Homestuck.XYZ 2.0

No, it's not the one you're thinking of.

What was originally meant to be a working title for my team's fanventure, we eventually just rolled with given the other Metastuck sorta petered out. This comic revolves around user-generated character Will Foster, a massive fan of MSPA, suddenly learning he has the power to change Homestuck at will. And luckily, we're just about to start that plot point incredibly soon, but for now: we're adding a mirror here so that we can take commands from all avenues of the fandom.

Until then, enjoy the mirror uploads as we play catch-up to where we are now in the comic.

See the original here: https://mspfa.com/?s=24266&p=1

> Created and written by SwizzlyBubbles
> Co-written by Christofferoff and BunnyForgotHerPassword
> Panel art and animations by BunnyForgotHerPassword, Cyngus413, e_884, KriloQueen, _opinabiliphobia_ (Opi), Pixelpeach, and SwizzlyBubbles
> Music by Christofferoff, flavoredbleach, and orpheusAnew
> CSS and effects by Fennric

Oh, what fresh hell is this?



...Well that's just great. Seems your computer just got infected with some weird malware. That or Hussie made some random side site just to mess with people and you're simply patient zero for his fuckery.

You wouldn't put it past him. But you do graciously accept this chance that he may or may not have just given and which may or may not exist.

> END OF INTRO



Well, while your computer is having a seizure, you might as well not strain your eyesight any further by sitting and watching it in PITCH BLACK NOTHINGNESS.

Curse your positively exceptional 20/20 upkeep. And electric bills.

Metastuck



A young man stands in his bedroom. Today is April 13th, 2009. You've been waiting what feels like an eternity with bated breath over a new adventure from your favorite author (and secret idol), said to be a "creation myth" of sorts.

However, what gentleman can be awaiting such an event without a name to proclaim to whomever may listen? A lonely one, that's what.

What shall his name be?

> Enter name.







> Will: Inspect room.



Your name is WILL FOSTER. You have been anxiously awaiting the release of a new comic by your favourite webcomic creator, ANDREW HUSSIE, for quite some time now. You had made an attempt to stay awake for the release, but had succumbed to the temptation of sleeping nevertheless. It just so happens that you just woke up from a solid long nap in the dead of the night.

You have a variety of INTERESTS. Aside from WEBCOMICS you have a passion for SOLITARY ROLEPLAY, usually roleplaying as a deadly gangster or a fancy aristocrat. It helps alleviate the tedious misery of your solitary lifestyle. You enjoy creating and learning about CONSPIRACY THEORIES, even though you're aware most of them are total bullcrap. Above all, you love to cater to the needs of your FELINE FRIEND who is, like any respectable member of his species, very selfish. But also very cute.

What will you do?

> Will: Inspect posters.



These treasured keepsakes are the light of your life. They not only perfectly encapsulate your life endeavors in a simple menagerie of color and plastic, but they also act as a reminder whenever you wake to admire your most intense and prominent hobbies and beliefs.

From the pure essence of noir and tact with your “Godfather” poster to the spectral dissonance of your ”I Want To Believe” motivational tool, to your own priceless art that would rather be hanging in only the grandest of modern homes, you wouldn’t trade this assortment for any prize in the world...unless doing so would make the comic go by quicker.

Yet you seem to have a yearning fondness for this one in particular.

> Will: Marvel at Andrew Hussie poster.



Oh yeah, this poster is sweet! You put up a poster of a model, and it was almost too hot to handle. Then you decided to tape Andrew Hussie’s face onto it. Now it’s about 10% less sexy but 100% funnier. A worthy trade-off if you dare say so yourself.

And you do.

> Will: Gesture longingly at Hussie physique.



...

...

...

...

...

...

...



boop boop.

Will: Become homoerotically interested in Andrew Hussie.



Who are you kidding? Hussie’s face didn’t make this less sexy… it was an enhancement. You shed a single, solemn tear at the sight of the glorious visage of your god.

