This is a PSA to ANY of my followers.
YOU CAN TAG ME IN STUFF.
YOU’RE NOT ANNOYING ME.
SEEING STUFF IN MY TAG.
MAKES MY DAY.
YOU THOUGHT OF ME.
YOU INCLUDED ME IN YOUR POST.
YOU WANTED ME TO SEE SOMETHING.
BLESS YOUR SWEET SOUL.
I wanna do more stuff in my slave verse!
Anyone up for plotting in it?? (Or wants a starter in it?)
Like for a starter?
"They can see you now?" Anna’s eyes grew wide with excitement herself, happy for her friend that she didn’t have to walk around with nobody to talk to because she went unseen. "I thought you’d like that though?"
"Indeed it is all very exciting, but there is no need for everyone to know that I’m a spirit. The last thing I want to cause any sort of panic. And it’s relatively hard to ‘play human’, believe it or not." Isabelle laughed softly; she knew that most humans were extremely wary of the supernatural.
▒ *.:｡‘ﾟ ❝ —- Perhaps. Though I doubt that
very much. The Master isn’t the
sort to act spontaneously. ❞
"That is— That is true.
Unfortunately… I wish I could do something.”
*.:｡‘ﾟ ❅ *.:｡‘ﾟ
After Isabelle spoke, there was more silence. His master’s boots were right in front of Elias, only about a foot separating the two men. Elias could smell the master’s cologne, could hear his breathing and feel the overwhelming tenseness of his presence. It was unlike him to be so quiet for so long, and the silence worried Elias. Had he done something wrong? He knew that he and Isabelle weren’t as shiny and alluring as their master liked them to be for him, but the older man would usually make some joke about his whores being so anxious for him they made themselves thoughtless; he’d just laugh and grab one of them, and the moment would be forgotten. But this was… different.
And Elias soon realized why: he was wearing a shirt. Oh, gods, how had he forgotten to remove his shirt?! Against all the laws of his master’s house, Elias hid whatever clothes he could find in his room. He didn’t really know why. He was rarely able to wear them, and he only had one boot, two shirts, and a jacket that had not been given to him by his master. His breeches, the only clothing he was actually permitted to wear, was the only article he hadn’t stolen. He didn’t intend on ever really stealing… But he took a ripped jerkin from out of a hamper once when he was thirteen, and it had felt so wonderful to have something of his own that Elias had simply continued the tradition every couple of months or so.
"Well, well…" The master stepped even closer to Elias, his hand lightly fingering the fabric of the loose white shirt before gripping the collar tightly and pulling his slave to his unsteady feet. Elias was of an equal height with his master now, but he still felt like a little child waiting to be punished. "My, oh my… Don’t we look lovely today.”
Green eyes flickered towards Elias quickly, before resting on the shirt. Oh no… The silence was thick; and it was frightening because she didn’t know if their Master was angry. (Well, yes, he was angry, but—) He was unreadable. And that sometimes that was much more dangerous than customary anger.
Her head snapped up once he was tugged to his feet, her heart thumping in her chest as though she was the one who had committed the transgression. The younger slave scrambled to her feet, eyes flickering between quickly.
"— I took it." She claimed, quickly because Elias could work up a response to their Master’s jeer. Fear quickly took a hold of her soon after the words left her lips. "I— I stole the shirt. And gave it to him to— to try on. It wasn’t his fault, sir, I assure you."
*.:｡‘ﾟ⊰ ❅ ⊱ *.:｡‘ﾟ
Elias struggled to draw air into his lungs. He thought of Lyla, the raven-haired girl he loved. She was likely reading in her library, preparing her work and mind for school, knowing nothing of the change about to strike her world. Elias tried to tell himself that she would soon forget him, finding herself a noble or simply free man to wed. But he knew it was not true, as much as he wished it could be for Lyla’s sake. She, however, would have none of his concern the last time they were together.
”I choose you,” she’d said, cupping his face in her soft, ink-stained hands. “I do. You do not force me to love you, and you cannot force me to let you go.”
We are both fools, my love.
Lyla would be disgraced by this. She could own slaves, but she was not of a high enough status to take whichever blonde she wished. Elias’s master had not given her permission to have him, and he never would. She would be a tainted woman now, likely never to marry or hold a high-ranking political office as she’d so wished.
My fault… This is all my fault.
Well, he would not allow Isabelle to pay for his selfishness, his gloriously beautiful folly, too. He pushed himself onto his hands and knees as the master turned to his female bed-slave. Elias could tell by the older man’s clenched fists he would harm Isabelle— she’d as much as confessed to knowing the truth.
”She… w-wanted to tell you… the tr-truth, M-Master,” he managed to croak through his breathless struggling. “B-But I… threatened her into k-keeping… quiet…” The master would likely still punish Isabelle for not braving anything for him, but his actions would be far less severe. Elias, however, was immediately struck across the face with his master’s riding crop.
”Did I give you permission to speak, Boy?!”
Simply shaking his head in response, hand clutching the newly-split skin of his cheek as he crouched at his master’s feet silently. He was a fool for all sorts of love, it would seem.
It took everything within her to not yelp as Elias was struck once more, although her body jolted as she covered her eyes. Isabelle wasn’t new to the use of weapons as tools of punishments — Over the years, she had had Masters who used things from whips to irons — but it didn’t make it any better. She would much rather be slapped, or have nails digging into her scalp as her hair was tugged then to feel the stinging slash of something like a riding crop against her skin.
But - of course - slaves didn’t get to choose their punishments.
She hated that Elias spoke out for her, and hated herself for still feeling some relief for him doing so. It was clear that the Master was going to make her be present for the rest of her dear friend’s punishment, and the tears had already begun pricking the corner of her eyes.
"P—Please, have mercy! We had no intention of displeasing you so, Master!"
” I just- ”
She didn’t know what to
think or how she should
feel anymore. It was so
strange without Holly
here. It was like a part
of her was missing.
” I miss her
so much. “
Her voice cracked. Tears
began to roll down her
face. The ones she had
been holding in during
their conversation. She
wiped at her face with
the back of her hands
before she spoke
” I-I just-
I don’t know
what to do. “
"… I know."
It was all she could say; Isabelle feeling her own throat grow tight with emotion. She hated seeing her friend this way… Hated that she was in so much pain and she couldn’t do anything to help.
She took a step closer, hesitatingly as she bit her bottom lip.
“… May I— May I hug you?”
"It’s okay," he said. "I like caramel macchiato’s."
"You probably won’t like it so much when it becomes sticky."
”Isabelle!” She grinned widely, clutching
onto her friend when she hugged her. “Oh
my goodness, I’ve missed you terribly.
Where have you been hiding yourself?”
"Here and there! — I think that was the expression."
Isabelle laughed, pulling out of the embrace as she brushed hair out of her face; unable to contain her excitement.
"More and more people have been able to see me… so I’ve been attempting to keep myself hidden is all."