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⪩ ◡◡ pyrr 。

Last Login:
November 14th, 2023



Gender: Male
Status: In a relationship
Age: 17
Sign: Cancer
Country: United States

Signup Date:
December 17, 2020

Subscriptions:

04/27/2021 05:15 PM 

// ESCAPISM

honestly just wanna be this GIF, chillin on a webpage
no thoughts
nothing to worry about
just bein a lil die
sittin around bein cool
addin some spice to a gamblin site
spinnin cube, part of a divider with a ace of spades
i didnt realize it was part of a divider
still like it
kinda wanna be in there
just existin
f*** bein real
i wanna exist on a webpage
curse your browser or somethin

04/17/2021 03:52 PM 

// ALTER INTROS
Current mood:  exhausted

hello! as you guys have probably guessed, we're a system so here is a general overview of us!
(please note this is mostly just our frequent fronters/whoever chills in co-con a lot)


Derrick
- host (new to this!) / protector 
- fictive (homestuck: source character won't be disclosed)
- he/they/it
- aroace

Grave
- co-host 
- any pronouns
- formed when Ghost dipped
- message farrier between inner headspace and outer headspace

Hal
- social 
- fictive (homestuck: lil hal)
- it/cyber
- doesn't mask very well but we love cyb

AR
- persecutor (with good intentions, he's gotten better)
- fictive (homestuck - endangered: AR)
- he/him
- nonhuman (android)
- half the reason Ghost realized we exist, i bully him by calling him toaster boy.

Spades
- persecutor
- she/they
- used to be a lot worse, but she settled in and mostly gets along with us.
- kind of a bitch, also pretty manipulative at times.

Dave
- fictive (homestuck: dave strider)
- he/crow
- good god does he spend a lot of time on TikTok
- he formed around the same time as me (Derrick)

DS
- fictive (homestuck: davesprite)
- any pronouns (had a identity crisis)
- has fragments of everybody who was there when he formed
- gets along with Spades well

Zalgo
- Inner Self-helper
- it/its
- just kinda chills
- i like to pick on it sometimes
- nonhuman (demon)

 

03/22/2021 07:24 PM 

// FISH EYES

AO3 MIRROR : https://archiveofourown.org/works/30068103
CW: DISSOCIATION (DEPERSONALIZATION/DEREALIZATION), MENTIONS OF TAXIDERMIED/DEAD ANIMALS

 

It's like a big question mark was put over everything. 

 

The world made sense once. But now it doesn't. It's a blurry, senseless mess.

 

Like looking through a fisheye lens that warps the colors and shapes. Everything blends and meshes together into this mess of color that's so bright and painful to look at, yet drowned like it was submerged in the murkiest of rivers.

 

Dead. Things just look dead, like every last inch of soul was pulled out and suspended in the hazy air. Shapes warp and snap apart. Shadows take new shape, forming figures in the haze. Glitches caught by the dull eyes of plastic looking fish all around.

 

It feels like a fish tank.

 

Plastic. Blurry. Fake. 

 

Eyes burning into the soul, catching every last sense. Gripping. Pulling. Tearing into it and devouring the glittery, rotten insides infested with maggots. Meat pulled through a hole in the wall and replaced by glittery nonsense and fish.

 

It's all just fish. 

 

There's light shining in their eyes. Bright and blinding. Pink.

 

Meat rots, stench fills what should be air. What had been air. It slips into fragile lungs and burns. No matter how hard you try to get it out, every inhale sucks more of the acidic liquid in, and in, and in. Heavy. Lungs heavy and it feels like floating.

 

Dead fish. 

 

Dead birds.

 

 

Dead everything.

 

All preserved in jars. Neat labels written out. Color drains, leaving behind only grays and dull light. 

 

Are they really even fish anymore?

 

Bright bones, all stained pink and cyan. Suspended in liquid. There's no flesh, only skeletons held together by what had once been their bodies. All labeled.

 

Salmon.

 

Tetra.

 

Sebastes.

 

 

Dead eyes.

