slave and king

Sup. Here’s a Voltron Au for you while you wait for my other post.

So get this.

Imagine a desert. Sizzling hot.

You hear the grunts and moans of slaves.

Altean slaves.

A half Galra, half Altean baby is born in a small village built by those slaves. But the paranoid king wanted to inflict more sorrow on the Alteans so he sent a decree to kill all of the male children under the age of two. But this Galran mother was not about to let her son die.

She weaved a basket and sailed her baby on ther river in hopes that the soldiers wouldn’t find him. This will be the last time she ever saw her precious child. The basket safely floats into the palace waters where the Galran queen discovered the babe and decided to raise him as her own. So the young half-blood became a prince beside his new brother. Though we was not heir to the throne, he had everything he ever wanted.

One night, the court magicians brought a Nomad from the highlands as entertainment for the banquet. She seemed destressed to the young prince, so after the banquet, he sneaked her into his room to help her escape out his window. He was conflicted by his actions, but he thought nothing of it.

That is until two messengers from the chief house of the Alteans told him of his Altean heritage. One of the messengers was his real brother. It couldn’t be. Him? An Altean? He was the prince of the Galra Empire! Ever since then, he had dreams, no, nightmares of a night where newborns were being slaughtered. Him alone floated on the river. He couldn’t take it any longer.

He rushed to his mother’s chambers and pled for an answer. Indeed he was a half-blood, his mother had said. But he needn’t worry about his past. He is now a prince. A proud son of the Galran empire…

As a prince, he had to learn the workings of the kingdom so he was sent to inspect the work of the slaves. But then, he saw something that would change the very course of his life.

He could have walked past it, but the guilt was too strong. A man who was loading a block was being whipped by a slave-driver. If he did not stop soon, the man would die. Out of anger and the frustration, he went to tell the slave-driver to back off. But during the struggle, the young prince killed him.

He had killed a man.

The slave who was behind him told him to flee. To flee far, far away. He had to, a prince was no murderer. He snuck into the palace to get some provisions for his journey, but was caught by his brother. Despite the brother’s protest, the half-blood left after telling him to take care of his parents. Well, the people who he thought was his parents….


“Keith! There must be another way! You’re a prince, I can help you out of this thing.”

“You don’t understand. I don’t belong here, Lotor.”


Reasons to love this AU:

  • DreamWorks x DreamWorks
  • Keith and Lotor brother angst (need I say more?)
  • Pidge is a sassy girl and becomes a sassy wife (if I write a fic, I can make it slow burn)
  • Hunk and Lance are evil but the greatest comedy magician duo in the royal court
  • Allura is a fraking daughter of a enslaved Altean cheif. (Idk how that’s good but she’s a cheif’s daughter)
  • Shiro and Keith sorta brother angst and reunion (wat)
  • Pidge is Keith’s sassy wife


Lotor as Ramses

Keith as Moses

Hunk and Lance as the Pharoh’s court magicians

Pidge as Ziporah

Shiro as Aaron

Allura as Mirian (kinda)

Coran as Cheif of the Altean Village

I present you a Prince of Egypt inspired Au.

You have no idea what it means to see beautiful black people decked out in all regalia in a full on costume piece, where they’re not slaves, but are kings, princes, princesses and people of the court. I don’t care if it’s not a critically acclaimed series. If white people can have trashy dramas that go on for 15 seasons, then let POC, let black people have theirs.

As soon as I sat down to watch and saw Lucien Laviscount as Romeo make his way across the screen, a beautiful black prince in his gorgeous “fourteeth” or “fifteenth century” (because this show is all over the place with their costumes) attire, Medalion Rahimi as Princess Isabella looking like a QUEEN or Lashana Lynch and Ebonée Noel as Rosaline and Livia looking divine at the ball, I got a little misty eyed. I felt like a little girl when I watched Brandy’s Cinderella for the first time. Please, don’t take this away from me.

