#POV Andromeda

[dramioneasks]

Beyond Recall or Desire - vannminner - E, 25 chapters - In December of 2001, Draco Malfoy was meant to be married. Unfortunately, a union with Astoria Greengrass would be impossible as his soul had already been bound to another's. Now, if only he could remember whose... - “A birth bond?” Narcissa asked. Alistair shook his head, “I’m afraid not. This is something else entirely.” He made eye contact with Draco before quickly looking away. “This is a chosen bond… a mutual decision…”

[loserboyfriendrjl]

sometimes, i wonder

what would have been

if i hadn’t been quiet.

would i still braid

your brown hair

as we sat down on my bed?

would we still chase each other

in the rose garden?

between white flowers?

and elegant wooden benches?

would i, maybe

have said goodbye?

when you left me in the rose garden

on a warm august night?

[lyricalchrysanthemum]

Residents of Sinnoh

[asnarkyandironicusername]

Day 28 of @remadoramicrofics - Outsider POV

Andromeda Tonks watched as her daughter and son-in-law dressed her grandson for the ceremony. Remus was trying to slip shoes on him, but Teddy was kicking his feet so fiercely that he was only marginally avoiding failure. Nymphadora merely stood by and giggled as father and son wrestled. 

Moments like these spurred mixed emotions in Andromeda. Ted would have loved his grandson, and she missed and mourned him every day. Of course, she still had some hesitancy towards Remus. To his credit, for well over a year now he had been the most attentive husband and father she could ask for her daughter or grandson, but she’d never forget the way Nymphadora had practically rotted in her bed during the week he had disappeared. Nymphadora had been quick to forgive, but Andromeda had made Remus earn her forgiveness; she had to be sure he could take care of her daughter.

Remus had gotten the other shoe on and proudly hefted Teddy into his arms. “Are you ready, Andromeda?” he asked as Teddy messed with the collar of his robe.

“Yes. One day, Remus, you won’t be able to get the upper hand on him so easily.”

“Let’s hope he’s dressing himself by then,” Remus chuckled.

“Wait until he starts walking,” her daughter said as she clapped him on the back before she apparated to the school grounds.

Andromeda followed after her. A few moments later, Remus arrived, Teddy in one hand and a child’s shoe clenched in the other. “A short victory,” he said as he raised the shoe to them. They followed the crowd across the grounds to the large memorial that stood on the horizon. 

When the memorial had been unveiled, it had drawn a crowd every bit as large as this one. It was a marble structure with four columns wrapped in the house colors. Inside, the one room building was filled with portraits of the fallen; Sirius, Ted, and many others filled frames and told their tales. When they had first come, Nymphadora had drug her and Remus and Teddy to Ted’s frame, proudly showing off his grandson before scurrying off to show Sirius and the rest of Remus’s friends.

Today wasn’t a day for catching up, though, she thought as she took mercy on Remus and wrangled the shoe back onto Teddy’s foot. He thanked her with a bashful smile as Nymphadora stared at the crowd. “She’ll be like raising a second child sometimes, Ted was the same way,” she warned him as she eyed him tentatively.

“Oh, she isn’t that bad,” he chuckled. “I don’t have to put her shoes on, and I suppose that some nights after a full moon I’m rather reminiscent of a child.”

Andromeda had seen the way her daughter doted on him after a full moon and she was inclined to agree, but she had also seen Remus, after his impromptu vacation as Nymphadora called it, take care of her daughter through her pregnancy. The meals he’d make just to have Nymphadora turn her nose up almost on a whim, the sick mornings and cranky evenings, she wasn’t certain she’d heard him say no once in those nine months and his attentiveness had lasted well through the birth. When Nymphadora said jump, Remus asked how high.

Like this; Remus had wanted to skip the ceremony, citing general displeasure that he, a werewolf, would receive an Order of Merlin, First Class. Andromeda had to admit she was surprised, but she supposed, personal misgivings aside, he deserved it as much as any of the other Order members. It had been all through the press; at first, he was the only Order member not to receive one, but Harry had convinced everyone else to refuse theirs unless Remus was recognized. He had insisted they were making a big deal over nothing, but eventually the Wizengamot had relented.

