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.

Watch on YouTube

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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.

Watch on YouTube

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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!

network ᛗ logs ᛗ ooc ᛗ memes ᛗ navigation

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Comments

QUESTIONS.

[uruz]

Leave them here!

INVITES.

[uruz]

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

<b>Player Name:</b> <b>Contact</b>: <b>TDM Top Level/Threads:</b> <b>Previous RP history:</b>

simon 🩸 iron lung 🩸 offering: merrow

[effortinvein]

▲ twisted games.

All he ever wanted was to live. So to be found in a dream between life and death, plucked before his end- That was probably easy. Consent came immediately, freely. Even unaware as he was of what he was offering, he would take it for a chance to live. It feels like his mother tucking him in at night and telling him, despite everything, things would alright.

Like any dream, it doesn't last. He wakes with a violent, dramatic gasp like he hasn't truly breathed in far too long. Simon expects blood in his lungs - not only his own - but is greeted instead with a fresh gulp of air. Well, air and some pollen. Inhaling that makes him cough roughly next; he's on his hands and knees and retching up golden fleks that his body wholly rejects.

While it will effect him later, for now he's wiping his mouth with his forearm and truly taking a look at his surroundings. There's... life. Flora. Not just a single tree, but many and he can't quite comprehend it as he walks a random path, dazed. This isn't right. None of this is right. It's unnerving in ways that he can't articulate, so he doesn't. Simon sets out stoic, uncertain, and unsettlingly silent.

Desirability doesn't work on him. If it's too good to be true, that means it probably is. Tempting as the fruit and treasures might be, he abstains because he doesn't trust any of it.

He doesn't trust any of this.

▲ won't say.

The garden gives way to harsh shapes and fluorescent lights that he's familiar with. In a strange way, this scene is more comforting. It's more room than he's been given in a long, long time but cloying and claustrophobic simultaneously. He doesn't like it, necessarily, but he does feel more at east. Still quietly observing, guarded but- Less hostile, immediately.

And then along comes Jerry. The garden was full of flora but fauna had been lacking. To see a bird is... It should be alarming, shouldn't it? Part of him rationally recognizes that, but the emotional side of things only registers that his presence is comforting. How long had it been since he'd seen a living, breathing animal? Had he...? It's hard to remember, suddenly, and trying to only conjures forth a pain in his head instead of a memory.

But that's okay. Jerry is here. Jerry is safe. "Hey," he says, gentle and near breathlessly. Something caught between awe and care for this strange creature. He reaches out cautiously with his good arm to pet the downy feathers atop its head with a webbed hand. "Yeah. Yeah," he repeats, eyes misty with longing so potent for something he doesn't even know what yet, as he continues to crouch and pet this bird. "It's okay. Yeah."

So distracted is he by Jerry that he might not even notice someone approaching but they are free to. After all, this is a very... odd scene.

▲ wildcard / plot with me.

(( no nsfw prompts for Simon here. he's too traumatized to be able to handle any of that, unfortunately, but I'm happy to do some backrooms horror fun if the prompt provided doesn't appeal! also, I'm taking him from end of movie so he's missing an arm and not in in the best state of sanity.

hmu @ tentamenace on plurk/discord or PM this journal. ))

Johnny Silverhand; Cyberpunk 2077; Token: Artificer; depraved NSFW within

[fmaj]

CW: ALL event-defined warnings!

Copying and pasting my OOC information for the newbies!

ᛗ PLAYER
Name: Roo
Contact: Discord: cosmicrooibos, Plurk

ᛗ CHARACTER
Name: Johnny Silverhand
Canon: Cyberpunk 2077
Summary:

• An abrasive and chaotic foul-mouthed anarchist rockstar. Died fifty years ago, reincarnated into an unlabeled thumb drive, ended up in the protagonist's head and almost unwillingly kills him in the process. Don't worry, they both got better(?)
• Johnny in a nutshell? Heart in the right place, head in a blender, dick in the gutter. He means well, rarely does well, either for himself or for others. More well-educated and well-read than you might assume out of him from first impressions, so it's not a lack of knowing better, either. He's just extremely fucked up from growing up and trying to survive in an even more fucked-up world.
• Scratch that last one, actually. May have unintentionally become Manhattan's top altruistic asshole. All he's really done in Manhattan is fix things for people, be it their soul-searching, their tech, or their meals, cussing and critisizing them the whole way through the process. He's even been Working On Himself, despite being thrown between blender (being sick) to blender (being exposed to his fake implanted memories) to blender (choosing to undergo DIY cyberware implantation).
• Okay, to be fair, that DIY cyberware implantation also counts as working on himself. He figured out a way to fix his fake memories, and that requires having a deep dive port installed into the back of his head. He will be in the process of healing from this during the TDM, but in the TDM, he'll manifest with it already installed and fully healed, so he's now rocking a metal as fuck undercut hidden beneath his hair.
• The worldbuild of Cyberpunk is absolutely brutal and it unfortunately drives a lot of why Johnny is the way he is. Doubly unfortunately, this Rottweiler of a dude is being piloted by a Golden Retriever type, so if you have any content that needs to be warned for, I implore that you hop over to my opt-out and inquire. Rule of thumb: if you have something that you need warned for, I can almost guarantee it's somwehere in this guy's orbit.

