#ashton.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

➥ brothers & sisters-in-arms (East Atlantic Army connections) : pretty much since Ash had been tossed there, it was all he knew, training, life, relationships, he was kept closely within the army and everything he did was for them. A connection that could either be very close to Ash mentors, juniors or peers, or had friction with him in those years. Ranging from during his teenhood up until the day he left. ➥ how to life (friends) : Ash moved from one army to another militia, always trying to find ways to fight, it was what he was good at. But finding life outside of the army was tough, remember life before the army seemed like a distant dream, he doesn’t really know how to live what may have been a normal life, as normal as life as they know it can be at least. A connection that helped him acclimate to life outside of the military, with more time to himself now despite integrating with silver lining, he had been given more freedom than he knew what to do with. ➥ the peek behind the glow (compound/afterglow connections) : you’ll be doing great good for everyone, was the lie he was told when they sat him down at the lab, a secret he’s kept all his life now out in the open to be used for some greater good. A connection within his short stint with the afterglow science and research department, perhaps were poked and prodded alongside him or were doing the poking and prodding.  ➥ play pretend (childhood friends) : We’re gonna build a rocket ship to Mars! Ashton as a kid was bright and full of energy, despite being an only child, his mother often felt like he had the energy of three. Taking care of him was not easy and she was thankful for the other kids around their small neighborhood that played with him. A connection of a childhood friend that grew up with him in Burnington. Perhaps they lost touch after he joined the army, perhaps they were always in contact, but they had grown up with Ashton and been through a lot together in their formative years before he was tossed to the EAA. How would they feel seeing who Ashton was right now after losing their friend to the claws of the military and seeing him come back out of the fire alive?

DIGGING DEEPER.

TW: death, abuse, experimentation

The Ryders were a quiet small family living simple lives in Burnington, husband served in the East Atlantic Army as a command sergeant, wife helped homeschool kids in the town. They flew under the radar as much as they could, most would assume because they’re simply content with life - and they are, a handful might know they do what they can in small subtle movements of resistance. Ashton was raised as such too, joyful simple life, be grateful for what they had, helped around the house, he was a handful to deal with as a kid but never whined or demanded anything in life. Homeschooled, he usually stuck close with his mother when his father was out with his unit, doing important work to protect them all, young Ash would like to believe that as his mom would tell him. Little did he know it wasn’t in the way Ashton thought.

One day past his 13th birthday, Ash’s parents had requested him to run a few errands alone for them while they had errands to run on their own, a full day’s worth to prepare for the coming week, groceries to get, kids to teach, laundry to wash and dry, letters to deliver, it was more than his usual day of chores, but he never whined about it, doing what he was told to do. He got everything done easily, even had spare time to go play before coming back for dinner. But dinner was never made. Ashton came back to an empty home that evening, not quite sure where his parents were and when they were coming back, he sat there and waited, and waited, and waited. Until in the middle of the night a knock on the door came, someone from the army, dad’s friend, they said. Ashton didn’t really process the news, everything in and around him numbed as his hands and feet still moved, the rest of the unit came in to start picking apart what little belongings they had, and let him pack whatever else he wanted. The next thing he knew when he snapped out of the shock, was that he was within the military academy, other kids and students staring at him like fresh meat, that he held a box of all his belongings he desperately kept from his home for once in his life saying no and not letting the soldiers take away some of his parents keepsakes, that his parents were gone. And that he was all alone. 

