i’m Akia, he/him ✦ I post whump writing & art ✦ I try to tag everything!
Writing Tag: #akia.txt
Art Tag: #akias art
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Rules for asks: I do take requests, asks are open,. if you have a thought about one of my characters I wanna know about it! but if I don’t get to it right away i am hoarding it like a dragon until inspiration strikes :>
Please, no spam or block evasions, and no minors pls!!
whumper holding up a camera with one hand and a gun in the other, forcing their two hostage whumpees to make out and touch each other for his fucked up red room porno. making a big show of flicking the safety off. pulling the hammer down to cock the gun when they’re not sounding pretty enough for him, letting that loud clicking sound scare them into a more enthusiastic performance. making one captive deepthroat the gun while he films it pov style..
For requests, what about Elliot getting examined by the doctor or medic on the new ship? He thinks they’re going to assault him when they ask him to strip and they’re horrified by how many scars he has and the condition he’s in.
Thank you so much for this ask!!
Worthless Pirate AU - A Transfer of Ownership
Masterlist
Content: slavery whump, mention of past abuse, mention of past noncon, nonsexual nudity, bound and gagged whumpee, whumpee expects/offers noncon
If I missed any content warnings, please let me know!
I got a little carried away with this one too! 4k words
-
“This wasn't the plan, Karine,” an unfamiliar voice said.
Upon stepping aboard the new ship, Elliot was shoved to the ground against a stack of crates, still gagged, bound, and blindfolded. He curled up as much as he could, despite the burning pain in his back. His small body was shaking and his tears were soaking through the dark fabric of his blindfold.
“It is now,” Karine's voice said. “And I will take no criticism on this.”
“I have to agree with Lyra on this one, Captain,” Landon's voice cut in. “This is insane.”
“That is not at all what I'm saying,” the first voice said. “I'm not trying to criticize you, Karine. I'm just confused. Who is this boy?”
“A slave Landon found aboard the Serpent's Wrath.”
Elliot whimpered and squirmed in his bonds. He didn't want to listen to this. He just wanted to go home, back to his master. His existence was miserable, but it was all he knew.
“And you decided to take him? Why?”
“He does not need to be present for this conversation. We can discuss this later. Now, back to your posts. And get me Broderick.”
“Aye, Captain.”
The floorboards creaked as someone approached the discarded slave. Elliot whined beneath his gag, tensing as he awaited the tug of a fist in his hair. But that didn't come. Instead, his blindfold was torn off and his gag was gingerly untied. Elliot forced his eyes open, despite the glaring sun and yelped when he saw Karine kneeling in front of him. He hunched his shoulders and lowered his head in reverence. “P-Please, d-don’t hurt me,” he mumbled.
Karine was silent for a beat and Elliot didn't breathe until she finally said, “What's your name?”
Shocked, Elliot lifted his eyes slightly. What game was she playing? Master always said slaves didn't need names. Was she testing him just to punish him right out the gate? Didn't she know that she didn't need a reason to punish him? That he was hers to play with as she pleased? Maybe this was part of the fun for her. Maybe she liked the thought of playing with his anxiety. He might as well find out what her punishments looked like. It would save him more stress in the long run.
“E-Elliot,” he finally answered.
Karine smirked and Elliot's stomach dropped. “Nice to meet you, Elliot,” she said, to Elliot's awe. “I'm Captain Karine de la Peña. Pleasure.”
Elliot shuddered. “Y-You're Captain de la Peña?
Karine nodded. “Aye, but you can call me Karine. Welcome aboard the Relentless.” She made a wide sweep of her arm to gesture across the ship, but Elliot’s eyes remained firmly planted on his lap. He had to be good. He was at the mercy of the infamous pirate king. What other choice did he have?
“Captain?” a new voice said. Elliot flinched, a sense of dread swelling in his stomach. Karine peered over her shoulder, but didn’t stand up from her kneeling position. Elliot was confused. She was the captain, and not only that, but she was also the most feared and respected pirate to ever set sail across these waters. How could she stand to sit lower than her crew? Didn’t she know she was meant to be above them? How could they ever remember their place if she allowed herself to kneel beneath them?
“You wanted to see me?” the stranger said. The man was tall, but not nearly as tall as Landon. He had warm brown eyes and skin to match. His black, tightly coiled hair was cropped close to his scalp and there wasn’t a single visible scar on the man’s body. Elliot was astounded. He’d never seen an unmarred pirate before.
