writingwarden

[writingwarden]

Cats cure all nightmares, trust me

Vessel centric

Tw- Body horror, nightmares, gore, blood, semi-graphic character death, cats, SCP-096

Word Count- 1.3k

Summary - A long day, brain fog, night terrors, and a cat named Carrot Top. What could go wrong?

[A/N]- Been antagonizing myself over this for months.

Vessel enters the cottage with his arms too full of grocery bags, it's late but he hates leaving during the day. Too many people and too dangerous for someone like him to go out on a whim.

The only noise is the sound of him walking over to the kitchen, depositing the bags on the kitchen island along with his black surgical mask.

The house is supposed to be empty, save for the cats that occasionally find their way in. He only keeps them around because they're good for keeping pests away, (he's also grown fond of the little beasts but will never admit it out loud.) Their antics are a welcomed distraction from the stress of work.

Turning his head to look out the window at the backyard, the tall and foreboding trees block out the sun. Dark and heavy storm clouds gather overhead, petrichor lingering in the air.

Tonight will be good for writing in front of the fireplace.

It's not like he's going to sleep anyways; there are too many ideas bouncing around his skull that he fears he'll go mad if they're not put down on paper soon. Words and snippets and measures, melodies that can’t be replicated no matter how hard he tries-

He shakes his head and sighs, moving on autopilot as he puts the groceries. Without the other three men at home things are pretty awful, if Vessel could say so himself. But they’re all out for the weekend. They wanted him to go along yet he stayed for some Sleep forsaken reason.

Maybe it’s the heavy feeling in his heart? Maybe it’s the lack of tangible inspiration or a lack of response from the deity he serves and loves…even though it hurts him.

A loud noise startles him out of his reverie, making him whip around on his heels with his arms halfway up in a defensive stance.

The culprit stands on one of the bar stools, yellowish eyes wide and furry orange head tilted to the side, Vessel’s phone now on the floor.

Huffing at the little beast, “You better pray that it's not broken,” a pause as he searches his brain for the name that IV bestowed upon this menace, “Carrot Top? You don’t even know who that is, do you?”

Thankfully the device is fine when he crouches to retrieve it. A tiny paw swats at his head when he stands back up, “Hey!”

Carrot clearly thinks that this is the pinnacle of comedy for a feline as he does it again before jumping down and skedaddling across the kitchen.

Vessel just stands there, bewildered and questioning why he even lets these creatures roam the property.

Oh right, III and IV stared at him with their big ol’ blue eyes and he’s too much of a sucker to say no when they gang up on him. II hadn’t even stepped in during their campaign to adopt the strays, because the drummer has accepted that the two string players will always find a way to get what they want. They’re relentless in their endeavors, both sharing one collective brain cell and using it for evil.

Whatever, he needs to change out of these jeans and into pajamas. Surely III wouldn’t mind if he snagged one of the bassist’s faded band tees?

The nightly routine feels like it takes an eternity today, sluggish as he showers and brushes his teeth. His thoughts stuck on a chord that he’s been antagonizing himself over since he woke up.

Some blues style chord, should it go D7 A G DG or D7 DG A7? 4/4 or 7/8, those are so wildly different.

Running a hand down his face and throwing himself into the rocking recliner with his notebook and pen after starting the fireplace. Almost out of ink, should find another soon.

…

Vessel's eyes fly open with a loud gasp, finding himself standing in the middle of a busy roadway. Car horns blare around, the vehicles swerving and people yelling at him to get out of the road. The sweltering hot summer sun beating down on his face is nothing like the chilly autumn air he fell asleep in.

It was as if his surroundings had shifted in the blink of an eye.

As the singer tries to get his bearings, something catches his attention. Looking up to notice a strange figure on the side of the highway. It is tall, gaunt, and its body contorts in unnatural ways as it stumbles through the traffic.

While the creature steps off the curb and steps closer to the road, Vessel scrambles back.

The nightmare’s limbs shift into strange positions, the skin rotting and decayed, grey from who knows how long spent in a grave. It opens its mouth to release a high pitched shriek, and a tongue that is far too long for the creature's mouth rolls out. Black bile falling in strings onto the ground beneath it.

Blood and viscera splatter the road.

The drivers in the vehicles blare their horns for a different reason now, some braking while others speed up in an attempt to hit the abomination. Every time it’s thrown from a car impacting it, it crawls back to its feet and screams, chasing after cars.

Vessel watches in frozen horror as it breaks the glass on car windows and rips people from their seats, ripping their limbs from their bodies. Nobody is spared, men and women, old and young, all caught in the carnage.

Its head snaps in Vessel direction as he trembles in fear, forcing him to meet its sunken and milky white eyes.

The creature lunges across the freeway, the only emotion in its eyes is pure malicious intent. Hatred thought to be impossible as its face contorts into a grotesque visage of Vessel’s own.

He shouts, not noticing the distracted driver racing right towards him until it's too late, the impact sending his body a good few meters in the air.

Everything is in slow motion, the thing's claws reaching for him, his body colliding with the rough blacktop, his neck snapping, the feeling of his stomach cavity being torn open.

Sitting up with a terrorized scream, Vessel's chest is heaving like he just ran forty klicks at full tilt.

When did he fall asleep?

The fire is burning low and his notebook has fallen off his lap.

He doesn’t even get a chance to calm his beating heart when something jumps on him, causing him to scream. Definitely not like a little girl and totally like the grown man he is.

