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Entry tags:
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!
dont make me love them, it will just end terribly!!!!
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
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!!!
[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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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!
no subject
[ 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— ♪
no subject
[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.
no subject
[ 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?
no subject
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?
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[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.
no subject
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?
no subject
[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.
no subject
[ 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 — ♪
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
[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.
no subject
[ 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. ]