TDM 001 ● JUNE 2025

[uruz]

TDM: ONE

Watch on YouTube

ᛗ

PRELUDE

(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.

“You don’t have to fall with it.
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.

ᛗ

YOU 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:

“Thread the needle, My Vessel.
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.

Watch on YouTube

ᛗ

THE 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.

Watch on YouTube

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.

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:


“What have you done?”

The world begins to scream. You begin to fall.

The dream is over.

ᛗ

NOTES

➤ 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!

network ᛗ logs ᛗ ooc ᛗ memes ᛗ navigation

code

Comments

[sadpoem]

[Ah. Right. The camera...

[It's...just a camera. Prints in a snap. He finally takes it in his hands, lifting it out of the mud.

[He opens the back, and there is, indeed, a cartridge of film inside. Supposing there's no better way to answer than a demonstration, he merely lifts the camera up, and snaps it in Noah's direction. There's a bright flash, and then, a photo. Sunny takes it in his hand, holding it up against his chest to shield it from the light. They'll have to wait a few seconds...]

[offseers]

[ noah blinks at the flash, but he doesn't flinch and he waits. ]

What's meant to happen now?

[sadpoem]

[Sunny holds up one finger. Patience. Give it ten seconds, fifteen...

[He hands the photo to Noah, fully developed (but a bit bleached out...).]

[offseers]

[ oh.

he'd seen some of these. in the city. but he'd never seen . . . a likeness of himself like this. his heart stutters for a moment, staring back at the picture. this little thing . . . it'll outlast his lifespan. it'll outlast everyone he ever knew. and yet, it brings no heartbreak.

noah smiles warmly, finger pressed against the photo. ]

That's amazing. Thank you.

[sadpoem]

[Unseen beneath his mask, Sunny's face heats up red. He bows his head a little, a silent "thank you" merely at being thanked. Really, he didn't do much at all.

[He comes to stand at Noah's side, holding up the camera to demonstrate how it works. He shows the film compartment, demonstrates how to hold the eyepiece up to one's eye, and then points out the button one presses to take a photo, miming the action. After that, he hands the camera to Noah- But! Quickly steps out of frame! No...photos of him, please...]

[offseers]

[ hm. an odd request but one noah can accommodate. that being said, he does look a bit clueless as to what to photograph. making lasting . . . well, making things last. that doesn't come easily to him. to any of them.

he would have liked . . . a picture of mio. eunie. lanz. taion. sena. the others. but that time is over. so noah turns to take a picture of the tree. one quick snap, though the flash nearly makes him drop the camera. ]

How's that?

[sadpoem]

[With the camera held in someone else's hands, the flash makes Sunny jump too. There's a reason he'd looked upon it with trepidation, and he looks upon it that way now too, even if only for a second. With a glance at Noah's face, he remembers where they are, who they are. He offers the unfamiliar man a thumbs up, shaky as it is. Good job. Granted, they haven't actually looked at the photo yet...]

[offseers]

[ noah chuckles, handing it back. ]

You know, it's funny. I never thought about these things before. These mementos. But they really are special.

A moment in time, preserved forever.

[sadpoem]

[Noah's sentiment is pleasant, but Sunny shrinks away from it.

[He doesn't mean to. He isn't sure why he does. He doesn't understand the all-consuming fear that crawls up his spine when he thinks about those (those) photos. It makes his throat dry, his fingers restless, picking each other raw.

[He...manages a weak nod. Not much else...

[There is, perhaps, through the murmur, some small betrayal of that dark, twisting dread.]

[offseers]

[ noah's perceptive enough to catch on to that expression, brow furrowed. ]

Does that worry you?

[sadpoem]

[A flinch. He shakes his head too quickly, unsure of what he's even disagreeing to. No, it doesn't worry him that moments in time can be preserved, but yes, the camera does worry him. He ends up nodding as well. He realizes it's confusing... Sometimes talking to Sunny is like playing twenty questions. He realizes that too...]

[offseers]

[ something else then. the least he can do is set it aside. ]

Let's do something else then. Do you think you could help me?

I'm looking for a flute.

[sadpoem]

[Sunny is grateful, Noah's kindness clear. He nods his head, taking a moment to look around the strange, ruinous landscape. Hm... If he were a flute, where would he whistle? He begins to wander, search...]

[offseers]

[ noah doesn't expect to find his flute. or even her flute. they must be lost. lost to the castle by now. washed away as debris. but a flute, any flute, might be grounding. give him purpose outside of this —

noah ambles closely alongside sunny, though never so close to be pervasive. ]

d8 on the perception check :pensive:

[sadpoem]

[Why Noah might be looking for a flute isn't Sunny's concern - that is to say, he doesn't really think much about it at all. What matters is that Noah has sent him on a quest - and, judging by the way he follows Sunny around, he's also joined his party.

[Together, they search for the flute. Sunny thinks he spots something sticking out of the grass and points, rushes over - but, it's...just the thick half of a broken branch. Aw, man...]

[offseers]

Hmm. No luck.

[ maybe that's for the best. maybe he shouldn't . . . get to hold a flute again. not after. not after what happened.

but his knuckles ache and being an offseer is the closest thing to purpose right now. ]

This may be harder than it looks.

d14 this time :3b

[sadpoem]

[As if to affirm, Sunny looks around the landscape surrounding them again. Random items litter every square foot of space, reminding Sunny of an Eye Spy book. It almost seems like it should be easy to find a simple flute, but...maybe this guy is right.

[Sunny gives the area one more good scan - spots something! He speed walks a few yards away, then reaches over to scoop something out of the sand. Not quite a flute, but...

[He returns to Noah. Will a recorder work?]

[offseers]

[ noah plucks the recorder from sunny's hands curiously. his fingers find the groves and he plays a few notes of this. but no. it sounds off. like see-mee-mee's playing. it won't do.

still, it's something. ]

Thank you.

[sadpoem]

[Sunny raises his hands, ready to clap- ...but Noah only plays a few notes. That won't be solving any puzzles. With a timid hand, Sunny tries to make what he hopes is an encouraging hand gesture. Try again!]

[offseers]

You sure?

It won't sound very good. I can tell you that now.

[sadpoem]

[Oh! It's working. He carries on the gesture. Go on! Go on!]

[offseers]

[ noah glances at the recorder dubiously. the positioning is different and his fingers slip off the grooves but years of practice helps him along. he keeps an eye out. for any motes that may appear but. he knows they won't. his heart isn't in the melody. and there's no accompanying tune after so long.

mio. the heart breaks a little more. but his fingers, though they may tremble, play on. ]

[sadpoem]

[It's true that no music notes appear, but Sunny bounces along to the melody on his heels, fingertips pressed together. Only one eye peeks out from under his blindfold, but both brows are raised high. When Noah finished, he gives a polite little round of applause (very quiet).]

[offseers]

[ it's the sound of applause that throws him off. he's never heard anyone applaud before. certainly not for an offseer tune. noah nearly drops the recorder. ]

Oh. Thank you?

[ he looks perplexed as if he misheard. ]

[sadpoem]

[Uh oh. Sunny stops clapping, suddenly conscious of the fact that he might have made a faux pas. He becomes awkward, unsure of how to save face. For a few seconds, he just looks at Noah, helpless. Eventually, he merely shrugs. He liked it...]