
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what can she do but swallow down that painful lump in her throat and nod at him. she should have been more ginger with her revelation here but it was too late. she'd ignored her intuition with sharon until they both witnessed something they recognized from that town. it was bound to happen with this man too. )
I'm sorry this is a lot, none of this makes sense to you I know.
( she lifted a hairy claw up, placing it over her face as she thought about how to approach this. )
Will you let me start from the beginning? After I stop crying of course. ( she can't help it, laughing through the tears as her memories of everything felt so shattered and distant but she can at least see some clarity now. )
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That it could be true. A lot could be true, but Harry doesn't know how to navigate this any better than he did what was going on back in town. He just rubs one of the girl's shoulders, a comforting gesture, just to give her something in her distress. ]
Sure, it's fine, this is a lot... [ Where they are, what's going on--he isn't even thinking about the dad stuff. Doesn't know how to touch on it. ] Do you have anyone here? Anyone you know? It might be good if we can find a spot to clear our heads...
[ This might've been a seemingly good place to spot, but Harry isn't sure now, even if leaving the mementos of his daughter does sting him to think about doing. But what if all this is having a negative effect on the girl? ]
B1 - wandering
[The woman in her 50s or so rubs at her eyes as she sits up, bracing herself with her other hand. There's a couple small streaks of white in otherwise jet black hair, and wrinkles at the corners of her eyes as she looks about with increasing bewilderment and unease.]
...Or that I'm not still asleep. What... is all this? Where in the world is there a garden like this?
[Nowhere she knows of, let alone anywhere she's been to recently. Everything looks strange in a way she can only academically guess at - a vividness of shades she has no names for offhand. No wonder this stranger is in as much disbelief as she's feeling.]
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Are you alright? [ Harry might've come to without injury (a miracle, considering where he came from), but he's not going to put his luck on other people. He comes in close, though still allowing her some personal space, not yet kneeling. ]
I have no idea where this is. It's not in town anymore, that's for sure. [ Which doesn't mean much, but it's different from the experiences he had been having before--a twisted version of the town, covered in ice. This is none of that.
He wants to ask her more, but he'll wait--see how she's feeling, if she needs a hand getting up. ]
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Mn. I'm... a little disoriented.
[Not so much that it keeps her from getting up, at least. Though she does brace herself for it, in the manner of someone old enough to expect to be stiff from sleeping on the ground. It doesn't feel too bad, though, and it's with a little relief that she looks back to his face, to try to make sense of something.]
I don't believe I saw you in the village... Does the name Dormont mean anything to you?
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Dormont? No. I was in Silent Hill before I woke up here. [ Not a town, and he's trying to think if Dormont is anywhere nearby, a place he should recognise. But his memory hasn't been the greatest for a while. ] That's your village?
[ It could be the name of a person, he figures, but he'll stick to the village guess. ]
B1
Her gaze drifts across the landscape surrounding them, taking in the oversized plants, tangled greenery, and dreamlike jungle stretching in every direction. She recognizes what's happening immediately. By now, she's had enough experience with these dreams to know the signs. Looking back at Harry, she gives a small nod. ] It's a, uh... It's a dream. A real dream. Someone else's dream, but we're all stuck in it.
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He turns his head, a hand coming over his mouth as the insanity sets in: what he's being told, what he's seeing, and the reality that she could be telling the truth. Isn't this just the next step? After what this night has been, searching everywhere for Cheryl?
Still. The hand pulls away, and Harry looks back at the young woman, trying to comprehend any of this, if he wants to accept this. Does he believe her? Should he trust her? ]
...You know what's going on? [ It might be his first shot of getting answers, of somebody else having a clue, or--experiencing this, even if what's going on isn't the same. Has it all been a dream?
Or is he at the point where he'll believe anything? ]
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For the most part. [ Her gaze drifts around them. Flowers unfurl high among the branches, oversized. For a brief moment, she's almost certain she spots a Happy Burger burger nestled in the center of one bloom. Huh. So that's the kind of dream they're dealing with.
She looks back at Harry. ] It's a little complicated, but the most important thing to know right now is that this is a dream. And most people who end up here wake up far away from home afterward, somewhere they can't leave. [ A grimace crosses her face. Her eyes drop briefly to the ground, uncomfortable with the truth she's delivering. ] It sucks.
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She's young, and she's alone. There's a pang of worry for Cheryl, if she's here or not, if something could be trying to take him away from her, but he can carry that worry, keep it locked close to his heart. Two things can be true at once: that he wants to find and protect Cheryl, and that he doesn't want to leave this poor young woman like this.
He breathes in deeply, breathes out, a sigh that leaves a sweet scent behind in his nose. ]
You know what? You could say I was going through something just as crazy before I got here. I shouldn't be surprised. [ It's an admission, his head bowed briefly--if he's going to accept this, try and connect with her, then he can make sense of it as a continuation to all that. Whatever was going on as he tried searching for Cheryl. ] People come and they-- leave here? Are you looking for people you know?
[ He takes a few steps forward, waves out a hand in her direction. ]
I don't know a lot, but I know I want to find my daughter. Staying close isn't a bad idea until we can find some friendly faces. Does that sound good, Miss...?
a β waking
You're safe, my good man. It's alright.
( Safe for now, at least. Victor has little idea what Sleep has in store for them, or what creatures lie hidden deeper within the garden. Victor, at least, looks human, unthreatening and unbothered by the man's outburst. )
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It's not dark now. Colour takes its place, senses and vision refocusing--there's a man. Harry's gasping for air he already has, though his heartbeat is quick, and he scans their surroundings, then looks back at the figure above. ]
Where-- [ He puts hands on the ground, soft grass underneath them, everything so wrong with what he remembers. There's no danger, but everything is disjointed enough that the confusion stays evident on Harry as he moves himself into a sitting position. Snowdrops bow their heads as tall as sunflowers, tree leaves hanging in purple hues.
He's definitely distracted, ignoring the man, not even knowing what to say. But he does eventually look back, and tries, for something normal despite the incredulity in his voice: ]
Are we in a-- garden?
[ How to ask, are you seeing this shit too? without being so blatant about it. ]