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TDM 001 ● JUNE 2025
TDM: ONE
ᛗPRELUDE
(content warnings: dream horror, loss of autonomy, mild body horror, cult undertones )You’ve had this dream before.
A moon cracked wide, spilling tendrils from its craters like bleeding silk. A sky starless and slow. And on the horizon: a wave. Massive. Black. Still. It creeps forward every time like sunrise. It hushes before collapse, but every time before this, you wake up just in time.
But not tonight. You can't outrun it even if you tried— it comes crashing down on you at last, swallowing you like a gaping black hole. Saltless, soundless, the water devours. But instead of drowning, you drift, suspended in velvet dark. And in that dark, her voice breathes.
Let me in.
I can give you everything you’ve ever hungered for.
A place.
A purpose.
Stay.”
She offers. And you— your mouth, your mind— give an answer before you even know you’re speaking. Yes.
The tide recedes. The dark peels away like silk. You awaken beneath a canopy of gold, in a garden that hums with warmth and longing. Soft grass. Strange trees. Fragrant fruits in every color, dripping with light. And a mask upon your face, no straps, no weight, yet it clings to your skin like it was always part of you. You don't want to remove it. You could, maybe . . . But it would feel like tearing your skin away.
She no longer speaks to you, but her orchard breaths a sigh upon your arrival. A force tugs at the edges of your thoughts, beckoning you to contact the web you're now a part of. Welcome, Vessel.
ᛗYOU CAN THREAD THE NEEDLE
(content warnings: sensory manipulation )An orchard stretches around you in impossible directions, the horizon blurred like wet paint. Trees curl and arch with an elegance that feels practiced— like they’re posing for someone watching. Their trunks shimmer faintly. Leaves flutter even when there is no wind.
You are not alone. Others stir nearby, familiar or unfamiliar, though that distinction begins to blur. You may not know them, or perhaps you have the feeling you do even if you've never met them in your life. Either way, you might wish to know them.
From the strange branches within the orchard hang fruits shaped like stars, teardrops, or glass bells. Each one pulses faintly, waiting to be plucked. Their effects are subtle but powerful, crafted to cater to your desire and wonder:
🍎A pearlescent orb, cool and slick to the touch, whose taste floods you with a future that might be: a fleeting vision of joy, belonging, or beauty you didn’t know you craved. Whoever is nearby sees a glimpse of it too.
🍎A silver-veined citrus, fizzing like champagne. When shared between two, it evokes the feeling of a first time— first love, first rebellion, first triumph — even if you’ve never lived it. The emotional residue lingers between you.
🍎A blood-orange fruit with velvet skin, which when bitten into, causes your voice to harmonize with another’s— even if you weren’t speaking. You’ll find yourselves finishing each other’s thoughts, or speaking a secret you both forgot you held.
🍎A waxen, translucent fig, which grants you a small miracle: something you longed for appears beside you, conjured from dream. It might be a lost keepsake. A voice. A scent. A face.
🍎A smooth, silver fruit with a mirrored skin. When bitten, it briefly reflects the dreamer’s true self — not as they are, but as they wish to be. For a moment, others may see it too. The illusion clings for a time, making the character appear more like their ideal self in body, presence, or aura.
🍎A dark plum that glows faintly pink, almost heart-shaped, and warm to the touch. Its juice runs red and sticky, clinging to the lips. To taste it is to be filled with longing— for intimacy, for sensation, for touch. The desire may be gentle or overwhelming, but it lingers, tuned to the presence of someone nearby. It is not mindless. It is focused.
At the center of the orchard is a fountain, still and inviting. Its water tastes like clarity— and for a moment after drinking, your thoughts shape your surroundings. What you create might intertwine with what another dreams beside you.
Sleep does not speak in words. She breathes through the trees, hums through the soil, stares through your mask. Her voice, barely a whisper:
Want.
Want, and see what answers you.”
You feel it,— if you resonate with another, something will change. Maybe the orchard will shift again. Maybe it already has.
