(no subject)
fanfic100; Ginny/Luna
Prompt: 23. Lovers
Word Count: - ~661
Rating - :X :X
Notes: Rambly Luna thoughts; somehow prompted by Better Than Ezra's Breathless. An awesome song, no doubt. :))
Luna Lovegood wasn't the girl who stayed home worrying, nor was she the girl that watched from the relatively safety of a sideline waiting for her big, strong menfolk to return from battle, wringing an embroidered handkerchief, or clutching at her chest and tearing at her scented stationery. Harry Potter and Dumbledore's Army had seen to that a long long time ago and she wasn't about to let anything change her any time in the forseeable future.
In fact, she only owned one embroidered handkerchief, but it had been her mother's and she did her best not to clutch at it unless it was a dire situation indeed, so that hardly counted.
In yet another fact, she had no big, strong menfolk in that sense of the word, though she had many menfolk she considered hers and whom she would very much like to see stay safe and whole. But if any of those menfolk started thinking they'd like to see her wring her handkerchief over them, they'd be sorely disappointed, because there was only one person Luna thought to wring that beloved handkerchief over.
But again, this was all theoretical because, normally? When Ginny was out doing something that might be construed as dangerous, Luna was usually right behind her and too busy sneaking, hexing, shielding and stupefying to wring anything. (Though once, she did get to nearly wring someone's neck, which was new and different and something she didn't care to repeat.) Of course, this led to any number of those big, strong menfolk wringing their own metaphorical handkerchiefs over the small, angry girls dodging and fighting evil Death Eaters, and that visual was one that never failed to make Luna laugh. After all, everyone knows that in a violent situation, you should take the women out first because they're usually the scary, fearless, ruthless ones.
It didn't seem right, women taking advantage of that rule, but Luna had done so enthusiastically in the past and wouldn't hesitate to do so again. Ginny, however, was more fearless, ruthless and scary than anyone Luna had ever taken out, yet she was always last when the dodgy characters started firing spells in their direction in favor of someone taller and more testosterone-laden when available. Apparently no one had ever explained this tactic to them, and Luna wasn't going to correct that.
It was incredibly appealing, really. About Ginny, that is.
No, it really was. Some days Apparating breathless directly into their tiny sitting room with smoke still rising from a singed spot on her robes from a curse that had passed too closely, it was all Luna could do to tackle Ginny right back down onto the floor (or sofa or chair or wall) and hold on to make sure that she was still there. Well, and to take advantage of the fact that a flushed and panting Ginny was usually her favorite kind of Ginny, so if she could maybe change the reason from terror to Luna's hands and mouth and bare flesh used to all-too-appropriate advantage, that was a mere bonus of her position, as it were.
It occurred to Luna some days as she hovered over her Ginny, kissing away minor bumps and bruises and cuts and hexes, hissing through her teeth as her own small hurts scratched uncomfortably against the carpet or her robes or Ginny's or maybe because Ginny's hands were creeping up her sides and finding the edges of her clothes while murmuring about how she really ought to be worried that near-death never failed to turn her girlfriend on: it wasn't the near-death and the fighting; it was the still-alive part that did it.
Still-alive people have girlfriends to kiss and menfolk to soothe and reassure, not to mention handkerchiefs to wring. But Luna still preferred to use hers to dab at Ginny's face as she dropped kisses across the freckled bridge of her nose sometime after the tackling and holding. It was more productive by far.
Prompt: 23. Lovers
Word Count: - ~661
Rating - :X :X
Notes: Rambly Luna thoughts; somehow prompted by Better Than Ezra's Breathless. An awesome song, no doubt. :))
Luna Lovegood wasn't the girl who stayed home worrying, nor was she the girl that watched from the relatively safety of a sideline waiting for her big, strong menfolk to return from battle, wringing an embroidered handkerchief, or clutching at her chest and tearing at her scented stationery. Harry Potter and Dumbledore's Army had seen to that a long long time ago and she wasn't about to let anything change her any time in the forseeable future.
In fact, she only owned one embroidered handkerchief, but it had been her mother's and she did her best not to clutch at it unless it was a dire situation indeed, so that hardly counted.
In yet another fact, she had no big, strong menfolk in that sense of the word, though she had many menfolk she considered hers and whom she would very much like to see stay safe and whole. But if any of those menfolk started thinking they'd like to see her wring her handkerchief over them, they'd be sorely disappointed, because there was only one person Luna thought to wring that beloved handkerchief over.
But again, this was all theoretical because, normally? When Ginny was out doing something that might be construed as dangerous, Luna was usually right behind her and too busy sneaking, hexing, shielding and stupefying to wring anything. (Though once, she did get to nearly wring someone's neck, which was new and different and something she didn't care to repeat.) Of course, this led to any number of those big, strong menfolk wringing their own metaphorical handkerchiefs over the small, angry girls dodging and fighting evil Death Eaters, and that visual was one that never failed to make Luna laugh. After all, everyone knows that in a violent situation, you should take the women out first because they're usually the scary, fearless, ruthless ones.
It didn't seem right, women taking advantage of that rule, but Luna had done so enthusiastically in the past and wouldn't hesitate to do so again. Ginny, however, was more fearless, ruthless and scary than anyone Luna had ever taken out, yet she was always last when the dodgy characters started firing spells in their direction in favor of someone taller and more testosterone-laden when available. Apparently no one had ever explained this tactic to them, and Luna wasn't going to correct that.
It was incredibly appealing, really. About Ginny, that is.
No, it really was. Some days Apparating breathless directly into their tiny sitting room with smoke still rising from a singed spot on her robes from a curse that had passed too closely, it was all Luna could do to tackle Ginny right back down onto the floor (or sofa or chair or wall) and hold on to make sure that she was still there. Well, and to take advantage of the fact that a flushed and panting Ginny was usually her favorite kind of Ginny, so if she could maybe change the reason from terror to Luna's hands and mouth and bare flesh used to all-too-appropriate advantage, that was a mere bonus of her position, as it were.
It occurred to Luna some days as she hovered over her Ginny, kissing away minor bumps and bruises and cuts and hexes, hissing through her teeth as her own small hurts scratched uncomfortably against the carpet or her robes or Ginny's or maybe because Ginny's hands were creeping up her sides and finding the edges of her clothes while murmuring about how she really ought to be worried that near-death never failed to turn her girlfriend on: it wasn't the near-death and the fighting; it was the still-alive part that did it.
Still-alive people have girlfriends to kiss and menfolk to soothe and reassure, not to mention handkerchiefs to wring. But Luna still preferred to use hers to dab at Ginny's face as she dropped kisses across the freckled bridge of her nose sometime after the tackling and holding. It was more productive by far.