#Squeak [WTW]

[mxnster-soul]

Was a lil hesitant to share this (i do have a ToyHouse page for em but i've been having issues with uploading more of their art there)

Squeak's (2025) ref sheet

Rules:

NO 18+ STUFF, THIS OC IS A MINOR. (If i ever find some fucko making nsfw of Squeak, not only is that an instant block, but also a whole-ass callout without a covered username)

Please do not kin/oc-faceclaim (apparently people do that to other's oc's? What the fuck??? Make your own characters vro, prcrew is the go-to place)

Headcanons are allowed!

Side note:

They have a mostly-permanent smile. And they rarely actually open their mouth (in public/the 'mainrealm' unless they're gonna absolutely bite someone's ankles)

Alt faces below! (OLD ART CUZ I HAVEN'T GOTTEN TO REMAKING IT. But these are still canon!)

[imaginationxlost]

OC in Fifteen Quotes Tag

Tagged by @writinglyra here

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture their character/personality/vibe. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you’re free to include those as well!

In the spirit of my Camp NaNo story, the sad poet is up for this! In chronological order! I wonder if you can tell when it crosses over into the sequel I am Currently Working On

“It’s safe,” I said, like a proper big brother should, patting her head, “I promise.”

“Before I came to you? Probably twenty minutes,” I reply, opening my eyes and directing my gaze towards the ceiling, “It’s not just that, though. Today is also a dysphoric day, and I'm just… feeling everything a little too intensely.”

“There are consquences, Lia,” I say, frustration creeping into my voice, “history shows that much. I don’t want to be a repeat of—” My voice catches before I say his name, and I shake my head.

“Lia and I aren’t even from Earth,” I say, the words just spilling out at this point, “we’re refugees- our parents were killed and we barely got out with our lives- and it’s just-” I break into sobs again, once again falling into Mike’s arms.

“I know,” I reply, my voice barely more than a whisper. “But… that doesn’t change the fact that Lia absolutely needs to be kept safe. That fact that she’s my sister completely aside, keeping her alive to get back home and retake her throne is the right thing to do. Adriel needs stopped.”

“Dad is alive?” I finally manage to stammer, my voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and longing.

“Mike can share my room,” I squeak, and I immediately feel my face get hot. “I just- I mean to say-”

“I’m not,” I say, perhaps a little too quickly, because the doubt is obvious on his face. “I’m not frightened of you,” I insist again. “There’s just- There’s a lot going on, a-and I don’t like leaving Mike, and my shoulder still hurts-” I stop myself, putting a hand over my mouth to stem the flow of anxious words, before the full truth spills out.

“I know you’re right,” I finally admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s just… It’s been so ingrained in me that these abilities are wrong. I’ve always felt like I had to fit into this mold of what a Jack should be.”

“Fitting, honestly,” I mutter. “Almost poetic, to come back home the very way we left.”

���It happens pretty often,” I murmur whilst leaning into his side and putting my head on his shoulder. “Your sleep schedule doesn’t need to be as bad as mine.”

“Dad, I’m serious. I’m fine. I know- I know why you’re worried,” I grab the notepad and hug it to my chest. “It’s a problem, but I’m dealing with it. Promise.”

“I’m so-” I catch myself, and flinch, ducking my head. “Lia, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“You’ve NEVER gotten it! Never once! Of course you don’t. You’re perfect! No one has ever doubted if you can- can be good enough! No one looks at you and assumes you’re inherently going to be untrustworthy- dishonorable- no one assumes you’re a bad person because of something entirely out of your control! OF COURSE you don’t get it!”

“I’m not dying,” I finally manage, my voice hoarse. “I write to process those feelings. Give it back.”

Tagging: idk I had no takers in the wtw discord (probably because I asked at 1AM but oh well) so do it if you want and say I tagged you

[crtalley]

WTW Tarot Prompts – The Fool

the beginning — the first step — innocence — naïveté — first lines —

Maris couldn’t tear her eyes away from the corpse of her twin.

— UNCHOSEN, 1, ‘dragonsbane’

Dusk was the best time to hunt. As the night opened its gaping maw and began to devour the sun, Irina prepared for winter.

— BEARSKIN, 1, ‘dusk’

The boy across the road had no face.

Zelda had missed him at first, all gray jeans and gray jacket against a thick gray late-summer fog. His shoulders were hunched, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, a gray backpack dangling by one strap from an elbow. He stepped up and balanced on the edge of the curb with brand new sneakers that squeaked against the concrete. The sound carried across the road in the fog, echoing off the brick and plywood of the boarded-up gas station.

