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

[snaggletooth]

[ The threat causes his presence to prickle. That... caught him off guard. It's like she knows. If he "tried something funny," then that would make the fourth bullet. He's not sure how many they used. ]

I don't want anything like that from you.

[ Like this, his answers are more candid than he would otherwise craft them to be. They come instantly, come raw, no placations or softening words of pleasantry. Instead, the only thing to assure her that he's telling the truth are the emotions that come attached to his untamed thoughts. The color they turn when she provokes him to think about what he does want isn't blue, it's the most effervescent electric green. ]

[ No, this will be more like sitting with a friend while they figure out whether they're at peace or not. ]

What do you see where you are?

[opheliac]

[so he's telling the truth, good. she hates liars, and she's not going to show any sympathy to the fresh emotion either. whoever he is, he is no one of importance. just a voice, just a doll person. jinx says nothing at first as she draws her knees close to her chest, the loneliness she once felt slowly diminishing, but not quite.

there are people she wishes were here with her physically. yet as far as she can tell, she is here with no one she knows. and it's a complicated realization for her, because in one way, this was what she wanted. except... it's not, either. she wants her sister, she wants her kid, she wants her dad(s)....

jinx jerks her attention to her surroundings rather than her feelings, her toes curling to clutch onto the grass.]

A garden. Whacko trees... I'm not used to the, uh, open space. I lived underground most of my life. The sun kinda hurts.

[snaggletooth]

[ It's hot. But stage lights get hot, too, so Ivan has a level of tolerance for the brilliant wash of yellow-white warming up his face, even though his habitat between performances was kept at a much more ideal temperature. ]

I've heard that sunlight damages skin, so that's why they prefer to keep us in artificial light.

[ That it's there to bother her means they're both seeing the same landscape. It doesn't sound like she regards it with same significance that he does, though, or like she's having any kind of revelation.

This could be Anakt Garden without the hard dome overhead, as if all along it truly was modeled after a greater, ethereal place. ]

You shouldn't look directly at it for too long, either.

[opheliac]

[the caution makes her giggle, and she reaches over to pluck a strand of grass or two off the soil. there's a slight sense of peace he will feel radiant from her, but it's miniature. sorrow is attached to it, and it's difficult to ignore or shake off no matter how much one wants to try to.]

Been there, done that. When my sis and I sneaked Topside for the very first time, the first thing I did was stare at the sun. That and breathed in the fresh air. I've been in the sun a lot more since then, but... not for this long.

[she pauses, turning her towards his....well, aura, even when he isn't physically with her.]

Are you from Zaun too? Or... somewhere like it? Deep underground stuff.

cw: aliens in his setting treat humans like poodles, not people

[snaggletooth]

[ She's sad down deep—so much that it seeps into his own well. He'll swallow it and say nothing of it, if that's how he can be useful to her, because he can do so easily. Ivan can even feel himself liking her a little more for still feeling this way, in this perfect place that was perhaps even designed to uplift the soul. They're equals, two unhealed wounds touching. ]

From...? [ His formlessness still manages to exhibit confusion by swirling. With no singular answer, that wasn't a question that was asked to human pets. There's what breeder he's from, and there's what marketplace he was auctioned at... where in the star system his owner stations their ship? Ivan leaves her hanging for a moment while he looks back on their limited exchange. What she really wants to know is where it is he's most used to, no? ]

I spent most of my time at Anakt Garden, I suppose. There, they could make the ceiling almost this bright, but we were really indoors so we didn't worry about any of that stuff I said... usually. I did know an idiot who still managed to blind himself sometimes.

