TDM 001 ● JUNE 2025

[uruz]

TDM: ONE

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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!

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Comments

[eepyrean]

[For a moment, Trina continues to walk backward. One step after the other, her bare feet simply moving just fast enough to not get caught by the creatures. She can't look at the moon - it makes her brain itch - but she's more confused as to what she's going to do with the whole situation. Dying in dreams doesn't really translate to dying in the waking world, so that part isn't worrying her as much, it's just-

A hand, reaching for her face. A crash of light that makes her heart skip a beat.

That looked like-

She whirls toward the source, breathless, for a moment thinking she is going to see her other half, but what she sees instead is... not him. There is someone else, though, and the afflicted creatures stutter in confusion as a new target joins the fray with an obvious threat. At least, the ones that aren't on the ground from the attack.

She frowns, just subtly, but has to backstep away from another snatching hand at her long hair. Okay, the creatures are not playing around. Maybe she should do something about them before she tries to, say, bring down the Thing in the moon.] I'm sorry. You don't need to risk yourself on my behalf. [She sounds way too calm for someone one grab attack away from losing herself to the lunacy of the moon.

Still, the taunt works, and though there are only a few monsters, about half of them break off toward the newcomer, while the one closest to Trina, bleeding(?) from where the light grazed it, continues to amble toward her.

It stops as its feet get caught up in a bramble of thick roots and plants that seemingly have sprouted from nowhere. In fact, most of the group seems to suddenly stop or trip over the earth from where there's a mess of plant life, even in this barren land.

Then, a massive, spectral bear crashes through the group like a bowling ball, leaving them scattered and vulnerable on the ground.]

[devilmind]

[ The girl's equanimity may be odd given the circumstances, but it's certainly not unwelcome. If anything, it reminds the Operator of their brethren, the other Tenno, just as child-like in shape if not at all in power.

For now, though, their attention snaps back toward the advancing Infested creatures. Even in their current shape, the Operator feels no fear. They've purged entire ships of the Infestation before, and even if their form is different now, those instincts are still there. As the creatures come closer, the Operator adopts the favored position of one of their Warframes—poised delicately on one leg, one sole resting against the other knee, one hand a blade at their heart and the other a blade toward the sky. Perhaps it's unnecessary, but it feels like a safeguard, tethering these new powers to motions they already know. The Operator takes a deep breath, waiting until the monsters are almost upon them—

And then, with a sharp exhale, they leap up, arms reaching for the diseased sky, and spears of light suddenly burst from the ground, skewering the creatures within arm's reach of where the Operator stands.

But something is wrong. The Operator can't hold them like Nezha could, keeping his enemies writhing and impaled at his leisure. Bright spots flash in their vision, pain erupts behind their eyes, and with a cry, the Operator brings their foot down hard on the ground beneath them, sending the luminous spears—and the creatures—crashing back down.

At the same time, an echoing roar rips through the air, and through the dancing lights in their eyes, the Operator can see a huge, spectral something barreling through the monsters—and the girl still standing amidst them.

Pushing through the pain and near-blindness, the Operator focuses on one of the girl's hands, and thinks about what they want. A blaze of light bursts from her palm and solidifies into a concentrated shard. A knife.

The unspoken message is clear: Finish them. ]

[eepyrean]

[It's such an interesting move. Clearly, this person is a warrior, well-versed in the arts of combat, and even some of the performance of it. It reminds Trina a bit of Malenia, the way she would move and prepare before some of her attacks. Telegraphing, sure, but some of those attacks were notoriously difficult for people to do anything about.

The bear is... somewhat under her control, and somewhat running on instinct, so the way it begins to clear out the backend of the small crowd, and work its way forward isn't something Trina would prefer, but she doesn't quite know how to pull the strings to get it to do what she wants.

Instead, she feels something solidify into her hands. A weapon, shining light and gold and - not entirely unlike how a lot in the Lands Between would conjure their weapons, from the Crucible-touched to the Grace-touched. It was all just different shades of gold.

She stares at the blade for just a moment, clearly both surprised at its appearance, and momentarily hesitant to use it, but then her choices are taken from her when another hand snatches at her.

Trina is swift, deadly, and surprisingly precise, if clearly unpracticed with the finer intricacies of a blade, and she drives it messily through the mass of writhing little tentacles, into the face of the afflicted before her. She would prefer not to, but... there they are.

And when it is done, she breathes a sigh, and the bear disappears along with it.]

[devilmind]

[ The Operator, meanwhile, does not manage to see the weapon they created put to use. They stand amidst the dead or wounded bodies of the Infested they'd skewered, blinking rapidly, then scrubbing at their eyes with gloved hands. It doesn't help. Everything is still lost in a blurred, bright haze.

At least there's no longer anyone raving about "her beauty" in the sky above anymore. But is the girl from earlier safe? Has she been contaminated? ]

Hello? [ the Operator calls out, their youthful voice tense with uncertainty. ] Are you still there?

[eepyrean]

[She has to take a moment to breathe in the wake of the attack, to look at the bodies and think about what a waste it would normally be, if they weren't in a nightmare.

Then again, Trina isn't sure they weren't once like her, and the person that is-

Not. Standing near her.

The voice carries to her ears, and she turns suddenly, blinking in surprise. She's exhausted from maintaining the spectral animal, even if they're in a dream, but suddenly, there's someone that needs her help.]

I'm here. [She starts walking toward the voice, toward the one who had helped her out.]

I thank you for your aid - are you alright? [They aren't really moving, so... hm...]

[devilmind]

[ The Operator relaxes a bit when they hear the girl's voice. She's safe—good. ]

They didn't touch me, [ the Operator replies, turning carefully towards the voice; given they assume the creatures were Infested, their main concern is contamination. ] But... [ Their brow furrows over sightless eyes. ] I can't see much of anything now. Everything's a blur.

[ They wave a hand in front of their face. They can see a slight shift in the light when it passes over their eyes, but that's all. ] These powers I have now... I don't think they're meant for this form.

[ For a Warframe, certainly. But not for a being like them. ]