(Hurt/comfort, pet whump, whump recovery, slice of life)
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 6.5 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 - Bonus | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29
Also on AO3
Character Backstories
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Picrews:
Meet Elliot and Lyra | Meet Christian | Meet the Team | A Very Whumpy Picrew | Before / During / After | My Girls | Dumpling | Worthless Cast | Whumpy Picrews | Meet Colleen | Character Heights (not a picrew) | Worthless Meme | The Whitlocks | Halloween picrew | Pirate AU Elliot
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Drabbles:
Hallucinations | Drunk | First Meeting | Hallucinations Part 2 | Birthday Gift | Accidents | Bed | In the Beginning | Strays | Nightmares | Recovery Day 1 | Lights Out | Safe | Drunk Part 2 | Panic | The Truth | A Real Dog | Nails | Feeding Tube | In Public | Alone with Landon | Basement | Baby's First Mission | Restrained | Valentine's Day Collab (Elliot's POV) (Cedarâs POV) | Restrained Part 2 | Happy Birthday | The Whitlocks | PTSD | Let go | Sixteen Months | Decoration
Pirate AU Masterlist
Shorter Snippets:
"I'm glad you're here" | "Will you read to me?" | Everything is okay | Christian breaks his arm | Fight or Flight
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Art:
Landon and Elliot (ch.9) | Elliot and Lyra (drunk drabble) | Karine Fanart (The Truth drabble) | Elliot Fanart | Elliot Fanart 2 | Elliot in his green dress Fanart (ch.24) | Elliot and Virgo oc Fanart
I feel so insane about ai. I've had face-to-face conversations with people who use it for therapy, who use it to calculate the safety of pill interactions, who use it for all their emails and grant applications and legal documents and academic papers and finance sheets and for every single question they have about the world, and if you tell them about the ecological costs they just laugh and say "I guess I've used a lot of water." and I've been in multiple gatherings of 10+ people where I'm THE ONLY PERSON who doesn't use chatgpt. it's turning me into a ranting raving pariah, because how don't you people see??? why don't you understand??????? this bullshit didn't exist five years ago, you absolutely do not need it, and it is destroying everything
my friend just had an art show and they were communicating with the gallerist over email. They could clearly tell that the gallerist was using AI to respond to their emails, but just rolled their eyes and moved on.
and then on the day of the show, my friend asks, "where is the camera I requested?"
gallerist: "you didn't request a camera"
my friend: "I did, and you confirmed that you would have one here."
gallerist: "that isn't true."
and then she proceeded to pull up the email thread, and my friend could see that every single email they had sent had been summarized by AI, and that the gallerist had then had AI write a response to them based on the AI summary, and that the AI had detected that they needed a camera, and confirmed on behalf of the gallerist that they would bring a camera, but because the gallerist had offloaded the work of actually reading and responding, she simply hadn't actually made any note of it herself, therefore didn't bring it, nor did she even know one was needed.
so my friend had done all of this communication about their needs and expectations to be able to make the show possible, and the person whose job it was to read that information and get it done had simply.... not read the information and not done it. because AI.
My biggest issue with AI currently, not even delving into the pressing environmental issues, is how it's affecting cognition and mental endurance. We are legitimately dumbing ourselves down as a society, people are offloading the most mundane, everyday, minimal-brain power required tasks to AI and it's STUNTING them!
I'm actively watching people around me lose their critical thinking skills, their linguistic ability, their decision making skills - empathy! My parents ask AI everything, and accept it as gospel even when it's blatantly feeding them misinformation or clearly doesn't know.
My brother's girlfriend lost her grandad recently, and her family used AI to write the eulogies and speeches for the funeral - she was CRESTFALLEN - nothing from the heart, no personal words to honour or remember the man she loved! And I work with high school kids, where AI was blocked from their computers in an IT lesson, and they had to write ONE sentence on a simple newspaper article...they spent the hour lesson trying to find ways to bypass the AI block and use chatgpt, rather than write the sentence because its "too hard. I don't know what to write. I ain't reading allat".
https://time.com/7295195/ai-chatgpt-google-learning-school/ - Please please read this MIT study on chat gpt's effects on critical thinking - it's terrifying.
"ChatGPT users had the lowest brain engagement and âconsistently underperformed at neural, linguistic, and behavioral levels.â Over the course of several months, ChatGPT users got lazier with each subsequent essay, often resorting to copy-and-paste by the end of the study."
I honestly wouldn't be surprised if in a couple decades time, AI use is attributed to links with something like dementia. Your brain operates on a use it or lose it principle, cognitive stimulation is so vital - and too many people are passing the buck to LLM's. I know people who don't know how to even write an email, make decisions, or REPLY TO A FRIENDS MESSAGE without using AI now.
He stepped in front of Henley, sinking into a crouch. His hand reached out, fingers hovering over the boy's golden curls.
Henley flinched hard with a garbled cry. His entire body jolting as he tried to throw himself deeper into the shadows. The chains rattled and clanked frantically. âMmm-nn!â
âShhhh, itâs okay. I don't bite,â Ronan cooed, reaching out once more. He didn't strike like Henley had braced for; instead, his fingers cupped Henleyâs chin, forcing the boy's face upward. âOh, angel. Youâre shivering out of your skin. Don't be frightened, little one. You don't realise the luck that's just fallen in your lap.â
Henleyâs eyes darted past Ronan, finding Izaak. He searched the older man's stern face in a silent, desperate plea for help.
Leaning lazily against the wall, Izaak exhaled a slow plume of cigarette smoke. âDonât pander to him. He's just high-strung. A firm hand settles him right down.â
âA firm hand,â Ronan repeated.
His gaze shifted slowly. He didn't look at Izaakâs face at first; his eyes traveled up the man's strong legs, lingering on the broadness of his chest, and the thick cords of muscle in his neck. Ronan looked at Izaak with a predatory hunger that made Henleyâs blood suddenly run ice cold.
âYou must have to be quite... disciplined,â Ronan murmured, âto break a boy like this. To keep him so perfectly behaved.â
okay. completely doxxing myself here because this is absolutely worth it
we got five emergency kinship-placed foster boys two months ago with no notice, and it turned our lives upside down. I love them so so so so much, but we need to be able to afford to keep them just one more month until school starts and I can get a job again (I've been having to stay home to watch them since no daycare will take them)
They've been neglected and abused and forgotten, and I will NOT let them be separated. If we can't stay afloat and get into a new house (landlord just told us to move out. haha. isn't that great.), the kids will be split up into separate foster homes.
Absolutely anything you can give will help us, otherwise, reblogging would mean the world to me and these kids. We just need to get the word out there and get a little help to get past this month. We're already through all our savings and I've started selling all the furniture to keep up.
