#nena writes

[romione-trope-fest]

Title: Perfect Prefect Present

Author: Nena-96, Nena96 on ao3

Selected Trope: OOTP

Rating- T

Brief Summary: Ron is transfixed uwith the thought of being the New Gryffindor Prefect, when an idea of using his new Cleansweep entered his mind. However, Hermione who was wearing a pink robe and bunny slippers was there to stop him.

Word Count: 2,672

Relevant triggers: None

Ron couldn’t help staring at the scarlet banner that was hanging up above, he was surprised that his mum had somehow managed to create it in such short notice. He didn’t expect her to make such a fuss about him being the new Gryffindor Prefect, especially since he’s the fourth Weasley to become one. He had placed his prefect badge inside the pocket of his trousers, originally he was going to wear it on his jumper but the thought of Fred and George taking the mickey out of him made him think again. Besides, it was better that way, he was keeping it clean and out of harm's way, just like a good Prefect would do. It was truly unbelievable that he was selected to hold such a position at Hogwarts, maybe the Mirror of Erised wasn’t lying about him becoming Head Boy.

Merlin's saggy balls, that would be wicked. That would be better than the Chudley Cannons winning the Quidditch World Cup. The team did let go of its former coach, so it's possible that this year’s season would be better than the last. Blimey, that would be absolutely brilliant, but he didn’t want to be overly optimistic because things don’t always go as planned, but there’s no harm in manifesting a great year for his team.

Ron shook his head, as he slipped his hand into the pocket of his trousers and brought out his badge. He traced his freckled finger upon the letter P, the hard ridges made him realize that this was in fact reality and not just another dream. He was chosen to be Gryffindor’s Prefect and damn it, he was going to prove that he deserves this more than anyone else. He might be the fourth Weasley to become Prefect but that only meant that he was going to be different.

Yeah, first it was his older brother Bill, then it was the second eldest Charlie, right after that it was Percy, which in all honestly wasn’t surprising in the slightest. Then it was him, Ronald B. Weasley, to say he was shocked was an understatement but he was also filled with immense pride. Ron didn’t want to overthink and enjoy this night, his mum had gone all out for the celebration and he wasn’t going to sit out the fun.

During the celebration that his mum had thrown, he was shocked when Mad-Eye congratulated him. Even though he was glaring at him with his normal eye, while his other eye was swiveling all around. Most likely keeping a lookout for anything that would go amiss, you know Constant Vigilance , Regardless of the awkwardness he felt proud that one of the greatest most ruthless Auror had congratulated him. Hell, even Tonks, another great Auror, all a bit clumsy at times if you ask him, was also glad he was selected to be a Prefect. She even gave him some wicked new tips to use on his brand fucking new broom that his mum had got him.

Fuck.

He couldn’t believe that his mum had brought him a new Cleansweep, if nobody was around he might have fucking cried. It wasn’t just because he got a brand new broom it was the fact that he could have something that was only his and not just another hand-me-down. Sure, it wasn’t a Nimbus, because he knew it was expensive and he didn’t want to have his mum waste her galleons on him.

His new Cleansweep was everything he wanted, the handle was made of Spanish oak and it also had built-in vibration control, which would come in handy when it gets windy up in the Quidditch pitch. Ron had to try his best to not rush outside with his broom and do a couple laps in the sky.

Hell, maybe he could go for a fly, while the others are asleep. It wouldn't do any harm, not like anyone would see him. He could try and nick the invisibility cloak for a few hours, not like Harry would mind.

Yes, fuck yes…that’s exactly what he’ll do.

Ron pulled away from his thoughts and looked around, he tried to listen for any movements upstairs, once satisfied with the quietness he walked over to where he placed his Cleansweep. He picked it up in the most gentle manner possible, his fingers closed over the handle of the boom and was ready to make his way out from the basement.

Everything was perfect, Ron managed to make it up the stairs so quietly that even Moody would be proud of his stealth. Once he got to the very top of the stairs, he turned to close the basement door slowly, making sure not to awaken the others. Once satisfied with the closed door, he nodded his head and grabbed his broom tightly. Before turning around and almost falling straight to his arse, in fear. Ron dropped his broom to the floor before clutching at his chest and trying to somehow retrieve his soul that momentarily left his body, when he was face to face with Hermione.

It wasn’t that his bushy-haired friend scares him ... .well come to think of it he is fully aware of what she is capable of doing. For crying out loud, Hermione had set flames to Snape’s robes, but then again that wasn’t scary, that was hilarious. Bloody brilliant, if he might add…he would pay to see that happen again as a matter of fact, but no that wasn’t why he almost woke up the entire Grimmauld Place. It was because the girl who currently had her hands on her hips and some kind of green junk on her face. Literally her entire face was covered in that gunk, he almost was going to say that she resembles the mountain troll that he had taken down in first year in the girl’s bathroom. Then again she was loads more beautiful than- wait, what the hell, Weasley you shouldn’t think Hermione is beautiful she’s your best friend, besides Harry of course.