This in turn causes the orange menace to puff up like a halloween decoration and hiss.

Swearing violently and letting go of his shirt which he had clutched like pearls. His first reaction is to be angry and order the beast away, but Vessel is too focused on the night terror he just experienced.

Carrot Top eyes the singer suspiciously before climbing further into his lap and plopping down like he owns the space. Purring like nothing is wrong and like Vessel didn’t just almost throw the cat across the room in sleep-addled fear.

With a heaving chest, Vessel slumps into the chair in complete and utter exhaustion, gripping at his hair while trying to focus on literally anything else but the dream. The pouring rain outside, the crackling and popping flames, the small weight on his thighs.

“You have the worst timing.” He mutters before slowly petting the cat and sighing. At least the furball is warm compared to the chill around him. “I bet you never have nightmares, hm? Bet it’s just mischief and chasing mice inside that tiny skull. Lucky little bastard.”

Resting his head back against the chair when there is an indignant meep from his lap.

“Oh my bad, did I stop petting you for half a millisecond? My sincerest apologies, m’lord.” A fond sarcasm lacing his words as he resumes running his hand over the orange fur, okay maybe the cats can stay.

[writingwarden]

Been losing my mind, enjoy!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65957035

[writingwarden]

some fucking resources for all ur writing fuckin needs

* body language masterlist

* a translator that doesn’t eat ass like google translate does

* a reverse dictionary for when ur brain freezes

* 550 words to say instead of fuckin said

* 638 character traits for when ur brain freezes again

* some more body language help

(hope this helps some ppl)

[writingwarden]

As a fellow creative, Damocles just... hits different.

For anyone who creates and shares art with people, whether that be through music, drawing, writing, etc, there's always a nagging thought:

What if this thing I'm working on now isn't as good as what came before? What if the spotlight has passed? What if I've already reached my peak and it's all downhill from here?

There's also the flip side of it: Who am I if I don't do this? When the lights go down, when the engagement is no more, what's left?

What's left of my legacy? What's left of me?

How long until everyone forgets me?

Have they already?

[writingwarden]

Uhhhh anyways, Hesh x Reader smut drabble from the drafts?

Anon said- “I just really want to top him.”

[Short and sweet, hand job after a long mission, right into it, implied top!reader.]

Hesh's fingers are digging into the flesh of your hips, hard enough to guarantee bruises tomorrow. His lips are attached to your throat, sucking dark red hickies into your skin that will be difficult to cover up with makeup. But neither of you can be bothered to care right now.

The utility closest is cramped with the both of you still in all of your gear, there was no chance that you would make it back to your apartment before you couldn't take it anymore. So when you had grabbed Hesh's arm and dragged him into the closest empty room, he went along willingly.

And while it's fun to let him think he's in control, you're too pent up from damn near a month of being outside the wall. Not exactly a lot of hookup spots in an active warzone.

So the whimper you get when your hand cups him through his pants is delicious, pressing the heel of your palm and massaging his hardening length.

"Fuckin' tease..." You mumble just as your hands unbuckle his belt and shove those stupid pants down enough to reveal his hardened cock. "Just couldn't wait til we got back, hm?"

Not giving him time to answer, you take him into your hand and set a quick pace. There will be time for actual fucking later, right now you just want to get back at him for all those fleeting touches and filthy words whispered in passing.

His hips buck forward and he has to slap a hand over his mouth to stop the pathetic noises from leaving his mouth. He looks so pretty like this.

And so sensitive too, all it takes for him to cum after a few quick minutes is running your thumb over the head of his dick. Now it's your turn to slap a harsh hand over his mouth, he can never stay quiet, can he?

[writingwarden]

I do believe this current WIP is the longest fic I've written yet!

I'm so excited to post it

[writingwarden]

First Fic of the year!

Wrote this at 02:00, but it's my baby.

[writingwarden]

Hey Y'all!

My Bestest broski in the world just posted his first fic!! Please give it a go!

@lamone-gerkin

[writingwarden]

*after a night out*

Gaz: ... are we going to talk about it?

Soap: I don't want to

Ghost: I didn't know that kind of drunk even existed

Gaz: Must be why he doesn't drink a lot...

Soap: A grown man being 'maternal' after a whole bottle of whisky... Were we adopted last night??

Ghost: No- NO-

Gaz, quietly: I don't want to be a Shadow...

[writingwarden]

Started my first actual art project in years, drawing all of my friends eyes.

And I have decided to do each of them in a different medium. So acrylic paint, oil paint, pastels, and color pencil.

Why am I doing this to myself?

[writingwarden]

Reblog to let your followers know that despite your current obsession your previous obsessions still exist and are simply lying dormant until they awaken and strike again

[writingwarden]

“Oh my god you’re a writer? Can I read your stuff?”

[writingwarden]

they’re not doomed by the narrative actually, they’re just using emotional torture as a kink thing

[writingwarden]

when you finish a fic that was everything you could of hoped for and you click on their user to see that they’ve written dozens of fics for that pairing

[writingwarden]

That satisfying feeling of changing a fic that was in waiting into a WIP.

[writingwarden]

That satisfying feeling of changing a fic that was in waiting into a WIP.

[writingwarden]

god I would be UNSTOPPABLE if I was capable of consistently initiating tasks. just you wait. you'll be waiting a while but just you wait