When the invitation for the recognition ceremony had come, he had all but insisted that Nymphadora and she come and receive their awards and that he would stay home with Teddy, but Nymphadora wouldn’t have it. At one point, she had told him it would be unfair of him to miss because it would leave her and her mother five awards – Their respectives ones as well as Ted’s, Sirius’s, and Remus’s – to care for and no amount of Remus’s insistence that Harry would want Sirius’s could convince her otherwise. Finally, he had relented and agreed to come.

Ahead of her, Remus shifted Teddy to his other arm to wrap Harry in a hug. He immediately took the boy from his arms. “You’d better not be planning on keeping him forever,” Andromeda teased. For the first week after the war, she was almost certain that he had come over everyday to see the boy, asking Remus and Tonks several times if they were certain that they wanted him to be Godfather.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said as he bounced the young boy.

“Don’t worry, Mum, Remus won't let him get away with it. Think he used to be jealous he couldn’t feed him.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but his reddening cheeks gave him away. “I wasn’t jealous, Dora, I felt bad that you had to get up every time.”

Harry laughed before turning back to the stage. “Think we should get going?” he asked.

Remus watched the officials taking the stage. “Perhaps.”

Harry handed Teddy back. “I’ll come find you after.”

Remus nodded, but his eyes were still glued to the stage, a look of worry creeping over him. The look he got when he wanted to run. Before Andromeda could say anything, her daughter looped her arm through his and tugged them forward. “Oh no you don’t,” she said.

“Hm?”

“There’s no backing out now.”

“I-I wasn’t –”

“Great,” Nymphadora said as she linked her other arm through Andromeda’s, “then let’s get on with it.” Teddy may carry her husband’s name, but she most often saw him in their daughter and her endless love. 

[merlinsbudgiesmugglers]

At eighteen, Andromeda Black was given a choice. A choice between love, and duty.

What if she chose duty?

Read the Epilogue on AO3

Read from the beginning on AO3

--

It's done! My first ever completed multi-chapter fic!

This has been a labour of love for over a year. I absolutely could not have done it without the help of @celestemagnoliathewriter and @artemisia-black for their wonderful support and beta-ing.

Also a huge thank you to @starlingflight who encouraged me to start posting and who's unhinged comments helped me to keep writing.

And thank you to everyone who has read and commented so far! It's been an absolute pleasure seeing how unhinged other people are for these characters and knowing that it's not just me.

[jesterrosetherandombard]

[princesandromeda]

so the pining is very much mutual now😬 and we're only at the beginning of chapter three of seven… 7k words in total. we're not doing too bad.

[ID: Screenshot of a Google text document with the following text:

"Hyoga had been the only kid at the orphanage to never call him creepy, to never laugh at his awful attempts at repeating the lines in Russian that Natassia tried to feed him; it had probably been the language barrier at first, but the truth was… Hyoga was one of the most compassionate human beings Shun had ever known. He was so in tune with emotions, both his own and the others’.

If we come back from this alive, he told himself, as he squashed the urge to caress Hyoga’s hair, I’ll tell him for sure. And I’ll let him talk to his mother, however many times he asks me.

By the twelfth hour, he had fallen asleep, his head on top of Hyoga’s and without ever noticing that so much time had passed with him just staring at his friend's sleep."

/end ID]

[sobbing-space-trash]

Andromeda and the monster

[lolathestoryteller]

a drabble on the possibly most unlikely mother-daughter pair.

Just Andy taking little Dora for a casual little shopping spree at everyone‘s favorite magical book store.

I‘d imagine that, because of how Andromeda was raised, she forever remained rather poised and cautious. Whereas Dora, well, we all know she’s not at all cautious and rather daring and clumsy.

Tonks! isn’t she the coolest with her bubblegum pink hair? - what a cool character design.

[science-lings]

Far the drables maybe

They killed us slowly

For the most part, it was easy. Injecting all manner of personalized horrors into the minds of the unconscious heroes, relishing in their anguish. Their fears were so easy to identify, losing loved ones, failing their ultimate purpose and dooming their world, being openly hated by those they tried so hard to save.