We have food covered for the kids through different programs, but rent and utilities has been / will be going up a LOT.
I will write quite literally anything you want. I don't care if it's a squick at this point. Or draw. Whatever you want. Commissions are open, the go fund me link is here. You have my kofi in my bio. If paypal or venmo works better, just let me know and I can get that to you, too. Anything at all helps.
Help us keep five brothers from being separated by the foster system!
⌠Shannon Teske needs your support for Keep Five Brothers Fr
This is going around on Bsky and I thought it'd be fun to do here too
âď¸ Loot drop after defeating me:
skull candy earbuds
assortment of pens
small notebook full of scribbled dialogue scraps
handful of sea glass
paperback horror novel
silly trinket that looks like an animal (probably a fish)
no less than 3 drinks (all different)
an Atom Cats snapback
I tag @coyotehusk @troubled-pasta @carnimari @whump-tr0pes @kifu @deathandthesoul @nyoxt @robobrainmurdermysterytheatre anyone else who wants to do this!
Whumpee is given the task to write down a list of positive qualities about themselves and end up just staring at the blank page for hours.
Or maybe they come up with some depressing, whump filled bullet points:
For requests, what about Elliot getting examined by the doctor or medic on the new ship? He thinks theyâre going to assault him when they ask him to strip and theyâre horrified by how many scars he has and the condition heâs 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
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âThis wasn't the plan, Karine,â 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.
âIt is now,â Karine's voice said. âAnd I will take no criticism on this.â
âI have to agree with Lyra on this one, Captain,â Landon's voice cut in. âThis is insane.â
âThat is not at all what I'm saying,â the first voice said. âI'm not trying to criticize you, Karine. I'm just confused. Who is this boy?â
âA slave Landon found aboard the Serpent's Wrath.â
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.
âAnd you decided to take him? Why?â
âHe does not need to be present for this conversation. We can discuss this later. Now, back to your posts. And get me Broderick.â
âAye, Captain.â
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. âP-Please, d-donât hurt me,â he mumbled.
Karine was silent for a beat and Elliot didn't breathe until she finally said, âWhat's your name?â
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.
âE-Elliot,â he finally answered.
Karine smirked and Elliot's stomach dropped. âNice to meet you, Elliot,â she said, to Elliot's awe. âI'm Captain Karine de la PeĂąa. Pleasure.â
Elliot shuddered. âY-You're Captain de la PeĂąa?
Karine nodded. âAye, but you can call me Karine. Welcome aboard the Relentless.â She made a wide sweep of her arm to gesture across the ship, but Elliotâs 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?
âCaptain?â a new voice said. Elliot flinched, a sense of dread swelling in his stomach. Karine peered over her shoulder, but didnât 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? Didnât she know she was meant to be above them? How could they ever remember their place if she allowed herself to kneel beneath them?
âYou wanted to see me?â 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 wasnât a single visible scar on the manâs body. Elliot was astounded. Heâd never seen an unmarred pirate before.
âAye,â de la PeĂąa said, finally standing to her feet. From Elliotâs 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. âThis is Elliot.â Karine gestured toward the prisoner at her feet. âI need you to examine him for injuries and treat any you find.â
The man looked at the shivering boy as though just noticing him for the first time. âOne of Whitlockâs?â the man asked. Karine gave a single curt nod in response. âSince when do we take prisoners?â 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, âSince today. Now Iâve 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?â
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 didnât 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 couldnât they take him to the brig instead?
The stranger sighed. âAll right, little thing. Up you get.â 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 boyâs 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. âAh, apologies there, mate. Let me help ya.â The man gingerly guided the slave to his feet. âDonât worry. The med bay is just below deck. Not far at all. Think you can make it?â
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 didnât have a choice. âY-Yes, Sir,â he said. Elliot didnât look to gauge the manâs 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 shipâs hatch and helped him below deck. He didnât bother to untie the boyâs hands, but Elliot had expected as much. A slave couldnât 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 Serpentâs 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 wasnât 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.
âAll right, just sit there,â 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 couldnât see. âItâs Elliot, right?â 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. âY-Yes, Sir,â 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. âIâm Broderick. Ship doctor,â he said. âNice to meet you.â Confusion immersed Elliotâs features, but he didnât have time to dwell on the thought before he noticed the pristine knife in Broderickâs left hand. Elliot paled, suppressing a gasp at the sight of the weapon in the medicâs hand. They were gonna kill him. This wasnât a hostage situation at all. This was revenge.
Broderick didnât 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. âSo,â Broderick began as he worked to relieve the boy of his restraints. âThe Serpentâs Wrath, eh? What made you wanna join that crew? Youâre not the kinda pirate they normally take in. You owe money to Whitlock or somethinâ?â
As the pressure around Elliotâs 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. âN-No, Sir.â
Broderick hummed, still facing away from the slave. âAh, just fell for his charm, eh? Canât say I blame ya. The manâs a right bastard, but least heâs nice to look at, eh?â Elliot didnât 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.
âRight then,â Broderick said, turning to face the boy once more. âCaptain says I need to check you for injuries. Mind stripping to your undergarments?â
Elliot froze. He wanted to obey, he really did, but⌠âI donât have undergarments.â
Broderick furrowed his brow, a deep blush crawling up his neck. âUhâŚâ his voice shook a little and he nervously scratched the back of his head. âNot really sure how I'm meant to check you for injuries then. Might I ask why not?â
Elliot averted his gaze, choosing instead to focus on the raw skin encircling his wrists. âMaster doesn't allow them. N-Not for me.â
âMaster?â Broderick repeated, a hint of disgust slipping into his voice. âYou mean Whitlock? He makes his crew call him Master?â
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. âRight. I'll fetch you some undergarments. Wait right here, mate.â
Elliot didn't lift his gaze from the floor. âYes, Sir.â
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 PeĂąa 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. âSo, uhâŚâ Broderick began. âWe've nothinâ that'll fit you. Sâpose you could leave your trousers on. Do you've any injuries on your lower body?â
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.
âRight,â the medic said. âS'pose we don't have a choice then.â
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 Broderickâs 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 scarâs 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.
âUmâŚâ Broderick began, voice quivering. âWould you mind turning âround for me?â 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 serpentsâ insignia, all he seemed able to say was âyes, sirâ and âno, sirâ, 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.
Broderickâs 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. âUhâŚyou-you can turn back âround now.â 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. âRight then. UmâŚwhy don't you, uh, just sit here a minute? I'll go have a word with the captain.â
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. âUh, feel free to use one of those sheets to cover up, if you want.â He gestured to the pile of folded linens beside Elliot. âI'll be right back.â 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.