Then came the anger. Sure they gave him food, shelter, care, but he wasn’t stupid. The reason they gave him for his parents death didn’t seem to click. Ash was looking for anything and everything to blame. The grief in him mutated into rebellion, rage and fight, it took the academy a lot to whip him into shape and submission, literally and figuratively. The uglier disciplinary acts hidden behind closed doors. They hadn’t known what else the boy knew, they had to keep him here. But everything can be fixed with time, and with time, Ashton lost the fight in him, grief growing smaller, hurting less, giving in to doing whatever they told him to, as long as it made the pain go away. He got to know the other kids his age, some orphans like him, trained alongside him, and some of the warrant officers treated him well, better than others. He learnt to accept that this was his life now. As long as it made the pain go away. Follow our orders and you’ll be safe. You’ll be fine soon. I promise. Promise? He took their word for it, and believed, like he always did. Just listen to them, do as they say, they know better. He never whined or demanded anything in life. Ashton was molded and shaped to a perfect recruit and soldier, he had the talent, grit and intelligence for it all, exceeding all expectations once he submitted and gave in to the life and hand he was dealt with. He grew into one of EAA’s finest specialists they’ve ever had, an incredible asset that stayed loyal with nowhere else to go. Ashton was desensitized to the point where he lost himself somewhere in the pool of blood he spilt and the pile of bodies he stacked up. Though underneath it all he was just the teenage boy holding a box of his family’s belongings, doing whatever he needed to do as he was told. As long as it made the pain go away.

Over the years, Ash was one of the most reliable people in the army, if you needed something done, and done right, Ashton was your guy. While he is attached to a specific unit, the higher ups oftentimes pulled him away on special fieldwork as well, more covert operations that required tact and skill, and Ash could keep a secret to his grave. He’s had practice keeping one since he was five. No one bats an eye on the way Ash bounces back on his feet whenever injuries come around. He’s just that talented! He ate well! He’s youthful, he’s got his father’s genes and talents. Ash laughs them off and prolonged pretending to still be injured if it seemed suspicious. But one of those outfield missions went awry landing Ash in critical danger for once in his life, a misstep, a mistake made. Going in and out of consciousness one step too close to death, left Ash vulnerable as he was medically cared for without being able to walk it off before it was too late. And if they hadn’t paid attention to the way he healed faster than expected, pulling him under a microscope to see the way his cells regenerated at a speed not normal for humans - perhaps he’d still be holding onto that mutant secret.

It was a gift, a breakthrough in science, if they could just study him further– everything could change in the way their soldiers healed. Lives could be saved. He was taken off duty for the time being, excuse of needing to recover before going back on the field, and instead brought to the lab of the afterglow compound and was told all those nice things, appealing to the part of Ashton who just wanted to be useful. He assumed it was an order, and simply muttered yes sir.. For months he was held there, poked and prodded, blood and cell samples taken from him, his pain thresholds and limits tested. But what made Ashton pause was the sight of others there. A view of Afterglow hidden away from his years of training here, now in full view. And it was horrific, this wasn’t the same organization he thought he gave his life and loyalty to. He thought all his life, he had been doing good. Ashton silently took whatever was done to him, etching the visual in his brain of everything that happened here, to him, to others, to his parents. Until when he was returned to serve on the field, he left the force, quietly, without fanfare, honestly surprised they let him walk free. Perhaps because they’ve squeezed every ounce of him that they possibly could to profit off of him and there was nothing left of him for them to use.

The freedom was new and foreign to him, going back to Burnington, another box clutched in his arms as he was lost on what to do. He just knew that that rage he once thought had died off or beaten into submission, was once again reignited. He quickly joined the Silver Lining Militia, finding comfort in knowing at least there were familiar faces there, proving himself and his capabilities, and most importantly his loyalty and morality. Ashton now was trying to find his footing in somewhat of a normal life, getting a normal job to feed himself, and behind the scenes sitting with the militia to try and do good, perhaps find repentance in the life and lies he’s lived.

EXTRAS.

headcanons

Ashton was five, he was in the kitchen on a Sunday morning with his parents trying to make breakfast and proving that he’s a big strong boy now! Unfortunately it ended up in a nasty burn across his arm and face as a hot heavy pan was dropped. He did his best not to cry as a big boy now but he still did, it hurt a lot. His mother helped take care of the burn wounds and patched it up, said it’ll heal in a few days, nothing to worry about, their bodies knew how to patch itself up. And patch itself up it did, perhaps way too well. By that night when they checked on the burns they were nowhere in sight. Somehow his parents just knew at that point, told Ash that his body was just really good at healing, but they also told him that he couldn’t tell anyone about it - a secret just between them. Ashton obeyed but never really understood it until much later learning more about mutants. Yet he regretted ultimately failing in the end. Even in this still life however, he still doesn't tell just anyone about it.