The one thing that gave them trouble was the one who had already experienced those things. The Hero of the Wild lay motionless, while the others writhed and sobbed in their induced slumber.

It searched for a vulnerability to exploit, creating false memories where there were none, scrambling for someone he cared about to depict dying in front of his eyes, but for some unimaginable reason, it didn't seem to work the way it did with the rest of them.

What it didn't realize was that creating a realistic enough scenario for one who has already experienced such things is much harder than convincing one who hasn't that their visions are real.

When it opened its eyes after it's most recent attempt, it startled backward to see the hero awakened and staring straight up at it.

Even with the sword in it's belly it was confident in it's mission, it was sure it had done enough damage to the rest of them, so it laughed as it's blood pooled on the stone ground. As the frantic hero attempted to wake up his brothers, knowing that weakening it's enemies would be far more valuable later, even if it couldn't completely incapacitate them forever.

Send me prompts?

[dramioneasks]

The Blood Of Traitors - Kaitlyn444 - T, 25 chapters, Words: 143,361 - When her son in tortured to near death, Narcissa makes a decision she should've made years ago. After Dumbledore's death, no one was expecting Narcissa Malfoy to show up carrying her bloody son, and while Ron and Harry are skeptical of the Malfoy's every move, Hermione can't help feel that there's more to her old schoolyard bully and can't seem to keep herself away. When Draco finally realizes his father and Voldemort had no qualms about his death, he decides to take revenge into his own hands. Joining the twit trio wasn't his first option, but it's his best shot at helping end the war and protecting his mother. However there's more going on than any of them suspect and as their journey continues, he finds himself and a certain curly haired witch woven into this war more than he ever thought possible. x Everyone was stunned into silence as Draco’s naked back was finally in view. Starting at his shoulders and going all the way down to the indentations in his back were disgusting, crude cuts Hermione had ever seen. They were so deep, she could swear she saw bone. It should've been impossible to see what it spelt, but the damaged skin was torn enough to stick up and show the saying clear as day. x

[setokaibapetty]

5 + 1 Friday Fic Roundup: “The Gamer” Girls

Fics with girls/women (mostly Taylor Hebert) have Gamer or Gamer-adjacent powers.

1. The Rising of the Shield Heroine (SV): Taylor gets alt powers in the form of getting the abilities of the protagonist from “The Rising of a Shield Hero”.

2. Recurve (SB): Taylor gets the alt power of The Gamer and uses it to be a hero.

3. Gaming the System (SB): An SI finds herself in the Worm setting with The Gamer power (and scary hints this might not be her first playthrough).

4. All the Queen’s Men (SB): An SI finds themselves reincarnated into the MCU with a Gamer system. This fic self-identifies as a spite fic.

5. Munchkin (SB): Gamer!Taylor as seen through outside POV. Basically PHO.

Bonus: Doomsday Prevention Toolkit (SB): Taylor ends up with the AI from the video game Mass Effect: Andromeda in her head and “tinker” powers that upgrade.

[lunapwrites]

Favorite Lines, Snippet Smonday, etc...

Okay, I was tagged in MANY things recently, and I'm going to probably kill many birds with a single post. Thank you to @femme--de--lettres, @spindrifters, @greenvlvetcouch, @bluestringpudding, and @bluesundaycake for the tags over the last week or two (and others who I am probably forgetting but appreciate just as much!)

This whole section absolutely tickles me. Just... Remus being 100% in the zone and only vaguely aware of Problems occurring around him while he's doing nerd boy shit. XD

