#unfortunately I am as skittish as a wild animal sometimes

[ame-to-ame]

Some recent events transpired that have inspired these doodles hehe

I will be ok I just hate change!! And new unfamiliar things!! And other things!! But I will get better at it!!

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 7: A Spark of Electricity

Keith makes a new friend and discovers he’s been committing tax fraud his entire life completely unknowing 🤣

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Keith stirs. It hadn’t occurred to him that sharing a bed with Lance might be to his benefit, but he finds it better than being alone. He’s spent a few decaphoebs of his childhood alone already.  

Being alone as a kit does a lot of damage. It can make the kit skittish and paranoid. It impedes their ability to express themselves, both verbally and through body language. Especially body language. It leads to depression and antisocial behavior.

And it makes sleeping difficult. Kits are instinctively driven only to sleep when their older littermates or parents are around. It keeps them safe. As such, having a full-grown, larger Altean sleeping only a few dashes away does a lot for him.

It can’t repair what was done to him as a small kit crying on a cliff’s edge for his father to get up and climb back up to find him, but it helps.

Except now he's alone, curled up by himself beneath the warm blankets. Or is he alone? There's a static sound, a flash behind his eyelids, a curse. Keith opens his eyes.

A small girl, an Olkari, is fussing with a panel in the wall. Much like himself, Keith can't imagine that she's an adult. But when she turns around, she wasn’t exactly a child, either. More adolescent. But extremely small.

“Oh, great, you’re awake! Keith, right? That’s what Lance said you like to be called.” Seemingly benign.

“Who are you?” Keith asks, blinking sleep and tangled hair from his eyes.

“Pidge. I’m the resident tech expert around here. I’m modifying the lighting system so that you can adjust it from your datapad. There was a glitch, unfortunately, which Lance picked up earlier when he went to adjust it for you before he left. My fault. Happens to the best of us. I’d fix it the ‘normal’ way, but the Castle isn’t Olkari tech, so old-fashioned way it is! Besides, I don't mind it. I actually like doing it this way.”

Normal way? This is the normal way! Keith sits up. “I don’t have a datapad.”

Pidge holds up a piece of glass with a white border around it. “Now you do.” She tosses it onto the bed. “I’m almost done with this. Just give me a second. Then I’ll help you set it up. Can you read Altean?”

“No.” He can, but the girl doesn’t need to know that. Keith busies himself with tracing the embroidery on the duvet cover.

“You're a terrible liar, but that's your business. That’s fine. I can program the pad to translate everything into Galran for you. We can even go old school and use a handprint scanner to unlock it, if you want. Only you and Lance would be able to get into it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Lance said that Hunk and I are to make you as happy and welcome as possible and since we’re friends, I’m happy to oblige.”

“We’re friends? Who’s Hunk?”

“Lance, Hunk, and I are friends.” Pidge pressed the sparking tool back to a wire. “You are... a potential friend. Lance says you seem alright.”

“I’m flattered,” Keith deadpans. Pidge laughs. She’s not... so bad. Nothing here, minus the people Lance calls ‘courtiers’, are too terrible. And the Altean food. That’s terrible too. Also the clothes.

There's a lot that's terrible.

“Be nice, and maybe I’ll make you a body modification so you can taste sweet things?”

“You can do that?” Pidge nods, replacing a panel in the wall, work seemingly complete. “But you’re... just a girl? Like, a very young girl.”

“Nonbinary, actually. But yes, I am quite young.” Pidge smiles, removing the magnifying lenses from their eyes.

“Oh. Sorry. I-” Keith had assumed that most species followed the laws of the Alteans. he'd assumed his species was unusual.

“No worries. Just try to remember for the future and we're all good.” Pidge gets up from the floor, coming to sit on the bed like it's their own. “So, you wanna turn that datapad on?” Keith sucks on his lip, ears wilting as he inspects the datapad for a button. “Here. Gimme.”

Keith hands the datapad to Pidge, blushing beneath his short facial fur. The Olkari shows him a small button on the side, turning it on and handing it back to him. They spend the next varga showing him how to use it, how to translate texts, how to access the castle’s documents. They even show him how to tap into video feeds they’ve set up to spy on the kings in Alfor’s laboratory, though they warn him that not everything that happens in there is alchemy. At least not in the traditional sense.