Vessel Type & Subtype: Token: Artificer
Event plans:

• Johnny has been on exceptionally good behavior lately, all because of his sheer willpower to do so. However, all work and no play makes this particular Johnny burnt out and has been squashing his desire to truly let loose for maybe a tad too long. Between that and being in various states of bedrest over the last two months, punctuated by being slapped across the face about the sanctity of his memories, followed by an extremely manic week in which he built his own deep dive port from scratch, and now hasn't been able to sleep reliably since the surgery...
• He's going to be insanely susceptible to the influences of this dream. Welcome to graduate level classes in Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll.
  • Play A Twisted Little Game/I've Developed A Taste For You will be a top-level of two variations, one with drugs/alcohol and one without to allow for either intoxication kink or sober option. The jungle will mold itelf into simulating a modestly-sized concert venue with two areas: the main concert hall, populated to the brim of plantlife pretending to be lively concert attendees, where the dark space lit only with stage lights makes it hard to tell that they're just simulacrums (perfect for a simulated public sex/exhibition scenario), and the green room, where Johnny will be surrounded by a handful of semisentient plants pretending to be horny groupies (for private/intimate scenes, the groupies will wander off once Johnny's attention is directed elsewhere).
  • Everything else will be tag-outs. His own personal bubble is going to be a specially tuned trap just for him, so the only time he's not going to be eyeball deep to his own vices is when he's all up in someone else's.

Desired CR:
Bespoke list just for this event!

Sex dynamics:

• Switch with a Fight: Johnny is technically a switch. However...he's going to seem like a dom if you just leave him to his own devices. He WILL be trying to take control of your character's hands or head. If you're cool with that, then it's green lights ahead! But there's something deeper here. He loves to be forced into a submissive position...but he never offers it at the jump. No, you have to physically make him submit. If you've ever wanted your smut to feel like writing combat, then this is your chance.
• Kink compatible: Here's the entirety of Johnny's kink list: "TRY ME." He's a fucking freak and wants shit done to him, he wants to be asked to do shit to your character. Kink negotiation is going to be more about exact execution rather than comfort levels. Tell him your safe word, because he doesn't have one. Kick him around a little, or a lot, it makes him feel alive.
• Pillow talk: Should you manage to survive the full trial of Johnny's sexual appetite, there is a reward for you in the end. He's so tender and affectionate at the end, mending each others' wounds, hours worth of gentle touching, and shootin' the shit. Night City Aftercare Champion 2023.
• Partner restrictions: 25+, any gender, any shape (proud monsterfucker). No party crashers; the jungle knows it has him fully ensared, and it won't let anyone try to shake him out of it. Big huscle-shaped (bouncer) plants will gently (or roughly, if you resist) escort you off of the premise if they get the sense you're trying to do anything other than play ball.

Play A Twisted Little Game/I've Developed A Taste For You

[fmaj]

A storm is brewing.

The sky beyond the garden's canopy gets progressively darker the farther you travel. Wind starts to whip through the foliage, but only the sound of it. Not a hair on your head budges, nor does the canopy above undulate, and despite the white noise of rain, not a single drop lands on you. Every step you take, it gets darker, louder, more threatening, and even though it seems like it never will actually touch down for all of its bluster, it still feels like finding shelter should be your highest priority.

It gets dark enough to no longer see in front of you. The wind is screaming. The rain is pouring. It's loud enough to hurt your ears. And then, suddenly, a bang, a flash of lightning --

Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll

-- and when your eyes adjust, you are surrounded not by foliage, but by the dark silhouettes of a throng of people. The wind transformed into their screaming and shouting, the rain their applause, the thunder of the drumline vibrating the air around you. The clouds of pollen that have been permeating through the garden has been replaced with plumes of fog that catches licks of neon-colored laser-light. That flash of white-blue light persists, but not necessarily in your vision. It comes from a source that swivels and rotates, scanning across the dark figures around you, until coming to a stop and joining others in pointing directly at a stage, front and center is none other than Johnny Silverhand. He's screaming into the microphone and going absolutely feral on his guitar, stirring up a fervor in the room as much as the room is doing within him.

He has no actual band to back him up, but it sounds like there is. It probably has something to do with the giant cable that's plugged into the back of his head, along with several other thinner feeds, snaking across the floor behind him and disappearing into the blackness behind him.

You are welcome to simply stand there and enjoy the show, but...nothing's stopping you from exploring, either. No one will stop you from leaving, from visiting the bar, or going on stage to join Johnny. If you do, he will briefly stop playing to gesture at you, beckoning you closer with his fingers and a wordless urgency.

Likewise, no will anyone try to stop you from going upstairs and through the (perceptively, but not actually) locked door leading to the green room, where Johnny...is also located. Dream logic.

