totally-not-ascher-morgan

[totally-not-ascher-morgan]

Hi!

I’m Ashe, and I write micro-fics <3

I take requests, in the form of DMs, reblogs, anon asks, or non-anon asks. I’m less than motivated, so please send some in!

extra info under the cut:

I am a minor, so I won’t be taking nsfw reqs, but other than that, I’m majorly comfortable writing anything.

I’ll write for ships, friendly encounters, anything you could ask for <3

[totally-not-ascher-morgan]

WE LOVE YOU CANADAAAA

thank you Canada 🇨🇦

[totally-not-ascher-morgan]

Prompt - Rush

July 14 - word count 456 - prompt from rosekillermicrofics -

Cw, dysphoria, self-hate, thoughts of SH (kind of)

Prompt - Rush

Regulus gritted his teeth, then stepped in front of the mirror. He’d thought he was prepared. That he’d steeled his resolve. But nothing could have readied him for the revulsion that swelled in his stomach like a raging fire at the sight.

Nothing could have prepared him for the fury and anguish that burned at the back of his throat like bile, bitter and unwanted, but impossible to send away.

For the rush of shame that made him want to claw at his own skin until there was none left. To tear himself apart, until he was less than human. Or at least, less than this. 

The dress, which he’d found in the darkest corner of his closet, left nothing of his natural shape, so to speak, to the imagination. He regretted ever picking it up off the floor. He should have burned it. Unfortunately, it felt necessary. It was Thanksgiving, and he was going home for the holiday, though he wished more than anything, that it was avoidable.

Walburga would flay him alive if he didn’t wear a dress.

“You look like shit.” Regulus whirled around, his eyes lighting with misplaced rage, which he couldn’t take out on himself. He hadn’t even heard the door open, distracted by the self-loathing thoughts that were still running rampant. The sensation that his skin didn’t fit overwhelming.

Barty, however, wasn’t done. “Wear this instead.” Regulus froze. “Barty, that’s a suit.” His boyfriend raised an eyebrow, as if in challenge. “So?” Regulus shook his head, and the heat had left his voice by the time he spoke again. “You know I can’t.”

Barty ignored him, and stepped forward, pressing the more masculine outfit into Regulus’s hands insistently.

“You can. I won’t have you hating yourself today. Take the dress off, or we aren’t going. If she has something to say about the suit, tell her I’m controlling, if you must.” The instructions rolled off the brunette’s tongue with ease, like he had no hesitation or qualms at all about facing Walburga’s wrath in Regulus’s stead.

He wouldn’t budge on this, and Regulus knew it. He appreciated it, really. He was glad to have someone so determined, and so supportive, at his back. He opened his mouth to say so, but Barty stopped him.

“Basic human decency, is not something to be thankful for. You wouldn’t thank me if I said you were allowed to eat. Don’t thank me because I’m telling you that you’re allowed to not despise yourself.”

Barty’s voice was stern, and brusque, but Regulus could see the care and concern flickering in the other man’s gray eyes. Barty pretended to be indifferent, but Regulus always knew, Barty loved him, just as much as he loved Barty.

[totally-not-ascher-morgan]

Prompt - Rainbow

July 14 - word count 448 - prompt from the June list of rosekillermicrofics -

Prompt - Rainbow

Peter would never get used to this. Get used to him.  The way he called him ‘darling,’ and looked at the animagus with those eyes, ones that were hazel, but glistened in so many different colors that they may as well have been pools of rainbow, which Peter always seemed to be drowning in. 

Peter would never be used to Gilderoy, or the way he acted. As though Peter deserved him. He didn’t believe that he did.

Even now, withe Gilderoy’s head in his lap, as the pair sat on Peter’s bed, Peter’s slender fingers twisting through the other teen’s soft, tawny brown curls that were so light he was almost blond, Peter felt like something must be wrong.

Gilderoy must have seen it on his face, because he reached up, the back of his hand brushing across Peter’s cheek softly, making him blush, and look away.

“You overthink, my dear.” Gilderoy reminds him fondly, his fingers gracing the timid boy’s jawline reverently, drawing Peter’s nervous eyes back to his face softly. “You deserve good things to happen to you, Petey.”

