#house of entities

[house-of-entities]

The W in WcWondals™ stand for WE ARE BACK!

2025 is the year of the WcCoupon. Pick a coupon meal of your choice and pay for two! What a deal!

Our meals at WcWondals™ are all fresh out of the fridge and prepared with lots of love that's financially adds a fee to your meal! ♥️

Visit your nearest WcWondals™ today and get a WcUnhappy Meal from our minimum wage worker Sebastian!

[pretzel-box]

Chapter 2: The W in WcWonalds stands for Winning

Tags: Pure comedy

Words: 2,9k

“Allo, Allo. Allo! Pspspsps, Allo!” Casimir beamed brightly at the other man, holding up a small box labeled Paper Cups as if he’d just discovered the secret to life.

Allo, without lifting his head entirely from the ridiculously long newspaper that stretched halfway down the table, side-eyed Casimir and then glanced at the box. He raised an unimpressed eyebrow and sighed. “If you’re trying to sell me paper cups again, please know that I will dispose of them just like the last 23 you’ve tried to push on me.”

Casimir’s grin didn’t falter for even a second. In fact, it widened. He shook the box a little for emphasis. “Ah, but no, no, my friend. This is no ordinary box of paper cups. This is a box full of—”

“COKE!” Nick's voice suddenly boomed through the air, cutting Casimir off entirely. Nick barreled through a nearby patch of open water, waving frantically. “I WANT TO ORDER A COKE!”

In front of him, Cheshire was swimming as fast as possible, trying to escape whatever chaos Nick was trying to rope them into this time.

Casimir, still holding up the box, blinked and watched the scene unfold. He glanced at Allo, who hadn’t even bothered to look up from his paper.

“...Coke?” Casimir finally muttered, confused, before shaking it off and continuing his pitch. “Anyway, as I was saying, this box is full of—”

“I SAID, COKE!” Nick shouted again, now completely ignoring everyone else as he chased Cheshire around the water, determined to complete his non-existent order.

Casimir sighed dramatically, muttering under his breath. “Forget the paper cups. I should’ve invested in better staff members.”

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Allo raised an eyebrow, still clutching the ridiculously long newspaper but not actually reading it anymore. His tone was more of a dare than a question.

The inquiry alone set off a mischievous glint in Casimir’s eyes. Without hesitation, he shoved Allo off his seat and plopped down himself, ready to deliver a grand tale. “Ah, my friend, let me take you on a journey.”

And with that, a flashback started—whether anyone wanted it or not, everyone around them was suddenly pulled into it.

It was probably a Tuesday afternoon. Inside the community room, Sasha stood in the middle, notebook in hand, while Painter sat idly on top of a catering cart. Painter’s mobile body wasn’t quite ready yet, so Sasha, ever the problem-solver, had resorted to using the catering cart as his temporary mode of transportation.

“So, we should improve our quality of life by adding more human-like stuff,” Sasha declared, placing her notebook down on Painter, who quietly blinked.

Painter, who was basically a high-tech computer with personality, hummed thoughtfully. “The system suggests that a quality improvement for life would involve... good food. Good food is essential for a good atmosphere.”

Casimir’s voice echoed through the flashback, narrating as if this were an epic saga. “Ah, but of course, this suggestion was the catalyst for everything. The search for 'good food' began, and soon, chaos would follow.”

Back in the present, Allo had stopped pretending to care about the newspaper. He stared blankly at Casimir. "This is all about food?"

Casimir nodded solemnly, but before he could continue the saga, another loud “COKE!” came from Nick, still sprinting through the water, causing Cheshire to swim faster to escape.

"Of course, it always starts with food," Casimir said dramatically, pointing at Nick as if this proved his point entirely. "And ends with—"

Before Casimir could finish, Angela stormed into the scene, hands on her hips, glaring at everyone. "WHAT is going on here?! Do you think this is a playground?! Nick! Stop shouting about Coke! Cheshire, stop encouraging him! And you—" She pointed at Casimir, who tried his best to look innocent. "Stop throwing people off chairs and starting flashbacks without warning!"

Casimir blinked, then grinned sheepishly. "Oh... mother mode, activated."

“Ah, Allo, I’m sorry for startling you,” Angela’s tone switched in an instant, going from stern to soft and motherly. Amilia paddled up behind her, making her way onto land before plopping down next to Casimir.

Casimir pouted dramatically, folding his arms. “I wasn’t done—”

But Angela, ever so gently, took over, and like some sort of magical spell, we were all once again pulled into another flashback.

“I know the perfect source for good food,” Cordelia’s voice rang out confidently as she entered, a spotlight somehow illuminating her entrance. She strutted down a random set of stairs, stepping into the room with the energy of a magical girl lead. Without hesitation, she squished herself between Sasha and Painter, striking a pose. “McDonald's!”

