Metastuck - Bros Don't Fuck - Part 1

	Bros don't fuck. This is the one overwhelming thought coursing through your ginger coated cranium as you weather a stormy sea of thought and emotion. Bros don't fuck, you keep telling yourself. This is something that we can all agree on, right? I mean, aside from tumblr, of course, but she's a stuck up dumb cunt whose opinion doesn't matter about anything. And DeviantArt? That bitch is as dumb as a fucking rock. No way she'd understand the intricacies of something as sacred and purely masculine as the Bro Code. God, do you ever love Neil Patrick Harris. What a fantastic actor. What are you saying? That guy's a fucking hack. Overrated faggot cheap piece of shit that opened the Oscars for some no doubt retarded reason back in '10. You remember that you have to catch up on How I Met Your Mother as soon as you have some free time. It's one of your favorite things on TV.

	Bros. Don't. Fuck. You can't help but have to repeat this mantra over and over again as you trudge through the monochrome landscape of the Land of Stumps and Dismay. You know that it's a natural reaction to want to do an acrobatic fucking pirouette off one of these stumps and blow your brains out every time you pass, but right now the compulsion feels all the stronger for some reason. And yet, your resolve remains ironclad for some inexplicable reason. The same series of thoughts that are driving your weird cerebral meta beatdown are the ones that are keeping your head above water and not cradling the cool, welcoming steel of a pistol's rifling into the crux of your temple. You kick one of the dismal, arboreal corpses and scoff. This entire planet disgusts you. Jailbreak was shit and everyone knows it. But fuck you, there's little in the world more hilarious than Jailbreak. You pause, wondering why tumblr and deviantArt can't just stop for one goddamn second and think: Why am I so retarded and why have I only read Homestuck? You know that tumblr's also read Problem Sleuth, of course, but you like to forget about that because all she does is draw DD/PI and PS/SS shipping porn. And you're not even sure if deviantArt *has* read Homestuck.

	More useless bitching that brings you back to how much you actually appreciate MSPAF's friendship. That upbeat shitstain sure is one swell guy. You can never stand his verbosity - his hour and a half lectures on respect for canon, his essays on game mechanics and character interaction, his autistically well organized shipping charts - yet at the same time that same savant-like addiction is what really endears him to you. Really, it's common ground. It's just that he understands the defintion of the word "tact," and you've got it in your head that anyone that can't comprehend the basics of a storyline from the getgo is clinically retarded and deserves to be notified about their condition, because they're clearly too thick to understand how ignorant they're being. MSPAF is kind of a relief, as much as you may hate to admit. Amid the nonsensical crap that is the rest of the world, he's the Blue Canary in your outlet by the light switch. Hehehe, yeah, you'd like to get his canary in your outlet if you know what I-

	BROS. DON'T. FUCK. You tug at the roots of your hair with violent abandon. You kick another stump as you come up over the crest of a dreary hill. Now you overlook a – surprise surprise - grey valley filled with, wait for it... Stumps! More fucking stumps! You click your heels together like some kind of giddy fucking schoolgirl and start making your way into the valley. Gotta find some Thyme for that damn worm. Maybe some questing will take your mind off this homoerotic shit for a while...

	You've finally made your way down the hill and into the bleak valley. Thankfully, the garden is not very difficult to spot. A green pox on the grey skin of a battered and barren old crone.

	Like so many things that you've tried in life, the menial labor is unsurprisingly impotent. Painkillers? Ineffective. Anti-depressants? Nothing. Mood stabilizers? Please. Weed? Well, you liked that one the most, but you're still not sure whether or not it actually helped you overcome any of your psychosis or neurotic tendencies. You trudge through the garden, plants coming up to your knees, and let out a burning sigh. It'll be hours before you find the one damn plant that you need.

	Thankfully you've become so accustomed to doubting yourself and personal depreciation that the time goes by quickly, even for something as repetitive and insipid as trudging around in circles for the better part of an hour trying to identify a single thyme plant from the rest of the herbs present. You've got a good head on your shoulders when it comes to dealing with horticulture. You can't tell whether or not it comes from your years of recreational drug use or a genuine interest in cooking that you do your best to keep under wraps. For now you just take it at face value and try not to reflect as you gently tug the ugly weed from the dry soil. Any more introspection's just going to send you spiraling back into your internal clusterfuck of your comrade's coveted cock. Come to think of it, why would you even want to tear yourself away from that thought?

