I'm Not Sure If I'll Get To Doing It (I'm Still Figuring Out How This All Works To Be Completely Honest),

The Fallen Angel

Healed. Now just to get him some therapy-

FUCK IT I CANT STAND SEEING HIM SUFFER *THROWS HIM ON MY INSURANCE FOR HAND SURGERY* GOOD LUCK AND GODSPEED YOU TIRED OLD MAN

@filazuli

He will never recover from this mentally and will explode y'all with his mind every night before sleep ^^

HEY POSTAL FANS,

I NEED YOUR HELP!

I'm currently trying to make a Postal timeline, but I'm finding it EXTREMELY difficult to find years and ages!

All I have is that the P2 Dude is designed to look like he's in his late 30's to early 40's and that Postal 1997 takes place in 1997 (shocking...)

If you guys have anything that could help us make this timeline with ACTUAL SOURCES (PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, LIST YOUR SOURCES!!) It would be a great help to me!!

Thank you!!

I MADE A DSAF FAN GAME IN TWO DAYS!!! ITS A ONE DAY ROMP, WITH MORE PLANNED!

Work as Freddy Fazbender's best janitor, freshly transferred to a new location! Theres at least ONE new phone guy to meet! There are several rooms to clean! Theres conditional dialouge!

Play it HERE!

After months of unemployment, you found a job as a “postal worker.” You didn’t think that when they referred to the “Warm environment” and “capable of handling objects with care.” they were saying to “Hell” and “the souls of the damned.”

Your P1 is so skrunkly. We adore him so much. The other dudes are also so funky. We love them all.

THANK YEW

fui ver fuga impossível e conheci o hannibal brasileiro

N-NO, I.., I'M NOT COMP- COMPLETELY OBSESSED WITH HIM, Y-YOU ARE SPREADING LIES... ～(　TロT)σ

So... Cellboier decided to give us old man yaoi, I am honoring their wishes

(can't believe i am unaronically writing about Abueloier and his "friend", dear fucking god)

There was blood under his nails, but that wasn't new. He sometimes scratched too hard or got too rough with the guards after trashing around his cell. Those were the bad days, when he couldn't even control where his hands landed.

Any other day, he couldn't control where his thoughts landed. That was the real danger. Not the scratches and bruises, the teasers and beatings. None of that compared to what years of confinement can do to you.

It probably would've been even worse had he not met him.

"Hey" he had whispered one night from the cell next to his, just over a year ago, after the guards left "You okay?"

"De puta madre" Abueloier hissed, touching his busted lip "Y tu qué? You're new?"

"Got transfered today" the man behind the wall moved to the front of the cell, Abueloier instinctively followed "Are they always like that?"

"Only if you're crazy enough to start breaking shit in your cell and threatening to kill everybody"

"Are you?"

Abueloier almost heard a smile in his whisper. He'd always remember that as the moment he realized he had finally found a match, someone of his caliber. An equal, a partner.

"On my bad days" he answered.

The other huffed a short laugh "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you at your worst"

"I'd hope so, you would hate me at my best"

From then on, they moved together as one. It was them against the rest of the inmates, the guards, the entire prison. They shared every meal, every recess, and talked about what they'd do once they made it out.

"I'll build myself a house" he spoke around a spoonful of beans "Maybe a castle"

Abueloier laughed "You dream too big"

"Okay then, what will you do?"

He shrugged and looked down at the stale beans on his plate "Make tacos, probably"

The talking got to planning, the days got longer and Abueloier's mind got louder. Every time his new friend explained what they had to do, his voice morphed into some distortion of what he said. The last days were bad, worst than bad, and nothing could stop that train of thought from flying off the rails.

"How do you know their schedual?" his hands shook, they had been doing that for a while.

"I told you already, I sneaked into the office-"

"Yeah, right. Fucking likely" there was a noise coming from his right but nobody noticed, so Abueloier didn't turn to check. He kept staring into those wild, troubled blue eyes and decided that if there was a white figure at the corner of his eye, he'd not give it the satisfaction of being noticed.

"You trust me, right?" he tilted his head, some of his hair brushing the neck of his uniform. Had that smile always been part of the design on their uniforms? Was it there at all?

"I do" he sighed and closed his eyes, mostly to avoid noticing more than he could handle "We can do this, and we will. Together"

There was blood under his nails, and it wasn't his or from any guard. His only friend tried to sit up to cough up blood but winced when it only made the knife dig further into his abdomen.

"Why would you do this to me?" he heaved, but Abueloier was about to ask the same thing.

"Where do you know them from? Was this entire thing just a trick to get me to them?"

That smile was plastered everywhere, he could see it in the blood that poured from his friend. He would see it in the tears that fell to his hands.

"I would've gone to the end of the Earth with you, but you chose them" he pressed his forehead to a bloody chest, feeling the difficulty of its rise and fall "You chose them. You chose them. I would've chosen you"

The realization came seconds before those wild, troubled blue eyes dimmed into nothing. There was blood under his nails, on his hands, on his clothes, pouring from his friend's body. There was betrayal laced to his last words.

"I choose you too" it sounded like a scratched record, wet with the blood drowning the sound from his throat "At your worst and at your best"

The guards found him some time later, maybe minutes, maybe hours, could've been days for all he knew. Turns out they didn't wear white, never did, in fact. The smiles from the walls were no longer there, the eyes in every corner had completely dissapeared. No trace of bears or artificial voices telling him about other people's intentions.

All that was left was a life sentence and years worth of lagoons in his memory, blissfully blank and confused. Still, he managed. He got a job as a janitor, even went out sometimes to meet up with his grandson, but always tried to avoid that good for nothing husband of his.

Those eyes, they looked too lively. Too wild, too troubled for anyone's good

@fuga4week day 1!! The prompt was "prision times" :D

(3 other versions bellow o/)