“McDonald’s? We can’t do that. It has a copyright,” Painter deadpanned, his digital voice full of skepticism.

“WcWonalds...?” Sasha offered, her voice uncertain but filled with hope. The suggestion hit Cordelia like a revelation, her eyes lighting up in awe.

“WcWonalds!” Cordelia repeated, as if it were the most groundbreaking idea in existence.

Angela of the past, shook her head at the absurdity, watching the scene play out with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. "You all really are impossible." She sighed, but it was the kind of sigh a mother gives after realizing her kids are too far gone in their antics.

The flashback ended, and the moment Angela wanted to continue, another person came crashing into the room.

“Lord Commander, oh mighty WcWonalds leader, Casimir. René started a fire in the kitchen, innocent fries are burning.” Cyrus called out, his neat little WcWonalds uniform was now covered in soot.

Casimir blinked, before sighing. “What about the Walkie Talkie I gave you?”

“It fell victim to the fryer, it is now among the burning pommes.”

Casimir took the paper cup box, opened it and revealed a set of Walkie Talkies, sponsored by Sebastian. He threw a new one to Cyrus, not noticing that Angela snatched one for herself too out of the box.

Amelia wanted to grab one too, trying to fish one out with her mouth but Angela kept her in place, shaking silently her head.

The WcWonalds—formerly an abandoned cafeteria near the community room—had become a gathering spot for anyone seeking mischief or simply trying to avoid responsibilities. Dusty tables were half-cleaned, the counters lined with mismatched kitchen gadgets that looked like they'd been scavenged from a dump. The old sign out front, haphazardly covered with duct tape, now proudly read “WcWonalds,” a creation of Cordelia’s, still beaming over her brilliant copyright dodge.

Inside, chaos reigned as usual. Painter rolled around on his squeaky, upgraded cart, stationed behind the cash register, which refused to stay closed no matter how hard he tried. Cordelia, wearing a lampshade turned into a hat, was overseeing the operation with the air of someone who believed they were running a legitimate establishment. Meanwhile, Cheshire, who escaped Nick, sat at the counter, arms crossed and half-amused as he watched the antics unfold.

The whole group could stay at the restaurant without drying out thanks to the fact that most of the area is damaged, flooded or just naturally having water leaks.

"So, today’s special is...” Painter’s robotic voice paused dramatically as he calculated, “...whatever isn’t expired in the back fridge."

Cheshire leaned back, smirking. “Ah, the usual, then. Can’t wait to see what’s alive back there.”

René, wearing a firefighter’s helmet after their most recent mishap in the kitchen, walked in with a slightly dazed look on their face. They wails, afraid of setting anything else on fire.

Meanwhile Cordelia shouted: “Has anyone seen the toaster oven? I’m pretty sure it disappeared after I used it to heat up some fries.”

Security, leaning against the counter with her tail in a small bucket of water, waved her off. “It’s probably with the deep fryer. I saw it lurking under the sink last time I checked.”

“Right, the deep fryer incident,” Painter muttered, his mechanical voice tinged with guilt. “It... uh... exploded during ‘Experiment 12.’”

Sasha, sitting at a booth with her notebook, raised an eyebrow. “Wait, what was ‘Experiment 12’ again? I don’t have that one listed.”

“Oh, you missed that,” Cheshire replied dryly. “They wanted to see if you could fry fries twice and make them better. Spoiler alert: no.”

As the conversation carried on, René started rummaging through the kitchen, pulling out random items and tossing them aside in search of the toaster. A large jar of pickles rolled across the floor, narrowly missing Security's bucket.

Cordelia, taking her managerial role way too seriously, slapped her hands together. “Alright, people! Time to focus. What’s the WcWonalds slogan again?”

Painter beeped softly before saying, “We can’t get sued if we don’t sell anything.”

Cheshire chuckled. “That’s the spirit.”

A group of new "customers" wandered into WcWonalds, looking both curious and mildly confused. Asterion, with his usual stoic expression, led the way, followed by Tapu, who was already trying to hold back laughter at the sight of the makeshift restaurant. Hanako peered in shyly from the doorway with Yuri, still unsure about the whole situation, and Osiris trailed behind, looking far too regal for the mess she was about to step into.

Cordelia, now fully embracing her self-proclaimed manager status, puffed out her chest and called for order. She turned dramatically toward Security, who was leaning against the wall, half-asleep, with her arms crossed still in the same bucket.

“You! Nr. 7! Bring the customers to a table!” Cordelia ordered, finger pointing like an overly enthusiastic drill sergeant.

