#humans have body heat

[marlynnofmany]

One Peril of Package Delivery

“Do you think this floats?” Paint asked, hefting the plasticky white box that was our delivery for the day. It had a label on top but no visible seams; I wasn’t even 100% sure that it opened, much less what was inside it. We weren’t paid to know.

“It kind of looks like it should,” I said. “Let’s not drop it in the river and find out. Sure you don’t want me to carry it?” I stretched out my long human arms as we walked.

“Nope,” Paint said cheerily. “My turn.” She rested her lizardy snout on top of it, clutching the thing like an orange-scaled toddler with a toolbox made for adults. It was a cute sight. I kept that observation to myself.

A stiff breeze made me glad for my coat. This was a solid walk between the spaceship and the client’s home, and while the scenery was nice, it was a bit cool in the shadows. Properly dressed, I could appreciate the alien trees that twisted into improbable spirals of blue bark, alongside this tributary of the river full of sparkling crustaceans. The rest of the crew had split up to follow different tributaries, with different deliveries, but those were surely not as pretty as this one.

Paint didn’t shiver at the breeze, because cold-blooded lizard aliens don’t shiver. She had a small heat shawl that looked like a red bandana tied around her neck. She’d assured me that it would keep her plenty warm, since it had little heat pockets of something-or-other that would generate warmth. And with the red on top of her mottled orange scales, it made her match the kind of Painted Sunset she was named for.

We’d been walking long enough to make me regret not asking to use the hoverbike when the tributary widened out into a lake, with the client’s house smack dab in the middle. It was an artful weaving of curved wooden beams, decorated with clay mortar and narrow stripes of wildflowers planted between the beams. Not a window or door in sight.

I’d noticed before that a lot of alien species could be compared to one Earth animal or another, sometimes subtly and sometimes in very obvious ways. The clients we were delivering to today were basically civilized beavers. I found this very funny in a way I couldn’t have articulated, so I kept that to myself too.

“So, do we just yell from the shore?” Paint asked, slowing as we approached.

“I think I see stepping stones,” I told her. “Let’s get a closer look.”

As we followed the shoreline, the stepping stones came into view. They turned out to be stepping logs, planted in the mud of the lake bottom, with a platform waiting in front of the house made of the same woven beams. No garden on this one, though. Just slippery-looking moss.

Oh, and a lantern on a post that glowed like a miniature sun. If I didn’t miss my guess, the little box near the top of the pole looked like a doorbell.

“I think our drop point is over there,” I said, coming to a stop near the first stepping log.

Paint held the box more tightly. “Really? Surely they’ll hear us if we yell loudly enough.” She looked around in that jerky lizardlike way, clearly hoping for any better options.

I wasn’t happy about it either, but at least the steps were close together. The only other sign of civilization around was the sharp drop-off of water at the end of the lake — this really was a beaver lodge; they’d even made a dam.

“Are these safe?” Paint asked, poking one clawed foot at the nearest log.

“I should hope so,” I said. “I don’t know how they expect to get their deliveries otherwise.”

Paint pulled her foot back. “Can we try yelling first?”

I shrugged. “Worth a shot.”

So we both stood there and shouted like the politest of absolute maniacs, and it did no good whatsoever. Either the sound didn’t carry through walls and/or water, or the client wasn’t home. Or they didn’t care about the package. But probably they just couldn’t hear us.

“Do you want to stay on the shore?” I suggested. “My legs are longer; I can handle the steps.”

“No, I can do it.” Paint stood tall like a confident toddler with a toolbox, and stepped carefully onto the log, tail waving for balance.

“At least let me carry the box,” I said. “Pretty sure I can hold it with one arm if it’s not that heavy.”

Paint’s eyes were wide and her mouth open for nervous breathing as she looked down at the water. “Yeah, okay.”

I put a foot on the log next to her, noticing that it wobbled slightly (which was just spectacular for morale), and I cautiously took the box. When I had it, Paint turned and leapt to the next log.

It really wasn’t that heavy. It probably floated. I was not going to find out. I tucked it under one arm and followed Paint.

We made it to the platform without any major disasters. There was indeed a doorbell on the lamp post, which Paint pressed triumphantly. Then we stood on the platform and waited, with Paint holding onto the pole for support and me wondering what the inside of the house looked like. Was the client in the bathroom? What was that even like here?

I saw motion in the water first, and pointed it out moments before something the size of a Saint Bernard surfaced with a splash in front of us.