Yet, he didn’t think that Harry is beautiful, the way he knows Hermione is…you know…beautiful. Harry looked, well he looked a bit like a brooding little git, while Hermione well, she didn’t look like a git. It was difficult to explain, shit- no he didn’t mean she looked like shit its just shit. He shouldn’t be thinking of how she looks, even now as she was wearing that green gunk on her face, he can’t help but see past that and see her beauty.

Fuck.

He did it again, damn it Weasley. Get it together.

Focus, he has to get a grip on reality and not fall into uncharted territory of thinking about how bea- no stop, pay attention. Fucking focus!

Think of something else, anything that can take your mind off of the short, yet feisty busy-haired girl who was wearing an overly fluffy pink robe and was currently tapping her bunny-eared slippers onto the oakwood floor. Ron looked around the hall and tried to focus his mind on anything, he tried looking out the window, yet it was futile since the curtains were closed. Yes, he could always walk away and pretend like she didn’t almost catch him trying to sneak out, but he knew that Hermione wouldn’t let him off the hook. He also wasn’t about to make tit out of himself and make Hermione pissed to the point she tries to hex his bollocks off. Yeah, he was quite fond of his bits, if you cared to ask.

Even though Hermione would talk his ear off about how underage magic is illegal, which he already knew but it’s fine, Ron let his insightful friend have her moment. Which had ended up being almost an hour and a half, mind you. However, the funniest thing happened, on several instances he caught the little know-it-all using magic to decontaminate multiple parts of Grimmauld. You should’ve seen the look of surprise on her face, it was downright adorable seeing her blush so hard. She could- damn it Weasley you’ve done it again. Honestly what is bloody wrong with you, tonight? It was like his thoughts were going haywire with just the sight of her in front of him. So, instead he did the one thing he knew best, shove his foot seven different ways into his mouth.

“Hermione, what the bloody fuck do you have on your face?” He asked after taking a couple of deep breaths, waiting for his heart rate to slow down. You know since he got frightened at the sight of her…no not of her just seeing her suddenly made him-

“Oh, honestly, you shouldn’t swear,” Hermione gritted out, even under all that gunk Ron could tell that Hermione's face was burning scarlet at this precise moment. "If you must know, this is a Muggle beauty practice to remove blemishes, its a thick paste that should remain on the face for roughly thirty minutes and....."

Ron stared at her in utter confusion, as Hermione was prattling on about how thick the consistency of the paste has to be before applying it onto her face. Ron couldn't help but wonder if all Muggle women partake in looking like mountain troll for a few hours a day just so they won't have any acne-

"Excuse me, did you say I look like a mountain troll?" Hermione narrowed her eyes so much it look like slits, and yes ladies and gentlemen he was royally without a doubt fucked at this precise moment. Unless, he plays dumb and can attempt to deny ever saying that because technically he was thinking it so it's completely different. Or, he could rectify the situation and not be at risk of getting hexed.

A long silence sweeps between the two of them, and Ron could feel the tell tale sign of his neck starting to warm up. It would be a matter of seconds before his entire face rivals the scarlet of the banner downstairs. He took a deep breath and realized what he had to do, “Well, I didn’t say you looked like a mountain troll, I said Muggle women and last I checked, you're not a woman. Not- not that I was looking at you in any way, I-erm, it's just that you're a girl.” Ron finished lamely, before picking up his broom off the floor.

“I am a girl, thank you for taking notice, and just for the record, both women and girls can enjoy a bit of relaxation every once in a while. That doesn't classify them as a mountain troll,” Hermione replied curtly, raising her chin up ever so slightly.

“Erm, yeah..I didn’t mean that it's just i don’t see why you need to wear any of that.You’re fine the way you are-”

“Oh, well, t-thank you. You also look fine the way you are, not that you’d need to wear anything on your face, since you don’t have any blemishes. You only have freckles and they’re rather nice to look at…not that I've looked at them more than an average amount of time of course,” Hermione hurriedly added.

Wait…he thought, does this mean that she’s been looking at him in a different way other than friendly. Sweet Merlin, he only hopes that she wasn’t also thinking about Harry in that way, just the mere thought made him feel queasy. Ron wanted to blame the sudden nausea that he feels on all the food he ate. Plus, the memory of how Moody had taken out his magic eye and placed it into a cup filled with water. Everyone saw the way in which the eye swiveled inside the cup, it was rather uncomfortable to say the least.

Shaking his head, Ron decides that maybe he should get some rest instead of going out for a fly, he wasn’t feeling well and being alone with Hermione is doing his head in. Hopefully this wasn’t a taste of how patrols would be at Hogwarts, then things would definitely have to change.

“Well, since it’s late we should head to bed,” he said with a fake yawn as he stretched his arms over his head.

“Oh, yes…of course,” Hermione replied quickly, yet it didn’t fool him. It sounded like she was sad and he hadn't the minor clue as to why.

“Hermione, did you need anything else?” He asked, watching as she began to toy with the sleeves of her fluffy robe. She huffed, before biting her bottom lip and…ok wow, even with a face covered in that Muggle beauty paste, Ron couldn’t help but feel frozen in place and stare at his bushy-haired best friend.