	Your cracked, dirt spangled palm makes your right cheek share the color of your hair, and the sharp pain that shoots through your face reminds you of one emphatic constant in your principles: Bros don't fuck.

	Thankfully, you find yourself distracted by a pleasing sight. Amongst a varied assortment of approximately seven herbs and spices, you spy the distinctive leaves of a thyme plant. You replace your grumpy grimace with a gleeful grin and clamor through the dirt to pocket the elusive weed. You jam your fingers through the loamy soil and cup the tender roots of the spice. With a distinct absence of grace, you yank the thyme from the garden and toss it over your shoulder, the plant disappearing into the abstraction of your Captcha fetch modus.

	You flick a telltale cloverleaf lapel pin which brings forth a pallid hologram. You slide a digit through the air occupied by the yellow Pesterchum icon. Time to confer with the leader. You know that a guy that has names and backstories for his individual Lego minifigures would want to be updated on the trivialities of your quest.

-- Homestuck General [HSG] began pestering MS Paint Adventures Forums [MSP] --
HSG: *wwalks into the thread*
HSG: hey guys wwhats up
HSG: oh not much eri just talkin about good ol eri
HSG: oh man thats great i wwas just thinkin about eri too
HSG: man eri shore is a swwell guy aint he
HSG: youre right again eri wwoww youre so smart
MSP: Oh, hey, HSG. What's up?
HSG: oh look guys its mspaf
HSG: *wwalks over to mspaf*
HSG: hey baby you wwanna get out of this place maybe go back to my hivve
HSG: hey eri can wwe come too
HSG: shore guys go wwait in the car ill bring this guy along in a sec
MSP: Heh heh heh, yeah, sure guys.
HSG: Gotta deal with Eridan, Prince of Fucking Hope right now.
HSG: Which is goddamn great, right?
HSG: Considering the shit I have on my plate and simmering on the good ol' think pan.
HSG: Like I needed anything else.
MSP: I don't see how Eridan can annoy you *that* much.
HSG: Not the damn point.
MSP: Anything going on, HSG?
HSG: With me? Nah. I'm doing fucking great.
MSP: Right.
MSP: How goes gathering the spice?
HSG: Man, you fucking know.
HSG: I gotta pick a bunch of shit for this big ass worm.
HSG: The dankest kush.
MSP: The gnarliest blunts?
HSG: Only the finest of purely medicinal herbs for this phallic monstronsity.
MSP: Of course the first thing you do is appropriate it to a penis :B
HSG: Man what the hell else am I supposed to think?
HSG: It spends all day burrowing and burying itself in the soft, tender asshole of a planet that is literally made entirely out of sex toys.
HSG: It ain't no goddamn hot dog or something, that's for fucking sure.
HSG: And that'd be even gayer cause you put a hot dog
HSG: In your mouth.
MSP: Yeah, whatever.
MSP: Have you even read Dune?
HSG: Once I think. In high school.
HSG: I dunno, I don't really have a good memory from those few years.
HSG: Rough patch of my life.
MSP: Copius drug usage killed the brain cells?
HSG: In a way.
MSP: I thought you only smoked, like, once?
HSG: no this was the perscription drugs
HSG: and i totally smoked more than once shut up
MSP: Still didn't answer my question, did you.
HSG: man fuck whatever its going great
HSG: peachy fucking keen
MSP: That bad, huh?
HSG: nah its all good just found the thyme, actually
HSG: Elusive little bastard, but I picked the everloving SHIT out of that plant.
MSP: im shore you did
HSG: Oh Jesus Fuck why the hell are you typing like that insufferable faggot?
MSP: ...Okay.
MSP: Anyway, that's good to hear that your quest is going well.
HSG: Yeah, how's that thing with the Bird Wizard?
MSP: Christ, don't even mention it.
MSP: He's freaking mad is what he is.
MSP: And I still can't figure out how to get him out of his office.
HSG: Wouldn't it be benficial to keep him penned up?
HSG: So we can, you know, kill him and stuff?
MSP: I'm pretty sure we're supposed to work with the Denizens, at least at first, rather than slaying them outright.
MSP: It's worked so far.
MSP: I mean, a chance at that grist hoard without having to deal with a boss fight?
MSP: Sounds like a deal to me.
HSG: what the fuck happened to your fetishistic obsession with canon
