FIC REQUESTS: OPEN (in ASK ME) // fellow a03 writer, hoping to improve my writing and gain insight on other writers! gryffindor, team iron man, mental health advocate, coffee >>
just wanted to add that I have the right to reject any, and depending on what you ask for I may or may not be able to write it. however, donât let that scare you! my asks are open (thatâs where you can leave the requests)
I will write max 1k words per request, unless I get carried away, but you can put in a word count if you like between that number!
SOME THINGS I WILL NOT WRITE:
-couples (you can do married though) ex. Spideychelle as bf/gf no, married, sure
Fall was her favourite season. When the aroma of cinnamon was in the air, and people would argue over pumpkin spice lattes, she would stomp on the fallen leaves like Peter would when he was in Midtown's marching band, and the chill would softly caress her face.
Instead, the weather was hot, blinding, the heat fusing to her skin. Ice cream, popsicles and freezies were the only foods she craved, and every shower she took felt useless 5 minutes later.
Summer was when card games re-gained popularity, fans were on 24/7, and air conditioning was a blessed privilege. Peter and Ned could visit more often, and everything they learned at school was forgotten for two months.
Today, they were meeting at Ben & Mays. The sign had fallen off later than her and May had guessed, so they each snuck 5$ into Peterâs backpack. Maybe hope does take some people farther than others. Like a silly paper signâŠ
****
New seasonal hires graced behind the counter while Michelle people-watched and waited for the dorks. She watched a lady order a London fog, eyed her sweater and gloves.
The lady turned to look at her, smiling. Michelle stared, eyes wide. It felt like the lady sucked the air conditioning straight out of the shop. A small breeze teased her skin, barely curing her of the summer heat.
âMJ, honey!â May called out.
Michelle tore her eyes away and watched May shake her head at her.
âNo staringâ, she mouthed, eyes slighting towards the lady.
Read the full story here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16503242/chapters/215721291
OKAY i'm sorry but am i the only one who can totally see tim bradford w/ an ED? maybe it's not the nicest thing but I can envision him struggling with this so much. probably not on the show but can anyone else agree?
me writing a fic about discontinued energy drink flavours instead of my emo depressed spideychelle fic bc i just found out ultra gold monster is discontinued.
I don't know if you're still active but I just wanted to say, I've loved your b99 fics on ao3 and I was really hoping you'd write more. Especially when the tough fall apart aswirhchshaiqk it was SO GOODDD
Anyways that's all I wanted to say <3333
That is so sweet! thank you for reaching out and messaging me! I have debated it, I've been in a bit of slump as this year is especially busy with school but maybe I'll post another sometime this year :)
Michelle Jones works the same shift at Caff's Coffee every week. A repetitive routine that pays well enough for her to put college tuition at the back of her head. When a mousy brunette walks in, she can't help but observe him. When she finds out they have the same classes, it gets even harder.
Peter Parker is a mess. A poster child of the college experience. Red Bull and ramen, on death's doorstep (figuratively). When he walks into Caff's for a coffee, he can't help but notice the barista. When he notices her staring at him in a lecture, he calls it fate.
OR
An eventual romance that stems from coffee, academia, and the journey of falling in love.
Itâs strange how the simplest people can catch oneâs eye.
You spend so much time in life going through the motions that you donât realize what you were doing before you met your best friend. Your rival. Even your partner.
A moment in time that shifts the course of your entire life.
*****
Michelle worked her part-time shift at Caffâs Coffee , a small cafe on Westly and Third. It was near Brownâs University, where she spent copious hours hunched over her notes and procrastinating. She was not sure what she wanted to do with her life yet but at the ripe age of 18, she was reading about political thinkers and writing essays. Lotâs.
âMichelle, can you take over cash?â
She saw his shadow before she saw him. Cade. Her 6â tall and hip manager is in his 20âs. Not in college or university or further education like most of her work associates. Not sure how he ended up running this cafe but he was understanding and paid well.
No arguments from her.
She rolled her eyes at him.
âDude. You know I hate people.â
Cade shrugged his shoulders, the AC causing his usual grey flannel to ruffle like a wave, the buttons shifting back and forth.
âNot my problem,â he responded, voice assertive yet kind. âYou chose to work here with the knowledge that working cash was a requirement. Congrats, weâre understaffed.â
He waved his hand towards her in a shooing motion.
She grumbled under her breath but walked towards the counter nonetheless.
âHow can I help you?â She mumbled, trying to keep the edge of her voice dull as she looked at the register, ready to type in the order.