“I wanted to apologize from the way I reacted earlier,” Hermione mumbled so quietly that he almost missed what she had said, luckily he didn’t. “I shouldn’t have been so surprised that Dumbledore chose you, honestly that was quite rude of me and I-I’m glad that you’re going to be my partner during rounds. Also, I wanted to give you this, it’s nothing really, just a little thing that I made, it’s so you can keep your badge safe when you're not wearing it of course,” Hermione rambled as she thrusted a hand-knitted case onto his palm.

He couldn’t believe it, Hermione had knitted his initials across the top in black yarn, and right under it, the word Prefect was stitched in gold. He couldn’t believe that she had made him this, let alone found the time to make him a present fit for a prefect.

“You don’t have to say anything, it’s rubbish. Here just give it back and we can forget I ever gave it to you,” Hermione said as she tried to swipe it from his hands, yet he was much quicker than her and managed to move it from her grasp. “No, it’s bloody perfect, Hermione…I don’t know what to say,” Ron said sincerely.

“Don’t lie, it's hideous. I know I’m not an amazing knitter like your mum, but I tried my best and well…if you don’t like it I’m sure I can come up with something else-”

“Are you kidding? I love it, honestly.” He said as he looked into her brown eyes, hoping that she realizes he isn’t taking the mickey. The longer he looked at her the more he realized that moments like these makes him want to just lean down and-

“Hermione, what if I told you that I have a present of my own to give you?” Ron asked, as he leaned down closer to face.

“I would say that's a load of dragon dung,” Hermione replied, not noticing that they were both slowly eliminating the barrier between them.

“How about this, close your eyes and you’ll find out for yourself,” he said before swallowing hard, instead of a reply, Hermione only nodded her head as her eyes fluttered shut. Ron couldn’t help but look at the way her dark lashes fluttered as she was breathing so gently. “Ready?” He asked her, allowing her the time to stop this if he went too far, however instead he watched as she licked her bottom lip. That was all it took for him to close the distance and place his lips against her soft ones, it wasn’t the most practical moment, since his face was now being covered with the thick green paste. Yet, it was indeed the perfect prefect present that he could ever give, and he was beyond ecstatic that Hermione didn’t pull away. Instead she slowly slid her hands up, before letting her arms wrap around his shoulders.

They were lost in the moment, it wasn’t perfect at the slightest, he lost track of the amount of times she accidentally bit hit bottom lip, or the times his long nose bumped into hers. The amount of times he ingested the horrid green paste, yet….this was perfect and nothing could change this moment they had together.

[eddiestightywhities]

TU ERES MI NENE, NENE

buddie, explicit, 4025 words, pwp with feelings—so many feelings, wolfy-type themes (just kind of buck being all pack-like), insecure!buck, first time, mild kink, boys in love... (check the link for comprehensive tags)

.

When Buck finally gets his hands on Eddie—the first chance he gets to begin slowly peeling back Eddie's layers and have Eddie naked and pliant underneath him—he beelines straight for that triangular thatch of gorgeously dark hair that's nestled in the enticing divot between Eddie's pecs.

Buck runs both his palms over it, reverently, smoothing it down and then messing it up again, pawing away at it like some sort of feral thing, even though Buck is the one who feels like prey, here, what with Eddie's intensely sepia gaze one-hundred-percent fixed on Buck, only Buck, Eddie watching him like a hawk with his pupils blown-out all-black and hazy-lidded yet somehow still new-mint copper-sharp as ever, those unblinking eyes trained solely on Buck and Buck alone, just like they always are whenever Buck is close to Eddie.

And right now, Buck is closer to Eddie than he's ever been.

He wonders briefly how he'd managed to misinterpret the way Eddie only ever had eyes for him; only ever has eyes for Buck.

Dragging non-existent fingernails through the soft fuzz that is Eddie's chest hair, Buck thinks about tearing through Eddie's skin and crawling beneath Eddie's ribcage to get inside of Eddie and try clawing his way into Eddie's heart, hoping it might just be big enough for both Christopher and Buck to live in there, and he has to bite down hard on his tongue to stop himself from acting on the visceral instinct he has to begin marking Eddie up, to claim him (that will have to come later), needing to sink his canines into the thick, wet muscle so he can document the pain it brings and taste copper in his mouth, so he knows that this is real and not just another of the vivid wet-dreams he has most nights.

Buck finds himself snuffling and grunting as he buries his face in the centre of Eddie's chest—wanting more, wanting in—and a smile pulls uncontrollably at his kiss-swollen lips as his nose digs deep and tries its absolute damnedest to carve out a place for itself, in a special corner of Eddie's heart, somewhere that's just for Buck. He wants to create a home inside of Eddie where he can exist when it is just the two of them, just like it is right now, where they can both reside, someplace deep inside of Eddie's core.

A den, Buck thinks to himself, and another smile takes over his blushing face.

Brilliantly, Buck can feel Eddie's heart beating away like a trooper underneath his cheek and it's a tonic like nothing else Buck's ever known, or needed more.

Alive, alive, alive.

