#birdberry

[entities-of-posts]

TMA is so tasty for former homestucks. We got arbitrary categories, Personality typing based on those categories, gays

Everything is tasty for former Homestucks because if you’re hungry enough to have read the whole thing then you’ll eat anything

[birdburied]

Dancing, Berry loves dancing, always has. She holds her best friend in her arms, both of them laughing and moving in sync. Her hands are soft, her lips familiar, her black hair swishing about her ears. There are others pressed around them, grinding, sweating, twirling, lost in the music. The lights are so bright but you can't make out a face in the changing colors. Who needs a face? She is spinning. 

Her dance partner's hair looks purple when the light changes, and flows long over its shoulders. There are so many eyes gazing at Berry so adoringly, and she does not recognize any of them. Their song comes on and they both shriek in delight. It twirls Berry, and when Berry's eyes land on her dance partner again she sees a yellow raincoat and a scarred and smiling face. The hands are rough and strong, and his eyes are an incredible blue. He is the wind, white clouds in sunlight, swinging her like a kite. 

Berry laughs and screams, the music melts to cries of terror, the dancers drenched in sweat are now slick with blood. Her heart hammers in her throat and she is spinning spinning spinning. His face falls to the floor and laughs, and she is ripped from his hands into the writhing mass of bodies.

Berry wakes with a start, heart hammering in her ears and vision blurred. She shoves herself to a sitting position and immediately regrets it as pain shoots through her skull. On its heels comes the searing hot pain of a broken ankle, and an ache makes itself known in every muscle of her body. She gingerly lays back down in the tall grass she landed in. 

Wait, grass? Where -? 

There looks to be a path of broken and bent grasses leading to where she is, with spots of blood clinging to a few fronds. She wracks her brain for a memory, for context, for something that can explain where she is, but there's just a nauseating blur of music and color. She can't think. Concussion. Pain. 

She turns her head and sees a somewhat familiar knife in the brush a few feet from her. She frowns, confused. Raincoat had a knife, right? Jack? Jack's knife. Why was she in a field with Jack's knife? Is that how she got here? Then where was he?

She groans as her head throbs again. "Just like college.."

She takes the knife and carefully pushes herself upright, then to her feet. Nothing familiar around. No signs of civilization. She picks a direction and starts limping.

@entities-of-posts @vastjackfishschool

[entities-of-posts]

Hello Mx. Archivist! I was thinking about what we discussed at the meeting and... if you still think its a good idea, i think i aught to go pay Mads a visit

-🫐

I think it would be about time, as well.

How were you thinking of proceeding?

[entities-of-posts]

Mx Archivist, do you have any advice for a buried avatar on escaping the Spiral's grasp? Things have been getting... wibbly-wobbly, and its making my burrow less than homey

I can certainly See that. I’m afraid the Spiral isn’t one with such a clear counter as, say the Corruption. My only advice is to find out what works best to keep yourself grounded - which, well, you should have an affinity for.

[entities-of-posts]

What is the root of your anger? At being party to so much suffering? That your mailbox was assaulted in the first place? That Mike is having a splendid laugh? Or that we all want you to delete the post? Name it, Mx Archivist

-🐦🫐

All of you all of your hatred and rage and agony is passing right. Through. Me. It stabs through my eyes and fills my skull to bursting I. Cannot breathe,

[entities-of-posts]

I've been scrolling through your dream posts for a while and am realizing my dreams are VERY stranger oriented (not surprising, I'm literally automatonophobic) but even dreams that aren't nightmares are full of People That Aren't and Faces Without Faces. My actual nightmares are always something simple yet Wrong that shakes me to my core. One that sticks out in my mind is of looking out my bedroom door at night at a porcelain doll sitting in the hall with the light off, then it turns its head and I wake up spooked. Don't like dolls..

Marked by the Stranger, then, but definitely aligned with the Buried

[entities-of-posts]

My coworkers discovered my severe fear of dolls and have been jump-scaring me with elf-on-the-shelf

Always very funny when normal people do the Fears’ job for them. If one of your coworkers starts to get too into it and act stranger and Stranger though… well, I certainly hope you take notes and forward them to me :)

[entities-of-posts]

Feeling the urge to share the experience with the Stranger that marked me as a child... I used to like dolls, not in excess of course, but as much as a young afab person is prone to, and had a collection of porcelain dolls from my mom and grandmother. American Girl had a My Twin doll, a customizable doll, you'd fill out a form and send a picture and they'd make an American girl doll of you. You could even get matching outfits! I wanted one for Christmas and got one as my 1 big gift for the year, with outfits and a mini bed for it. I thought it was cool, set up a little corner of my room for Her. My uncle said she would steal my soul as I slept, my dad would comment that she seemed "particularly lively" on some days,,, I started finding it in places I didn't leave it. I started having nightmares. Upon finding her sat up in her bed one morning I burst into tears and my mom removed her. I don't know if my dad or my brother were messing with me or if Something happened, but now the presence of dolls/puppets/mannequins makes me nauseous with fear.

Definitely a Mark! She was fond of you, very fond; she would have absorbed every part she could, had she been given the time. Actually, it looks like she did make off with your name at the time, though I don’t believe you mind as you seem to have gotten a replacement.