Security, who hadn’t moved a muscle in response, slowly raised an eyebrow and shifted her gaze to Cordelia. “Nr. 7? Did you just call me by a number?”

Without missing a beat, Cordelia nodded, clearly proud of herself. “Of course. It’s the official WcWonalds ranking system. You’re number seven.”

Security blinked, her expression unchanging. “And who decided I’m number seven?”

“I did. Obviously,” Cordelia said matter-of-factly. “Now, do your job, or you’ll be demoted to number... uh... 13. Which is bad.”

Security exhaled slowly, clearly unimpressed but too tired to argue. “And why, exactly, is being number 13 bad?”

Cordelia hesitated for a second. “Because... because... that’s the person who has to clean the fridge. And trust me, no one wants that job.”

Painter, from behind the register, beeped in agreement. “The probability of someone finding a sentient yogurt in there is approximately 73%. Proceed with caution.”

Tapu burst out laughing, slapping Asterion on the back. “Did you hear that? Sentient yogurt! I knew this place was special!”

Asterion, as stoic as ever, just grunted and found a seat, looking like a king who had been forced to dine in a peasant’s tavern. Osiris, meanwhile, eyed the tables with disdain before gingerly sitting down, making sure to inspect the chair first as if it might crumble beneath her.

Hanako, still lingering by the door, quietly murmured, “Is it safe in here?” While Yuri tried to spot an open seat that didn't scream danger.

Cheshire, who had been watching the whole interaction from the counter, leaned over and grinned. “Safe? Sure. But I wouldn’t drink anything from the soda machine. Last time we used it, it started spewing foam... and that was three weeks ago.”

Hanako blinked, now even more hesitant to step inside. “I... I’ll just sit by the window,” she mumbled, sliding into a booth far away from the chaos. Yuri followed her with a nod, feeling rather comfortable in the flooded part of the facility.

Cordelia, completely oblivious to the growing unease of her guests, clapped her hands. “Alright, everyone! We’re a well-oiled machine here! Number 7—uh, Security—get them some menus!”

Security just sighed and grabbed a pile of random, crumpled papers from behind the counter, tossing them on the nearest table. “Here. The ‘menu.’ Good luck.”

Tapu unfolded one of the papers and raised an eyebrow. “This is... a takeout flyer from a Chinese place. And it’s from last year.”

Cordelia beamed. “Exactly! Our food transcends time and space. We don't need real menus! Just... feel the vibe of what you want to eat like royalty. Customer is King.”

Painter whirred. “Vibes detected: 99% likelihood of disappointment.”

Osiris, completely unamused, stared down at the so-called "menu" before deadpanning, “I’m royalty. I do not 'feel the vibe' of my food. I expect a menu, and I expect service.”

Cordelia shot her with finger guns. “And that’s exactly what you’re gonna get! Just... not today.”

At that, Tapu couldn’t hold it in anymore. She slapped her hand on the table, cackling. “This is the worst place I’ve ever been, and I love it.”

Asterion leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, his usual grim demeanor cracking slightly. “This is what passes for ‘good food’ around here? No wonder half of them look malnourished.”

Cordelia, not one to be defeated, marched up to Painter. “Alright, get the food ready! What’s the special of the day?”

Painter beeped a few times before announcing, “Special of the day: leftover fries and... one singular chicken nugget.”

Tapu snorted. “One nugget? How generous.”

Cordelia, determined not to lose her managerial swagger, nodded confidently. “It’s a gourmet experience. We serve... minimalist portions.”

Osiris groaned, rubbing her temples. “I demand real food.”

From somewhere in the back, René’s voice wailed which kinda meant, “I FOUND THE TOASTER!”

A loud crash followed, and smoke started wafting out from the kitchen, followed by René stumbling out, their firefighter’s helmet askew. Sasha called out after seeing the smoke. “Uh, minor issue. The toaster may have... uh... caught fire. Again.”

Tapu slapped the table again, this time harder. “Best. Restaurant. Ever.”

Asterion simply sighed as Hanako slid further down into her booth, now reconsidering every decision that had led her to this point.

The whole room felt like it was about to collapse in chaos until, suddenly, Allo ascended from a random hole in the kitchen floor like some culinary deity. He stood there, glowing (probably from the fryer grease) and with an aura of absurd authority.

"Did someone say my name?"

Everyone shook their heads so fast, you’d think they were auditioning for a shampoo commercial. The denials came quickly from all corners.

"Nope."

"Definitely not."

"Not even a whisper."

Allo, completely unbothered, smirked. “Too bad, because now I am here!” His arms shot up dramatically, as if commanding the forces of fast food. “Tag Team, assembly!”

