Tempus Est (Fanfic)
Mar. 27th, 2021 01:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
luminious=======================
TITLE: Tempus Est
FANDOM: Homestuck
GENRE: Hurt/Comfort, Angst
RATING: T
CHARACTERS: Aradia Megido centric; mentions of Sollux Captor and Bec Noir
PAIRING: Implied AraSol
WARNING: Major character death, graphic violence, mentions of blood
DISCLAMER: I don't own Homestuck, nor am I or will I ever profit from this work.
A03 link FF.net link Tumblr Link
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"It is important for people to know that no matter what lies in their past, they can overcome the dark side and press on to a brighter world."
—Dave Pelzer.
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i: ophelia
ARADIA MEGIDO HAD ALWAYS BEEN an adventurous little rust blood, and thus running in a quick fashion was never a foreign concept to her, but never did she run as fast as she did when she got a pesterchum from Sollux—her kinda morail kinda matespirit (oh, the complication of tween troll relationships!) who was a bit of a shut-in—that he had decided to finally come out of his hive to visit her.
When her ballerina-slippered feet stopped their roaming on the great green grass around her dwellings, she had flashed her signature grin and lifted up her eyes full of awe and excitement at her yellow-blooded companion who had accustomed himself up in the air—
What awaited her, rather than a playfully annoyed expression (upward eyebrows, grinning mouth) behind red and blue lensed-glasses, however, were the cackling sparkles of red and blue that omitted from an angered face (furrowed eyebrows, honey-dripped frown).
Perhaps it was her naiveness that the dear hacker would never lay an ill intent upon her, or rather perhaps her paranoia of both what the male troll was and was not capable of, but she stood there, and as if there was a tree's trinket in front of her that she'd climb to somehow calm or talk down with her fellow troll, the female grasped at the air, and her hands reached for his that were so, so far away...
†
Quo tempore illa chanted capit vetus tunes;
Ut unum natum de sua angustia,
Vel sicut creatura patria et indued
Ad quod elementum: sed diu non posset esse
Donec ut ejus vestes, gravis, cum eorum bibendum,
Viverra curabitur pauperes wretch ab ea mihi ponere
Ad lubricus mortem.
†
Thy Megido a doom'd maiden, at which hour the sparks pi'rc'd thy soft flesh—the ends of her skirt slashed with the markings of uncontrolled electricity as mahogany spewed from the freckles on her gray arms and her heaved chest, and it all was finalized by her whole body pummeled to the ground in a current of her own blotchy, widespread cruor.
Before her last breath, she believed she heard the confused, regretful screams of Sollux; she opened her mouth and tried to let out "Why, Sollux, why?", but all the syllables and teeth-touched words were silent as thick, besmirched currant was the only thing that left her cut lips—
The smell of the chrysanthemums and spider lilies around her ensanguined hair, said flowers the only things that were not either covered with or with the aura of rusted metal, were the last things she recalled before not only obsidian awaited her but many undead forms that failed, in vain, to be a replacement for what she once was.
ii: detachment
The canyons in this section of Alternia: an environment for red and bronze bloods who can seek the closest thing Alternia has to a hiding spot from Imperial Drones who seek sexual fluids of the two most lust-circulating quadrants but shall receive nothing in return or, for low-blooded trolls like Aradia Megido, a breathtaking, capacious dwelling to explore and discover.
Their immeasurable heights and hundreds of holes to sneak into and chug a rope in—at least, the ones that did not hide grub-having Lusii whom watch the verizon clandestinely for the single moment where a troll comes too close and becomes the next meal for their little larvae to feast upon—and the lack of high-blood trolls who go around other areas to pressure a low or mid-blood troll into a matespritship or kismesissitude is the final bullet point for many trolls low on the hierarchy scale to consider such an area a "nirvana" of sorts.
Once, Aradia Megido was one of those trolls.
Once.
Presently, however, Aradia Megido—or, rather, Aradiabot—does not consider herself one of those trolls. No, she cannot consider herself a troll at all, anymore—what normal troll lives not only as a ghost and frog spirit but, of all things, in a robotic suit that circulates blood many hues too high and intermediate between green and violet to ever be hers?
(Get it out get it out get it out get it out get it out get it out—)
Aradiabot scowls as she glances down at the smears of blue sangre on the metal of her hands. Never has she been so enraged and furious at cerulean and indigo bloods before now.
It is no secret that because she bled mahogany, because she is the lowest on the disgusting hemospectrum, because she is beneath the Trollian bourgeoisie, because she was Aradia Megido who used to smile and make moirails over enemies or culling victims, she was and is treated so terribly—and it is no secret that she no longer will stand for it.
Empty and hollow of her original self, Aradiabot may be, but she shalln't longer be a pawn of the Alternian ways of discord and misery.
†
O, quid nobile mentis est, hic o'erthrown!
In courtier scriptor, miles suus, scolari's oculo, lingua, gladium,
Th' spe et rosa pulchra statu,
In ultricies modum et formam ex forma,
Th' observari omnes observatores, satis, satis descendit!
†
The landscape of certain sections of Alternia are known for their separation from the strict blood laws that have turned trolls against their own moirails and matesprits for centuries—and these landscapes were once an environment of opportunities for Aradia Megido.
Once.
For Aradiabot, however, it is the gorge of the oppressed and martyrs.
iii: resurrection
Aradia eyes Bec Noir coming and she smiles. This is a moment she literally died and was reborn once more to witness.
Noir aims to be off with his and her and their head! on every one of Aradia's gray-skinned, yellow sclera having, black-haired, candy-corn horned friends—something that time shall not, in the upcoming seconds and minutes and hours, allow an existence.
How many timelines will he go after if he survives? How many timelines has he already made drip and drop and drip drip drop drop a colossal rainbow of liquid?
This is an answer that Aradia knows—dozens and dozens and dozens—and an answer that she knows should not count her current timeline, where her skin is gray and her mouth is in a grin and from her hands omits her finest fervency of time and motion that she herself serves—and obeys—but does not whimper over.
The past mistakes and the present errors must not be continued; this timeline is the timeline that will progress fully. The edge of a stained and matter covered weapon shall not strike at this future.
Yes, Bec Noir will not continue his tyranny in this timeline. No, he will instead be frozen in this timeline—
(She can already envision herself grinning even more like a mad man, and that witchery scarlet red circles will entrap the canine-headed slayer, as her digits shall weave and implicate around his lean obsidian body in a way similar to the ensnarement The Handmaiden attempted on Her Imperious Condescension and Damara Megido's entrapment of Meenah Peixes, except unlike her ancestor and dancestor, Aradia shall succeed.)
Tempus Est.
The hands that tick and tick for Bec Noir's duration of his bloodshed must now be gridlocked.
Aradia Megido, the Maid of Time, the chrono manipulator, the ram-horned fairy—the 6 sweeps old troll who has been a troll, a frog spirit, a ghost, a blue-blooded robot and now a red-covered fae who is the mistress of even the most fickleness of time, much now lay down the dog (and thus servant of that white-skinned queen) who was too smart for his own good.
She will then release him and vanish—leaving the winged monstrosity of destruction and eradication in the nullity while she, the winged embodiment of creation and preservation, will continue on to one of the many things connected to time.
You're done with dying, Aradia will tell herself when she reaches that big, bright green and glowing moon, and soon, there are friends that will arrive and will need your help.
…
Aradia raises her hands and claws her fingers down as much as possible just as Bec Noir's about to swipe down on her with his imbrued sword.
[FIN.]
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