Happy that it is keeping Eddie alive, and that Eddie is the one keeping Buck alive—like he always does, always has, since practically Day One of their partnership—Buck laps away at the lush hair covering Eddie's sternum, licking both with-and-against the grain, tongue stretched long and flat and so fucking thirsty. He hears Eddie laugh a small huffy thing as Buck nips at the individual strands before he's trying to bite down on almost-nothing, driving himself fucking wild with this, with Eddie, the way he's always wanted to.

.

READ THE REST ON AO3 HERE

[todaywasamaritale]

what if i give myself away, to only get it given back?

(neris board for @yaboieif and @jingledbell)

[sirbird]

I just needed to draw this scene cause it hasn’t left my brain 😭😭 I had to take 10 laps around my room cause I was freaking out 🫠

[latibvles]

a judge of character.

little late on this one but alas! here we have it — bonding featuring one Gale Cleven and Vivian Savorre. Takes place around February of 1943, in Kearney, Nebraska, two months after the girls joined up with them in Utah. No crazy trigger warnings but I am fond of this friendship and need to squeeze them like dog toys.

—

Gale didn’t know what to make of this.

Bill sits on the opposing end of the table, looking somewhere between a parent and an older brother every time his eyes fall on the other side of the room, worried in some respect, about the women who take up their own table, paying little mind to the rest of the officers in here. They’d gone up today on another practice mission — Bill flew with one of the three lady-crews they sent up. He’s recounting it now, feels halfway between their CO and a worried chaperone as he talks about it.

“Thought it’d be more of a fuss getting into formation up there but, y’know, once you’re up there you can’t really tell Sam from Sarah,” he admits. Bucky looks over his shoulder, then back to the man across from them.

“What, you scared one of them’s gonna run off or something, Veal?” Bill grimaces.

“Or something.” His eyes meet Buck’s, apologetic, and Bucky looks from him, to Bill, then back again.

“What did I miss?”

“One of them got into it with one of Hummel’s gunners.” Bucky kisses his teeth, reaching for his whiskey on the table.

“No shit. Which crew?”

“Savorre’s, I think.” Bucky lets out an ‘ah’ sound, understanding something that Buck knows he isn’t getting entirely. He can only assume Bucky just knows that crew better, which wouldn’t surprise him. Buck couldn’t say the same of himself. He knew Lieutenant Savorre because she was the pilot, and Lieutenant Neumann because she was the co-pilot. Not for lack of caring or a resistance to know them, but moreso because none of them were in his squadron and the women made themselves pretty scarce a lot of the time.

Once the shock of having them in the 100th subsided, that was when the arguments would occasionally sprout up. Rarely did it turn physical. Sometimes it did. This is really the first time Buck’s ever had to scruff one of his own for instigating with the tall, willowy blonde girl that was a part of Savorre’s crew. She’d been apologetic then, but not embarrassed about it.

In the air, the group felt golden, but on the ground, not so much.

“Alright, c’mon Buck,” Bucky claps his shoulder twice, and rises to his feet. Buck looks up at him with a furrowed brow.

“Where’re you goin’?” Bucky gives him one of those deceptively innocent smiles of his, looking to the table behind them.

“We’re gonna go say hi.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re all friends here, that’s why. And I need another drink,” Bucky looks at Bill. “Back me up, Veal.”

“If you get smacked, or get a drink tossed at you, or written up for being unprofessional, I didn’t see anything,” is his sage reply, offered with a something that sounds like fondness and Buck sighs, rising to his feet — mostly in effort to keep any of the above from happening to his friend as he makes his way towards the table. They’re laughing, their conversation indiscernable. It dulls to a lull as the women seem to take notice of them.

Bucky’s all smiles, nodding in acknowledgement with an easy ‘Ladies, good to see you.’ A few of them exchange looks, and Buck recognizes the two other pilots — Harris’ soft blonde hair and Rivera’s discerning eyes which seem hard-trained on Bucky. Some he doesn’t recognize, but he assumes they’re other members of the crew: a girl with orangey red hair, a woman with something between red and brown with an easy smile. There are others too.

Buck notices the taciturn way some of them mutter out greetings, whereas the rest are eyeing her — Savorre, who’s sandwiched in the middle on her end of the circular table — and then looking back to Bucky. The tenseness is painfully obvious. They look somewhere between guard dogs and ducklings waiting for direction. Is that an Air Force thing or a woman thing?

Savorre smiles, something warm and welcoming like she’s offering up an invisible seat at the table.

“Hey there, Major,” she greets, and Buck feels the tension in the air dissipate. “You here to stay?”

“Sorry, just passing through,” Bucky doesn’t miss a beat on his reply, the for now goes unsaid, but they all hear it. “Missing a couple faces here, huh?” Savorre shrugs.

“Some of us like some quiet after being around loud engines all day.”

“Well then tell Willie I miss her, yeah? Someone around here’s gotta roll her eyes at my jokes and be nice about it.”

“I don’t deliver messages Major, but if you wait on the runway nice and wistful she might just believe you when you tell her yourself.”

There’s a rhythm there, that they fall into — familiar like old friends, and Buck makes note of two things: one, that he’s definitely missed something here and two, it’d do him good to ask Bucky about it later. For now though, he watches as they go back and forth, talking about the practice flight, about more names that Buck doesn’t recognize entirely, but he thinks if he had a face he might be able to make vague connections.

