Reblogs!!

Gifts and accessories would probably be most appreciated by Dust, since he's the most naturally predisposed to collecting things like the weird little magpie he is. It would take a LOT of material to craft something he could actually wear, but once you have time to sit and do so you could certainly make something pretty. You might have to make a smaller option to demonstrate how it works on your own wrist, then give him the larger one. You'd get a rare genuine smile and some humming as a reward.

Killer then promptly tries to steal it and gets slammed against the nearest cliff face for his trouble. You'll have to make him something too. I think a loop that stays over one of his mandibles would be very cute.

Horror sadly probably couldn't take any physical gift, he's just too large to manage and his preferred environments are so insanely hot that it would be damaged by the heat :( But he'd appreciate the gesture of being offered something. The best option for him would be to cook him something, especially if it uses some kind of land-based food he can't usually get. The extra effort of you going out of your way to make and bring him something (especially if it's in a larger quantity) is VERY cute, especially when he recognizes it's something YOU normally eat as well.

Nightmare is in a similar figurative boat due to size, but he'd be flattered and pleased, and would recognize the significance rather quickly since he's actually able to communicate. He could also help translate if any of them are confused. It might be easier to make a sculpture or something that he can view or talk with you about.

Physical affection is a much more universal thing!

Killer is a big nuzzler, so swapping it into a lil kiss is a pretty easy switch. He wouldn't think too much of it at first, but eventually he starts to pick up on the fact that you're moving in a specific way and not just very bad at nuzzling, at which point he'd pay more attention. At some point he'd definitely bump his mouth against you in an attempt to imitate it, but that doesn't really work as well. Ah well. He'll stick with the nuzzles and settle for 'trapping' you in his mandibles until you give kiss.

Dust isn't as physical as the others are, but he'll often let the reader perch on his head/horns or hang off of him since he has a bit of a softer coating over his bones. He might not even feel it the first few times as a result, but starts to pick up that you're doing a specific thing that clearly makes you happy. So...that means it's a good thing, right? Eventually he starts to look forward to it and will get VERY sulky if you greet him without the routine kiss.

Horror is quite the effort. Swimming up to give him a head kiss is an endeavor in and of itself, and he gets a little agitated if you get close to the giant cavernous hole in his skull. But as long as you stay away from that side he's happy to let you cuddle up to his head. He would also not try to reciprocate because the chance of him accidentally injuring you are MUCH higher; he's gotta be very cautious.

Killer: Killer was not born into Garou society and has a little bit of a hard time adjusting. He doesn’t have any grudge against humans or monsters, he just doesn’t really see them as important. But he’s still pretty into modern hobbies and stuff. He was probably just a college student before his change happened and he got captured for evil experiments by the Evil Corporation ™ of the setting. That’s what left him with things like his wonky soul and DT eyes. He managed to escape (somehow) but it's left some nasty side-effects.

His wolf form is probably mostly light gray and white, but with very prominent black highlights around the face, paws, and tail. Werewolves don’t have to perfectly follow realistic color schemes but I'm a wolf nerd so I like to. His eyes are still very eerily black in that form too, and his soul would probably be visible in his War Form but disappear in his more wolf-like forms to help him blend in. He’s a little smaller and leaner than the others in whatever form he takes, but when it comes to the war form that's like saying he's 7.5 feet tall instead of 8. That’s still a BIG doggie.

He’s pretty much the usual Killer personality, other than usually using gifts like Razor Claws instead of using knives; he’s got built-in weapons this way, no need to use the rest. The spirits and magic and stuff are all a bit beyond him, he’ll leave that to Dusty and the boss. He does have a few spirit-infused talisman knives that he's quite fond of, though.

I like to use a more headstrong/stubborn reader in my stories, so they’d probably witness him transform and get hit with a burst of Delirium that triggers their ‘fight’ response. Some tiny little adorable human trying desperately to smack him with their book bag or a chair or whatever they can grab is hilarious to Killer, even in his war form. He’d probably just, scoop ‘em up and take them with him. Can’t just leave them with whatever carnage is in his wake, they might get in trouble. Most humans would sort of forget/rationalize whatever they saw, but that probably make you avoid him, and he doesn't like that. They'll just have to let you in past the veil

(Bonus points if you guys were already on a date or something before this reveal. The red flags were probably already there but sadly, red is the reader’s favorite color.)