“Aye,” de la Peña said, finally standing to her feet. From Elliot’s low vantage point, she and the stranger seemed to be of relatively equal height. Not that it mattered. Elliot was exactly where he belonged, bound and sitting at their feet. He bowed his head again in an attempt to make himself smaller. “This is Elliot.” Karine gestured toward the prisoner at her feet. “I need you to examine him for injuries and treat any you find.”
The man looked at the shivering boy as though just noticing him for the first time. “One of Whitlock’s?” the man asked. Karine gave a single curt nod in response. “Since when do we take prisoners?” Elliot flinched again. Was this man seriously questioning his captain? Elliot had borne witness to far too many executions and he squeezed his eyes shut in preparation for another.
But all Karine said in response was, “Since today. Now I’ve given you an order, Broderick. Once the boy is sufficiently treated, I will gather the crew and explain everything. Now, take our guest to the med bay and make sure he is well looked after. I will be hearing no more qualms about this. Savvy?”
The man nodded but said no word in response, even as Karine left the two alone. The stranger fixed his gaze on the bound slave at his feet. Elliot was trembling, terror igniting in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want to go to the med bay. He was too exhausted and his only injuries were the lash marks on his back and the deep purple bruises painting his limbs and torso. Why couldn’t they take him to the brig instead?
The stranger sighed. “All right, little thing. Up you get.” The words were gentle, not spoken in the way of a command, but Elliot knew an order when he heard one. With his hands bound, it was difficult to push himself to his feet. Each movement pulled at the welts on his back, sending fire shooting up the boy’s spine. Just as he nearly managed to scramble to his knees, he slipped, his back crashing against the crates he was propped against. Elliot hissed in pain, a faint whimper escaping his throat. The stranger rushed to his aid, gently taking hold of his shoulders in order to hold him steady. “Ah, apologies there, mate. Let me help ya.” The man gingerly guided the slave to his feet. “Don’t worry. The med bay is just below deck. Not far at all. Think you can make it?”
Elliot nodded, though his confidence was minimal. With the way his hands were bound, keeping his balance aboard a rocking ship would be difficult. But he didn’t have a choice. “Y-Yes, Sir,” he said. Elliot didn’t look to gauge the man’s reaction to his obedience, but he hoped he was pleasing the pirate. Captain Whitlock had trained him well. He could be good. He could prove himself worthy of serving the pirate king and her crew as a hostage.
The stranger gently nudged Elliot in the direction of the ship’s hatch and helped him below deck. He didn’t bother to untie the boy’s hands, but Elliot had expected as much. A slave couldn’t be trusted with unchecked use of its appendages.
Elliot let himself be led through the underbelly of the ship until they reached the med bay, at which point, the slave finally looked up from his feet. The med bay was nothing like the one Elliot was used to. This one was clean and well-maintained with glass cupboards fully stocked with multi-colored labeled jars. There was a cot in the center of the room with a thin mattress, atop which lay several white folded sheets. There was a wash basin in the corner, but this one looked to be made of steel, as opposed to the splintered wooden one aboard the Serpent’s Wrath. It was empty, but the cauldron suspended over the furnace along the wall gave Elliot hope that hot water was a possibility. He quickly snuffed out that flicker of hope. Obviously, that wasn’t for him. He had never bathed in hot water before. That luxury was reserved for the captain and possibly a lucky first mate. Hot water would be wasted on a slave.
“All right, just sit there,” the stranger commanded, gesturing to the cot. Elliot did as he was told, wincing at the pressure on the welts along his thighs and buttocks. He sat as still as he could manage while the man dug through one of the lower cabinets in search of something that Elliot couldn’t see. “It’s Elliot, right?” the man said, his back still facing the slave.
It had been so long since Elliot had last heard that name. He knew it was his, but it sounded so foreign. “Y-Yes, Sir,” he mumbled, his voice soft and quivering.
The man stood to his feet, joints popping as he did so. He turned back to face Elliot, a crooked smile on his face. “I’m Broderick. Ship doctor,” he said. “Nice to meet you.” Confusion immersed Elliot’s features, but he didn’t have time to dwell on the thought before he noticed the pristine knife in Broderick’s left hand. Elliot paled, suppressing a gasp at the sight of the weapon in the medic’s hand. They were gonna kill him. This wasn’t a hostage situation at all. This was revenge.