“Can I get you girls anything?” he asks, and Savorre does a quick survey of the women around her who’re, for the most part, shaking their heads or preoccupied with their side conversations, before she turns and gives Bucky an appreciative smile.

“Think we’re good. Thank you though.” Bucky nods, returns the smile, then his eyes settle on the dark-haired woman next to her.

“Rivera. Always a pleasure.” Bucky finally acknowledges the one next to Savorre, who’s been unrelenting in her narrow-eyed look. She turns up her nose and scrunches it like she’s dismissing them from the table. He takes the hint and they walk past, towards the bar.

“What’d you do to get on her bad side?” Buck asks, half-teasing, half-curious. Bucky gives him a look that’s between wary and amused.

“Nothing, if you can believe it.”

Usually, Buck would be inclined not to believe him on this front, but given what he just witnessed — has been witnessing — so he’ll give it to Bucky this time. He probably did nothing.

The night goes on, with Bucky bragging about how he didn’t get a drink tossed at him, easy conversation, Bucky and Bill enter some kind of heated debate about the Yankees and the Giants that Buck checks out of and once he realizes that it’s going to go on for a while, he figures that’s his time to call it a night. He bids them both a goodnight before they return to their heated debate, and he steps out of the bar and into the night.

He’s maybe a block down when he hears the footsteps and his name from a familiar voice.

“Major Cleven,” Buck looks over his shoulder at Savorre, who’s speed-walking towards him. “Thought I’d missed you.”

“Need something, Savorre?” She shakes her head once more.

“I just… wanted to apologize again. For Lorrai— er, Private Ivanova,” She breathes out, sidling up next to him. “Well that and we’re going the same way. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to walk together since…”

“Since?”

“Well I hardly know you,” Savorre’s smile turns lopsided and Buck can’t help but automatically think of how the face she’s making feels too genuine for a magazine cover. They’d smacked her on it with that red-headed woman sitting next to her inside, sparkling smiles, pin curls and pearl teeth. “... well, that and we were advised against walking alone in the dark if we have the option not to.”

Hands shoved into her pockets and hair pulled into a messier ponytail, her words still airy but fairly blunt — this Savorre looks pretty unrecognizable in comparison to the pilot who was getting photographed in Iowa last month.

“You don’t need to apologize again,” Buck assures, returning her smile with what he hopes is an assuring one of his own. “It happens.”

“It shouldn’t, though,” Savorre grimaces openly. “Shoving each other around and shouting on the hard stands isn’t going to make the formations any tighter.” Buck chuckles a little at that, in a wry, acknowledging way that she takes note of. They lapse into a contemplative quiet after that for a moment. Buck clears his throat and looks at her, only to catch her already looking back at him.

“Back there, they were all looking at you. Why is that?” Savorre raises her eyebrows, evidently not expecting the question, before she goes to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Same reason your boys look at you, I guess, sir,” she manages, looking ahead of them now. “Somebody’s gotta be the example, right? Show them we can all get along.” And that’s not exactly the position you choose, is it? It’s the one you’re given.

“Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know,” Savorre counters, firm but not angry at his questioning. “It’s why no one really sweats the Colonel, isn’t it? You four don’t give a damn about him so why should the rest of them, who’ve known you longer, give a damn?” She then shrugs. “The rest of the guys in the 349th took to us pretty quick ‘cause Veal did. The rest of them are warming up to Major Egan since I think he’s pretty alright.”

“Except Rivera.” Half jest, half his own observation. Savorre smiles at that.

“That’s just because she can tell he’s trouble all-around.”

“You’ve got quite a few sharp judges of character, I’m gathering.” Savorre snorts quietly, and nods.

“Something like that.”

Buck is acutely aware that this is really the most they’ve spoken in the two months she and the other women have been with the company — beyond brief nods of acknowledgement and Bucky’s general “good mornings” that tended to speak for both Buck and himself. Buck catches a glimpse of one of the runways, a little bit far off between buildings, then drags his gaze up towards the clear night above them. Starlit sky, all black and twinkling — the contrails left from the planes long since faded away.

“None of this works if you’re not onboard with it, too, Cleven,” She’s the first to break the silence again — it’s not a lecturing tone that she takes, but rather something frank and direct. “We don’t have to start doing icebreakers at breakfast but everyone follows the lead of the person they trust the most.” She’s right about that much, he knows it. He wants to ask just how long she’s been sitting on this. Be onboard with this. Meet me halfway. She knocks a rock out of their path, with her boot. Don’t make me haul you up here with me.

She’s not lecturing him, or even complaining. Just asking this of him.

“Friends call me Buck, you know,” he offers of himself, his first attempt at doing that — meeting her halfway. Savorre lets out a small chuckle.

“Friends call me Viv,” she parrots, and he nods slowly.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did, but shoot.”

“Why’d you really join up?” Buck didn’t care much for magazines, but he’d be lying if he acted like he didn’t do a quick skim of the puff piece they’d published with all the interviews of women in the AAF. Mostly because, well, two of their own were on the cover, and that was probably the first time he’d heard anyone that wasn’t Veal refer to them as our girls. And the response she’d given then: an airy, heartfelt thing about how she would rather it be her than someone’s little boy was kind, but probably not the whole truth.

