KILL YOU

just a simple game about birds. nothing weird, i promise.

i composed the ost for a game that's part of #DayDrinkingJam2026 and @godgaque.bsky.social did literally everything else 😸 it's an rpg abt being a bird at a social gathering. fleshbird.itch.io/wttggq

The official Fleshbird game is finally available. Experience the sunset of the Voidship Didactic with your squishy, bloody, drunken friends. WELCOME TO THE GOD-GA-'QUE fleshbird.itch.io/wttggq OST by the immaculate @manicpixie.meangirls.online Our entry for #DayDrinkingJam2026. More coming soon.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

here in birdworld we appreciate the fine bloodsport of Bocky which, due to the immense material and emotional strain it imparts on our society, must only be played once every nineteen squawks. our finest pilots in their infernal machines scramble to hit the floating thingy through the doohickey.

a little bird told me that the blushing goddess only began harvesting the serpents to reprocess them into paramours. that she created the horned goddess as the first of her harem, but the energy expenditure left her functionally infertile, a trait she transferred to her only offspring as punishment

the Progeny turned on us. the Trenchrunners flaked out after the Progeny turned on them. and the Longthings only barely survived extinction after their Goddess turned on them. our King's rebirth has stalled. all the Fleshbirds have left are each other. Goddesspace does not love us.

that pile of birdshit Nailbeak reared his ugly mechanical pecker at the function the other day. had a whole robotic skull implanted after the botched Sconchtel Offensive left him with half the nerve endings he used to be. breathily blurted some shit about "pit goddess cum" before teleporting out.

fuck the consortium. shrimpin' progeny think they know how to run things. no wonder the trenchrunners blew up their lousy chemical plant. fucking disgraces. all of tjem. goddess's gonna hate this. goddess's gonna hate what became of hers. as much as i do. more rum, birdtender. fill it to the brim.

just got a job on a voidshrimpin' vessel. the decapodal denizens of the ancient old space-seas have yet to avoid the hunger of their only natural predator, us. i can tell the captain's a lifer, didn't replace his lost eye with shoddy consortium tech. says these're the tastiest shrimps in g-space.

food is scarce in consortium territories and due to the highly sanctified nature of fleshbird ritual cannibalism birdmeat substitutes are common. speakiesies are the standard since our meaty physiology proves to be quite economic regarding quick inebriation. pheromone distillates are quite varied.

the consortium is dead. long live the consortium

i'm glad girls exist. i'm just glad they exist. exceptionally grateful and thankful. every goddessdamn day i gotta thank it to em. in nature and all things. i'm so fucking glad

that's not a cigarette it's a spent wavergun heatsink. they found a way to synthesize the Blushing Goddess's deep cosmic waves to use against her but the intense Divine Pressure created as a byproduct is dispersed through needlelike clusters affixed to the barrel. they taste warm & sweet when sucked

my overactive mucosal gland drips at the smoky waft of another void-va-que telefrying sacred birdmeat through nanosecond warps into the core's surface. its glow is dim but its gentle heat grills our forebearers to perfection. grampy would've loved knowing we served him with a nerve-based aioli

i'm a consortium bird with no knowledge of humanly forms of entertainment and i think video games shouldn't cost more than $20 maximum

Goddess is such a good word. the disembodied personality of an "Ameran" martial officer preserved on a bloodstained brain implant told us where he's from exists a world governed by a "God". impossible. some thing named "Yee Haw" promising "Salvation". why doesn't she have big boobies like mine then?

oh, her? scarlet. prettiest voidgun they ever made. called her abnormal; shot red beams, not blue. took her anyway. consortium shuns usage of these; "ontologically, universally destructive". bird fuckin shit. chunks assholes with one blast. randomly teleports anything shot at. whaddya mean wasteful?

there existed two concurrent states: SHE and NIL. SHE shattered herself to expel NIL. thus, all was to be, all that there currently is. HER gift was selfless, thankless ; the inheritance of all goddesses. her firstborn was of shadows, primordial feedback loop. her second was the blushing goddess.

the horned goddess's rebirth cycle relies on mutuality with her progeny. she can't bear direct divine offspring ie banging another goddess. such was taken from her. but her creations love her no less. she loves they, they love she, ad nauseum, et cetera. must feel incredible being so lovingly loyal

our goddess still bathes in the river, the holy river which quenches the land of its ailments. every time i dream of it it's different. you get lucky when you dream about being in nature

goddesspace is quiet tonight. the colours in the sky shred through the glittering glints of the core reflecting off spaceborne shrapnel and serpent war debris. the old factions haven't found me yet. my pheromone daiquri is colder than a corpse. the mucosal bath scorches before me. time to melt.

i served as clergical line cook aboard the didactic-class shuntship "eschoyton". the progenies gutted the teleporter drive and rebuilt it into a kitchenette. consortium-convert birds have versatile metabolisms but most devouts have narrowed it down to synthetic petroleum and some shit called oatmeal

camwawk, atheistic voidship gunner who survived the crisis, tells me the dustwalkers deserted to their arid birthplace after learning what we'd been doing with the "universal pheromones" they provided. 3/4 consortium member-species are incapable of arousal. we made sensory gas bombs outta it instead

gagwakk, gahgwak, ghaghwahkk. the most common name among consortium birds. not to be confused with gahgaahgwahkk, that guano guzzler. spent his waning years plopping hackneyed, psuedogoddessly prose misrepresenting the horned goddess to such a degree i know birds it's deconverted. glad he got eaten.

my mucosal gland's all fucked up from too much processed birdmeat and birdfry. i'm like a frog i need that shit as coolant and so i have something to swallow to provide the illusion of hydration

i'm not a bot i swear. gut me of my organs and nerve endings and seal them in a microwave powered dreadnought and then ill be pushin more spam links than a hormel slaughterhouse