‧₊˚✧ hi! i’m aster, and i should have made one of these ages ago so here i am :3 ✧˚₊‧
⤑ i’m 17 ᐢᗜᐢ
⤑ i’m an aries ♈︎
⤑ very unfortunately, i’m from britain (but so is my pookie ♡︎)
⤑ i’ve been a redacted fan since may ‘23
⤑ i’m quite literally just here for the vibes and i love all of my moots mwah mwah ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡
⤑ i’ll mainly be posting about redacted because that’s what i’m here for, but also you will get random shitposts about me too so i hope you enjoy thatㅤᵕ̈
⤑ my favourite characters are porter (ofc), avior, vega, milo, and gavin ☽｡⋆
⤑ honourary mentions to huxley and damien though because they make my heart melt <3
⤑ ALSO my ask box is always open so help yourself :3
⤑ i do not and will not ever tolerate hateful speech here, including sexism, homophobia, transphobia, or harmful religious or political beliefs - my page is a safe space for literally everyone else
something about a deaf telepath who finds comfort in the way the world never truly goes silent despite everything, always accompanied by the quiet buzz of busy minds and swirling thoughts
this is Aster :3 hes those glow in the dark stars you can put on your ceiling, and he takes inspiration from greek mythology (as seen by the constellations on their outfit and their namesake)
this is Aster :3 hes those glow in the dark stars you can put on your ceiling, and he takes inspiration from greek mythology (as seen by the constellations on their outfit and their namesake)
“sam used to love going out in the sun and now he watches the pack from a distance wishing he could feel the warmth on his skin-”
okay i raise you darlin who loves being outside - sprawling out on the grass, climbing trees, chasing rabbits through the woods in their wolf form - but is incredibly prone to sunstroke and has to take regular breaks with shade and water
cue darlin and sam glaring at the sun together from the blissfully shaded porch of his cabin, eyes twitching because the forest that stretches out for miles in front of them looks oh so inviting but that cursed ball of fire in the sky might kill them both
porter who’s always preening his long, sharp nails, painting and filing them so meticulously because his hands are his pride and joy - even if they’re covered in blood
porter who’s so careful with treasure, keeping his hands flat and gentle against their skin as he holds them, leaving them to marvel at his painstaking care
porter who’s secretly thrilled when treasure begs him to dig those nails into their thighs, their back, their shoulders - and porter who’s always running his fingers through their hair with tender grace, scraping the tips over their scalp
you know what’s cheaper? giving william a long list of gay lovers from over his timeless existence
grappling with the wretched inevitability of his feelings, the fleeting glances snatched from across the pews of the church, the nights spent on his knees in futile repentance for the sinful nature of his love for the boy in the neighbouring village who only visits on sundays in 1512
succumbing to stolen kisses behind his father’s farmhouse, pressed up against the creaking wooden panelling as hands roamed soil-smudged skin in a desperate rush of teeth and tongues as the sun set in 1517
tugging a boy up the stairs of a tavern with unsteady hands and a delighted grin, eyes twinkling when he didn’t flinch from the sharp teeth flashing from beneath those full lips, door slamming shut behind them in 1525
writing lines of poetry on yellowed sheets of parchment by candlelight, his quill bleeding ink over the page as he scrawled his loving adoration for every aspect of the man residing halfway across the country - his dark eyes, his strong jaw, the broadness of both his shoulders and his smile in 1574
learning to rip his hand from his lover’s in the street if someone’s eyes lingered too long, cursing himself for forgetting to behave as two young men should: just two business partners, just two handsome aristocrats, not two friends giddy with the secret that they’d explored each other’s bodies only the night before in 1608
uprooting himself every full moon, knowing that the consequences for his illicit relationships with the same sex would pale in the face of what might happen should he be discovered as a creature of the night, written about in storybooks and fairytales and burned at the stake in his own nightmares in 1642
watching the life fade from his beloved, hand going limp in his own as he tightened his grip, closing his eyes and praying that their love had not condemned him to an afterlife of eternal suffering in exchange for the paradise of their embrace in 1721
sinking his teeth into the tender skin of a willing neck, wanton moans tearing free of the man beneath him, fingers raking down his back with reckless abandon and delirious pleasure in 1783
