#POV Andromeda

[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?

[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

[kquil]

DIVORCING ORION BLACK

⌈ A Marauders Era Fix-It-Fic - featuring Reader as Walburga Black but better ⌋

LAST UPDATED : 01/11/24 | [dd/mm/yy]

SERIES SUM. : Just another fix-it-fic where you fall into a fictional universe and take up the role of a villain but... in this instance, you replace Walburga Black.

You love the fandom but the Marauders Era has always been quite vague ...will you be able to live peacefully? One thing's for sure, you're getting a divorce and you're taking the kids!

UPDATE SCHEDULE : on the first day of every month, a new chapter will be posted the first chapter is the only exception ;)

CHAPTERS :

i. ARRIVAL (special thanks to @thebestofoneshots for beta reading this chapter!) ii. SHOPPING (1/2) iii. SHOPPING (2/2) iv. BEGINNINGS v. SIRIUS : FIRST DAY vi. POTIONEER ⌈new⌋ ...

EXTRA :

ANON ASK : HOW THE SERIES CAME TO BE

DISCLAIMER : please read

TAGS : son sirius black/mother reader ; son regulus black/mother reader ; isekai au/transfering worlds au ; walburga black is evil ; not reader though hehe~ ; hurt/comfort ; fluff ; platonic fluff ; second chances ; reader basically adopts remus, barty crouch jr and peter pettigrew ; peter pettigrew redemption arc? ; but he never betrays the marauders in the first place so... ; remus gets a better life ; reader becomes a semi-political figure to help werewolves + house elves ; reader assumes a male alias ; alternating chapters from different povs directly effected by reader's actions ; reader is a powerful independent business woman and single mother ; reader is a milf ; reader secretly hates dumbledore ; reader hates orion black ; reader hates JKR (we all do) ; divorce ; mentions of child abuse (physical and mental and emotional) ; mentions of neglect ; angry reader ; canon jily ; mentions of wolfstar ; regulus being a precious baby ; sirius has his moments too ; reader being a powerful trio with minerva and pomfrey ; reader potentially adopting the black sisters (bellatrix, andromeda and narcissa) ; reader adopts everyone! ; there'll be ocs ; reader leaves to live her dream cottagecore life ; happy ending! ; i'll add more tags in the future

TAGLIST DISCONTINUED...

[cobrakaisb]

humid summer

summary: summer rolls around, and for the first time in two years you find yourself outside the borders of camp half-blood but how long can you keep pretending to be a normal cruise guest on the princess andromeda?

featuring: BOOK SPOILERS (from here on out), multiple povs (reader, percy, and annabeth), plus more of reader and annabeth’s relationship, oh also angst

word count: 2.7k

series masterlist ||| previous ||| next

the summer heat combined with the florida humidity is stifling. you feel like you’re boiling in a pot of soup, as opposed to lounging on the pool deck of a cruise ship. even the ocean breeze does little to quell the heat. you almost feel bad for the other demigods — who you know are training on a deck somewhere on the princess andromeda — but you can’t bring yourself to that point. not when you, chris, and katrina offered for them to ditch too. 

“how long do you plan on tanning for?” someone asks, and you recognize the voice as your boyfriend’s.

“until the sun goes down,” you answer, holding a hand up to your forehead as you give him a once over. 

it is obvious that he hasn’t been training, not in khaki pants and a light blue polo, but he still has his sword hanging from a sheath around his waist. his arms are crossed over his chest, and he shoots you a disapproving glare. yet, all you can focus on are his muscles.

“you’re gonna get a farmer's tan, dude,” chris jeers, eliciting snickers from you and katrina.

“oh you’d like that wouldn’t you?” katrina teases, elbowing your side as you get up from your lounger and walk towards luke. 

you lift up your shades, pushing them to the top of your head and smile softly at him. you’re trying your best to be apologetic, or at least seem apologetic, but you’re sure it isn’t working. your eyes flicker across luke’s supposedly serious gaze, but you can see the humor swirling in his eyes. 

