oops that's a lightpost. there that's a tree. I like this.
Hello Hello Hello!!
Yeah I know, I'm sorry. But this journal is mine to do with as I please and I please to abandon every once in a while. Um.
No hard feelings huh?
Well this is just a filling visit really because I was trawling through my documents for something in particular (which I found but didn't actually need, whatever)and I came across a store of old fic work and amidst all of the shameful history I've accumulated I found a small piece that I don't remember writing and apparently I never posted and I thought it was....sweet I guess.
Yeah, it's sweet and obviously abandoned instantly but, that doesn't really matter does it?
Here:
Popularity was never a word that Luna Lovegood had presumed to associate with herself. It was created for other people; people who knew how to say witty things, people who could laugh in all the right places, who threw their heads back and touched arms as they did so and managed to still look good. They knew how to dress and turn heads, they had friends and people who sought them out. Popular people had a rewarding presence.
Popular people didn’t wear dried herbs or talk to the portraits or keep their wands behind their ears. They never had their underwear stolen and displayed in the great hall. They didn’t cherish every social interaction. Not like Luna.
Luna Looney Lovegood.
She would never be one of those people, she would never be like Fleur Delacour. And people like Fleur Delacour would never want to be like her, let alone associate with her.
That being said, Luna's surprise when the Beauxbatons student chose to sit beside her at the dining table is all too understandable. It was during Luna’s third year, as every living (and some not so living) eye in Hogwarts watched, that Fleur had swept in with her classmates at her heels and chosen Luna. Or at least, the seat beside her.
Luna had spent the evening checking her teeth in the back of her spoon, staring at her plate and barely daring to breathe. Not that Fleur had spoken to her at any point, but she had briefly brushed by Luna’s arm when reaching for a platter. The encounter had made her vision swim and her arm tingle, later that night, she had lain awake, brushing her arm lightly in a bid to recreate the sensation. Remembering the smell Fleur’s perfume and wondering whether popular people sometimes did the same thing.
Well. Yeah.
It made me smile or something I don't know.
Shut up
GOOD BYE
Yeah I know, I'm sorry. But this journal is mine to do with as I please and I please to abandon every once in a while. Um.
No hard feelings huh?
Well this is just a filling visit really because I was trawling through my documents for something in particular (which I found but didn't actually need, whatever)and I came across a store of old fic work and amidst all of the shameful history I've accumulated I found a small piece that I don't remember writing and apparently I never posted and I thought it was....sweet I guess.
Yeah, it's sweet and obviously abandoned instantly but, that doesn't really matter does it?
Here:
Popularity was never a word that Luna Lovegood had presumed to associate with herself. It was created for other people; people who knew how to say witty things, people who could laugh in all the right places, who threw their heads back and touched arms as they did so and managed to still look good. They knew how to dress and turn heads, they had friends and people who sought them out. Popular people had a rewarding presence.
Popular people didn’t wear dried herbs or talk to the portraits or keep their wands behind their ears. They never had their underwear stolen and displayed in the great hall. They didn’t cherish every social interaction. Not like Luna.
Luna Looney Lovegood.
She would never be one of those people, she would never be like Fleur Delacour. And people like Fleur Delacour would never want to be like her, let alone associate with her.
That being said, Luna's surprise when the Beauxbatons student chose to sit beside her at the dining table is all too understandable. It was during Luna’s third year, as every living (and some not so living) eye in Hogwarts watched, that Fleur had swept in with her classmates at her heels and chosen Luna. Or at least, the seat beside her.
Luna had spent the evening checking her teeth in the back of her spoon, staring at her plate and barely daring to breathe. Not that Fleur had spoken to her at any point, but she had briefly brushed by Luna’s arm when reaching for a platter. The encounter had made her vision swim and her arm tingle, later that night, she had lain awake, brushing her arm lightly in a bid to recreate the sensation. Remembering the smell Fleur’s perfume and wondering whether popular people sometimes did the same thing.
Well. Yeah.
It made me smile or something I don't know.
Shut up
GOOD BYE