Homestuck Typing Quirks Novels & Stories

Clearly Mike had attempted to write something in the maze, hoping the large letters would remain in place. While true, the letters shifted back and forth between similar shapes. Lower case "a"s transformed into curvy "e"s, and Lily had to hold her stomach when she found nearly half a mile of stone with poorly spelled iterations of the word "penis." What the hell had Mike been up to?

Ah my poor heart 😩] I stared at the screen longer than I should have. My thumb hovered over the keyboard, but nothing came out at first. He was impossible. Completely, frustratingly impossible. I exhaled through my nose and finally typed, [Stop being dramatic. Just answer the question.] Almost instantly, the three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again. I could picture him smiling while doing it. That annoying, slow kind of smile like he already knew he was getting under my skin. [You are so mean to me baby.]

I typed slowly ; “Good morning. I couldn’t send you a message last night, I literally slept on my couch 😂” I hit send before I could overthink the emoji . The message delivered instantly. Two gray ticks. Then the blue ones appeared almost right away, he was already online. The typing bubble popped up. Disappeared. Popped up again. I stared at it, heart doing a small, nervous flip. Part of me wanted him to call. Part of me wanted him to stay in text so I could control the pace. Finally: Adrian: Morning beautiful 😴 Couch betrayal? That bad?

I took a deep, shuddering breath that did nothing to steady me. My thumb hovered over the screen. I typed it in. TylersBigDumbCock. The phone unlocked with a soft chime.

If only I wasn't too ambitious to get noticed by him. "Uh huh..." he smirks and dangles the said note in front of me. Yup, it's also in my handwriting. The ugly scribbly kind that he knows for the twelve months and twelve days as mine. Not because it has some kind of importance, but just because no one can match my one-of-a-kind wonky-writing result. "I'm...yeah, that's...I'm..." I stutter, struggling to jumpstart my brain to make an excuse, any kind of excuse, even a lame one...anything...oh, come on...

A chime snapped me out of it. My phone lit up. Ethan: Made it home. Let me know you’re okay. No pressure. Just… let me know. My heart clenched. Three sentences. All soft edges. All him. I typed back before I had time to overthink. Me: I’m home. I’m okay. Thank you for earlier. The typing bubble appeared, then vanished. Appeared again. Vanished again. I pictured him on his couch, thumb hovering, jaw tight. Then finally:

His fingers curled around the pen, slow and trembling, like a child learning a language for the first time. Lydia’s chest felt like it was being crushed. “It can wait, Noah. Please.” His eyes flicked to her—sharp, determined, and terrifyingly clear. He didn't have time for "later." She nodded, tears blurring her vision. “Okay.” He began to write. The first line was a struggle; the pen dragged unevenly across the paper, leaving jagged, messy marks. But the words were there. Hayes — Morning Routine Lydia’s breath hitched. Noah paused, drawing a ragged breath, then pushed forward.

Eli: Sounds more like legalized assault. My thumbs glided over the keyboard. Me: I’ll try not to let anyone run into me. I stared at the sentence, the logic part of my brain telling me that’s literally impossible. Still, I hit the send button and sprinkled in another line. Me: Just come. Three dots bounced on my screen then they vanished. Appeared again. His bubble popped. Eli: Fine, I’ll come. The corner of my mouth lifted. Then I typed back. Me: See you there.

The screen stayed dark. One second. Two. Three. Four. Five. The three dots appeared. He was already typing.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"And a typo is simply an asset that hasn't been properly audited." The Great Reconciliation The middle of the chapter was a surreal, agonizing descent into the origin of our suffering. The Author didn't wait for us to cross the ink-well; she brought the desk to us. With a single, heavy strike of her palm against the ivory keys, the chasm began to fold inward like a closing book. The black mirror of the ink-well rose up, wrapping around Xander and me until we were no longer standing on iron type-set, but floating in a zero-gravity void of pure text.