After leaving the military, Ashton struggled to find a place to fit in. He didn’t know what it took to live the life most people did in Burnington anymore. He found the one thing he did learn during his time in military training, was that he always bartended or mixed drinks for his own team or during events, perhaps the one civilian skill he picked up in a non-civilian life. Gravitating to the job in a place where he keeps his eyes on only the job and nothing else, keeping talks of his past life to a minimum and instead listening to others share their woes instead. He didn’t know where else to go and needed some way to support himself while he served the militia, not willing to take any handouts from them. And besides, at least no one judges people here at Hell’s Gate, mutants alike. 

It’s been ages but there were still plenty of things he remembered of his parents, a box of their things he’s held onto ever since now tucked away safely in a drawer. Now older, it was clearer on the things they did that lightly steered away from afterglow, and of everything, Ashton felt like he can at least follow the other path after ruining the other he was walking on. Outside of his job and militia, like his mother, Ashton began helping teach homeschooled kids in his spare time, those wanting to stay out of the afterglow school system, he was taught and self-taught everything he knew, making use of EAA’s resources to study everything he could. Now he could bring that same knowledge, filtering out any biases to teach knowledge and only knowledge. He hoped his mother would’ve been proud of that at least.

The one thing Ashton has mostly kept to himself was his love and fascination with the night sky. Despite the rot and destruction of their planet, the stars stayed as pretty as he could ever remember. A vast abyss, moving along without blinking an eye to the self destruction of earth, nothing but a drop in an ocean of the universe. Ash learned all he could about the sky, the universe and astronomy, oftentimes when he wanted to be alone, he can be found on the rooftop of the academy or the compound, laying down to gaze at the sky, for once since he lost everything, this was the place he found peace again. Now he’s still looking for his best stargazing place in Burnington but he long remembered simply laying on the roof of his home with his mom as they pointed out stars, planets and constellations.

Once as a specialist, Ashton was talented in many areas within the military, but he’s best known for being a good shot, best sharpshooter they had, as well as leading stealth recon and lethal thunder runs. Ashton would be one of the first few names to pop up if you ever needed people for those. Now he hopes that those skill sets would still be useful in the Silver Lining Militia.

He has a german shepard, Dawn, that he trained with in the EAA, elite dogs bred and trained for warfare and now to aid the military in peacekeeping, and Ashton trained with her since she was a pup. She left the force with him on the account that she was just as stubborn as her trainer and refused to listen to any other soldier and let her go with him as an early retirement. 

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MBTI: ISFJ-T, The Defender (Turbulent)

Enneagram: Type5w6, The Troubleshooter

Astrological Sign: Scorpio

The sand was wet, water licking at her toes in a rhythm. The sea could be gentle at times. It was nights like this that Ashton enjoyed a moonlit walk to think and reminisce. It was beautiful, and a muse could appreciate that. Ashton liked it because if she looked out at the waves and focused on the beat of the water, she could hear Margot’s voice swirling around in her head. If only for a moment, things were right, but that moment didn't last. The angelic laughter in her mind always turned into a haunting accusation. It was her fault; that's how she felt about it. 

Usually, she was here in this place with only her thoughts. No one ever bothered her at night. Maybe it was the overabundance of the fae or other creatures that lurked in the shadows; maybe Ashton should fear them too, but she didn't. Ashton Murphy was content to lay on the sand, letting the salty breeze lick her wounds. Ashton wiped away her tears. The life she lived in her prison of exile was lonely and excruciating, but that's what she chose, what she deserved.