— A DARKER DAWN, 1

“Do you have any last words?” The radio in the dead girl’s helmet buzzed and popped with the signal.

— “DECOMMISSIONED”

[ruinedqueenwriter]

The Kiss Of Death

Genre: Horror, Fantasy

Themes: Death, Sacrifice, Immortality

Summary: As Portia mourns the death of her beloved father, she finds that there is a grotesque creature that wants to devour her. This creature was created her by own dark desires and the only way to defeat it is to sacrifice someone dear to her.

Excerpt:

I needed to escape this monster. I was too terrified of being consumed again. Eventually, that fate would be inevitable. And I feared I lacked the strength to survive again. Even if I had the strength, how long would this continue. The monster would seek me until death according to the white things. So, if I did not do anything to save myself then this monster would consume me until I lacked the strength to revive myself again. It was too terrible of a torture to imagine, let alone experience.

I examined the pictures, taking in Serena's laughing face while she indulged in debauchery. As I looked at these, I could feel the tendrils of hatred casting their nose around my heart and slowly pulling. My perpetually suffering heart screaming in woe. She stole the one thing I cared for more than anything in the world. My career. She stole it and dominated it. Until I was relegated to the side lines, doomed to watch her blossom into prominence. She, a flower and I, just a weed.

Glancing at the monster, I knew what I had to do. I called in my secretary.

“Leak these pictures to the press,” I said, handing her the folder.

Her eyes widened in surprise. She mumbled something incoherent in a squeaky voice, taking the folder from me with trembling fingers. But before she could take it, I grabbed her arm. I squeezed, increasing the pressure, until she moaned softly.

“If word ever gets out that these pictures were released under my orders, I will ruin you. I know that your son launders money. I will release that information to the press and you will watch as his political career crumbles to pieces.”

She squeaked again. In this moment, I realized that though I wanted to escape the terror of the monster, I could not deny the inhumanness inside of me thirsting for revenge.

“I will not stop there. I will hire some people to track your secrets and then expose them to the world. And then, I will watch as your name is tracked through the mud.”

I released her, watching her scurry out the room. Her mousy brown Bob bouncing up and down as she left.

Agony seized me, rattled my body as I realized what I had become. A monster. I could see into the past at and see my secretary's terrified eyes and I could look into the future at Serena being humiliated by the world, her pedestal of fame collapsing to pieces as she fell and fell. The way I fell inside the creature. I fell and fell and it was terrifying. I shuddered, images of my time in the monster flooding me. The pain and terror that I was subjected to. The agony of that consuming darkness as the white things pummelled me and broke me into pieces. The terrifying loneliness. That same pain and terror I was subjecting Serena to.

I felt myself sinking into despair. I was cracking underneath the weight of my evil deeds as my purity fled by the day, too repulsed at the inhuman monster I was becoming. There was too little of said purity left to bind me, keep me whole and intact. It had escaped through the cracks as I lay, slowly breaking.

I picked up my pen and finished my sketches.

Ask to be added/removed to taglist

WTW TAROT PROMPTS - The Hermit

Taglist: @viawrites-andacts

[benjaminzanzibar]

WTW - Chapter 1

On a frost-bitten Monday afternoon in January, the Mercedes-Benz Stadium in Atlanta Georgia bustled with the energy of live performance roadies working diligently to prepare the location for the night's event. Within hours, attendees would course through the building, breathing life into the production as millions of fans tuned in at home, popcorn at the ready. Excitement was bubbling to a fever pitch as production crews prepared to broadcast a brand new season of World Tournament Wrestling.

For decades, the standards of professional wrestling had been set by the WTW, a promotion synonymous with blistering bouts, tremendous talent, and charismatic competitors. But while the on-camera action satiated the ravenous masses, the foundation of the back stage crew brought the whole thing to life. Lighting specialists coordinated with set designers who worked around production assistants that organized television schedules. From top to bottom, the backbone of World Tournament Wrestling would come to work not in blinding multicolored spandex, but in simple collars and slacks.

Embracing his co-workers' dapper aesthetic, a slender silhouette dipped out of the main lobby bathroom. The bespectacled mid-30's gentleman adjusted his circular frames before fumbling around his waist, guiding a cyan button-up hastily into his black pleats. He quickly coaxed his copper mane to form as final adjustments centered a laminated badge over his black vest.

WTW Staff: Dalton Von Erik Talent Coordinator / Fly-Booking Official

Dalton made eye contact with Frank Gorshin on his Batman wristwatch. 4:45 pm - shit! He had been expected nearly ten minutes ago. Nervous energy and over-preening had caught the best of him, a mistake he'd have to undo with some strategic ass-kissery. The rapid tempo of recently shined shoes echoed through the busy hallways as Dalton dashed between security on his way to conference suite 12.