Naturally he remains his usual clingy, easygoing self on the surface. Inside though? Panic. He knows how fragile normal humans are, he’s killed his share of them. He has good control of his rage, but it can still slip free on occasion, and it’s arguably even worse in that case because it’s harder for him to come back down. Horror and Dust can usually pin him down until it subsides, but if it happens around you? He doesn’t like to think about it. Your reaction to the delirium was unconscious and funny, he doesn’t want you to be consciously afraid of him.

Dust: Last time I was unsure if Dust was a monster or a wolf at first, but I’m going to stick with monster. Which makes him even less certain of what happened to his brother when he first transformed because there WAS no mauled body, just…dust everywhere, which he was also covered in. There’s no reset-based trauma this time around, but humans were the ones harassing him and his sibling when he turned and he holds that grudge. Most first changes happen in the teenage years so he was young, too. Poor guy. After that change he throws himself wholeheartedly into werewolf culture and goes entirely MIA from his previous life. There’s nothing left for him there.

His wolf form is a very pale ashen color, almost entirely solid gray with lighter flecks of white scattered like snowflakes through the fur. There’s an almost blue tint when the lighting catches it just right, a bit like a Russian blue cat. He’s pretty “average” size each form, but if he doesn’t want you to see him you won’t. He has distinctive heterochromia in his wolf form, one eye blue and the other being a very deep orange-red shade. They retain their normal glowy split look in every other form though, especially in his War Form. Said form is the second smallest after Killer's.

Sticking with the idea that they all meet the Reader through Killer (as detailed above) and it goes from there he’d probably be pretty miffed that Killer just, dragged some random human into their caern (werewolf hideaway with spiritual significance) without SAYING anything. They’d probably fight it out in pretty terrifying fashion until Nightmare tells them to knock that shit off. He mostly just ignores or avoids the reader for a long time and growls when they approach him.

I think most bonding would come when the Reader is curious. Dust is the most connected to the spirits and the Umbra in their group, even more than Nightmare. So he’s always doing interesting rituals and magic-adjacent things. They ask him a question, he snaps at them. Then a little bit later he quietly starts telling them about the things he’s seen in his travels through the Umbra, about the souls of the world and nature. Powerful spirits he’s encountered like Thunder and Fox and Magpie.

And they’re just…so enraptured and intrigued? And genuinely respectful in a way that most humans aren’t. He starts to soften up toward them. Almost literally; his coat is especially silky and soft compared to the others. And it makes him want to be a little more present in the physical world and not just, lose himself in the spiritual one again.

Horror: Horror was born a wolf and is the only one of the group to be that. Lupus-born Garou are rarer, simply because wild wolves are also rarer than they used to be. His pack was being poached and quite literally starved out by a group hired by Pentex (evil corporation from Killer's story) and were in very VERY bad shape. Horror himself had an eye shot out and a number of other ugly wounds, but was simply too stubborn and resilient to die…and then he transformed into his War Form one night and ripped the hunters apart.

Lupus have a harder time adjusting to their sudden heightened consciousness and shift in perspective, and Horror is no exception. He has very little to do with society and honestly spends most of his time in his halfway ‘Glabro’ form rather than a fully monster form. He just doesn’t feel right without his fangs and claws. But the other garou from his chosen Tribe and his chosen Pack helped him get set up with an actual house and protected his pack’s territory as a ‘sanctuary’ to keep hunters away. Complete with magical defenses and regular patrols.

He struggles a bit with things like reading and math; he’s not unintelligent by any means, but he wasn’t born in a body or brain fit for that kind of knowledge and none of the others are great at teaching other than Nightmare. He does enjoy reading, just has some mild dyslexia going on and needs a dictionary on hand for unfamiliar words. He did discover a genuine liking for this human/monster thing called ‘cooking’ though.

But he’ll still crunch down on raw meat and bones. For enrichment.

He’s a BIG boy in any form he takes; even his wolf form is larger than average. His dire wolf form is like, Clydesdale-sized while the others are quarter horse sized. You get the picture. He’s got the biggest War Form too, over 9 feet in height. Even bigger than Cross, who is the second largest as an actual warrior class. He’s mostly shades of darker gray, brown, and black that help him blend in, but his head is almost entirely white. He’s missing an ear on one side and an eye on the other, and you can see a lot of nasty scar tissue throughout. And naturally he keeps that glowing red eye. Makes him look like a hellhound.