[ In a blink, electric green beats where his heart is, then it's gone. ]

What do you do at Zaun?

o-oh...that first little bit of your tag 😳

[opheliac]

[she tries to imagine this said garden, but indoors. jinx pictures the people in various sizes bouncing, dancing around, and wearing smiles without having any care about what lies beneath the stone walls. it's a life she wouldn't be able to take; just being in her region at home alone was enough to ruffle her feathers.

the girl always hoped to one day leave zaun and piltover behind, and see what else runeterra had to offer. her late father did advise her to "find the strength to walk away", and well... she supposes saying "yes" to whoever called out to her counted.

at the question, her attitude alters again. this time, it's on the brighter side with a hint of impish intent. it's to show that, maybe, miss jinx here isn't exactly a nice goody-good girl after all. there's a wild and chaotic fire brewing in her soul; it just needed some timber and friction to get it started.]

Whatever I want, whenever I want, with whoever I want.

[that's pretty broad, she knows, so she elaborates while lifting a hand to form it in a shape of a gun — aiming at the wilderness. ]

If I want to steal, I'll steal. If I want to crash a party, I'll crash it. If I wanna blow something up, it'll go sky high. If I want to save a few saps from ultimate doom, I'll lend them my heroic hand. ... Or I want to be somebody's worst nightmare and have them beg at my feet to kill them; I'll make them suffer instead.

[a beat.]

Jinx does whatever she feels like. Nobody can stop her, and no one can catch her. That's me, Buddy!

sad, wet slum children 🤝

[snaggletooth]

[ He doesn't think he's ever heard a human say the word "kill" like they meant it.

Ivan offers the kind of laugh that starts at the bottom of the throat and doesn't leave the lips. He has a rare ability among humans to understand all of what she describes. He was born without a pedigree, illegitimately, to stray humans nesting in a slum. He learned things there that the curriculums at the Garden don't teach. Guns are weapons that cause harm from a distance, and bombs are more powerful—so much more that even non-living things can crumble.

And when humans get their hands on these tools, some segyein get scared. They send transmissions all across the stars so they can be caught quickly. ]

You sound like you were with the rebellion.

[ Ivan can't imagine theirs being the work of a quiet, or any less dynamic of a person, even if Jinx hadn't just outright confessed to causing chaos. ]

One of them made me an offer, once. I probably don't strike you as someone who could do any of what you do, but... I wonder.

[ Hesitating on that offer could be what caused the chain of events that swept him to Till's feet. Till, who it hurt to be near. Till, who it hurts to be parted from. It even hurts to think of a timeline where they never met at all, but if he had gone down a road that didn't lead to Anakt—was there any chance he could've been happy? ]

Maybe I could've learned?

dont make me love them, it will just end terribly!!!!

[opheliac]

[she mimics shooting her imaginary victims as he speaks, probably looking like some lunatic to bystanders. not that jinx would care if they do; she's been called "sick", "a psycho", and "crazy" for years now, and it doesn't seem like that will come to an end anytime soon.]

It's never too late for a pathetic sucker to learn new tricks.

[jinx isn't necessarily call him a sucker, but it's more in a general sense. a universal everyone or anybody.]

Is that what you want from me, Spooky? To teach you how to be a bad boy, and break aaaalll the rules?

too bad, i am coming to collect all the un(?)healthy bonds in the horror game

[snaggletooth]

[ Here he was reflecting on what would have changed had he taken one opportunity once upon a time, and now he's graciously being given another one, by a none other than a miraculous voice in his head.

What can he say, other than— ]

What rules are there to break in paradise?

[ Words that are betrayed by the curiosity burgeoning behind them. ]

aaaaaa!!!

[opheliac]

Whatever rule that goes against what you want. That's keeping you from getting whatever you want.

[she makes it sound so simple and so easy, but that's because to her, it is. especially when she has lost everything that was once dear to her. when you have nothing left to lose, holding back is such a minuscule thing.]

Even if it means getting your hands a little dirty.

[snaggletooth]

[ The only thing I want isn't here.

But, saying that would simply feel too much like blaming Till; it isn't Till's fault.

Ivan tries to think of something else—some alternative, anything, however small, in order to keep playing along with the sad stranger. Of course, he's had far from a normal upbringing, so the type of want he comes up with on impulse, in such short notice— ]

I want to pelt something with all of this fruit.