Broderick didn’t seem to notice his terror, moving to kneel behind the slave. Elliot tensed, preparing for the familiar feeling of steel carving through his flesh. What came instead, however, was a gentle tug at his wrists followed by the sound of the knife slicing through his ropes. “So,” Broderick began as he worked to relieve the boy of his restraints. “The Serpent’s Wrath, eh? What made you wanna join that crew? You’re not the kinda pirate they normally take in. You owe money to Whitlock or somethin’?”
As the pressure around Elliot’s wrists fell away, Broderick stood to his feet and returned the knife to its resting place. Elliot brought his hands out from behind his back and gently rubbed at the raw skin the ropes had left behind. “N-No, Sir.”
Broderick hummed, still facing away from the slave. “Ah, just fell for his charm, eh? Can’t say I blame ya. The man’s a right bastard, but least he’s nice to look at, eh?” Elliot didn’t respond, opting instead to ponder what the medic was talking about. Did he not know that Elliot was a slave? If he could look at the state of the boy and assume he was just a regular pirate, what state did they keep their slaves in aboard this ship? Elliot shivered at the thought.
“Right then,” Broderick said, turning to face the boy once more. “Captain says I need to check you for injuries. Mind stripping to your undergarments?”
Elliot froze. He wanted to obey, he really did, but… “I don’t have undergarments.”
Broderick furrowed his brow, a deep blush crawling up his neck. “Uh…” his voice shook a little and he nervously scratched the back of his head. “Not really sure how I'm meant to check you for injuries then. Might I ask why not?”
Elliot averted his gaze, choosing instead to focus on the raw skin encircling his wrists. “Master doesn't allow them. N-Not for me.”
“Master?” Broderick repeated, a hint of disgust slipping into his voice. “You mean Whitlock? He makes his crew call him Master?”
Elliot shook his head. The medic seemed confused, but Elliot hadn't been given an order to elaborate. As much as he wanted to explain himself, it was improper of a slave to correct its superior. He had to be good. He just had to be good.
After several long, agonizing moments of awkward silence, Broderick nodded. “Right. I'll fetch you some undergarments. Wait right here, mate.”
Elliot didn't lift his gaze from the floor. “Yes, Sir.”
Once the medic had gone, Elliot took the opportunity to finally process what was happening. He was a hostage aboard an enemy ship, at the mercy of de la Peña herself. His master had hardly fought for him, despite claiming that he was his prized possession. He was alone in uncharted territory, surrounded by pirates that seemed to hate the very existence of the man that owned him. What was he supposed to do? What was going to happen to him?
Elliot flinched at the sound of the door swinging open, the medic nervously reentering the room. “So, uh…” Broderick began. “We've nothin’ that'll fit you. S’pose you could leave your trousers on. Do you've any injuries on your lower body?”
Elliot nodded sluggishly. He was exhausted. Whatever this game was that the medic was playing with him, he just wanted to get it over with. He knew what was about to happen to him. It was just cruel to delay the inevitable like this.
“Right,” the medic said. “S'pose we don't have a choice then.”
Elliot wanted to laugh at that, if he were even capable of making such a sound anymore. He never had a choice. That was the whole point of all of this.
He knew what he was supposed to do, and this time, he didn't need instructions to do it.
Elliot pushed himself off of the cot, his insides churning. He didn't want to do this. He really didn't want to do this. But that was the point, wasn't it? That's what made it so exciting for everyone else. That's why it would never stop.
Elliot slowly and deliberately stripped out of his oversized clothes, starting with his poet's blouse. He grasped the hem between his thumb and forefinger, blinking back tears, and methodically pulled the loose, stained garment over his head.
Broderick gasped. The boy's torso was a rainbow of bruises, countless shades of black, blue, purple, red, yellow, green interlacing to create a masterpiece of the midnight sky across the boy's skin. The angles of his body were sharp, bones jutting out in all directions. As the boy leaned over to strip out of his trousers, the medic caught sight of angry red lash marks on his back. His lower body was a similar story. Cuts and slices criss-crossed his skin overtop old scars, hand-shaped bruises painted his thighs, and Broderick could see the whip marks that were wrapped around the back of his thin legs.
The boy didn't even try to cover himself, to retain any semblance of dignity. He just stood there, still as stone, as though waiting to be given an order.
It was only then, as Broderick’s eyes roamed across the poor thing's battered body, that the medic noticed the long-healed scar over top of the boy's heart. The scar’s glossy sheen gave away just what kind of scar it was.
The burn was clearly old, likely several years old, but the image it created was as clear as the day it was burned into the boy's skin.