ᛗTHE DAYLIGHT RECEDES
(content warnings: grief, loss, emotional vulnerability)The orchard is gone. In its place stretches a landscape of ashen grass, supple and fragrant underfoot, warmed by a pale light that doesn’t seem to come from the sun. All around, a soft breeze stirs the fields— endless, loamy, and quiet. The air smells like soil after rain. It is peaceful here. But not happy.
Scattered across the fields are half-buried remnants: old beds, cracked record players, wilted bouquets, melted candles, notes scrawled on napkins— things lost in the moments between love and loneliness. Everything here feels half-remembered, yet painfully familiar. If a character reaches for one of these objects, they may hear a voice whispering a name they have tried to forget, or one they wish they'd remembered sooner.
In the distance, a shrouded figure walks the fields, unhurried, always just out of reach. Their back is turned, but their presence pulls like gravity. Some may choose to follow. Some may wait. And some may realize they’re walking beside someone else— a stranger who seems to carry a memory they, too, once held.
This is a moment of reflection. Interactions blossom from shared worries, slow confessions, or uncanny synchronicities. Characters might recognize something in another, such as a gesture, a phrase, a scent— and feel that thread begin to tug. Best follow its lead . . . You won't be able to leave unless you do.
ᛗ
EVERYTHING WE LOVE RESETS
(content warnings: body horror, transformation, loss of autonomy, psychological horror, cosmic dread )
You awaken— or perhaps you never truly slept. The orchard is gone. The fields have withered. All is silence now, and the air is soaked in dread.
A still, uncanny plane stretches out before you: rotted soil, stagnant pools, shattered glass trees that hum with an almost-familiar voice. Echoes of what the dream once offered—sweet fruit, blooming things, beauty— remain only as scars on the land. Their pleasures have fermented into menace. The dreamscape is collapsing.
Sleep, ever present, ever watching, does not weep. She has already taken what she wants, and you see her teeth stretched too wide in the shadows. In the reflection that splits back at you. In the soundless breeze with much more bite and possession than the gentle caress of invitation. She whispers, from the shadows between dying stars:
"You said yes. Now let me see what you become."
The mask on your face tightens, no longer decoration. A binding. You are no longer merely dreaming— Your skin may change fluidly, or break down through the bones violently. Your flesh may split, brimming with power, or your blood could burn like lava oozing through your veins. You may even experience it again, and again, and again; a different beast or burst of magic each time. Whether painful or painless, You are now either Token, or Offering. You may not yet know what that means— But your body does.
A still, uncanny plane stretches out before you: rotted soil, stagnant pools, shattered glass trees that hum with an almost-familiar voice. Echoes of what the dream once offered—sweet fruit, blooming things, beauty— remain only as scars on the land. Their pleasures have fermented into menace. The dreamscape is collapsing.
Sleep, ever present, ever watching, does not weep. She has already taken what she wants, and you see her teeth stretched too wide in the shadows. In the reflection that splits back at you. In the soundless breeze with much more bite and possession than the gentle caress of invitation. She whispers, from the shadows between dying stars:
The mask on your face tightens, no longer decoration. A binding. You are no longer merely dreaming— Your skin may change fluidly, or break down through the bones violently. Your flesh may split, brimming with power, or your blood could burn like lava oozing through your veins. You may even experience it again, and again, and again; a different beast or burst of magic each time. Whether painful or painless, You are now either Token, or Offering. You may not yet know what that means— But your body does.
ᛗ EVEN WHEN WE RUN WITH DEATH
(content warnings: body horror, fungal infections, parasitism, loss of agency, cosmic horror, violence, death, cult imagery)Your surroundings bend and break with growing instability: The sky splits open, revealing a bleeding red moon, weeping tendrils like raw nerves. It feels wrong in a way you have no words for. It sees you. And it beckons for blood.