Horror’s more interested in keeping the homestead secure than running around burning down lumberyards and assassinating politicians. He has no idea how to interact with the Reader when Killer brings them around; what the hell is he supposed to do with this small squishy human thing? The only ones he’s ever met are the ones he’s killed.

He takes to them quickly though. The pack-bonding is strong in this one, especially when they start helping him out with recipes and walking the sanctuary. Starts giving them a lot of nature and animal-based nicknames, since those are his clearest frame of reference. Bunny, birdy, little mouse, kitten, things like that. Killer starts using some of those too, but every time he picks one up Horror will switch to a different one.

(His brother is also just. A completely normal wolf. Which makes it a bit funny and adorable when he later introduces the Reader to him.)

Nightmare: Nightmare was born into Garou society, effectively werewolf royalty as far as this setting goes. He and his twin were natural-born leaders, very rare twins meant to inspire and command the wider tribes toward their goal…and then a spirit trip into the Umbra went VERY wrong. A bad encounter with a Bane (corrupted spirit) and a nasty eye injury later and Nightmare was pushed aside. He wasn’t a beautiful perfect werewolf anymore, he was a shame not fit for the throne. He left not long after.

Nightmare is weird even by werewolf standards. Some theorize that the spirit he encountered was a ‘Howling Insanity’ bane and tried to fully possess him. He’s in full control of his mind, though…it’s just a lot darker now. The horrific experience did a number on his psyche. The fact that he resisted its power at all should have been a boon in his favor, but alas, his family expected nothing short of perfection, and he no longer was.

Naturally, all of Nightmare’s wolf forms are solid, glossy black, with the most piercing blue eye (singular) you’ve ever seen. Even in his regular wolf form there is something unsettling about the way he stands and stares. He doesn’t have the sludgy look or tentacles, but his bones are still solid black and eerily shiny. He rarely uses his war form, but when he does it is a terrifying primal thing. There is something deeply wrong with it that’s hard to put into words; even other garou have a hard time standing their ground when he transforms in their presence. Before his injury and change he had a very striking silver coat that the Silver Fangs are known for.

He’s a lot more wary of dealing with spirits than Dust is, given his experience. Dust may be more willing to commune with them, but Nightmare is far more knowledgeable of them. And even if his family doesn’t recognize him as such, the Umbra still sees him as a king and some spirits will only speak or talk with him.

Nightmare has a superiority complex that a lot of werewolves are prone to, so he’s not beyond viewing the Reader simply as Killer’s “pet” for a while. Cute, endearing, but not at all equal. He’s an absolute expert when it comes to werewolf history and spirits and such…but he’s never really sat down and had a proper conversation with a normal human or monster that wasn’t just to achieve a goal of some kind. Like Dust, he’d probably be surprised and appreciative of their curiosity about werewolf culture. Unlike Dust, he finds himself equally curious about the Reader in return. It sort of clicks for him after a few conversation that there’s a lot more to these creatures than he realized, and he begins to treat them more like a member of the group at that point.

It comes to a head when an encounter with another Garou has them calling the Reader some derisive term (ironically it could be one he himself used in the past), and he proceeds to very calmly turn into his War Form and rip their limbs off right then and there. They can regenerate, he isn’t so gauche as to kill a fellow Garou, but it gets the point across. If the Reader witnesses it he would then transform back and apologize for the gruesome display. It actually really reaffirms his status with the rest of their kind. That level of control over the Rage is impressive and terrifying to behold.

Cross: Cross was also raised in a primarily Garou culture. He was always meant to be a soldier, a warrior, the perfect weapon to strike against their enemies. All well and good, until his father forced his change younger than most and in a VERY traumatic fashion. When he came out of the rage, there was a fellow dead werewolf along with several humans, kinsfolk, and others he knew. He ran away from his initial tribe after that and ended up joining the Silent Striders; not an organized group so much as disparate wanderers. Eventually, he wandered his way into a new pack and there he is.

Cross still wanders around a lot of the time, both in the Earth and in the Umbra. He gets lost easily, which is a bit ironic seeing as traveling and exploring is kind of his whole thing and you would think he has a better focus on it but nope, no sense of direction. Absolutely abysmal. He'll disappear for months at a time with no contact and then pop up wondering why everyone thought he was dead. He'll end up in India instead of Indiana. That kind of thing.