HSG: and like not cutting corners and stuff
MSP: We are not cutting corners!
MSP: We are working exclusively within the restrictions of the game!
HSG: wwhatevver
HSG: lets just get this ovver wwith the sooner the fuckin better
MSP: Something on your mind, HSG?
MSP: You seem distressed.
HSG: I am literally just as I always am.
HSG: Perfect and mentally instable.
HSG: Where the hell is this coming from all from the blue and shit.
MSP: I dunno. I guess it's just an intuiton I've got.
HSG: sounds gay
MSP: >:B
MSP: I'm just doing my best to try and keep the party together.
MSP: If you've got anything that you want to talk about, by all means, I'm all ears.
HSG: >Implying I have anything to say.
MSP: Whatever happened to all those times that you wanted to talk bros?
HSG: I do a lot of dumb shit.
HSG: This, of all things, you should be aware.
MSP: Right, but I just figured that perhaps there was a bit of consistency to the madness.
MSP: Something solid amongst the quivering mass that is your psyche.
HSG: ...
HSG: fuck man i aint even gonna touch that
MSP: Oh har-dy-fucking-har.
MSP: You get the point.
HSG: Sure do.
HSG: Baby.
MSP: I don't know how to respond to that, exactly.
HSG: look man I ain't the one totally hitting on me right now.
HSG: I mean, I can't blame you of course.
HSG: I am pretty much the best thing ever.
MSP: You're high.
HSG: >Implying you wouldn't fuck me.
HSG: >Implying I don't want to fuck you.
HSG: >Implying that we shouldn't bump uglies right the fuck now.
MSP: I... What?
HSG: Oh *you* know.
HSG: wait shit
HSG: fucking shit fuck
HSG: NEVERMIND THE GINGER BEHIND THE CURTAIN BROS DON'T FUCK
HSG: ALL ABOARD THE 'TARD-TRAIN TO THE RETARD ROUNDUP AT MORON MOUNTAIN
HSG: CHOO-FUCKING-CHOO
MSP: I think you're still traumatized from your "experience" a few hours ago.
HSG: >Implying it did anything more than chill me the fuck out.
MSP: Yes, it did that.
MSP: And I admit, I've become a bit enamored with your, shall we say "grimchill" self.
MSP: Due to your knowledge and respect for the established canon.
MSP: As well as your ability to hold a structured discussion.
MSP: But I think the drug overdose and eldrictch possession immediately thereafter have had some, shall we say adverse effects on you, personally.
MSP: Sure there isn't anything on your mind?
MSP: I think talking about your experience would help you.
MSP: A lot.
HSG: Fuck your shit you dumb nigger.
HSG: You don't know me.
HSG: SO STEP THE FUCK OFF.
MSP: ...I'm only trying to be a friend.
HSG: Well you're doing a pretty fan-fucking-tastic job, you aspie.
MSP: I... I guess I can step off if you'd like.
MSP: We can continue this when you're in better control of your faculties, maybe?
HSG: yeah I fuckin bet piss off
MSP: Umm, alright.
MSP: Sure.
MSP: Talk to you later.
-- MS Paint Adventures Forums [MSP] ceased pestering Homestuck General [HSG] --
HSG: Wait!
HSG: Shitcock.

	One hand whisks through the holographic display, dismissing it, and the other grinds into your salty cheek, skin scratching against day old stubble and wonder why you just made such a colossal fucking dickstain out of yourself. You were the paragon of virtue and understanding there. MSPAF should be happy to be in your good graces; not everyone gets the privilege of speaking with someone like you. Better than wasting time on any of your other worthless teammates. You know that that’s bullshit. Every bit of that statement is bullshit. You blew it in that conversation. It’s not unusual; to be frank, but for some reason you feel like this particular fuck up carried more weight than usual. Perhaps you’re just being melodramatic.

	You remind yourself that this is no time to blog about it; you need to get your head screwed on straight if you have any intention of sorting this whole mess out. Could it be that you actually value the interactions that you get with that upbeat aspie? Perhaps. You’ve got an idea, but you don’t want to make yourself think about it. An unsavory answer to an uncomfortable question. You think you care about MSPAF beyond just having a decent conversational partner. You know it, but you don’t want to think it.