It's less loud in the green room, where the music from the stage still audible but significantly muffled by the walls, and there are significantly less plant-people silhouettes around. Only three of them, in fact. They're of ambiguous gender and in various compromising positions perched around Johnny, trying to get him worked up. They're succeeding, but none of them can manage to hold his attention when you step through the door. He pulls his mouth off of the chest of the one kneeling above him and locks eyes with you with heat in his eyes. He takes his flesh hand and draws it up his thigh in a way that seems like an incidental gesture, until he squeezes his crotch without dropping even a beat of eye contact.

[Johnny can be either intoxicated or sober for the interaction; mention your choice in your reply (or don't, for a surprise!). Being on stage will be for (simulated) public scenes, the green room will be completely private. Either prose or brackets are absolutely fine, I have no preference.]

Toki Wartooth | Metalocalypse | ota | current player

[dethangel]

[doing nested prompts. wildcard options always available. bring your own prompt, plot with me, or ask for your very own starter here or at agentkaz. plotting post here, info post here!]

play a twisted little game

[dethangel]

[It becomes pretty clear when something's a dream, considering as much as Toki's explored things out in the real world, none of it's been quite like this. Time will tell if it's one of those big ones, but it doesn't quite resemble the sorts of things his brain comes up with itself, so he's leaning that way.

And it seems... pleasant, anyway. The scenery's pretty, and all the floaty stuff seems pretty fun. No point in not enjoying while it lasts, anyway, if he's just going to be stuck here til he wakes up. He folds his wings up against his back and steps further into the garden.

So, sure, he eats some fruit. Sure, he goes exploring. Sure, he runs into his favorite drinks and an inexplicably placed CD player. Why not?

Of course he runs into people while exploring, and he's happy to show them what he's found, from the small to the ridiculously huge.]

I think they had a fuckin' arcade back there, can you believe it?

[Of course, he's also thrilled to check out anything anyone else has to show off.]

Ekko | Arcane | OTA | New Player

[finituum]

OOC Note:

[Doing nested prompts. I'm open to any all wildcards.

For NSFW content: Ekko is 19, and I could be open the more NSFW prompts but I would appreciate discussing them first since I don't generally write smut. Feel free to ask me via megagaytm if you want to plot something out.]

The Garden

[finituum]

A) Twisted Game

[The smell hits him before any of his other senses can feel that anything is off, but not because it’s foul like the rotten-egged stink that he’s used to, nor the fresh air produced by his tree house. No—it’s sweet and cloying, coating his throat in a way that feels so very wrong. When that honey-sweetness hits his tongue he wakes not with a start, but with a dizzying confusion that lets him wonder if he isn’t still sleeping, dreaming.

Ekko sits up grogily, every muscle in his body on fire and screaming, his skin a tapestry of neon paints and clot-crusted scrapes. The last thing he remembers before he (assumedly) passed out was pushing his Z-drive to the absolute max, mid-fight and then… Nothing. Floating in space, the kind of dreamless sleep you slip into when your body is too exhausted.

Unless, this is the dream?]

Hello? [His instincts tell him not to call out, but the bizareness of the situation has him speaking up before he can even think it through.] Is anybody out there?!

B) Forbidden Fruit

[He takes in the area immediately around him, seeing flora he’s never seen before, plants and flowers that put his modest tree-house to shame. The humidity is sweltering, but not unbearable, nothing like the fissure-heat of the Sump. But the scent of the flowers—Ekko can’t help but clap a hand over his mouth, wincing at how suffocatingly sweet it is. The exact opposite of home, and that’s how he knows he’s… Somewhere else.

So he stands, finds his footing in the plush forest flooring, and presses onwards through the brush. Slowly his memories start to come to the surface—fighting for his life (rather, for the safety of his entire home), the explosion of his Z-drive, the memorial in Zaun and...

Ekko's thoughts stop abruptly. The sights around him are foreign beyond belief, bringing up memories of traveler's stories overheard at the bar, or whispered amongst hunters in the markets. The stops before a fruit debating if he should take a bite.]

Could be poison, [he muses to himself with a smile, prodding at the plump body with a finger,] looks so good, though... And I'm starving...

[What's the harm?]

The Backrooms

[finituum]

[Eventually pressing deep enough into the Garden reveals something Ekko could never predict. The scenery darkens, consumes him, and then it splits open into glaring fluorescent lights and beige, twisting hallways the likes of which he's never seen before. Like, what the fuck is a modern building actually? The sight of greyish-brown carpets and only one assumed path forward almost throws him off more than the Garden did. At least he's seen plants before.

But if the Garden gave way to this... Then maybe he's traveling through pocket dimensions, and suddenly this situation starts to make a bit more sense in his head. His Z-drive did explode when it destabilized. It's possible that space-time anomalies were causing all of this. Or at least, that's his working theory.]

This place is weird as hell.

[He mumbles just loud enough over his breath, but he gets the distinct feeling he should be... quieter, here. There's something in the air that's causing the back of his neck to prick with unease. Like he's being watched. Like he's being... hunted.]

Logan | Fable 3 | Token: Shadowbinder

[decrees]

play a twisted little game

[Logan awakes with a start. The dream had been... almost comforting. Something he hasn't experienced in the past four damn years, and perhaps that's what causes him to wake so suddenly, with the realization that this isn't Albion.

