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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
None of that matters. His own hurricane of thoughts isn't something that he needs to burden others with, least of all someone like Powder. ]
You have every reason not to trust me. [ There's a soft sigh that carries through, a feeling more than the sound. ] For fear of something worse catching you by surprise while your attention is on me, please believe that I'm just as confused as you are.
no subject
[let's say she does trust him, for now. if viktor is unaware of their whereabouts and that... voice who called to them, then they're in worse trouble than she originally thought.]
Crap.
no subject
Flattering as that is, I've never been all-knowing. [ Had he been burdened with a glorious purpose, one that he believed would help all of humanity? Yes. Was he forced to recognize the errors in that line of thinking, sending him into a spiral of self-doubt? Also yes. ]
Crap indeed. [ There's a pensive beat of silence followed by an inquisitive tone. ] Have you run into anyone else from Runeterra?
no subject
[the sarcasm is waterfalling all over her words. although maybe her being stranded with the "great" Herald is a blessing in disguise. a very fucked-up disguise, but she would rather have to deal with him alone than with ekko, vi, sevika, and the rest. she wants them to find peace and happiness, and if it means for her to wind up in a world with the most dangerous person alive alone, then... she'll make that sacrifice.]
no subject
I've seen Jayce here.
no subject
Oooooh, that's great!! — And who says Janna isn't real, huh?
Answering my dying prayers to have me stuck here with a metal machine fortune cookie and a fancy-schmancy piltie who's probably twitching because he hasn't had his morning coffee and no top-of-the-line rolling carpet for him to walk on. Just what I've always wanted.
no subject
no subject
Right, right, of course. Please illuminate me on what your boy toy's really like, and I'll pretend to give a rat's ass for one second. — The timer starts now....aaaaannnd time's up!!!
[unfortuntely, the sarcasm isn't going to stop just because the great Herald says so. as far as she's concerned, he failed to save vander and thusly, he is no worshipper to her.]
And why would I think a guy who tried to throw me in the Slammer would be any different than the rest of the Topsider goons? It can't be because he has a "heart of gold" because that's waaaaay off target.
no subject
Because he was doing it to grant Zaun independence. [ Even if she decides not to believe that, it's the truth which is what matters to Viktor. Viktor had been there during the Council meetings, he knew what Jayce's plan had been. Besides, Jinx was dangerous, whether or not she wanted to face the fact of it. ]
no subject
Independence!! [she repeats, the smile on her is audible in that one single word, but there's rage blended with it also.] — You hear that, scallywags? You mean that same independence that should have been given to us a million years ago?
[and jinx doesn't stop there, not when she feels so hot about this particular topic. and in her prospective, she has every right to be.]
See, that's the real truth Piltover doesn't want to face. That if the bigwigs would have just put down their pinkies and quit filling their guts with coins, everything that had happened to us up to this point would have never happened.
But instead of facing the music, they want to point fingers at little old me and say I'm the problem... when it's been them all along.
no subject
[ Even if she's manic about the delivery, and even if the ends don't justify the means, that doesn't take away from the truth of her words. Piltover had clung to the undercity for so long, longer than Viktor could understand—why not cut a sick dog loose, why force it to heel?
Pride. It was the downfall of Piltover and anyone who stayed there long enough to be infected by the insidious belief that they knew better or could do better. ]
Jayce believed it, too. [ He laughs, the sound hollow and devoid of any humor. When he speaks again, his voice is cold, a sharp blade closer to his metallic Herald tone than before. ] I don't need to convince you of anything but this: leave him alone.
no subject
a chamber hidden away from everyone else, where she can hear silco's sweet toxins being whispered in her ear and his nails dig like daggers into her shoulders. 'there's only yourself to count on.', 'everyone betrays us, jinx'. isha might be disappointed if she saw her retreat back to her devious ways, but. what's the point of staying good? what's the point of being a big fat hero? zaun is gone, runeterra is gone. it's just her and them now. so the bluenette snickers, twisted and deranged, and feeling her cheeks aching from smiling too hard.]
Awww, come on, Herald. You don't think I'm going to waste my time with a parasite like him, do you? — I'm disappointed!! You know there's bigger fish in the sea. And you know me, Metals, I'm aaaaallll about going big, a real ka-boom.
no subject
It seems this city has seen plenty of catastrophe already, what's a few more explosions?
no subject
Yeah. [jinx agrees, aloofly, with her tone wavering just a touch.] Why not, huh? ... Not like I have anything or anyone left. Nothing fucking matters.
no subject
[ Then there's a longer pause, one that feels like chewing on the bottom lip, the dig of a thorn in a side, a hot flash of guilt. Just because he would be more grateful for Jayce to have stayed in Piltover than to be dragged here with Viktor doesn't mean that a young girl shouldn't miss her family. ]
You're not alone here, though. [ She's more likely to bite off the hand that offers alliance if he says it more plainly, and he knows that Jinx is more than capable of handling herself, but still... the sentiment is there. ]
no subject
the nerve of him, the nerve of him to say she isn't alone after she had heard the news of him going haywire. like they're the same, like they're one. jinx is still clueless about what really happened at his commune, but she can't help but believe that the reason vander died and that isha died... was because of him somehow. viktor must have had something to do with it, and for him to be so disgusting enough to offer partnership like this...—
— the tears doesn't well up in her eyes, but the sobs are lodge in her throat, making her voice sound grim, thick, and low as she spits out two words, and two words only.]
Bite me.