âYou didn't tell me he was a slave, Karine.â Broderick's voice said. âWhat use have we for this boy?â
âI told you, I would discuss this with the whole crew after you've treated him,â Karine's voice returned. âSo, if you want answers, I suggest you do your job.â
âIt will take me a very long time to treat him. You haven't seen how bad it is.â
âI know how bad it is,â Karine's voice said.
âNo, you don't!â Broderick exclaimed in a whisper-shout. âI've never seen someone in a state like this before. It's horrific.â
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.
âI-I'm so sorry, Sir,â 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. âUhâŚsorry for what, mate?â
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.
âI'm s-sorry I-I've r-repulsed you.â Elliot lifted his head, eyes bloodshot and overflowing with tears. âP-Please don't p-punish me for-for my ugliness. I promise, I-I can still service you.â
Elliot nodded eagerly. âY-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.â
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.
âAre youâAre you offering to-to suck me off?â 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. âY-Yes, Sir.â
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. âI think I'm gonna be sick,â 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. âI-I'm sorry, mate. I shouldn't have said that. What-What I meant to say was, I-I'd never do anythinâ 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 anythinâ like that. This is my job. This is what I do and I don't expect payment for it.â
Elliot sniffled and wiped his tears, lowering his head in shame. âI'm s-sorry, Sir. I-I shouldn't have a-assumed.â
âNo worries, mate. I just wanna treat your wounds. Savvy?â
Elliot nodded, keeping his face hidden from view. âY-Yes, Sir.â
Broderick nodded. âRight then. UmâŚwhy 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.â
âYes, Sir.â 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 ignoređ
For requests, what about Elliot getting examined by the doctor or medic on the new ship? He thinks theyâre going to assault him when they ask him to strip and theyâre horrified by how many scars he has and the condition heâs 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
-
âThis wasn't the plan, Karine,â 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.
âIt is now,â Karine's voice said. âAnd I will take no criticism on this.â
âI have to agree with Lyra on this one, Captain,â Landon's voice cut in. âThis is insane.â
âThat is not at all what I'm saying,â the first voice said. âI'm not trying to criticize you, Karine. I'm just confused. Who is this boy?â
âA slave Landon found aboard the Serpent's Wrath.â
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.
âAnd you decided to take him? Why?â
âHe does not need to be present for this conversation. We can discuss this later. Now, back to your posts. And get me Broderick.â
âAye, Captain.â
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. âP-Please, d-donât hurt me,â he mumbled.
Karine was silent for a beat and Elliot didn't breathe until she finally said, âWhat's your name?â
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.
âE-Elliot,â he finally answered.
Karine smirked and Elliot's stomach dropped. âNice to meet you, Elliot,â she said, to Elliot's awe. âI'm Captain Karine de la PeĂąa. Pleasure.â
Elliot shuddered. âY-You're Captain de la PeĂąa?
Karine nodded. âAye, but you can call me Karine. Welcome aboard the Relentless.â She made a wide sweep of her arm to gesture across the ship, but Elliotâs 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?
âCaptain?â a new voice said. Elliot flinched, a sense of dread swelling in his stomach. Karine peered over her shoulder, but didnât 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? Didnât she know she was meant to be above them? How could they ever remember their place if she allowed herself to kneel beneath them?
âYou wanted to see me?â 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 wasnât a single visible scar on the manâs body. Elliot was astounded. Heâd never seen an unmarred pirate before.
âAye,â de la PeĂąa said, finally standing to her feet. From Elliotâs 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. âThis is Elliot.â Karine gestured toward the prisoner at her feet. âI need you to examine him for injuries and treat any you find.â
The man looked at the shivering boy as though just noticing him for the first time. âOne of Whitlockâs?â the man asked. Karine gave a single curt nod in response. âSince when do we take prisoners?â 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, âSince today. Now Iâve 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?â
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 didnât 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 couldnât they take him to the brig instead?
The stranger sighed. âAll right, little thing. Up you get.â 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 boyâs 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. âAh, apologies there, mate. Let me help ya.â The man gingerly guided the slave to his feet. âDonât worry. The med bay is just below deck. Not far at all. Think you can make it?â
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 didnât have a choice. âY-Yes, Sir,â he said. Elliot didnât look to gauge the manâs 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 shipâs hatch and helped him below deck. He didnât bother to untie the boyâs hands, but Elliot had expected as much. A slave couldnât 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 Serpentâs 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 wasnât 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.
âAll right, just sit there,â 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 couldnât see. âItâs Elliot, right?â 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. âY-Yes, Sir,â 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. âIâm Broderick. Ship doctor,â he said. âNice to meet you.â Confusion immersed Elliotâs features, but he didnât have time to dwell on the thought before he noticed the pristine knife in Broderickâs left hand. Elliot paled, suppressing a gasp at the sight of the weapon in the medicâs hand. They were gonna kill him. This wasnât a hostage situation at all. This was revenge.
Broderick didnât 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. âSo,â Broderick began as he worked to relieve the boy of his restraints. âThe Serpentâs Wrath, eh? What made you wanna join that crew? Youâre not the kinda pirate they normally take in. You owe money to Whitlock or somethinâ?â
As the pressure around Elliotâs 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. âN-No, Sir.â
Broderick hummed, still facing away from the slave. âAh, just fell for his charm, eh? Canât say I blame ya. The manâs a right bastard, but least heâs nice to look at, eh?â Elliot didnât 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.
âRight then,â Broderick said, turning to face the boy once more. âCaptain says I need to check you for injuries. Mind stripping to your undergarments?â
Elliot froze. He wanted to obey, he really did, but⌠âI donât have undergarments.â
Broderick furrowed his brow, a deep blush crawling up his neck. âUhâŚâ his voice shook a little and he nervously scratched the back of his head. âNot really sure how I'm meant to check you for injuries then. Might I ask why not?â
Elliot averted his gaze, choosing instead to focus on the raw skin encircling his wrists. âMaster doesn't allow them. N-Not for me.â
âMaster?â Broderick repeated, a hint of disgust slipping into his voice. âYou mean Whitlock? He makes his crew call him Master?â
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. âRight. I'll fetch you some undergarments. Wait right here, mate.â
Elliot didn't lift his gaze from the floor. âYes, Sir.â
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 PeĂąa 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. âSo, uhâŚâ Broderick began. âWe've nothinâ that'll fit you. Sâpose you could leave your trousers on. Do you've any injuries on your lower body?â
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.
âRight,â the medic said. âS'pose we don't have a choice then.â
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 Broderickâs 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 scarâs 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.
âUmâŚâ Broderick began, voice quivering. âWould you mind turning âround for me?â 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 serpentsâ insignia, all he seemed able to say was âyes, sirâ and âno, sirâ, 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.
