"Consider It Done, My King," Said The Right Hand, A Slow Smile Spreading Across His Face.

"I have something of yours."

"I know. You can keep it."

Peter stared warily at the creature towering above him, nursing his many wounds. "My ex sent you, I'm guessing," he sighed.

"Yes, Master," the horrible monster said.

Peter cursed. "Okay, fine," he said. He tried to stand on what he thought was the better of his two legs, and fell back in a cry of pain.

The monster gingerly gathered him and picked him up.

"Yeah, could you take me to the hospital?" Peter grunted.

The monster nodded.

Two wolf men blocked their path.

"The boy stays, ugly," one wolf man growled. "Or do you think you can take us both?"

"I'll make you regret interfering with us," the other said. "Just wait until--"

But the second wolf man didn't finish as the monster's fist hit him squarely in the stomach and sent him flying. The other wolf man puffed up and yelped.

The monster held up his fist again, and both the wolf men turned tail and ran.

Peter sighed, non-plussed. "I could've done that," he muttered.

"Yes, master," the monster said.

"Oh, shut up," he pouted.

They reached the hospital, but the monster couldn't quite fit in the entrance.

It was then Peter saw her approach.

"Great work, my lovely," said Angelica. She plucked a gem from the monster's eye.

The monster smiled, then dissolved into a pile of mud. Peter fell unceremoniously on the ground.

"Peter, darling, it's wonderful to see you, truly it is. I've been worried sick," Angelica said. "No phone calls, no notes, nothing."

Peter groaned. "I've been a little busy," he said. "Also I broke up with you. Many times."

"And now you have..." Angelica held the gem and seemed to scrub the air. "What was that, werewolves after you? Bad form, Peter, fighting dogs."

"Well, wolf men," Peter corrected. "They stay in that form all the time." He again tried to stand and regretted the effort.

"Oh, Peter, please try to rest," Angelica sighed. "I'll fix everything." She slipped into the building. Peter could see her talking and gesticulating at him through the glass.

Peter stared up at the sky, willing himself to be struck down by lightning.

A horrible monster has been following you for a while now. It finally has you cornered. You hear it speak. "Master… I've finally found you…"

reminder

Look, writer’s block is not some giant, mysterious monster. It’s you, in your head, holding yourself back because you’re afraid what you’re writing sucks. And here’s the truth, yeah, maybe it does suck. But you know what? That’s okay. Writing something bad is still better than writing nothing at all. You don’t wait for inspiration to strike, you show up, write the garbage draft, and then fix it later. Writing isn’t about perfection, it’s about getting it done. Even if it’s one crappy page at a time.

Found my fav STP route recently. Dragon my beloved. Your horrifying beak mouth was an impossible-to-refuse lip syncing challenge 💖

Shoutouts to @blacktabbygames for making such a cool game!

"You shot me! In the foot!" The god whined, curled up on the floor.

"Well, yeah," you said. "You were about to destroy the whole city."

"My foot! Do you know how long that takes to heal?! I'm going to have a limp!"

"You also killed people. I really can't feel too sorry for you."

"Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?!"

"I know exactly who I'm dealing with." You crossed the room and knelt in front of him. "Do you?"

The God raised his head to glare at you. "Some pathetic human who got lucky," he said at last.

You smiled and raised the gun to his head. "No, I was sent here," you said. "But try again."

"A couple of puny humans--"

"You're too old for this foolishness."

The God quieted, at that. His eyes went wide as something registered. He shrank a little in terror.

"You were summoned by the Gods, weren't you?" he whispered.

You stared down at him with a mixture of pity and disgust. "The Gods will give you a lighter sentence if you come with me quietly."

It was then the room shifted, or tried. You could feel him pull at the fabric of reality, but you wouldn't let it budge.

"You tried that already," you said. You placed a hand on his shoulder. "No more running."

He tried to grapple you, but his power was never in brute force.

"You chose this," you said.

You gripped his head. He shrieked, wide-eyed and terrified, clawing at you desperately. His hands shrank, now short and stubby. His shoes flopped to the ground, feet too small to hold them. The bullet wound became but a tiny birth mark. His head shrunk, his eyes more soft and wide. Soon enough, he was nothing more than a harmless human baby.

You cradled him in his shirt. He screamed and cried and babbled.

"You will live among the humans, stripped of your memories, stripped of your godhood," you said gently. "For as many lives as you have taken, you will be reborn. That is your punishment."

The baby fussed and spit up a little.

"...Lovely. Now, let's go introduce you to your parents."

You've been sent out to defeat a powerful, reality bending god. All have died horrifically trying. And here you are in front of the crying god as they complain about how you just shot them.

The vampire spat out your blood. "God, what have you been eating?!"

The Green Scarf

CW: blood, head wound, hospitalization

Gerard kept a brisque pace in the snow-covered sidewalk, the frigid air colder still as the sun sank into the horizon. It was hardly the time to dawdle, but something in the air seemed not quite right, almost sinister in its unnatural silence.