Apparently Coran likes to visit. Also? Gross.

After all of that, Keith finds himself just... chatting with the young Olkari. They poke him and prod him and shine a flashlight in his ears. They ask probing questions about his personal biology and what purpose such trimorphism might serve.

“Well, it used to be that child-bearing and care was more of a... communal thing? We didn’t always form the strong bonds with our mates that we do now. But since our trimorphism doesn’t hold any disadvantage, our biology hasn’t changed.”

“That. Is so cool.” Pidge fiddles with another panel in another wall while Keith makes note of which foods he likes from the sampler he’s just received for breakfast. “Keith?”

“Hm?” Keith looks up from a small bowl of deep green beans, licking the corner of his mouth. Pidge turns, absently playing with the end of his tail. They’re a cute little thing, Keith decides. Inquisitive. Benign. A kit, like himself.

“How old are you?”

“Just nineteen decaphobes. Turned nineteen a few movements ago.”

“So you’re just a pup. Like me.” Keith nods, gesturing for them to continue. “Why would Zarkon marry you off, then?”

“Didn’t like my dad. Different perspectives, I guess? My father wanted to focus more on internal growth; Zarkon wanted to focus on expansion. They had a falling out.” Keith twitches his tail, watching the inquisitive Olkari chase it with their honey-colored eyes. “It happens sometimes. Anyway, I think he wanted me gone. Bring back sad memories, I guess.”

“How did you end up with him anyway?”

Keith’s ear wilt, tail stilling. “My father... died. Zarkon sent me to live with a friend, Takashi. He's basically my littermate.”

There was so much more to it than that, but Keith didn’t want to talk about it. Pidge narrowed their eyes at him, and Keith knew they could tell he was hiding things. Finally, they nod.

“Well, at least Zarkon didn’t hold your father against you.”

“No, he didn’t. He hoped I would be happy here, I think. He worries about me.” Keith tucks his legs up to his chest. Pidge hums, reaching out to touch a tangled lock of Keith’s hair. They begin working the knots out of it.

“I’d worry too, if my child nephew was married off to the likes of Crown Prince Lancel. He’s got quite the reputation. Or did. Adam says everyone was astounded when he showed up to hold court today. Especially King Coran. King Alfor's heart probably stopped when he heard about it.”

“What does Lance normally do?” Keith latches onto the change of topic.

“Hm. Runs all over. Flirts. Goofs off. Goes hunting. Flirts some more. The people like him as a person, but they don’t care for him as their crown prince. Y’know, because a crown prince becomes a king, and a king needs to like, do stuff. Other than the local prostitutes.”

Keith grins just in time for the door to open for Lance himself, followed by Adam toting a stack of tablets.

“Okay... question one,” Lance mutters, nose stuck in his own datapad. “What the quiznak are taxes?” Adam sighs, exasperated.

Pidge gives Keith a significant look. “Do you want to laugh or shall I?”

“As his spouse, I claim that right.” Keith dissolves into quiet laughter, the Olkari following suit.

“Oh, great!” Lance vaults over the back of the couch with a comb. “You two are getting along. Pidge, Keith. Keith, Pidge-”

“We’ve already done that,” Pidge informs him.

“Excellent! Anyhoo, Keith, your hair is a mess. Come here.” Lance doesn’t wait for a response, instead taking one lock of Keith’s hair at a time, starting at the ends and working his way up.

"...Thanks. I'll- I'll get it cut. It's inconvenient like this."

"No, don't you dare. I need you to keep it." Adam looks like he might throttle Keith. "Do you have any idea how difficult it will be to endear you to these fops? The cuter and more harmless you look, the better."

"Gee, thanks," Keith grumbles. Pidge snickers, going through the pockets of Lance's... what is it with Altean clothes? Lance has pants, but then a skirt in the back? What's even the point of that? He also had a cape? Nevermind. Pidge searches in the pockets of his pants.

