Writing Group: Even Gods Bleed (PRIVATE)

Hello everyone!

It’s time to bolt down your eternal soul, trap your faith in a bottle, criss your heart, cross it, and regurgitate whatever prayers may have been sitting like stones in your belly. Do anything in your meager power to shield yourself from the celestial ire you’re about to draw, because…

This week’s prompt is:


Even Gods Bleed


Make sure you scroll down and read them if you haven’t! You may not be eligible if you don’t!


Blasphemy is the well-trodden path, here.

There are stories upon stories of deities suffering some unexpected or unprecedented fate. Heroes outsmart them, apocalyptic monsters gobble them up, mortals rebel and revoke their godhood. Most of us will have heard some permutation of this idea, and for good reason. Like any trope, this is recycled because it has a power. It stirs us to thought in a variety of ways: Why put my faith in something ultimately ephemeral? If the divine can perish, what hope is there for a creature like me? If a mere mortal can wound a god, why are we looking to them instead of to ourselves? etc., etc.

A world of ideas. Granted, the majority of them pessimistic, but fascinating to think about all the same.

Alternatively, you might start to think about what “god” even means to you. And when you stray into this territory, that world of ideas opens out into a cosmos. Now you aren’t thinking of the divine; you’re thinking of all the ideals, hopes, philosophies, and forces they embody. Now the story seed in your head might not be about an actual celestial being spilling golden ichor from its first ever pricked fingertip; you may instead be thinking about a hole pricked in reality. A problem with the science which informs our basic perception. A figure in one’s life—a parent or role model—always perceived to be without weakness, showing the signs of their quiet suffering for the first time. A new writing recognizing for the first time the fatal flaws in their first manuscript (the one which was supposed to be a golden, prodigious, career-launching best-seller).

Whatever path you choose to take, heresy lies at the end. So come bold and impenitent, and show us all what it takes to wound a god.


Remember, this is part of our weekly Writing Group stream! Submit a little piece following the rules and guidelines below, and there’s a chance your entry will be read live on stream! In addition, we’ll discuss it for a minute and give you some feedback.

Tune into the stream this Friday at 7:00pm CST to see if you made the cut!

The whole purpose of this is to show off the creativity of the community, while also helping each other to become better writers. Lean into that spirit, and get ready to help each other improve their confidence in their writing, as well as their skill with their craft!


Rules and Guidelines

We read six stories during each stream, three of which come from the public post, and three of which come from the much smaller private post. Submissions are randomly selected from among the top ten most-liked of each post, so be sure to share your submissions on social media and with your friends!

  • English only.
  • Prose only, no poetry or lyrics.
  • One submission per participant.
  • Use proper spelling, grammar, and syntax.
  • Submit your entry in a comment on this post.
  • Submissions close at 4:00pm CST each Friday.
  • Include a submission title and an author name (doesn’t have to be your real name).
  • Keep submissions “safe-for-work”; be sparing with sexuality, violence, and profanity.
  • Your piece must be between 250-350 words (you can use this website to see your wordcount).
  • Write something brand new (no re-submitting past entries or stories written for other purposes).
  • Try to focus on making your submission a single meaningful moment rather than an entire story.
  • Please format your submission as “Submission Title” by Author Name and be sure to separate paragraphs. (Example Submission)
  • No fan fiction without explicit permission from the source’s owner, and no spoilers for the source material if you are writing a fan fic.
  • Original art may be included in your submission, but is not guaranteed to be shown on stream. Only .jpeg format images shared via a direct link will be accepted. (Example Submission) (Information on “Direct Links”)
  • No additional formatting (such as italics or bold text) will be applied to the text of submissions. Symbols or instruction indicating such formatting may render your submission ineligible.
  • You must like and leave a review on two other submissions to be eligible, and your reviews must be at least 50 words long. If you’re submitting to the private post, feel free to leave these reviews on either the private or the public post. The two submissions you like need not be the same as the submissions you review.
  • Understand that by submitting here, you are giving us permission to read your submission aloud live on stream and upload public, archived recordings of said stream to our social media platforms. You will always be credited, but only by the author name you supply as per these rules. No other links or attributions are guaranteed.

Comments on this post that aren’t submissions will be deleted, except for replies/reviews left on existing submissions.


