Beforus is a damn fine album dedicated to my favorite characters. Beta kids be damned I want mor dancestors. DACNESTORS
Megidos are good. That or Porrim. I ALSO LOVE ARANEA AND NEED A LOT MORE OF HERE. but porrim is my fav
I wanna create something now. Homestuck was and is such a huge inspiration. In all its sprawling absurd weird genius.
okay i found my crying point Spoiler For reference: I've been rereading from the beginning - not so much as a "refresh before the end" as Homestuck has always been a comfort read for me and it's been an extra shitty few months. Earlier today, I played through Seer: Descend (I think that was the name), where you have the flash minigame of grimdark!Rose exploring a castle on the battlefield looking for Jack. You see a lot of carapacian bodies, talk to some terrified carapaces who managed to hide from Jack, some of whom are inspired to hope by WV, or by John, or just through sheer determination. When you walk back through the castle with John on your way to the showdown, Jack has passed through again, and he found all of them, and all there are is more bodies, more blood, more destruction. And it just now hit me that the new world was full of carapaces. Being happy, being normal citizens - not subjects, not soldiers - of Can Town and everything good and I just - kind of bawled for a moment. I always joke that WV and PM are my favorites in the whole of Homestuck but apparently it is kind of on some level true. edit: idek why strikethrough is a thing that is happening and I am too tired to make it unhappen, sorry
Also, in the can town preview sequence, I think it's worth noting that everyone's wearing their original shirts (well, except Jade, but she's always been the patternbreaker) and not their godhoods. Part of the reward of a new universe is just getting to be the Dave of Guy again, as Dave put it so many intermissions ago. (i've also got some thoughts on what caliborn and alt!calliope were doing in the flash and the way their dance ultimately played out, but i dunno if I can words those right now. someone ping me to type them up tomorrow or something)
Spoiler Upon further thought, I think I would have been perfectly fine with the Lord English ambiguity if that scene had come at the end of the flash. It would have felt more deliberate that way.
Also I like that Dirk cutting his head off has become the new Reader in the Land of Stumps and Dismay. Sorry, Hussie, the fandom has chosen a different method of committing suicide. Gun control and all that.
I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about the ending, not all of them positive, but I will note that Calliope literally transforming into a black hole was symbolically satisfying to me on a number of levels given her character attributes and significance as a juxtaposition to Caliborn, and considering her classpect.
oh no. i'm listening to homestuck albums 1-4 and Explore just came on. fuck i am emotionally compromised
I think the biggest hole in my Grand Theory of the Homestuck Ending right now is what, exactly, alt!Calliope actually DID. Spoiler I know she absorbed the Green Sun and seemed to do something with three worlds? But I'm just left to assume she's playing the counterpart to Lord English, bringing both creation and destruction in an opposite manner.
Mostly unedited bc late and riding a fandom high, sorry if dumb mistakes. Spoiler: I've never written Aradia before, so that was a fun experiment! It wouldn’t be quite right to say she didn’t flutter into the light like the rest of them to join the new world, because, she was sure, she had done exactly that. In another version, with another hand in hers. But here, and now, and this time, hands clasped in her own hands, she floats on the edge of the void, pulled a bit forward and back by the eddies, like a fish swimming just beside a deep trench. Why Aradia didn’t go in, she couldn’t quite say. She assumed that there had to be a version of her that didn’t, to satisfy paradox space’s irreconcilable need to make sure everything, everything possible happened, before the final page was turned and the back cover closed shut on the story. She couldn’t think of anything else that made her stay fluttering, floating, on that very edge, as light poured out of the door to a new world. Turning, she saw the emptiness fractured like thick glass; still held together, but shot through with strange colors and light. Here and yonder, perhaps farther than the eye should see, there were bubbles, moons, debris; shrapnel from the final big rip ending of the universe. Her head still buzzing, still unsure what she was doing, Aradia flew away from the back cover of the book and page into those untouched, textless final pages. some flying brought her to the ruins of what might have once been Skaia, archways and hewn marble, now broken into indecipherable chunks; trunks and cases, grist floating in waves of interstellar dust, the invisible but tangible heat coming in waves from the collapsed green