From behind some very suspiciously placed lockers came a loud bang, as they burst open to reveal his “elite squad”:

First up was Nautilea. She marched out, looking sharp in her pressed WcWonalds uniform and glasses. "Looks smart, is smart. Can handle the cash register with her eyes closed and your order with care. But only if you have insurance!"

Yuri raised an eyebrow. "Insurance? For what exactly?"

"Existential dread," Painter beeped quietly from the register.

Next was Roxy, who strutted out balancing six plates in one hand, all perfectly stacked. "Our talented waitress! Can carry your entire order on one arm and balance a stack of pancakes on her head! But," Cordelia added dramatically, "if you complain... she’ll give you extra service by spitting on the food you didn’t order."

Roxy cracked her knuckles, eyeing Osiris. “Try me.”

She immediately looked away.

Finally, Violet stumbled out, looking more confused than anyone else. “Violet, our in-house therapist,” Cordelia introduced, clapping her hands. “She didn’t apply for the job—she got kidnapped! But now, she leads the therapy sessions required after your visit to WcWonalds. Free and anonymous... except for the fact that they’re televised. So, not anonymous anymore!”

Violet waved weakly. “I’m still not sure how I got here... but I’m rolling with it.”

Suddenly, a blaring red light filled the room, accompanied by the wail of a siren. Everyone jumped to attention.

“The WcWonalds emergency alarm!” Allo shouted over the noise. “A starving customer in need!” His voice was dripping with the intensity of a chef who had just been challenged to a cooking duel.

Without missing a beat, Allo swooped over to the one remaining chicken nugget, lying lonely and pathetic on the counter. With the precision of a master, he sliced it into thin strips. Then, with a sprinkle of some mysterious dust (was it seasoning? Magic? No one knew), he popped the strips into the microwave for precisely 10 seconds.

When the microwave dinged, he pulled out the tray, revealing what could only be described as the world’s finest chicken chili wraps. The wrap glistened, like it had been blessed by the gods of fast food themselves.

The crowd erupted into applause. Asterion even managed to clap once, though begrudgingly.

Allo handed the plate to Roxy, who balanced it with ease. “Delivery time!” she called out before kicking it toward Violet.

Violet, with surprising grace, caught the plate mid-air, throwing it again to Nautilea who catched it. “Wrap, incoming!” she yelled, throwing it toward the door just as Sebastian stepped inside.

SMACK.

The wrap hit him square in the face, various ingredients slopping down his clothes in slow motion. He stood frozen in the doorway, staring in bewilderment as shredded lettuce and chili sauce dripped off his nose and splattered on the floor.

The room went silent for a beat.

Sebastian blinked. "What... in the name of Urbanshade...?"

Tapu, unable to hold it in any longer, burst into laughter, slapping the table. "Best... restaurant... EVER!"

Painter's voice chimed in softly from the register, “Current vibe level: chaotic excellence.”

Then Angela came in, carrying Amilia on her arms and giving Sebastian a glance. Amilia sniffed on Sebastian before giving him a soft kick.

“YOU ALL ARE SO GROUNDED.”

WcWonalds got force closed after this day. And this was the end of Allos wonderful job as a chef. Now he was just Allo, the man that never got to fulfill his dreams.

[pompohills]

NEW ANGELA DESIGN

Rendered version here!

Oc content MASTERLIST here!

she still has the same lore, just wanted to change her dna composition because … I wasted my pocket money on marine biology books :D

btw didn’t mention it but the bioluminescent jellyfish dna is replaced by bioluminescent plankton !

[xyurishux]

Lovely Cordelia by @splatting-stampede, I love her so dearly 🩵

She is so cute tho, I’m planning to try and draw every one from House of Entities, big TRY on that one though :p

[hampterfae]

Here is Cheshire or a very rough drawing of them. Later I will probably finish this. For now enjoy sleepy cheshire.

Fun fact: Cheshire has such sensitive skin that She has to constantly keep it damp or moist or their skin will tear much easier!

Cheshire is my OC who is in The House of Entities written by @pretzel-box

You should totally go read it!

[glowingsquiddragon]

Tada!

so after reading the incredible story made by my friend @pretzel-box

and seeing the other characters, I know I struggle with visualizing and others have already expressed wanting to see the characters

so!

Here is Mine!

D-576: “the Doll”

Tapu

I guess im trying to see if others will try this out, of finding the most recent post and rebloging it with their character. I dunno if it’ll work but hey! It could be fun!

[shewhowillrise]

DC x DP

Jason never made it to the Lazarus pit or the league of assassins.

Bruce gave him that excuse for his green eyes and short temper.

Jason knows he didn’t crawl out of his grave with the giant Y that scars his chest.

Jason knows he’s a revenant.

Jason knows he needs to kill to stay sane. To stay whole.

A soul sucker they called him.