âCan I get a drink with the most caffeine?â
Michelle bit back a grumble, begging the world to swallow her whole. Kids always came here asking for caffeine, yet get mad when the drink makes them feel on edge.
She crossed her arms and looked up.
The kid seemed friendly; he had mousy brown hair and almost too-pale skin. She made the executive decision to loosen up. She noted his bloodshot eyes and deep eye bags.
Letâs cut this kid some slack.
âWe can do that for you. However, I think what you really need is sleep. A lot of it. In fact, you should be cast in a time-accurate version of sleeping beauty.â
She tacked on her customer-service smileâshe could feel her cheeks.
The kid grinned at her, eyes crinkled and a soft smile.
He shook his head vigorously. He was a common brunette, but something about him stood out. Maybe it was his calm stature or his unkempt hair.
âCanât. I have an exam today. Not ready.â He stumbled over his words. It was like each word was fighting to escape his throat before the other.
She sighed.
âAll right man, I hope it goes well. Most people do not like our most caffeinated drink, Nitro cold brew with a double shot of espresso.â
âIâll take it.â
She believed him.
âAll right,â she muttered, typing his order in while going through the motions. âCredit or debit?â
âActually-
Michelle looked up at him.
âDo you take cash?â He pulled at his necklace, a silver chain with what appeared to have a charm. The letter B. Probably the first letter of his name. Ben? Basil? Brett?
She shuddered. Brett did not suit him as a name at all.
âHey?â
Shoot.
âSorry, yea we take cash. Your total is $3.52.â
He fiddled with his pockets and dropped the coins into her palm.
She scanned them quickly and placed them into the registrar.
âYour order will be on the other side of the counter shortly.â
He smiled in response and headed to wait for his order.
Donât say anything. Donât-
âHey, man!â
The kid turned to look at her.
âGood luck with your exam. I hope the coffee doesnât kill you.â
âYou better make sure that it doesnât,â he grinned in response. âThanks. Iâm Peter by the way.â
She chewed at her lip and gave what she hoped was a smile in response.
âMichelle.â
âNice to meet you, Michelle.â
She coughed into her sleeve.
âYou too.â
He walked away.
She observed Peter as she made his drink. His skinny fingers picked at his maroon hoodie, eyes lost in thought.
She scooped and dumped the ice into the plastic (hopefully biodegradable?) cup. Pulled the coffee from the machine next, content to hear the steady spill of espresso. She was aware of her left foot tapping in beat with whatever playlist was playing on the cafe speakers.
Michelle finished making the drink, capping the lid on with a satisfying click.
She picked out an oatmeal raisin cookie and packaged it, then headed over to the counter where Peter stood, shifting his feet from side to side.
âHereâs your order.â She said as she slipped the drink towards him and the cookie, crinkling in its bag.
Peter grabbed the drink and furrowed his brows.
âI think there was a mistake, I didnât order that.â
âItâs no mistake,â She replied confidently. âItâs yours. For after the exam. To celebrate .â
Peter froze.
She nudged it towards him.
âCome on, Peter. I have other customers to serve.â
As if shaken out of a trance, he grabbed it slowly.
âThank you, Michelle.â
âWhat are you thanking me for, you paid for it.â
He looked inside the bag and squinted at the board.
âYes, I did, didnât I?â Peter responded with a grin.
Before she could respond, coins tumbled out of his hands and onto the counter in front of her. Exactly the price of the cookie.
All she could do was glare as he bolted out of the shop with a loud, âTHANK YOU!â
She could see Cade's shadow before she could see him.
âDonât start,â she warned, raising a finger.
Cade shrugged and walked away.
Michelle went back to work, taking customers' orders. Boring orders, she might add.
A small part of her hoped Peter would show up again if only to give her a chance to lecture him on not accepting gifts.
Another part of her cringed at her actions.
You were going to give a customer you just met⊠a free cookie?
Pull it together Michelle.
She hopes his exam went well.
Gosh darn-it.
If she didnât pull it together soon, she might actually want to take peopleâs orders.
I just finished this fic! Iâve been writing this on and off for like two years, and the joy of finally ending that story so I can focus on another is amazing.
Brown hair and skin like hot chocolate, white shirt contrasting. Her locs were tied up in a short ponytail, headphones blocking out the cafe white noise. I couldn't keep my eyes off her focused composure.
As the bus rolled onward, sun splashed through the window like waves, a strong glow of gold then back out the window it went.