 

Fish eyes.

 

 

It melded together. Burned into one memory.

 

You can't breathe.

 

You're one of them now.

 

 

Preserved in a jar, observed. Dead on display. Somebody is watching you now. There's red eyes, warped and shining through the dullness.

 

Tap.

 

Tap.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Things slowly focus.

 

You aren't in a jar anymore.

 

 

Limbs return feeling, pins and needles prick into your hands and travel up your spine. Hands up your spine, dragging clammy fingers along each vertebrae. 

 

There's a hand on... Your shoulder.

 

Tapping.

 

Rhythmic, consistent.

 

 

Tap.

 

 

Tap.

 

 

Tap. 

 

 

"--ro?"

 

Dave's voice. It's soothing, in a way. Maybe he is there, isn't just some fever dream.

 

"Sup?"

 

That wasn't your voice. Or maybe it was, you can't remember anymore anyway.

 

 

"You've been standing here for like, twenty minutes, dude. I get you don't like that sh*t but it's getting creepy having you just like, standing there staring at 'em."

 

 

Shelves filled with objects. DVDs, figures, odds and ends. But then there's just… Jars. Some filled with common objects; paper stars, sand, shells. Others, filled with death. Two baby birds, nestled together and suspended. Fish. Stained pink and cyan.

 

Their eyes are watching you again.

 

They're always watching, aren't they.

 

 

"Can't I just admire the quantity of dead sh*t you've collected? It ain't even ironic anymore, you just like this crap."

02/11/2021 02:56 PM 

// SOFT, SAFE
Current mood:  angsty

CW: ABLEISM, BRO STRIDER, BULLYING

 
[ -- Soft, Safe - chapter 1 draft -- ]
DAVE’S POV
 
As a kid, you always thought that Bro just didn't want to talk to you. Even if you had never, ever heard him speak to anyone. His constant silence drove you up a wall for so long during your childhood. Hearing how other kids' parents would talk to them about their day and communicate verbally. Your first years in school were spent being called stupid by your peers because you didn’t realize talking was a requirement. Teachers and councillors pulled you aside and asked invasive questions about your home life, seeming to believe that something was wrong at home that made you not speak. The incessant noise that was your peers talking made your head hurt, so you didn't see the point in adding to the headache. 
 
Eventually though, by halfway through fifth grade, you started speaking. At first, it was shaky, doubting pronunciations but picking it up quickly from so many years of listening to others speak. It shocked your teacher, who had looked around to see if somebody else spoke but realized that it, in fact, was you. She had smiled that sickly sweet smile that you convinced yourself was fake, confirming whatever you had said was correct. 
 
Maybe you would have found his silence less infuriating if he would have stopped waving his hands around like an idiot. But even then, something you learnt much later on, he wasn't just making meaningless gestures. He was trying to communicate with you, using whatever methods he could when he didn't have access to a phone or paper to write out what he had to say to you. Bro was always an oddity to you, and apparently everyone else as well. His silence, the fact you had not once heard him speak to you, or anyone for that matter-- was so annoying. Even then, though you denied it for years, you cared a lot about him, he was your guardian after all and he never once made an effort to harm you, unlike the stories you heard from peers about their parents. He was always trying his best to keep you out of harm's way. Sure, you still had strifes, but they were held with carefully laid out boundaries and he had always signed profuse apologies (a fact you only realized long after.) when he did hurt you once he had disinfected and bandaged your wounds, as slight as they may have been. He'd leave food in the fridge for you after those days, never too far away and sometimes when you'd return to your room you'd find a still sealed bottle of apple juice perched on your makeshift desk with a note that was just covered in light sketches of the characters of your comic.
 
His affection and words were shown through small gestures, a hair ruffle here, a firm pat on the shoulder there-- Bro never seemed to need verbal communication for you to read him. An open book, despite his near expressionlessness and careful posture. Emotions were easy to read with him, and though sometimes it got eerie to you that he seemed to never get mad at you when you were knowingly being a brat, you appreciated that you knew how he felt. He'd always strifed with you when you were stressed or mad after days at school, helping you regulate emotions that you never let truly show. You had always wanted to impress him, wanted to show him you could be expressionless as well.
 