dancing in the low lamplight of a gentleman’s club in the early hours of the morning, the door locked and the music quiet as hands wandered beneath tailcoats and toyed with buttons, laughter hushed and reverent in 1822
finding himself sat to dinner with a young lady and her father, a man who was incredibly determined to have her married off by the end of the year, only to find a picture of another young woman stowed safely in her purse and stained with her own lipstick, handing it back to her with nothing but a knowing smile in 1886
sending a lover off to war and running alongside the train as though determined to stop it leaving the station, ignoring the disapproving eyes of everyone else on the platform, wanting only to burn the memory of that freckled nose and those soft lashes into his mind in 1942
seeing a young couple holding hands in the street, rings glinting on fingers, faces aglow with warmth and carefree laughter, behaving as two young men should: pressing kisses to the other’s jaw, knuckles white as they clung to each other, thrilled to have been given their freedom, terrified that it might yet be taken away once more in 2015
catching the eye of an old friend in the dining hall, shooting him a wink and a quiet promise to meet him upstairs as soon as the plates had been cleared in 2023
william solaire and his memories of the many men who made his life worth living
you know what’s cheaper? giving william a long list of gay lovers from over his timeless existence
grappling with the wretched inevitability of his feelings, the fleeting glances snatched from across the pews of the church, the nights spent on his knees in futile repentance for the sinful nature of his love for the boy in the neighbouring village who only visits on sundays in 1512
succumbing to stolen kisses behind his father’s farmhouse, pressed up against the creaking wooden panelling as hands roamed soil-smudged skin in a desperate rush of teeth and tongues as the sun set in 1517
tugging a boy up the stairs of a tavern with unsteady hands and a delighted grin, eyes twinkling when he didn’t flinch from the sharp teeth flashing from beneath those full lips, door slamming shut behind them in 1525
writing lines of poetry on yellowed sheets of parchment by candlelight, his quill bleeding ink over the page as he scrawled his loving adoration for every aspect of the man residing halfway across the country - his dark eyes, his strong jaw, the broadness of both his shoulders and his smile in 1574
learning to rip his hand from his lover’s in the street if someone’s eyes lingered too long, cursing himself for forgetting to behave as two young men should: just two business partners, just two handsome aristocrats, not two friends giddy with the secret that they’d explored each other’s bodies only the night before in 1608
uprooting himself every full moon, knowing that the consequences for his illicit relationships with the same sex would pale in the face of what might happen should he be discovered as a creature of the night, written about in storybooks and fairytales and burned at the stake in his own nightmares in 1642
watching the life fade from his beloved, hand going limp in his own as he tightened his grip, closing his eyes and praying that their love had not condemned him to an afterlife of eternal suffering in exchange for the paradise of their embrace in 1721
sinking his teeth into the tender skin of a willing neck, wanton moans tearing free of the man beneath him, fingers raking down his back with reckless abandon and delirious pleasure in 1783
dancing in the low lamplight of a gentleman’s club in the early hours of the morning, the door locked and the music quiet as hands wandered beneath tailcoats and toyed with buttons, laughter hushed and reverent in 1822
finding himself sat to dinner with a young lady and her father, a man who was incredibly determined to have her married off by the end of the year, only to find a picture of another young woman stowed safely in her purse and stained with her own lipstick, handing it back to her with nothing but a knowing smile in 1886
sending a lover off to war and running alongside the train as though determined to stop it leaving the station, ignoring the disapproving eyes of everyone else on the platform, wanting only to burn the memory of that freckled nose and those soft lashes into his mind in 1942
seeing a young couple holding hands in the street, rings glinting on fingers, faces aglow with warmth and carefree laughter, behaving as two young men should: pressing kisses to the other’s jaw, knuckles white as they clung to each other, thrilled to have been given their freedom, terrified that it might yet be taken away once more in 2015
catching the eye of an old friend in the dining hall, shooting him a wink and a quiet promise to meet him upstairs as soon as the plates had been cleared in 2023
william solaire and his memories of the many men who made his life worth living