Jason agreed not to kill, because he misses his family. No matter how much he starves himself, it’s worth it to get Dick’s hugs, experience Tim’s genius, see Cassandra’s award winning performance, to help Damian experience a childhood.

Jason didn’t realize Bruce doesn’t know what he is. Jason didn’t realize Bruce meant Black Gate when he said he’d take him in the next time he killed. Jason didn’t realize Bruce had no idea about the anti ecto acts.

Jason swore to stay in line, so he’d never end up on that metal table again.

[stars-obsession-pit]

Suddenly half-human

Danny was a full ghost hanging out in a random spot in the Zone when suddenly a rift in space tore open on top of him.

His very essence shifted as strange energies poured into him from a previously-unfathomable direction.

No longer pure ectoplasm. Something new, something living in a deeply foreign way.

A force suddenly pulled him to collide with cold, solid ground.

He felt different.

His whole body felt weighed down as if encased in thick rubber, preventing him from shapeshifting or even just floating up. Something thudded to life inside his chest, pumping a new fluid throughout his insides.

As he continued to lay there in shock, his chest began to burn.

Instincts he didn’t fully understood kicked in and his mouth flung open, gasping for breath. The burning subsided as his chest continued to heave.

What the hell? Since when did he need to breathe?

He heard three young, panicked voices from across the room. He flopped his head in their direction and took in their appearances semi-deliriously, still trying to pull his thoughts back together.

They were humans. Living, breathing humans. A tall redheaded girl, a boy in a beanie and glasses, and a girl in what he believed was referred to as “goth” clothes.

Wait… was he human now?

Awkwardly clambering to his feet, leaning against the wall of the strange tunnel for balance, he tried to give them a grin. It probably came out a bit more unhinged than he intended.

“So, uh, any idea what just happened?”

[house-of-entities]

—ROOMBA CASTING CALL! [PROLOGUE]

“And again!”

The spotlight blared down relentlessly, illuminating the makeshift stage plopped in the middle of the gloomy Hadal Blacksite. The sudden burst of golden light obliterated the oppressive atmosphere, now replaced with the hauntingly repetitive beats of another 80s pop track. Somewhere off-stage, the ancient CD player had given up on life, skipping over the same note like it was the hottest thing since sliced bread. It didn’t bother them one bit.

In front of the stage, perched like a vulture armed with legal jargon, sat Sasha, a cyan-haired genius who had probably racked up at least six lawsuits—though she’d argue seven for the drama. A clipboard balanced effortlessly on her knee, chai latte #3 in hand, she radiated cool indifference. Everything about her screamed “style,” from her crossed legs to the unnecessarily expensive shades perched on her nose. Truthfully, the shades hid the bags under her eyes, but she’d tell you they were for “aesthetic purposes.”

“You look ridiculous,” Sebastian spat, each syllable practically dripping with venom. He was squished into a sad, sun-faded plastic chair, his tail flopping over the side like it had resigned itself to its miserable fate. The chair creaked ominously, and if chairs could sue for abuse, this one would’ve been first in line. The rest of him wasn’t faring much better. His arms were trapped in a straitjacket—his third arm duct-taped to his side like a bad cosplay malfunction. “Why am I even here?” he hissed, glaring daggers at Sasha.

Sasha didn’t flinch. She merely adjusted her shades, probably imagining she looked intimidating but mostly looking like she was shielding herself from his tragic fashion sense. “Not as ridiculous as you, Mister Solace,” she shot back smoothly. “Now stop whining. This is important work.”

Sebastian squirmed, the plastic chair wobbling precariously. His tail smacked the ground in frustration. “Work?! This is torture. Literal, human-rights-violating torture.”

She sipped her chai nonchalantly, the sound of slurping louder than the skipping CD. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Besides, you gave me no choice. You resisted.”

“Resisted what?”

“Being my roommate,” she replied, with the tone of someone explaining why water is wet.

Sebastian blinked, his patience finally snapping. “So you KIDNAP me, strap me into a straitjacket, and subject me to this garbage music?!”

“It’s not garbage. It’s a vibe,” Sasha corrected, flipping a page on her clipboard. “And this isn’t about roommates anymore.”

His eyes narrowed, his tail thumping louder. “Then what is it about?”

With a flick of her pen, she gestured to the banner hanging crookedly above the stage. The original text, “Roommate Casting,” had been crossed out, replaced by an aggressively bright, neon-scrawled correction: “ROOMBA CASTING.”

Sebastian stared, his brain short-circuiting. “You’re... auditioning vacuum cleaners?!”

“Yes,” she said simply, gesturing to a lineup of Roombas waiting backstage. Each one had been modified, some with googly eyes, others with questionable attachments. One of them appeared to have a small cowboy hat.