When your peers started picking on you, he let you handle it, even when he saw you were distraught over what they had done. You had tried to toughen up, ignore their venomous words and keep your sh*t together, but it was hard. Words ebbed away at your tough shell and wormed their way through thin cracks into soft flesh underneath the barriers you put up. 
 
They ate away at your heart like maggots in roadkill long since forgotten despite it's rancid smell, blending into the background as it just becomes normal, expected even. Everything started to feel dull after those thoughts, those feelings, began to show themselves to you. It wasn't all this sudden brick wall sh*t you hear about in books and movies where the protagonist is some unfortunate tween girl getting relentlessly picked on by her peers, no, no matter how much you subconsciously related to those girls, you weren't them. At least they had parents who f***ing spoke to them. His silence wasn't so bad in your younger years, it was easier for you then. But now? It's so annoying. God, all you wanted was for him to talk to you, so what if you’d never heard him speak to anyone at all, he had to be able to speak. Right?
 
Everything always felt so slow, the analog clock ticked endlessly on the wall as you stared off. Past the wall, past this plane of reality, even. Sometimes you caught yourself daydreaming, wondering what it would sound like if your bro were to speak to you. It was practically self-torture, having convinced yourself he just would never talk to you because you somehow weren’t good enough for him to talk to you. Thoughts like that were such bullsh*t but you didn’t have any other way of rationalizing it that your brain would let you have. He was too cool, too calm and collected for him to just be mute. Only (r-slur) people were. Your brother could never, no way. He can do anything, can’t he? 
 
You just had to try harder, push yourself further. Prove yourself in the one place you had a real foot-hold in. Strifes. That was when you’d prove yourself to him, make him tell you he was proud of you. Yeah. That’s what you were gonna do, he’d have to notice then. Shove aside those dumb feelings, what’s the point in them at that point; you just need to be strong. He’d appreciate your efforts, right? It was always something he seemed to enjoy doing with you, so why wouldn’t he be proud if you took that seriously. Swordsmanship was always a skill of his, and getting to share any sort of interaction was better than the solid nothing you normally got from him. 

01/18/2021 09:21 PM 

// WIP
Current mood:  blank


CW: BRO STRIDER, HOMESTUCK

[ -- drifting under the tide - draft 1 -- ]

--> bro: find the polaroids

During moments of clarity like this one; where that fuzzy feeling in your head eases and you can think, you find the box you put important things into. It’s filled with polaroids and old videos, along with some other sentimental junk. The box is hidden away where you won’t find it when your head is all cotton-y again, you learnt that you needed to hide the hard way. Everything there from before Dave was five has been torn apart then meticulously pieced back together and stored at the bottom of a worn out cardboard box that should just be a dead giveaway as to its contents. 

Perhaps it would have been easier had you just chosen to keep them  digital, but then it could be jeopardized if you ever encountered a tech problem (though unlikely, it has happened before). You just can’t risk something like that happening. These photos, while sometimes really dumb are as close as you have to a legitimate memory of your time with Dave. Everything is normally blurry, you just run on autopilot more than anything because you can’t focus. Sometimes you’ve been jarred into awareness by the sound of clashing metal or soft cries that something inside told you was Dave but you know that’s  impossible, if somebody was daring to hurt your li’l man you’d wreck their sh*t.

Memories are few and far between for you more often than not. It feels more like watching snapshots of this kid’s life than being his guardian. More akin to a bystander watching a movie than someone actively participating in this life. There’s few things you can say you really remember, even fewer that you remember from a true “first person” perspective. Everything just felt like you were perceiving it from somebody else’s eyes and not your own, more like watching a elaborate film. Even when you had just found Dave, you had made the habit of taking photos and videos of him, tangible evidence that you raised him. Harley and Lalonde used to ask you about him constantly when they knew you found him so you occasionally sent them over to the duo to ensure you were, infact, raising him.

