Migraines and lesbians
Head = ow.
I've been writing tons. Not that this means anything was accomplished.
I've typed some truck up though, so do you want Huck!fic, a Hermione/Luna drabble, or wee!Morfin fic? I think you want the lesbians, because I'm the only Huckleberry dork here and little Morfin, gah, he's quite depressing and you're probably sick of Gaunts so that'll save you for a while though I find him rather addictive. :P Ican'tbelieveI'vegotninety-sometogo. o.o
In Luna there exists something that attracts Hermione’s inherent logicality. In Harry they dubbed it a ‘certain disregard for rules,' though in Luna it is another entity entirely, belonging to another plane of being.
“Do your eyes ever go funny when you sneeze?” the girl asks, and Hermione smiles softly because for once in her life she doesn’t understand at all. “Because mine do. They really do.”
Hermione brushes a tendril of blonde hair behind an ear, watching it disentangle from a garish turnip earring, and muses that this, this is the closest she will ever come to enlightened thought.
I resent the lack of femmeslash out there, dammit. (Yes, I know about the probably misplaced modifier. HUSH.)
Now sleep for Emily and her remaining brain cells. Tell me something silly?
I've been writing tons. Not that this means anything was accomplished.
I've typed some truck up though, so do you want Huck!fic, a Hermione/Luna drabble, or wee!Morfin fic? I think you want the lesbians, because I'm the only Huckleberry dork here and little Morfin, gah, he's quite depressing and you're probably sick of Gaunts so that'll save you for a while though I find him rather addictive. :P Ican'tbelieveI'vegotninety-sometogo. o.o
In Luna there exists something that attracts Hermione’s inherent logicality. In Harry they dubbed it a ‘certain disregard for rules,' though in Luna it is another entity entirely, belonging to another plane of being.
“Do your eyes ever go funny when you sneeze?” the girl asks, and Hermione smiles softly because for once in her life she doesn’t understand at all. “Because mine do. They really do.”
Hermione brushes a tendril of blonde hair behind an ear, watching it disentangle from a garish turnip earring, and muses that this, this is the closest she will ever come to enlightened thought.
I resent the lack of femmeslash out there, dammit. (Yes, I know about the probably misplaced modifier. HUSH.)
Now sleep for Emily and her remaining brain cells. Tell me something silly?