Sebastian buried his face in his hands—or tried to, given the straitjacket. “I’m in hell,” he muttered.

“Hell is subjective,” Sasha mused, smirking. “Now stop complaining. You’re on the judging panel.”

The CD skipped again.

Sebastian let out a long, drawn-out sigh as Sasha snapped her fingers. From behind a flimsy curtain that looked like it had been stolen from someone’s shower, a line of people shuffled onto the stage.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Sebastian groaned, his tail thumping against the ground with a mix of exhaustion and disbelief.

The rest of the stage was an odd hybrid: half a proper stage, half a giant hole leading straight into the flooded abyss of the facility. Sasha squinted at the water, momentarily distracted by the obvious design flaw. She was halfway to raising her drink and yelling about how open waters and Roombas were a recipe for disaster when one of the robot friends drop down into the void.

“Uh, is this the bus stop for the 166?” A man slurred suddenly, his voice thick with confusion. He was swaying slightly, like someone who’d mistaken vodka for water—twice. His suit was rumpled, and his nametag, which should have read Berry, had an upside-down and smudged “B,” transforming him into “Ɛeery.”

Sebastian and Sasha stared at him in stunned silence. Then, as if choreographed, they both shook their heads slowly.

Berry—or Ɛeery—blinked, nodded like he understood, and shuffled back behind the curtain. Moments later, he reappeared dragging a bench and a crooked metal sign that somehow read “BUS STOP.” With a grunt of satisfaction, he set up his makeshift transit hub in the corner of the stage, plopped himself down on the bench, and began patiently waiting.

Sebastian turned to Sasha, his tail flicking. “Are we… just gonna let this happen?”

Sasha took a long sip of her drink. “Honestly? It’s the least weird thing that’s happened today.”

Sebastian was still glaring at the makeshift bus stop when the curtain rustled again. This time, a woman stepped onto the stage. She had an air of confidence—or perhaps obliviousness—wearing a trench coat that looked two sizes too big and carrying a massive tote bag that seemed like it contained half a grocery store.

She glanced at the “BUS STOP” sign, then at Berry—or Ɛeery—who was sitting on the bench, staring into the middle distance like a man deep in thought (or entirely thoughtless).

“Excuse me,” the woman said, her voice brisk, “is this the stop for the 166?”

Berry nodded solemnly, like he’d been expecting this question all his life.

“Great.” Without hesitation, she plopped down beside him, her tote bag thudding against the bench. She adjusted her coat and pulled out a sandwich, unwrapping it with the deliberation of someone who had all the time in the world.

Sebastian’s eye twitched. “What is even happening right now?”

Sasha, still sipping her drink, shrugged. “Looks like a functional bus stop to me.”

“They’re on a stage in the middle of a flooded deathtrap,” Sebastian snapped. “There is no bus! There cannot be a bus!”

As if on cue, the woman turned to Berry. “How long until the next one arrives?”

Berry squinted at an imaginary watch. “Ten minutes.”

“Perfect.” She offered him half of her sandwich. He accepted it with a polite nod.

Sebastian buried his face in his bound hands. “I hate this place.”

Sasha leaned back in her chair, clearly entertained. “Maybe the 166 is symbolic,” she mused. “Like… a journey of self-discovery.”

Sebastian glared at her. “If one more person asks about that bus, I’m throwing myself into the hole for an own journey of self discovery.”

Before Sasha could reply, the curtain rustled again.

[Your OC Name] stepped onto the stage, their [Your OC features] dramatically swaying in the non-existent wind, as if they were an angel descending straight from heaven—or at least a very over-the-top shampoo commercial. Their Roomba-tastic charm immediately grabbed the attention of the jury, which was, let’s be honest, just Sasha pretending to take this seriously.

With a deep breath, [Your OC Name] launched into a passionate, soul-stirring speech. Their words were so powerful, so full of raw emotion, that Sasha’s jaw dropped. She clutched her clipboard like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. By the time they finished, she was crying—not from sadness, but from pure, unfiltered excitement.

“Oh my God, yes!” Sasha shrieked, leaping to her feet like she’d just won the lottery. Somewhere in the chaos of applause and overly emotional outbursts, her hand swung wildly, sending her half-full chai latte flying directly into Sebastian’s face.

Sebastian froze, his expression a mix of rage and utter defeat as the lukewarm drink dripped down his cheeks and pooled in his lap. With his arms strapped tightly in the straitjacket, he could do nothing but sit there, seething, while the scent of overpriced chai burned into his nostrils.

“Why,” he said flatly, his voice strained, “must I suffer like this?”

“Oh, quit being dramatic,” Sasha said, waving him off. “It’s just chai. Anyway!” She turned back to [Your OC Name], her excitement uncontainable. “You’re in! Welcome to the House of Entities!”

