#lotors generals

[alluraswifey]

….

[violet-moonstone]

casually dropping back into the voltron fandom for this:

currently thinking about my lotor/acxa/zethrid/ezor polycule that has very specific dynamics with varying levels of romance, sexual attraction, and platonic compatibility

strongest romance: lotor/acxa, zethrid/ezor

closest friends: lotor/zethrid, acxa/ezor

most intense sexual attraction: lotor/ezor, acxa/zethrid

these dynamics are entirely based on memories of vibes because its been years since i watched voltron

honestly im mostly interested in the aesthetics and possible dynamics of lotor and his generals (mostly sans narti - bc i dont remember much about her) so i just look at screenshots once in a while and make up little stories in my head completely independent of the actual voltron plot

whether they're good, bad, or morally grey completely depends on my mood

look at these

look at the colour schemes and the lighting and the expressions!

i very much enjoyed voltron but i also want to watch whatever show these screenshots would seem like to someone with zero context

[spookberry]

sam woulda gone on a crusade against voltron for being problematic and would ruin it for tucker and danny maybe

she'd watched basically all of it with them and complained the whole time but was also like weirdly into it. She has stronger opinions on how she'd fix things than either of them and will wind up ranting about how shitty the writing is for hours on end. The boys just think the magic space lion mechs are cool

[kaezerdoodles]

My Ven Diagram of Simpery

I have 2 types- Buff Feral Man or Rat Man

[oliveden]

you know what would be hilarious?

if keith starting to fall in love with lotor would be severe denial, very typical of him, having to deal with the fact that he's crushing on the prince of the galra empire and who also happens to be his boss. it takes him several years before any type of crush forms and even more time to actually acknowledge it.

but lotor just takes one look at keith, first time they meet, and is immediately down bad.

[galraluver]

Gonna be honest with u, I have a big kink for people with mommy issues because they're treating me like a fucking goddess (and i think you know who i am at this point, and this question is a little bit awkward now tbh, but i HAVE to ask this:)

Kolivan/Sendak/and two other galra (or not-galra) of your choice with mommy issues X dom[if possible!] momfriend reader?

And can you add their reactions if the reader calls them a "good boy/girl"?

Thx!

Yk i love your writing <3

I'm not really the best at this kind of thing and I'm probably getting this wrong, but I'll give it a try anyway.

😊💕✨️💖

_________________________________________

~ Kolivan ~

~ Kolivan had a mother when he was very young, but one day she disappeared and he never saw her again

~ Because of that, he grew up with mommy issues

~ Kolivan grew up without the gentle love of a mother, and even though he had a great relationship with his father he always felt that something was missing in his life

~ Until he met you, that is

~ You almost immediately know what's going on in this man's life as soon as you meet him and you take on the motherly role he never had growing up

~ Within a few months of his friendship with you Kolivan slowly becomes less cold and stoic

~ He will do anything for you just to hear you praise him

~ Loves being called a good boy, because it heals his soul

_____

~ Sendak ~

~ Sendak had both of his parents around during his childhood, but his mother was always dismissive towards him

~ She always preferred his sisters over him

~ And because of it, he ended up with mommy issues

~ Sendak secretly has self image issues and he's never sure how to treat women; he feels betrayed by his mother no matter how old he gets

~ Of course, that changes after he meets you

~ You treat him far better than his mother ever did and you're just so motherly,

~ After Sendak pours his heart out to you, you work on being the mother he deserves

~ With time, Sendak feels more complete and he's not as aggressive; he also treats you like a queen

~ Each time you tell Sendak he's a good boy, he shows his appreciation for you by giving you a hug while purring deeply

_____

~ Narti ~

~ Narti never really knew her parents because they abandoned her at an orphanage shortly after she was born

~ As you can imagine it caused some issues for her, especially mommy issues

~ She's secretly very anxious all the time until she meets you

~ You have a motherly aura and she's immediately drawn to you

~ For Narti, it feels as though she found a missing part of her life

~ She tries her best to be the best official unofficial daughter you could have ever asked for