Broderickâs 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. âUhâŚyou-you can turn back âround now.â 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. âRight then. UmâŚwhy don't you, uh, just sit here a minute? I'll go have a word with the captain.â
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. âUh, feel free to use one of those sheets to cover up, if you want.â He gestured to the pile of folded linens beside Elliot. âI'll be right back.â 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.
âYou didn't tell me he was a slave, Karine.â Broderick's voice said. âWhat use have we for this boy?â
âI told you, I would discuss this with the whole crew after you've treated him,â Karine's voice returned. âSo, if you want answers, I suggest you do your job.â
âIt will take me a very long time to treat him. You haven't seen how bad it is.â
âI know how bad it is,â Karine's voice said.
âNo, you don't!â Broderick exclaimed in a whisper-shout. âI've never seen someone in a state like this before. It's horrific.â
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.
âI-I'm so sorry, Sir,â 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. âUhâŚsorry for what, mate?â
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.
âI'm s-sorry I-I've r-repulsed you.â Elliot lifted his head, eyes bloodshot and overflowing with tears. âP-Please don't p-punish me for-for my ugliness. I promise, I-I can still service you.â
Elliot nodded eagerly. âY-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.â
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.
âAre youâAre you offering to-to suck me off?â 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. âY-Yes, Sir.â
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. âI think I'm gonna be sick,â 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. âI-I'm sorry, mate. I shouldn't have said that. What-What I meant to say was, I-I'd never do anythinâ 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 anythinâ like that. This is my job. This is what I do and I don't expect payment for it.â
Elliot sniffled and wiped his tears, lowering his head in shame. âI'm s-sorry, Sir. I-I shouldn't have a-assumed.â
âNo worries, mate. I just wanna treat your wounds. Savvy?â
Elliot nodded, keeping his face hidden from view. âY-Yes, Sir.â
Broderick nodded. âRight then. UmâŚwhy 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.â
âYes, Sir.â 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 ignoređ
Does anyone else get that feeling where, after an immense amount of stress, you just feel extra evil and whumpy and all you wanna do is kick around your whumpees?
i like the concept of a whumpee who has been raped, violently, now being in a situation where they are repeatedly pressured, coerced and raped (though they wouldn't call it that) in a domestic context. maybe they entered the relationship voluntarily, maybe this, too, was pressured out of them (i have sent asks before about an aromantic whumpee forced into romance, maybe this is part of that).
they doubt the legitimacy of the pain they're going through-- maybe they think they need to be grateful, because whumper is providing for them, helping them, or maybe they know this is horrible, but this isn't as bad as it could be. they have it good (maybe whumper reminds them), whumper is affectionate, whumper just has needs like everyone else, it's their duty to fulfil that.
whumpee knows how lucky they are. they know how bad it can be - getting fucked can hurt so much worse than this. unwanted sex can be a violent, awful thing. they've been raped before. this is nothing. this is just... this is just sex. they don't like it, they don't want it. they keep trying to figure out how to get out of it, and it doesn't work, but it's... it's fine. they can handle it.
sometimes they cry. they lay in bed with whumper and they cry. they shake. they flinch and look away and can't force themself to act like they're enjoying it.
and whenever this happens, whumper stops. they look so concerned. they peer at whumpee's face, cupping their jaw, stroking their cheek. "i'm not hurting you, am i?" they ask. they don't pull away, don't give whumpee any space. they just lay there, pressed against them, still. voice and hands gentle but everpresent. "does this hurt?"
"no. it- it doesn't hurt." and it's the truth. whumpee tries to smile, tries to spread their legs farther, make themself look more appealing. the sooner whumper finishes, the sooner this is over.
"good," whumper murmurs. "good. can you at least try to look like it, then? i know you're trying, but it's hurtful when you look at me like that. you know i won't hurt you. i can get what i need without hurting you."
Whumpee has only ever experienced sex as a painful, violent assault, so when they're hanging out with some friends and hear one of them tease someone they're gossiping about for apparently crying during sex, Whumpee is confused. Who wouldn't cry? It hurts. But when Whumpee says this to the group, suddenly they are the confused ones because "That's not normal Whumpee. What the fuck kinda sex have you been having?"
one the others is smirking, raising an eyebrow like they think it's a joke - like whumpee is doing some kinky stuff and playing innocent about it. but friend doesn't think that's it. whumpee's face isn't full of mischief or innuendo. they just look... uncomfortable and confused. it hurts, they'd said. about sex. sex hurts. who wouldn't cry?
like that was normal. like they had experience, and that experience involved pain. enough pain to cry.
"why are you looking at me like that?" whumpee asks. they seem embarrassed, like they regret saying anything. "does nobody talk about that part? we were talking about sex before, why are you... stop looking at me like that!"
"what do you mean it hurts?" friend asks. they wave the others quiet. they're not helping. if whumpee thinks they're being judged, this is just going to get worse. "do you mean like-"
"i mean every time i've had sex it's been painful and horrible and i've just gritted my teeth and got through it! and now you're all looking at me like i'm crazy, and it-"
"you're not crazy," friend says. they feel bad for interrupting, but whumpee was starting to breathe quick and shallow. "i just- we're worried. it's not- unless people talk about it first, and they want that, it's not supposed to hurt. if it hurts. you should talk to the person you're sleeping with so you can figure out how to make it better, so they can touch you how you want."
whumpee laughs. it's sudden and sharp. "how i want? that's not how it works. if it was about what i wanted, it wouldn't happen at all."
a cold chill of realization sweeps through the small group all at once.
Whatâs pirate au Elliotâs worst memory from before being captured? What about after?
Thank you so much for this ask!! This was a lot of fun to write and I hope you enjoy it!!
It's a long one though, so brace yourselves. 5.4k words
Worthless Pirate AU - Memories
Masterlist
Content: slavery whump, branding, threat of noncon, mention of prostitution, homelessness, minor character death, minor gore, very brief suicidal ideation
If I missed any content warnings, please let me know!
-
Pre-captivity
The tight, bruising grip around Elliotâs bicep fell away, only for a quick shove between his shoulder blades to send him tumbling down the porch stairs. He landed on his hands and knees in the thick, viscous mud as the pouring rain pelted him and soaked through his worn, moth-eaten clothing.