[Your OC Name] smiled graciously, while Sebastian muttered under his breath, “I hope this house floods.”

Sebastian sat there, dripping in chai latte, his patience thinner than the cheap plastic chair struggling to support him. His tail thumped against the floor, creating a rhythmic thud-thud-thud that perfectly matched his rising annoyance.

“I swear, if one more thing hits me in the face today, I’m filing a complaint with the—”

“Who?” Sasha interrupted, snapping her fingers. “The House of Entities HR department? Oh wait, I run it.” She smirked, clearly enjoying his misery. “Now hush, the next contestant is coming on.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I thought this was a Roomba audition. Unless you’ve developed a fetish for caffeinated chaos, none of these people even remotely qualify.”

“Hey! I am a visionary,” Sasha snapped, dramatically pointing her pen at him. “You don’t just find the perfect Roomba. You find the spirit of the Roomba within the—”

The curtain rustled again, cutting off her ridiculous monologue. A small man in a red coat shuffled onto the stage, looking around nervously. He held up a single index finger. “Uh, hi. Is this the, uh, karaoke night?”

Sebastian groaned loudly. “No, it’s not karaoke night, it’s—”

“Actually,” Sasha cut in, flipping through her clipboard, “we might have a slot for that next week. What’s your range?”

The man blinked, muttered something about Freddy Mercury and shuffled to the bus stop for the line 166, muttering apologies.

Sebastian whipped his head around to glare at Sasha. “This is a train wreck.”

Sasha shrugged, sipping what little remained of her drink. “Not my fault the Roombas are running late.”

“They’re not late,” Sebastian growled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “They’re non-existent. Because this is not a Roomba audition. It’s your unhinged social experiment, and I’m the only one sane enough to notice!”

Sasha ignored him and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Next!” she called out.

The curtain parted again, and a woman in a bedazzled jumpsuit strutted onto the stage. She carried a feather duster like it was a sword, her movements full of theatrical flair.

“I am just the cleaning lady.” she declared, “The human embodiment of cleanliness. I bring precision, style, and sparkle to every space I touch.”

Sebastian groaned again, louder this time. “Oh, great. A human Roomba. That’s totally what we needed.”

Sasha perked up. “Actually, this might work! Do you beep when you hit walls?”

The woman frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Never mind,” Sasha muttered, jotting down notes.

“This is ridiculous,” Sebastian grumbled, leaning back as far as his restraints allowed. “You’ve had a bus stop, a Freddy Mercury wannabe, and now whatever this is. If one more non-Roomba steps on that stage, I’m done.”

“Relax,” Sasha said breezily. “It’s a process. Greatness takes time.” She turned to the woman. “Do you also vacuum, or just dust?”

“Vacuuming is beneath me,” The woman sniffed.

Sasha waved her off. “Next!”

The curtain swished, and a man in a poorly constructed cardboard box costume rolled onto the stage. A pair of googly eyes were taped to the front, and he let out an electronic beep-boop.

Sebastian stared in stunned silence. “What. Is. That.”

Sasha’s face lit up. “Finally! A Roomba!”

The man cleared his throat, breaking character. “Actually, I’m a Dyson.”

Sasha threw her clipboard on the ground and yelled at the ceiling, “Why, universe?! Why no Roombas?!”

Sebastian’s laughter echoed across the stage, even as chai dripped off his nose. “This might actually be worth it just to see you suffer.”

The curtain fluttered again, and for a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Sasha and Sebastian both leaned forward, confused. Then, with a faint beep, a sleek black Roomba rolled onto the stage, its movement smooth and confident.

But this wasn’t just any Roomba. This one had an hat on its top and—most concerningly—a knife duct-taped to its chassis. Its model name, scrawled in sharp white marker, read: Ghost.

It paused at center stage, let out another dramatic beep, and then zoomed forward, ramming directly into Sebastian’s plastic chair.

“OW! What the—?!” Sebastian barked as the chair wobbled precariously under his weight.

Ghost beeped again, reversing slightly before taking a sharp turn and charging straight at Sasha. She leapt out of her seat with a shriek as the Roomba zoomed under her chair, narrowly missing her legs.

“Oh my god!” Sasha cried, her face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. “IT’S A ROOOOOMBAAAA!” She threw her arms into the air in triumph.

The Roomba, unfazed by her enthusiasm, zipped to the edge of the stage, vacuuming up stray crumbs and dust as it went. It spun in a tight circle, let out another triumphant beep-beep, and sped off toward Berry and the woman at the makeshift bus stop.

“Look at it go!” Sasha yelled, practically vibrating with excitement. “It’s got a hat, it’s got a knife—it’s everything I’ve ever wanted!”