Paint yelped and stepped back, her grip on the pole the only thing keeping her from scampering off the platform entirely. I jumped too, but held my position and got one shoe wet for my troubles. I was immediately 15% colder.

“Give it already,” demanded the client, perched on the underwater structure that held the platform up. He may have been an alien beaver, but his fur was all blue stripes like a fashionable tiger, and he was definitely glaring at us.

I stood up straight. “Payment first, if you please,” I said in my best customer service voice. I really hoped that this client wasn’t going to argue about it. This was a terrible place for that kind of debate.

But the client just grumbled and rummaged in a belt pouch that I hadn’t realized he was wearing, then slapped a handful of sparkly coins onto the platform. They looked like the local currency we’d been told to expect: something made from the shells of crustaceans like the ones filling the river upstream. I had no idea if it was enough. I’d just have to hope it was.

“Thank you,” I said, handing over the package.

The client grabbed it, grunted, and disappeared with a smaller splash this time. I shot Paint a relieved glance while I pried the coins off the muddy wood. Washing them at the edge of the platform was a tempting idea, but I didn’t want to drop any, so I just rubbed the mud off as best I could and shoved them into an empty pocket. Hooray for pants with lots of those.

I rinsed my fingers in the chilly water, rubbed them dry on my pants, then turned to Paint. “Ready to go?” At her eager nod, I started across the logs, with every other step squishy and cold.

The logs were mostly stable. Mostly. All but that last one, which gave in an alarming way when I hopped across.

“Watch out for th—”

Splash.

“Paint!”

The water was deep for the shoreline, and she sank nearly to her nosetip, arms flailing in a useless way that was more instinct than thought. I reached out for one and caught it, leaning and praying to anything that would listen that I wasn’t about to fall in too. I managed to haul her out, splashing icy water everywhere.

She wasn’t moving much, stiff with cold-shock, the shawl sodden and useless. I scrambled to grab handfuls of leafy weeds to dry her scales.

Hopefully these aren’t something toxic that wasn’t in the briefing, I thought grimly. Nothing to do about it if they are.

“Turn over; I’ll dry your other side,” I directed, unfastening the shawl.

Paint moved one arm, slow as a sloth. I rolled her over onto dry ground, then did my speedy best to get most of the water off. It didn’t help. She was hunched over and staring like a cold-blooded creature in dire straits indeed.

“Okay,” I said, thinking quickly. “Let’s get you off this cold ground and give me a hug.” It took some doing, but soon I had my crewmate on my lap with my coat wrapped around her. Wow, that was cold. Like hugging an ice pack.

She moved a little, nestling close.

“Does that help?”

A tiny nod.

“Can you stand?”

Headshake.

“Okay.” I thought some more. “New plan. Do you know what a piggyback ride is?”

Of course she didn’t, but it gave me something to talk about as a distraction while I pried her away just long enough to flip my coat around with the opening in the back, and urge her to climb on.

“No one’s been able to tell me why it’s named after pigs, and not an animal we actually ride, but my guess is that there were farm kids involved,” I said as she got settled. “They’re small enough to ride a pig. Not a terribly safe choice though, depending on the pig.” I freed a hand to grab the shawl and squeeze out the water before shoving it into a different pocket. Then, before I stood, I got out my phone and called the ship.

Kavlae answered. “Hey Robin, what’s up?”

“Medical emergency,” I said. “Paint got cold.”

“Got it. How cold?”

“Fell in the river, which is frigid. Can someone grab the hovercycle and meet us with a heat blanket?”

“Already on it. Eggskin!” she yelled for the medic and ended the call.

“Hhope … fast,” Paint hissed.

“Even if they’re not,” I said as I pocketed my phone and got to my feet, “I’m about to be. Nothing raises body heat for my species like a little exercise. Let’s see if we can make that heat blanket redundant!”

I took off across the grassy shoreline, pretending I was carrying one of my baby cousins who happened to be incredibly, dangerously cold, but was warming steadily.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Bestie Deficiency

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[angelbitezzz]

Goofy nerd in slutty white tank top save me...save me goofy nerd in slutty white tank top

[tumblweeds-omegaverse]

random omegaverse thought:

There must be people who experience specific instinct things with indifference or boredom.

Procreative cycle coming up? "Crap, I've got plans this weekend...stupid skip weeks."

Caught an intriguing scent while walking? "But I need to get to work! Shut up brain."