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Simon D. Field
Simon D. Field
3 years ago

Oh, today I get to check historical feasibility AND grammar! Joy!

1. “gratitude and by my grace, their army”. Relocate the comma to after “gratitude”.
2. “Armies still trained, always vigilant in their patrols of the border”. I will refrain from commenting on the nature of border guard and standing armies. It doesn’t really work this way.
3. “blessings were no longer of service and fewer paid homage”. Add a comma to the conjuncture.
4. “when the peace broke and the threat of war”. Same
5. “paldron”. Pauldron.

Yay for flagellation! Yay for slaughter of prisoners! Great interpretation of the rain, about which which Plutarch attests, “it is observed indeed, that extraordinary rains generally fall after great battles”.
I commend your mastery of the classical literature and creativity, mate lad cobber Ottz.

3 years ago

“Your Domain”
by Brickosaur

The god-who-was-supposed-to-be-of-architecture walked down a dirt road, wheeling a red wagon with a dorm freezer inside. Everything was dandy.

A ways down the path, Defenestra appeared. She met them in the middle. “What are you doing,” she asked, “dragging around a beat-up old wagon in nowhere, planetside?”

Arch gave her a smile — elated, and just a bit smug. “Giving people bottled miracles.”

“You mean blood.”

“Yeah, all right, it’s my blood. ‘Sgot all the magic they need. They can pick how and when to use it, and I don’t have to tell people what to do. It’s perfect!”

“Why though?” challenged Fen. “Altruism isn’t your domain. This isn’t serving you.”

“So? This is what I want to do. You’re suggesting I go back to my cushy little temple and pretend I like those shitty offerings and ignore my deepest wish. Fennie, that sounds like hell. And I’ve been to Hell.”

“So what happens to folks who worship construction and buildings and shit? They die, and when they find your domain and realize it’s a DUMP, they’re gonna find some other afterlife.”

“Let them!”

Fen threw her hands up. “You’ll FADE, Arch. You’re gonna shrink because people’ll quit thinking fine architecture is great, and then what! You’re gonna be dirt.”

“I should be able to change my domain. THIS is what it’s SUPPOSED TO be!”

Defenestra gave Arch a long, sad look. “Maybe. But the universe doesn’t work like that. You have to sustain yourself.”

“That’s the choice, huh?” muttered Arch. “Power versus happiness? And I have to give up a whole bunch of one for the other.” It wasn’t FAIR.

They dragged their hand down their face. “Fine,” said Arch. “Gotta pick just one. I GUESS. You know my life’s gonna suck because of this.”

Fen smiled sympathetically. “Welcome to godhood.”

“So what do I pick?” Arch asked. Nobody wanted to fade. But was an eternity holed up in some palace really worth living? FOREVER?

“Can’t help you there,” said Fen. “It’s your life, Arch.”
She turned to them, keeping kind, curious eye contact.
“So. Which do YOU value more?”

3 years ago

“Future Imperfect” Submitted by: Exce

An otherworldly portal had torn a hole into the lightless night sky, and from it poured forth an army of white-winged invaders.

They had not anticipated to be met with force the second they emerged, and dozens fell to white-hot steel, force fields and blows of inhuman strength.

But even as three gods fought more and more, invaders poured out of the portal. And whilst many of them seemed to be mere soldiers, soon noticeably stronger fighters joined their ranks.

But even gods could feel exhaustion.
Especially gods of the Day fighting through endless night.

Dusk was the first to fall, unnatural weapons of gold sliding past his divine shield and sinking deep into his chest.
And as Lady caught his shield, their enemies redoubled their effort.

For they had just seen that these gods could bleed.

More fell, but it became impossible for the two gods to evade injury. The golden weapons left painfully blazing wounds along their arms, torso and legs.
Eventually, the wounds loosened Jester’s grasp on his blade, and as his offensive floundered, the enemies did not hesitate.

Lady watched her second brother fall, catching his weapon as his body vanished in a raging sea.

And now she stood alone.
A solitary figure wreathed in the shine of a fiery white aura.

Holding a shield in her right and a bright blade in her left, she stood against the growing flood of enemies.
Using all divine artifacts combined, she laid waste to them as fast as she could.

But where she struck one, three struck her; soon her movements grew slow and her palms grew too slick to hold her weapons.