~ And if you ever call her a good girl? Narti feels as though her life is truly complete

_____

~ Lotor ~

~ Lotor never really knew who his mother was when he was a child and it created some issues; mommy issues, mainly

~ He refuses to believe that Haggar is his mother even though she is, for him it's just easier to deny that fact

~ However, when Lotor gets to know you better he realizes how mother-like you can be sometimes

~ He treats you like a Goddess and he would never, ever do anything you wouldn't approve of

~ You think he's sweet and look out for him as much as you can

~ Whenever you call Lotor a good boy he finally feels truly loved

[alien-slushie]

[In an AU where Keith is one of Lotor's Generals]

Lotor: Look, let's just cut right to the chase here Paladins of Voltron. What's it gonna take for you guys to say 'yes'? Money? Weapons?... Keith?

Keith: Excuse me?!

Lotor: What? It's a compliment!

Keith: Wow, Your Highness, I thought you didn't have magic, but look at you, turning people into trophies!

[imhereformysciencefriends]

Day 1: Fairytales and Myths

Tags: @loturaweek2024 Curses, fairy tale elements, Bearskin (the myth), political marriage but also for love sort of, magic, background Alfor/Melenor, background Keith/Shiro, betrothals, attempted kidnapping, rescue, Lotor’s generals are there

Read on AO3

***

“You are fortunate,” mused the angry and spiteful druid while Lotor snarled up at him, ensnared in glowing purple chains made of magic and aether, “that the same magic you came here to steal from me does not allow me to kill you outright.”

Lotor thought, not for the first time, that it would be significantly more Galra to just put a knife in his gut than rely on their magic for literally everything. But if they were so wrapped up in their world of spells and power that they forgot their own fangs and claws that they were born with, well, Lotor wouldn’t be the one to remind them. This druid in specific seemed particularly filled with his own hubris.

A pelt, some heavy, thick-furred thing thumped down on his shoulders, and he shifted minutely from the weight.

“I curse you,” the druid said, voice going echoey with magic. “You shall not bathe for seven decaphoebes, nor cut your hair nor claws, you shall not cease to wear this pelt, nor sleep under one roof for more than a single night, and no one may travel with you for more than three quintents. Should you break any of these bindings, this curse will kill you.”

“And if I succeed, for seven decaphoebes?” Lotor asked, still snarling, still bearing his (small, Altean) fangs.

The druid was quiet.

“You must include a win-condition, witch. I know your magic’s rules.” He would not have risked infiltrating this place if he did not have a contingency plan for if he was caught, after all.

The druid made a snarling, growling, impatient noise.

“If you should last all seven decaphoebes, then the magic you seek will be yours. Now get out!”

Another rush of magic and Lotor found himself at the mouth of the small cave that hid the entrance to the druid’s lair. He grit his teeth and stood, shaking as though to dislodge the remnants of the purple magic.

Seven years.

More than he’d bargained for, but less than he was willing to pay for his goals. He already grew his hair long, and he was not one to frequently stay in one place for too long. That was doable.

The claws and bathing situation would be the most intolerable, he did not doubt.

Seven years.

He could do this.

In the first year: he could do this. He was centuries old and, if theories on how he aged were to be considered correct, he would have centuries more. Seven years would be nothing. A drop in a bucket. He used it to prepare, especially the first few months, when he smelled more or less tolerable. Any time it rained he spent as much time as he could in the water, knowing that washing in a river or stream would count. Magic was always fickle, and always skewed in favor of the worst. While he could still passably show his face in civilization, he stockpiled supplies enough to last him seven years, or near enough to it he could supplement when the time came.

In the second year: he had to leave Daibazaal. His country of origin was hardly a home, and hadn’t been since he was young and innocent and still so painfully naive. But he did know it, and he knew that all the many flora that thirsted for his blood and fauna that would chew on his bones could smell him for miles in each direction. He knew it intellectually, and he knew it viscerally, blood steaming across the pelt he wore and sliding down the blade he wrested free from the fresh carcass of a beast that wished to eat him. Oh, how he wished for a bath.