Those photos and videos were basically all you had, and even then you still were often left to wonder why your kid seemed so… afraid of you. He was always such an energy, a force to be reckoned with when he was a kid; but in recent years he’s grown quiet, distant, despite your  best efforts to at least try and get him to engage with you like you know he used to before something happened. Something you just wish you could possibly remember past the haze, if only to be able to chase  it away and assure him that everything will be okay again. Whatever happened it seems like it really f***ed with him, and that really… hurts. Honest to whatever merciless God or Deity there is out there, you want to have a “polite” and absolutely not katana-filled conversation with them. Nobody gets to hurt your baby bro.

Time. It never worked in your favor, did it? Memories often flitted to and fro in your mind but you could never catch them. It was like trying to catch a grasshopper in an endless field of grass and dead flowers in the middle of summer. No matter how hard you tried to pin it down, to catch it in your hands, it would always slip between your fingers and hop away. You couldn’t remember a lot of things, no matter how much you wish you could. Everything gets lost in the haze you can only wish you knew the origin of. Maybe you could explain it away as a byproduct of your history, of how you were raised; but that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? Blaming the people who raised you would be a pitiful way to put it and you know that.

Dave was the only constant you’ve had for so many years and it took you so long to adjust to his constant presence, especially with how you were always drifting for the many years prior to it. He came into your life as a helpless child that you knew you had to raise, to protect. But then it gets hazy, everything starts to blend together but at the same time they remain separate. Lots of memories all appear the same until you can try to dig, rip apart the fabric that feels like it’s holding you inside your mind. The memory loss and feelings like you’re missing an integral part of your soul, of you was left behind, scattered to the wind like the ashes of some unfortunate relative you can’t remember.

 

// this is either part 1, or the prologue to another fic im making. this is the explaination for a box that Dave finds. I'd appreciate critique/opinions on this! //

01/16/2021 02:22 AM 

// JOURNAL 16/1/2021
Current mood:  discontent

CW : DELUSIONS, ED MENTIONS

// TOD4Y H4S B33N R34LLY W31RD FOR M3. L1K3 1M R34LLY OUT H3R3 L1V1NG UP TO MY N4M3, 1 F3LT L1K3 4 GHOST 4ND L1K3 1TS NOT L1K3 1T W4S B4D 1T JUST F3LT OFF. 4LL OF TOD4Y 1 JUST D1DNT F33L L1K3 4NYTH1NG W4S 3V3N R34L 4ND L1K3 1 W4SNT SUPPOS3D TO 3V3N B3 H3R3?
// SOM3T1M3S 1 H4V3 MOM3NTS WH3R3 1 JUST R3M3MB3R STUFF 1 KNOW 1 W4SNT TH3R3 FOR/H4V3NT S33N FOR MYS3LF BUT L1K3... TH3S3 TH1NGS F33L CLOS3R TO H1V3 TH4N TH1S UN1V3RS3 1 GU3SS? K1ND4 L1K3 LOOK1NG 4T 4N OLD POL4RO1D OF SOM3BODY YOU F33L L1K3 YOUV3 M3T B3FOR3 BUT LOG1C4LLY YOU KNOW YOU H4V3NT-- 1TS SO W31RD SOM3T1M3S, B3C4US3 WH1L3 NORM4LLY 1 C4NT 1M4G1N3 4NYTH1NG (V1SU4L1Z1NG OR OTH3RW1S3) BUT TH3S3 4R3 SO V1V1D, L1K3 1 C4N F33L, H34R, 3V3N SOM3T1M3S S33 TH3M 4ND 1TS J4RR1NG 4T T1M3S.
// TH3S3 P4ST F3W D4YS H4V3 B33N ROUGH 4S SH1T FOR M3, 4LL W1TH MY W31GHT D1PP1NG 10LBS (3V3N 1F 1 R4T1ON4L1Z3D 1T 4S 4 GOOD TH1NG) 4ND F33L1NG S1CK FOR 34T1NG. 1 K33P M4K1NG JOK3S 4BOUT TH3 F4CT 1M SH4K1NG R34LLY B4D ♥X. B31NG "1 F33L L1K3 1M M4D3 OF B33S"> 4ND 1M JUST WOND3R1NG 1F TH3YV3 NOT1C3D TH4T 1 T3ND TO NOT R34LLY 34T MOR3 TH4N ONC3 4 D4Y 4NYMOR3 OR 1F TH3Y JUST PL41N DONT C4R3 TH4T 1 DONT. 
// 1 DONT R34LLY KNOW 1F 1 H4V3 4 "GOOD NOT3" TO 3ND TOD4YS 1NCONS1ST4NT JOURN4L W1TH BUT L1K3-- 1 JUST HOP3 3V3RYTH1NGS GONN4 B3 OK4Y.
// 1 JUST W4NT TO GO H1V3, 1 GU3SS.