His wolf forms are…well, they’re the fluffiest. Not as silky sleek as Dust or as large as Horror’s, he’s just got a SUPER thick and soft pelt. He’s a little embarrassed about it. He’s a solidly white wolf with no other markings, though not as shiny as a Silver Fang royal wolf would be. His war form is the second largest after Horror’s, towering over even Nightmare despite the latter being taller than him in their ‘relaxed’ form. He’s a warrior after all, an Ahroun, meant to be first on the front lines of battle.

Unlike Nightmare, Cross has spent enough time around humans and monsters in his travels to be comfortable with them and can blend pretty well into society. But he is still downright baffled when he comes back to visit after one of his several month forays off into the world and sees that Killer has brought a perfectly normal human back to their caern. You’re not a Hunter, you’re not a Mage, you’re just…a person? A normal fragile person? Living with WEREWOLVES? Are you…are you okay???

Once that’s established he’s friendly, but also very wary. Unlike Killer who just tries not to think about it, Cross is very well aware of the Rage at all times. He’s got the least innate control over his, it’s a conscious battle and this poor boy is an emotional ticking time bomb. He’s VERY nervous to be around you in anything other than his monster form at first but…well, you catch him sleeping in his wolf form at some point and can’t resist burying your hands in his ruff. And your hands are very soft and you’re SO good at scratching behind his ears he just can’t…Killer walks in ten minutes later to find him fully flipped over on his back getting belly rubs and Cross will NEVER live it down.

He wants to stay away from you for your own sake, but can't help but be selfish. He’ll just have to be careful. That’ll…probably be enough.

…OKAY WOW THIS GOT OUT OF HAND VERY FAST.

Uh. I might write stuff with this someday?? Not like an actual fic with a plot but like, some mini fics to explore the concept? Idk man this turned out a lot longer than I intended it to be.

ALSO if other people want to use this to write/draw/whatever it's free game! I'm just screaming my ideas out into the void because my niche appears to be writing highly specific crossovers where I take the Bad Sanses and whatever my latest hyperfixation is and jam them together going "now kiss."

He stares hard at the ceiling, unwilling to glance down at his chest. The room is too hot. The fan is too loud. He digs his free hand into the soft cushion of the couch, a futile attempt to ground himself. His mind only carries a single mantra:

i am fucking sick.

“—Sans?”

His shoulders spike instantly. He needs to calm down, needs to soften his face before he looks down at you. Your head is nestled against his sternum, your fingers wrapped around one of his lower ribs. Your heavy eyes blink away sleep as you stare up at him. He takes a slow breath.

“heya, sleepyhead,” he says. Does he sound strained? “you done drooling on my jacket yet? heh.”

You smile sheepishly and wipe the corner of your mouth. He laughs. Cups your cheek with his gloved hand. Swipes his thumb against your lips. Lingers against your skin when you lean into his touch.

It’s absolutely sick. It’s awful. He hates himself for it.

“Sorry,” you mumble, voice coarse. “Didn’t mean to use you as my pillow…”

He shakes his head. You shouldn’t apologize to him. Not ever. “nothing to be sorry for,” he says. “i’m just glad i could be of service.”

Your smile is so damn sweet, it almost makes him nauseous. You shift your body to stretch, and he takes the opportunity to burn the feeling of you against him into his memory. The warmth of your skin. The lilt of your voice as you sigh. The fluttering of your pulse. All of it, he’s desperate to never forget.

He feels himself deflate as you reach over to the coffee table to grab your phone. “Damn,” you mumble, “I’ve got work in an hour.”

It’s simply instinct. He can’t help the way his arms suddenly lock around you, trapping you flush against his body. You make a pathetic little sound. Barely even a squeak. Then blink up at him, shocked. Must’ve been too tight. He releases you a second later, allowing you to sit up.

He’s so stupid.

He was doing such a good job, too. Got the voice down perfect, even practiced his dumbass laugh. Kept his smile easy and his hood down, just the way you liked it. He was almost a carbon copy. Almost.

But based on the look on your face, Dust already knows he’s slipped up. He wouldn’t have done grabbed you like that. A pun about work would’ve been the obvious fucking choice…

Damnit, he hasn’t said a pun in the last hour. No wonder you look so worried.