That self-sentenced punishment was what had Ashton lying in the sand with an empty bottle soaked to the bone and shivering. “You just fucking left!” ashton sat up and pulled a piece of paper out of her shirt's breast pocket. It was a poem, something about love and loss and the emotional wreck she was. Ashton stuffed it in the bottle and corked it tight before hurling it into the water. Ashton realized she wasn't alone, fuck, this was going to get interesting. The muse pleaded with her emotions to try and compose herself. 

“It's a little late to be —” Ashton sensed it, talent and potential and creativity, “—that makes sense.” Ashton wiped her tears with her sleeve. “still late to be alone out here.”

Being alone was something Meredith was trying to better acquaint herself with in her adulthood.  Growing up, she always had someone.  Her sister was her constant companion, and that was just the way she liked it.  She was happy now to see Mallory off living her life happy and free,  but a part of her longed for their childhood spent running down the beach.  It’s where she sat now, watching the waves as they crashed loudly over the rocky shore.  The monotonous sound was soothing to her, it was familiar, nostalgic.  It was why she came that night, to hear the water ebb and flow.  She needed the familiarity to keep her from spiraling into the unknown.  She felt like she was going crazy.  Maybe it was stupid to be out late, alone.  Whatever that thing was that had picked off her friends one by one was still out there.  Meredith had wounded it, she thought, but it wasn’t dead.  She feared it was on the hunt, she feared it had unfinished business.  She was completely vulnerable out here in the open, and yet it was one of the only places she felt sort of safe.

Meredith walked towards the water and let it encircle her ankles.  She closed her eyes, her arms crossed as she took a few deep breaths and just focused on the feeling of the frigid sea against her skin.  She debated running into it at full speed so she could feel the cold all around her, but she decided against it.  After a few minutes she pulled back and slid her sandals back on her feet.  She huffed, turning to make her way back down the shore.  She supposed she couldn’t stay out here all night, though back home was just more emptiness- more alone.

She thought she heard someone.  That same fear crept up in her throat.  The fear that came out as screams back in the woods.  Her hand felt for the jackknife that was now kept in her pocket- a token from her father after the attack.  She wasn’t sure how much good it would do and she wasn’t sure he was either, but she thought it made him feel good to give it to her, like he was doing something.  And Mere needed it too- the feeling that maybe she could defend herself if she needed to.  

Luckily there was no ghost or monster lurking on the beach.  It was a woman sitting on the sand.  “What?”  She didn’t look familiar, but she almost looked at Meredith like she recognized her.  It was a weird feeling.  “Yeah, I guess so.  I suppose I could say the same to you.  This isn’t like, the weird villain speech you give before you murder me, right?”

Ashton was sheets to the wind after her bouts with a furious ghost and her lack of sleep. It was easy to drown it all at the bottom of a bottle and let the water wash away the sins, “I think villains are a little more composed than this. You are safe for now, but it is late. There are dangers.” Ashton could be dangerous, not intentionally, but passively. There was no question about the dangers of a muse, especially when Ashton could sense the woman's creative potential. No, the muse would not reveal herself as the bad one now. Honestly, the idea of anything that didn’t resemble some penance was out of the question. This was Ashton’s moment to reflect on the weight of her guilt. 

“I’m not going to hurt you tonight.” Ashton put it plainly. Maybe eventually, there would be a need to take, but Ashton wasn’t in the habit of taking food by force. She’d have a choice in it, and that was that. They hardly ever said no, but the choice cleared Ashton’s conscience of wrongdoings.

“I’m safe here; my house is there, but I won’t return tonight. I’m going to sleep here.” Ashton smiled into the darkness as the waves came in. It was peaceful out here. That feeling was hard to come by lately. Ashton had forgotten it could be felt tangibly. 

“I’m out here because life fucking sucks, but you probably gathered that. Why are you out here?” Ashton drew her knees into her chest and shivered against the damp cold seeping through her clothes. This emptiness is what she deserved.