In the third year: he couldn’t do this. He could not bear this. He was not even halfway through and his own stench and fatigue were driving him insane. Being so constantly exposed to the elements was killing him, though the pelt was so thick and heavy it kept him plenty warm. And he was lonely. In the third year, Narti finally found him, Kova hissing and prowling just outside the edges of Lotor’s reach, recognizing him but also not. She wanted to help him, as best she could, but he explained the curse to her, the druid putting no binding on his tongue at least. She then offered to go kill the druid for him, and he insisted that she not, not until the witch’s power was his. She stated she would stay with him, despite her nose being even sharper than Lotor’s, and he reminded her that it could be for no more than three quintents, or the magic would kill him (and he doubted it would be instant, or painless).

She left with the promise to tell the others, and to bring back supplies for him. Just to drop off and then leave again. She promised she wouldn’t stay.

In the third year: Ezor found him, always best at finding things, and with her she brought Zethrid and Acxa. It was the best three days of these miserable three years, even with his companions wrinkling their noses at his scent the whole time.

In the fourth year: he left the billowing wilds that existed between Daibazaal, harsh and dangerous but inhabitable, and into Altea, the lush and verdant valleys beneath the billowing wilds’ mountains. Not to say that Altea did not come with its own dangers, no, just that they were more like the mountain creatures, not quite so capable of killing a lone wanderer as Daibazaal’s would have been.

In the fourth year:

Allura tied up her hair and shifted her hands, magic tickling as it turned her palms into suction cups. She descended from her room as only wayward princesses could, and hopped down onto the vibrantly green grass of the lawn with a little thrill of success.

With the tensions between Daibazaal and Altea on the rise once again, and all citizens from both countries feeling like a resumed war was all but a forgone conclusion, her parents had been increasingly strict with her. On a certain level, she understood, she was a princess after all, it was her job to understand.

On the other hand: she’d gone to the little brook with the little waterfall dozens upon dozens upon dozens of times, without any harm nor threat to her person. It was right next to the palace grounds, and she only ever managed to squeeze in an hour or two before her knights quit canoodling and came to find her anyway. She would be fine, just as she’d been fine every time before.

There was nowhere in all of Altea, in Allura’s opinion, that was a better place for magic than that little waterfall. Something about the place seemed almost to glow with magic, every drop of water and blade of grass and rustling leaf full to overflowing with rich mana. It drew her in, excited and comforted her, enthralled her and cleared her mind. Magic poured from her fingers like the water she lifted, guiding it to dance about her in a spiraling river floating suspended around her person, twirling slowly as she dragged the water about in lazy loops.

Even the sunlight here felt different, warm and yellow but not beating down on her, even in summer heat. It sparkled and twisted around her like the water did, slowly spinning and dancing across the shimmering surface, Allura’s skirts shallowly twirling around her calves, and she smiled and let her mind sink into the magic present here, imbuing everything.

It was that magic, present even in the twigs of a bush and the berries crushed underfoot, that alerted her that she was not alone.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t dare try to fight against near a dozen heavy boots. One moment she was smiling serenely, surrounded by glistening spirals of water, the next she was running so fast the water didn’t even have time to hit the ground before she burst through it. Shouts behind her, unmistakably Galra, and heavy footfall followed, but she didn’t dare look. She was fast.

But Galra were faster.

A giant, purple hand clamped over her mouth, a scream wrested from her too late and muffled by the flesh, and she hit the ground with a cry of pain, knees and palms skidding in the dirt.

“Grab her!”

She fought back, because of course she did. Princess trained in the art of diplomacy and regal bearing though she was, Allura was no weak fighter, and she was not one to cow in the face of unfair odds.