Downstairs, the front door slammed open. (“FILTH! BEAST! MUGGLE-LOVING WHORE—” “INCENDIO — oh, bugger all!”) “Can you check that?” Remus muttered, prodding a bind rune to shift it ever so slightly to the left.  Seven degrees, maybe? No, too much —  five should suffice. Sirius huffed, his footsteps carrying him out of the drawing room and into the hall. “Hullo Annie, nice to see you Annie, thank you for setting fire to the drapery again Annie—” “Not now — is Nymphadora here?” Sod it. Quicker to just rebuild the whole bloody thing from the ground up at this point. And if he took it piece by piece, it shouldn’t come crashing down on him — that was the tricky bit. One wrong move and he could wind up blowing them all to kingdom come. Or he could wind up giving someone a duckbill or something. Magic was funny like that. “No? We haven’t seen her since she left for work. I thought she was having dinner with you tonight.” But he could use Orion and Sirius’ work as a foundation and just… make something that made a little more sense based on that. Wards for detection, protection, alarms, maybe even slipping in an apotropaic talisman because, quite frankly, Remus was at his wit's end, so he might as well get creative with it. “She was supposed to, yes, but she never came home.” If he worked from the outside in and just… replaced wards as he went, that would be the most sensible approach. But then he’d probably need to go back and adjust them again after he’d replaced the central bind rune, and he really didn’t want to keep fucking around with it. That was just asking for trouble, it was. “Well, she’s probably just been kept late at the office—” “That was my first thought, but we already asked Kingsley, and he said she left at her usual time. She’s not there.” If he was quick and careful about it — and he typically was — he could hot-swap a new core in and then build the rest out before it all backfired. Take a little planning, but he could get there. Probably.

Remus. Remus, no.

Anyway, this is extremely rough draft but I do like how it's turning out as of right now.

I'd tag someone else but honestly idk what I'm even tagging for at this point hahaha.

[merlinsbudgiesmugglers]

At eighteen, Andromeda Black was given a choice. A choice between love, and duty.

What if she chose duty?

Read Chapter 6 on AO3

Read from the beginning on AO3

This chapter is a gift for @starlingflight who posted the Epilogue for her Hinny fic Someone Else's Life today and she deserves a treat for completely blowing my mind with that entire fic.

[nereidprinc3ss]

andromeda | (dybmn? bonus)

a bonus vignette from spencer's POV. we find out how he really feels about reader. takes place the day before the argument at the bar.

note: this is not part six! takes place between parts four and five.

series masterlist

18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, semi-graphic descriptions of sexual fantasies, some angst, you're not actually present, mention of alcohol, very vague discussions of murdery stuff bc he's supposed to be working, sassy spencer makes an appearance a/n: for all my angels who said they wanted a snippet of spencer's POV! i'm sorry if i'm overdoing it with this story or clogging the spencer tags, i'm just having a lot of fun! i hope you enjoy or that this may be clears some things up for you, pls lmk your thoughts:) ily!!!

Spencer is incessantly drumming the particle board table underneath his fingers.

The polymer veneer is one of his least favorite textures—he hates the grain of it and if he were to accidentally scratch the table with his nails he knows it would make the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

But of all the things he’s worried about, that ranks very low on the list. 

He’s got a lot of mental tabs open all the time—and the tabs, he can deal with. It’s when he starts trying to operate with multiple windows that he begins to struggle. His brain, while it is a very fine tuned sort of computer, only has one monitor. Unfortunately, no human (except for the ones who’ve had their brain hemispheres surgically split) is immune to the inevitable pitfalls of multitasking. By dividing his mental energy between you and his job, he’s really fucking up his job. But he also thinks he really fucked up with you on that phone call the other night and for being as logical as he is he can’t seem to make that feel unimportant—even though he’s disgusted with himself for it because there are literally people dying. 

Someone knocks on the open conference room door—he looks up, skimming his lips over his fist. 

“What’s up?” he says too quickly upon seeing Emily’s mildly concerned face peering in on him. 

Her mouth bridges into a sort of nonchalant frown and her brows kick up. 

“Just… checking in. Haven’t heard from you all morning.”

“Yeah, the, uh—the geo-profile. I’m still… I’m still working it out.”

It’s not like he’s ever been phenomenal with his syntax in a social sense, but Spencer is certainly aware he’s doing even worse than usual right now. 

“Okay. Uh… is there anything in particular stumping you, or…?”

“Nope. Just not enough information. But I’m—I’m going to keep trying.”

“Alright. Got your phone handy?”

It’s an odd question—of course he has his phone handy. He’s been doing this job longer than Emily has. How else would he communicate with the rest of the team? He bristles. 

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

Emily shakes her head. She’s always been particularly good at reading his moods.