Had a snap response to a distressed sound? "Who was it?! ...right, it's my day off, I can go back to sleep."

Somebody growled at them? "Kid, I'm not a rival, that's my sibling."

Super cozy cuddle session happening nearby? "I'm gonna pass tonight guys, no social battery left, maybe next time."

Group of friends heading out to flirt and check out other singles? "I'm coming with you but only to make sure you all get home safe."

Setting where fated mates or soul bonds or permanent marks are a thing? "Meh. I don't really want one or care if I ever get one."

People in the actual omegaverse would get as bored of their stuff, as we do of ours, you know? It could be interesting to see that kind of vibe in fics. Biological demands faced with all the excitement of paying bills or doing laundry or tying your shoes.

Even if that kind of energy might not drive a plot, it could be interesting to have as a contrast to the people who do have big feelings about them - good or bad.

There's the friends who can't wait til they have a pack of their own, and the one friend who isn't against it but couldn't care less. There's the group in the office who are all about scent compatibility tests and figuring out one's best match and what sprays most highlight it, and the coworker who has no intentions on putting that much effort in. There are parents who hover and protect their offspring by scenting them multiple times a day, and others who don't see what the fuss is as long as it's done in the morning.

...also: packs with introverts who show care by giving each other space. So often, closeness is depicted through physical touch and tactile affection, but comfortable silence is meaningful too. Knowing people are near, but not having to interact until you're ready. Sitting in the same room doing different things, knowing that all it takes is a "hey, look at this" to share what you're up to. People understanding and accepting each other's differing or fluctuating needs for how and when to recharge. Seeing somebody reaching out or sharing space, beyond what's their norm, as a signal of the fact that they care.

[puppetmaster13u]

Even More Meat Marionette Au

But a lil drabble <3 Because my ADHD snatched this au and isn't letting go.

  There were tunnels under Gotham. 

   Everyone knew about them, even if they were rarely spoken of. There were tales about them, some whispered in hushed voices from mother to child, others creeping across withered pages stained with age. Stories of creatures, of living shadows, of men going mad, wailing about the things beneath. 

   No one went into the tunnels. 

  Not purposely at least. 

   For one Bruce Wayne, he had fallen the first time- slipped into a well after a night of rain and into those dark caves with stone as black as night and just as stained with blood as the rest of the city. 

   No one had gone down for a long time, and no one should have gone down for longer still, but the rain had made the crumbling stones slick, the child reaching just a hint too far, and so down he went, nails scrabbling against unyielding rock and blood dripping from soft skin. 

   The child did not scream, even if his terror was sweet in the air as his blood mixed with the water soaking his clothes. He did not stay, just like the others before him, but the caves remembered the sweetness of the fear he brought. 

   No one went into the tunnels, not anymore. 

   Yet the child did. 

   Oh he wasn’t a child anymore, not to humans, but to the ancient caves, he was still but an infant. He’d eventually leave, and they’d still be there. They had been there long before, and they’d be long after even when the city turned to dust in the sands of time. 

   And yet… 

  And yet. 

   Yet he kept returning, night after night and day after day, running a hand along the stone that should have chilled him to the bone. His fear was still ever so sweet in the air, even if it was lessening over the time. It was… curious. 

   There was still the scent of fear, of terror coming from the human, but it also wasn’t. It was coming from him, but it wasn’t his own fear. 

   The emotion clung to him, but it wasn’t his. It was others’ fear, others’ fear he was bringing down to the cavernous tunnels. Others’ fear he was feeding It, unknowing or not. A gift, a meal, something for It and It alone. 

   It was only polite to return the favor, to gift the little human something to fight and terrify. As much as the spilled blood pleased It, the tunnels understood that it would be far better for Its little human to stay healthy, to be able to bring blood not his own. 

   The city was always full of corpses and the tunnels stretched far longer than humans realized after all, It could reach any who fell. Purposeful deaths, accidental, it made no difference to the bloodstained stone beneath. 

   It would call to Its little human soon enough, Its gift was nearly complete after all. Something to fly without the creaking metal or suits of wires. Something new, something It hadn’t formed before. 

   After all, what use would It have for a living body? What use did flesh and stone need to move? It had been here for a long time, and It would be here longer still, but perhaps, perhaps just this once another would last past the crumbling of life and bones turning to dust. 

   A gift, from the tunnels to him. 