This looks like nothing he's ever seen before. He's familiar with most of his kingdom from his younger days spent traveling, and this is nothing like the land he rules. It stands out as almost gaudy in its colors and sights, a notion only further proven as he continues walking and sees more of this place and what it has to offer.

The plants begin their offerings - gold. At every turn, they offer him gold. As though they know exactly what he needs, as though he'd be foolish enough to take it from some strange plant life. This isn't Albion, and yet they offer currency that he needs to save it. Logan doesn't dare touch it, for fear of what it might ask in return.

It's when he finally finds you that he speaks up, dark eyes flicking to the flowers around as if to confirm that you've also been offered something.]

Do you have any idea where we are? I need to return home. I can't afford to waste time here.

[Uneasiness builds within him. It isn't going to be a simple as walking out of this forest of over-indulgence, is it? Especially if this is, as he fears, some sort of complicated dream-state.]

won't say that you will

[The backrooms are also unlike anything Logan has ever seen, but for an entirely different reason. While the plants were at least marginally familiar, this is not. What the hell is modern day architecture, we're just getting into the industrial revolution in Albion.

It isn't the cold that worries him. There's something he needs to find other than just the exit, and he can't quite make out what it is. He feels entirely alone here. Isn't this how most of his dreams go, that he's the last one left, that something is creeping up on him and if he can't find it in time, he'll die—

He sees a figure and raises his voice.]

It would be safest to travel together, would it not? Will you accompany me?

[Rather unfortunately, he's found a Skin-Stealer, and it takes the form of a young woman.]

...Sister?

[But her form is wrong. There's something off about her, in a way he can't place. She doesn't look happy to see him - but then, she wouldn't be, given what he just did to her. But she doesn't look incensed either, and she doesn't seem cold or worried about their situation. She doesn't speak to him, but she stares him down, as if waiting to see what he'll do.

Something is wrong here, he just can't place it. Logan hesitates and the Skin-Stealer takes a step forward. Now might be a good time to intervene if you happen across this. After all, her shape isn't quite the same to your eyes.]

wildcard

( No nsfw for this TDM, as Logan is dealing with A Lot and is already highly paranoid; as such, he's unlikely to fully indulge at all! Totally fine with mentions of nsfw if they come up, but he's not participating today. If you want to thread out something else other than these prompts, feel free to hit me up at pokerap or PM this journal to plot! )

Hornet | Hollow Knight: Silksong | New Player

[weavered]

Play A Twisted Little Game

She wakes.

First cast a drift in a sea of her own consciousness, the now awake amount the flora of the unknown. Hornet bolts upright, not in panic necessarily, but in confusion. She remembered taking solace in the First Shrine, listening to the chatter of the pilgrims as she drift asleep, comforted by the fact she was, for some time, safe amongst them. Now she glances about her surroundings, surprised by the lush flora around her — all unfamiliar to her. She was preparing for battle, preparing to delve deeper into the Citadel, but this was hardly anything she would find in Phaloom. Even the Far Fields, as lush as they were, held a different feeling that the imposing nature of what was around her.

She stands, trying to brush off the sticky golden pollen that clung to her red cloak, but it was no use. She would deal with the pollen perhaps later, but for now she will allow it to cling to her. The quiet hum in her veins that her initial unease is misplaced, contemplating climbing the nearest tree for the fruit it bore. She expected as much, the fruit that is, but as she starts to walk down a trail, she stumbles across an alcove of vines and flowers, and there in the clearing?

Books.

Books, she strides over to investigate, taking care to keep on her guard, but not too much so. She picks it up, the book large in her hands before she opens it carefully. The book looks old, worn, familiar…

“What secrets do you hold?” She asks the book. “Or what history will you speak of?”

She’s caught up in the words, unfamiliar but understandable (an odd thing) to notice anyone else in the clearing. At least, at first.

I've Developed A Taste For You

(content warning: sexual content, restraint, impaired consent.)

How could she resist the allure of exploration? She wanders through the forest, careful and curious, before she stumbles upon a secluded grove. It’s beautiful, she thinks, looking at the various vines and flowers that fill the area. She tilts her head as she gets closer to one rather large flower, inhaling deeply, and the shift is almost instantaneous. She relaxes, and just wants to be.

She’s willing, paying no mind as the vines wrap around her ankles, her torso to hold her in place. It’s been many years since she’s felt something so euphoric. Her pulse beating wildly in anticipation, waiting for the inevitable touch of something against her skin beyond the cool vines.

She may be Weaver, but she should be afforded such small pleasures such as these. Bedding another bugs has been far and few between, choosing to not remain in her lovers lives, but she still had needs even if they’ve only just made themselves apparent once more. Hundreds of years, her long life span does not afford much affection, so she hopes that this may ease the fire spreading through her.

Won't You Say That You Will

The sudden shift from warm and welcoming to cold and unforgiving. Hornet is on guard, the pathways start to enclosed looking more constructed than the trees that offered her cover. She missed how easy it was to relax, but now that she has her senses again, she is certain that those emotions were merely a by product of the environment, not some deep seated need for it. (Oh how wrong she is.)