Peter was never a very confident person, always hesitant, insecure. Especially about his popularity, or lack thereof, in comparison to those he surrounded himself with. With the marauders being more popular in their year, and Gilderoy in his, Peter, who realistically didn’t have many friends outside of the marauders themselves, felt like they were only humoring him for the moment. They would get bored and move on. All of them.

Gilderoy, bless him, picked up on that fact quickly, and made it his life mission to convince the youngest marauder otherwise.

Gilderoy was the object of rumor frequently. Peter was beginning to think he enjoyed that. But usually the attention was negative. He was called a braggart, a show-off, and a narcissist. They said he never did things for others without an incentive. That wasn’t the Gilderoy Lockhart that Peter knew.

His Gilderoy was gentle, and sweet, and never unkind. He loved Peter more than he ever should, refusing to believe that he deserved better than just…Peter.

‘His Gilderoy.’ The thought made Peter shiver. As though he owned the other boy. But that was so far from the truth. Gilderoy had a hold on Peter that they both hoped never slipped away. Again, Peter’s thoughts must have been projected in his expression, because Gilderoy smiled up at him, and it was a bright, genuine, toothy smile, that reveals his dimples.

“Love you, Petey.” He mused, and Peter smiled back weakly, nearly swooning at the profession of affection, and at the way the Ravenclaw’s whole face changed with something as simple as a smile. “Love you too, Gil.”

[totally-not-ascher-morgan]

this is literally my take on cleanliness sometimes

like I should, and I want to, but I just…can’t find it in me to do it. For days.

After several days, I finally took a shower. I’ve been putting it off because I don’t have the motivation to shower. I’m kinda lazy too and it kinda tires me out.

Can anyone relate to this?

[totally-not-ascher-morgan]

i think you misspelled momegranate

mahomogany flooring or however it’s spelled

[totally-not-ascher-morgan]

boo stop being afraid to make regulus and remus kiss

[totally-not-ascher-morgan]

@bookobbsesedgirly @iloveyapping

Lowk stalking y’all <3

mutual I like you a lot. I'm going to think about you a lot and watch you a lot ok? Okay.

[totally-not-ascher-morgan]

Epic boys (2/3 )✨️

Here is the second part of these drawings, I hope you like it!

(The original post is from @theearlegreshamjr ✨️)

[totally-not-ascher-morgan]

omfg Cas my heartttttt

healer - jegulus - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 428

“Okay, Mister Black,” Professor Slughorn said, with a little sigh sitting down at his desk and looking at Regulus over his fingertips. “Welcome to your career counselling session. Tell me. What do you hope to do when you exit school?”

“I’m going to work at the Ministry,” Regulus said flatly, because it was the answer his parents had drilled into him since birth. “Work my way up, you know. All due respect, sir, I don’t need much counselling. I know what courses to take.”

Slughorn, however, pursed his lips and stared at Regulus for a long, long while before speaking. “Any other careers you’re considering?”

“No,” he answered, a bit annoyed. Why would Slughorn ask that? “It’s not as if I’m incapable of achieving that goal, don’t you think?” He was on track to get at least Exceeds Expectations in every OWL.

“Oh no, you misunderstand,” Slughorn said, looking a bit taken aback. “It’s just…I wonder if, perhaps, you have other desires?”

Regulus bristled. It didn’t matter if he had other desires. He had to do what his parents wanted. “Why?” he asked, trying not to give the Professor a rude look.

“Well, I received a letter here,” the older man said slowly, pulling out a piece of parchment and donning a pair of reading glasses. “From one ‘JFP.’ It says that you may not express this, but it’s your secret ambition to be a Healer, and I should tell you about which courses to take, just in case you change your mind and choose to follow that path.” The professor looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Is this true?”

Regulus’s stomach sank and his heart kicked into triple-time. Did James actually have the audacity to do such a thing? “I…it doesn’t matter,” he mumbled, looking at his feet. “My parents…”

“Well,” Slughorn blinked slowly before leaning forward to take a leaflet off his desk. “You should know. You have an aptitude for Potions far greater than that I’ve seen in most students your age. You are quite talented. And that talent…well, it would be wonderful in many fields. Healing included. Here’s some information, should you choose to go a…different path. Later on.”