[ —might seem childish. ]

[opheliac]

[at first, she finds that want a little weird. but when she thinks more on it, and takes a second look around, jinx understands the craving. with an exaggerating sigh, she says:]

Whelp! — Looks like we're hunting. I can carve a shiv out of that tree over there. I juuuuuust need something to sharpen the stick.

[the teenager clicks her tongue as she contemplates more, eyeing the strangers who seem to be conversing among themselves.]

Pickpocketing is a choice. It was on Jinx's to-do list anyway!

[snaggletooth]

[ Wow, violence does come very naturally to her! ]

[ Though, he's unsure how it relates. ]

Ah, a shiv! . . . What for? Did I say something odd? [ Until he's sure it's smart to do so, Ivan will hold off on mentioning that he could, in fact, help. He has been filling the pockets of his frilly stage outfit with stones for striking tinder, which would also work as whetstones in a pinch.

No big deal; just his old, basic survival knowledge kicking back in. ]

You really are full of surprises— ♪

[opheliac]

Uh, for skinning? — Isn't that what we're doing?

[because that's where her mind immediately dived to when he confessed what he wanted to do. but even if that wasn't the idea he was going for, she is still going to run with it.]

Fruit is great, but we're bound to meet up with some meat. [a beat.] Ha, get it? Meet. Meat. Same word, different meaning.

[if he doesn't appreciate the joke, she will!]

And if you think that's great, you haven't seen anything yet, kid.

[snaggletooth]

No, not quite what I had in mind, but... [ Ivan maintains a passive smile. He's used to following the lead of someone whose behavior and thoughts and whims jumped around randomly. It doesn't really matter to him what they do. ] We might meet meat; it's true. We don't know what else lives here.

[ There were other small creatures in the slum that the seigyein classed as vermin, some with stings that were dangerous to humans. Spearing them with something was always safer than using your hands. ]

What's the first step of shiv-making, teacher?

[opheliac]

[teacher, she kind of likes the sound of that. and while he isn't able to see her, he can definitely feel her ego bulging like a balloon as she leaps to her feet—confident.]

First, we attack the tree. Rip and tear apart the branches and sharpen the edges. Using our teeth could work.

[barbaric, sure. but unfortunately, she came to this world with nothing but the clothes on her back. which is strange to say the least. jinx could have sworn she had a monkey bomb clutched tightly in her hands. but maybe when she fell into the abyss, she let go of it instinctively. it wouldn't be a big deal if it was an ordinary explosive, but the gemstone was glued in it. so if the bomb is lost, so is the crystal.]

You got sharp chompers, Spooky?

[snaggletooth]

[ Ivan imagines Jinx acting out her own instructions vigorously and viciously, with that bursting energy behind her words. Not one to fall behind on a challenge, he climbs to his feet, turning his big, soulful eyeballs to the fruit-filled foliage above him. For someone of his height, a small hop is all it takes to snag a branch he suspects will be sturdy enough to withstand a sharpening. Standing there, he simply plucks the leafy bits off in spite of every strange thing that's happened, in a strange place with a strange voice in his head.

There's so much else he could be pondering— life, death, eternity —instead, he's unusually focused on this miniscule task. ]

Funny you should ask! It almost feels like you've already picked my face out of the crowd. [ It's as unserious as an accusation can be, given she'd have to be mere feet from him to see his mouth. Ivan lightly presses the tip of an index finger into the snaggletooth sticking out of it. ] I have this one, unusual one that's annoyingly pointy. It could stab something or someone all by itself.

[ Hm, he doesn't think he'll really have to resort to chewing on anything, though. ]

[ He'll see how far the stones get him first. ]

[opheliac]

Really.

[she says, almost sounding as if she doesn't believe him fully, yet maybe she should give him the benefit of the doubt. this stranger hadn't done anything worthy for her to have suspicions, but the words of her late father linger in her mind suddenly. "never fully trust anyone", "they will always betray us".]