She stops, trying to gather herself as she watches the hall stretch on and on. Was she following someone? Were they following her? She shift, looking back behind her, briefly, hearing the soft patter of foot steps fade off in the distance. When she returns her gaze to the hall, she sees what appears to be a Craw. Stark against the wall and she’s not sure how she could have missed it before.

“… I do not know what you want.” She says softly, her tone shifting from being on edge to gentle. “But I must find a way out. Do you know?”

The not Craw watches, and doesn’t speak, and Hornet cannot help but feel some sort of pull towards it.

Wildcard

(Have another idea? Don’t hesitate to drop a response or message me on this journal.)

won't say that you will

[dogmetaphors]

[The man who approaches is... odd-looking, to say the least. He has mismatched ears on the top of his head, one of a white tiger and the other of a husky. His eyes are equally odd-looking, with one black eye and the other the orange of a cat. And then there's the double tails to match his ears.

He's also dressed in martial arts robes that look a tad frayed in places, and patched with other fabrics.

Still, he nods at the comment.]

It's always better to travel with others here, in both these dreams and the waking world.

[He pats at the blade on his side. As for the woman who approaches them, Mo Ran tenses.]

That's not your sister.

[He draws the blade, looking ready to fight.]

[writetheway]

If I'm a returning player re-apping this round, do I need a new invite?

Monika | Doki Doki Literature Club | Token: Runemancer | Returning Player!

[writetheway]

A; let's go to the garden, you'll find something waiting
[Monika feels sleep drunk. Which, well, isn't unfitting for the situation, but it's particularly bad right now. She feels like she's been asleep for a while, and waking in a garden doesn't make her feel like she's now awake so much as like she's now lucid. Mostly lucid.

This place is nice. Better than the screech and static of home, better than the ruins of Manhattan. She picks up a strawberry, and she needs to use both hands.]

It's kind of like Alice in Wonderland.

B; right there where you left it
[Monika sits at the center of a valley whose paths number a dozen or more. The flowers glitter and sparkle like starlight, and it's easy to meander, but every road leads to the center. Every road leads to Monika. She's sitting in a large white chair, almost sunk into it, and it's not quite a throne but it, well, it isn't not a throne either.

Whatever kind of seating you might like best--a garden bench, a sofa, something even more unusual for a garden--it's there across from Monika, in front of a table covered in adorable cupcakes. There are a lot of seats, actually, all pointed in Monika's direction. Stacks of books are scattered between the seats, alongside countless pens and pencils and empty notebooks. She perks up immediately when she notices she has company.]

Hi! Come sit with me!

[Please. Look at me. Pay attention to me. Notice me.]

C; lying upside down
[It's so cold. Monika misses her valley. But that's long gone, and now she's left wandering around trying to get out. Because there has to be a way out, right? There was a way out before, eventually. She's not sure how long ago that was, when she wandered the sewers. She's not sure how long ago it was when she was eating giant strawberries in the garden, actually.

Monika rubs her hands together and looks around for anyone, anything. She spots a flash of red-pink hair and blue eyes. The height is right. The haze makes things look a little wrong, but--]

Sayori? Sayori, is that--

[It's not. It's really not. It's a thing wearing Sayori's skin. Monika startles back, slapping a hand over her mouth to stop herself from making more noise. It's looking at her. It's looking at her and she's convinced one of its eyes are going to slide right out of its skull. She bolts, not looking where she's going or who she might be running into.]

D; wildcard
[If you'd like to do something specific with Monika, hit me up at maiiau!]

[decrees]

[Thankfully, the man who approaches is level-headed enough, even if his appearance is rather jarring. Logan finds himself staring which is incredibly rude but probably a bit understandable given the circumstances. The Skin-Stealer's image shifts a bit, as if trying to find a middle point between the brunette and one that would work for Mo Ran. By the time Logan turns back, "she" doesn't quite match what he was expecting. If she was barely managing before, she's definitely not now.]

What— What is this.

[He takes a step back, allowing Mo Ran to take the lead on this, as he doesn't have his own sword at the moment.]

You're right, that's not my sister— What is it?

[His voice is tight, barely controlled beneath the anger of being deceived and the fear that creeps beneath the surface. Something that appears different than what it actually is reminds him all too much of those horrid things he faced four years ago.]

i've developed a taste for you (nsfw) (a)

[dethangel]

[There's something else about the air here as Toki ventures further into the garden. It kind of creeps up on him that things are darker, more tangled, but soon enough he's a bit warm and he remembers that it's pleasant here. Everything's perfectly fine.

He brushes against a vine, which gently wraps around his wrist. He laughs at the movement until he tugs on it and it wraps a little tighter. Oh.]

Uh... help?

[For some reason he just doesn't sound as in distress about it as he maybe should.]

[kinklist here! he's perfectly fine being in dominant or submissive positions or neither.]

[dogmetaphors]

[He doesn't mind the stare. Actually, he prefers it over how people usually treat him, which is a complete non-reaction to his appearance.]

I'm not sure. Whatever it is, it's dangerous.

[He hasn't seen anything like it before, but this place is ever changing, so it's not entirely a shock that he wouldn't have a clue what he's facing.