Itâs the only thing that makes waking up this early worth it, and she thinks that if she wasnât trying to avoid music this week, she would not have noticed it in favour of her thoughts.
i haven't sent someone a fic request in a long time lol butttt i'm always in need of more euphemia potter treating sirius like her own son
@alkos here is your fic!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Euphemiaâs adopted child:
by: @hopepotterwriter
Characters: James Potter, Fleamont Potter, Euphemia Potter, Sirius Black
Summary: the journey of Euphemia basically adopting Sirius Black
Word Count: around 900
âââ
Euphemia had one son.
Thatâs what she knew.Â
She packed one lunch and set one plate for dinner along with her and Fleamontâs. One wand, one cauldron, and one book for each course.
One was constant, one was lonely, but one was the life she was given.
James was lovely. Playful, mischievous, stubbornly bold.
James was eleven, and they waited.
One morning in the middle of June, a flutter was heard in the Potter household.Â
His letter had arrived.
James gladly accepted his Hogwarts letter, Fleamont teaching him all he knew of potions and Euphemia, of charms.
They all waited impatiently and somehow when the day came, it felt as though not even a week had passed.
---
She sat James down and murmured gently, advising him before their trip to platform 9 Ÿ that afternoon.Â
âThe most important thing is to be kind. Donât make assumptions about lives you know nothing about,â she said, voice solid and heavy.
James, her son, her only son, nodded in understanding.
He sent weekly letters.Â
He had made friends, how splendid of him. Remus, Sirius, Peter.
He spoke of all of them but worried about one the most.
Sirius Black.
How he randomly lashed out, never changed his shirt in front of the boys, always smiled until he thought you looked away.
They convinced him to go swimming once. James asked too many questions. He never joined them again.
---
When at 16 James had feverishly called home, yelling and whispering about Sirius in hushed tones about running away from home and bruises and mum, he has nowhere to go-
Euphemia didn't give it a second thought.
She waited at the platform, tapping her heels and brushing off her top.
She scanned around for a young Oliver Twist. A poor, pained boy.
James got off the platform with a star, bright, smiling.
A young man with long, dark hair, eyes twinkling, and a leather jacket atop his uniform. Sure he looked a little rough, she noted dark circles under his eyes and shaking hands, but boys were like that. Werenât they?
Euphemia frowned. Maybe this was someone else.
But when her eyes looked away for a second, she noted a switch of expression.
Sirius was blinking back tears.
Oh, baby.
She crouched down, looking Sirius in the eyes.
âHey, hon. Youâre with me, okay?â
Sirius looked away, hands clenched, seemingly afraid to breathe. Breath coming in and out at uneven beats.
âJust stay the night love, and we can talk in the morning, okay?â
Sirius nodded, scuffing his feet against the platform.
âOne day,â he replied, throat scratchy and eyes flitting back and forth. Nervous. Worried.
They left the platform shortly after that, James holding his hand tightly.
---
Sirius didnât know what he expected.
Why did you agree? Mumâs going to kill you when she finds you here! At Potterâs?Â
If she finds you here, he corrected his thoughts, cracking his knuckles on a rough mattress.Â
âSorry love, the guest room is quite messy at the moment, but once itâs cleaned, you wonât need to be on this-â Euphemia scanned the mattress, noting tears and dust on the corners. âThis uncomfortable mattress. Dinnerâs almost ready, okay hun? Ask James if you need to find something.âÂ
She stood once more in the room, feet tapping on the ground as her hands tucked loose strands of hair behind her ears.
Once she left, Sirius frowned.
This mattress is not uncomfortable at all. If anything, itâs an upgrade. At least thereâs a lock on this door and nothing that can be used against me.
---
That night Euphemia had made enough food to feed a village. She listened to Sirius ramble about muggle music and annoying professors.
He rambled on and on, Euphemia smiling to encourage him before he suddenly fell silent.
"Sorry," he mumbled, wincing.
"For what?"
"Talking too much. Mum hates it."
Euphemia frowned.
"I like hearing you talk, God knows I've had my ears chewed off by James. Nice to hear some new insight."
James scrunched his face in mock disbelief. âHey!â
Sirius looked down with a frown matching hers and fiddled with his hands.
"Are you sure?" He said, voice scratchy.
"Very sure." She smiled softly
The room was silent for a moment before Sirius launched into another topic, all ears listening.
---
Sirius stayed at the Potter household until the end of that summer.Â
---
Euphemia had two sons.
This, she was sure of.Â
She packed two lunches, and set two plates for dinner along with her and Fleamontâs. Two wands, two cauldrons, and two books for each course.
Two was friendly, two was company, but one was the life she was given. Two was the life she made.
