I like transcribing things to improve my handwriting from time to time. This time I wrote a lovely short piece of poetry by @moami that can be found here. I just love her work.
You have lovely cursive handwriting. Thank you so much for doing this, and I’m delighted to hear that my work inspired you to write it down.
It’s not the lions.
Zarkon learns it after seeing them together, the brilliant formation of colour, when he watches their ferocious battle flight through the universe that belongs to him. It has never been the lions, at no point. Oh, he’d been a blind fool, but now he knows. He’d been one of them once, after all.
And then it’s so brutally easy to turn red into violet and violent.
All it takes is bleeding the crimson out of blue.
ask your questions. don’t back down. there are answers, there’s a whole universe full of them and it’s waiting for you to come. demand the knowledge you are owed and bring new questions for answers to discover.
and if someone asks why you do it, ask them why they stopped.
“A multiverse?” He scoffed. “Ridiculous. There has never been and will never be such a thing. There is only one universe and we are in it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a book to finish reading and I don’t appreciate you interrupting my story.”
“Shut up.”
“You keep telling me that – “
“No, shut the fuck up.”
“ – but I don’t think you actually mean that.”
“I can’t believe this. I don’t believe this.”
“On the other hand,” Keith says, pulling off his helmet so he can pump some naturally oxygenated air into his lungs, “you probably do. Not that I care. Because I don’t.” He clears his throat and watches Lance scamper into the corridor behind the airlock. The door hums shut behind them. “Anyways, I’m starving, how long were we even up there? Allura can fix the tower next time, take Shiro with her and spend all day poking alien roof tiles that ooze all over you.”
Lance kicks his boots off. The frown on his face is a bit dirty because he’d insisted to take off his helmet and lick the tile slime. Keith hadn’t dared him. He didn’t have to, which is sad enough on its own but not surprising at all. Lance would lick anything that – he’s experimental with his body is what Keith means, but he doesn’t think about Lance that much anyways. Except he does.
“We’re eating in my room,” Lance says. He’s by Keith’s side, bare toes wiggling on the floor. Has to be cold. Maybe his spare pair of fluffy socks could help.
“Can’t, gotta change clothes. Scratched myself, it’s bleeding.”
“Then your room. You’re not getting out of this.” Lance is up in his face, pressing one long finger against Keith’s nose. “I’ll introduce you to the masterful work of The Princess Diaries, and you won’t be an uneducated heathen anymore. Well, less of one. Can’t believe it, honestly.” He pulls back, running a hand through his hair until it sticks up a bit because it’s gotten longer and Keith wants to know if it’s as soft as it looks now.
But this is a chance if he’s ever seen one. “Fine. You’re getting the food though. And this won’t become a – “
“It’s a date.”
Fuck. Keith stares, mouth dry and warmth in his chest, watches Lance flash him the fraction of a grin before he shoots off in a whirl of limbs and blue.
Maybe he should go clean his room. Or patch up the scratch on his leg that’s still bleeding, damn it. No day without trouble here. Keith picks up his helmet, and tries to remember whether he did use fabric softener on the socks when he last washed them.
I didn’t realise how many sceneries I’ve doodled the past while, it’s a fun way to try out different colours (●´ω｀●)
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Keith tries to believe that they don’t care. His team tells him every day how the purple glint in his hair doesn’t make him an enemy, that the golden ring flaring around his iris when he’s in battle couldn’t ever make them fear him.
And still, it’s only when Lance takes him aside by slamming him against the wall of his own room, pressing a finger on Keith’s mouth to shut him up, and staring at him like he could shatter with just too rough of a touch that Keith let’s go, and allows his mind a whispered ‘okay’.
“Nobody cares,” Lance says, voice so raw and soft that it cracks at the edge, “what you were born as. I don’t give a fuck if you’re human or Galra or something in between, and I don’t need to know. Voltron is all of us. Red chose you. She let you in, that ancient powerful thing let you into her everything because you have the mind of a paladin. Voltron found all of us and chose every inch of you, every goddamn string of dna. It wants you here.”
He takes a deep breath. “And so do I.”
Keith closes his eyes when Lance presses his first kiss to the corner of his mouth. He’s pretty sure that his eyes are golden right now, and his skin has to be a radiant violet all over his cheeks.
But Lance still wraps both arms around him when Keith slides their lips together once more, and Keith forgets the meaning of colour, time, or fear.
To strive for perfection sounds utterly boring to me. It implies that you’ll be finished with your journey at some point.
I’d much rather strive for improvement and interesting travels. After all, you’ll have lots of opportunity to make mistakes along the way and learn from them.
And to become remarkable, one has to earn some marks on themselves.
my softness is earned and fought for. the fur of my head is silk when you have my trust. the claws of my hands are calm and protective for you if only i know that you deserve it. my voice calls out for you and your touch when your worth of my closeness is without danger, when the thunder outside is nothing more but light’s celebration of our connection in all of the world’s colours for i am safe in our home and you with me and i with us.
you never domesticated me. you couldn’t, could try and fail and i would laugh through white-sharp teeth at your desperation, so we do it another way and no, you weren’t asked, this way or not at all.
there is no obedience in the rumble of my heart and no screams no anger no cooing will bend me into the shape you want. i do not adjust to you. i make you mine and let you run for me. i am not yours or one of yours and neither do i belong just because you are somewhere; i simply am, and we exist together in the same space and my soul’s purr may light up your horizon, but you are not the beacon of my life. and your dominance is an illusion because we flow in a symbiosis where you believe to have the upper hand.
but never, never forget who I am.
that i came to you out of the wilderness with golden sunflecks on my fur and nature’s war at the tips of my paws. that i showed you the cool hope of water that kept you alive and that you climbed for us and i hunted and we grew together, stronger with the burn for adventure and the wideness of our lands, ours and not just yours.
know that you will only hear my purr if you know of the roar that lies awake in the bottom of my lungs.
don’t you dare forget who i am. i am the apex and have been and will be, and you are only here with me because i let you.
Moami 