Whatever it is, he's afraid that he'll blink and it'll turn into something else. Someone else. So he charges at the monster before it can shift again.]

[decrees]

[It's already trying to change shape to Mo Ran's beloved, but it doesn't have enough time before Mo Ran's sword finds it and slays it. It disappears entirely, as if it was never there to begin with.

Logan's hands ball into fists until he forces himself to try to relax.]

You have my thanks for coming to my aid. I wasn't expecting... anything like that.

[A fake version of his sister, used to lull him into a false sense of security. Disgusting. He was halfway to falling for it too. What would it have done to him if he had fallen for it?

Perhaps it's better not to dwell on it.]

Jaskier | The Witcher (netflix) | Offering: Satyr | Returning Player+Character

[licensetotrill]

1. A Twisted Little Game
It's a dream. It's so clearly a dream, Jaskier can feel it in that sleepy way dreams always feel, even when they demand all of your attention. So he doesn't think anything of the crown of branching antlers springing from his brow, of the way when he kicks off his boots to leave behind there's hooves instead of feet.

It's so lush, so inviting. Like a poem, this place. A lovely dream. He comes across a tree with a hollow, sitting inside ever so perfectly is a lute. Jaskier runs his fingers across it.

The lute... it's ... familiar. Not in the way his is, but as his fingers trace along the body that's design is cracked but usable, the way the strings don't quite match each other for color, the way it's seen better days but has been restored with love and care...

The lute is his, Jaskier recognizes suddenly. And that startles him into more awareness, even as he picks it up to cradle against him.

"-- One?" He calls out first, looking around, eyes wide. "Fuck -- who else - Cooper? ...Toki? ...Sharon?"


2. A Taste For You
Maybe he's not really 'back'. Maybe he's just dreaming of being back. This is a dream after all, right? Jaskier hardly needs chemical encouragement to lower his inhibitions.

The heat has him shedding most of his clothing, down to just the soft brown breeches barely hanging on low to his lips, two necklaces (the ring and the tuning fork) resting in the curve between his pecs, sprinkling of that tawny brown body hair now mixing with what is distinctly patches of furhere and there. He's leaned into what amounts to a makeshift hammock of vines, letting them hold his weight as he sways gently on them, strumming at the lute as his fingers wander along the strings to make an easy tune.

Pretty much anyone gets a sly grin and an inviting - "Looking for company?"


3. Say That You Will
Okay, this is more like what he remembers. In the 'fuckery' sense not the 'weird dream logic' sense. Not being from a world with this kind of architecture at all or an internet, the whole 'backrooms' thing is totally lost on Jaskier aside from fundamentally understanding the strange blank wrongness.

At least his clothes showed back up with him, and Jaskier swears rather creatively in multiple languages as he pulls them back on to try and get some heat saved.

"Fucking- cold. Fucking fuck," look, yes, he's a poet, but sometimes the best word for a situation really is just a sharply spoken fuck.

The sound of footsteps catches his attention, and Jaskier runs towards it, desperate for any kind of company here.

"Hello-? Who—?"

No one. He turns the corner and there's no one. Sound just stopped, and still he's alone. But maybe someone else heard the noise HE made…


4. Wildcard
[ PLAYING IT BY EAR. Jaskier is back! S4 version now, and a Satyr instead of a pyromancer to boot! Hit me up via PM or plurk at oncemorewithfeeling if you'd like to plot longer! ]

B cw food insecurity referenced, swarmling

[recidiviste]

[Everything is alien.

The flora is unlike anything he's ever known. He's not exactly well traveled - between back home and back home, the pre-Lumiose, there weren't exactly a wealth of destinations. But he knew enough to know that everything about the sweetness in the air was not anything like what home had on offer.

His body is also no longer like anything he'd known. Too long, with too many legs and limbs and eyes as he draws himself along a branch, trying not to slip to the forest floor below as he crawls along a branch, bone-white carapace parting the leaves ahead of him.

Below, a stranger examines one of the fruit he's already partaken of himself. He knows they're good - poisons haven't been something he's worried about in many years (though those memories are fuzzy, as if draped in veils), but he can at least attempt to vouch. He'd hate for anyone to go hungry, after all. He knows just how painful that can be.]

Poking it isn't gonna make that less likely to be poisonous. But good news, eh? They're not poisonous. They're ripe. Juicy. Don't think I've ever had such a perfect berry.

Wheatley | Portal | OTA | New Player

[soabirdcameand]

[ Robots don't dream. Not of charged ungulates, not of anything. The only reason for this sensation would be a glitch in his system, a flare of random signals from a dying battery. He's dying. Oh god, he's dying. Not like this, anything but fading away in the void, he'll do anything to avoid such a pathetic and meaningless fate, please please get him out of here he'll do anything-- ]

i. Courtesy Call

[ Wheatley comes to, immediately aware of two sensations: he feels weird and he feels good. The weird and the good are somehow separate sensations, though undeniably related in a way he can't quite place. He feels stretched out, as if disassembled and left in pieces on the floor, but without pain. The exact opposite of pain, really. ]

"Whugggh."