“you’re not mad are you? we were really just taking a break,” you explain, a soft pout on your lips to try and sell your story. 

luke raises an eyebrow along with the corner of his mouth, and while you know he doesn’t believe you, he doesn’t provide a lecture or try to contradict your words. it’s clear to all the demigods on the princess andromeda that while you’ve aligned yourself with them — with his cause — your loyalties lie in the palm of his hands, a sentiment which isn’t lost on luke either. he has the ability to cradle it or squash it like a bug. there is no inbetween. yet, he continues to push his luck. 

even now as you laugh poolside with chris and katrina with his firm hand resting on your hip, he knows that you’d slip away from him if you knew what was going on in the brig. if you knew who was there and what he’d done to lure them right into his clutches, you’d flee. 

he clears his throat, demanding your attention. only when all three pairs of eyes are on him does he muster up the courage to actually be a leader: “i better see the three of you at training later, otherwise you can kiss those free nights goodbye.”

luke squeezes your hip once more before departing, walking back down the hallway he originally came from.  

*****

the continuous rocking back and forth is starting to get to percy. with each sway of the large cruise ship, he can feel the insides of his stomach turning. the sounds of the waves crashing against the strong hull should be calming, soothing even, yet they only increase his feelings of nausea. 

“don’t tell me you’re seasick, seaweed brain?” annabeth snaps, but there is a hint of sympathy behind her cold words. 

“ugh as if,” he answers, but promptly squints his eyes after a particularly large jolt.

“i knew this was too good to be true,” he mumbles, leaning his sweaty forehead against the cool metal bars in hope of some relief. 

“it wouldn’t be if you’d just accepted my offer. it’d make things a lot easier for the both of us,” another voice chimes in. 

percy opens his eyes, immediately reaching for the ballpoint pen residing in his pocket. he can’t help but stare at the older boy, the person he once called a friend, with nothing but resentment and hatred. luke is leaning casually against the wall across from their holding cell. his arms are crossed, sword sheathed, and he looks like he has all the time in the world. there even seems to be a flicker of annoyance in his brown eyes. 

“we both know things could be much easier. right percy?” luke continues, but he doesn’t make any moves or even reach for his sword. 

“what are you doing here?” percy asks, mustering up enough strength to stand from the floor of their cell. 

luke chuckles, shaking his head back and forth with a small tsk. “c’mon percy, you’re smarter than that. i bet even annabeth has this figured out. isn’t that right banana?” 

“don’t call me that,” annabeth growls, fists clenched at her sides. 

percy watches their interaction, an intense stare down. he’s only even seen luke partake in one, and he remembers how luke was the first to recede. you’re the only person who luke allowed to bully him into getting your way, and annabeth must remember that as well as she turns away from the boy she once called a brother. percy looks at annabeth, asking her a silent question, but she doesn’t even acknowledge him, simply keeping her gaze locked on a questionable stain on the floor. 

“hmm, guess not. makes this even more entertaining,” luke says, stepping away from the wall and towards their cell. 

percy doesn’t hesitate this time, swiftly lifting the cap off his pen with the flick of his thumb. his sword appears in his hands, and he grips the hilt so tightly that his knuckles turn white. 

luke holds his hands up in surrender, “no need for violence, percy. i haven’t even gotten a chance to speak yet.” 

“really? cause you’ve been doing all the talking,” percy snaps, his eyes never leaving luke’s figure as he searches for any impending danger. 

luke chuckles again, but it’s humorless. his eyes turn back to percy lacking any and all warmth. with a clenched jaw, luke looks him up and down. percy feels his breath hitch in his throat; he remembers all too well the last time he fought luke. he also remembers that he has more training under his belt than he did a year ago. 

“i’ll be honest with you percy, because i think we owe that to each other. i know my dad sent you here, hoping you’d convince me to change my mind, but it’s not going to work. we both know that,” luke starts. 