The dream does not want peace now. It wants performance. It wants pain. And above all, Sleep wants you all to herself. She watches from the broken heavens, humming in delight as you run, as you fight, as you fracture under the weight of your becoming. Perhaps you turn on each other, frightened with what you have become or too frazzled to control yourself, or the newfound power you possess.
There are other things to look out for, though. Creatures stalk this unraveling plane: malformed creatures with mutated faces and fungal blooms bursting from their orifices, or tendrils slithering from what were once mouths and eye sockets. Once Vessels. Hosts. They may speak with familiar voices. They may try to barter, or bite. Those with hands and fingers may try and force your eyelids to part, to tilt your gaze to the sky above you, chanting in tongues that drill into your brain stem. Hushing in song. Whispering Look at her. She is Beautiful.
If you are caught, if you gaze up at Her for too long— you too will suffer the same fate. Fungal bursts and tendrils will spurt from your mouth, invade you from the inside and reach out to her in sacred reverence. It's a horrible way to go. If this is an end you find, you too, despite your pain, may begin to smile. You might have even more reason to attack your fellow Vessels. They too, must see Her beauty like you do.
The song stutters. The dream recoils when you succumb to the worst of Her parasitism, even though you don't lose consciousness. It is not Sleep who speaks next. In your last few seconds of awareness, you hear in your ears, in your mind, in your soul, snarling and thick with fury:
The world begins to scream. You begin to fall.
The dream is over.
ᛗNOTES
➤ Welcome to Somnia’s first TDM! All TDMs will be considered game canon.
➤ You are free (and encouraged!) to experiment with the Tether mechanic as well as Vessel options and the Network to your liking; this is a dreamscape, so multiple/different situations for you to really test which option you like most is possible.
➤ All TDMs take place within a dreamscape, meaning characters can interact with the setting without needing to apply. Come have fun with us!
➤ Mod invited players may currently extend one invite per player. Interested players who do not have mod invites or a friend to get an invite from may comment to the appropriate top level to solicit one, or, solicit one from the mod here. Please keep in mind that soliciting an invite does not guarantee one.
➤ Questions? Please direct them to the designated questions comment linked below!
➤ You are free (and encouraged!) to experiment with the Tether mechanic as well as Vessel options and the Network to your liking; this is a dreamscape, so multiple/different situations for you to really test which option you like most is possible.
➤ All TDMs take place within a dreamscape, meaning characters can interact with the setting without needing to apply. Come have fun with us!
➤ Mod invited players may currently extend one invite per player. Interested players who do not have mod invites or a friend to get an invite from may comment to the appropriate top level to solicit one, or, solicit one from the mod here. Please keep in mind that soliciting an invite does not guarantee one.
➤ Questions? Please direct them to the designated questions comment linked below!
citrus
She spits it out. ]
How dreadful. … you don’t look as if you feel much better.
no subject
He looks at her for a moment like he's lost. He blinks, then, a slight shake of his head he does not intend. ] No I- suppose not.
[ His brow furrows. A beat, then another. ] You felt that sensation as well?
no subject
Maybe repulsed is the word. ]
I did. A feeling of … well. Not a familiar feeling, at any rate.
[ she smiles, reaching up on tiptoes to touch, but not pluck, another fruit ]
How frightening, being influenced by a simple fruit.
no subject
Examining the remaining segments of fruit in his hand, the Forsaken's brow furrows in puzzlement. He doesn't know how to explain the dream (or rather, the dream before this one, because this can only be a dream - right?). Nor can explain why he can taste the fruit, or why it would surface emotions, or give them entirely new emotions. ]
It is strange. [ The fruit was sweet, and part of him wants desperately to take another bite. He discards it, instead. That sort of feeling... no. Even the taste isn't worth it. The Forsaken turns his attention to something, anything else. ] Might I assume you are not from this place, either?
no subject
[ she tilts her head, touching her mask. ]
I don’t even know why I’m wearing this, or why I haven’t taken it off.
no subject
It isn't until she mentions her mask that he realizes he, too, is wearing one. ]
Ah - I cannot recall either. [ He touches it, fingertips running across the glossy surface. ] For some reason, I feel as though I shouldn't remove it. [ Rather, he doesn't want to. ]
no subject
[ So, naturally, she removes her mask.
