I'm so sorry to hear you were in an accident im glad you are alive and feeling okay again <3<3
I'd love to send you a lotura prompt, hopefully it lifts your spirits to be back on that sweet ship.
How about Lotor and Allura talking about weapons? (i.e. Like how Allura prefers a staff and Lotors sword designs (like the one he was first shown with) )
Hey, good to hear from you and thanks for your super kind note!! I'm doing a little better each day and am excited to get back to regular routines! While I was on hold over the phone about paperwork today, I managed to exercise my brain with the prompt you gave me! <3
Staff vs. Sword
Emperor Lotor leans against a wall, crossing his arms and quirking a slim, white eyebrow at the princess before him. “Surely, you jest with me,” he murmurs. “A staff again?”
Princess Allura beams, and she grabs her favorite staff from the blunted practice weapons with a solid grip, fingers tight. With a quick flick of her wrist, she spins it and sets the end solidly on the ground. “My bayard for Blue Lion also turns into a whip,” she says nonchalantly, “but that seems entirely unfair to use against you, as it produces an electric shock.”
“Ah, yes.” His eyes crinkle, his slit pupils dilating with softness. He adds dryly, “Because we do not already create enough sparks on the courts.”
She brushes back her long, thick braid and waggles her eyebrows. “You said it, not me.” And then she pokes his chest plate with the end of her staff. “Do tell me you’re not afraid of a second round after I defeated you.”
“And nearly caused an intergalactic incident,” he says, voice halted. “The training grounds are intended for practicing the art of combat—not the art of catching one’s opponent off-guard with a kiss.”
With a giggle, Allura pulls the staff back, her Altean markings glowing a bright pink. “Yes, well, we Alteans have a saying that all’s fair in love and war. Now, pick your weapon, dear emperor, so that I may defeat you once more. And do choose something other than a sword this time—at least mix it up for me?”
Lotor eyes her before grabbing a blunted sword from the wall, inspecting its balance. His long fingers grip the hilt tightly. “A sword is the best extension of a warrior’s will,” he declares, raising his chin with a petulant chin. “It is simple. It is efficient. It is my favorite weapon.”
Allura sighs dramatically at him. “It does not have quite the—” she waves her hand—“the impact of a staff, though.”
He raises the silver sword to her. “The staff is an impact weapon,” he says dryly. “You simply seek to showcase your Altean strength to the Galra who prowl these courts, and that is why you prefer it as of late."
“Tish tosh,” she says, planting her feet properly on the training mat and eyeing him with an increased wariness. She knows Lotor likes to strike unexpectedly. “I also happen to like the way training robots crumple to bits beneath a staff. It relieves the stress I feel after a large conference with intergalactic leaders.”
A tick of silence stretches between them.
And then in a blur, Lotor races toward her, slashing down.
She blocks with the staff and swings, and he ducks smoothly before stepping back, flipping the sword in his hand.
He paces the mat, the overhead lights capturing the glow of his eyes like a predator in the dark wilderness. “Poor Princess Allura,” he teases. “All the power in the universe, and yet you fear the peace we have wrought together, instead longing for means of violence. Are you certain you are not of Galran blood somewhere in that long ancestry of yours?”
Alura’s voice strains as she circles him as well, resetting her staff. “I can’t think of a single species that doesn’t enjoy a rough tumble now and again, in a safe, non-war environment. Why, the humans even have something called, um—” Her concentration breaks as she pauses, snapping her fingers. “Um, wrestling. And something called rugby. And then they have a very large, worldwide competition for their various violent sports, called the Olympics.”
Lotor pauses.
His slit pupils widen in curiosity of other cultures. “Olympics? Is that similar to a Kral Zera?”
“Somewhat,” she nods, “but instead of choosing a world leader by, um, killing everyone, these tournaments are for medals that they wear around their necks and then bite in front of cameras. And no one dies generally.”
He lunges again, and in a blur, wrenches the staff away from her hands and presses her up against a wall.
Allura squeaks, eyes wide.
His nose is inches from her own, his breath a hot puff against her face. “How very curious.”
Her breath stalls as her cheeks heat hard enough to radiate to him. “Um, y-yes.”
Lotor’s wide mouth splits as he whispers against her mouth, “Fortunately for you, princess, I’ve no intent to fight you truly, or you would already be dead with your silly staff. And if it were these Olympics, you would have no medal to bite.”
Face flushed, her eyes narrow to slits, and before Lotor can avoid it, she hooks her ankle against his and unbalances him. Surprised claws protract from his hands, gripping into her practice armor and his eyes widen.
And the two royals fall in a pile of limbs upon the mat, with Allura sprawled on top of a stunned Lotor, his sword clattering to the mat beside them.
“Oh, no,” she says with a triumphant giggle, hands planted over his chest plate. Her curly flyaways are an angelic halo around her face. “You lowered your weapon but did not fully secure me, so I still win.”
Lotor grumps beneath her, his lavender cheeks flushing as he grips her forearms.
And despite Galra leadership watching the courts and murmuring with gossip in the far distance, Lotor softens. His rough, calloused thumbs stroke a pink marking along her bare forearm. “Best two out of three, then? I promise to secure you fully next time and cause another scandal for it.”
Allura leans forward, eyes sparkling. “Very well, Emperor Lotor. You’re on.”
22 notes
·
View notes