Viv’s lips curl into a toothier smile, and she shrugs.

“Wanted to get away from the asshole who’s roof I was living under. And I like planes. You?” There’s recognition there, in the sharpness of her answer.

“Could say the same,” he agrees, and tacks on “but I wanted to be a fighter pilot first.”

[buttdumplin]

Besties, imma need more of yall to fall in love with Golden Kamuy because I NEED to talk about it

[jamesunderwater]

I wish you would write a fic where James & Lily accidentally walk in on McG/(person you choose), when they were trying to find an empty room.

OR

James is sorted into Slytherin and gets ALL the house points taken away and his reaction is this:

O_o

NENA STOP BOTH OF THESE IDEAS ARE FUCKING GOLD

and listen.......isn't it currently "Senior Sweethearts" week for the ladies of HP fest...? 👀

i'm also cackling just imagining the absolute bafflement James would experience in that scenario xD

Tell me what you wish I'd write

[ecstarry]

hola preciosa! 🎶 💖🎨 🦅 for the ask game porfitas💕

holaaa nenaaa!! <3333

send me some writer asks

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

i do!!! i have to main playlists that i made and then @neaverse was lovely enough to make me one with the vibes that i had on my og playlist but sometimes i just want one specific song so i have that on loop for as long as i write

💖 What made you start writing?

that would be my bestie @amesandthestars mwuaaah <3 she believed in me and was the first person to read my stuff

🎨 How do you feel about fan art of your stories?

i would cry omfg that would be insane and i would love it

🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

longer fics i outline them!! so the current wips that aren't posted but are outlined are: dear sirius, time travel au and rival teachers au

but oneshots i just write and hope it makes sense asjhdbasd shoutout @malchai who has caught issues with continuity in my fics before oops

[kay-elle-cee]

Word

🤭

Hi Nena! Thanks for sending this in!

No one says a word as she leaves, reaching out and squeezing Sam’s hand as she crosses the threshold. Though the calming draught is working, her feet still move quickly through the halls that take her back the way she came.

Drop me a word and I'll post a snippet if it's in my WIPs

[romione-trope-fest]

Title: Not Another Statistic

Author: Nena-96, Nena96 on ao3

Selected Trope: Muggle AU

Brief Summary: After hearing four dreadful words, Hermione’s world had been turned upside down. The voices in her head mock her relentlessly, how could her body betray her? How is she ever going to go on? Was this a sign that motherhood turned its back on her? Most of all….why did it happen to her?

However, those demon-like voices are miraculously put to silence the moment she meets a nurse with the most captivating blue eyes that she’s ever seen. Nurse Ron Weasley, when she visits St. Mungo’s Women’s Health Center.

Word Count: 1,727 (multi-chapter)

Any relevant triggers: Miscarriage, Infertility issues

(A/N this dedicated to a nurse who helped me tremendously and I always think of her. Also, inspired by TSwift’s song Bigger Than The Whole Sky)

Chapter 1: No Heartbeat

“No words appear before me in the aftermath

Salt streams out my eyes and into my ears…”

🔹🔹🔹🔹

Laying on the hospital bed, Hermione stares at the paintings that cover the ceiling. She absolutely hates how the stick figures of children playing in the park, mocked her. How could an innocent painting cause such pain? Well, it’s simple, it felt as though fate was mocking her with something she couldn’t have. Something that was stolen from her, then again how can it be stolen if it was never hers to begin with?

As the time ticked past, all Hermione could do was wait, until the nurse brought her the discharge papers. Then she’ll be able to go back home and wallow in her own sorrow. It wasn’t anything she could do to change her fate, even if magic was real she doubted it could take the pain out of her heart. No, it wasn’t possible at all…it felt as if a magical dagger was thrown and hit

It’s ludicrous, knowing that she came into the emergency room because of stomach pain. Then after waiting roughly an hour and a half, to be seen and taken to a room. After roughly ten minutes, she was given the news that her wretched body had betrayed her.

Sorry there’s no heartbeat.

Hearing those words was nothing compared to what was said next, six weeks.

It was six weeks.

It was forty-two days.

It was her personal hell.

For someone who could talk a mile a minute, Hermione had no words to say, it was as if every vocabulary word she knew was completely wiped away from her mind.

No words, just tortured thoughts. Just an ache in her heart that she will never overcome, no matter the days, months or even years that pass.

She wondered how long it would take the nurses to come back with her discharge papers, she wanted to leave. Yet, it seemed like everyone were taking their sweet time, while she dies on the inside. Things shouldn't have happened this way, the empty seat a few feet away from the bed shouldn't be empty. Yet, that's what happens when she makes a mistake and having a night of rendezvous with someone she meet at the dental gala that her parents were invited to. It was too good to be true, he was the perfect gentleman that night but he didn't have the capability of staying the next morning. Neither, did he explain that he was married, oh no...she found that out after receiving a phone call one morning that almost made her lose all hearing in her right ear.