Beneath it she’s pale, but otherwise normal. She gives a shaking laugh. ]
What an awful feeling. I want to put it back on, and that just makes me more suspicious.
no subject
He stares down at the mask in his hands. There is a distinct pull in his limbs to replace it on his face, like trying to resist the need to breathe. It is uncomfortable enough that he returns it to its place. Distantly, he notices there are no ties nor straps that would affix it, but it stays in place all the same. Still, it does not seem harmful in the moment.
Humans often say what one sees in a dream has meaning. Perhaps when the Sleepwalker was still about, that was true. Even so... ] I wonder what it might say about us, dreaming of wanting to keep a mask. [ He smiles for the first time, slight, but with no small sense of irony. ]
no subject
If this really were a dream, this wouldn’t feel so…
[ … ]
I don’t like it.
no subject
But what else would it be?
[ He cannot leave his exile.
He has tried. ]
no subject
[ she puts the mask back on.
with a sound of supreme frustration, she takes it off again and flings it away. ]
If this is a dream I want to wake up. Right now.
she's gonna come back in a day and punch him for saying this.
To be here, to see and feel sunlight and trees and grass, to be able to taste fruit — that seemed the opposite of a nightmare. It was a dream come true.
Although... that feeling when he had bitten into the fruit... Perhaps it was the precursor to a nightmare. ]
If it is, then it is only that - a nightmare. It cannot hurt you in truth. [ His words are kind, his expression an echo of the same, but there is no warmth in his voice - although neither is there malice. ]
this is. very funny.
[ she hadn’t meant to admit it. another rankle. another thorn. irritating, all of it. ]
I don’t know if I really believe this is a dream at all.
no subject
Bad? In what way?
no subject
[ hugs herself, taking a few steps away from where her mask fell. ]
no subject
The Forsaken's head tilts. He follows the woman, and extends a hand, slow, to touch beneath her chin and tip it up so he can better see her face. He speaks again low and calm. ]
Your face yet remains whole. What does the feeling tell you? —That you want the mask back where it is, yes, but what else?
no subject
Don’t touch me.
[ … ]
This feeling isn’t… mine. We’re being controlled. There’s no way I’d want to wear that thing otherwise.
[ and, yes, it frightens her terribly. ]
no subject
If we are not dreaming, nor is it a nightmare, then perhaps we are being controlled, and that is a frightening thought. But I am not where I was, and I cannot leave that place.
[ Therefore... ] It stands more to reason to me that we are sharing a dream - or a nightmare, if you prefer. [ But in case she is convinced they are both somewhere they were not before they went to sleep, he asks instead: ] Tell me, are you in pain?
no subject
[ this strange man, with his strange look and mannerisms. the only reason he’s not more unusual to her is because she comes from a world where spirits are real—and can take human form that isn’t dissimilar to how he looks.
but there’s something unnerving about his quietude that she can’t quite put a finger on. who is this guy, anyway? ]
no subject
Then, you can endure it, can't you? You have not lost your faculties yet. Unpleasant as it feels, resist, if that be your desire.
no subject
[ sigh ]
I’d really just like to go home, or wake up. Whichever it is.
no subject
no subject
pinches herself, and gives him a rather sardonic look when nothing happens ]
no subject
He spreads his hands in front of him, not quite an apology, but a silent peace offering nonetheless. ]
Then, we are here for the time being. Shall we walk? I would hear of home for you, if you have no objection. [ Unless she wants to try another fruit, there appears little else to do in the immediate vicinity. They hadn't much luck with the first one, so he doubts that suggestion would be preferable to her. (As delicious as it was, he doesn't want to risk surfacing anymore emotions he does not want to feel, much less in front of another person.) ]
no subject
Oh, alright. [ she tucks her hair behind her ear, examining him once over again. ]
… hm. And here I don’t even know your name.
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