Homestuck Typing Quirks Novels & Stories

I was really losing it, I thought irritatedly. "So red heads weren't your thing?" I typed. "You're my thing. Now is what matters, don't you agree?" I frowned. "What you mean to say is that I'm not your usual type... What's your usual type then? Let me guess, leggy blonde with big blue eyes and double D's?" I slapped my palm against my forehead multiple times after sending that very whiny message. The ground just needed to open up and swallow me whole right now. Where was a backspace button on life when you needed one?

“Having trouble focussing there are we, Tinks?” I lift my hand and press it against his face and push it away from me. “Will you shut up! How do you expect me to focus when you’re invading my space and irritating me while I try to work?” I mutter, pressing the backspace, dramatically deleting the typo and retyping again. “You’re like an imprudent child.” Devin laughs and rocks my chair with his foot. “Fuck, you type slow.”

POV: Marcus I typed the words without blinking. Do it.. But make it look like an accident. My thumb hovered over the send button for half a second. Not from hesitation. I was never someone who hesitated. I was just savoring the finality of it. The clean, cold satisfaction of closing a problem permanently.

Don’t Be Difficult. I barked a bitter laugh that hurt my ribs. I’m Not Your Lackry I noticed the typo the second I hit send—Lackry instead of lackey—but my thumb was shaking too hard to fix it and autocorrect had already betrayed me. Whatever. They’d get the point. Or they wouldn’t. I didn’t give a shit. Dots again. I stared at them, chest tight, waiting for whatever fresh poison they were about to type. But nothing came. The screen stayed frozen on those three jumping assholes.

I said. “I’m fine.” A lie. A familiar one. Minutes stretched into an hour. Then another. The clock on my phone ticked past midnight. She kept typing. But I started noticing the cracks before she did. The pauses grew longer. Her shoulders sagged. She reread the same paragraph three times, blinking hard like she was fighting something heavier than fatigue. “Carmilla,” I said quietly. “What?” she snapped, then softened. “Sorry. Just—thinking.” Her typing slowed. Then stopped altogether.

Why was today the day everyone decided to attack me emotionally? I typed carefully so I wouldn’t embarrass myself: ME: its okay i was busy too ME: and yeah i missed talking too you lol Immediately I regretted the “lol.” Why do I type like a malfunctioning toaster? MAX: you’re kind of cute when u type like that not going to lie I stared at that message for a solid ten seconds, then grabbed a pillow and screamed into it like a dying squirrel. My legs were kicking the air. My soul was doing somersaults.

Unfortunately, my unfinished article for the campus paper isn’t helping. Why Casual Doesn’t Mean Careless blinks back at me from the top of the screen like the universe is mocking me personally. Simone snorts from my bed. “That title feels targeted.” “Shut up.” Troy’s sitting at the desk again, highlighting notes with terrifying concentration. “You’ve typed three sentences in twenty minutes.” “I’m brainstorming.” “You typed the word Connor by accident twice.” I slam my laptop halfway shut. “That happened one time.” “Three,” Troy corrects calmly.

[JEANNE: the sky is red 🌇 you know] [I am a penguin 🐧 🐧🐧] [no no no not penguin duckguin I cant be a pen😭😭😭] [have you seen my ex total noob 🤮👿] [Oh single me🤦🏾‍♀️😞] What was she typing? No punctuation or anything reasonable in the whole thirteen messages she sent. I couldn’t even continue reading them. I just moved my thumb to her contact information and clicked on ‘edit name’, then changed her name from Jeanne to ‘Stupid Drunk’.

“How is it possible that I don’t like it?” Mr. Mysterious said in a good mood. “I was so happy when I saw your message that my hands keep shaking when I typed.” Estelle was speechless. “I was trying to reply to your message, but I was too excited and kept making typos. Finally, I gave up texting you and then dialed your number,” Mr. Mysterious uttered. He seemed to be a little embarrassed, but his voice was full of joy. “Estelle, I miss you so much.”

The words were in black typeface font over a white background. With her heart slamming against her chest, she tentatively tapped her black painted short-nailed forefinger on the back button on her phone, trying to dismiss the message. It did not budge. Her tapping became rapid. Still, the message remained. Instead, the words began to transform into a drippy handwritten bloodshot font. Another set of words appeared beneath the first. They were in the same bloody handwritten font and read- THE LAST DARE WILL NO LONGER WAIT in capitalized alphabets.