How could she have been so careless that night, if only there was a way to back in time and prevented herself from going home with that junior dental assistant. Then she wouldn't be all alone, fighting the voices in her heard that's mocking her and laughing at her pain. She would be at home preparing Crookshanks' dinner for the night, instead of listening to the annoying beeping of the monitors around her.

Not having to wear a light blue and purple stripped hospital gown, all alone in a room that felt as if the walls were ready to close in on her at any given second.

Instead fate had decided to make a move and completely turn her world upside down.

Yes, she could always call her parents and let them know what's going on, but two things were stopping her from acting on that urge to hear their voices. The first reason, is her parents had just left on vacation to Australia a few days ago, and the second reason was simply not seeing the disappointment in their faces when she tells them she failed.

That...somehow motherhood gave one long look at her and said, nope she isn't dignified to hold the title as a mum. How could her body betray her in this fashion? Yes, she'll admit that motherhood wasn't in her plans for another few years, since she's trying her best to...to what actually? Keep a job, no..she already has a job that pays her well enough to buy all the things that she needs. So, what exactly was she waiting for?

It wasn't like she was a struggling college student that was barely making it through take-away meals.While constantly having going to the cafeteria to "borrow" utensils and plates because the closest store was an hour away from the campus. She wasn't irresponsible, so why couldn't the gentle arms of motherhood welcome her into a warm embrace? It didn't make sense at all-

Light tapping on glass of the sliding door, causes Hermione to break away from her thoughts as she turns her head. Dr. Slughorn was waiting on the other side of the door and gesture for her from if it's fine to enter the room. She only nodded and watched as slid open the door and walked into the room."Excuse me, Miss. Granger, sorry for the long wait. We're a bit short staffed, but here's your discharge papers, we recommend making an appointment. I've heard that St. Mungo's has an excellent Women's Health..."

As the Dr. Slughorn trailed off with praise of another clinic, Hermione simply felt as if everything was just white noise. It didn't seem real, even though she was staring at the papers that the doctor had given her...it just wasn't real. It couldn't be real, oh how she wished this was a cruel nightmare, in which she can wake up from. Yet, the words that graced the paper in her hands was the cold-hard truth that this was her painful reality.

She traced the words on the papers that held the horrid truth that was her reality.

After Visit Summary Hogwarts Emergency Center

Hermione Jean Granger

Reason for Visit: Miscarriage at 6 weeks

Hermione stared at the discharge summary in hatred and disgust, she couldn't stop herself from seeing the words that emphasized how her body had kept a secret from her for six weeks.

Six fucking weeks.

She sniffled and noticed how droplets of her tears began to fall, soon enough there were far too many splotches of water that now decorated the documents. She tried to keep herself from choking out a sob, yet it was proving to be far too difficult. Her world was spinning and the voices in her head, mixed with the aggravating sound of Dr. Slughorn's voice was causing her to get an headache.

This wasn't how her discharge papers should've been, she only came to Hogwarts ER, because of cramping...not....because of this.

At least you're young

A disgusting thought poisoned her mind, while mocking her with loud and obnoxious laugh. Wait wait...that wasn't her thoughts, nor was that even how she laughed. Those words came from Dr. Slughorn.

Hermione clenched the papers in her hands and looked up at the man wearing a pristine white lab coat and a pair of stethoscope around his neck, as he continued talking almost as if she wasn't there. It was as if he was treating her as just another statistic in the world, just another whimsical women who has gotten her life thrown into an abyss of despair.

"I beg your pardon, what did you just say?' Hermione gritted out as she tried to restraint herself from yelling at the doctor in front of her.

"Oh, I was simply saying that make sure to set up an appointment and you are free to go," Dr. Slughorn said with the most aggravating smile she has ever seen in her life.

"No, before that. You said, 'at least you're young.' Hermione glared at him with such fury, that if looks could kill, Dr. Slughorn wouldn't be standing wearing that ridiculous smile on his face.

"Oh- well yes. I did, I just meant that since you are still relatively young-"

"Excuse me, but why the fuck does it even matter that I'm young? A loss is still a fucking loss, how can you even say that?" Hermione forced herself to say, as she watched the man's face turn bright red in embarrassment, it was as if he realized a little too late what was spoken.

"Oh- no, I-I erm, I'm sorry...let me, oh heavens, I just realized," he tried to check the time on his watch, except he wasn't wearing one at all. This made him become even more nervous than before, "I uhm, another patient needed something. If everything is alright, you are free to go, make sure to uhm... set up an appointment at St. Mungo's," and with that half-arsed response, Dr. Slughorn left the room quickly. Hermione watched as Slughorn walked quickly down the hallway and out of her peripheral vision, and once again she was alone.

Except now, instead of her mind taunting her, Hermione wonders if she was just another statistic in the medical world. If she was just another statistic of a women who lost before having the chance to even love. Another statistic in this cruel world filled with deception and atrocities.

Was she just another statistic?

Now instead of being known as Hermione Jean Granger, a dedicated librarian...she had simply become a statistic in the world. She had become just another, one out of four women who experience miscarriage.