(...Way to be melodramatic, numbskull.)

> Will: Try to find and pet FELINE FRIEND.



Ah, there she is. Hanging out on the cat thingimadealy-pole.



Now then, if you can just… reach up and…



And off she goes! Dammit, Jem!

...Cats are finicky bastards.

> Jem: Offer surprise.



Wait, is that...? No, it can't be.

> Will: Enhance.







> Will: Interrogate FELINE FRIEND.



Will? You’re not entirely sure you know of anyone by that name. Nevertheless, an interrogation must indeed commence, and who better to interrogate the suspect than yours truly, Detective Remmington Bottomsworth IV? You are, of course, an expert in this field; you’ve never failed a case. This should be a simple job for someone of your calibre; after a while, all suspects let the cat out of the bag.

> FF: Sway DR.







...

> DR: Be Will again.



Well, wasn’t this just a fancy (and boisterous) waste of time. Either way, you will further contemplate your devilishly enamoring schemes later. You have other matters to attend to. Like repressing said devilishly enamoring schemes and such where no one will ever find them.

> Will: Retrieve arms from closet.



Firstly, these aren’t arms. They’re LIMB ENHANCEMENT DEVICES.

Secondly, that’s not a closet. What lies beyond that door is classified, known to you and you alone.

And maybe the floorboards.

…Especially the floorboards.

> Will: Tape Beagle Puss to poster.



You don’t have a Beagle Puss!

You would tape Jem, your Persian Puss, but you won’t because it’s animal cruelty...and you don’t have any duct tape.

> Will: Use LIMB ENHANCEMENT DEVICES.



What LIMB ENHANCEMENT DEVICES? All you have are your ARMS. Arms that are with you at all times and would never conceivably disappear from your body. Certainly not to be replaced with robo arms, anyway. You do, however, make the pragmatic choice to use your REGULAR NORMAL ARMS to pick up your highly cherished CONSPIRACY JOURNAL.



You’ve been studying the ZOOLOGICALLY MYSTERIOUS for quite some time now. As you peruse the pages of your CONSPIRACY JOURNAL, you reflect on just how frustrating this hunt for the truth has proven to be. You feel so close now, yet just beyond the horizon of your knowledge lies the missing link to tie it all together. Skaianet, The Shadowed, the Horrorterrors… you know it’s connected. It has to be.

Your mind whirs, thoughts a mile a minute.

…

You need some air.



[S] Will: Ruminate.



Darkness.

Death.

Deception.

The writhing streets choke in the night as the truth drowns in ink. Life’s parchment is indecipherable here; instead, it lies as unnoticed as the houses who fade in fear and the roads who huddle beneath dim lights, hurriedly snaking over the horizon. Curtains clasped, humanity rests on a bed of lies, blissfully unaware of the ashen world that encircles them as though trapping its prey.

Yet even the night is observed by a greater Darkness. An eye flits over the planet impatiently, lingering in the cold fringes of the unknown.

You are mocked at times for searching for gems of verity in the rubble of mystery; shamed for daring to demand beyond what is accepted… yet this, you know: Darkness will cloak the Earth and all you can do is watch as the people you love succumb to the truth they chose to ignore. You awoke once more beneath the shameful moon, and distracted yourself with silly games. But the True Game is just beginning: a gamble for life against all odds. No one can win forever. The universe will return to Darkness just as the greedy night drags day from the palms of the living.

“Night falls. Or has fallen. Why is it that night falls, instead of rising, like the dawn? Yet if you look east, at sunset, you can see night rising, not falling; darkness lifting into the sky, up from the horizon, like a black sun behind cloud cover. Like smoke from an unseen fire, a line of fire just below the horizon, brushfire or a burning city. Maybe night falls because it’s heavy, a thick curtain pulled up over the eyes like a wool blanket.”

- Charles Dickens

You are almost certain Charles Dickens said that.