	You decide it’s in your best interest to simmer the fuck down and plant your ass firmly on one of the grim stumps dotting the landscape. Introspection is for losers, but right now you feel that nothing is more appropriate for more reason than one. A grumble passes your lips, gruff chin cradled in dirty hands and brows knit in perplexity.

	God, do you ever hate this fucking romantic exposition bullshit.
~*~
	You are now MSPAF, and you have just disconnected from a rather tempestuous conversation with your teammate and longtime bro, HSG. You’re well versed in his angry dialogue, and know full well that HSG isn’t usually one to discuss the intricacies of his psyche with teammates (As if he himself was acutally aware of what went on in his head). You reckoned that it was in the best interests of the team to pry a wee bit, even if that hasn’t proven to be such a bright idea in the past.

	You twiddle your chin between thumb and forefinger, curious as to HSG’s mood. He’s more prone to mood swings than tumblr during Lent. Or Ramadan. You can never really keep track of which religious holiday she’s celebrating anymore. You’d just like to remember all of them and try to keep up with that, but then she should throw a fit for God knows what reason. You figure that it’s best to not dwell on that for now.

	You’re sure that it has something to do with him being cast into the ichorous mandibles of the Noble Circle of Horrorterrors, apparently willingly, and subsiquently wrought from their revolting grasp only a short duration thereafter. Knowing HSG, you guess that this isn’t the first time that he’ll jump between states of being. As team leader, you find yourself stuck in a difficult position: Respecting the privacy of your comrades and allowing them to fall from grace, or meddling in their affairs, but for their own good.

	A disgruntled sigh clears your gumline. You’ve already made the decision, though part of you doesn’t want to go through with it. HSG is a different animal than most, and will certainly require some meddling. Perhaps not in the traditional sense, but at the very least a decent conversation. Something to clear his head. You know that it must be awfully lonely for the poor guy, especially whilst questing in LOSAD. tumblr won’t have a thing to do with him, DA, bless her heart, is hardly the kind of person that HSG would want to hold a conversation with. And right now he’s being too difficult for you to chat with. Sigh again, this time in a calmer fashion. Thinking of HSG being all riled up makes you want to just grab the ginger genteel and just embrace the big lug – let him know that he doesn’t have to complete the game by himself, that his friends are here for him. Squeeze him a bit tighter and give him a soft peck on-

	You’re cut short from an unprecidented revere by an alert on your watch. Your face is flushed a delicate pink, visibly contrasted against your pale skin. What were you just thinking right there? Dammit, it must be nothing. And even if you had time to sit here and soliloquise about your inexplicable daydream, you’ve got a team to coordinate. You tap the screen of your watch and answer a message from the Thief.

