#slave meme

He had never thought about owning a slave before.  Sam’s older brother had two that he kept around the house and Dean swore it was the best thing on earth.  He was at the auction house with his dad and seeing all of these people with downcast eyes and slumped postures made him sick to his stomach.  The younger Winchester vowed to himself that he would never make his slave work.  Instead, whoever it was he bought would be treated like an equal.  Sam would make sure that this person would be treated with respect and want for nothing.

The small red head they brought out on the auction block immediately caught his attention.  He knew exactly what this poor boy would be used for if someone else bought him and he started a bidding war for him.  His father gave a small chuckle and assumed that Sam was buying him for that purpose as well.  Once the bidding was over, the dark haired man was successful and went with John to pay the auction house.

Slave Starters

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The humans were worse to treat his kind than the other races. They invaded over night and took who ever was alive and not too close to death. He was young and and full of pride, putting up a bigger fight than he could take. Soon his body was tired as he got beaten to the ground and dragged away while unconscious. 

Send ♋ for my muse’s reaction to yours winning them at a slave auction.

The Thief was on the ground, his hands and knees being the only thing to support him.

Zorc was dead. Zorc was dead, the shard and the original and the child. Everything they’d fought for together was gone. Even if he hadn’t been there to witness the final confrontation between Zorc and the pharaoh, the Thief could feel it in the bottom of his soul. Somehow, the shadow magic he’d learned while at Zorc’s side was still usable—but the source for it was gone. His own body was wavering on the brink of nonexistence, kept together only by him stretching his heka to its limits. There was no magical Ring to go back to anymore, no host that he could stow away in.

”Please,” he said, his voice cracking. He didn’t know what else he could do. As long as the ghosts existed, he couldn’t give up, not even if his god was dead and his soul, once owned by Zorc, was being devoured into nothingness. That selfsame soul was the only thing he had to offer this new god, this young god who acted so selflessly in a way that made Bakura only fear all the more the day he would realize what a god can and should be.

But he had power over darkness. He had the shadows that comprised Bakura’s whole existence. It was clearly the only way.

"Please! Make a contract with Me, own My soul, take hold of it, I’ll be your subject willingly, I’ll pray and worship and serve and obey you forever, just take Me as your own!" He was begging to sell himself, a low he never even reached when he made the contract with Zorc Necrophades himself. Was it a betrayal to the god’s memory? …But who would remember Zorc as he was, as he really was, if the Thief died now?

There was no other option. Ever since he’d died, he’d become a slave to whomever owned the darkness.

"Godling—no, God, My God—” His voice was straining with desperation; his body was fading fast, becoming more intangible with every passing moment.

The Thief looked crushed. Devastated. Betrayed. Something dark and fearful was in his eyes.

"Don’t look at Me like that, Thief!" Zorc snapped, careful not to meet the ghost’s eyes. "It’s our only option!"

"But—our contract,” Bakura protested, at a loss for words. No. No no no no no.

"That contract’s terms include obedience to My orders. And this is an order." He may not be willing to look at the Thief, but his tone made it clear; Zorc wasn’t budging on this.

"It also says that you own My soul. You! Not—” He gestured to the witch who was hovering just far close enough to intrude on their conversation. Crunches of popcorn and the occasional giggle were all that she offered as interjection. “Not some extra-dimensional fairy thing!”

"I still have the contract." That wasn’t going to change. It was a permanent thing, practically tangible in its magic. If that was gone, so was the Thief. "This is a temporary arrangement, one I expect you to follow to the best of your abilities. We need her certainty magic.” The last bit was hissed, an attempt to keep it from prying ears.

The Thief couldn’t argue. Yes, she’d already guaranteed Zorc’s revival along with the ghosts’, but there was no certainty which Zorc was getting revived. Once certain facts had come to light about the independence of Zorc’s shards, this became a matter of utmost importance. After all, some iterations of Zorc would be more than pleased to resurrect Kul Elna for the sole purpose of killing them again as a punishment game for the Thief. And Zorc, for his part, had no desire to get devoured by some upstart soul shard. So Zorc once again had tried courting the great Witch of Certainty.

Knowing a little more about the witch now, Bakura predicted he’d fail and she’d come pestering him for attention, peppering her teasing challenges with tsuns and oh-ho-hos. 

Bakura was wrong. She’d decided that Zorc’s certain will to survive and blot out Horakhty’s light was at least worth listening to, provided he’d pay the price to prove the strength of his desire—the price of giving up what was dearest to him for the sake of his goals. Somehow, she’d decided that dearest something was the Thief, citing several intimate instances that most certainly should not have had an audience at all.

"You’re punishing Me, here, you realize?!” the Thief shot back at her and got a popcorn kernel flicked at his forehead in response.

…Perhaps that was half of the point.

"Come on, slaaaave, it’s time to greet your new mistress! Make it and proper, you know? I don’t want to waste my magic on a slave who can’t even curtsy convincingly!" 

The Thief sent one more desperate look to Zorc, who seemed to be doing his best to melt back into the shadows as the witch wondered aloud about if she should treat her furniture like such-and-such or if she should try to be original with her humiliations. 

Bakura squared his shoulders. He’d done worse for Kul Elna, much worse, and he’d do much worse still.

Bakura hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off him. He probably would have been captivating even without the lines of earth magic making such striking patterns around him. Bakura could read those all too well. His usual calm and easygoing facade was forgotten, to the point one of the handlers cuffed him around the back of the head. Bakura, deciding today was not a normal day, bit him. The stranger did not seem the type to want a perfect obedient slave.

As he’d hoped the resulting noise and scuffle did attract a few peoples attention, including that one man’s. He couldn’t tell what kind of magic he had, though it was clearly not a common kind and was not pleased about being in he busy town, he he hoped the other man saw him the same way. Bakura was always sure of himself, and right now he didn’t care whether he met this man as equals or not. That magic would do well with his, and he hadn’t seen that same moon hair before, outside his own people.