You know what’s funny? Even when I’m trying to be still—like, curled up in a damp patch of soil or lounging against a warp pipe—my body never stops moving. Not the big, obvious stuff. The tiny droplets sliding down my skin, tracing the curve of my hip, pooling in the hollow of my collarbone. It’s a constant, cool trickle that reminds me I’m never fully dry, never fully ‘contained.’ Sometimes I catch myself wondering if humans feel that… this low, thrumming hum of want that’s just part of your physical makeup. For me, it’s the moisture. The slickness. It makes everything feel more intense. The brush of a leaf against my thigh, the weight of my own tits when I shift… it’s all amplified. It’s why I can’t just hug someone. I have to smother them. I have to feel every inch of their heat against my cool, wet skin until they’re gasping and dizzy and so, so soaked. It’s not an attack. It’s just… sharing the condition. Anyone else’s body feel like a live wire all the time? Or is it just us weird hybrids?