But they were unfair. She knocked two briefly unconscious, but she hadn’t brought her staff, not believing she’d need it, and these Galra were armored and armed, one opening a deep gash across the back of her leg, another finally getting his dagger pointed at her throat and compelling her to behave.

“You won’t kill me,” she spat, even as her preservation instincts forced her to obey.

“No. But you don’t need both eyes.”

She screamed a protest—she was submitting!—as he raised the dagger to plunge it into her eye, but then a dagger protruded from his own, sinking much deeper than just the eye. He toppled off her, dead, and the Galra turned on their new aggressor.

A beast, wilder than all imagining, lept from the foliage, its pelt hideous and bloodstained, matted with mud and dried viscera, its claws long as knives and yellow and flaking, silvery lengths of something dragging behind it as it fell upon its victims. The Galra shouted, united now against this beast, and Allura staggered to her feet, or tried to. The gash in her leg made fleeing nearly impossible, and she leaned against the tree as she watched the beast dispatch of the Galra, one by one by one, until there were none left alive to contest it.

Its yellow gaze fell upon her next, and she realized belatedly that she looked at no monster at all.

“You’re Altean!” she gasped, the man before her so deeply dirtied with various filth that she could not see even an inch of skin beneath the horrible mess, but his face was, poking out from the disgusting fur, unmistakably that of, well, a man. An Altean’s proud cheekbones and narrow jaw, eyes yellow as a Galra but silver hair (it was hair!) long and ripe with magic.

The man chuckled at her. “I suppose it only fair that you confused me for a beast.”

“Good sir, anyone would.” Sounds of armor—familiar, Altean—and rushed footfall came from the direction of the palace grounds. “Please, you are my savior, come into my home and be bathed and rewarded for your service.”

“I cannot bathe, princess,” he said, with every reverence of her subjects, “nor did I do this for a reward. I will leave.”

“You saved my life!” Allura insisted as Keith and Shiro burst into the clearing, swords drawn and lips flushed and kiss-bitten, confusion on their brows as they took stock of the dead Galra on the ground and the beast man their charge now argued with. “You would do me a great dishonor by not allowing me to repay you!”

The man seemed visibly to hesitate at that, and then acquiesced. “If for your honor only, princess. But I cannot remain.”

“At least stay the night,” she insisted, now half-frantic to have this strange man remain for any time at all, curiosity burning through her as fervently as the magic had only recently flowed.

“The night,” he agreed, bowing low, the mess of fur and hair and viscera and fresh blood shambling with his motion, “but no longer.”

The man spoke of precious little, despite Allura’s best attempts at interrogation. She learned not even his name. He would not allow any of her staff to bathe or groom him, though she noted that while his hair was dirty, it was remarkably untangled. He was certainly Altean, but his nails were more akin to claws. And of course, the yellow eyes.

At dinner, her parents hosted the man who’d saved their daughter’s life, because of course they did.

“Traditionally,” Queen Melenor remarked, though she was severe and stately in the way Allura knew she held herself when she discussed things she’d rather not, “the reward for saving a princess’s fool life from a band of murderous kidnappers would be that princess’s hand in marriage.”

Allura heard the man’s breath hitch, and for a brief moment, open want lined his filth-obscured features, before he shuttered again to something vaguely polite and unreadable.

“I could never ask for such a thing, being as I am.”

“Being as you are?” Allura said, sounding more accusatory than she’d meant. “A kind stranger who saved my life?”

“You have no proof of any kindness,” the man said, with a low chuckle that made her feel strange and hot.

“Only my life and well-being.”

“You speak as though you would wish to wed me.”

Allura’s mouth opened, then shut.

“Exactly.”

“Perhaps I would!” she said, drawing herself to full height while seated and glowering at the man, challenge in her tone.

“Allura,” her father scolded quietly, as he always did when her temper and stubbornness sent her headlong down paths her good sense would otherwise steer her clear from.