When Regulus walked out of the office, he was seething. Furious that James had meddled in such a way. But he kept the parchment, folding it carefully in is bag, hands only shaking a little.

And, five years later, James Potter was the man he ran to, joyous tears streaming down his face, when he graduated his Healing program, earning the license he’d always wanted.

[totally-not-ascher-morgan]

Prompt - Tear

word count - 973 - July 11 - prompt list from rosekillermicrofics.

I have not written in AAAAGESS. This felt good to get out.

Lily Evans. Head girl, amazing friend, one of the smartest girls in their year. One of the toughest, too. Never broke the rules, if she could help it.

So when Barty found her a short ways into the Forbidden Forest one night, well past curfew, when he was just exploring to let off some steam, he was shocked.

Even more so when he realized the tear that rolled down her cheek. Followed by another, followed by another. He stayed away, for a moment. He didn’t want to upset her, or frighten her. But then he remembered, hell, she’s already crying. It can’t possibly get worse.

So he called her name quietly, announcing his presence. He wasn’t surprised, when she wiped her face hastily, fixing her hair and greeting him with a smile. It was almost tooconvincing. He wondered if she did that often. Hid away her negative emotions from those around her, to the point it became natural.

“Don’t bother. I already know something’s wrong.”

The boy’s voice was wry, but far from unkind, and he tipped his head slightly, silently asking if he could sit. Lily looked away, but she nodded, so he did. He kept his distance, but stayed close enough to be present.

“You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to. But I will ask what’s happened.” Again, Barty’s voice was quiet and gentle. More so than Lily had ever heard of the usually rowdy teen. She glanced over, and her shining peridot eyes were gleaming with obvious surprise.

“It’s nothing, really.” She denied, but it was a whisper, and her voice broke. Barty tilted his head to the side, disbelief on his face, written in plain handwriting, even in the dark of the forest.

“Evans, you’re hiding in the Forbidden Forest. I’ve never even seen you near here. You don’t have to tell me why you’re upset, but don’t lie to me about it.” His tone was curt, and shocked her out of her act. She scoffed quietly, and the sound rang loud, in the silent clearing.

“Fine.” She turned away again, and Barty feared he’d misstepped. Angered her farther. But then he heard a soft sniff. A poorly muffled sob, and he sighed softly, shifting closer to pull one of her hands into his own, the touch soothing. Barely there. Lily inhaled sharply, but Barty pretended not to notice.

“It’s just been a bad week.” Lily acknowledged after a couple minutes. The admission caught the Ravenclaw by her side off guard, but he ingested the information silently, nodding. “Petunia sent word, this last Monday.” Barty thought on that. It was Sunday. It must have been a particularly distressing letter.

“She said I wasn’t to write her anymore, while at school.” Barty stiffened, but Lily hasn’t stopped. Her usually silky voice was coarse, from attempting to stay silent so long, and Barty found himself wishing she wouldn’t have.

“I suppose you’d have heard about Severus?” Barty blinked. He heard plenty about the greasy Slytherin, but he wasn’t sure what Lily was asking. He shook his head, and she exhaled through her teeth, gathering her thoughts.

“He said…well, we got in a fight, you know. He called me….”

She trailed off. A sudden sniff and turn of the head suggested she wouldn’t finish the sentence. She wouldn’t need to. Barty’s grip on her hand tightened slightly, but in a comforting manner, rather than an angry one, and when she looked back his way after a moment, he raised a hand to brush a stray hair from her face.

“You’re a mess, head girl.” He teased, and Lily was so surprised she laughed, though it was watery and faint. When Barty spoke again, it was less playful. More serious.

“I will say, though, and I mean this in the worst way possible. Severus Snape is the biggest dumbfuck in our year. Don’t listen to him.” Lily gasped, and he shrugged unapologetically. She shook her head stubbornly.

“Don’t say that.” She implored in a whisper, but there was hesitant reverence in her eyes. Like she needed to hear more. So Barty said more.