ââBout fucking time I was rid of you, boy!â came a voice from behind him. Elliot peered over his shoulder at the woman in the doorway. Her long, gray hair was twisted into a thick knot at the top of her head, held back by her loosely-tied nighttime bonnet. She was clad in a stained, yellowing shift that reached to her knees and in her left hand was a lit candle, which she was careful to shield from the rain. Her wrinkled features were twisted into a scowl as she stared at the drenched, muddied boy sheâd just pulled out of bed. âBeen waitinâ for this day for eighteen long years!â
Elliotâs eyes widened and he quickly scrambled to face her as she began to close the rickety door behind her. âMadam Sibella, wait, please!â The woman paused and glared down at him. âPlease, I-I don't understand. What am I being p-punished for?â
Madam Sibella scoffed and Elliot caught a glimpse of her rotting teeth in the flickering candlelight. âThis ain't a fucking punishment, you stupid dog!â Elliot flinched. No matter how many times she used that nickname, it never got any easier to hear. âAs of about forty minutes ago, you ain't me fucking problem anymore!â
Forty minutes ago? What was she talking about? Confusion clouded Elliot's features. He wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to shield his exposed flesh from the cold and tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He didn't understand. One moment, he was sound asleep atop his wooden mattress, and the next, he was being shoved out the door and into the rain.
Elliot opened his mouth to speak again, but that's when the realization hit him. His eyes went round as saucers and his frantic breathing ceased for a beat. âN-No,â he mumbled. âNo, no, no, please! You can't do this!â
Madam Sibella smirked at the sight of his panic. âYer eighteen now, boy. The law say you ain't mine anymore and I won't have you taintinâ this house any longer.â
âBut that's not fair!â Elliot shouted, several stray tears mixing with the rainwater on his face. He crawled a couple steps forward until he was nearly at the porch again, desperate for a reprieve from the relentless rainfall. âFletcher's twenty-one and you let him stay as long as he wants!â
Madam Sibella's smirk fell and her eyes darkened. An icy shiver scurried down Elliot's spine and he couldn't tell if it was from the rain or his former guardian's frosty glare. âFletcher's worth his weight!â She shouted. Elliot flinched again, a soft whimper slipping past his lips. âHe's got a job that helps pay for the rest of you wee brats! He helps to carry me heavy shipments in! Fletcher's earned his keep!â
Elliot was trembling now, the frigid rainwater soaking him to the bone as his tears fell free. âP-Please, Madam Sibella. I-I can w-work t-too. Just-Just give me a chance, please!â He begged.
Madam Sibella cackled at that, her heavy laughter flickering the candle's flame. âYou?â She exclaimed, eyeing his small, emaciated form. âWhat could you do?â
Despite the cold night air, a heat crawled up Elliot's neck and onto his cheeks. âI-I could c-clean. I could help entertain the-the younger boys. P-Please, just-just have mercy. I have n-nothing. You can't l-leave me out here. Wh-What am I s-supposed to do?â
âNot me problem, boy. Get a fucking job, why don't you? The brothel's always lookinâ for new whores, I hear.â
Elliot gasped. His trembling lips were parted in shock and he wound his arms tighter around himself in an attempt to shield his shivering body from view. âYou-You canât s-say that to me.â
âAin't like yer good for anything else! Now get the fuck off me property!â Madam Sibella shouted.
Elliot flinched, but he didn't move. âMadam S-Sibella, I-I'm b-begging youââ
âFletcher!â Sibella shouted into the house. Elliot gasped. âThere's a rat on me porch!â
Elliot scuttled backwards a little, but not before a large, hulking man appeared in the doorway. The man was shirtless and his blond hair was cropped all the way to the scalp. He had a nasty scar trailing from his eyebrow to his chin and his icy blue eyes zeroed in on Elliot instantly. His lips curled up into an ugly, crooked grin, flashing his missing teeth in full display.
âGet rid of it for me, would you?â Madam Sibella said. Without sparing Elliot a second glance, she maneuvered around Fletcher and disappeared into the house.
Elliot's stomach twisted into a knot. He scrambled to his feet and attempted to run, but the slick mud sent him tumbling back onto his hands and knees before he could make it three steps. Elliot whimpered and sobbed as a large hand tangled itself in his sandy-blond locks and hauled him to his feet. The boy whined in pain as Fletcher dragged him into an empty alleyway not far from Madam Sibella's.
âP-Please!â He begged as Fletcher shoved him against a stone wall. âP-Please, Fletcher. I-I'm s-sorry. I justââ
âQuiet, mutt!â Fletcher's booming voice commanded as he pushed Elliot to his knees. Elliot wept. Fletcher harshly shook Elliot's head from side to side with the hand tangled in his hair, laughing as he did so. âYou're fucking lucky Sibella ain't selling you, CĂłrdova. She could make good money off a pretty face like yours.â He tightened his grip on Elliot's hair, bringing the smaller man's face ever closer to his groin, despite the boy's struggling.
Elliot whimpered and thrashed against the tight grip in his hair.. âP-Please, n-no! Please don't!â
Fletcher chuckled as he pinned Elliot's head against his thigh and carded his fingers through the boy's rain-soaked hair. Elliot sobbed, squirming and punching while Fletcher laughed. âYou poor thing,â Fletcher mocked. âTell you what, mate. I'll come by and visit you at the whore house someday. Maybe then I'll give you the honor of letting you swallow my cock.â Fletcher roughly threw Elliot to the ground and pressed a foot to his back to keep him there. Elliot whined. âBut until then,â he continued. âDon't show your pretty face here again, mutt. Or I'll sell you to one of the merchant crews at my dock. They're always in the market for a pretty little thing to join them.â
Elliot sobbed, his shoulders shaking. The boot between his shoulder blades kept his face pressed firmly into the mud.
When Fletcher finally removed his foot from Elliot's back, it was only to deliver a swift kick to his ribs instead. Elliot yelped and curled in on himself, shielding his head with his arms while the rest of his body trembled and shivered. He didn't know how long he lay there, but by the time he finally looked up from the protective cage his arms had created, Fletcher was gone.
Elliot sniffled and pushed himself into a sitting position against the stone wall at his back. He hugged his knees to his chest in order to fully conceal himself beneath the overhang of the building behind him. It did little to shelter him from the rain, but it was enough.
As Elliot sat there, eyes fixated on the muddy ground, the full reality of his situation started to catch up with him.
It was his eighteenth birthday.
He was homeless, penniless, and without any friends or family to turn to. He had nothing but the torn, muddy clothes on his back.
Elliot hugged himself a little tighter. Madam Sibella's home for boys had never been kind to him, but it gave him a roof over his head. It gave him consistent meals, as lackluster as they were. Now he had nothing.
Elliot couldn't help the burning rage that boiled over in the pit of his stomach. Fuck Madam Sibella! Fuck Fletcher! Fuck Port Iryss for treating him like this, for leaving him orphaned and unwanted.
Hot, angry tears welled in his swollen eyes. He was cold, tired, hungry, and completely alone. There was no place in the world that wanted him and no person that cared enough to remember his name. As far as the world was concerned, Elliot CĂłrdova was nothing but a ghost.