Sebastian, still pinned to his chair and thoroughly unimpressed, muttered, “Yeah, perfect. A murder vacuum. Just what we need.”

As if on cue, the faint sound of an engine rumbled from offstage. Before anyone could react, an actual bus—labeled 166—lurched onto the stage, screeching to a halt right in front of the bus stop.

“What the—?!” Sebastian yelled, tail whipping around as the stage shook beneath him.

Berry stood up, brushing nonexistent dust off his pants. “Finally.”

The woman grabbed her tote bag and climbed aboard without a second glance. Ghost, as if perfectly aware of the transit schedule, beeped, zoomed up the bus’s ramp, and parked itself neatly in the corner.

Sasha’s jaw dropped. “Wait! NO! Ghost, come back! You’re supposed to vacuum here, not ride public transportation!”

The bus doors hissed shut, and with a cheerful honk, it reversed off the stage and disappeared into the depths of the flooded facility.

Sebastian blinked, stunned. “Did… did we just lose a Roomba to a bus?”

Sasha collapsed into her chair, defeated. “It was perfect,” she whimpered, clutching her clipboard like a security blanket. “It had a knife.”

Sebastian let out a low, wheezing laugh. “Oh, sure. Cry over the homicidal Roomba. That’s normal.”

“Shut up, Sebastian,” Sasha snapped. “You just don’t understand art!”

And the search for roombas continued.

[pompohills]

FULLY RENDERED VERSION OF ANGELA MERI !!!

OC CONTENT MASTERLIST HERE!

this was torture how much time did I spend on this ?

HOLY-

[xyurishux]

For Anyone who reads House of Entities by @pretzel-box this is Yuri/ My Pressure OC :).

@pompohills I knew you wanted to know as well :p.

Yuri Ezra Shu / Z- 640

(Female who goes by He/Him)

Age-25

Appearance- Yuri is a short woman (4’9) with a single right eye after losing the other after the experiments. He has short half black and half white hair, 3 external gills on his head and white skin with blotches of black everywhere. He has caryophyllidia on the black patches (sea bunny) and spines on his back. Additionally he has the tail and hands of an axolotl.

SPECIES- Axolotl, Sea Bunny and Lion Fish

ABILITIES-

His spines are venomous and his black splotches are toxic as well

STRENGTHS-

People Skills (Down to Earth and easy to talk too, can pick up any conversation)

Hyper Aware (Perceptive)

Book Smart ( Intelligent and uses logical thinking)

WEAKNESSES-

Hyper Sensitivity (Gets overstimulated easily and doesn’t like repetitive noises)

Control Freak

Impatient

PERSONALITY-

Yuri is INFJ

Yuri is a very down to earth person with an empathetic heart. He has a realistic point of view and doesn’t jump into conclusions or actions without looking at all opinions/options. (85% Book smart 25% street smarts). He was mostly a loner who preferred to read then socialize. He still enjoyed making friends and chatting!

Yuri is a bit of a control freak and has a hard time letting others do tasks he knows how to handle himself. He is impatient as well, he enjoys having things done quickly and well with no loose ends.

Has diagnosed anxiety, which leads to his hyper awareness and hyper sensitivity.

Yuri doesn’t like to be angry and yell (goes hand in hand with his rationality), he finds fighting dumb and immature.

EXTRA EXTRA ^^ - He likes puzzles and sorting stuff, it calms him down. He also has simple humour and makes friends quicker with calmer people who aren’t hyper

[pompohills]

I'm asking because I want to draw a group picture by Halloween lol

Asking here because I'm too scared to message the users whose OCs are in House of entities :

WHAT WOULD YOUR OC DISGUISE AS DURING SPOOKY MONTH???

Sasha would dress up as allo because he is scary/j

Jokes aside, I still have to draw her costume

[hampterfae]

More long haired Cheshire ,

@pretzel-box here you are, whatcha think of them? :]

Edit: I hate how the legs came out

[jinxytwinxydoo]

Scheduling this post for when I’m driving back to college (a good, fun, six hour drive… yay…). Drawn over my cat. Loaf Narinder.

[ahappydnp]

no the fact that they can finally talk about how the decision to end dan and phil™️ was always solely referring to the brand/ entertainment duo and NOT them as real people!

because back then there was so much discourse that they were moving out and not going to live together anymore and not as close personally and that's why the brand was ending when it was the exact opposite and they were prioritizing dan and phil the people

[fox-guardian]

yknow the entities in tma are so useful from an artist's perspective cuz it's such a perfect list of prompts for an art challenge. "draw the entities as x" is such a perfect recipe for delightful art exercises. I started drawing them each as dragons once. I should go back to that. I also wanna do landscapes/domains.