No, not burned.
Branded.
The insignia of the Serpent's Wrath was branded into this young boy's chest.
Elliot couldn't take the silence any longer. He knew what the man must've been thinking as he took his time gazing upon the slave's naked body. He was wondering how he wanted to use the slave. And Elliot was truthfully thinking the same, though the exact opposite. He was wondering how he'd be forced to repay this man for the medical attention he was about to receive. The ship doctor aboard the Serpent's Wrath always appreciated a simple blow job after treating the slave. Elliot just hoped this one would be as easy to please.
“Um…” Broderick began, voice quivering. “Would you mind turning ‘round for me?” Elliot did as he was told, almost robotically. He slowly turned on his heel, and Broderick didn't miss the tiny, near invisible wince he gave.
Save for the brand over the boy's heart, his back looked even worse than his front. The myriad of bruises matched those on the front of his torso, but this time they were intersected by long, fresh lashes. The glimpse of the lashes Broderick had spotted before didn't do them justice. The welts were long, jagged, and swollen. They were a bright, angry red, but that could've been attributed to the thin coating of blood covering Elliot's back. But they didn't stop there. The lashes continued downwards, mostly concentrated on the boy's ass, but his thighs hadn't been spared either. The welts below his waistline ended just above his knees and were clearly not as fresh as the ones on his back.
Based on the fact that some were still oozing blood, it was safe to say the lashes spanning from his shoulders to his hips couldn't have been received any longer than an hour ago. While the ones below his waistline must've been given the night before.
Broderick's heart ached for the boy. He silently cursed himself for being too blind to see it before. He'd called Whitlock Master, he was branded with the serpents’ insignia, all he seemed able to say was “yes, sir” and “no, sir”, he was thin as a needlefish, and he wore more wounds than Broderick had ever seen. This wasn't a pirate. However Elliot had ended up aboard the Serpent's Wrath, it wasn't by choice.
Broderick’s stomach twisted into a knot. He'd known Christian for years. The man was an entitled piece of shite, but Broderick could never have imagined he'd do something like this.
Broderick cleared his throat. “Uh…you-you can turn back ‘round now.” Elliot did as he was told, not a flicker of defiance in his small, horribly beaten body. Broderick nervously scratched the back of his neck. “Right then. Um…why don't you, uh, just sit here a minute? I'll go have a word with the captain.”
Elliot's stomach clenched, but he did as he was told, sinking into the thin cot mattress. Why did he need to speak with the captain? Had Elliot done something wrong? Had his marks turned the man off? No, that couldn't be it. Master always said he was prettier like this.
Broderick paused just in front of the door and turned back to face the slave. “Uh, feel free to use one of those sheets to cover up, if you want.” He gestured to the pile of folded linens beside Elliot. “I'll be right back.” With that, he disappeared into the corridor beyond the med bay.
Elliot glanced at the white sheets, contemplating whether that was explicit permission or not. He desperately wanted to be covered, of course, but what he wanted didn't matter. Was the medic simply trying to be polite? He'd seemed genuinely disgusted at the sight of Elliot's body. Perhaps this was his way of telling the slave to cover up without being overtly insulting. That was generous of him. Elliot hesitantly took one of the sheets and draped it over the lower half of his body.
Elliot's attention was stolen by the sound of harsh, muffled voices on the other side of the door. It was difficult to make out the words, but they sounded frantic and stressed and like they were trying their best to keep a hushed tone. Elliot tried his best not to eavesdrop, but the walls were thin and he couldn't help the way the words slipped through the cracks as the voices grew louder.
“You didn't tell me he was a slave, Karine.” Broderick's voice said. “What use have we for this boy?”
“I told you, I would discuss this with the whole crew after you've treated him,” Karine's voice returned. “So, if you want answers, I suggest you do your job.”
“It will take me a very long time to treat him. You haven't seen how bad it is.”
“I know how bad it is,” Karine's voice said.
“No, you don't!” Broderick exclaimed in a whisper-shout. “I've never seen someone in a state like this before. It's horrific.”
Elliot glanced down at his body, at the brush strokes of purple left behind by boots, fists, and anything else the crew was creative enough to see as a weapon. Horrific. Tears welled in his eyes at the thought. Master had always said he looked beautiful like this, like he was their very own work of art. He'd never been described as horrific before. Was he really that repulsive?
The conversation continued, but Elliot's thoughts were too hyper focused on that one word to continue listening.