âŚ
In Captivity
âLooking good, mutt,â a deep voice commented, followed by a quick slap to Elliot's raised backside. Elliot flinched and suppressed a whimper. The slave was on his hands and knees, vigorously scrubbing the gun deck in an attempt to rid it of the leftover gunpowder residue. He hated the fact that he was starting to recognize the voices of the crew. He hated how familiar he was growing with his buoyant prison.
Elliot didn't even have to look at the man to know who'd spoken. It was the ship's navigator, Hess. Elliot's face burned red-hot and he wordlessly returned to his scrubbing. That was, apparently, the wrong choice, as Hess's fist tangled itself in Elliot's hair and wrenched his head back. Elliot squeaked, his neck straining against the angle at which Hess held him.
âI'm payin' you a compliment, rat! What say you?â Hess growled, his long salt and pepper hair threatening to brush against Elliot's face. In any other circumstance, the navigator may have been considered attractive. But his grimy skin, stringy hair, and overgrown scruff took away from his more desirable features.
Elliot choked on the air in his lungs. His scalp was burning and his eyes began to water. âTh-Thank you, S-Sir,â he choked out.
Hess grinned and released the slave. Elliot's head fell forward and he squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to catch his breath. âGood boy,â Hess praised before moving on to continue his duties.
Elliot bit down hard on his tongue until he tasted blood. He hated this. He didn't know just how long he'd been aboard the Serpent's Wrath, but he hated every inch of this ship. He hated every slimy member of the crew, every degrading nickname they called him, every little touch. He hated all of it. He wanted off of this ship, away from these revolting pirates. He wanted to go home.
Elliot lifted his eyes just enough to peer at the open ocean through the gun ports. There was longing in his eyes and a deep ache in his chest as he watched the sun glint off the tips of the waves. He wondered how long it stretched, if it truly was as endless as it looked. He wondered if the sea could hear his screams, if it pitied him. He wondered if the ocean would welcome him, wrap him in its arms as it drew the breath from his lungs and lulled him into a tranquil slumber. He wondered if the sea would spare him. Or grant him the mercy of a peaceful escape.
That's when he saw it, a sliver of hope cresting over the horizon. An island. He didn't know if it was a hallucination borne of his exhaustion, but the lightest glimmer of hope ignited in his chest.
The gun port was about one square meter wide, and Elliot was sure his small frame could easily slip through. All he would have to do is swim to that island and he'd finally be free of this place.
The sound of wood banging against wood stirred him back into reality. Elliot flinched and turned his gaze over to the other end of the gun deck, where Hess was swiftly slamming each gun port shut. Elliot's heart began to race as his eyes returned to the port in front of him. His opportunity was slipping. He had to get out of here, even if it meant he'd never get home. But he was terrified. He didn't know what would come after, if he would survive or if darkness would swallow him instantly. He just needed to escape, however that would look. He couldn't take it anymore. He didn't want to be a slave anymore. Freedom was right there. All he had to do wasâ
âWho the fuck said you could stop working, slave?â Hess shouted.
Elliot flinched again, his eyes finally lifting to meet the navigator's. Hess stood only a few feet away, in front of the gun port directly beside Elliot's. The boy was out of time. If he didn't do this now, he'd never taste freedom again.
Despite his emaciated state and the chains around his wrists, Elliot had always been fast due to his small stature. It didn't even register in his mind that he'd started moving until he had maneuvered around the cannon and dove into the water.
The warm air falling back to allow the frigid ocean to wrap around him was a shock to Elliot's system. The bright, vibrant light of the sun broke beneath the surface of the water, the shards dancing in tandem with the gentle ocean waves. The sound of Hess's panicked screaming was snuffed out, replaced with the gentle hum of the open sea.
Elliot felt weightless. Every move he made was in slow motion. His long braided hair danced with the current, as did his torn poet's blouse and maroon petticoatâhis former barmaid's uniform. Even his heavy iron shackles, which normally served to remind him of gravity's constant presence, offered absolutely no resistance beneath the surface.
Elliot had never been a strong swimmer and it wasn't until he attempted to kick back up to the surface for air that he realized his grievous error. The chains around his wrists didn't allow for much movement, which made maneuvering through the water that much more difficult.
When his head breached the surface, chaos assaulted his senses.
âThere he is!â Someone shouted from above. Elliot craned his neck to peer upwards, using his bound hand to block the ruthless sun. Dozens of crew members were leaning over the side of the ship, pointing and staring at him with expressions that Elliot couldn't see.
âTo the longboat!â
Elliot gasped. He didn't have long. He peered over his shoulder at the stretch of land that suddenly looked much further away. He didn't have a choice.
Elliot kicked and paddled as best he could, his chains yanking relentlessly at his wrists. He dove beneath the surface, hoping to hide his location from his pursuers, but he could only do so for so long. He forced himself to remain submerged until his lungs ached and his head began to swim. Gasping desperately for breath as he surfaced, Elliot kept his gaze firmly planted on the island, which, to his dismay, didn't look any closer. He dove again.
Each muscle in his limbs was on fire and still the island looked no closer than when he started. But he knew he had no other choice than to carry on, lest he face the punishment of a lifetime. He continued his routine of diving beneath the waves, swimming until he could feel his consciousness slipping, and coming back up for air. Over and over and over for what felt like hours. Elliot couldn't make out any shapes beneath the ocean, just the endless blue abyss and the blurry refractions of light splitting at the surface. The next time his head broke the surface, a fist tangled into his dripping locks and wrenched his head to the side, tearing a yelp from the boy's throat.
âGoing somewhere, slave?â Hess hissed through clenched teeth. Elliot blinked the stinging sea water out of his eyes, giving way for a longboat captained by two serpents to seemingly materialize beside him. Hess glowered at him.
Elliot didn't have time to respond before the second pirate grabbed him by the arms and attempted to haul him into the longboat. Elliot screamed and thrashed, fighting with all his strength to break free, but the sea had sapped all of his energy. From the piratesâ perspectives, the boy's desperate attempt to free himself was nothing more than a pathetic wriggle at best.
Without issue, the pirates hauled their prize out of the water and into the longboat where Hess made quick work of restraining him while the other man rowed back to the ship. Once the adrenaline of his escape started to wear off, Elliot's exhaustion crashed into him like a wave against jagged rocks. All he could do was stare at the gargantuan ship that, to his horror, was no more than a dozen or so meters away.
As the longboat began its short journey back to its mother ship, a devastating realization brought burning tears to Elliot's eyes.
Escape was never a possibility. The ocean had toyed with him. It had taken his greatest hope and presented it to him just out of reach. It was close enough to see, but still much too far. He never had a chance. This was always going to be the outcome.