-- tumblr [TMB] began pestering MS Paint Adventures Forums [MSP] --
TMB: hey, mspaf
MSP: Afternoon, tumblr.
MSP: Or evening, perhaps?
MSP: That doesn’t really apply here in the Medium, now does it.
TMB: well it’s light here on lodab, but its always covered in lens flair
TMB: anyway, just figured i’d check in, see what you and da are up to.
TMB: so, whats up?
MSP: Oh, the usual.
MSP: Denizen quests across the board, team organization, HSG being a bit of an ass.
TMB: oh god don’t even get me started on that jackass #seriously he’s such a dick #ALL THE TIME
TMB: what did he do now?
MSP: Well, aside from his acrobatic fucking pirouette off the deep end into complete and total grimdark possession, I think the session is starting to affect him adversely. Not as a direct cause of questing, I think (HSG is more than capable of handling himself in that regard), but something generally psychological.
TMB: we came into this knowing that he had issues. we’ve all know that for years.
TMB: maybe he’s just been off his meds too long?
MSP: Perhaps. His schizophrenia always *has* been something of a concern. But my most recent contact with him has made me think that it’s something, well, less than clinical.
MSP: If that actually makes any sense.
TMB: sure, sure. i think i get what you mean.
TMB: what i DON’T understand is why you actually care about that agitating!bastard
TMB: #seriously do you even know the kind of shit that he tries to pull #totally unbelievable
MSP: I’m well aware of his transgressions. That does not preclude him from my sympathies, however.
MSP: And even if I couldn’t stand his company, like yourself, I would still offer an olive branch and my concerns, being the team leader. That’s the only way we’re actually going to get through this.
MSP: As a team.
TMB: oh cut the friendleader crap, you know he’s pretty much irrideemable at this point.
MSP: Is he, though?
TMB: he’s corrupted, and literally this time.
TMB: it’s more than just him being racist, sexist, ableist, ageist, etc.
MSP: Any other “-ists” on your mind?
TMB: well aren’t you snarky today #whoa this is kind of unlike you
MSP: I’m just trying to say that maybe you’re wrong about him being irrideemable. When I spoke to him just moments ago he seemed normal.
MSP: Distraught, but normal. But I don’t think I can get through to him over Pesterchum.
TMB: don’t tell me you’re going to try to deal with him in person.
TMB: that’s like walking straight into the lion’s den
TMB: after covering yourself in nutella.
MSP: I… I don’t see how the second part is at all relevant.
TMB: everyone loves nutella!
MSP: Uh huh.
MSP: I think he just needs to talk to someone, face to face.
MSP: And right now I believe that I’m the person best suited for the job.
TMB: sheesh you sound like his boyfriend or something.
TMB: i can’t even imagine.
MSP: No, it’s understandable because he is really attractive. I am attracted to him.
TMB: …
TMB: omg you can’t be fucking serious #aksdl;fmn il;jfaisefjeklasfin #eij489jsoivm ;ozhvjaelth8awe
MSP: Gah, no one secures my references, do they.
MSP: That was a line from the thirty-fifth page of Homestuck.
TMB: how do you even remember back that far?
MSP: Do you even know who you’re talking to?
TMB: and how can you even think about that when you’re making such sick jokes?!?
TMB: this is a serious matter.
MSP: Oh, yes. As much fun as it is entertaining theoretical paradigms of advanced emotional theatrics, I think I’m going to get going before HSG does anything stupid.
TMB: ugh, fine. just do me a favor and slap him a few times for me #asshole has it coming #seriously
MSP: Of course.
-- MS Paint Adventures Forums [MSP] ceased pestering tumblr [TMB] --

	You heave a mighty sign and deactivate your watch. Sunlight refracted through a large purple dildo-tree hits you square in the eyes as you look up towards the horizon. As welcoming and wholesome as LOGAR is, you decide that now’s the time to get the hell back to the Land of Stumps and Dismay. You brush an invisble speck of dust off the lapel of your black Stinsonesque attire and watch as the suit briefly flickered out of existence, to be quickly replaced with a stylish suit of sleuth themed armor.

	You spread your mighty and charismatic wings and take to the skies, making for a familiar gate. It's time to mediate the hell out of this brouhaha.
~*~
	You are now HSG, and you find yourself pouting on a stump, muttering profanities into the dirt as you carve sordid pictures therein with a disquietingly lengthy dildo. Your forehead produces a dull throbbing which has since spread throughout the rest of your cranium, and the only thing preventing you from attempting to stab the everloving shit out of your own brain is the fact that it’s protected by a layer of bone. Nothing a few swings of a mighty horsecock couldn’t handle, but you figure that you’ve already done enough today to advance the noble cause of making yourself progressively more retarded. You pause, wondering why you’re letting yourself get so down about something so trvial, but then you remind yourself that this is kind of a federal fucking issue. You fucked it up, and that leaves only you to stew in your own mistakes and triviality. If it were trvial, of course.

	You stretch, heels defacing your so carely crafted depictions of what could only be described as “anal armageddon”. You feel an uncomfortable surge of blood rush through your head and decide that maybe it’s time to go do something to distract yourself from all this bullshit. You still have two spices to collect, after all. You could be over to LOTAF in just a few minutes to start looking for the Rosemary garden.

	As you stand, exhaling and stretching your gangly arms. You notice something on the horizon: A small object moving through the air, getting progressively closer. There were no flying underlings, at least to your knowledge, and you knew full well that Bird Wizard was still under lock and key. Grey coloration against grey sky and, and… And a pair of wings…

	You mutter a hallow expletive under your breath and turn on heel, breaking from an even trot into damn near a full sprint. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, an encounter with him is the LAST thing that you had on your agenda. Better to leave that ‘til the end of the game when everyone’s too worn out by boss battles and Sburb’s various deathtraps to actually give two shits about anything aside from the potential utopia that lay beyond.