By the time the door opened again, his tears were flowing freely. He threw himself to his knees at the medic's feet, not noticing the captain lingering behind him. Elliot lowered his head and cried, shoulders shaking with the effort to hold back the loud sobs rising up his throat.
“I-I'm so sorry, Sir,” Elliot said, bowing down until his forehead collided with the salt-stained wood.
Confusion etched onto Broderick's features. He glanced over his shoulder at his equally-confused captain, but she was more focused on the black and purple bruises spanning the boy's torso. Looking back at the kneeling, naked boy, Broderick didn't know what to do. “Uh…sorry for what, mate?”
Elliot knew what was happening. He'd been through this song and dance more times than he could count. Broderick wanted him to admit what he'd done wrong. He wanted to hear the slave accept how disgusting he was.
“I'm s-sorry I-I've r-repulsed you.” Elliot lifted his head, eyes bloodshot and overflowing with tears. “P-Please don't p-punish me for-for my ugliness. I promise, I-I can still service you.”
Elliot nodded eagerly. “Y-Yes, Sir. I-I've done it before, h-hundreds of times. Master's ship doctor r-required it after every-every time he treated me. I-I could use my m-mouth. Or-Or my hands, wh-whatever d-disgusts you the-the least. You-You don't even have to l-look at me. Please, l-let me p-prove to you that-that I'm a good boy.”
Broderick's breathing had ceased somewhere during Elliot's desperate pleas. Surely he wasn't hearing what he thought he was. He wanted to look at Karine, to gauge her reaction to this, but he couldn't tear his eyes from the trembling, naked boy at his feet.
He didn't want to ask. He really didn't, but he had to know for sure what the boy was asking.
“Are you—Are you offering to-to suck me off?” The medic shakily asked.
Elliot's face reddened, his eyes darting from side to side, unable to land squarely on the medic standing above him. He forced a nod. “Y-Yes, Sir.”
Broderick didn't know what to say. This was too much. Karine had taken prisoner a slave from an enemy ship, a slave who had clearly been beaten and whipped sometime recently, a slave who had just offered himself up to be raped. It was just too much. “I think I'm gonna be sick,” Broderick mumbled.
Devastation flowed through the boy at the sound of those words. This was all he had. This was all he could offer the medic in return for his treatment, but he was too disgusting. The man was too repulsed by the sight of him, even the thought of using him made Broderick sick. What else was he supposed to do?
Karine watched the scene unfold, mouth agape. She'd known upon seeing the boy for the first time that he had been treated like scum, but this was so far beyond what she could've imagined. The poor boy looked crestfallen. Maybe she was way more in over head than she thought.
Broderick panicked upon seeing the way the boy deflated. “I-I'm sorry, mate. I shouldn't have said that. What-What I meant to say was, I-I'd never do anythin’ like that to you, not because you're ugly, but-but because I-I'm not like your old ship doctor, okay? You don't have to repay me or anythin’ like that. This is my job. This is what I do and I don't expect payment for it.”
Elliot sniffled and wiped his tears, lowering his head in shame. “I'm s-sorry, Sir. I-I shouldn't have a-assumed.”
“No worries, mate. I just wanna treat your wounds. Savvy?”
Elliot nodded, keeping his face hidden from view. “Y-Yes, Sir.”
Broderick nodded. “Right then. Um…why don't you lay face-down on the cot? I promise, I won't do anything to you. You-You can use the folded sheets as pillows if you'd like, and-and I'll prepare to clean you up.”
“Yes, Sir.” As Elliot scrambled to obey, wincing as he did so, Broderick glanced at the horrified expression on Karine's face. Once the boy was settled on the cot, she finally met the ship doctor's gaze, shock and awe visibly displayed on her face. Broderick motioned for her to leave the med bay, but not before shooting her a look that said, What have you gotten us into?
-
Thank you so much for the ask!! This was so much fun to write. I'm having a blast exploring my characters in a new environment.
I know a lot of you were excited for more post-rescue pirate content, so I really hope you enjoyed this!! If anyone else has any suggestions or requests for this au, please send them to me!!
The next couple weeks are gonna be very busy for me, so forgive me if I take a short break from writing. Unless I come up with something that I simply can't ignore😏
Got another reminder that my captive is docile, not domesticated. I let my guard down and it BIT ME so fucking hard OW. And it’s in a spot on my back that most of my dresses don’t cover AND I can’t reach to put concealer over. There are risks to owning something that wasn't raised in captivity. It doesn’t always remember that it’s trapped. It lashes out. Caged animal. Sharp teeth. Fucking Ow.