Then, as her strained muscles gave in, an especially fierce invader swung his zweihander, cleaving over the upper edge of her shield…and through her neck, darkness coming over her.

With a sigh she opened her eyes, stretching her limbs, stiff from meditation.
It seemed open conflict would not solve this coming war….

She would have to find another way to save the world. Hopefully he will be able to change the future.

Simon D. Field
Simon D. Field
3 years ago

Deus et Dominus Natus by Simon D. Field

“Master,” using the form befitting a slave and not a dux was still uncomfortable to Mucapor. The aged emperor before him rose to greet the approaching officers, but his dark eyes already betrayed some concern.

The praetorians crowded around and nudged Mucapor forward, and by that and the treacherous glint of steel in their hands Aurelian understood everything.

“Ungrateful knaves!” He cried. “Eagerly you followed me to the battle-field and shared the glory of triumph! Many of you were glad to call me companion for forty years. Have I now wrought any injustice upon you to merit such cowardly treason?!”

The men wavered. They recalled many boons and few misdeeds from Aurelian, and the very grateful loyalty which, being injured, forced them into a plot, now made them recede from the indomitable unvanquished emperor.

A wiry man, the secretary of Aurelian’s, approached in an unsteady trot.

“How do you still call yourself men when even upon being shown your name in a list of those your ungrateful master,” he shrieked with agitation, pointing at the emperor, “resolved to bring down, written in his own hand, you can’t even muster the courage to implicate him despite knowing that no-one can obtain clemency from his judgement?!”

Aurelian was the first to recover.

“Do not heed this false slave, my friends,” he addressed the officers. “He must have forged it and thus sought to escape punishment with the instrument of his crime. I forgive you for falling prey to deceit…”

He never finished. While the emperor was speaking, Mucapor looked him in the eyes and saw pain and anger there.

They would not obtain mercy.

Still he loathed what had to happen and loathed himself for the unavoidable treachery. With a desperate cry he lunged at the emperor and struck his side with a dagger.

Aurelian stared at Mucapor so scornfully that the Thracian stumbled back. But his attack galvanized the conspirators. With the hatred that a man feels towards a benefactor he wronged, the officers threw themselves at their master and stabbed and kicked him, and he fell on the ground, bleeding.

Gregory Hess
Gregory Hess
3 years ago

“Confrontation” by gregovin. [Afterlife of George and Sarah, Tale of creation of the Third Option]

George and Sarah were dead, and because the fates knew only of the living, they did have the advantage of surprise. With the power of forty million souls, willingly given, they were ready for the fates. However, they knew God would arrive and be against them due to the terrible covenant.

George pointed out the fate with the scissors and spotted the cleaver.
Sarah did give her husband a kiss as they snuck silently down the mountainside

George did lock the fates in ice. Sarah did get the scissors, and examined the loom. She did find three large golden strands, and quickly discovered that they were covering another set of threads. These were the only strands that a mortal could cut. Because the outer sheath did give the fates their power, she used the scissors to separate the outer sheath from the inner thread.

When Sarah was halfway through her task, George did feel the presence of God enter the room. God was so powerful he could be sensed, which did provide them with an advantage. George did alert Sarah to the intrusion.

God did appear in the entrance, and did offer George and Sarah a spot in heaven. He did warn them if they went further he could not work with them again and be forced to do battle.

George did reply, “I have to do what is right and help Rayna”.
Sarah did agree.

God vanished, but George did feel his presence move, and with his magics he moved the cleaver to where God would be.

The cleaver did cut God, and a few drops of Icor did come out of the cut. Where they hit the floor the world did come undone, and the effects did start to spread.

And so God was distracted by the effort to repair reality, and thus was unable to stop Sarah and George.

Sarah did finish cutting, and they did escape to a place even God would have trouble finding.
Sarah did then form the next part of the plan.

3 years ago

Title: At the Mountain of Sadness
Written by: T.S.G. Sager

March 16, 1937

The abominable, eldritch god Yog-Sothoth crept around the vast emptiness of dreamland, his gelatinous being oozing ever so slightly forward. Dreamland was a massive void, home of the eldritch horrors. Today was not a good day. He felt his sister Cthulhu approaching him, tears in her eyes.

“Y-Yog Sothoth!” Cthulhu cried, “Mr. Lovecraft is… He’s DEAD!”