“H-hey,” you say, rubbing his shoulder to console him. “Don’t be too bummed. I’ll be back tonight, okay? We can keep the cuddle sesh going then.”

He nods quickly, staring at the couch. “yeah, ‘course we can. sorry, didn’t mean to squeeze the life outta you there.” That’s not even a joke. He’s horrible at this, damnit. Excuse, he needs an excuse, quickly… “just gets lonely here, without you…”

He watches how your shoulders fall, how your face melts into a pitying smile. He doesn’t deserve it. He tilts his head away, but your soft hands grip his chin gently and turns it back.

“Sans,” you say, and Dust resists the urge to scream, “are you sure you’re okay? I mean, you haven’t really left the house in a few days, you’re ignoring your brother’s calls… You just seem so…”

Sardonic? Disturbing? Unsafe to be around?

“…Sad.” You press your lips together, as if the word was hard to say aloud. “You just seem really sad lately. Is something wrong?”

He lets out a slow breath. Lets himself study the worry in your brow, the scabs on your lips from you biting them from stress. And here he was, thinking he’s been doing a good job. He resists the urge to pull his hoodie up. To hide from you, and every other horrible thing he’s ever done.

This is what he wanted. He repeats this to himself a few times over. He went through all the trouble to get here, and now that he has you… he isn’t letting go. So he’s gotta be convincing, damnit.

He makes up a lie. Not even a very convincing one, but he knows you’re willing to believe whatever he says. Dust explains that it’s just difficult, accepting that he’s finally living life on the surface. That even after years above ground, he still has nightmares about going back. He still feels like the walls around him are closing in around him most days.

Really, it’s not that far off from the truth.

“sometimes, it just feels like one day i’ll wake up, and everything up here will disappear,” he says, doing his best to sound pitiful. Is he milking it? Maybe. “sorry. that’s sort of irrational, isn’t it?”

He has to hide his grin when you melt and gather him into a tight hug. You rub circles into his back. Promise him everything will be okay, that you aren’t going anywhere, that life with you is permanent. And he soaks that shit up like a sponge. When you kiss his forehead, and he tilts his teeth up to meet your lips, he can’t even bring himself to feel bad about it.

After all, doesn’t he deserve this?

Eventually, he’s able to pull himself off of you long enough to convince you to go to work today.

“You sure I shouldn’t stay back? We can watch a movie, I’ll order take-out…” He genuinely snorts when you poke the empty space between his ribs.

“nah, nah, you should go. i’ll hold down the fort.” He thinks hard for a second. “no need for you to become a lazybones, too. heh.” Ugh, terrible. Since when did he become so damn unfunny?

Ah, who cares. You smiled at him. You’ve been waiting on a pun this whole time.

With a firm hand on your waist, he leads you to the front door. Dust sends you off with a wink and a wave, and thankfully, you keep your smile on as you pull out of the driveway. He didn’t mess up too bad, then. But he needs to be more careful.

More relaxed. Sillier, even. You wouldn’t notice again. He’s sure of it.

Dust turns. Feels his soul drop for a second, his bones locking in place. Fuck. He really looks just like him, huh? He waves his hand in front of the mirror in the hallway and shudders. For a moment, he could even fool himself.

He pulls his hood up to shroud his face, unwilling to face himself. Stuffs his hands into a jacket that isn’t even his own. Everything about it is sick, sick, sick.

+++++++++++++++++

This is a really wide topic, hope you don't mind if i just ramble

Undertale's magic system is so bare-bones, it might tell you a pun, which is definitely by design as a concise story game that doesn't have time to drone on and on about intricately deep lore. But I think there are some things we can extrapolate from what we have, and I can give my own personal opinion on things, too :3c

First thing I find interesting is that monsters aren't completely made of magic -- the books in undertale say they're MOSTLY made of magic, and it compares this "mostly" to how humans are mostly made of water, giving us a quantifiable percentage of how much magic monsters are made of -- 70%, give or take. so with this, we can deduce that monsters have SOME physicality to them. The issue is, where?

