Fic: "Ink," PG-13, Luna gen
Title: Ink
Author: acidpop25
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Self-harm. Sort of.
Summary: Luna does not like being normal like this. Luna gen.
You think it all makes sense.
"Doesn't compute," Luna mutters, scratch-scratch-scratching out, blots of ink and black stains all over her fingers, her palms, her wrists, her sleeves. It does not make sense, the numbers don't work, and she used to be so good at Arithmancy and that always surprised people because, well, she's crazy, after all.
"Luna?"
It doesn't compute.
"Go away." Her voice is not usually so hard and miserable around the edges, and Luna does not like being normal like this, does not like stupid problems and this building pressure in her like boiling water in a teapot, only the steam can't get out, can't get out, can't fucking get out!
"Luna? Is... is something wrong?"
The quill snaps, and she wants to scream and cry and curse and sob all at once but she doesn't, she doesn't do anything at all, and her eyes stop seeing dreams.
"Nothing, Harry."
Get out, get out, get out!
"Are you-"
She slaps his hand away, but the sudden violence does not make her feel better, or worse, or anything at all; she can only watch as Harry draws away, shocked and stung more personally than physically, but she isn't really watching him, she's watching through him, watching as she falls and screams and bursts and rages and shatters and cries and breaks down but she is just sitting there, just sitting there.
She has upended her ink bottle; she is covered in it. There is a spreading pool on the table. Luna does not notice. A thousand little murders, everyday, but right now, right now, right now she cannot, does not care at all. There is too much steam, and everything is wrong.
"Right," Harry says, "I'll leave you alone."
Get out, get out, get out!
Don't go.
It does not compute. Luna throws her quill into the ink, and it splashes up on her face, her hair. Doesn't compute, doesn't compute.
The empty ink bottle shatters, and Luna almost cannot see the blood for all the ink, and the glass shines in her hand, like icicles and steel.
Really, it doesn't solve anything at all.
Author: acidpop25
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Self-harm. Sort of.
Summary: Luna does not like being normal like this. Luna gen.
You think it all makes sense.
"Doesn't compute," Luna mutters, scratch-scratch-scratching out, blots of ink and black stains all over her fingers, her palms, her wrists, her sleeves. It does not make sense, the numbers don't work, and she used to be so good at Arithmancy and that always surprised people because, well, she's crazy, after all.
"Luna?"
It doesn't compute.
"Go away." Her voice is not usually so hard and miserable around the edges, and Luna does not like being normal like this, does not like stupid problems and this building pressure in her like boiling water in a teapot, only the steam can't get out, can't get out, can't fucking get out!
"Luna? Is... is something wrong?"
The quill snaps, and she wants to scream and cry and curse and sob all at once but she doesn't, she doesn't do anything at all, and her eyes stop seeing dreams.
"Nothing, Harry."
Get out, get out, get out!
"Are you-"
She slaps his hand away, but the sudden violence does not make her feel better, or worse, or anything at all; she can only watch as Harry draws away, shocked and stung more personally than physically, but she isn't really watching him, she's watching through him, watching as she falls and screams and bursts and rages and shatters and cries and breaks down but she is just sitting there, just sitting there.
She has upended her ink bottle; she is covered in it. There is a spreading pool on the table. Luna does not notice. A thousand little murders, everyday, but right now, right now, right now she cannot, does not care at all. There is too much steam, and everything is wrong.
"Right," Harry says, "I'll leave you alone."
Get out, get out, get out!
Don't go.
It does not compute. Luna throws her quill into the ink, and it splashes up on her face, her hair. Doesn't compute, doesn't compute.
The empty ink bottle shatters, and Luna almost cannot see the blood for all the ink, and the glass shines in her hand, like icicles and steel.
Really, it doesn't solve anything at all.