“I’m fully aware of that, Cthulhu.” Yog grumbled. “Howard will no longer be visiting us when he slumbers. He now sleeps forevermore.”
Yog-Sothoth didn’t even need to look at Cthulhu to know that tears trickled down her sticky, plastic-like face. He also felt immense sorrow, for he had nothing but hatred for all living things other than Howie and his sister.

After what felt like an eternity, Cthulhu finally managed to overcome her tears. “At least he introduced us to some other friends.”

“Those miserable bipeds? My friends? Other than Howard, the ‘human race’ can rot for all I care.” Yog spat. “They’re almost as stupid as the blind idiot.”

Cthulhu shot Yog a look of disgust. “I think Mr. Derleth is a fantastic storyteller…” She pouted. “You should try to connect with them. I don’t think they’re that bad.”

“None of them will ever compare to the magnificence of Howard. None of them will be my friend.”

The void fell into silence again as both monstrous entities learned how to deal with grief, attempting to cope with the loss of their friend.

“Yog Sothoth?” Cthulhu asked, once more breaking the silence.

“What is it?” He asked with a low growl.

“Could… Could you please read me ‘At the Mountain of Madness?’” Cthulhu pleaded. “Mr. Lovecraft always read me that one before bed.”

Yog Sothoth sighed as his sister cuddled up into his viscous flesh, preparing for a long slumber. “I am forced into speech because men of science have refused…”

“Yog?” Cthulhu asked once more.

“What now, Cthulhu?”

“The humans still believe that you’re my grandfather.” she giggled.

“… Stupid bipeds.”

3 years ago

Ktichen Mishaps

by MasaCur

Chop. Chop. Slice.

Thoth looked down at the cutting board. Something didn’t feel right. It felt…well, not good. He looked down and he saw crimson blood welling out of his thumb.

“Timothy!” he yelled.

Tanoshi looked up from the book he was studying. “That’s not my name, and you know it!”

Thoth held up his thumb, blood dripping down on the floor. “Look!”

“Merde! How did you do that?” Tanoshi asked.

“Well, I was cutting vegetables for ramen…” Thoth sheepishly explained

Tanoshi’s eyes flew to the cutting board and he instantly spotted the golden knife on it.

“You used the orichalcum knife? Again?” Tanoshi shook his head.

“It looks so pretty.”

“It’s also enchanted! We have plenty of other knives in the kitchen! Ones that won’t cut you!”

“Don’t yell at me, Tabitha!” Thoth stuck his thumb in his mouth and approached Tanoshi. “Do you think it will get gangrenous?”

“Gods don’t get gangrene,” Tanoshi said with a sigh. “Now cast a healing spell and get back to work. I have to get ready for school.”

“But it hurts. I can’t remember the spell,” Thoth whined.

Tanoshi groaned. “You’re the god of magic! How do you…fine! I’ll cast the spell! I need the practice anyway.” He put the book down on the dining table and rolled up his sleeves.

Thoth pulled his hand away. “No! I…don’t trouble yourself, Titus. I’ll figure something out.”

Tanoshi grabbed his book and snapped it shut with a crack. “I’m so done with this childishness right now! Don’t bleed all over the kitchen! And clean up that knife!” He stormed back to his room.

Thoth watched him go, then opened a cupboard and pulled out a dark wooden box. Sapphire letters on the top spelled out, “Thothy’s Boo-boo Box.” From within it, he pulled out an iridescent red bottle, and swallowed the contents, then grimaced at the sour aftertaste.

As he watched, the blood stopped flowing out and his skin knitted back together.

3 years ago

The Capture
~by DukkiFluff~

So serene.

So peaceful.

So… unguarded.

I bite my lip in anticipation, fiddling with the obsidian dagger in my hand. I’ve waited so long for this.

I carefully crawl back onto the bed, straddling his stomach.

“You Akuma have quite a lot of stamina, don’t you?” He chuckles softly as he stirs.

I smirk, “You’d be surprised.”

He smiles up at me, a glint in his pearly blue eyes, his hand playing with a strand of my hair, “So surprise me, Pandora.” His voice is soft and gravelly, heavy with sleep, and still so seductive.

“With pleasure.”