It was then his eye caught the little droplets of red scattered in the snow, leading up the steps to the main school building. Probably nothing, he told himself. Best keep moving.

He heard a soft whimper.

Reluctantly Gerard ascended the steps to a small bush, behind which lay a prone figure, face-down and much too motionless.

That scarf.

He'd know that obnoxious green scarf anywhere.

"Blair?"

His heart thrummed in his chest. He gently rolled the body over. Blair. The absolute thorn in his side since day one of university.

He shook him briskly.

"Blair!"

Scoff.

"I should leave you like this after the way you embarrassed me yesterday," Gerard said aloud, mostly to himself. "Serves you right."

No response. It settled like a lead weight in his stomach.

Blair's skin was much too gray, much too dull. His breathing, much too weak.

Red... Pooling from the back of his head. He wrapped Blair's stupid scarf around the wound.

He checked his radial pulse. Faint.

Gerard groaned and glanced around for anyone to shove this responsibility onto.

No one. Of course not.

"Blair. BLAIR." He patted his cheek insistently. "Wake up. I am NOT carrying you."

Why wasn't Blair wearing gloves? Or a coat? Where'd he get that head wound?

That wasn't his business, Gerard decided. Well beyond his business.

His rival getting hypothermia, on the other hand...

He called emergency services.

"High than normal call volume. Wait time is 2 hours--"

He screamed a curse.

Moving Blair proved tricky. Not just the dead weight, but he had no way to determine if there was a neck injury on top of the head injury. The stairs would also be tricky.

He needed something to drag him with, and there was really only one thing that would do.

"You'll owe me BIG for this," he grumbled, pulling off his overcoat. He rolled Blair onto the overcoat unceremoniously and began dragging him down the stairs. The snow kept bunching into piles, slowing the forward pull. The cold made Gerard's teeth chatter, and he kept muttering curses with each merciless gust of wind.

He reached his apartment and threw open the door, snowflakes scattering across the front entry. With one final pull Blair was in, and he kicked his legs out of the way to slam the door shut.

"God, even when you're unconscious, you're still trouble," Gerard grumbled, turning on a space heater with shaking hands.

He felt Blair's pulse. Weak, but still there. He assessed the head wound. The bleeding seemed to have slowed. His hands were cold. Gerard pulled him near the space heater and bundled him in a blanket.

With little other option, he gathered first aid supplies. Antiseptic on the head wound, proper dressing.

The warmth was bringing color back to Blair's cheeks. Gerard's eyes pricked with tears, and he picked up Blair's cold hand in his.

"You'll be okay," he muttered. "You'll be back to that obnoxiously chattery self in no time, right? I'd better enjoy the silence while I can."

He laughed at himself for that, and quickly wiped away a hot tear.

A voice in his pocket broke the silence, and he quickly dropped the hand.

"Emergency services. What is the nature and location of your emergency?"

Oh. Right. He'd been on hold. He picked up the phone and explained the situation to the best of his ability, a bit flustered.

Emergency services arrived. Gerard rode with him, because wasn't that the right thing to do?

Blair came to about an hour later.

"Blair!" Gerard started towards him.

A moment of relief cut short.

"Gerard?" Blair spat, a note of disgust.

"Oh, shut up," Gerard grumped. Sat back.

"What the hell are you doing here? And-- wait, is this the hospital?!"

"Well, it's not the morgue," Gerard snapped.

"Why the hell did you ATTACK ME?!"

"Me? ME?!" Gerard held back the urge to strangle Blair. "I just dragged your sorry ass across town, and you're blaming ME?!"

Blair felt the back of his head. "Well, SOMEONE hit my head!"

"It'll be me soon if you don't drop the attitude," Gerard growled. "I didn't do it. I hate your guts, but I would never stoop that low."

"You wouldn't?" Blair quirked his brow skeptically.

"You're so much cuter when you're concussed," Gerard grumbled.

Chattering down the hall.

"Your friends are here," Gerard said. "Maybe ask one of them who had enough of your bull."

He stood to leave, but Blair caught his wrist.

"No. Wait. You really didn't do it?" Blair searched his eyes. "What d'you mean, you dragged me across town?"

Gerard yanked at his wrist. "Let go," he said.

"You brought me here?"

He didn't want to meet Blair's eyes.

"You really brought me to the hospital?"

"You were in front of the school," Gerard didn't answer. Didn't meet his eyes. "Just... Did what anyone would do."

"Yeah. Okay." Blair let go. "...Okay."

"Get better soon, asshole," Gerard said. He stormed out just as the group of well-wishers rushed in.

Arrived home. Realized Blair's stupid green scarf was still on the floor of his apartment.

Blair would definitely come back for it.

He kicked it across the room in frustration. Then proceeded to wash it in cold water.

//AN Sorry for not posting much this last week! I've been struggling to write and not really happy with anything, but I felt I should try to post something. Anyway, I hope you're all doing all right in the New Year. Thank you so much for reading!!!