The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas

From The Wind’s Twelve Quarters: Short Stories by Ursula Le Guin

With a clamor of bells that set the swallows soaring, the Festival of Summer came to the city Omelas, bright-towered by the sea. The rigging of the boats in harbor sparkled with flags. In the streets between houses with red roofs and painted walls, between old moss-grown gardens and under avenues of trees, past great parks and public buildings, processions moved. Some were decorous: old people in long stiff robes of mauve and grey, grave master workmen, quiet, merry women carrying their babies and chatting as they walked. In other streets the music beat faster, a shimmering of gong and tambourine, and the people went dancing, the procession was a dance. Children dodged in and out, their high calls rising like the swallows’ crossing flights, over the music and the singing. All the processions wound towards the north side of the city, where on the great water-meadow called the Green’ Fields boys and girls, naked in the bright air, with mudstained feet and ankles and long, lithe arms, exercised their restive horses before the race. The horses wore no gear at all but a halter without bit. Their manes were braided with streamers of silver, gold, and green. They flared their nostrils and pranced and boasted to one another; they were vastly excited, the horse being the only animal who has adopted our ceremonies as his own. Far off to the north and west the mountains stood up half encircling Omelas on her bay. The air of morning was so clear that the snow still crowning the Eighteen Peaks burned with white-gold fire across the miles of sunlit air, under the dark blue of the sky. There was just enough wind to make the banners that marked the racecourse snap and flutter now and then. In the silence of the broad green meadows one could hear the music winding through the city streets, farther and nearer and ever approaching, a cheerful faint sweetness of the air that from time to time trembled and gathered together and broke out into the great joyous clanging of the bells.

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Elvis:  Rock and Roll music, if you like it, if you feel it, you can’t help but move to it. That’s what happens to me. I can’t help it…The first time that I appeared on stage, it scared me to death. I really didn’t know what all the yelling was about. I didn’t realize that my body was moving. It’s a natural thing to me. So to the manager backstage I said, “What’d I do? What’d I do?” And he said, “Whatever it is, go back and do it again.”

Michael:  I think it happens subliminally. When you’re a dancer, you know you are just interpreting the sounds and the accompaniment of the music. If there’s a driving bass, you become the bass. If there’s a cello, if there’s a string, you become that. You become emotion of what that sound is. Okay? So if I’m doing a movement and I go “BAM” and I grab myself, it’s the music that compels me to do it, it’s not saying that I’m dying to grab down there, you don’t think about it, it just happens. Sometimes I’ll look back at the footage and I go, “Did I do that?” So, I’m a slave to the rhythm.

Forever love the fact that not only was Laurent able to reclaim his sexual autonomy, but that he was able to reclaim his sexual reputation. For too long, his sex life - or lack of - was the centre of court gossip. Subject to ridicule and downright degrading treatment - he’s frigid, once every ten years. He committed incest with his brother. The soldiers describing exactly how they’d fuck him as if he’s a prize to be boasted about. His uncle constantly asking if he’d slept with Damen yet and trying to get Damen to give him details. 

But now, he controls his sexual reputation. He knows the rumours that he’s fucking ‘the Akielon slave’ and later, King Daminanos of Akielos, and he owns it. Telling Nikandros that Damen sucked his cock, letting Pallas walk in on them. Talking with Jokaste. Even at his trial admitting he and Damen had lain together. To deny it would allow the rumours to spread and sprawl out of his control. He refuses for there to be any ambiguity any more. For there to be any shame. He refuses to let his sexuality be weaponised against him any longer.

Going down the rows, Stiles was mildly frustrated that none of the beasts stood out to him. They were all frightened and malnourished. It was expected, but disappointing none-the-same. He needed a guard wolf, a vicious creature that he could win the loyalty of and then never have to worry about someone trying for his back. He could barely stand to look into their dull eyes however, flat and empty with their broken minds. He wondered just what horrors these creatures had seen, wondered just what the Argents did to break their wolves so effectively.

“Have you found any to your satisfaction, Your Majesty?” Chris Argent asked, steady even while under the eye of the newly crowned king.

Stiles hummed thoughtfully, an acknowledgement that he’d heard him more than anything as he continued down the aisle. He paused outside of one cage, peering inside curiously.

The beast was just as malnourished and dirty as the rest of them, but Stiles could feel an aura about him. His left side was scarred heavily, burns it seemed, and his blue eyes appeared blank at first glance. Stiles could almost taste the seething rage in the air surrounding it, however, even as the beast neglected to move.