“you, on the other hand, still have time to join me. percy, join us and all will be forgiven,” he finishes, extending his hand to percy. 

percy stares at it, and without a second thought spits at the older boy.

luke grimaces, wiping the saliva on his white linen shirt. “well then.” 

he turns to walk away, leaving the two teens and their cyclops companion behind, but he stops suddenly. his black curls bounce as he whips his head around over his shoulder, brown eyes meeting annabeth’s watery gaze: “i’ve done a lot of things, banana, but associating with a cyclops isn’t one of them.” and then he’s gone. 

*****

the training room is already packed when you and katrina arrive. although a majority of the space is taken up by demigods, you can see some monsters hanging around the outskirts of the crowd. their presence is looming, much like their size, and you nervously adjust the bowstring strapped around your upper body. it feels like it’s choking you, a sensation only amplified by the lump in your throat. try as you might, you can’t seem to swallow it down, and it only worsens as other demigods focus their attention on you. while katrina leads you through the crowd towards chris, their whispers echo in your ears. it’s giving you deja vu. 

you blink, and you’re back at camp half-blood. the dining pavilion is silent as you walk behind luke, weaving in and out of tables to get to cabin eleven’s. they’re trying to be subtle, quiet even, but their voices are much louder than intended. not to mention, all their eyes are on you, making it fairly obvious who their target is. a young girl turns to her friend, whispering something in her ear while making direct eye contact with you. you hear every word. 

“and she gets to skip morning training for a pool day. like how is that fair?” an auburn haired girl whispers not-so-quietly to her friend. 

your gaze snaps towards her, lip curled in a sneer. her blue eyes widen when they meet your anger-filled irises. she takes in a shaky breath followed by a cautious step back. after giving her a once over, you recognize her as holland, a fifteen year old daughter of athena. 

luke’s hand grips your shoulder roughly, pulling you along before the situation can escalate despite your incessant protests that you can handle yourself and this girl. he’s not here to do that this time though.

“remind me again, holland, how many bullseyes you’ve hit? oh that’s right, none because you can’t even keep the arrows in the quiver, much less on target,” you ridicule. 

her eyes gloss over and bottom lip trembles, yet she still manages a comeback: “i’m just confused as to why luke’s girlfriend gets special privileges.” 

the silence in the room is loud. everyone was already eavesdropping, but now it’s blatantly clear; you can hear a pin drop. your nostrils flare at her words, and you straighten your spine. scanning over the crowd of demigods and monsters alike, all their eyes ask the same question: what’s your next move? 

“is that what you all think?” you ask rhetorically. 

“well, let’s put those theories to rest,” you continue, marching to the front of the room. 

silently, and with hundreds of eyes watching, you remove your bow from your shoulders. the quiver filled with a dozen arrows brushes against your right thigh as you remove one. the wooden shaft is light and pliable in your hands; if you weren’t so determined to make holland eat her words it’d probably be snapped in half. you load the arrow, inhaling as you pull back the string. on the exhale, you release; a perfect bullseye. 

“let’s see if i can beat holland’s record,” you taunt, already loading up for your second shot on the second target. 

it’s bullseye after bullseye, and the silence in the room only gets heavier with each shot. finally, you run out of arrows and targets. you turn on your heel, facing the crowd. it’s arrogant, but you bend over into a deep bow with your eyes focused on holland’s blue ones. 

“once you can do that, holland, you can skip morning training too,” and with that, you walk out the door. 

you barely make it three steps before someone stops you. it’s luke; you can tell by the way he holds your bicep, firm yet delicate, and the rough calluses on his palm. you shrug, easily wiggling out of his grasp. his eyes are burning a hole in your head, but you refuse to meet his gaze, keeping yours locked on the vast horizon. 

“what was that?” he asks, voice gruff. 