sun. Ashes. Stones from planets broken apart. The broken hand of a clock. Something started feeling familiar, and that thing was existence among the ruins. All around her, dark and gaping, she saw no stars. All around her, ringing, she heard that the denizens of the deep has fled; perhaps to other bubbles, perhaps to eddies so deep in the folds of spacetime that she could not peer into them. Planetary and Skaian clutter became dust and wind and waves, like the air of a forbidding desert, only traversable to the most weathered explorer. And the further she went back into the space, the further, logically, she went back into time—or so it felt, as the music of the spheres fell away, the light of suns faded out, and she was alone in the ruins again, only five sweeps old and searching for artifacts of times long past, artifacts which might be there no longer. There were rings, barely discernable, around where the green sun had collapsed, shot out by the shockwave of the supermassive black hole being born. It was one of those far-flung rings, flecks gold with Prospitian wreckage, that she saw something strangely whole. Banking toward it, she saw, getting closer, that it was white, and that it had clear edges, and that it was bound tightly shut. Drawing within arm’s reach, she saw that it HAD been bound tightly shut, but now had broken chains still clinging unknowingly to its shattered service, and that it was a refrigerator. It had been a refrigerator. It was now sharp-edged plastic shards in a shape still mostly rectangular, not connected, but floating vaguely in the same place in space, because nothing was there to disturb it. The whole broken mess was ringed by a haze of violet, shimmering like an oil spill. Aradia brushed the chains away, which, clattering silently, spiraled away. She pushed layers of sharp plastic away, and found exactly what she expected to find, but in a state she hadn’t expected to find it. Gamzee Makara was fucking dead. Like the refrigerator, he was snapped into pieces—blown away by the collapse of the green sun and rearranged by it. His horns were broken porcelain spirals; his skin floated weightlessly above broken insides. He was really, remarkably dead. “Huh,” said Aradia, putting her hands on her hips. “Hm.” Circling around him, her observation never changed—he was really, absurdly dead. “Figures,” she said to nothing. Carefully, she poked at his god tier robe, and it rippled around his broken skin, which was bruised up like a new galaxy. Aradia crossed her legs in the air, and considered what she was looking at. She didn’t seem to have any strong feelings about it. She should have. How many times had she seen each of her friends dead—each of them except Gamzee? How many times, in each dead timeline, had he been anything but dead when everyone else was? Bony arms clutching at a baby cherub, eyes fixed to the boiling sky, brimming with horrorterrors, shrieking, calling—anything but dead. She looped around, she traversed bubble after bubble and time after place, and found him watching and waiting, alive in years beyond reckoning, pawn of the messiahs. “I’ve never actually seen you as a corpse before,” she confessed. “Everyone else, yes. I’ve buried Sollux a dozen times. You?” And then, after a moment of reflection, it dawned on her. Some might have called it a duty, or even a privilege, unique among players of time, who could explore endless possibilities, and who could see the end over and over, eventually allowing themselves to pick the sweetest one. Some might have called it another time loop that had to be tied up; another something paradox space had to do to make sure every single possible thing had been done, every experience lived, and every character fully explored, fully let to discover everything they could do. Some might have called it a conclusion, a ceremony, a final reprise to wrap up both her suite and his—a fitting finale, a resolution. Some would have called it a funeral. Aradia, clutching her hands into fists, with a brilliant grin on her face, called it “CORPSE PARTY!” (And then she finally had her corpse party. All the corpses left over in paradox space was invited, Sollux was maybe 1/64th alive, and then for the sake of my sanity, they go to a better universe somehow. Sorry?) Porrim next then >u< Maryams are my faaaav
I want to work on fanfiction again. Urgh. I am especially hype about mythology. Homestuck is ripe as fuck for the mythology treatment and it is a grand creation myth itself. Not sure what to do yet. I do want to work on my Dolomaid fic more again. Which is mythological in fashions. Handmaid becomes troll Judas in it after all and by god the best part about the Sufferer is just how very mythological he is. Though honestly it was before that because she's a fucking psychopomp. That and maybe do a thing with mythologystuck? Which I am not...Sure how to sum up. Basically it is a Tolkien-esque sort of world building project that was born just to contextualize an epic poem.