It could very well just be trace elements. What I like to think is that the remaining percentage of body mass is made up of what they've accumulated from their environment over time: Dirt, dust, microscopic organisms, just stuff humans have all over their body as well, acting like a natural glue binding their magic together, if that makes sense lol. I mean, monster souls are also said to be made of love and compassion, and those could manifest as physical things? unclear. im making shit up at all times

Anyways, magic is so weird. Monster food is pure energy, no digestive tract required, which also tracks with the fact that there are no bathrooms in the underground, and the only bathrooms topside in deltarune are ones that commonly house the only human in town (unless youre a human Dess theorist lol).

But on the other side of that, monsters clearly have some sort of gestation period as we've seen with Toriel, but still, is it a physical pregnancy that involves the body changing and growing, or is it purely soul related? we'll never know. I'm partial to the whole "soulling" deal with monster/monster parents, where the offspring soul leeches off the parent soul, and the body manifests at a metaphysical sort of "birthing" (with monster/human offspring, i headcanon traits are shared -- the parent soul grows the offspring, but without the magic of two monster parents, the physical body grows alongside it as substitute)

I also think that there are like. REMNANTS of the physical organs humans have in there. Not quite as gross as slippery as our own, but they are there in some capacity. I say this because how the hell did Asgore eat the buttercup flowers??? They are physical matter, where did they go??????? So monsters CAN consume human food, just to how much they can stomach (pun) is entirely unknown. Personally I like to think there's a tradeoff with that situation -- Monsters can live off of some human food, but they need monster food to help replenish magic, likewise humans can survive off of some monster food, but they need the nutrition of human food to stay healthy and well.

moving on, i gotta talk about everyone's favorite vague term -- Intention. Intention is clearly a huge part of magic use, as stated by the snowdin library:

Because they are made of magic, monsters' bodies are attuned to their SOUL. If a monster doesn't want to fight, its defenses will weaken. And the crueller the intentions of our enemies, the more their attacks will hurt us.

Intention is a powerful tool in magic, and we see it being used in several places throughout the game. Toriel's attacks start avoiding us if our health gets low enough, signaling that she doesn't really intend to kill us, or really fight us at all. The same happens with Asriel after we start trying to spare him. Another place we see it is with Papyrus, who literally cannot kill you no matter what. His intention was never to kill us and harvest our soul, but to just capture us, reflected in the fact that we live even after losing the battle.

So intention plays a big part in how magic seems to behave (which is interesting itself that magic isn't totally at the user's whim, and can act out based on emotion), and it can easily give away the true thoughts and feelings of its user. I would love to see this fact be used more in fics fr fr

Moving on to another thing I think about -- Monsters and the effects of their magic level! This one is purely headcanon <3 and i adore the thought of higher LV = Hotter natural temperature

Here's the way I think of it: Magic in monsters is a sort of... metastable energy battery. The body natural creates magic in the same way we create everything our bodies need -- with a healthy diet, a steady amount of sleep, and generally just taking care of our core needs.

Well, the thing about bodies is that we're always using it, even when at rest, through all the processes our bodies are constantly pumping. The body keeps a pretty tight watch over our energy stores, with excess "fuel" going into storage (lipids/fat) or being released as heat. We literally use like, 75% of our daily energy just staying alive (basal metabolism rate), there's not a lot of room for a ton of extra lol

But monsters? With assumedly no physical organs or systems? Sure, their magic powers their physical forms, but for all we know beneath their skin, they could just be all cotton and stuffing lol. i like using leylines in my writing for how their magic moves about their bodies. Kinda like our circulatory system, just invisible and magic

Anyways, as I was saying, monsters do NOT have the means of burning off excess energy like we naturally and idly do. If you're hopped up on magic, ya gotta make it go somewhere. And while it isn't explicitly stated to do so, I believe that a monster's magic storage and need to exert it scales with their LV (which I can only assume is correct, seeing as how the human's stats in undertale (hp, defense, attack) all increase with more LV, it only makes sense that a monster's would, too.

So, I equate a human's energy to a monster's magic. The more magic they have, the more tends to convert to heat when too much is accumulated and has gone unused, like how a running machine gets hotter the longer it draws power. And when a monster is low on magic, their body gets colder.