[ Like that right there, that's weird. His hull vibrates strangely when he tries to talk. It's somehow bright even though his optic shutters are closed, and it feels like some sort of bellows got attached to his processor and it's making everything....... wet.

Despite all that, he still feels fantastic. Arguably better than he has in his whole life. Like testing euphoria, but softer, easier, constant and free without the Itch pulling him along. He could easily bask in this forever. If he could just absorb it in...

Wheatley jerks in a spluttering coughing fit, caused by a too-deep inhale of pollen. Wheezing and dripping spittle and snot, the lulling hold of pollen finally shatters as Wheatley realizes he's on hard ground. Dirt. Earth. ]

"Huh... how...? Did I...?"

[ He blinks. His vision is blurred, worse than usual even, but that's... those are trees, aren't they? Actual ones, not just rotten potato roots? And, what're they called, those are flowers, he's heard of those. And that, right below him that's a... ]

"WhuhuuuAUGH GERROFF GEDDITOFF--"

[ Wheatley desperately tries to fling away the random human hand on him, only to find that same hand is what's trying to do the flinging. It.. oh god, it's attached to a limb, and that's connected to... ]

"Hhhwoooahno no no that's not right that's a mistake someone hello there's been a MISTAKE get this OFF ME thank you--"

[ One could generously describe Wheatley as susceptible to temptation, but if there's one thing that can drown out the siren call of Feeling Good its sheer blind panic. And he has that in spades right now.

TL;DR there's an ungainly tangle of limbs, ostensibly human-shaped, squirming on the ground and doing a LOT of yelling. ]

ii. cold boot

[ On the bright side, this place feels a lot closer to what Wheatley is used to. Drab, depressing, nigh impossible to navigate, instills a pervasive sense of dread... it's nostalgic. ]

"Now, okay, pretty sure it's... left. Left from here feels right. Right as in correct, not right as in right. Right? Yeah. You get it."

[ Bipedal movement is still an enormous struggle, and Wheatley is hanging onto the stained, peeling walls for dear life. He's much too focused on the alien concept of balance to pay terribly close attention to details like navigation or if he's being followed. ]

"To, to be clear, in this case, left is also meant as, as the opposite of right. I mean it's still correct, left and right are both meaning accurate. But what I'm saying is, I'm not talking about left as in "left behind," that's not what I mean, no one's thinking about that sort of left I don't think, I'm certainly not, you aren't I'm sure. Are you? Nah, nah 'course not. But are you?"

[ He's a nervous talker. And a calm talker. And an any-other-emotion talker. If stealth was what you were hoping for in these halls he is the wrong guy. ]

iii. Wildcard

[ no NSFW prompts unless you're ready for it to be a full comedy of errors. Wheatley has had a human body for five minutes he has no clue how any of that shit works. Absolutely down for some peril, horror, and psychological fuckery.

Hmu @ yunisverse on plurk if you wanna plan anything! ]

Wriothesley | Genshin Impact | OTA | New Player

[armwriostle]

I. Twisted Little Game
A. Garden Walk
[Wriothesley feels this place has some similarities to the photos he had seen of Sumeru in books. Not the same, but the closest thing he can compare them to.

It was definitely not Sumeru. Hell, this wasn't Teyvat at all. Then again, this was supposed to be a dream right? Hard to say with how real everything feels. Curiosity killed the cat so to speak and he wasn't one to stand there and idle either. If he wanted to understand his situation more, then he would have to delve deeper.

There was one thing one should know and that was Wriothesley held onto control with an iron fist. He didn't like to lose his senses nor did he enjoy losing control of his mental facilities. A drink or two was fine in his older age, but he had been so stubborn about these things that he would refuse even certain medicines from Sigewinne. So when he starts to feel his grip seem to slip even a smidge, he tightens that grip even more. Stubborn to a fault, but it makes him so acutely aware of what's around him.

It didn't really feel good to be in this situation.

His shoulders tenser than usual and his mouth set in a firm line as his gaze lingers on some fruit a little longer than he'd like. Eventually his gaze darts around. There's a feeling of being trapped in ways that he doesn't like.

Wriothesley finally speaks up.] I can't be the only one who feels like this isn't a leisurely jaunt in the park, right?

B. Lycan Problems
[The thing about Wriothesley's wants is that many of them aren't exactly things that can be attained. The things that can be attained, he knew to just work hard to get them. And frankly, being offered tins of tea from flowers was simply not the most compelling thing. It was a little comical if anything.

But it seemed this place had other ways to hit him where it matters.

He considers himself to be pretty sharp with good senses, but nothing like this. It leaves his teeth aching and something burning in his chest. He braces one hand against whatever closest surface there is to rest his weight on while he covers his mouth and nose with his other hand. It doesn't dull the myriad of scents nor does it seem to ease whatever seems to be thrumming under his skin.] Urk...

[Any sounds of approach will have him jolt a little and have him turning to wherever he heard it; teeth bared and brows furrowed.]

II. A Taste for You
[A stubborn man through and through, Wriothesley does not particularly take to being restrained in any capacity well. It is hilariously ironic for a warden to be cuffed, but then again, he also was a prisoner before too.

