wintersday (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wintersday) wrote2021-07-10 07:08 pm
wintersday) wrote2021-07-10 07:08 pm
Entry tags:
- character: homestuck: aradia,
- character: homestuck: equius,
- character: homestuck: jade,
- character: homestuck: jake,
- character: homestuck: meenah,
- character: homestuck: rose,
- character: homestuck: vriska,
- fandom: homestuck: homestuck,
- fanfic,
- fanfic: length: under 1k,
- fanfic: rating: pg,
- fanfic: type: f/f,
- fanfic: type: gen,
- format: drabbles,
- pairing: homestuck: meenah/vriska,
- trope: character study
Fic: Call Me A Reckless Wrecking Ball
Title: Call Me A Reckless Wrecking Ball
Fandom: Homestuck
Major Characters/Pairings: Aradia, Rose, Meenah, Vriska, Equius, Jade, Jake
Wordcount: Five 100 word drabbles
Rating: PG
POV: Second person
Summary: Five variations on the theme of destruction.
Notes: Meenah is still in the process of figuring out this whole "conscience" thing.
The pattern of each crystal’s shattering is determined entirely by the forces acting upon it: the frequency of vibration, the location of weaknesses within the lattice, the angle and velocity and material composition of whatever impacts it. You cannot calculate them all, but they exist, and so what appears to be unpredictability is only the illusion of chance. From the instant you decide to swing your fist, the pattern of damage radiating out through the durable, delicate, ordered structure is already defined.
What your experiments cannot answer is this: does the same truth apply to your choice to shatter them?
It’s a matter of knowledge gained.
The Game is intricate in the same way the human mind is intricate, or the human genetic code. Like everything else, it can be understood – not wholly, but in part – by stripping it down to its individual components. Ergo: there is a practical purpose to your fit of gothic madness. You are not doing anything so infantile as working out your rage.
That doesn’t make it any less satisfying to tear your temple down in layers, brick by brick, atom by atom, until all that’s left is the light reflected from the shining sea.
The sky above you isn’t really the sky, and it’s full of cracks.
It reminds you of watching the other you conquer worlds – those bright explosions, that shockwave rippling from the epicenter of a psionic blast. It never felt real the way this does, but it had been, you guess, somewhere. Now, the kid beside you keeps trying to hold your frond, and you let her, because you’re not very good at saying no to anything you want.
She’s not scared and neither are you. You lie on your backs in the long grass, and you watch whole universes ending.
There’s a boy in one of the bubbles.
No. Not a boy, maybe. He’s older than your Equius was when he died. He stands in a pile of shattered metal and still-sparking wire, face flushed, breathing hard. It always mattered so much to him, not hurting anything that could feel. That doesn’t mean he was always good at it, but –
You know from Vriska what the absence of forgiveness feels like. It doesn’t feel like this.
You clear your throat, and he looks up – startled, then ashamed. You step into the rink with a smile.
“Mind if I join you?”
The courtyard is empty, excepting the statue of a woman in a flowing gown, and silent until a bullet wings the globe in her upraised hand, sending chips of stone scattering.
“Jolly good,” Jake says. “Cracking good shot!”
Not your best, but that’s not the point. You grin and hand over the rifle, and he takes aim.
Being a god has its advantages. The right to deface your own graven idol is one. Rose would probably read entire monographs of psychologically fascinating conclusions into your willingness to try.
Mostly, though? It feels like showing the universe that you’re still you.
Fandom: Homestuck
Major Characters/Pairings: Aradia, Rose, Meenah, Vriska, Equius, Jade, Jake
Wordcount: Five 100 word drabbles
Rating: PG
POV: Second person
Summary: Five variations on the theme of destruction.
Notes: Meenah is still in the process of figuring out this whole "conscience" thing.
Aradiabot:
The pattern of each crystal’s shattering is determined entirely by the forces acting upon it: the frequency of vibration, the location of weaknesses within the lattice, the angle and velocity and material composition of whatever impacts it. You cannot calculate them all, but they exist, and so what appears to be unpredictability is only the illusion of chance. From the instant you decide to swing your fist, the pattern of damage radiating out through the durable, delicate, ordered structure is already defined.
What your experiments cannot answer is this: does the same truth apply to your choice to shatter them?
Rose:
It’s a matter of knowledge gained.
The Game is intricate in the same way the human mind is intricate, or the human genetic code. Like everything else, it can be understood – not wholly, but in part – by stripping it down to its individual components. Ergo: there is a practical purpose to your fit of gothic madness. You are not doing anything so infantile as working out your rage.
That doesn’t make it any less satisfying to tear your temple down in layers, brick by brick, atom by atom, until all that’s left is the light reflected from the shining sea.
Meenah:
The sky above you isn’t really the sky, and it’s full of cracks.
It reminds you of watching the other you conquer worlds – those bright explosions, that shockwave rippling from the epicenter of a psionic blast. It never felt real the way this does, but it had been, you guess, somewhere. Now, the kid beside you keeps trying to hold your frond, and you let her, because you’re not very good at saying no to anything you want.
She’s not scared and neither are you. You lie on your backs in the long grass, and you watch whole universes ending.
Aradia & Equius:
There’s a boy in one of the bubbles.
No. Not a boy, maybe. He’s older than your Equius was when he died. He stands in a pile of shattered metal and still-sparking wire, face flushed, breathing hard. It always mattered so much to him, not hurting anything that could feel. That doesn’t mean he was always good at it, but –
You know from Vriska what the absence of forgiveness feels like. It doesn’t feel like this.
You clear your throat, and he looks up – startled, then ashamed. You step into the rink with a smile.
“Mind if I join you?”
Jade & Jake:
The courtyard is empty, excepting the statue of a woman in a flowing gown, and silent until a bullet wings the globe in her upraised hand, sending chips of stone scattering.
“Jolly good,” Jake says. “Cracking good shot!”
Not your best, but that’s not the point. You grin and hand over the rifle, and he takes aim.
Being a god has its advantages. The right to deface your own graven idol is one. Rose would probably read entire monographs of psychologically fascinating conclusions into your willingness to try.
Mostly, though? It feels like showing the universe that you’re still you.