There's a little nuance to this with the boys:

High LV/Magic, so higher natural body temp: Killer, Dust, Cross

High LV but low Magic, so lower body temp: Horror

Low LV but high Magic, so higher body temp: Delta, Color, Epic, Dream

Nightmare has high LV and high Magic, but the corruption on his body is cold. If you reach in an make contact with his actual bones, you'll find them to run hot

Ink is soulless and runs permanently cold

Fresh is feeding off of his host's soul, so the host's body is always cold, but Fresh himself is actually warm

The problems that arise when a monster's body has too much energy lies in the adverse effects on their souls. As I mentioned before, our excess energy is stored in the lipids throughout our entire body, balancing things out when we've got extra to store. If we had just one centralized location, it would be incredibly harmful to our evolution -- just one spot that accumulates fat? Your center of gravity would be fucked, and that area would be incredibly vulnerable to injury. Phew, good thing we DONT have one spot where everything is stored!

monsters... aren't so lucky. A monster's soul is its everything. Its heart, its brain, its nervous system, everything, all in one incredibly vulnerable spot (not related to anything, but I see the soul as the brain of a monster -- the culmination of their being, holding their hopes and dreams, and the last thing to shut down at the moment of death). So all that magic buildup on someone with a high LV? It has the potential to make them dangerous, unstable. That magic has to go somewhere, and it might manifest itself forcibly one way or another just to get out, like a bloated battery on the edge of exploding.

Now, high magic doesn't necessarily make someone dangerous -- Delta has high magic due to his extra soul (and maybe the ability to unlock its inert magic with his own monster soul?), but he's not dangerous because of how he regulates his magic (gym bro fr) and because of his intentions. Yeah, there's that word again.

High magic does become dangerous if you have nefarious intentions. And what could be more nefarious than your, quote, "Capacity to hurt"? LV is gained through intention to hurt, which therefore increases your capacity in a vicious correlative relationship. Attaining LV literally changes your soul on a fundamental level in order to make it easier to gain more LV, like evolution's most fucked up party trick. That, coupled with the instability of high magic and the need to expend the excess is a dangerous combination, even more dangerous with any attached traumas (hello Dust and Killer)

So! If there are three things to take away from this insane fucking ramble, its these:

Magic is wonky and you can do whatever the hell you want with it

Intention is everything

the bad guys are warm and snuggly in the wintertime

the non obligatory tag:

@belltothethirdpower @bl3lley @silliestgoobber @doicreep-youout @lagatosvoladores @that14sian @kriszekeda @lena---xd @imaginbutterfly @nullritual @purgetheroots @ayamariej

berri boba belongs to kasperlynxheart!!

kitty belongs to @kittycatpaw11!!

blushing heart belongs to @koharukawa!!

farkle belongs to BoNKED!!

ember belongs to @aliendxde!!

amethyst belongs to Okana!!

crystal kitt belongs to @floradinn!!

2p!clover belongs to @honorary-fool!!

piper belongs to Gabe_willfull!!

kohaku belongs to @cheoomie!!

tic belongs to @aestheticallycha0tic!!

cs!fell belongs to Fell_HXS!!

boni belongs to @anewfreind!!

aurinia belongs to fairyctrl!!

julia belongs to leonsbeloved!!

asphalt belongs to Beans8959!!

daydream belongs to sunburstkisser!!

willow belongs to SkyTheLunatic!!

There is just enough moonlight to make out the topmost of the grand kelps, of which its sprawling, dark crowns almost kiss the surface. And then enough glowing bioluminescence of the creepvines' warm-toned clusters of yellowed seeds to tell where the smaller stalks are.

The ocean's collective push and pull of all these giant reeds is lulling to witness, and you'd very well fall victim to a wonderful nap beneath the 'forest', but the idea of a shower and the comfort of a fleece blanket is a higher temptress.

You almost don't miss the filtering sunrays and the blue-green water of this biome. Darkness has its beautiful perks.

…Well. It's nearly impossible to see Killer in the night. No matter how 'sizable' of a fish he is. So perhaps the night isn't so wonderful, after all.

He's always so mean when it's dark out… Bud thinks he's REAL funny with his whole sneaking up 'I'm~ gonna getcha' thing.

You'd really think he'd be easier to spot with how fuck-all bright his warped red Soul is, which… y'know, is the size of your head, but no! No, that's not how red lights underwater work. Even at night, apparently!

Whatever, honestly. Hopefully he doesn't try scaring you again..

Being out so late really was an accident! You never realized you were out for so long.. Again. You swam even farther East for any metals you could find, until what you thought was a solar eclipse turned out to have been a setting sun.

