homestuck was so perfect for autistic teenagers bc it took characters being sorted into categories and having Attributes to its absolute extreme. forget four hogwarts houses, every character has their associated colour their zodiac sign their associated animal their dream planet their god tier class and aspect their typing quirk their pesterchum handle their weapon their planet of x and y, as well as each of them having a handful of other very quantifiable Personality Traits and Interests (e.g. this one is a clown this one is angry this one likes fashion this one is just rufio from hook for some reason) and THEN they all also have their respective ancestors and dancestors(?)(plucked that word from my memory) who have all of those things as WELL
and god not to mention the fucking quadrant system
as a 13-15 year old autistic kid i didnt even need homestuck to have a plot i just happily made a big big spreadsheet of character attributes in my brain
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Prompt 128
Everything was gone. But it had been gone for a long time. Cities crumbling to dust under the march of time and under the battering of the weakening sun. Everyone had long since passed into the realm of the dead, and he had long since retreated from the land of the living as he aged, growing larger amidst Time’s coils.
He’d long since stopped being known as Danny to most, his true Name cradled in his core as it grew in power and importance with his own primordial ascendence. Others called him by just as many names as Clockwork, if not more as his planets grew life, his galaxies cultivating their own beings into existence.
To some he was a creator, the bringer of life itself. To others he was destruction, the end of all. So many names, so many even coming close to his Name, each cradled gently by his core.
He was Space, he was stardust, he was a blackhole, the far off galaxies, newborn stars forming in his hands and dying with a blink. Galaxies dancing in his hair, what was, what will be, splintering into planes amidst his strands of hair.
He was Balance, chaos and order dancing together on a tightrope twisting through existence. He was Phantom, a name whispered amidst the Realms as a guardian, a protector, and yet a hunter, a destroyer at once.
He was a Brother, a Father, an Uncle, a Son. He was many things, and that was fine with him, but even if hypothetically he should be impartial, he would freely admit he had favorites. Danielle, his little Moon, his first Daughter and her children of Krypton. Dan, his raging Sun, his Son and his little Laughing Magicians. Clockwork, his Father of Time, and his Speedsters who raced through timelines like giggling toddlers, not really understanding but loved all the same.
His dear Sister’s children, her Ma'aleca'andrans and Atlanteans she tenderly cradled and protected as long as she could before sleep overtook her. His dear Tucker’s Champions, the children of Magic lost and alone. His dear Sam’s children of Lazarus, dancing with blades and between life and death.
Their dear children that came from all of their blood. The Lords of Chaos, of Order, entire Cities brought to life by their magic, entire planets whose heartbeats pulsed with their own.
Everything of what they had once been was gone. And it had been gone for a long time. But they were all still here. For Death was just as much a beginning, as it was the end.
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they occupy my whole brainpower. help
(i had a whole plan in my head but then didnt touch this for weeks after the sketch and i honestly dont think we’re getting further on this one so im posting it)
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Fun fact No. 1: People hear Dream speaking their native language.
Extrapolation : If Dream tells someone his name is “Dream” they’ll hear the word “dream” (eg. a Spanish speaker would call him “Sueño”)
Fun Fact No 2: Hob Gadling’s first language is is Middle English.
Fun Fact No 3: The Middle English word for dream is “Sweven.”
Ergo: Hob Gadling would cry out “Sweven” during sex.
I hope this knowledge has improved your life.
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Happy Halloween! It's the last day of October and the last bingo square for the Monsterfucktober Bingo finished - "science gone wrong"!! 👻🧟🥰
I couldn't help writing a little story for this - find it under the cut!
Thanks to @valiantstarlights for the idea of Hob reacting to Dream's voice!
Morpheus looked at his new creation and frowned at the mismatched skin tones of the shoulder and leg. He had tried to keep most of the man’s body parts but the left knee had been so badly crushed that he had rather used a whole different limb than try and repair or exchange the joint. It would make for much smoother maintenance than having to deal with an inserted knee joint that was much more prone to infection or damage. The upper left arm had also been badly damaged in the accident that led to the man’s death - well, near-death. His brain waves had been declared too shallow to warrant any actual activity. The man had had no family, and no friends had come forward or visited. The man had carried a donor card, though, and so, with no one to protest, he had been quietly shuffled into Morpheus’ lab with little fanfare. Morpheus knew that what his employers did to obtain his materials wasn’t strictly legal but he tried not to think too much about it. He was being paid very handsomely to do his research, and not just in theory.
He was very satisfied with this new try. It was only his second finished work, having been commissioned after the Corinthian was a sounding success - well, mostly. He huffed and set about disinfecting the needle he had used to close up the throat of the man. His employers had had only one complaint about the Corinthian-
He talks too much, and he talks back. No need to include capacity for speech in the next one, Doctor.
Morpheus looked at the young man’s handsome face and sighed. “I would have liked to hear your voice. I’m sorry.”
He turned around and switched on the life support to see if everything ran smoothly. While he cleaned up the lab there was only the quiet whooshing sound of the respirator. He knew it took time for the subject to come back to life. He would probably have to use the defibrillator to really get it going-
A sudden loud beep from the heart monitor made him jump and turn around.
The man was sitting up and staring at him. He’d removed the respirator mask and slowly pulled off the ECG monitoring electrodes. His eyes were wide and milky, not yet able to see. It was a condition the Corinthian had never recovered from - in the end Morpheus had given him bionic eyes. With this new subject he had hope that the original eyes of the man whose body he had used would recover once a steady circulation had been achieved. (They had been the most gorgeous brown eyes Morpheus had ever seen after Calliope left him and he hadn’t been able to switch them for bionic ones straight from the start.)
“That was fast. Good- Good morning,” he said, stunned at the man’s fast return to waking. Morpheus grabbed his recorder and switched it on. “Subject 002, Working title “Hope”, Day 62 - subject has awoken after life support was activated. No respirator necessary, it seems. Subject is alert and- hey, hey, what are you doing? Take it easy!”
He dropped the recorder as the man suddenly stood up from the metal table and stepped towards him, only stumbling once on the unfamiliar leg. Before Morpheus could stop him the man had boxed him in against his lab desk. Morpheus felt several papers shuffled and bottles getting pushed over by his elbows as he tried to keep his distance but the man nearly crushed him against the edge of the table. He smiled down at Morpheus, unseeing eyes still focused on him, and hummed. Morpheus gasped, shocked at this unusual display of coordination and force so soon after waking up. He needed to keep up the subject’s emotional balance, he needed to give positive feedback to not induce a backlash or violent reaction to an unfamiliar situation. The Corinthian had taught him that.
“You’re, you’re doing really well. This- this is great. Very good,” he praised, heart hammering, trying his best to keep his voice low and soothing.
Subject 002, “Hope”, grinned happily.
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