What’s pirate au Elliot’s 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!
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Pre-captivity
The tight, bruising grip around Elliot’s 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.
“‘Bout fucking time I was rid of you, boy!” 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 she’d just pulled out of bed. “Been waitin’ for this day for eighteen long years!”
Elliot’s eyes widened and he quickly scrambled to face her as she began to close the rickety door behind her. “Madam Sibella, wait, please!” The woman paused and glared down at him. “Please, I-I don't understand. What am I being p-punished for?”
Madam Sibella scoffed and Elliot caught a glimpse of her rotting teeth in the flickering candlelight. “This ain't a fucking punishment, you stupid dog!” Elliot flinched. No matter how many times she used that nickname, it never got any easier to hear. “As of about forty minutes ago, you ain't me fucking problem anymore!”
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. “N-No,” he mumbled. “No, no, no, please! You can't do this!”
Madam Sibella smirked at the sight of his panic. “Yer eighteen now, boy. The law say you ain't mine anymore and I won't have you taintin’ this house any longer.”
“But that's not fair!” 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. “Fletcher's twenty-one and you let him stay as long as he wants!”
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. “Fletcher's worth his weight!” She shouted. Elliot flinched again, a soft whimper slipping past his lips. “He'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!”
Elliot was trembling now, the frigid rainwater soaking him to the bone as his tears fell free. “P-Please, Madam Sibella. I-I can w-work t-too. Just-Just give me a chance, please!” He begged.
Madam Sibella cackled at that, her heavy laughter flickering the candle's flame. “You?” She exclaimed, eyeing his small, emaciated form. “What could you do?”
Despite the cold night air, a heat crawled up Elliot's neck and onto his cheeks. “I-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?”
“Not me problem, boy. Get a fucking job, why don't you? The brothel's always lookin’ for new whores, I hear.”
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. “You-You can’t s-say that to me.”
“Ain't like yer good for anything else! Now get the fuck off me property!” Madam Sibella shouted.
Elliot flinched, but he didn't move. “Madam S-Sibella, I-I'm b-begging you—”
“Fletcher!” Sibella shouted into the house. Elliot gasped. “There's a rat on me porch!”
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.
“Get rid of it for me, would you?” 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.
“P-Please!” He begged as Fletcher shoved him against a stone wall. “P-Please, Fletcher. I-I'm s-sorry. I just—”
“Quiet, mutt!” 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. “You're fucking lucky Sibella ain't selling you, Córdova. She could make good money off a pretty face like yours.” 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.. “P-Please, n-no! Please don't!”
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. “You poor thing,” Fletcher mocked. “Tell 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.” Fletcher roughly threw Elliot to the ground and pressed a foot to his back to keep him there. Elliot whined. “But until then,” he continued. “Don'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.”
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 Córdova was nothing but a ghost.
…
In Captivity
“Looking good, mutt,” 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.
“I'm payin' you a compliment, rat! What say you?” 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. “Th-Thank you, S-Sir,” 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. “Good boy,” 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 was—
“Who the fuck said you could stop working, slave?” 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 petticoat—his 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.
“There he is!” 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.
“To the longboat!”
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.
“Going somewhere, slave?” 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 pirates’ 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.
…
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.
“Well, well, well,” 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. “Fetch me the captain,” she instructed.
“Aye,” 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. “You must be Whitlock's latest acquisition,” she said, her voice like soft leather. “I've heard much about you.” When Elliot didn't respond, she scoffed. “Scrawny little thing, ain't you? You've a name, boy?” 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.
“Hess!” 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. “Aye, Capt—” a sharp smack rang through the air as the captain's fist collided with Hess's face, sending the navigator tumbling to the ground.
“You let my slave escape on your watch?”
Hess clutched his nose as he righted himself. “Aye, Captain, but I got him back—”
“I gave you one job, Hess! One!” the captain interrupted. “And you couldn't even do that. What use have I for you if you can't keep an eye on one little slave?”
Hess was speechless, but the way his face blanched betrayed his fear.
“Calloway?” 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. “Seems our guest hasn't quite grasped his role here.” 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. “Remind him of his place. And make sure he doesn't forget this time.”
The woman smirked and Elliot's blood ran cold. “Aye, Captain.” 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, “Tie him to the mast.”
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.
“I don't believe we've been formally introduced,” 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. “Name's Na'Krisha Calloway. But you, little thing, will refer to me as Sir and nothin’ else. Savvy?”
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. “I asked you a question there, darling. You ain't ignorin’ me, are you?”
Elliot shook his head as much as he was physically able, tears steadily trickling down his face.
Calloway smirked, but her eyes narrowed. “I'm gonna need a verbal answer from you there, love. Show me that you heard what I said.”
Elliot gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing against the sharp blade. “N-No, S-Sir. I-I'm not ignoring you, I-I s-swear.”
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. “The captain may be your master, but I am his first mate.” Elliot's stomach dropped. “You will treat me with the same respect you show him, slave. Savvy?”
Elliot whimpered, tears stinging his bloodshot eyes. “Y-Yes, S-Sir.”
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. “Right there,” she whispered, meeting Elliot's eyes with a look of pure, unsullied bloodlust. “Light the iron,” 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. “P-Please,” he mumbled, because he had nothing else to do but beg. “Please, h-have m-mercy.”
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. “You poor, sweet, stupid thing,” she said in a voice that, under any other circumstances, would almost sound comforting. “This is for your own good. This way, you won't ever forget who you belong to.”
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 serpents’ 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. “Sir, please don't do this!” He shouted. Though his pleas seemed to go unheard, Elliot didn't stop. “Please, I'm begging you! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!”
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. “P-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!”
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. “Stay still, pet. If you mess this up, we'll have to cut off the skin and try again.”
Elliot wept, his knees struggling to hold his weight. There was no escaping this. She was going to brand him like cattle, burn the serpents’ 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.
Na’Krisha giggled at the boy’s pathetic attempt at resistance. As entertaining as he was, the iron was cooling quickly and she didn't have another second to waste. “Paxton, Reynolds, hold him still.”
“Aye, Sir,” 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. “Ready, slave?” She asked.
Elliot violently shook his head. “N-No, please—” 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 Elliot’s 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.
“Take him to the med bay,” Na'Krisha commanded. “He 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 returnin’ home without it. Savvy?”
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!
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