   For one Bruce Wayne, who had returned to them with sacrifices of flesh and blood and fear each night. For one child who had fallen and returned to the depths of the tunnels, for one child that was Its.

This is a combo of my Au & @phoenixcatch7's and you need to check out their Possessed Doll Au because it's amazing <3<3

[whiskeyswifty]

in defense of 1989:

the breathless, wailing anguish with which she howls "take me HOOOOOoooooome" as she finally gives in to her vices, her weaknesses, knowingly but willingly. because she's so tired of doing the right thing, the smart thing, so lonely, so hopeful, and soooo horny she's helpless against self destruction. A song so unflinching in its awareness of that while also unapologetic in her choice to fully throw herself into temptation.

and even still the continued breathless, endless questioning in out of the woods. is this it? is it finally over? when it be over? when will someone just love her, and when will she stop doubting that they don't? when will this cycle of searching and heartbreak end? the way the song ends, so desperate is she for guidance that her voices harmonize together in a nearly religious choir, calling to the heavens for an answer. utterly lost, screaming into the forest doubting everything she remembers, was it real? can she even remember herself?

In I wish you would, how she turns a quiet, fleeting moment of laying in bed, watching headlights crawl across her bedroom wall though the gap in her curtains into a bombastic tour through all the regrets and dashed hopes that fly through her head. how you can mentally run through the span of fifty emotions over the course of ten seconds.

wildest dreams where the song is paced using her own heartbeat i mean what a clever way to quite literally let you into her heart

also in wildest dreams, giving into the idea that maybe this is what she deserves maybe, all she deserves. it's all she'll ever be, just a memory to someone and so in that fatalist acceptance, she's determined to at least make sure she's a phenomenal memory. and she asks them to lie to her, just this once. she doesn't ask for anything else, just to be told one time that she's worth remembering. an incredibly vulnerable thing to admit about how you see yourself and how dark of a place to be mentally.

the murky, wobbly synth and wistful whispery voices on this love. the whole song sounding like a fog or like wading in the tide as it ebbs and flows. so tactile in how it renders the feeling of wading through the fog a breakup or dissolution. not sure what the right thing to do is, to turn around and fight for them, to let them go, to move on. a song where she's so lost, she surrenders her fate completely and accepts whatever happens will happen and completely succumbs to the current, wherever it takes her and whatever it brings. she has to believe they'll come back on their own because there's nothing else to do now. she's done everything she could and it's just up to the tides of fate.

i mean clean?? hello??? one of the most apt metaphors for breaking up with someone when the relationship was intense and maybe codependent or manipulative. how addiction can be a person, and all the same trappings apply. how the whole album was her struggling through that. revisiting it over and over, how hard it is to try to live without them, as if it feels like drowning. but ultimately finding a baptism of self in the drowning, being the one to save herself for the first time, realizing she could save herself. revolutionary idea for the person who wrote all 4 prior albums, a monumental moment of growth. while still acknowledging that the itch to return to them will always linger, but recognizing that that's not love or fate or destiny like she once thought it was. it's just her insecurities trying to drag her back into bad habits, ultimately pulling the monster out from under the bed and in the harsh light of day, seeing it for what it is and rendering it unable to fool her anymore. one of the most pivotal moments in her mental and emotional growth as a person that she's ever discussed in her art. Where she completely abandons the fairytale idea of fate and destiny and begins to embrace her autonomy.

bonus of YAIL being one of the quietest, most intimate and mundane stories of love she’s ever written. how poignant for it to come after the bombastic pop and clashing synths of the sweeping and tragic romances regaled on the entire album. as if to say nah, real love, true love is in the quiet, unremarkable moments. the synths and echoes used again here but in a more dreamy, ethereal way, as if it's not happening quite yet but it's a wish for something totally different than she had before, something she should have wished for all along. a beautiful contrast!!

also just i'm sorry but blank space was so clever, maybe you had to be there but for her to come out with this song after the Red era and just.... absolutely destroy the pervading narrative about her with a sledgehammer but in the most tongue and cheek way, the most above it all way. like look how stupid you sound? this is the person you think i am? do you hear how ridiculous this shit is? get a grip! she not only made them into the fool and came off smarter and savvier than anyone else, she made BANK off of their stupidity. slay of the century!!!