...God you're bored.

You wonder when that comic's gonna get here already. You've been standing at this window for a good long while looking at the night sky, and at this point: you're REALLY starting to get sick of stargazing.

Damn stars, thinking they're so special, hogging up the night sky with all their highfalutin light shining down on people.

You've officially decided you hate stars now and everything they stand for.



Well, it looks like you're just gonna have to stand there for a little while longer while Hussie takes his time uplohmygodoHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODITSHERE.

IT'S ACTUALLY FINALLY HERE.

HUSSIE YOU MADMAN, WHAT WONDEROUS SHENAGIGANS HAVE DOTH WROUGHT UPON OUR SCREENS THIS TIME!?

And that's all she wrote (so far)! The next panel will be another Flash known as [S] Accept, where will transition into the plot proper and start accepting commands once again! In the meantime, stay tuned for more!

>Will: Check back up on your computer.



You hope it's stopped freaking out now. You're still not sure what all of that flashing stuff was, but it certainly didn't look good.

You admit, you're only going back to the laptop to check on MSPA again. It's felt like an eternity since the beta, even though that was just 3 days ago. You're not used to Hussie pausing his comic production for longer than a couple of hours.



It looks fine now, so you guess that was just a temporary glitchohmygodoHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODITSHERE.

You take a moment to steady yourself. Looks like the computer isn't the only thing freaking out tonight.



Never before has an image on a computer screen filled you with such ecstasy, such excitement, such an overwhelming surge of euphoria that-

God dammit, what now?



"Through the use of this chat client you accept the responsibility of reality management and agree that you will be subject to metatextual anomalies beyond your current comprehension."

You must have picked up some dumb malware earlier. You're not falling for this baloney.



You're trying, but nothing will work!

Looks like there's only one way to get rid of it.







[S] Accept.

you know, seeing all these sburb fan adventures that never go anywhere has me thinking back to some lines of dialogue back in homestuck about how the null sessions FAR outweigh successful sessions. this is true on both b1 earth and alternia where hundreds of game sessions worldwide were initiated, so all of the fan adventures that have come out since then are like, literally the vast majority of null sessions rose was talking about. wild.

i'd like to see one actually finish someday. good luck with yours.

Well, this sburbventure finished: https://mspfa.com/?s=21914&p=1

adamantArchivist wrote: ↑

Wed Apr 15, 2020 1:31 pm

Well, this sburbventure finished: https://mspfa.com/?s=21914&p=1

lmao you got me

Homestuck



A young man stands in his bedroom. It just so happens that today, the 13th of April, 2009, is this young man's birthday. Though it was thirteen years ago he was given life, it is only today he will be given a name!

What will the name of this young man be?

Enter name.



Try again.



Examine room.



Your name is JOHN. As was previously mentioned it is your BIRTHDAY. A number of CAKES are scattered about your room. You have a variety of INTERESTS. You have a passion for REALLY TERRIBLE MOVIES. You like to program computers but you are NOT VERY GOOD AT IT. You have a fondness for PARANORMAL LORE, and are an aspiring AMATEUR MAGICIAN. You also like to play GAMES sometimes.

What will you do?

(ENTER COMMANDS HERE IN THE FORUM OR ON MSPFA.)

Whoa

>John: Go outside to wait for the mail

John: Get a sense of déjà vu.



You stand alone in your bedroom, as you have so many times before. Emptiness pervades your life, dissolving days like tissues in a puddle. When did it come to this? What malevolent force swindled you from substance to discard you in this superficial unreality?

A deceptive sugary stench fills the room just as malaise envelops your life, daring you to choke. Instead, you breathe.

Never before did you possess the agency to take a stand, but on your thirteenth birthday, in spite of the twelve preceding it, you’ve finally worked up the courage. You will break free from the tough, unfeeling chains of life. You’ll be your own person, determine your own path. Nothing could break your spirit today.