“Interesting scars on this one,” he noted aloud.

Chris paused at his side, frowning. “This one needs to be put down, if you ask me,” he spoke. “He can just barely move under his own power, let alone fight. Waste of space and resources. If my sister hadn’t developed a fondness for his lineage he would’ve been culled by now.”

Stiles hummed thoughtfully. “Your sister…she favors him? Even though he cannot fight?”

Chris shook his head. “No, just his lineage. We have two others of the same bloodline and they’re excellent fighters. One in particular is my sister’s pet. I supposed she keeps this one because even beasts have some level of fondness for familial ties. My father’s been talking about using this one for breeding though. He’s got strong genes to pass on, even if he can’t use them himself.”

Stiles felt the hatred coming off the other in waves, along with a spike of fear and more rage at the mention of breeding. He studied the prone wolf thoughtfully.

“I’ll take this one then.”

Chris looked surprised before masking it quickly. “He’s no fighter, Your Majesty, and we’re not completely sure about the breeding idea—”

Stiles waved off his concerns. The fear and anxiety and general hopelessness coming off every other wolf in the building was stifling; even if this beast wasn’t as mobile, the rage was a refreshing change. Perhaps some therapy could improve his mobility enough to allow him to act as an alarm to enemies at the very least.

“I’ll take this one,” Stiles declared evenly. Chris hesitated before nodding once.

“Alright. I’ll have him sedated and prepared for your leave.”

Stiles nodded. “I’ll show myself out then. Have him ready for transfer by my return in three days.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Chris agreed.


March 14th 1794: Eli Whitney patents the cotton gin

On this day in 1794, American inventor Eli Whitney recieved a patent for his cotton gin. Whitney, who was born in New England, moved to Georgia in 1792 to work as a tutor on a plantation. Whitney witnessed the system of Southern slavery firsthand, and noted that the growing of cotton - a staple crop on slave plantations - was becoming unprofitable. The one strain of cotton which grew inland had sticky green seeds which were time consuming to pick out of the fluffy cotton balls. Whitney sought to build a machine which would speed up this process, therefore ensuring the continued viability of the Southern cotton-based slave economy. The result of his efforts was the cotton gin, which could separate the seeds from the cotton at speed. Whitney patented his invention in 1794, and with his business partner installed them throughout the South and charged planters for their use. Planters, who resented paying the high price for using the gin, exploited a loophole in the patent law and made their own versions of the machine. The invention of the cotton gin made a significant impact upon the Southern economy and, indeed, the course of American history. After the invention, the yield of raw cotton doubled each decade after 1800, ensuring the continued profitability of slavery in the United States and leading to the growth of American slavery. Using machines of the Industrial Revolution to refine and spin cotton, grown by enslaved people who were not paid for their labour, the United States soon became the world’s leading supplier of cotton. Historians sometimes claim the invention of the cotton gin as a pivotal moment in the coming of the American Civil War. The invention ensured that the evil of slavery continued in the American South, setting the nation on the course to war over the ‘pecular institution’.

Things Alleria’s gonna hear about for the first time
  • The orc leader she went to Draenor to fight escaped, was turned into the Lich King, and was sent back to Azeroth
  • 90% of her race was wiped out within the span of a week by the Lich King
  • Sylvanas was turned into a terror weapon and was a slave to the Lich King for about a year
  • The forests of Quel’thalas are scarred to the point of it being irreparable
  • The Sunwell was corrupted with necromancy to the point where the only option was to destroy it
  • A significant portion of survivors began to devolve due to magical addiction
  • Garithos
  • Kael’thas having to turn to Kil’jaeden so that he had something to keep people from devolving into Wretched
  • The blood elves had to ally themselves with undead and orcs to survive
  • Kael’thas then invaded Quel’thalas and we were forced to kill him, ending the only royal bloodline Quel’thalas ever had
  • The blood elves proceeded to be strong armed by their allies in the Horde at every given opportunity rather than being allowed to rebuild
  • One of the orc leaders she went into Draenor to stop had a son who then ruined Azeroth and killed her sister’s husband
  • The Purge of Dalaran, which her sister actively made worse

And that’s just off the top of my head.