Okay now I do love violent and degrading sadomasochism, but there is something so goddamn hot to me about the softer more coercive kind of sadomasochism too. Like “I love you so much baby, you’re so good. It’s just that I get off on your pain and suffering. You want me to get off, don’t you? You’re so pretty when you’re scared.” Cause how can you say no to that? How can you fault them for hitting you harder, for squeezing your neck tighter, for holding you down when you’re crying and making you take more?
whumper holding up a camera with one hand and a gun in the other, forcing their two hostage whumpees to make out and touch each other for his fucked up red room porno. making a big show of flicking the safety off. pulling the hammer down to cock the gun when they’re not sounding pretty enough for him, letting that loud clicking sound scare them into a more enthusiastic performance. making one captive deepthroat the gun while he films it pov style..
oooooh please please take his journal away and have us witness it
I intended this to be a short little thing and now it’s 2,000 words and I have a follow up planned lmao. Takes place a few months into Aster’s captivity <3
CW: captivity whump, implied past noncon, strangulation mention
***
Aster shivered where he sat on the couch, curled up with his feet under him to keep warm. He could tell the weather was changing outside, it had been nearly unbearably cold in the basement lately. He’d had to ask Warren for more blankets, thicker socks, even slippers, all of which the man happily provided. Aster supposed he was lucky that he wouldn’t freeze to death down here, unpleasant as the whole situation was, at least he had that peace of mind.
He briefly glanced up at the TV, one of the few movies he had playing on low volume, before flipping to a page in the back of his journal and making another tally mark under the title of that movie. He’d officially watched every movie he owned ten times now. He then turned to a clean page, writing Friday across the top of it. He wasn’t sure of the exact date, though he suspected they were nearing the start of December, but Warren had let the day of the week slip once a few weeks ago. Aster had been clinging to that ever since, writing down the week day with every entry in his journal, finally able to maintain some sense of time.
He’d been writing in that journal every day since Warren gave it to him. He found immense comfort in continuing the routine he’d kept at home, writing a little about his day, his thoughts, making notes of positive things that happened to him. He used to make a list every day, marking down every single positive thing he could think of, everything that might remind him life was worth living, and as his mental health improved he started listing only one thing for each day. He no longer felt like he was clinging to a lifeline made up of tiny positive moments, but he still wanted to keep track of the notable ones.
-Monday, Warren brought me dessert. Blueberry cheesecake. Still unsure whether he makes these himself or buys them.
-Tuesday, I made 26 paper stars in total. Will need to ask Warren for a jar to store them.
-Wednesday, Warren brought me thicker blankets to deal with the cold. One of them has a beautiful floral pattern.
-Thursday, we watched a movie with dinner, The Last Unicorn. My favorite.
-Friday, Warren let me sleep in. I don’t mind skipping breakfast if it means I get to sleep alone once he’s left me.
He still had bruises from the night before, the usual around his wrists from struggling, on his hips, but this time around his neck as well. Warren didn’t usually strangle him, but he seemed to want to try something different last night- with no warning to Aster, of course. He’d hated it, in fact he’d already told Warren once that he did not like it during sex, but Aster suspected that’s exactly why he did it.
I’ve been alone all day today. It’s been nice, relaxing really. I’ve watched every movie I own ten times now. I think I’ll need to ask Warren for more soon, but I need a break first. He always wants something in return and last night was too rough for me.
He looked up as he heard footsteps above him, Warren must’ve gotten home. Aster didn’t look forward to his arrival, but he knew it was inevitable. He didn’t find it as fear inducing as he once did, these days it was more like disappointment. He knew what to expect, Warren would probably bring him dinner, he’d sit and talk with him, sometimes he’d even stay and watch a movie with him. After that, more often than not, he would expect more. Aster considered himself lucky if he only had to put up with being fondled all evening. Any peace he’d found in the last several hours would be ruined, Warren always made sure of that.
With the weather getting colder, I keep thinking about the holidays. I don’t think we’ve gotten to Christmas quite yet, but we will. I keep thinking about my family, I didn’t think that last Christmas would be the last that I got to spend with them. It makes me feel guilty, as if any of this is my fault, but I just can’t stand the idea that they may be suffering during the holiday season because of me. I wish I could tell them I was okay… well, I’m not okay. But I am alive, and I think that would ease their nerves somewhat. I would tell them that I’m okay anyway. There’s no point in making them worry even more.