“I’m not kidding! Nobody else speaks to him. You’ve adored him for years. Merlin knows how many. If he’s so ready to use something like that against you, he isn’t worthy of your friendship.” Lily couldn’t meet his eye, anymore. She was staring at the ground. 

“You’re wrong.” She breathed, and it was Barty’s turn to shake his head, more emphatically than she had. He was determined, now. “He doesn’t deserve you, Evans. He never has.” Lily didn’t reply for a long time, after that.

“Who does?” 

She broke the silence, after nearly a half an hour. Barty raised an eyebrow. Her fingers traced across his palm slowly, and he tried not to think about it. “Who does what?” He clarified, and Lily met his eye reluctantly. She looked like she wanted to flee. She wouldn’t.

“Deserves my friendship. Deserves me.” Barty snorted softly, and shrugged half-heartedly. He certainly didn’t know the answer to that. Nobody he knew could earn the right to befriend such a girl as Lily Evans. Maybe nobody did at all.

“You’ll have to find that out yourself.” Lily considered this, and nodded slowly, as if to herself, but her gaze stayed on Barty. On his face. On their interlocked hands. On his now distinctly kind eyes, that she’d always found wild and frenzied in the past.

“Maybe I have.” Her response was clearly intentional. She meant the connotations behind it, when she eyed him so appraisingly as she spoke. Barty knew that. He understood what she meant, when her fingers tightened around his hand. He didn’t believe she was right.

He didn’t deserve Lily Evans, even if he was kind. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to, some day.

[totally-not-ascher-morgan]

nuh-uh pookie

talk more, I’m begging you

guys I think I talk to much

[totally-not-ascher-morgan]

I checked and it still said I was following you 😭

Anyone else feel like their mutuals are way out of their league? Like they follow you back and you’re just like

[totally-not-ascher-morgan]

WAIT WHAT OMG I SWEAR I DIDN’T

Anyone else feel like their mutuals are way out of their league? Like they follow you back and you’re just like

[totally-not-ascher-morgan]

INCORRECT, BUT ILY

Anyone else feel like their mutuals are way out of their league? Like they follow you back and you’re just like

[totally-not-ascher-morgan]

no bc literally same

Me: respect all peoples pronouns

Also me: *misgendering transphobes and calling children "it"*

[totally-not-ascher-morgan]

18 - Role

sorry I haven’t written anything, I’ve been…procrastinating.

prompts from the June list, via Rosekillermicrofics

word count - 370 - June 22

Narcissa was drowning. All she could see was blue, minus the small specks of wondrous silver that seemed to enslave her mind, even as she could feel the sensation of falling. She found she couldn’t breathe, but if this was how she died, she decided she’d be alright with that.

She was brought back to life when a laugh, soft and melodic, but clear and ringing, ripped through the room’s stagnant air. As Narcissa processed, she saw Pandora had her head tossed back in her amusement, and her smile was wide, and infectious.

Pandora was a seer, and a dabbler in holistic and alternative medicines. A freak, most other royals would call her. Narcissa, on the other hand, thought she was amazing. The girl was addictive, really.

More than once a day, the duchess found herself lost in the other woman’s frost blue eyes like miniature oceans, or became so utterly entranced by her shining mess of soft blonde curls that she couldn’t form a proper sentence.

Most nobility would shame Narcissa’s infatuation with such a…character, but she couldn’t find it within herself to care.

Not when Pandora looked at her like that. Not when the seer was her safe space, where she never had to act, like she did in her day-to-day, never had to play the role of a cold-hearted and bloodthirsty nobility.

Here, she could just be Narcissa, and that was something she didn’t think she’d ever experience.

Pandora’s friends seemed dubious when she spoke of her affair with the duchess, but she couldn’t bring herself to pay them any mind.

Not when, when her lover was present, Pandora always felt welcomed. Accepted. Like someone saw her as she hoped they could, and not as the freak that society had labeled her. Not when Narcissa was the only one who didn’t call her crazy, and who looked at her so adoringly, always.

Here, she was always allowed to be Pandora, in her fullest, and without judgement. She didn’t expect that to ever happen.

No, they would never manage to feel ashamed of their relationship. Because only when they were together, did they finally realize they could be truly loved, and they didn’t need to hide, any longer.