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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!
no subject
[ what a dreadful handicap in such a place as this. or perhaps a boon… who’s to say, just yet?
dutifully she steps back, out of his indicated radius. ]
I’m clear.
no subject
[Which means just what it sounds like. He's had a hard couple of days.]
Thank you. I'm going to see if I can stop the time around me. Let me know if you notice anything specific.
[Ignis takes a deep breath then and turns his focus inward. It's hard to make himself reach for that slick coolness that he's felt moving around inside of him, but he reminds himself he needs to do this. It's the only way.
There are no words this time to signal something is happening. At least, no words from Ignis. What does fill the air is something that can only be described as whispers. Whispers played in reverse.
Time doesn't stop, but Ignis' figure flickers rapidly for a moment before settling down again. The new figure that sits before her is not that of the twenty-two year old that was there previously, but of a teen perhaps around 16 or 17 years old.
She will only have a moment to take the change in and then Ignis jerks and a snap fills the air. His figure flickers wildly again before returning to normal. The next sound to fill the air is a gasp and the sound of Ignis catching himself before he tumbles off the rock he'd been sitting on.]
I...don't think that was it...
no subject
You … changed. For just a moment you looked like you were my age. What uncanny magic.
no subject
From the sound of your voice, I'd guess your around 16 to 18? Goodness, could it have picked a better time? I was rather a mousey one back then.
[It's a joke, because honestly? Ignis has no idea how to process what he's just done, and she has no reason to lie about what she just saw. A small part of his mind wonders if he could age himself forward in a similar manner, but the rest of him shuts that idea down immediately.]
no subject
Hm. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You were rather cute.
[ … ]
Will you need help, getting around?
no subject
You are too kind, but thank you nonetheless.
[As much as he hates the idea of being a burden to someone he's just met, especially someone so young who would likely have a much easier time of things on her own, Ignis finds himself torn. He has no wish to end up dead before he gets out of here, and this little experiment has very clearly shown he's really in no condition to be on his own. What if a random glitch leaves him even younger and for a longer period of time?]
Do you mind terribly? I may be fine on my own once this new magic settles down, but until then I'd be foolish to try.
no subject
[ one for which she will, of course, expect repayment in kind.
she approaches closely, but does not touch him. instead, she holds out her hands. ]
Reach out and I’ll take your hands.
no subject
[Is it dangerous to make a deal with someone he hardly knows in a place he can't describe? Of course it is, but this means a lot to him, so he is willing to take the risk.
He reaches out as she asks, and should she take them as she said she would, she will feel more than see the scars that pattern his left hand. They are thin, little wisp-like threads that travel across his palm and down toward his wrist. Do they have something to do with his eyes? They most certainly do.]
Do you have an idea which way you wish to go?
no subject
Ah… those scars. She does not react to noticing them, merely curling her hands around his and helping him to his feet.
There’s a strange dissonance in her heart. This man is blood in the water, and she a shark; but for all that, she finds she doesn’t want to be unkind to him. It is only because he is blind that she lets her features relax into an easier, more normal smile. She doesn’t have to perform ruthlessness if he can’t see it, after all. ]
None whatsoever. I’m not even sure where there is to go in this strange place. Still, we can walk together. I’ll describe what I see.
… though, a true gentleman would take my arm.
no subject
[As Ignis slips off the rock he chuckles softly. "Stood up" as she's helping him stand up. Yes, it's bad. It's why he said it.]
Far be it for me not to be a gentleman when there is such a lovely lady present.
[Once steady on his feet, he slips his hands free of hers and then offers her his arm, positioned the best he can from what he knows about where she's standing now.]
What is the first nightmarish marvel you will describe to me?
no subject
The moon. The moon is bleeding.
[ her voice is light, casual, as if that’s not a horrifying thing to say. ]
It’s deep red, and dripping into the sky. I don’t know how else to describe it.
[ she looks at it now, her eyes scouring the sky for some kind of answer that makes any sense. ]
… it feels … no, I must be imagining things.
no subject
His lips pull into a concerned frown when she suddenly trails of. It doesn't fit the part of her personality he's come to know so far. Gently, he rests his free hand on the one of hers that is linked with his arm.]
Considering our surroundings, I don't think any feeling will be too far out there, dear lady. So please, say what is on your mind.
[Since he doesn't know her name, he will stick with "lady" until he has something else to call her.]
no subject
Her grip on his arm shifts slightly, very slightly; she leans oh so slightly closer to him. Her only admissions to her uneasiness. ]
It feels like it’s watching us. I’m aware of how that must sound, but…
no subject
Lortel.
[It's nice having a name now.]
Tell me if what you're saying makes more sense when looked at from this angle. At the beginning, someone was talking to us. Later, someone was leading us. Why, now, would whoever brought us here suddenly stop keeping an eye on us?
[Would he ever guess a bleeding moon would be someone's chosen tool to watch their "guests?" No, but with how insane the rest of this experience has been, why not?]
no subject
May I have a name for my logical companion?
no subject
[Ignis chuckles softly before answering her question.]
My name is Ignis Scientia. It's a pleasure, Lortel. I feel I was quite lucky that it was you who stumbled across me.
[As he finishes speaking, Ignis tilts his head back. It's not like he will see anything, but he does feel a small urge tickling in the back of his mind to see this terrible moon she's described.
Unexpectedly, an image bleeds across the blackness that is usually his world. It's the moon. The moon bleeding. Despite it being there and gone again in just an instant, Ignis' nearly stumbles, his free hand coming up to press against his temple.]
Bloody hell! I'm not doing that again!
no subject
[ blind, sure, but skilled. conscientious. One could find uses for a man like this.
Then he startles her—but despite his outcry she’s steady by his side, holding carefully onto his arm to help steady him after his stumble, though her heart rate has kicked up. ]
Doing what?! What happened?
no subject
After a moment, he takes a deep breath and settles himself, straightening as he does.]
My apologies. As you were talking about the moon, I started feeling the strangest urge to look up despite knowing I wouldn't see anything. I thought there would be no harm in doing it, so I did.
[He shakes his head before continuing almost as if he is trying to shake the vision of what he saw out of his mind.]
I don't know how, but I saw it. I saw the moon you described. It was horrible!
no subject
… how eerie.
[ briefly she lapses into silence, lost in thought ]
Ignis, what do you think is happening here? If you had to take a guess.
no subject
[Ignis pauses then, pushing back the urge to just answer "I don't know" as he did before when she asked a similar question. Admitting he doesn't know something is not like him, and he really needs to get his mind completely back in order. Without his vision, his mind is the only path to clarity he has.]
Change. Change is what is going on. In the environment; in us. Change can be used as a tool to control because it keeps people off balance and looking desperately for some sense of a foundation or someone to take control and tell them what is suppose to be constant.
[He looks straight at her then. If he could see, he would be looking her in the eye to add extra emphasis to his point.]
Whatever being brought us here? I suspect they want us to look to them as a leader. Perhaps, even a savior. All of this primes us to do just that.