Meredith prided herself on having “a good head on her shoulders”.  That’s the way her dad phrased it.  She’d always rolled her eyes but she secretly reveled in the truth of it.  She let petty comments roll off her back like beads of ocean water.  She was practical and resourceful.  She saw the world clearly yet maintained a sense of creativity and wonder.  But she hadn’t felt this way of late.  She’d felt for weeks like her mind was not her own.  She flinched in the darkness and second guessed everything that was said to her.  And so, she wasn’t overly fond of the way the woman said “for now”.  She wasn’t fond of the way she said anything for that matter.  A year ago it wouldn’t have bothered her.  She’d chalk it up as a crazy lady on the beach who had one drink too many and got cryptic at night.  Now she wondered if this wasn’t some trick or taunt.  “I know plenty about dangers,” she replied, an unknowing lie.  

“Well gee, thanks,” Meredith kicked a rock and watched it skid across the sand towards the water.  She avoided sitting down next to the stranger, her eyes bouncing back and forth between her and the shoreline.  “I’ve slept a few times on this beach.  Never alone.” Meredith recalled the “camping” trips she’d take with her sister, her parents trailing not far behind but giving them the illusion of independence.  

 “Life fucking sucks,” she answered with a shrug.  She paused for a moment, the heaviness of it all weighing on her.  “This is where I come to clear my head.  It’s been uh- foggy lately.”

The haze was natural for Ashton. Sometimes, it felt like she lived outside of her body, looking down at the fragmented life that remained in the wake of all her losses. There were many listed—in order of most traumatic—in her little black book; all the creativity and beauty left in the wake made the tragedy worth it, or at least that thought was her twisted justification. 

She was here to avoid the sins of her past. There were lingering consequences clawing out of buried graves, consequences more significant than the guilt she was already accustomed to maintaining. “I had to get out of the house.” mainly because Margot was there, and Ashton could not take any more of the guilt her spirit was throwing in her face. 

“Are you a writer? A singer? Maybe an artist?” Ashton knew something was lurking in the woman, an essence of creativity she could feel in their proximity. 

“I am a writer; I used to write poetry,” she still did, but she couldn't quite unscramble the emotion from the words because There was too much emotion and not enough words. Ashton felt like screaming into the void across the cresting waves and drowning while she waited for the echoes to return.

“Do you know what a muse is?”

“Yeah, I get that,” Meredith responded, and she did.  Her apartment haunted her.  Stevie’s room sat empty across the living room.  She kept the door ajar to let the cat come and go.  Every once and awhile when she walked past she caught a glimpse of the few remnants that remained after her family had come to clean it out.  A bit of glitter on the floor, a mirror still hung on the wall with a picture of the two of them stuck in the frame.  It didn’t get easier seeing the room hollowed out, sometimes she just needed to escape.  

The question caught her a bit off guard.  Perhaps it was the flecks of paint permanently stained on her fingernails, or maybe she had a stain on her somewhere.  “Does the brooding by the sea in the middle of the night give it away?”  She allowed herself to show a small smile.  “An artist.  I paint, mostly.  But I’ve been experimenting with digital art more lately.”  She explained, though she wasn’t quite sure why she delved into more detail than necessary.  Maybe it was the ocean, maybe it was the bit of wine that still lingered in her system.  “You don’t anymore?”  She probably shouldn’t pry into the life of a drunk stranger on the beach but a part of her needed the conversation, to get out of her own head if only for a few fleeting minutes.

“Like…Greek mythology?  ‘Goddesses of the arts and proclaimers of heroes’, muses?” 

Ashton nodded, “bad shit happened in there. My wife died and I don’t think she left. Do you believe in ghosts? I didn’t but I do now.” Ashton let the tears fall freely then. She cried because it was her fault and the guilt was hers alone. It eroded her exterior and bared her insides to the world. The manicured armor she carefully strapped into place crumbled beneath the weight of it all. 

“What gives it away is nothing you have any control of. I can sense the creativity in you, taste it practically when you’re this close.” Ashton drew her gaze away from the water to study the woman more closely, “I write some, nothing good, there’s too much emotion and not enough words to let it all out.”