All right, Stud. Spooky or Sharptooth? I'm giving you the honors of your new name. I'm feeling generous.

[snaggletooth]

[ Oh, no, not his insecurities! ]

Well, sharptooth is more accurate, I suppose.

[ Both are accurate, Ivan...

He considers for a moment whether he should introduce himself for real. Normally, it would be hurtful to his image to forget to do so, but he doesn't have to be so polite here. This isn't an interview. No, no. In fact, getting to choose what he's called is something new, even if the choices aren't very good! ]

Jinx, did you pick your name, too?

[opheliac]

Maybe.

[she intentionally doesn't let her response sway in either direction, leaving it hanging in midair. it's not due to timidity, but to give out too much of herself in one sitting can be extremely dangerous. and jinx is still conflicted with herself over whether ivan is even a real person. but with her closing in on this area with the tree, only time will tell if whoever she's been speaking to is just some fabricated illusion.]

Hey, you're somewhere around this joint, right? You know, the tree.

[snaggletooth]

Does it look like it's growing pearls?

[ White things shimmering with a slight dampness, like perfectly round berries. That's what's in the branches of the tree he now has his back against. The imperfections in the bark lightly poke him through the layers of his coat, letting him know that it's a real tree -- not metal, plastic, and paper in a tree's shape. He's started working on his "shiv" already, the small stone he's running over the end of the stick grinding it to powder ever so slowly.

Maybe the trunk of the tree obscures him from her, or maybe she's next to a tree on the other side of this world; who's to say how far the green and the grass extends? Ivan does want to meet her, however. A face is easier to examine than just a voice. He exhales, and then a verse from his very first lessons comes from his chest. Chanting it out across the field doesn't make him feel a thing, but it has a sweet sound and simple words that could be sung in a circle forever.

It should make him easier to find. ]

Birds, birds, blue birds,
Do not disturb the green bean fields — ♪
When the flowers are dropped and lost
The farmers will cry — ♪

[opheliac]

[as a matter of fact, the tree does look like it's growing pearls the closer she approaches. but it's the singing that slaps her attention more, and given the voice matches who she's been speaking with—no doubt it's the stranger.

it's a shame she won't be able to see him without the mask, but if he is feeling anything like she's feeling, shedding it off seems... like a repulsive idea. however, the bluenette spots him in one time, and she casually leans her shoulder against the bark, arms folded over her chest.]

Nice pipes.

[snaggletooth]

[ A strange choice of words, but they seem to be complimenting him.

Accordingly, he smiles at her through the slight translucence of his veil. Then his eyes flick down her arm, attention drawn by the colored markings there. They remind him of the way Till drew clouds before he got good enough at them that his drawings even put the the Garden's holograms shame.

It's interesting; didn't she say she lived underground? ]

Thank you.

[ Hmmmm. He was right, he thinks. ]

You do look like the humans I've seen on wanted posters.

[opheliac]

That's because I am wanted.

[she clarifies, pushing herself off the tree bark now with her hands intertwined together behind her head. by the way she is holding herself collectively, jinx seems more proud of it than disappointed or fearful. maybe it's because she put two and two together that wherever they are, this is not runeterra.]

Enforcers and Northside's been trying to put me behind bars for as long as I can remember. And they were SO clumsy that I had to turn myself in for them. — What a bunch of pathetic losers.

[snaggletooth]

[ A rebel human in the flesh! ]

[ On open palms, Ivan presents his partially shaved down stick, patiently awaiting Jinx's inspection of his technique. Despite it being the work of someone who's been living in a sterile indoor environment, it's not the shittiest sharpening job ever.

It's approaching competent, even. ]

Now, why would you do that? Pathetic losers don't deserve that much pity, do they?

[ Hypocritical of him to act like he doesn't know that there are reasons a human would stop running, would turn around and return to their cage. ]