Was the meeting over? Did he miss it? Dalton re-read the metallic plaque by the closed double doors several times, wishing he'd written the information down on something that wasn't a used Starbucks napkin. Suddenly, both doors swung open, unleashing a tidal wave of faceless suits buzzing excitedly about 'productivity' and 'branding.' Oh shit, he'd missed it! The wave of business professionals finished washing past him as a singular figure shifted into focus.

The gentleman in question couldn't have been more than five-foot-four, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in posture. His billionaire status shone radiantly through his tailored white suit just as his thick, silvery hair reflected age and experience. Dalton approached him nervously, but before his brain could successfully formulate an introduction, the first move had already been made.

"Let me guess. Dalton, right?" His stiff, southern dialect stuck like a barnacle to the hull of his diction.

"Yes, sir." Dalton nervously squeaked, anticipating reproval for his tardiness. "Listen, I am so, so sorry for-"

The gentleman interrupted with little concern for hasty apologies. "Nice to finally meet ya face to face. I'm Dr. Monterey Richmond, owner of World Tournament Wrestling and all of its subsidiary enterprises."

"Of course, Sir! I, uh-" Dalton stammered as his new boss continued.

"Been runnin' this business for decades, so I'm more than a little familiar with first day jitters." He chuckled before clarifying, "Ya see, I always fudge appointment times for the new blood so when their shit piles up, shovel's never too short for diggin' themselves out."

"Oh." He wasn't quite sure how to respond, but it made no difference as Dr. Richmond continued seamlessly.

"I'm no charity, though, so have your shit together by the end of the night."

"Of course, Sir. I'll make sure-" Interrupted again. It was becoming clear that Dr. Richmond's time was finite and pleasantries were his way of making sure conversational recipients had little room to participate. He was more about talking than listening, a lesson Dalton quickly took to heart.

"How I see it, best way to learn is to dive right in. Sure, water's freezin' and you'll traumatize your balls, but it'll thicken your skin, somethin' that'll do ya good 'round here." Dalton simply nodded in acknowledgement. "Now, let's set ya up and getcha movin'. Angela, you got those documents for our boy here?"

Dalton hadn't noticed that Dr. Richmond was flanked by a small army of suits, including a young Hispanic woman currently shuffling through some papers. His presence had been so commanding that the boss' less talkative accomplices hadn't even pinged Dalton's radar: the surprising power of charisma. Almost instantly, a manila folder of paperwork was thrust in front of him, snapping him out of his thoughts. Monterey started moving towards the conference room doors as he continued dictating, necktie ducklings waddling in line behind him, ushering Dalton to keep up.

"This here's a list of each WTW athlete, complete with medical, personal, and contact information. Add 'em to your phone and prepare yourself for nuclear meltdown. These kids are.." His face contorted, clearly trying to remain professional. "Well, they're fuckin' obnoxious, really."

"Shouldn't be a problem, Sir. I spent nearly ten years working with talent in reality TV, so I've had plenty of experience with-"

"Uh huh." For the first time, Dr. Richmond's interruption was less apathy and more condescension. "Listen, I'm sure your experience will be invaluable, but perhaps you misunderstood me. To be blunt, you are a highly compensated babysitter, leveraging my generosity to make sure a locker room full of overly difficult prima donnas go through the curtain."

Dalton responded with a very recently acquired sense of confusion. "So, uh, you just want me to keep tabs on the roster and make sure they-?"

"Do their job? Yes. There are additional responsibilities we'll get to later, but for now, focus your attention on the wrestlers. Communicate effectively and let 'em know who's in charge. Now go get 'em, Chief." His tone had become more dismissive, as if he purposefully neglected a few key pieces of information. Dr. Richmond and his crew shuffled off down one of the arena's many corridors just as the assistant coyly addressed Dalton for the first and last time that afternoon.

"Welcome to the team, and best of luck!" Blushing, Angela immediately turned to catch up to the swiftly escaping collective while Dalton stood clutching the folder that now represented his entire life. The sudden solitude gave him a moment to reflect before checking in with the Riddler again. 5:22 pm - Shit! The show would go live in less than 3 hours and, so far, he hadn't a clue with whom he should be speaking, what he needed to know, or where the hell everyone was. Shit, shit, shit...

Shit.

[mxnster-soul]

I don't usually think of sharing W.i.p sfuff, but i've been updating one of my fave goobers recently.

I do have another blog that i plan on using em in.

An original universe thingy that takes place in the weirdscape :) won't spoil too much here. But when i do have things more set, i'll share it.