âŚ
Elliot whimpered as he was unceremoniously deposited back on the deck of the ship in a sopping heap. His drenched, translucent clothes clung to his skin and shivers wracked his small body.
âWell, well, well,â an unfamiliar voice said. Elliot's head snapped up, eyes wide as he gazed upon the stranger towering over him. It was a woman, which confused Elliot more than anything thus far. In the few days he'd been aboard the ship, he had never seen this woman before. In fact, he hadn't seen any women since his final shift at the tavern. He'd assumed the crew was made up entirely of men. Then again, he'd hadn't seen much of anyone since they left Port Iryss. He'd been spending an awful lot of time in the brig lately.
The woman was tall, though that could've been attributed to her heeled boots and the fact that Elliot was kneeling at her feet. Her hair was the color of the sea and it lay in a pattern of long, wavy strands and tightly woven box braids. She had two thick braids framing her face that were adorned with silver jewelry, a stark contrast to her midnight hair and skin the color of oak. Her left eye was a warm, deep brown and her right resembled that of the sky, though it was impossible to tell if that was natural or simply due to the large, jagged scar running through it.
Elliot froze, terror seizing control of his heart. Was he on the right ship?
The woman smirked and chuckled at the way his face paled, but she didn't say a word to him. Instead, she shifted her gaze over to the men stepping out of the longboat. âFetch me the captain,â she instructed.
âAye,â one man said before scurrying off to the captain's quarters, leaving Hess to linger behind the slave.
The woman looked back down at Elliot. Her gaze was like ice. If Elliot wasn't already shivering, her gaze alone would send chills down his spine. He tore his eyes away from hers, desperate to escape them, but to no avail. He could still feel the weight and the chill of her gaze on him.
The woman lowered herself onto one knee, the other acting as an armrest while she took in the sight of him. âYou must be Whitlock's latest acquisition,â she said, her voice like soft leather. âI've heard much about you.â When Elliot didn't respond, she scoffed. âScrawny little thing, ain't you? You've a name, boy?â Elliot still didn't speak, which would normally earn him a good backhand, but the woman simply waited for his answer. Elliot still had no intention of giving one, and Christian's sudden entrance gave him the excuse he needed not to.
âHess!â The captain shouted, footsteps reverberating through every plank of wood on the ship. Elliot flinched in tandem with the planks as the captain grew closer.
Hess stepped out from behind the slave and approached the furious captain. âAye, Captââ a sharp smack rang through the air as the captain's fist collided with Hess's face, sending the navigator tumbling to the ground.
âYou let my slave escape on your watch?â
Hess clutched his nose as he righted himself. âAye, Captain, but I got him backââ
âI gave you one job, Hess! One!â the captain interrupted. âAnd you couldn't even do that. What use have I for you if you can't keep an eye on one little slave?â
Hess was speechless, but the way his face blanched betrayed his fear.
âCalloway?â the captain said. The woman stood to her feet and brandished a blade from her hip. The captain said nothing as the woman twirled the blade between her fingers before slicing cleanly across Hess's throat. The navigator wobbled backwards, hands clutching the oozing slit across his neck. Blood spurted out of the gash, dripping down Hess's lips and between his fingers as he stumbled on shaking legs over the side of the ship. Choked gargles and gasps were cut off by a sudden splash as the ocean accepted her gift, dragging Hess's body to the depths in the wake of a trail of red.
Elliot couldn't breathe. It had happened so quickly and there was no processing what he'd just witnessed.
When Elliot finally shifted his gaze from the droplets of Hess's blood on the deck, he found the captain's eyes searing through his skull. If the woman's gaze was like ice, the captain's was fire, and Elliot couldn't shake the feeling that he'd be joining Hess in a matter of moments.
The captain's glare shifted from his slave to the gathered crew. âSeems our guest hasn't quite grasped his role here.â Christian's voice was deceptively calm, given the way his face contorted with rage. After gracing each pirate with a single glance, his gaze landed on the woman. âRemind him of his place. And make sure he doesn't forget this time.â
The woman smirked and Elliot's blood ran cold. âAye, Captain.â The captain spared one last glance at his slave before he turned on his heel and disappeared into the captain's quarters. The woman's gaze fell upon the shivering slave at her feet. There was a hunger in her eyes that Elliot was far too familiar with, a level of bloodlust that sent icy tendrils down his back. She didn't take her eyes off of him as she said, âTie him to the mast.â
Hands wrapped around Elliot's upper arms, curling beneath his armpits and around his waist, one even tangling in his hair, in order to drag him from his puddle and haul him over to the mast. Elliot screamed, fighting with all his strength to avoid whatever was about to happen to him, but exhaustion had already settled over his body once the adrenaline had worn off. His limbs were practically useless.
Why Whitlock wasn't overseeing his punishment, Elliot didn't know. But this woman, whoever she was, terrified him. She'd killed Hess in less than a second without hesitation. If the bloodlust in her eyes was any indication, Elliot wouldn't be walking away from this in one piece.
âI don't believe we've been formally introduced,â the woman said as she began her slow saunter over to Elliot. His hands were quickly relieved of their shackles, only to be wrenched behind his back, coarse rope wound tightly around his wrists. Elliot sobbed, heart pounding relentlessly against his ribcage. âName's Na'Krisha Calloway. But you, little thing, will refer to me as Sir and nothinâ else. Savvy?â
Elliot could barely hear her over the pounding of his own heart. He hadn't registered that she'd asked him a question until her blade was at his throat. Elliot gasped, neck straining to avoid the dagger still dripping with Hess's blood. âI asked you a question there, darling. You ain't ignorinâ me, are you?â
Elliot shook his head as much as he was physically able, tears steadily trickling down his face.
Calloway smirked, but her eyes narrowed. âI'm gonna need a verbal answer from you there, love. Show me that you heard what I said.â
Elliot gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing against the sharp blade. âN-No, S-Sir. I-I'm not ignoring you, I-I s-swear.â
She dug the blade in deeper, drawing a sharp hiss from the slave. She leaned in so close their foreheads were nearly touching. Elliot could feel her steady breath against his cheek as she whispered. âThe captain may be your master, but I am his first mate.â Elliot's stomach dropped. âYou will treat me with the same respect you show him, slave. Savvy?â
Elliot whimpered, tears stinging his bloodshot eyes. âY-Yes, S-Sir.â
Calloway's amused smirk shifted into a pleased grin. Elliot's heart slowed ever-so-slightly as she retracted her blade, only to trace it down his collarbone, bringing it to rest just over his chest. Elliot squeaked. He braced himself, tensing every muscle and squeezing his eyes shut as he awaited the pressure of the blade plunging into his heart. Instead, the dagger fell away, slicing cleanly through his shirt instead and exposing his chest for all to see.