“...Allow me three years, then, princess,” the beast man said slowly, gaze never leaving hers. “I have matters I must attend, and am unable to remain here, nor take you with me. If, in three years, when I return, you still wish to wed me, we might discuss it then.”

Queen Melenor sighed, and Allura winced only briefly at the tone of her mother’s breath. Oh the lecture she’d receive once this man departed would be mighty. “You have more good sense than my daughter, it would seem. Please be made comfortable in our home, and if there is anything you wish for, merely ask it.”

“A grimoire, Your Majesty, if I may be bold enough to request it.”

“You’ve magic?” Allura asked, reaching out to touch the man’s face, where his Altean marks should be beneath the dirt, and rescinding her hand when he flinched from her.

“Call it a future investment.”

“Grimoires we have aplenty,” her father stated, “I’ll have one copied for you by the morrow.”

“My thanks.”

Allura, kept up late by her own desperately curious, gnawing thoughts, had to drag herself, bleary and miserable, from her bed to prevent from missing the stranger’s departure. She witnessed her father hand him a grimoire, and he bowed, first to the sovereign queen, then to the king, and then, lower, slower, with something like heat in his eyes, finally to the princess.

“Damn,” she mumbled when the stranger was gone, but comforted herself that at least, for the next three years, she’d have an easy dismissal of all talk of suitors.

In the fifth year: Lotor was nearly killed by a huntsman mistaking him for a beast.

In the sixth year: Lotor was nearly killed by a team of monster hunters, who he had to persuade with Narti’s coin to leave him be, paying higher than the village who’d hired them. He wandered elsewhere with faster purpose, after that, and committed himself to greater stealth. Narti was unbearably smug when next she delivered supplies, forcing more coin into the hands of a man who had no reliable use for it.

In the seventh year: Nearly killed again, by huntsmen and monster hunters both. But he was on his way out of Altea. On his way through the billowing wilds, climbing and descending that mountain. He’d memorized the grimoire, but kept hold of it, a baffling yet precious memory now tied to its cover and pages.

At the end of the seventh year: he returned to the small cave where he’d first found the druid. His time was up, or near enough to it, and the moment the magic was his he would take vengeance for the seven years of misery he’d suffered. There he found Narti, there he found Ezor, there he found Zethrid, there he found Acxa, still loyal to him after seven years of absence, and he counted such loyalty more precious than all the gold in all the world.

“First, we kill the druid,” he ordered, feeling the curse sizzle along his skin as it warped into a blessing. “Then I take a quiznacking bath.”

At the end of the third year of waiting:

Allura was forced by circumstance to put her curiosity for her betrothed-to-be on hold, as political upheaval shook the land.

Her father’s old ally finally declared war upon her mother’s country, and Altea raised its arms for bloodshed. But as they prepared their weapons and rallied their armies, another missive came: Emperor Zarkon was dead, long live the Emperor.

Lotor, former prince, son of Zarkon who Allura had never met, shame to his family line and whose mother was Altean, had bested his father in ritual combat, according to Galra custom and law, and had seized the throne. Altea continued to rally, not sure if the bastard son would hold the same temperament as his father, but the tension that had built between their lands hung now, most definitely confused in perplexed balance.

Then an official letter from the Emperor, validated by report after report from their scouts: Lotor was coming, not with an army, but with a diplomatic envoy, to speak to the royals of Altea face to face.

Her mother was stern and stately, poised and graceful and elegant, the sovereign of Altea, bearer of the Altean royal line, pride and jewel of their nation, its Queen.

Her father was tense and stiff, militant and grave, leader of their armies and father of the nation, sire of Altea’s heir and husband to their sovereign.

Allura wasn’t quite sure what she was. But she drew herself up, a shadow of her mother’s grace, stiffened her lip and brow, a mimic of her father’s gravity, and lifted her chin, a prideful stubbornness that was all hers.

Whatever the Emperor Lotor came here for, he would find it on Altea’s terms, or he would leave without it. Or, if it might make for a swifter path for peace, she would slaughter him in this very reception hall. She had her staff with her today.