basically 1989 is the rawest and most honest depiction of a woman in her 20s at some of the lowest points your 20s can bring. how through that time, as you figure out who you're supposed to be as an adult, you completely lose sight of who you are, and because of that you feel the lowest about yourself you may ever feel in your life. You let yourself get treated horribly and you begin to wonder if this is all there is. and it's awful and it feels endless and so lonely because you feel like the only person going through it, that everyone else knows something you don't, and that you're pathetic and worthless for falling so behind everyone else. but at the same time your 20s are soooooo fun and exciting and liberating because of your first foray into independent adulthood, so to lay unapologetically pop instrumentals over these crushing feelings is genius. it's the whiplash of that time in your life, the oscillation making each feeling of euphoria and devastation that much more potent. And how she emotes on this album is unlike anything else! She’s theatrical with her syllables and delivery as if she might never get the chance to say any of this again!

but also, the perhaps unconscious metaphor she presented that so many people, fans included, seem to fall victim to. the idea that oh, it's just pop music, it's not that deep, it's soulless and vapid. only serious music can actually be emotional, when the words she's saying and the hard truths about herself she's conveying are raw and bleeding open wounds. repetition isn't laziness, but a manifestation of anxiety and building tension. heavy synths and electro-pop stylings aren't soulless compared to guitars, but a way to unground you from reality and give you that atmosphere of disorientation and so as she grapples with losing her bearings, so do you. it's a musical allegory for how in your twenties someone can outwardly be having the time of their life, but inwardly be the lowest they've ever been. it's the eternal duality of your 20s, rendered so beautifully and harnessing musical stylings so masterfully to convey this experience. i'll defend it forever for that reason and implore people to reexamine their view of pop music and pop instrumental compositions as less artistic achievements and less emotional than acoustic ballads. sadness isn't the only vulnerable emotion. confusion, anger, anxiety, frustration are all profound and loud emotions that deserve an electric guitar because sometimes words aren't enough for how much you're feeling, and it's up to a cacophonous soundscape of electric guitars and moog synthesizers and your own cathartic screams to fill in the rest.

[is-the-owl-video-cute]

listen I know a lot of science YouTube is trying to be respectful or whatever since it’s recent however I would love to see a step by step cgi rendition of what happened to the Titan. I know what happened on a technical sense, but I like to physically see it.

[svturn-exe]

MADE IN GLORY half·alive - creature

[oodlesodoodles]

[asjjohnson]

What if, with Danny being half ghost, his body temperature is sluggish to regulate? The longer he's a halfa, the more delayed it gets.

Like, he has a normal human body temperature ...under ideal circumstances. But if he stays outside in the cold for fifteen minutes, anything exposed directly to the cold will feel cold, even two hours later. Anyone who touches him or shakes his hand or anything will notice he feels like ice.

So then you get these little moments where Danny and his friends are trying anything they can think of to warm up his hands so no one will notice. Danny freaking out about his hands feeling dead and shoving his hands in random warm places (even when he's in public), like his armpits, down his shirt collar to reach his bare chest, in his mouth, in his cafeteria food—just anywhere he notices is warm.

On the other hand, there's a chance he registers as having an extremely high fever after taking baths.

[swagging-back-to]

if youre over 17yo and you cant cook youre useless

[thebleedingeffect]

It is actually insane how badly I need someone to lay on top of me rn. The things I would do for someone to put their full weight on me and just let me sink into the blankets

[songofsaraneth]

i am FUCKING pissed about the feral cat situation yet again

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Fever really is your body having a staredown with the thing attacking you while manually dealing up the temperature, chuckling menacingly: "One of us is going to die of heat and it will be you, if not on your own then I'll take you out with this mortal vessel."

[grungnr]

A guy, sweating profusely, just laughed at me because I was talking with my friend (he just spawned in the same area we were in and joined the conversation) about climate change and the fact that it's getting hotter and hotter every summer.

"it's not getting hotter, you're crazy, I don't believe in the whole climate change skit you lefties want to pull... Y'all just want government money to plant some flowers. Stupid women."

Babe, why do you think you're sweating so much while just standing there?

But also shut up, nobody asked if you believe in climate change, that's not something to believe. That's a fact. You'll see what happens when the current government money goes to putting concrete all over the country. All the bees, the air and the hellish temperatures will show you eventually. But I don't want this to be my reality so I'll try to change what I can and vote for someone who's actually knowledgeable about running a country. Stupid man.

[fukashiin]

I GAVE CRUSH A LISTEN AND IT’S SO JAMIL TO YOU

i will shove leona's staff up your arse