She tossed her head back in laughter, laughing and crying was perfectly doable together. It was just intensity and Ashton was usually good at being  tense. 

“Did,” Ashton giggled, “just quote the beginning of the Disney animated Hercules? Close, but I’m actually Irish. A muse is a type of being who inspires art and feeds on creativity. There’s a small price, like all things come at a price. If I feed on you, you will be inspired to create truly breathtaking art.”

Ghosts…Meredith hadn’t believed in them either.  She’d always assumed most ghost stories were fake or weird coincidences, but her night in the cabin had changed all that.  Maybe it was a ghost, maybe it was something worse.  Either way, she wasn’t sure what she believed now.  “I’m so sorry,” was all she answered, unsure of exactly how to respond.  

Her head turned to mean the woman’s gaze.  She had an odd way of speaking, she wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or just who she was.  Part of it was alluring and interesting- another part sent a chill up Meredith’s spine.  “Well, I guess it’s good I give off artistic energy.  There are worse vibes I could exude.”  She smiled, an attempt at lightening the mood.  “I’m sure you’re better than you think.  Part of art is failing.  There’s been a lot of projects I’ve scrapped.  But, I get what you mean.  Sometimes it feels impossible to get it right.”

A nervous laugh escaped Mere’s lips as the other woman cackled in the sand.  “Yeah, it’s a great movie,” she said with a serious smile.  Her ear’s listened intently as the blonde explained exactly what she meant.  Her eyebrows furrowed, was she serious?

“I’m sorry…feed?”  She had a weird feeling- it brought her back to the woods.  She felt herself scooting back a little on the sand as anxiety tingled in her fingertips and made her heart thump.  “You’re saying you’ll make me a better artist and I’ll what…bake you a lasagna?” 

“Sorry, everyone is sorry. My trauma doesn't really care one way or another. I can drown in it without you being sorry for it. The sentiment is nice, though. Thank you for it. I'm sorry for you too. Everyone has endured something worth being sorry for. Trauma is a common denominator in this neck of the woods.” The girl continued, Ashton listened. She was creative, the muse could feel it. She, however, found the idea of taking from her repulsive. “Fucking unfair, the way it works. You seem sweet, do you want to hear a few lines?” Ashton looked up at her with a half smile drowning in tear streaks. She was sweet too, dripping with creativity and raw talent. Ashton wanted s taste terribly.

“It is. I'm not Greek. I'm half-Irish on my mother’s side. Sidhe, a name we are called there. I don't know all the history. My mum only taught so much. Fae, you probably recognize that word. With them being all the rage in fantasy novels. There's a lot of different kinds.” Ashton’s words were slow and slurred with the alcohol. She had consumed much to drown out the fucking Cranberries. 

“A muse takes life force. I wouldn't take anything you didn't offer me. I can give you the inspiration to achieve great fame for your art or whatever piece you are working on. It's not a bad deal in small doses. I advise you tell me to fuck off. It's not worth it in the end. You just lose everything you love most.”

Ashton spoke from the heart. She fucked up a lot of meals that way. She couldn't feed on the ones who reflected her pity. The people who saw her breaking, a Morton of her guilt and shame. “I like pasta.”

The woman’s words made Meredith immediately regret her own.  She related to the sentiment- she’d heard so much apologizing lately, it got her nowhere.  She didn’t know what to say anymore when people said it, she knew they were just trying to be nice, just trying to show they care, just as she was to this stranger on the beach.  But she was right, Meredith was drowning and it didn’t matter how sorry people were for it.  So she kept her lips tight and didn’t say anything further, just let her eyes watch the shoreline and listened to the beat of the waves against the sand.  

“Sure,” she tried to smile, looking back at the other, wondering if her poetry would be any good or just strings of drunken ramblings.  She wouldn’t judge either way, she had canvases collecting dust in her apartment that were nothing more than smears and smatters of color.  She got a bit messy when she’d been drinking or crying or both.