acidpop25: "Knives Out," PG-13
Title: Knives Out
Author: acidpop25
Rating: PG-13. I think.
Prompt Set: 100.1
Prompt: #9, "Metal"
Word Count: 273
Summary: "Luna dislikes metal, but it surrounds her."
Warnings: None really. Besides some bizarreness, but that's become a pretty predictable pattern in my Luna fics.
Notes: If this sucks, it's the fault of the cold medicine. If it's good, it's because I'm so awesome even the Cold From Hell cannot stop me!
Luna dislikes metal, but it surrounds her, always closing in, closing, steel and iron bars so cold she never touches them, hard and unforgiving, lifeless. Their voices are tinny and frigid, pierce her ears Loony Luna, Loony Luna Lovegood, Loony Loony Loony and snickers like raw sharp tin-can edges scratching down the blackboard so your hair is all on end all down your neck and your back and you shudder and cringe and you hate that sound, it physically hurts in ways that don't make sense, visceral aversion, fear of claws, scratch, scratch, scratch.
Not steel and iron bars, no. Knives. Slide in your skin if you don't watch out, slide under the skin and peel it back and expose all that redness within, the blood that warms you (books by firelight when they're all fast asleep and all you hear is crackles of sparks and you can feel the thrum of the magic of the castle, almost alive, keeping you safe), the bones that hold you up ("It doesn't matter what they think, they're fools, all of them, my beautiful girl," Daddy says, and wraps her in a bear hug and he smells warm and familiar), the organs that keep you living ("Luna!" she cries joyfully, grinning, and kisses your cheek, hair like fire tumbling around your faces and smelling of strawberries, the afternoon sun hot on bare shoulders). Knives, knives, they would spill it all until there was nothing left; cold steel, there will be nothing left of me. Take up the dagger, the sabre, the sword ere the shields fall and it is too late for you...
Knives out.
Author: acidpop25
Rating: PG-13. I think.
Prompt Set: 100.1
Prompt: #9, "Metal"
Word Count: 273
Summary: "Luna dislikes metal, but it surrounds her."
Warnings: None really. Besides some bizarreness, but that's become a pretty predictable pattern in my Luna fics.
Notes: If this sucks, it's the fault of the cold medicine. If it's good, it's because I'm so awesome even the Cold From Hell cannot stop me!
Luna dislikes metal, but it surrounds her, always closing in, closing, steel and iron bars so cold she never touches them, hard and unforgiving, lifeless. Their voices are tinny and frigid, pierce her ears Loony Luna, Loony Luna Lovegood, Loony Loony Loony and snickers like raw sharp tin-can edges scratching down the blackboard so your hair is all on end all down your neck and your back and you shudder and cringe and you hate that sound, it physically hurts in ways that don't make sense, visceral aversion, fear of claws, scratch, scratch, scratch.
Not steel and iron bars, no. Knives. Slide in your skin if you don't watch out, slide under the skin and peel it back and expose all that redness within, the blood that warms you (books by firelight when they're all fast asleep and all you hear is crackles of sparks and you can feel the thrum of the magic of the castle, almost alive, keeping you safe), the bones that hold you up ("It doesn't matter what they think, they're fools, all of them, my beautiful girl," Daddy says, and wraps her in a bear hug and he smells warm and familiar), the organs that keep you living ("Luna!" she cries joyfully, grinning, and kisses your cheek, hair like fire tumbling around your faces and smelling of strawberries, the afternoon sun hot on bare shoulders). Knives, knives, they would spill it all until there was nothing left; cold steel, there will be nothing left of me. Take up the dagger, the sabre, the sword ere the shields fall and it is too late for you...
Knives out.