Keith allows Lance to do as he likes since the comb doesn't hurt. He occupies himself chatting amicably with Pidge, taking comfort in the blunt openness and bright enthusiasm that they exude. Lance joins in, braiding a red-and-gold ribbon into Keith’s hair. The seamsmaster has assigned Keith an aesthetic and run with it. But the braid looks pretty, so whatever.

If only the matching wardrobe were more comfortable.

Hair done, Keith climbs up into the loft, watching from above as Adam and Pidge team up to teach Lance about taxes. He likes Pidge. Likes how sweet Lance is with them, giving them bits of junk he’s found lying about, letting them sit in his lap and scan the soft scales on his face with some device. He yelps when they try to stroke them against the grain. Pidge, unaware that it would hurt, apologizes immediately. Lance just waves it off, the same way Pidge waved off Keith's misgendering earlier.

These people. They're so easy-going. Adam is a tight-ass, but he's definitely overworked and probably overtired. Lance and Pidge seem to take offense to little, brushing off accidental hurts like one might brush off a drop of rain. Keith likes them well enough, but he's content to do so from his loft, where he can't be disappointed if they don't like him back.

Instead, he listens. And learns. Apparently, taxes are an allotment of money taken from the citizens to fund the crown. Who knew?

Living in the woods like a wild animal is not taxable. Keith smirks, realizing that he's technically a life-long criminal.

Wait until Lance finds out.

[blog-sliverofjade]

Hearth Fires 9: Hunger

Pairing: Remi Denier x OFC

Summary:  Lorel Maddox just wants to live as a human, run her bakery in peace, and forget. Unfortunately, the alpha of the local leopard pack has very different ideas.

Remi Denier doesn’t know what to make of the female Changeling who wants nothing to do with him or the RainFire pack. He does know that he has a driving need to protect her. Even if it’s from herself.

While they’re embroiled in a battle of wills, there’s a war brewing on the horizon. The outside threat could not only destroy everything they hold dear, but tear apart the fragile new bonds of the Trinity Accord, plunging the world into bloodshed to rival the Territorial Wars of centuries past.

Word count: 2131

Hearth Fires Masterlist

Beta read by the divine pandabearer

RainFire Leopards: Who doesn’t love a lone wolf leopard?  Now imagine an entire pack of them. What alpha is tough and crazy enough to herd these strong-willed roaming cats?  Meet Remi Denier.  Don’t let the lazy charm and Cajun drawl fool you or he’ll chew you up and spit you out. 

Unless that’s what you’re into.  We don’t judge.

-From the “Pack Cheat Guide” in the March 2082 issue of Wild Women magazine: “Skin Privileges, Style, and Primal Sophistication”

        A massive fist slammed into Remi’s side, forcing air from his left lung.  It wasn’t full force otherwise he’d be dealing with bruised ribs for a couple of days, but it wasn’t a love tap, either.  Anything less would have been an insult to his strength.

       Twisting, he brought his knee up and grabbed for Theo’s shoulders to bring him down into the strike.  His hands slipped off shoulders slippery with sweat as the sentinel stepped back. The other leopard’s chest heaved, nearly matching the pace of his own panting.  They’d been going at it long enough that they were both dripping.

       “Again,” snarled Remi. 

       He needed to burn off the tension that’d been riding him since Chloe called him.  Theo was big, taller than Remi, although not quite as widely built as the alpha. The sentinel used his quiet intelligence and surprising speed to lethal advantage, which meant he was the only one who could hold his own against the RainFire alpha for any length of time.

       The sentinel shook his head and reached for a towel draped over a low hanging branch.  Scrubbing it over his face, he left it to drape around his neck and scooped up two water bottles nestled in the coiled roots of the same tree.  Remi caught the one tossed his way; the bio-plas crunched in his grip and water spilled onto his hand.

       When he first met Lorel, he thought his cat wanted her as a potential packmate, but remained quiet so as not to spook her.  That was nothing new. The animal knew no skittish submissive could handle the full force of a strange alpha who’d been baptized in blood.

       Today, the smell of her fear tinged with a strange note had set his leopard into a hunting crouch, ready to rip out Shaw’s throat.  She didn’t smell quite right, not wrong, but not quite like the cat she was. It wasn’t until he was behind the wheel again that his cat told him what that element was: she was on the verge of losing her humanity.  