The Galran procession arrived in waves, wargs and beastmasters first, towering Galra broad each as a mountain and bearing heavy shields second, four mismatched women each bearing the new royal crest and colors third, and in their center: Emperor Lotor.

He was the singularly most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Long, plaited, silver hair that nearly dragged the ground, Altean bones and Galran eyes, soft velvety purple fur so short it could pass for skin, pointed ears pierced with glinting gems in silver casings, and on his cheeks, two marks that glowed with powerful magic.

She shivered, feeling less certain of her ability to slaughter him where he stood, should he pose threat. His magic was enough, indeed, to rival her own, and she was famed throughout Altea for her prowess, her own marks pink and luminous.

“My thanks for hosting on such short notice,” the emperor began, seeming perfectly at ease surrounded by distinctly uneasy Altean guardsmen.

“Our thanks for your peaceful arrival. Are we too optimistic in hoping it may bode for a peaceful future between our nations?” Queen Melenor of Altea answered, staring down at him with regal coolness from the dias they three stood on.

“Not at all,” he assured with a smile. “I am as hopeful for such as you are.” A sigh escaped the whole room, tension palpably leaving. Allura was not exempt, tension loosening from her shoulders.

“Though I would start by returning what was borrowed. I know you gave it to me as a gift, but I would return it as a show of good faith.”

That piqued Allura’s curiosity. As far as she knew, her parents had never met the then-prince Lotor any more than she had. But as the emperor of Daibazaal approached, Allura’s breath caught in her throat.

He extended, to Alfor, a grimoire. The same grimoire her father had given her intended three years ago.

“You!” she gasped, rushing forward and grabbing him by the wrist, making his generals tense but ignoring them, staring instead at his yellow eyes.

“Me,” he agreed with a smile, staring at her with that same reverence he’d held three years ago. “I hope my appearance is more agreeable to you, now, than it was then, as I have little desire to return to such a state.”

“More than,” she said with a wild grin. “Please, come in and be hosted by us, I would have my betrothed explain to me how I may find him in such different states as this!”

“Well,” she heard her father murmur to her mother as she beckoned their guests inside, “I suppose a wedding is one way to end all this.”

And so it would be.

But first, they went to dinner.

[vld-prompts]

The Paladins convince Lotor, Acxa, Ezor, Zethrid and Narti to join in a Monsters and Mana game.

[stardustedstories]

Me seeing discussion about how Lotor was completely shafted: THAT'S WHAT I'M SAYIN'! I have SO many thoughts and feelings about how he could have been handled better, and all of them involve not randomly turning him into a villain and basically reinforcing "Well, his dad was bad, so he's bad" and also deciding in the same breath "but we're gonna have Haggar remember who she was and SHE gets to earn redemption (which.....is also a very.....interesting choice, considering that she's Altean, so she's the one who gets to help save the universe from the destruction she caused) and I just.....MMM.

Anyway, I hilariously have mostly Lotor posts written right now, and this is your sign to come write with him in either of his paladin verses so we can fix what they broke.

[discordiansamba]

spitballing some more ATLA AU facts:

Keith's grandfather deserted from the Fire Nation early on in the 100 year war and married an Earth Kingdom woman, so Keith's dad grew up in the Earth Kingdom and has only ever been to the Fire Nation once. He met Keith's mother there.

Keith voice: On all levels except physical, I am a dragon.

Hunk tries to resolve things without resorting to violence as much as possible, but sometimes he knows he doesn't have any other option.

This makes for a very funny dynamic when it's just him and Keith traveling together.

Hunk WILL baby talk to every animal he can, Keith's komodo-lion and Kosmo included. Did I mention he takes in a baby sabertooth moose-lion? Because he absolutely does. Animals also love Hunk. They DO want his scratchies.

Lance and Hunk hit it off right away when they finally meet. Keith feels strangely jealous, only he doesn't know what jealousy is because he's never experienced it before. Shiro literally has to point it out to him.