It wasn't even that good of a day. You can't for the life of you find any resources Ryley left behind.

He really did get everything available in the safe waters, huh? A smart man—played it like he wanted to live. Avoided all he could, which looks to have been.. just about all of it.

There is simply nothing for you here.

You were hoping to not need to go deeper into the ocean, but…

A skyscraping creepvine to your right shifts irregularly. You just hardly saw it in the corner of your vision, and you could only tell because that specific plant was carrying glowing clusters in its middle.

It swayed roughly, like the tail end of something big bumped it.

Against your better judgment, you power off the motors to your Wavemaker gauntlets, and idle in the water. The middle of the forest. Moving the lights on your wrists around at your surroundings, hoping to get eyes on him this time…

But your surroundings are just dense kelp and complicated cliff structures. There's too many blind spots. It doesn't matter that he's huge when the creepvine forests are so packed and jungle-like, with winding rockfaces, various arches, and paper-thin narrow ridges to duck behind.

If there were more biolum' acid mushrooms lining the grasses, you may have had a chance at catching a glimpse of him.

You don't think he'd make the mistake of hitting a creepvine a second time.

…

No, that wasn't a mistake, was it? Is Killer baiting you?

He may be disabled, but that has never caused him to slip up before. Killer's a truly magnificent swimmer for his size and tail injury.

Little shit…

A single, soft click echoes throughout the forest. Bouncing off of everything. Sounding far away and directly in front of you at the same time.

He's trying to disorient you, but you're practiced in his nonsense.

You want to say it originated.. from your left?

…No, you still don't see anything.

With your arms held outward to better shine the lights from your gauntlets, you couldn't have seen the you-sized skeletal hand that encircled your body from behind. And a little to the right.

If you had air to be squeaked out of your lungs, there would have been bubbles with the noiseless gasp of surprise that was pulled from you.

And before you had a chance to try swinging on his wrist with your Wavemakers, out of playful defiance more than being upset by this manhandling, he immediately draws you between the cage of his piercing mandibles, and the side of his face.

…So he could nuzzle you freely.

Being the size of his head has effectively made you his personal snuggling doll, and you have a hard time hating him for it.

It's comforting in the way that distracts you from everything.

Your hands pressed to his forehead to hold yourself up, loosely cradled by his gentle claws and herded by his mandibles, his eyes lax and closed—either in actual relaxation or so you don't accidentally stick a hand in a socket, you can't tell.

There's the thickness of his black tears that stains your wetsuit as he alternates which cheek he rubs against you with. Slow and easy on you, though you can tell he sorely wishes he could be rougher.

A purr builds in the back of his throat, followed by a series of very mumbled clicks, like he's… You want to say 'sleepy'. It is quite late, isn't it? He must be as tired as you are.

He stops for a moment, opening his two bottom eyes just enough to be able to look at you. And then he makes a small, softer click.

Well.. it's not like you really mind the attention seeking behavior…

You Check him.

* Wants to be petted, too.

Denying him of that doesn't cross your mind. Either he's trained you more than you've with him, or.. Well, there's not really an 'or'. Killer definitely trained you.

Your hands run and glide across the expanse of his forehead, before dipping to either side and down to cup his face the very best your small hands can.

It's a little bit of a workout, but you don't mind it. Watching him perk up and soak it all in is quite nice.

His grip on you gets looser with every pass of your busy hands, his large head so steadily drooping, he draws his mandibles to a rest, relaxing those muscles.

—And then he pulls you down with him to the grassy seafloor, lazily coiling his tail amidst the kelps, plopping his head on an incline of comfortable grass. It took you a few seconds too late to realize what he was doing.

You did not agree to sleeping with him!

Rapid firing your flashlights on and off, begging him to Check you to see you're not down with this!!

But all he does is huff and closes his eyes, ignoring your signal. He tucks you to his chest, just to the side of his Soul, and then places a caging hand over you. So easily stopping you from swimming off.

On instinct, you try pushing up and off regardless, but he just squishes you.

…

Ok. Okay, you're both doing this, huh?

The eagerness he's displaying makes you wonder how long he's been wanting to fall asleep somewhere with you. You know he loves to try dozing with his head in your lap while you're sifting through your PDA, but…

The steady pulses of his Soul, as he breathes, is certainly soothing.