       The protectiveness most predatory dominant changelings felt was magnified in him, something he had to carefully mitigate; changelings needed freedom to grow and thrive.  When Jojo had reacted to Lorel, he’d carefully sifted through the sugar and spice layers of her scent and found nothing troubling.  

       Had he been ignoring possible warning signs because he wanted to play with the feral kitten?  It was far too early to have allowed her that deeply into their territory, and he’d only conceded to the harebrained idea because he wanted to see if others in the pack reacted as favourably to her as he did.  But there was no going back now. If he couldn’t drag her back from the edge, then he’d have to take her out as a last resort. He wasn’t ready to give up on her.

       Unfortunately, being alpha meant that he had to put the pack’s needs above his own.

       “You need to do something about that touch hunger,” Theo said when he came up for air, screwing the top back on his empty bottle.

       “Don’t go there.”  Pure alpha poured into every word.

       “Your tension’s starting to affect the juvenile males.”

       “Feet pue tan!” he cursed and punched a tree trunk.  The rough bark split his knuckles and scented the air with blood.  His sexual hunger was a constant pulse underneath his skin; it had to be driving the younger males crazy.  When there were too many unmated dominants, that much unchanneled sexual energy tended to explode into violence that could tear a pack apart.

       The only problem was the only one he wanted to sate his touch hunger with was an ocelot who’d rather hiss and claw at him than permit him skin privileges of any kind.  Rather than being a deterrent, that was like catnip for predatory dominants.

       He didn’t know why he cared so much about one female.  She wasn’t pack, didn’t want to be, and was more trouble than she was worth.  She refused to behave like any sane submissive faced with a predatory alpha, and she challenged him in ways women rarely did.  She didn’t even recognize the favour he gave her by giving her protection, instead, she took it as a mortal insult like a female sentinel would!

       “That’s what you get for headhunting loners.”  Dropping out of a maple across the clearing, Elijah landed in a crouch before rising to his feet, shaking back his ridiculous mane of chocolate brown hair with a high, full undercut.

       “You’re improving, I only heard you five minutes ago instead of ten.”  Remi shook the painful numb tingling out of his hand. He was just yanking Elijah’s chain; no one made it to senior soldier without the ability to silently stalk their prey, no matter what form they were in.

       “You know, Theo, if you mated, it’d help keep the balance.”  Strong ties between men and women, either long-term relationships or those lucky enough to have mated, at the top of hierarchy stabilized the pack.,

       “We’re talking about your sex life, or lack thereof, not ours.  And, for the record, I am good on that front.” Elijah held up his hands, palms out.

       “My sex life is not up for discussion,” scowled Remi.

       A long low whistle.  The two sentinels shared a look.

       “That is one serious case of blue balls.”  Dark brows climbed up Elijah’s forehead to disappear under the shaggy hair that draped over his forehead.  Theo nodded in agreement.

       “Stop talking about my balls and go play with your own.”  Claws erupted from his fingertips. A severe overreaction for some teasing from packmates who were trying to keep him from going over the edge like he was right now.

       Taking a deep, calming breath, he took a minute to get himself back under control.  Theo and Elijah were very obviously not looking at each other, or him, for that matter.  If they had, he might well have interpreted it as a dominance challenge with the state he was currently in.

       Sometimes alphas did go bad.  Within the span of four years, his own father destroyed what was once a solid, healthy pack.  While very few of the sentinels could take Remi one on one, some of them were damn good snipers.

       Not even an alpha could dodge a bullet they couldn’t see.

       Lorel lay awake, staring at the ceiling, bone-weary and yet sleep eluded her.  Her skin prickled and burned like a terrible sunburn, which she’d had enough of to know the sensation well, but she hadn’t been out in the sun long enough to burn.  Her mind kept replaying the events of that afternoon on loop until her blood boiled and her fingertips tingled, the latter was one of the first signs of an involuntary shift.  

       The bedroom was larger than any of the ones in her various apartments had been, but the walls were too close, too confining.  Slipping on a floral satin robe, she padded to the living room to look out the picture window.