He continued writing, even as he heard the door finally being unlocked. There were three locks in total, he still wasn’t sure if they were meant to keep him in or to keep anybody else besides Warren out. He stayed focused on his journal, he wanted to at least finish up today’s entry before having to deal with Warren. He never felt he could rest until he’d gotten his thoughts, his feelings down into words. The door opened, and Warren shut it behind himself as he walked in.
“Aster, darling.” He said, but Aster stayed focused on his journal, hastily trying to write down the last of his thoughts. “Aster,” He said again, but he still didn’t look up, he was almost done- and then the journal was suddenly ripped from his hands, his pen leaving a line of ink down the page.
“Hey!” He cried, looking up at Warren. “I was almost done with that!”
“You were being rude.” Warren said simply, closing the book. “I haven’t seen you since this morning, surely it would not kill you to put your pen down for a second.”
“Well surely it wouldn’t fucking kill you to give me a few more minutes!” He got on his knees on the couch, trying to take it back from him, but Warren held it out of reach. “It’s not like I’m fucking going anywhere!” He growled, and Warren took the pen from him as well.
“Stop swearing so much, it’s unflattering.” He told him, which only made Aster angrier.
“Oh I’m so fucking sorry.” He said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “I forgot my one purpose in life is to make myself appealing to you.”
“You have a lot of attitude tonight.” Warren said. “I’m sorry for coming back so late, I told you-“
“Yes, I know. I just don’t care.” He said bluntly. “Can I just have the damn journal back now?” He asked, reaching for it again, but Warren took a step back. He looked at the journal briefly, before giving Aster that look he dreaded, that hint of a smile that told him Warren was going to ruin his night.
“No.” He said, and Aster’s heart sunk. “I think it’s too much of a distraction. You could use some time apart from it.”
“What- a distraction?! Of course it’s a fucking distraction, you’d want a distraction too if you were locked in a basement all damn day!”
“What did I just say about swearing?” Warren asked him, and Aster groaned in frustration, he made one last effort to snatch it back but Warren pushed him backwards so he fell back onto the couch. “I understand that you must be restless, but if having it taken away makes you this much of a brat, then clearly you’re too dependent on it,” He said, taking the pen Aster was still holding as well, “You can have it back when I decide.”
“Warren- you can’t do this.” He insisted, sitting up and looking at him pleadingly, hoping if he just bat his eyelashes enough Warren would give in. “It’s not like I have much else to do down here, I sure as hell don’t have anyone else to talk to-“
“You have me.” Warren reminded him. “It would be nice to hear your thoughts when I come home, rather than you trying to keep them to yourself in this book.”
“But that’s-“
“Aster,” Warren said sternly, like he was talking to a whining child, “I’ve already made up my mind.” He told him. Aster hated it, but his eyes welled up with tears, he felt like he was having something as fundamentally necessary as food or water taken from him. Warren crossed the basement, over to his bed and nightstand, and Aster scrambled off the couch to follow after him, his chain dragging on the cement floor.
“Warren, please, I- I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” He said, hoping that if he begged nicely enough the man might take pity on him. “I promise, I-I won’t ignore you again, I swear it, I’ll be good!” He insisted, but Warren was unmoved, opening the drawer to his nightstand and taking the other notebook he had as well.
“You will be good, once you’ve learned your lesson.” He told him, giving him a cold look before he turned and started walking away, leaving Aster standing there, desperately wracking his brain for any way he could think to convince him. “Honestly darling, you need to learn to accept the consequences of your actions, you’ve been acting incredibly immature.” He said, a few steps away from him. For some reason, that word, immature, flipped a switch for Aster. His fear and dread quickly turned to rage, his chest hurt as his heart hammered away.
“Are you serious- of course I’m fucking immature!” He yelled at him, snatching the nearest stuffed animal off his bed and throwing it at Warren’s back. Warren tried to ignore it, which only made Aster angrier. “Maybe you shouldn’t kidnap a fucking twenty year old if you wanted somebody more fucking mature,” His voice raised even more, he was practically screaming at him, begging for a reaction as he threw a pillow at the back of his head, “But you like this, don’t you? You get off to this childish bullshit? I know you like ‘em young, just admit it you fucking freak!” He finally got Warren’s attention with that, he dropped the books right there on the floor and whipped around, storming over to him.