“You’re not under attack, Reid. I was just asking.”

Just as he’s about to say, why would you assume I’m not prepared for my job, he manages to swerve away and stifle the words with his fist. Instead he looks back down at his copy of the map and nods. In reality, he truly isn’t prepared for his job today. The reason he has his phone so close, fully charged and at top volume is because he’s worried he’ll miss a call from you. 

Emily says something else, and he hums in response, and then she’s gone. 

He shouldn’t be reading into your reticence this much. It’s not like you just sit by the phone all day, eagerly awaiting a call or text from him (like he does you). You have a life. You’re busy. And even if you are intentionally dodging his texts, he can’t entirely fault you for it. Spencer knows he’s clingy. He knows he’s overbearing. It’s part of why he panicked the other night and told you the whole humiliating story about Elle. Because he can’t ever just be cool and he felt the need to explain himself. 

But the problem was, and is, that he doesn’t know how much longer he can go without saying those three words that fucked him over all those years ago.

So he’d danced around them. Applied them to someone else to try and avoid outright professing his all-consuming love for you over the phone. However you feel, Spencer has to assume he feels more. Spencer always has to assume he feels more because he usually does and it’s gotten him into trouble before. And now he’s pretty sure he was exactly right, as often is the case, because you didn’t tell him he was mistaken and you’d clammed up and you haven’t talked to him since and he’s not supposed to be reading into it this much. 

Three victims killed and dumped within a 6 mile radius of the first victim plus one victim killed and dumped 23.8 miles away. That doesn’t make any fucking sense. Fuck this guy. 

Spencer decides the problem is that he needs more caffeine. 

Or possibly, if he were a different kind of man—copious amounts of alcohol. 

So he stows his phone in a pocket and asks the first person he sees where the coffee machine is. 

“Looks like you found it earlier,” the woman says, glancing pointedly down at his mostly empty mug. A playful smirk tugs at pinkish-brownish lips. She’s pretty, he realizes distantly. But he registers it the same way he’d take note of the model of a car, or the species of a bird, or the kind of shoes someone is wearing. It doesn’t actually interest him. It’s just part of processing his environment. “I can show you to it?”

He doesn’t have the heart or energy to explain that someone else brought him his cup earlier and he’s not flirting with her. 

“If you could just point me in the right direction…?”

She laughs, short and dry, before she’s pointing down a hall. 

“Kitchenette down there and to the left.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, already walking away without sparing her a second glance. 

She’s the kind of woman he would have paid a lot more attention to before you came along. Not that he’d ever sleep with someone on the job (not since he was 25, anyway), but if he’d met her under any other circumstances he probably would have cared more about the way her pupils dilated and her eyes had widened slightly and she’d adjusted her posture and all the other small things people do when they’re attracted to someone else. 30 year old Spencer might have slept with her. 27 year old Spencer definitely would have slept with her. Current Spencer obsessively pines for a woman who is already his girlfriend and whom he has yet to sleep with at all far too much to think about other women like that. 

But god, does he think about you like that. 

His feet carry him down the dim, carpeted hallway but really it took barely a nudge and he’s thinking about you like that. At work. As he’s pouring himself coffee. 

Spencer is confident in the fact that if anyone were to look at him right now, they’d never guess he’s running clips of you in his mind like a dirty supercut. Because he’s just pouring coffee. That’s one good thing about having all those tabs open all the time. He can toggle between them quickly. He has enough going on in the background that people look at him and all they can tell is that he’s thinking hard about lots of things. Some of them just happen to be the way you look when you’re naked on his bed, skin shining and glazed eyes sleepy, parted lips higher in color than usual and catching your breath. Some of them happen to be your hair brushing his stomach before he gathers it back for you. Some of them happen to be the way your thighs feel on either side of his face, or how you stretch around his fingers, or how you might feel when you stretch around his—

He hisses as hot coffee overflows from the mug and burns his hand. 

Maybe he’s not as calm and collected as he thought. 

But on top of all the other things he’s dealing with, having been so close to actually sleeping with you the other night is really fucking with his head. Even if he tells himself he wouldn't have done it, he knows himself better than that. He's too familiar with the effect you have on his judgement.