“your army is getting cocky. someone had to put them in check,” you snap, crossing your arms now. 

he scoffs, stepping beside you with his body turned so that he’s looking at you. he waits patiently for you to acknowledge him, but you don’t. the waves rippling out on the ocean are much more entertaining. 

“maybe they know they’re on the winning side,” he replies, voice oozing confidence. 

you’re silent. 

“and i think you need to remember that too,” he continues, walking away. 

“really? cause it feels a lot like camp. if i wanted to be judged, i would’ve just stayed there. i thought my boyfriend, camp half-blood’s golden boy, would understand,” you say. 

luke freezes, but he doesn’t turn around. “then go back there,” he mumbles, opening the door to the training room. 

you blink, registering his monotone voice and hurtful words. maybe i will, you think.

and yet, you still end up falling asleep next to him that night. whispering apologies to each other in between kisses and tangled limbs. 

*****   

percy promised himself that he would never see the princess andromeda again. turns out promises are meant to be broken. he thinks you might be starting to realize that too. 

“and poisoning thalia’s tree was just the beginning,” luke confirms, standing across from percy. 

sword at the ready, percy waits for luke to make the first move. his eyes flicker over to you, and he’s stunned by your confused expression. it’s clear that luke is the mastermind here, but percy always assumed it was more of a co-parenting situation with heavy emphasis on your involvement in the child’s — luke’s plans to restore the golden age — life. it appears, however, that he was wrong. 

“thwarted again luke. the golden fleece is already on its way back to camp. i guess clarisse can be good for something,” percy taunts, but he’s just buying time.

annabeth already has an iris message queued up, broadcasting his conversation with luke to the entirety of camp half-blood. percy’s sure that he’s never beating those seaweed brain allegations, not when he’s so obviously struggling to bait luke. yet, the older brunette clenches his jaw at percy’s words, anger flashing in his eyes. 

“kronos was right. i should’ve killed you when i had the chance,” luke yells, before going on offense. 

percy throws a quick, albeit sloppy, parry. luke grunts, and percy thinks that playing dodgeball with joe bob and his laistrygonian siblings at meriwether college prep really paid off. for one, it definitely made him stronger. and two, he was able to deal with all the chaos of the party ponies around him, much like he was able to win that final dodgeball game. 

in between percy fighting off luke, and the ponies demolishing anything in their sight, annabeth and grover get cornered. percy can see them, backs literally against a wall, as a hellhound growls in annabeth’s face. it’s not afraid of her dagger, and grover’s pipes aren’t doing anything to help the situation. percy turns, ready to jump in and leave his side quest with luke behind, (he’s sure there will be other opportunities), but he doesn’t need to. 

*****

you know it’s wrong. somebody from kronos’s army should not be protecting the so-called enemy, but you can’t help it. annabeth is the little sister you never had, and even if she doesn’t see you in that light anymore, you refuse to stand by and watch her get hurt. 

you whistle, and the hellhound fixes its beady red eyes on you. it probably expects you to run or cower in fear, but it only takes one swipe of your knife to turn him to golden ash. now, there’s nothing standing between the three of you. 

annabeth steps forward, her gray eyes cold and calculating as she tries to determine your ulterior motive. you never once break her stare, even though your chest is heaving, and you feel like passing out from all the new information you received today. 

“i swear i had no idea,” you say, voice breathless. 

annabeth’s gaze softens slightly, and you only know that because you know her so well. you can’t imagine that she believes you; you wouldn’t believe yourself. yet, there are only three people who have seen your true colors, the person buried underneath the mask of hera’s daughter, and annabeth is one of them. unlike grover, annabeth can detect the hurt in your voice. she sees the disappointment in your eyes, and that proves she can trust you. 

“leave with the ponies. i’ll make sure he doesn’t follow you,” you instruct. 

on her nod, you turn away, heading back into the craziness of the party ponies to stop a red boxing glove from punching out ethan nakamura. she pats grover’s shoulder, leading him towards a less congested area, and waits for their chance to slip out. 

true to your word, luke doesn’t follow them home.

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