Regardless of the irony, Wriothesley does resist the plantlife that yearns for his submission. It isn't even that he wouldn't be willing, but simply that he doesn't want to submit to things under these circumstances. It's unfortunate that this was probably a losing battle if anything. Pollen is heavy in the air and he doesn't have the strength to keep fighting the vines indefinitely.

Wriothesley is already a bit disheveled; breathing coming out in light pants and skin with a slight sheen of sweat.

His lips quirk into a tight smile.] You wouldn't happen to be free to help a guy out, would you? [His resistance was waning and his body was begging for even some touch of skin more and more the longer he refused it.]

III. Won't You Say
Wha-

[Considering that Wriothesley is from some level of fantasy France but wet, the whole ambiance of the backrooms was...jarring. It was already foreign with how weird the architecture was to him already, but the emptiness made him think that he would take being lost at sea more than this any day of the week.

Seriously though, what the hell was this place?

Suddenly the weird sex forest wasn't so bad.] Uh. No choice, huh? I think I like the last place way more than this.

[He cautiously starts to walk forward. Forward, of course, is incredibly subjective here.]

Not exactly the most welcoming space. Maybe it's time to try to find ways to wake up?

IV. Wildcard
[I'm technically a returning player, but my previous time I apped in was terrible timing and I had to drop quickly after.

I'm open to playing out just about anything, so feel free to Wildcard me something if these options don't work for you. You can also PM me or contact me on plurk and I am more than happy to write a custom starter for you! SFW or NSFW is fine and anything goes! I am definitely going with Offering, but I might play around between Lycan, Daemon, and Kimera with a likeliness on Lycan.]

[dogmetaphors]

[He'd already started to see a slight amount of white robes. It had been enough to enrage him into finishing the creature up faster.

He stares at it, at where it was just a moment ago. How dare Sleep using their loved ones against them?!

His sword-arm shaves for a moment before he replaces the blade back at his side.]

Don't mention it. You get used to this place being incredibly dangerous, but that doesn't make it easier to navigate.

Corbeau | Pokémon Legends: ZA | Offering: Swarmling | New/Prospective Player

[recidiviste]

[ 1. A Twisted Little Game ]
[He's definitely gone far past the boundary he'd set for himself to leave the office and at least head up to bed (or to the couch, if Philippe hadn't already fallen asleep on it) before he ended up passing out at his desk, too tired to maintain wakefulness even with the threat of Hyperspace consuming the city. Small fumbles could be permitted - if something truly awful was happening he was sure Philippe or any of his faithful subordinates would be swift to wake them both to get the city back in order. Maybe dreaming a little was okay for now.

The haze of sleep does little to prevent him from gazing about himself in awe. Wherever this was - wherever dreams had deigned to take him to steal him from his concerns in the waking world for now was beautiful. The flowers boast colours he's sure he's never seen in a real plant. The looming caps of various mushrooms illuminate points in the foliage ahead, before the worm fades in a golden haze on the horizon, where the pollen in the air drifts too thick to see.]

Philippe? Clear?

[His voice sounds off. The shout stirs the air, and sets him to coughing as the pollen swirls, and he scrubs at it with his left arms as he scowls and straightens, trying to peer through the forest. It's only then that he finally takes in that his body is not as he remembers, too closely resembling the gleaming carapace and body of Scolipede's Mega form. Panic does not come. It's a dream, after all.

He had no reason to be afraid of his own body.]

Hello?

[He may as well be sure there's only him here.]

[ 2. A Twisted Little Game - Fruit | cw smoking ]
[Atop a slowly coiling heap of vines, Corbeau perches, cigarette clasped between the fingers of his upper left arm, smoke lazily coiling through the pollen that still hangs heavy in the air. His almost horse-like lower body is draped across the top of the vines, several winding around his limbs where he's been still for perhaps too long. The bladed antennae atop his head cut through the air as he turns to peer through the haze about him, watching for visitors to the glade he's found himself in.

Beside him, several fruit sit, gathered and kept as if part of a dragon's hoard. Corbeau's mouth is still sticky with the juice where it's dribbled from each bite, lips shiny and still stained with it.

When you approach, he shifts, taking a slow drag of his cigarette, and gestures expansively at the fruit.]

What's this? A visitor to this lovely little glade? And here's me all stocked up with refreshments. Come on, hm? No reason we can't be pals.

[ 3. Won't You Say That You Will ]

[His hand darts out and pulls the stranger back, into the alcove he's tucked himself into, body coiled almost too tightly, one of his hands clasping across a mouth.]

Shhh, [He hisses, keeping his grip firm.] Don't panic.

[His grip remains tight only a moment longer, as something lumbers past, its shape slightly wrong for anything completely human. But it worsens as you watch, shape becoming more wrong, less of a person. It lingers a moment outside the dark, misshapen box room you find yourself in, overhead lights flickering, the ever there hum cutting out with the lights. Then it moves on, and Corbeau relaxes, letting you go.]

My apologies. That was rude of me.

[He shudders a sigh, eyes darting.]

I had to be sure.

[ 4. Wildcard ]
[Want something else? You can hit me up at talloran on plurk or at scorchrazor on discord.]