12/18/2020 03:57 AM 

// JOURNAL 18/12/2020
Current mood:  drained

CW : ED MENTIONS, DYSPHORIA

// 1 D1DNT 3X4CTLY 1NT3ND FOR MY F1RST BLOG ON H3R3 TO B3 R34LLY H34VY OR 4NYTH1NG, BUT L1K3 GOD D4MN H4S TOD4Y B33N 4N 3XP3R13NC3. SUR3 1T W4S PR3TTY NORM4L 4T TH3 ST4RT, OR 4T L34ST, 4S NORM4L 4S TH1NGS G3T 4ROUND H3R3; NOT L34V1NG MY ROOM UNT1L 1'V3 4SSUR3D 1T'S S4F3 TO DO SO, TH3 TYP1C4L TH1NGS. 1 R34LLY W4SN'T 3XP3CT1NG FOR MY P4R3NTS TO B3 SO M4D TOD4Y, BUT TH4T 3N3RGY H4S R34LLY JUST B33N M4K1NG 1T SH1TTY.
// 1'V3 B33N M34N1NG TO TRY 4ND P1CK UP B3TT3R 34T1NG H4B1TS, BUT TH3 F34R OF G3TT1NG FOOD 4ND JUST G3N3R4L N4GG1NG 1N TH3 B4CK OF MY M1ND TH4T 1 SHOULDN'T, OR OTH3RW1S3 JUST DONT D3S3RV3 TO DO SO 1S S3R1OUSLY G3TT1NG TO M3. 3SP3C14LLY W1TH JUST TH3 F4CT 1 K33P LOOK1NG 4T TH3 NUMB3RS 4ND JUST TH1NK1NG 4BOUT WHY 1T'S L1K3 TH1S, TH4T 1T'S 4LL SOM3HOW MY F4ULT D3SP1T3 MY F4M1LY B31NG TH3 R34SON 1 US3D TO JUST 34T OUT OF BOR3DOM. 1 4LSO JUST CONT1NU3 TO COMP4R3 MYS3LF TO OTH3R P3OPL3 1 KNOW 4ND JUST W1SH1NG 1 COULD B3 L1K3 TH3M 1NST34D OF B31NG... HOW 1 4M.
// 1 4LSO JUST K33P W1SH1NG 1 COULD P4SS B3TT3R. L1K3 1 D3SP3R4T3LY W4NT TO PR3S3NT HOW 1 W4NT, BUT 1 C4NT. NO M4TT3R HOW H4RD 1 TRY 1 PROB4BLY N3V3R W1LL LOOK HOW 1 W4NT TO. 4T TH3 L34ST 1 JUST W4NT TO B3 FL4T, G3T R1D OF TH3 W31GHT ON MY CH3ST, PHYS1C4LLY 4ND M3T4PHOR1C4LLY. H4H4.
// ON 4 MUCH SOFT3R NOT3, 1'V3 B33N M4K1NG SOM3 K4ND1 4S 4 M34NS TO P4SS TH3 T1M3, SO 4T L34ST TH4TS B33N FUN >:]

 

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