Usually this would’ve terrified Aster, but he was too angry to even care, trying to throw more things off his bed at him before Warren reached him. Aster had reached across his bed, grabbing a throw pillow to hit him with next, but as he stood up Warren swung his fist, punching him so hard he fell back into the nightstand, knocking the lamp to the floor. The glass flower shaped lampshade shattered on impact, but neither of them even registered the noise. He dropped to the floor, disoriented, he tried to brace his hand on the bed frame so he could get up but Warren grabbed a fistful of his hair, hauling him up so he could force him onto the bed. He climbed on top of him, straddling his legs so Aster couldn’t kick him away.
“Get off of me!” He screamed, somehow still angry after that hit. He was hardly thinking anymore, consumed entirely by the rage he felt. “Get the fuck off me! I fucking hate you!”
“Enough, Aster!” Warren yelled at him, he slapped him across the face, again when he continued to struggle, and finally he drew back and punched him again, the sickening sound of his nose breaking under his fist drowned out by Aster wailing in pain. He finally went limp beneath him, sobbing and gasping as he gagged on the blood running down his throat.
“Ha-hate you, I fuck-fucking hate you.” He sobbed, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe. Warren roughly grabbed him by the face, leaning down so Aster was forced to look him in the eyes.
“You need to stop being such an ungrateful fucking bitch.” He snarled. “Remember- everything you own is because of me. I’ve given you everything, and I can take it away. I thought you would’ve learned this lesson after the kennel. Is that what you want- do you want me to put you back in the kennel?” He asked, it was more a threat than a question, and when Aster was crying too hard to reply, he dug his nails into his jaw. “Answer me.”
“N-No!” He cried. “No- no I don’t- I don’t want that, I’ll be good I- I swear, I don’t want to go back there!”
“Then stop acting like you do.” He growled at him. “You’re a smart boy, I know you know better than this. You know that too, don’t you?” He said, and Aster nodded frantically.
“I-I do- I know better, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll behave!” He insisted. Warren was still holding him tightly, studying his face with that cruel look in his eyes.
“I’ll believe you when I see it.” He finally said, and he got off of him, leaving Aster to curl up on his side, still crying his heart out as he listened to Warren’s footsteps retreat, only pausing once to snatch the journal and notebook off the floor on his way out.
that incoherent babbling stage of pleading when the pain is too much but they just have to keep asking for it to stop or they aren't even aware that what they're saying isn't words so all that's coming out is half-words and mumbles and gasps >>>>>
Hi I hope questions about ur pirates are okay! I keep wondering, has the captain ever used /Sawyer/ like he did with Jonah? Or does he have a type that Jonah happens to fit? I love ur writing so much I can’t stop thinking about these characters!
this is a great question!! the captain does use sawyer… but the way vale treats him is quite different to the way he is with jonah. sawyer is a fiesty dog and needs… a firm hand, so to speak. and lots of pain to calm the fuck down and stop thrashing and snarling and struggling like a rabid fucking animal.
voss especially is well suited to putting sawyer in his place ;> he’s extra sadistic and enjoys breaking him down with sheer brutality <333
jonah does fit a particular “type” that vale greatly enjoys (pretty easily flustered shy pretty boy vale can coo over and treat with a sickly gentleness!)
will be exploring more of sawyers dynamic with both of them in the future!
new chapter of la sirena de sangre is so good :)) i loved that we got to see sawyer so conflicted once he saw jonah trying to suck up to vale hehe... as the story progresses will we get any scenes with sawyer and vale and/or explore their dynamic further? additionally im very curious to see how the crew will react to jonah and sawyer finding comfort in one another... will they nip that in the bud and separate them or maybe find a twisted way to turn them against one another?? so many possibilitiesssss i really love your writing and i'm excited to see what comes next
yay this made me so happy i’m so glad you’re enjoying the story!
I loveeeee writing jonah and sawyer’s dynamic and interactions it’s been so SO fun!! i’m so glad you love how conflicted sawyer is hahahaa he does NOT know how to feel… and yes I plan to explore sawyer’s dynamic with both vale and voss eventually! i’m just kind of letting the story unfold and seeing where it takes me and we will learn more about those dynamics!
much as I think separating them would be effective, I love having them on screen together way too much so I think turning them against one another would be so especially interesting! plus I think the crew teases them a lot once they get closer. for being in love with each other (allegations) like oh there goes your boyfriend how does it feel lover boy lmfaooo
I love teasing them both it’s so fun — sawyer because it makes him mad and jonah because it makes him all flustered!