“Found it okay?” 

Spencer looks down, surprised to see the woman from earlier sitting at her desk and watching him as he quickly passes by on his way back to the conference room. Her legs are crossed. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and a flouncy sort of blouse which seems impractical for working in an FBI field office. Maybe she notices his eye catching on her figure and misguidedly swivels her chair to give him a better look. But all he’s noticing is that it doesn’t look like yours. Now he’s picturing the curve of your hip dripping in silk after that first night at Rossi’s. How your waist and your stomach feel when he slides his hands over you. This woman—she might as well not even be here for all he’s actually seeing her. 

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

Then he’s gone. Very briefly he acknowledges that he should feel sorry for so obviously brushing her off, but he doesn’t care even close to enough. He sets the coffee down on the table and rounds to the board where one of several maps is taped. On autopilot he draws lines between dump sites because one of the background tabs had deduced, while he was busy watching you like porn, that the distance between dump sites form the beginnings of the constellation Orion with some mathematical precision that’s too exacting to be coincidental. Orion’s Belt plus the most recent victim. Betelgeuse. 

There are ten formally named stars that make up Orion. He marks all of them, but circles the transposed coordinates of Bellatrix, Saiph, Rigel and Meissa as the next most likely dump sites. Most probably it will be Orion’s head. They’re all in wooded areas. He calls Garcia. Garcia will call Emily, wherever she is. If the unsub sticks to pattern, which they always do, they have until midnight. It’s trite, really. Predictable, like people always are. Far too quickly he drinks half the cup of scalding coffee and retraces his steps through the office to find the bathroom. 

It’s empty. The fluorescent lights hum. Spencer washes his hands with cold water and presses still wet fingers to his eyes. You’re waiting for him behind the black of his lids.

At first you would whine, and he would kiss you and you’d moan into his mouth and say his name when he opened you up as far as you would go. The air would be thick and warm with sex and vanilla perfume. Afterwards he’d take care of you and buy new sheets for his bed in your favorite color even if they didn’t match the walls and there would be nothing you’d want for that he couldn’t give to you ever again. 

But. 

That’s all contingent. 

No matter how often he fantasizes about it, no matter in how much detail, and regardless of how often those details change wildly, one thing always stays the same. 

The shape of your lips, swollen from kissing, bending around five or six vowels and only two consonants (it seems odd that there are only two consonants in I love you), sometimes before you start, sometimes in the middle or right at the peak—but always there, always moving in slow motion—and always silent.

In real life, they’d be aloud. It’s why his fantasies aren’t good enough. It’s why he can’t stop fantasizing about it. That’s the only part that really matters to him. The rest varies. 

Not because having sex with you doesn’t matter—it matters so much he almost shatters his molars whenever he starts picturing it around other people. But because Spencer can’t have sex with you until you love him. 

And he worries that you can’t love him until you have sex with him. 

The last time he thought that about a person, it didn’t turn out well.

Maybe there is some magic number. Some amount of times you need to have sex with someone before they’ll love you back. 

If there is, he knows for a fact it’s more than 32.

And he also knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he cannot have loveless sex with you thirty three times while he waits to find out. 

Not again. 

But he's going to hold out as long as he possibly can until you say it because he so badly wants you to love him back. He'll let the weight of every ignored text, every reminder that you don't feel that way about him, hang from his shoulders until he collapses. And then he'll probably try to get back up.

Recycled paper towels scratch against his skin. He dries his face and hands and throws them crumpled into the trash can. 

Outside the restroom, he pulls out his phone. For safety reasons and paranoia disguised as professionalism, you’re not his lock screen. It’s a photo of the Andromeda Galaxy. Whatever distance lies between you and Spencer, it could always be greater. No matter where you are in the world, you will always be the same 2.537 million light years away from Andromeda that he is. 

It makes Orion feel much closer. You, too. 

He sends you a text—the third message in a row. 

The distance between blue bubbles feels like light years. 

I’ll be home tomorrow. I miss you. 

[trickyc4mpr]

I feel like I should be writing abt the black sisters, with a main Narcissa pov with the occasional Bellatrix and one or two from Andromeda