I move fast, raising the dagger and bringing it down on the deep blue gem embedded in his chest. The gem chips and he wails in agony. I ignore him, getting up quickly and picking up the shard that fell. I can’t stop myself from smiling. I turn back to him, watching as he clutches at his chest, blood pouring between his fingers from the chipped stone.

He stares up at me, confused and afraid. He wants to speak, but the pain is debilitating.

I laugh at his expression, gripping his chin and lifting his face, “Surprise.”

My smile never faltering, I summon a small puzzle box. Upon opening it, the room fills with a swirling vortex wind. Too weak to transform, he’s sucked in easily, his claws leaving rips in the bed as he tries to resist. I snap it shut once he’s inside, locking it up tight.

Sitting down on the torn up bed, I admire the gem in my hand, holding it up in the moonlight filtering in. So small a thing. Yet, with this tiny shard, the Dragon Kami is mine. With this, his power belongs to me.

Sighing contently, I reach over and pour myself a glass of Onishine. I swirl the black liquid in my glass before taking a sip.

I look down at the pool of blood, running my hand through its warmth, my smile only growing. This is the last time he would bleed freely.

From now on, Leviathan will bleed for me.

Samantha Realynn
Samantha Realynn
3 years ago

“Diminished” by Samantha Realynn

My name…is long since forgotten.

It was once on countless lips, in eager prayers and desperate whispers. Shouted in ecstasy and spat in vile curses. I was the center of so many lives and the bane of those who would dare defile my places of worship. Those who worshipped me gave me everything I demanded. All I need do was stretch out my hand, and all within its shadow was mine.

I did not simply take. I gave to my followers; I showed my gratitude in the gifts I would bestow upon them and their children. Fortune, good health, long life. Those who followed me would not want for anything. I would bring them to the greatest heights and make them the masters of the world they offered me.

When did it all go wrong?

Was it when they began to turn against one another? I don’t remember why they did, some petty quarrel over how to best artistically portray my majesty. I punished survivors, as was right. My glory diminished for their own puny wants, for nothing of worth, so I destroyed all that they had. I thought that was the end, that rightness would be restored.

But it spread.

My worshippers had witnessed my fury and sought to unleash it upon those they felt unworthy. I don’t remember what reasons they gave; all my followers were the same to me. But they called out the smallest of slights, petty reasons I could not bother to notice until they killed in my name. What did it matter where one was born, or what lover they took to bed? Only my glory should have mattered.

I tried. I unleashed my rage, hoping it would stop, but it only drove them on. My fury ignited them. The fire spread and now…

Now they are gone.

I walk the world that was once mine, among the fading ruins of my temples and the ashes of my followers. And for the first time in eons, I bleed. My blood mixes with the ashes, and soon, even that will be gone.

3 years ago

“The Maiden” Submitted by Connor/Dragoneye

Virgil skulked towards the direction of the crash’s source, with Lia standing back at the house. A silvery mist enveloped Virgil before a large bear-like shape stepped out of it. Two long curled horns protruded from his skull, his ursine snout sniffing the air.

Flesh. Burns.

Virgil galopped in the direction of the scent, his grunts deep and primal. Within the forest, a billowing cloud of smoke snaked into the air, joining the dark coalescing clouds above.

As he approached its source, the trees around it lay strewn about, uprooted and snapped in half, as if a boulder was hurled through the woods by a trebuchet. Virgil peeked his head into the small crater sitting as the center of the razed zone.

Intense gasping came from the earthen bowl.

A young female, dressed in a revealing metal bra and silken girdle, laid battered and beaten. Blood dripped from her mouth, and deep purple bruises covered every inch of her alabaster skin. Across her eyes sat a black blindfold, making her appear ethereal.

“An outsider?” Virgil thought, still as a beast. He lifted her into his clawed arms, carrying her back to their home.

Lia stared in confusion, helping both of them inside. “A foreigner?”

“My thought exactly,” he replied, stretching the mystery girl out on a bed.

She wheezed and coughed, before a whisper came from her lips, “Abyss, please.” Then, her head snapped to face Virgil, despite her eyes being obscured. “W-who are you? Where am I?”

“You’re in Kalonia. We’re Virgil and Lia.” The Kalonian waved his hand across the girl’s face, and she flinched in response. He questioned, “Who are you?”

“Ana… of Threllem.”

The couple stood confounded. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

Ana took a deep breath. “He saw straight through my heart. And made me bleed.”