Victor is a bored king. He puts out a lackadaisical call to his kingdom: don’t put yourselves out or anything, but send me gifts to entertain me. The presents flood in, from the little girl who sends him her favorite doll to the inventor who’s latest invention fills the throne room with smoke and burns a royal tapestry to ash. More gifts come than Victor can go through in a lifetime - he’s a popular monarch, and a benevolent one - but one in particular catches his eye: a beautiful young man wearing the collar of a slave, the name tag on which identifies him as “Yuuri,” nothing more. There’s no indication of who sent the slave, and he doesn’t talk, not a word, not a peep, but he dances…oh, he dances.

Victor tries to find the words to describe that dance - as graceful as a swan, as powerful as a lion, as lithe as a gazelle - but no comparison can do the slave justice. He dances as beautifully and perfectly as Yuuri, and Victor is enthralled. The diaphanous clothing the slave wears only enhances the appeal, fabrics near sheer, light and flowing, twirling around his body.

Victor is well pleased with his gift.

His pleasure transforms to disgust and fury that night, though, when he returns to his bed chamber to find Yuuri naked in his bed, offering himself without question, without fear or hope or expectation. Victor of course rebukes him, he’s not a monster to take physical advantage of a slave (no matter how alluring that slave is), and Yuuri misunderstands the rebuke. All the grace he used in dancing is turned into a cruel mockery of grace as Yuuri dextrously turns from presenting himself for making love to presenting himself for punishment. Though his bare skin is unmarred, he reacts with no more fear to the prospect of punishment than he reacted with pleasure to the prospect of making love. Not even resignation is suggested by Yuuri’s face or body language, only acceptance: this is his role, this is his purpose. Whoever owned him previously trained him, broke him, used him. Rage fills Victor, but he restrains himself from expressing it lest he spook the slave. Slavery has never sat right with him, and all the worst horrors suggested by Yuuri’s behavior are why. Victor will not let this stand.

Yuuri is baffled when Victor refuses to punish him, even more baffled when Victor wraps a blanket around his bare shoulders - Yuuri’s clothing seems to have vanished, did he walk to the royal chambers naked?? - and escorts Yuuri back to his assigned quarters. Only when Victor gently urges him into the room, turns down his offer of sexual favors again, and bids him goodnight, does an expression enter the young man’s eyes: gratefulness, understanding, appreciation, respect, surprise.

Walking back to his chambers, Victor resolves on two things: 

First, he is going to find out who gifted him the slave and he is going to punish them so completely and so publicly that the next ten generations will remember and no slave will go through whatever broke Yuuri so completely.

Second, he is going to woo Yuuri as Yuuri deserves, heal him, help him, encourage him, and when - if - Victor ever beds Yuuri, it will be because Yuuri, as a free man, has chosen to be with his king. No - has chosen to be with Victor.

Well, at least Victor isn’t bored anymore.

(Spoilers, the first sounds Yuuri ever makes are moans of desire, and the first word he speaks is Victor, whispered in a cracked, worn voice with adoration into the quiet of the night as Victor worships him…)

Guys I keep having ideas for Yuri on Ice Viktuuri AUs and I have no time and I want to write all of them. *sigh* (this one brought to you by two hours of insomnia last night)

(And I think I’d have Yuuri’s owner be an OC - there’s no one I dislike enough in Yuri on Ice to put them in the position of being a villain who has done what’s been done to Yuuri - past non-con, past torture, use of magic to keep him without scars or blemishes…I was running through characters in my head and the worst I could come up with was Georgi but even then…so much of what I love about Yuri on Ice is how no one is really a bad guy and ultimately everyone gets along, which makes writing a story like this tough but I don’t want to, like, ruin that vibe by putting any of our characters in that kind of evil role…)


Every morning at my teenage sons’ small indigenous charter school they
all get together and one of the staff or students will volunteer to give a blessing. This week the son who adores DA almost as much as I do gave
the blessing:

“Good morning everybody, this morning I’m going to share a passage from
the Chant of Light. All men are the work of our Maker’s hands, from the lowest slaves to the highest kings. Those who bring ham without
provocation to the least of His children are breaded and accursed by the Maker.”

Love that he chose this because it represents values that he sincerely believes in but also lets him indulge his sense of humor