Unless you keep standing there like a useless piece of shit, that is. Why don’t you actually try doing something, now that you’ve sufficiently wasted several minutes navel-gazing?

John: Retrieve arms from under desk.



You’re not about to squeeze under your desk and get all tangled up in the wires.

Maybe try checking your MAGIC CHEST, pooplord!

John: Fondly regard Con-Air poster.



HOW DO IIIIII GET THROUGH ONE NIIIGHT WITHOUT YOU???

IF I HAD TO LIIIIVE WITHOOUT YOOOUU

WHAT KIND OF LIIIIFE WOULD THAT BEEEE???

Trisha Yearwood is a national treasure, and that’s all there really is to say on the matter.

Sorry Cage, your rough-and-tumble heroic demeanor can’t beat her dulcet tones. Only enhance them, as a masterpiece would a priceless art collection.

John: Realize your terrible taste in putting up a Mac and Me poster and tear it down immediately.



All of your favorite movies are SO COOL, and you’ll defend them to your last breath. All except this one.

Jesus Christ, what were you thinking. You’re not delaying yourself with half-hearted excuses any longer. You take this shit down immediately.

==>



You CAPTCHALOGUE it into your SYLLADEX. You don’t really understand what that means, but you'll roll with it. You fully intend to incinerate the poster in the FIREPLACE later.

John: Look out your window and appreciate this beautiful spring day.





What a fantastic afternoon.

The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and your retinas are on fire from blinking into the sun for approximately 13 seconds.

Nice going, doofus!

==>



You take the opportunity to look down at your yard instead.

Hanging from the tree is your TIRE SWING. In a kid's yard, a tree without a tire swing is like a proper gentleman without a monocle. That is to say, HE CAN HARDLY BE CONSIDERED A TERRIBLY PROPER GENTLEMAN AT ALL.

==>



But what you’re really interested in is the mailbox. The little red arm-swingy-dealy thing or whatever it is called is flipped up!

What the hell is that thing called anyway. You do not have time for these semantics. The red flippy-lever thing means you have new mail. And that means the beta might be here!

John: Examine SBURB BETA poster.



It should have arrived three days ago. Each day since has been marred with disappointment at the sheer lack of BETA in the mail. But you feel like it will be different this time.

GAME BRO gave SBURB a meager 1.5 out of 5 hats, but you’re beginning to suspect they wouldn’t know a good game if it kick-flipped them in their poser faces.

Which reminds you that you’ve been meaning to burn the GAME BRO MAGAZINE as well. It says it’s made out of recycled asbestos but you’re pretty sure that’s a joke. At least, you hope it is.

John: Look through your drawers for your secret stash.



The only stash in your DRAWERS is your collection of HEARTFELT NOTES from the old man. You like to flick through them when you're alone, as a reassuring reminder of his PATERNAL SAGACITY.

Speaking of which, you got a new one! It's still fragrant with the fresh scent of SHAVING CREAM. Alongside it is a ROLLED UP POSTER.

John: Eat cake next to the unopened poster.



You are sick to death of cake!!! You've been eating it all day. And you have no intention of clogging your SYLLADEX with it either.

The CAKE stays put for now.

John: Dispose of birthday cakes. You’ve had enough of them for one year.



You’ve had enough of them for an entire lifetime.

Unfortunately, while you still don’t know how your SYLLADEX actually functions, you can hazard a reasonable guess that throwing away these CAKES would involve a whole lot of confusing and tedious shenanigans. You don’t have time for all that nonsense!! You’re a man on a mission, and that mission is retrieving the MAIL before your DAD gets home.

Still, it is tempting.

John: Don't waste any more damn time. Rush downstairs and get your game.



You make haste from your room and exit into the HALLWAY.

Sorry, Michael Cera or whoever you are. No time to examine your portrait. Maybe later.

