Homestuck Typing Quirks Novels & Stories

Except for the clicking sound coming from typing. Declan still didn't look up, with the loud clicking sound of my heels. He kept typing away, with seriousness written all over his face. Finally, he stopped typing, his fingers still hovering over the keys and his eyes focused on the screen. “You are thirty-five minutes late” he tapped a key. His fingers started dancing again. My gaze dropped to my wrist watch and my eyes bugged out. Jesus! This He-devil is so accurate. Damn. What a cold freak.

Simple. Casual. So painfully normal compared to the chaos inside my chest right now. I stared at the message for a long moment before finally replying. ME: Yes. Several seconds later— ADRIAN: You type like someone died. My lips parted slightly. How did he notice things so quickly? I typed carefully. ME: Just tired. Three dots appeared immediately. What went wrong. Not a question mark. A statement. Like he already knew something happened. I swallowed hard. Then typed the safest response possible.

The blinking cursor on my laptop might as well have been laughing at me. Every time I tried to put words on the page, it just sat there, smug and relentless. I leaned back in my chair, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes, and groaned. “Porra…” I muttered, dragging the word out like it could take my frustration with it. I typed a line, read it, and immediately deleted it. Typed again, deleted again. Nothing sounded right. My brooding cat shifter hero was about as sexy as an old shoe. My heroine felt like cardboard. And the whole plot? Flat.

I hope you had a good night and I just want to say sorry for what…… I didn’t even finish typing the message and I was already clearing it until there was only the blinking vertical line. I stared at the blank screen and the incessant blinking line thinking that I’m fucking this up once again. What was I thinking? Of course, Ambrose did not have a good night. Who in the world would have a good night after catching the person they really like about to have a sexual intercourse with someone else? Of course, no one. Not even me. If I was that person, I’m going to be upset too. I slapped my face hoping to gain some kind of wake up call. I blinked twice before eventually taking a firmer hold of my

And even that person who could take care of you, just as much as you took care of them. Feeling restless, she got up from her chair to wander the room, looking over kids’ shoulders to see their progress. Given this class consisted only of second graders, most of the students continued to “hunt and peck” their way through typing exercises, despite Kat’s corrections and insistence that they use the right fingers for particular keys. Then again, by the time these kids were in college, they’d probably have computer programs that allowed them to avoid typing altogether.

Melody typed rapidly on the keyboard, and a black command window popped up. "Now, enter the password." I took a deep breath and recited a complex password consisting of 19 characters, including both uppercase and lowercase letters, numbers, and symbols. "D... M... G... h... a... n... o... v... e... r... 1... 9... 9... 8... k... l... a... u... s...!" When I uttered the last character, Melody's finger stopped on the Enter key. She looked up in shock at me.

He has a beautiful cock. A large cock. A glorious throbbing, always-ready cock. I think I'm drunk. I start to type what's going through my head. How do you spell glorious? Instead, I type: *Aw. no 1 too suck.* Why is typing so hard? My hands feel so slow. No one to suck your cock is what I mean, but it looks wrong on the screen. *What’s with the spelling? Are you drunk? Where are you?* I exhale heavily. If Dorian would stop texting me, I could call a cab and get home.

Then slowly— She began to type. At first, it was just a few corrections. Fixing grammar. Adjusting sentence flow. But as she continued, she found more issues. More problems. And before she knew it, she was fully immersed. Her focus sharpened. Her frustration turned into determination. Line by line, she rewrote sections. She restructured paragraphs. She improved the tone. Time passed without her noticing. The world around her faded into the background. Until— “Hey.” A voice broke through her concentration.

​I took a breath and struck the first key. ​CLACK. ​The bare metal letter A punched into the grease-paper, leaving behind a sharp, translucent perforation that allowed the candlelight to shine through. I didn't rush. Each stroke had to be deliberate, firm enough to slice through the wax coating but not so violent that it tore the master sheet. The rhythmic, mechanical sound of my typing filled the vault, a steady, driving pulse that felt more reliable than any digital network.

-Daniella) I sighed a relief. I almost complied to that. I began to type for a reply; (You almost got me. Well, my head hurts a lot but it's fine. How'd you get my number?) I clicked send and waited for a reply. After seconds, there was a beep on my phone. Wow. She's fast at typing. (Ryder gave it to me. It's okay for you, right?) Wow, she even typed the words without missing any vowels. Ryder and Jason texts with no vowels in the words as if they loathe vowels so much or they are just lazy idiots. Yeah, I think both. I typed a reply once more.