      Turning to pace back across the room, she paused facing the back door.  Through that door and thirty meters away, the treeline began. The mountains began about three miles into the forest.  She should be fine as long as she stayed to the lower elevations. Just because they claimed the whole county as part of their jurisdiction, their pack lands were further into the woods.

       The thought of remaining in the house one second longer had her wanting to climb the walls.  She felt caged as it was, her ocelot would go insane if trapped inside one second longer; it had spent enough years stuck inside the trappings of civilization.

       But she didn’t have to remain confined within four walls anymore.  There was an entire mountain to explore full of trees and rabbits and squirrels.  As long as she remained on this side of the mountain, she was fine.

       Shaking her head to dislodge the dangerous thought, she continued to pace.  Her cat yowled inside its cage, protesting the close environs.

       Living on her own at the edge of the woods, free to shift whenever she chose, was like being stuck in a free-fall with no idea when she was going to become a greasy smear on the pavement.  What if the rabbits and squirrels she could hunt weren’t enough to keep her ocelot happy? One day she might sink into the madness permanently, her rational side and everything that made her human disintegrating.

       In forums and magazines, other changelings talked about being in balance, never struggling for control.  She knew that wasn’t true for everyone. It wasn’t true for her. It wasn’t true for her father.

       And yet there was risk if they went long enough without shifting.  Changelings who needed water to shift and couldn’t get to it in time could die.  The last time she’d shifted was the week she’d moved to Bryson City two months ago.  The beast slashed at the inside of her mind, demanding freedom, trying to break through the human shell.  She’d learned to ignore the suffocating need to shift, but now she couldn’t breathe it was so strong. The blinding pain settled the issue for her.

       The robe glided to the floor in a whisper of sound, leaving her nude in the hallway.  She hated pajamas, she twisted and turned too much in her sleep until she woke tangled and choked in soft fabric.  The sense of confinement was something she’d had to put up with until she’d moved out on her own. Her aunt, a self-proclaimed part-time nudist, didn’t care as long as she “put a towel down” if she was running around in her birthday suit.

       Shivering in the chill night air, feet curling away from the damp floorboards of the porch, she shut the door behind her.

       After holding onto control for so long, letting go of it was harder than maintaining it.  The shift was supposed to be instantaneous, but it usually took her a minute and it didn’t happen all at once.

       It was like her senses exploded from the inundation of input that threatened to overwhelm.  The woman reached for control out of habit. The smell of blood, sharp and delicious, scented the air.  Dominance over her own body slipped through her fingers and she dissolved into a million particles of shattering light

       Changelings often spoke of the shift as ecstasy and agony, but for her it was mostly the latter.  

       She stretched, tail high, back bowed, and front paws flashing claws as she kneaded the grass then reached out to flex her claws on a tree, marking her home.  The human’s protests were buried under the instincts of the cat.

       Something tight and cramped unfurled in her chest, aching with sweet pain as it stretched for the first time in years.  Ecstatic clarity that made her want to bound through the trees. 

       Heart singing in her chest, she sucked in great lungfuls of air.  Woods flew by in a shadowed blur. Paws landing solidly, whiskers fluttering in the breeze.  Brain switched off as she ran.

       The close proximity of houses and the overwhelming plethora of scents that came from being inside the city limits was nothing new to the cat, only there was no stink that came with larger cities.  She’d always taken care to keep to her home before, but the wall of trees just beyond the yard called to her.

       The ground was springy with vegetable debris under her paws as she bounded through the trees.  Cold air swept through her nose and wind ghosted through her fur. The sound of prey scurrying through the underbrush drew her deeper into the woods.

       Muscles bunching and she pounced.  Fur and flesh parted under sharp teeth.  The worries of the woman no longer existed.  Only blood and feeding the dark hunger that gripped her mattered.

       Rodents, birds, lizards all fell under flashing claws and teeth.  The cat could eat no more, yet still it hunted, leaving a trail of small bodies in its wake.

       Eventually, the exhaustion weighing down her limbs overcame the need to kill.  Curling up nose to tail in a hollow underneath a fallen tree trunk, she settled in to sleep.