Elliot whimpered and curled up as tight as he could to maintain any semblance of dignity, but to no avail. With his hands so tightly bound, he had no means of protecting himself from the prying, hungry eyes of the crew.
Na'Krisha grinned at the way his cheeks reddened and the soft quivering of his lower lip. She could see why Whitlock had chosen this one. He really was a precious little thing.
Elliot gasped at the feeling of Calloway's cold touch near the base of his hips. She traced lines across his bare skin, a trail of goosebumps rising in her wake. Elliot's skin tingled wherever she touched him, and despite her gentleness, there was an anxious twitch to her fingers, like the urge to tear him apart was becoming more difficult to suppress. She drew shapes into his skin, trailing upwards until she reached a spot directly over his heart. She tapped it once, twice, and drew a circle around it with her finger. âRight there,â she whispered, meeting Elliot's eyes with a look of pure, unsullied bloodlust. âLight the iron,â she commanded, her eyes staying locked on her victim's.
As the crew scrambled to obey her instruction, Elliot's stomach shriveled. He still didn't understand what was going on, but the excitement in the woman's eyes wrought fear into his own. âP-Please,â he mumbled, because he had nothing else to do but beg. âPlease, h-have m-mercy.â
Calloway chuckled and raised her hand to gently cup his tear-streaked face. Elliot flinched, but the touch was so gentle that the boy couldn't help but lean into it, which only made the woman smile wider. âYou poor, sweet, stupid thing,â she said in a voice that, under any other circumstances, would almost sound comforting. âThis is for your own good. This way, you won't ever forget who you belong to.â
Elliot didn't understand. They had tied him the wrong direction to be whipped. If they were planning to slice him up, she wouldn't have put her dagger away. He didn't know what light the iron meant. What was about to happen to him?
That was the question he'd meant to ask, but fortunately or unfortunately, he didn't have to. A pirate he'd come to know as Paxton entered his field of view, carrying a long, glowing branding iron.
Elliot's mind went white.
The glowing image at the end of the iron was that of the serpentsâ insignia; a human skull flanked by two hissing snakes.
Elliot screamed and thrashed against his restraints as Paxton happily handed the branding iron over to Calloway. âSir, please don't do this!â He shouted. Though his pleas seemed to go unheard, Elliot didn't stop. âPlease, I'm begging you! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!â
Calloway inspected the iron as she sauntered back over to the bound slave, looking wildly entertained.
Elliot sobbed, his sore muscles straining against the coarse ropes as she brought the iron closer. âP-Please, Sir! I-I'm sorry. I've learned my lesson, I-I swear! I-I'm just a s-stupid slave. I wasn't thinking. Please!â
Calloway took a moment to look him over, as though genuinely considering his pleas, before drawing a circle with her finger on the spot over his heart. âStay still, pet. If you mess this up, we'll have to cut off the skin and try again.â
Elliot wept, his knees struggling to hold his weight. There was no escaping this. She was going to brand him like cattle, burn the serpentsâ insignia into his skin so no one would ever question who he belongs to. After this was done, he would well and truly be owned.
Elliot squirmed and thrashed, though he knew there was no chance of escape. Calloway was directly in front of him, the deck was crawling with pirates. Even if he did somehow slip his bonds, he had nowhere to go from there. Despite that, he couldn't stop.
NaâKrisha giggled at the boyâs pathetic attempt at resistance. As entertaining as he was, the iron was cooling quickly and she didn't have another second to waste. âPaxton, Reynolds, hold him still.â
âAye, Sir,â the two men said in unison. Each of them took hold of one of the boy's arms and wrestled him still, though the poor thing continued to cry and wiggle, as though he had any chance of escaping. It was adorable.
Once Elliot was sufficiently immobilized, Calloway hovered the iron over the spot she'd chosen. âReady, slave?â She asked.
Elliot violently shook his head. âN-No, pleaseââ Paxton's hand clamped over the boy's mouth, keeping his head pressed flush against the mast as Calloway leveled the iron. Elliot whimpered and moaned against Paxton's palm, brutally awaiting the agony that was only seconds away.
As if on command, Calloway pressed the glowing iron squarely over Elliotâs heart, pushing in as deep as she could, as though trying to puncture a hole in the boy's chest.
Elliot was deaf to his own screams, the intensity of the white-hot pain replacing each of his other senses. His skin sizzled and seared, nerve-endings burning alive as his skin formed around the shape of the insignia. The pain was worse than he could've ever imagined, overloading his senses and shutting down every other part of his brain until all that was left was pain. Burning, agonizing, relentless pain.
The iron was pulled away after no more than five seconds, but the slave screamed for at least ten before his body went limp.
Na'Krisha's eyes roamed over the flawless insignia seared into the boy's chest. The skin was glossy and an angry shade of red, but the image was beautiful. She examined the artwork she'd created for another few seconds until the slave began to stir.
Na'Krisha grinned, a sense of pride swelling in her chest as she stepped back and motioned for the semi-unconscious boy to be relieved of his bonds. Almost as soon as he was untied, the boy's knees buckled, sending him tumbling directly into Reynolds's waiting arms.
âTake him to the med bay,â Na'Krisha commanded. âHe will remain there until he's healed, or until the captain requires some stress relief. Until then, should any of you lay a hand on him, you'll be returninâ home without it. Savvy?â
A chorus of affirmative grunts rose from the gathered crew as Reynolds and Paxton both worked to haul Elliot's limp body down to the med bay. Na'Krisha watched until the boy disappeared below deck.
In all the years she'd known Whitlock, she had never before been on board with his desire to possess a slave. In her mind, they were dirty and useless and nothing but cargo that needed to be fed. She couldn't control the captain, unfortunately. So when he told her he'd picked up a slave from that tiny coastal village they'd stopped at for a booze restock, Na'Krisha had been more than pissed off. A slave was an investment that the crew simply couldn't afford.
But after seeing the boy for the first time, drenched, shivering, and kneeling submissively at her feet, she couldn't deny the slave's appeal. He was tiny and adorable, and the sight of him triggered something within her, something that longed to tear him to pieces and watch him helplessly writhe in pain.
Needless to say, she couldn't wait to play with him again.
-
I will be posting picrews of Na'Krisha Calloway soon. I'm a little bit in love with her.
I hope you enjoyed this!! This ended up way longer than I expected it to be, but it changed directions like three times while I was writing it. I'm pretty happy with the end result though! My next chapter will be a post-rescue chapter. So those of you that have been itching for some comfort for my boy, don't worry. Its coming.
If anyone else has any requests for things they'd like to see in my pirate au, feel free to send me an ask!
