You don't know why she's dressed like that, but you tell her she's a fool if she thinks that PALTRY DISGUISE would hide her from you. You'd recognize that scent anywhere. Your only regret regarding her untimely demise was that you never got to SLAY this particular SOVEREIGN yourself.

You can't help but feel the flame of undying fury burning in your chest. The mere sight of this– *Sickening Sycophant* makes you rather sick. You only have one way to greet someone of his caliber: 𝓗𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓸, 𝓕𝓪𝓰𝓰𝓸𝓽.

NOW YOU KNOW THE UNIVERSE IS FUCKING WITH YOU.

[ Closed starter for @postal-deeds.bsky.social. ] Swordplay. Power. Hacking away at nothing. Blood for bloods sake. The rush, the burn of muscles pushed too far, the nigh-silent way that your flashing blade cut through flesh—cleaving suckers in half. It was liberating.

GOD DAMMIT. FINE. GRAB YOUR SWORD. YOU GUESS YOU'RE DOING THIS NOW.

YOU WERE JOKING.

You remember when you put a hole through the Mayor's chest.

BARKBARAKRBAKABARAKBARKBARKBRAKKAKAKBARKBARK

YOU SURE ARE GLAD THESE KIDS CAN'T DIE FOR REAL BECAUSE HOO BOY WOULD YOU BE GETTING IN A LOT OF TROUBLE FOR THE THINGS YOU'RE ABOUT TO DO.

Grumble grumble stupid dead kids and their stupid pseudo immortality bluh bluh bluh.

❝𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫. 𝐆𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬.❞

MOTHER FUCKER

You don't actually care what they're made out of. It's been a good three years since you've put something in your body, and the lack of any SCARY WHITE DOGS around makes this the perfect opportunity. Put the nuggets in the bag and nobody gets hurt, you tell him.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ🌊—㠪mbraceㅤyourㅤinnerㅤseaㅤcreature, ㅤㅤㅤㅤjustㅤdiveㅤinㅤandㅤmakeㅤaㅤ𝑠𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑠ℎ﹗ ˚◦🐠

You are almost certain that you've killed everybody here at least once before. You are starting to wonder if there's some unseen force resurrecting all of your victims with the specific goal of gaslighting you.

❝𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐬, 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐛𝐲 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐄...❞

❝𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨.❞

If it's kids that need stabbing, there's only one Bark for the job.

What the fuck is a cellphone? Just call people over Walkie Talkies like normal people.

Unbelievable. For a moment, you thought you and she might be able to reach an uneasy truce. But no, she is just as furious as ever. The Ring hath no fury, you swear. She is never going to stop. Her delivery is justice, and as you know all too well, nothing stops the mail.

You ask if the two of you can just bury the fucking hatchet already. Get to know each other a little? You are so tired of running. What did you even do, anyways? Just a couple of routine murders, which was THREE YEARS AGO already.

You see it so you See it you see.

The MENDICANT's rage has quelled. Perhaps it is safe, now, to come out of hiding?

Utter loathing, a negativity so intense that it renders her frightening and vicious presence to nothing more than an OBJECT to project your ire onto. She doesn't even have a pinned you can do it back to. Motherfucker.

You tell him that you're kind of tired of killing people, actually. You have been running for so long, you sort of just want to lie around and rest for a bit.

You have no idea what the fuck he's talking about.

You tell him that 90% of your powers come from the same fucking source. The Terrors were next on your list, anyways. You would've had them crying if you weren't being chased down by someone who could also sweep you. What? No, not YOU you. You mean him. That could also sweep HIM.

You ask that the Garish Skull Monster kindly refer to the chart.

@postal-deeds.bsky.social ❝𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮.❞

IS EVERYONE THAT YOU'VE EVER KILLED GONNA SHOW UP AGAIN

— 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚣𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚏𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢. #Homestuck #Ancestors #TheDolorosa #PorrimMaryam

Deep breath. Turn around. Slowly, carefully, like any sudden movements are gonna end with you seeing the face of whatever damnable god is looking down on you. ... OKAY FUCK THAT JUST SWING YOUR GODDAMN SWORD BEHIND YOU AND RUN FOR IT.

Maybe she didn't see you, you think. Maybe you're still safe. Maybe you can just— She's right behind you, isn't she?

❝𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫.❞

Smells like MeGaLoVania.

Stars. Stars and stars and stars for lightyears upon lightyears. Up here, out of orbit, you don’t need your wings to fly. All the better, because your entire body is tired. Sprawled out, smoking gently.

You're going to relish in killing every last one of these freaks.

On everyone's heart-shaped-object we're cleaving Tenna.

❝𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐟 𝓕𝓐𝓖𝓖𝓞𝓣 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤.❞

❝𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐍𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞’𝐬 𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝? 𝐍𝐨, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐞,❞ ❝𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐝.❞

This kid is fucked up brah 💔

You are momentarily afforded the peace of mind to resume a dull, quiet life of semi-restrained murder. Maybe you will wait here and see if the Mailwoman shows up You wonder if it will always be like this. What sort of future does a new god have to look forward to?