	You reach through your fetch modus for your crimson jetpack and retreive your mighty… captcha card. Fuck, you actually forgot about that for a moment. You bite your lip and shakily enter the first word, difficult as it may be whilst running. The second word is, well, less than coorperative. You quickly enter a few random characters in hopes that it would placate the card’s hunger for text. The card flashes, only to display an all too familiar message, “You seem to have mistyped the veri-“

	“Oh that is such unbelievable bullshit!” You shout, slowing down and slightly frothing at the mouth, “The second word was in Hebrew. FUCKING HEBREW!” You come to a full stop, slamming the card to alabaster blades of grass and introducing its artifact strew surface to the underside of your size twelves.

	In your distressed assault of game abstractions, you barely notice your teammate land gracefully about twenty feet behind you. He allows you to continue your carnage for a few moments before addressing you.

	“Uhh, hey, HSG.” You don’t bother looking up, preferring to stomp your cares away on vapid security protocols, “What’s up?” You turn your head about seventy degrees to your left, eyeing your friendleader, now joining you in the Land of Stumps and Dismay for some no doubt retarded reason.

	“The fuck do you want?” You say, still grinding the Converse logo into the once smooth surface of the captcha card. MSPAF blinks.

	“Uh, not much. Just, you know, came to see how you were doing.” You blink in response before cackling like a sick mule.

	“Me? Oh, I’m doing fine.” You kick the dirt. No, you are not doing fine, but he doesn’t have to know that, “Pretty fucking dandy.” MSPAF’s uncomfortable expression frustrates you. This autist can never take anything at face value, can he.

	“Really? Well, that’s good to hear.” His voice is raised slightly, due to the space between you two. Not quite a shout, but certainly too loud to be speaking. You find something a touch cute about how he has to raise his voice at this distance, “How goes the quest?” He asks.

	“Just grabbed the thyme a few minutes ago, you know. Two plants down, two to go. I’d show it to you, but this fucking captcha card,” you motion to the blue rectangle between your shoe and the grass, “Is being a bit of an asshole.” Your grin and brow can’t seem to agree on the emotion that you’re trying to convey.

	“Oh, that’s great news.” He replies, “Yeah, Bird Wizard is being a bit of a handful. I don’t even know where to start with trying to get him out of his office!” MSPAF’s sentence is punctuated by a forced, almost nervous chuckle. You turn to face him, kicking the captcha card off as it disappears into the aether about halfway between the two of you. You shove your hands in your pockets and stare. Supposedly, it takes about four seconds for a silence to become awkward. You count the time passed as having been going on ten now, you think.

	“Yeah, he’s just so darn confusing…” MSPAF trails off. You throw your head back into Skaia’s rays, messy bangs bouncing and hanging past your hairline.

	“Look, I’d love to give you a hand with that shit,” you begin, “But I was just leaving for LOTAF to go find the Rosemary garden.” You notice MSPAF lighting up.

	“Oh, I’d love to come along and lend a hand.” MSPAF replies, “If you’d like some help, of course.” God, this asshole can’t take a hint, can he.

	“Don’t you have to deal with that giant avian asshole right now? Something tells me that that demands a lot more attention than this.”

	“Yeah, I guess, but if we complete your denizen quest faster, you can gimmie a hand with mine!” You think about this for a moment. Heading on a brotrip with your only tolerable teammate, picking plants, winning games, and maybe making out a li-

	“Yeah, fuck that.” You snap. MSPAF looks slightly shocked, even though it was apparent that he expected such a response, “I mean, shit. Like, I don’t think that’d work too… Fucking hell.” You pull your hair, flailing your neck and groaning, “Man, no. I know why you’re here.” MSPAF went wide eyed.

	“Oh come on, am I that easy to read?”

	“You come straight to me after I tell you to fuck right off, after I’ve gone grimdark. Yeah, no, there’s literally no way you don’t want to try to shove me on to the proverbial horn pile and have a one hundred percent legit feelings jam.”

	You lock eyes with the successor, and he meets your sovereign gaze with an inaudible, visibly hard swallow. You can tell that this is about to get awkward.