==>





Arriving downstairs, you are promptly greeted by an inanimate troupe of FANCIFUL HARLEQUINS. You shudder whenever you enter this room.

Thanks DAD.

Oh well. At least he isn’t back with more BAKING ARTIFACTS yet.

(ENTER COMMANDS HERE IN THE FORUM OR ON MSPFA.)

>JOHN: Go get the mail

John: Book it to your mailbox.



Strangely determined, you press on. You manage to tear your eyes from the novel sight of an UNUSUALLY SIZABLE PRESENT for now.

Your TELEVISION is currently airing a COMMERCIAL.

John: Exit.



You exit the house.

John: Go get the mail.



You stow the MAIL on one of your CAPTCHALOGUE CARDS in your SYLLADEX.

You think you are starting to get the hang of the vernacular. Perhaps your SYLLADEX isn’t as perplexing as you presumed.

John: Celebrate acquisition.



You have a feeling this is going to be the best birthday ever!!!!

John: Scurry back inside to examine loot.



You flawlessly execute a textbook LAD SCAMPER back to the LIVING ROOM.

John: Inspect goods.



You remove the mail from your SYLLADEX in order to have a gander at your haul.

Inside the mailbox was: TWO (2) GIFTS FROM INTERNET CHUMS, TWO (2) SBURB BETA DISCS, and TWO (2) ARTIFACTS OF FATHERLY CORRESPONDENCE.

==>



Now it’s scattered all over the place!!!

You have the dumbest ideas sometimes.

John: Burn the poster already.



As it burns, you are reminded of a tragic scene.

Silhouetted against the flaming ruins of a gas station, a young boy sits slumped in his wheelchair, frozen in a last-ditch effort to save the innocent aliens he ceaselessly tried to protect.

HE’S dead GONE??

You are certain that Eric lost his life in the explosion and was not erroneously shot by a trigger-happy officer of the law.

Yeah, this movie still sucks.

John: Pay your respects to urn.



You examine the SACRED URN containing your departed NANNA'S ASHES.

When your father gives her portrait a wistful glance now and then, you can tell it brings back painful memories. A tall bookshelf. A ladder. An unabridged copy of COLONEL SASSACRE'S DAUNTING TEXT OF MAGICAL FRIVOLITY AND PRACTICAL JAPERY.

He never wants to talk about it.

(ENTER COMMANDS HERE IN THE FORUM OR ON MSPFA.)

>John: contact rose! she needs to know about your progress!

>In fact, contact all of your friends to tell them you've got the game.

John: Flap the doors to the kitchen really fast.



FLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAPFLAP

Okay that’s enough.

John: What is that big box?





Contemplating what could be inside this package is sort of exciting, but it makes you a little nervous at the same time.

John: Open it.



Oh hell no.

John: Throw jester in fire.



Get real! This thing is so monstrous it would probably clog up your chimney, and then your house would go up in flames.

Actually, you’ll keep that in mind in case the HARLEQUIN BUILD-UP gets any worse.

John: Hide the doll somewhere.



No one will be the wiser.

Except maybe for people with eyes.

John: Get the sudden urge to hug your Dad.



Your PRANKSTER’S GAMBIT took a hit from this doll, and you’ve got to get him back somehow. If you could trick him with a distaction of some sort, he would let his guard down. A hug would be the perfect time to strike.

You begin to brainstorm prank ideas.

==>



Before you can formulate a plan, you hear the familiar rumble of your DAD’s car pulling into the driveway. You don’t want to risk a confrontation with him before you’re ready. Time to skedaddle!

John: Re-captchalogue everything and abscond to your room.



Shit!! Why’d it have to be all over the place like this??

You leave your DAD’s mail on the floor. You’re sure he’ll understand.

John: Get out of there!



==>



You hightail it back to the safety of your room.

John: Get up.



You hear the front door open and close. Your DAD is now home.

Looks like a chum is pestering you.

John: Go to your desk.


John: Message TG.


==>