Can you recommend any ashton blogs? I feel like I dont see enough of him on my dash (could also be I'm in love with him and just want more buuuuuuttttt)

I honestly probably forgot people and I’m sorry my brain is functioning properly rn ahah 

What’s Peter Pan!Ashton? I remember you talking about it. Is it a story? Can you post it?

lmao Peter Pan! Ashton is from a story i started writing about 8000 years ago over on 5sosff titled terra nullius that is @pleaseash‘s favorite thing I’ve written to date. the story is not anywhere near finished but like… i have some of it saved so i guess i can post a snippet of it and someone can let me know if i should bother editing and posting it. kavdlademd sorry for being mobile and not being able to put this under a cut wkdhwkdv

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It was when those thoughts started rattling around in his head that he gave up on trying to sleep. He didn’t want to try and contemplate how old he really was or would be had he lived the life of a regular human being, whether or not he would still be alive. If he would have died a wrinkly old man in his bed alone, or worse, if he would have married and had children.

The simple idea of it made a shiver run down his spine.

He supposed that was a sacrifice of his sudden aging, the thoughts of the past and thoughts of what the future may hold for him. He hadn’t known that he could age after so long in Neverland, after living so long as just a boy. It had been the counsel’s idea for him to grow up, to mature if he were going to fight in the war, but he hadn’t expected it to have an effect on his physical appearance.

He wasn’t as concerned about his appearance as he was concerned about his new personality, which to him didn’t feel like much of a personality at all.

Honestly, he just wanted to know why he was angry all the time.

Angry at Tink for her utter betrayal of who she was, tossing away all chances of her living forever and becoming human, of all things. Anger toward the Lost Boys for changing, wanting the life they had been so against living when he’d sent them away for their own safety. Angry with Wendy for convincing him that he was doing the right thing keeping the rest of the boys out of the war, for growing up, for asking him not to talk to the Fighter. Every little thing she did made him angry.

Anger at the thunder cracking in the night, at the creaking staircase, the air unit that kept the house cold, all the sleeping figures he passed on his way to the kitchen. Anger at the glasses for not being in the first four cupboards he opened and the refrigerator for being so complicated that he spent five minutes staring at it so he could get a glass of water. Angry that he couldn’t just sleep.

Angry at Wonderland and the senseless destruction it had brought against his home, at the Ruler for destroying everything he’d ever known and tearing his world in two. Angry for the war, and the hardship, maturing and changing.

Angry with himself. For feeling lost and hopeless, for allowing everything to happen. For not being enough to put a stop to it. Angry for being so consumed by anger all the time.

And like always, he felt a shift somewhere inside of himself. A shift that made him feel not so angry, but made him feel more helpless and lost, a kind of sadness that settled deep into not only his heart but his soul. No matter how much he wanted it, he knew that home would never be the same. If and when they finally broke the ceil that blocked off Neverland, it would still not be the Neverland that he remembered.

Nothing would be the same. He would never be the same again. There was no reversing maturity even if somehow he was able to gain back his childish form.

He realized too late that the water had run over on his glass, covering his hand in near-freezing water, until it had splashed onto his foot, resulting in more spilling and the sudden urge to curse. But he didn’t, because there were people only a couple rooms away that could wake.

Settling with a sigh of annoyance, Ashton took hold of the dish towel hanging from the wall and dropped it to the floor, wiping up as much of the water as he could with the towel under foot. It didn’t help the coldness that seeped through, but he didn’t mind nearly as much as he had when it had been unexpected.

It was when he reached down to grab the towel off the floor that the sudden rushing through his head came, a dizziness unlike anything he’d experienced before. He barely felt the water that splashed over the skin of his chest, hardly registered the shattering of the glass as it collided with the tile at his feet.