No. She wouldn't allow that to happen, she wasn't just another statistic in the world, no... she's Hermione Granger. She's going to prove to idiots like Slughorn, and the world that she wasn't just another number, and with that Hermione grabbed her belongings and marched over to the sliding door. Flinging the door open with such force that the noise had caught the attention from the nurses at the circulation desk. Hermione watched as the nurses looked at her with pity, and she tried her best not to shed a single tear. No, not right now....she'll save her tears once she goes home and cries into Crookshanks bright ginger fur.

Instead, she raised her chin and ignored the stares and proceeded to walk down the hallway and soon enough out of the building. She's going to prove that she wasn't just another statistic in this world and she knew exactly what she was going to do.

[binch-i-might-be]

I'm cleaning out a dresser thingy in my room to break it down and. I found the song parody about our former economy/geography teacher I wrote in tenth grade that our class literally displayed on the wall of our classroom. someone hold me

[i-luvsang]

everytime i listen to and dance to my latin pop i can't help but think of wooyoung (who is an honorary latina btw i get to say so (also yes latina he's so baby girl i meant what i said there)) because i just think he'd be so obsessed with that like he loves his s/o no matter what and he'd adore any dancing that his s/o would do whether its shit or whatever genre of dance. but you can't tell me he wouldn't be obsessed with you dancing to latin pop i'd make him fall in love with me with just one shakira song. i'm thinking loca maybe chantaje this maría becerra album would be perfect too aNYWAYS i love being a latine dancer <333

[itwoodbeprefect]

get to know me! better! tag... thing!

i was tagged by @jinxddiaz​ (thank you!! 💖), and i did in fact already do this one, but it’s fun and i think i can drum up some different answers this time, so here we go again:

three ships: i’ll try for three different ones from last time, so - john/rodney (sga), hardison/parker/eliot (leverage), and uh. gonna sound very niche here, but billy tallent/joe dick, because they’ve been stuck in my brain since my last hard core logo rewatch.

first ever ship: i feel like i need to give a different answer for this too, and the only thing i can come up with right now is rosa/neuz from the hoe overleef ik (“how do i survive” - do not read hoe as hoe, my english speaking friends, these are books for kids) series by francine oomen. which. that’s digging deep.

last song: as of the time of writing this, 99 luftballons by nena! in general though (and in this case too), whatever was playing last in the top 2000, which makes me wonder, do... other countries... have a six day twenty-four hour a day music marathon of the democratically voted 2000 “best songs ever” on the public broadcast radio every year starting at christmas and ending right at midnight on new year’s eve, traditionally with bohemian rhapsody by queen playing as the #1 song right as the slightly too early fireworks are starting to go off all around you? or is that... not a thing?

last movie: woman they almost lynched!! which was a DELIGHTFUL surprise, in the sense that this is a movie from 1953 and i don’t think we’ve made many (if any) westerns with THIS MANY WOMEN in them in the almost 70 years since. it’s not perfect, and the overall message about gender roles is pretty messy and contradictory (especially by modern standards), but it’s FUN and very worth checking out if you’re curious about Ye Olde Western Movie: Women Are People Too Edition.

currently reading: these words i’m typing ha-ha ba-dum tsss. no, uh. still very slowly @redgoldblue’s advent calendar and also... a particular fic of mine in preparation for ?hopefully?? soon updating it with another chapter, and then maybe even another one after that. (i’m being vague about this as if i’ve written more than one multi-chapter fic on ao3 ever. i have not. the two year hiatus between chapters should tell you why, probably.)

currently watching: uh, well. two more movies, and then i’ll have reached my 365 goal for the year (though upon closer inspection, i have no clue how letterboxd is counting these) which i only recently set myself. (i’m thinking the last two will be arsenic and old lace & blazing saddles.)

currently consuming: nothing, but i had some of the chocolate my grandmother gave me for christmas earlier. <3

currently craving: the day i’ll finally stop coughing. it’s not covid, but it’s not fun either way.

i’m not tagging anyone, because i already did a round for this exact list of questions recently, but as always, if you think this might be fun, do it and tag me! i also think that would be fun!

[boo-moved]

Man.

[buttdumplin]

If I ever don't read a fic of yours, please don't think I hate it or am disinterested. Chances are that it's in tiny font and I'm fucking blind and literally cannot read it.

[jamesunderwater]

#12: a fic that I reread

Bring Your Kid to Work Day(s never end when your godfather is Sirius Black)

I haven’t gotten the chance to comment, but I hope I’ll do it tonight 🤞🏾 I simply love the way you wrote that fic. The ending when Harry asks about how many bring your kid to work days are there in a year, was adorable.

But I’ll tell you Sirius’ response made me teary eyed 😩 it’s so sweet and makes me feel warm inside. Knowing how things were in canon it makes this last line the best I’ve read. Makes you think how much love Harry would’ve recieved from his godfather (because his “aunt” treated him worse that the gum beneath her shoes 😡)

I really enjoyed this fic, thank you for writing it!

Ahhh, you're gonna make me cry, Nena! that last line also makes me teary-eyed, and it always means a lot to know that others feel the same emotional punch in my stories that I do. So sweet to hear that it could make you feel warm inside, too. Thank you so much for letting me know, and for rereading! ❤️