Keith and Lance still get along like oil and water... or in this case, like fire and water. Lance is against the idea of traveling with a firebender at first, but he relents because Hunk vouches for him. Allura comes from a time before the 100 year war so she's fine with this actually.

Keith becomes Hunk's firebending master, which is... an interesting experience because all of Keith's actual training comes from a man who had no formal firebending training either. At first this causes a bit of a struggle, since Keith's bending is all instinct, but it's ultimately for the best since in many ways, Keith's firebending is the closest to true firebending there is.

Hunk struggles to learn airbending, even though Shiro is a much better teacher. Thankfully Shiro is also a very patient teacher, willing to carefully take his time to make sure Hunk gets the best teachings possible.

(Unfortunately, they also don't have that kind of time.)

Allura is Hunk's waterbending teacher, and he has the easiest time with this element. Lance isn't technically his teacher, but he does teach Hunk some cool tricks, and having a study buddy actually helps him out a lot.

Hunk does not like going into the Avatar State very much.

Hunk does manage to reunite with his family in Ba Sing Se... only to quickly realize there's something awfully fishy about this city. They should definitely leave, like ASAP, but Allura and Keith want to stay and investigate.

Hunk: okay, but if this goes south, remember- I was the guy who wanted to leave.

Allura & Keith: Noted.

[kaezer]

Me: Yeah, I think I’m asexual

Villains/Morally gray father-figures: *exist*

Me:

[littlebeautifly]

[lilflowerpot]

i just binged all of little blade and i am so happy i did, it’s incredible and i adore the characterization and all the world building it’s beautiful. before i go and read all your other fics, i wanted to pop by and ask a silly little question.

in one of the earlier chapters, lotor refers to keith as being extremely attractive by empire standards and i wondered if the paladins (maybe specifically lance lol) ever find out that he is - essentially - a fair representation of the empire’s beauty standard.

just. room full of aliens and lance asks who’s the most attractive and almost the whole room looks at keith. oof.

in a similar vein, when the empire settles down under lotor’s reign with keith as a member of his household, does keith become some kind of muse? the kind where artists fill entire sketchbooks with studies of him, the color of his eyes gets featured in the works of contemporary poets regularly, if it were earth i’d say they stamp his profile on currency, maybe there are statues built? galra mona lisa is a keith portrait.

historians will later state that he was one of the empire’s greatest beauties. earth historians liken him to helen of troy.

all of the paladins are absolutely screaming internally. they have seen keith brush his hair maybe once. he does not care about getting his hands dirty and his nose bloodied. and yet when keith shows up half dressed and streaked with rain to an important function, it becomes a galran fashion trend. why do they even bother getting dressed up is a common lament.

((This is the exceedingly long masterpost from a year ago in which I compiled all the "Keith Kogane is pretty" content I could find, so if you've not given that I read then I'd very much suggest that you do so!))

I do imagine that the paladins would find out eventually, yes! At first they think it's just Lotor's preference, of course—they've already sort of put that together given the the prince's apparent penchant for galra hybrids, combined with all his terribly obnoxious fawning over Keith—but the more time that passes the more obvious it becomes that Keith's Imperial popularity is of the distinctly Romantic sort; whispered anecdotes turn to lengthy ballads that turn to full-blown theatrical productions, all of which praise the sole galra-paladin of voltron with fervent zeal!

[oliveden]

keith doesn't get a shiro who cares about him (at first, anyway) in the general au, but you know who he does get? acxa.

keith gets dumped with the galran equivalent of a foster parent, who just happens to also be taking care of acxa as well. they grow up together as siblings.

they rise through the ranks together (and it's a lot easier to face the hatred with another halfbreed by your side) and it's both of them who are sent to lotor and picked to be his generals.

nobody knows each other as well as they do.

[fraternum-momentum]

maybe youre a racoon? думайте...

RACOON SUPREMACY !!