Rules

Verses

Primary Timeline

Diagnosed toward the end of the war with a degenerative genetic condition, Lotor’s life is governed in the end by his mortality. Between losing his leg, the extensive genetic therapy he has undergone, and the expected progression of his illness, over the last decade and a half, his body has undergone no small number of changes. Nonetheless, he has managed in that time to carve out the life for himself he had strived for for as long as he could remember. Becoming a father, getting married, finishing his PhD; he has crammed enough of a life into the last several years of it that he has no trouble, most days, pretending that the end of the war is when his life began.He is a very candid man, yet a man with a past full of secrets he has no intention of divulging. What he shares, he shares enthusiastically, but what he hides he keeps buried. He is direct, gentle, and diligent in his work, to a degree of dysfunction.To be kind is a tenant he holds of utmost importance. He lives, after all, in opposition to the values his father upheld and the expectations that crushed him in his youth. He is an active and positive part of his children’s lives, he is a researcher with an interest in work that he truly believes is useful, he is a loving husband. His values were sculpted in what he wasn’t allowed to be and in the pain of never being able to be enough. If he could never be the man his father wanted him to be, why bother trying?

Widowered Timeline

Most content from the primary timeline remains true. Lotor has been a single father since his husband's death, and how well he is coping with it depends heavily on the day and the situation. It is in this timeline where most alternate ships and/or flings will take place.

Young Lotor Alternate Timeline

Lotor is twenty-four years old and freshly exiled. Most of the experiences that shaped the man he would become haven't yet occurred. The patient, kind man familiar to this world is a long time coming, and instead a disciplined but still rather polar young man stands in his place.He doesn't know who he is in any meaningful way, and for the first time in his life, he is truly alone. Even if he had never been a member of the ingroup, he had always been backed into the same corners. Now, he was out in the universe alone, without even the support of the mould he'd been forced into for so long.In his youth, Lotor was a much more rigid individual. He didn't have most of the skills of mind that he would come to develop. He was clever and adaptable, but he had only ever been in one tiny corner of the universe. Now, for the first time in his life, he was finally free from the confines of that ever impossible to fit mould, and he had no idea what to do with it.At twenty-four, he hadn't figured out what he was fighting against. All he knew was that he resented his father for the torment his entire life had been up to this point, and something inside him was burning, but it would take time to focus a lifetime of objections.Compared to his older self, he lacks all of the maturity that would become so characteristic of him, and lacks the direction he would come to cling to, but he still has his moral character intact and his future ahead of him.

Timeline

Childhood

Lotor was born to a mother who loved him but who had little time for an infant and a father who detested him. For the first several years of his life, he was close with his mother, but as time passed, she drifted away. He saw her less and less, and she regarded him with even less frequency. By his sixth birthday, she'd completely left his life, dedicated entirely to her work. Lotor didn't much remember these years, but he felt the betrayal. What he never in his youth had the opportunity to realize was that she had never left; she stood there, beside his father, idly, as he was disciplined.His mother's role in his life had never been large. He had been, after all, primarily raised by a governess. The methodology to his education and his rearing was unmistakably Galra, but its content Altean. He had never excelled at the exercises he was expected to; he was small for his age even for an Altean at times, let alone for a boy of Galra descent. Strength had never been his strong suit, nor had been directness. He was noted as fast and clever from an incredibly young age, but his excellence made his failings no less punishable.He had been raised speaking overly formal dialects of both Altean and Imperial Galra. His education seemed to direct him toward someday taking the throne, including military and something resembling diplomatic training, but without the ability to fight, he'd never be able to assume it. His governess had known this, and she'd gone to great lengths to make sure he was no only proficient, but exceptional with a blade. A small Altean boy on the imperial mothership was an easy target, and as the crown prince, a high value one. She taught him to take advantage of those traits of his so commonly deemed flaws, and he was an unparalleled swordsman for it.He wasn't always successful at keeping himself from danger, however. Several times, he'd been cornered and harassed, and several times, those encounters had ended with incredibly distasteful outcomes. The hostile environment he grew up in got to him, so at sixteen he started drinking - heavily. He rapidly became the ship's drunk, wasting his time away locked in his quarters with a bottle of rancid nunvill. As long as he stayed there, passed the time without having to experience it, he could avoid the world he was stuck in.Not long after his twenty-fourth birthday - or an approximation, at least, as record of his birth had been effectively scrubbed along with large swaths of history - he had had enough. His life was miserable, he and he was sick of sticking around and doing nothing but being miserable. He made a show of it, standing up for the first time in his life to his father and to the regime that was crushing him. He and his governess were exiled, though her in much more grace. A bag of essentials and an old escort pod were his parting gifts, with promise of execution were he to ever be spotted again in Galra territory, and his father made it abundantly clear that he would not show the mercy of a quick execution when his grip marked his throat.

Exile

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Wartime

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Post-War

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