#Also also the ones I read is mostly just ships

[merbear25]

Hello! Glad to see requests are open! Seeing that may I get a small thing for Zoro, Law and Mihawk. I've been having the idea of a devil fruit user reader falling into the water and needing rescuing (I'm very aware Law is also a devil fruit user but that just gives extra angst does it not). Hurt/comfort of course

Hello! Thanks for sending this in. I decided to change it a little for Law's, but I hope you like it anyway 💜💜

Even with precautions set in place, the sea was where the unexpected could happen. Whether a storm, sea monster, or battle taking place, the threat of the water was something you could never escape. Luckily, those closest to you were always prepared to protect.

CW: SFW, gn!reader, can be read as platonic or romantic, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, headcanons/scenarios, reader is a devil fruit user

If you went overboard… (Zoro, Law, Mihawk)

Zoro: He’d always been protective over those closest to him, so you were no exception. Though never overbearing, he still kept an eye on you. During times of peril, he kept you in arm's length as often as he could. You were capable—strong in your own right. However, there were dangers that automatically made you far more vulnerable. 

That day’s waters were vicious. The waves cascading over the railings gave no sign of the storm letting up. One wrong step was all it took to send you hurtling overboard. A shriek that pierced even during the hurricane-like winds sent the other hearts onboard plummeting.

Their cries for you weren’t accompanied by Zoro’s, but his action traveled faster than their worried calls. Before your limp body had the chance to sink much lower than the surface, he was there, diving in after you.

He was never short of prepared. Even when taking one of many naps, being aware of his surroundings never faltered. 

A watchful eye on everything and everyone, his friends being the ones calling for actions guided by the heart.

He wasn’t one to hound others on things they were already aware of. The unexpected should be expected, and that meant there’d be times when you were made vulnerable and in need of help, just like all the others.

Law: The sea gave no pardons to anyone. Your devil fruit abilities came with a burden that at times felt more like a curse. The calm waters the Polar Tang was cutting through turned dark as the daytime sky transformed into night. With night came more blind spots because of the abyss inevitably closing in.

A sudden wack against the side sent some of the crew members to the floor. Books flew off the shelves and the alarm sounded through the metal rooms. Red lights that blinked in urgency left split seconds of total darkness in your room. Another slam caused you to trip and miss the door handle.

Water started spouting through the cracks, and with each attack against the submarine the cracks grew in size. Your cries for help were quickly silenced by the rising water. The cold ocean held you in a tight embrace against your bedroom floor, yet offering no comfort. An immediate drop outside your room jolted you awake.

It would come as second nature. No thought, just action. You were one of the few who he considered close to him.

Rescuing you, no matter how often, came with some lectures, though. Even if it wasn’t entirely your fault, he mostly did it as a way of expressing his fear of losing someone he cared about again.

Thorough check-ups after such shocks to the system were given, even if you protested saying you were just fine.

Mihawk: Holding the title of the greatest swordsman marked him and anyone close to him as a target. The bullseye seen by the world was drifting casually through the seas, catching the rays of that day’s sun. The rippling water from an approaching ship didn’t even cause him to open his eyes. He was still enjoying the warmth of the sun, but with the supposed enemy drawing nearer, he was left with no choice but to give them even a fraction of his attention.

The captain baited Mihawk, wanting to see the swordsman’s raw power for himself, even if that meant putting his crew’s lives in jeopardy. However, Mihawk wasn’t known for being temperamental, which many of these hecklers seemed to forget. A smooth swing of his sword and their ships sank to pits of the ocean floor.

When a shot was fired at you, the bullet was sliced in mid air. Though you hung around someone whose composure didn’t break, you flinched enough for the both of you. A motion back one step too far was all it took for you to lose your footing and slip into the shackles bound to you by the devil fruit. His challengers were swatted like the pests they were before he dove in after you.

Even his lectures were articulated like advice, which you accepted without protest.

He’d insist on giving you training to help you control these impulses, albeit natural, were life threatening in the wrong situations.

That being said, he obviously knew that once you were overboard, you required his full attention. He simply wanted to offer you assistance to prevent this from happening more frequently.

[ask-lps-staff-au]

Russell: To deepen the bond we have with our customers *cough cough* and to get our sales up *cough cough* we created this blog for you all to get in touch with us. Today, I’m going to introduce the rest of the staff here so you know who to address your questions to. Starting with-

Vinnie: ME ME ME!!!!

Russell: Yes, Vinnie, You.

Russell: What you do.

Vinnie: Ohhh! I like to dance :) 

Russell: No, what is your job?

Vinnie: Man, you should’ve just said that! My job is… well I lift heavy things sometimes? Like dog food and kitty litter. That kinda thing. Mostly just chill, though. That good?

Russell: You know what? Yes. That’s perfect, Vinnie

Vinnie: Sweet.

Russell: Minka, sorry to cut you short but can we have your name and job please?

Minka: I was just getting to that part! Anyways, my name’s Minka Mark, and I’m the cashier here, you hear?

Russell: Loud and clear, Minka.

Russell: They aren’t lines, just say it how you normally would!

Vinnie: Yeah, you just gotta say it Zoe-ey!

Zoe: Zoe-ey? Oh, that’s it!

Zoe: *singing* Yeahh Yeaaahhh~ The name’s Zoe~ And now you know-y~

Zoe: *back to talking* Oh, yeah. I’m in charge of grooming the pets.

Russell: Ohhh-kay. Let’s move on.

Pepper: Serious as I can be. Number 1: what has four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs at night?

Russell: A man.

Pepper: Correctomundo, but are you ready for riddle number 2? What gets wetter the more it dries?

Russell: A towel. Are you just reading off a list of the top ten most basic riddles or what?

Pepper: I’ll answer that but you’ll have to answer three more riddles. Last one: the man who invented it doe-

Minka: HER NAME IS PEPPER CLARK AND SHE TAKES CARE OF THE DAYCARE PETS!!!

Pepper: Dangit.

Russell: Thank you, Minka.

Russell: Probably like 10 people at most.

Vinnie: But, hey! You never know if the algorithm could pick it up! You could be talking to millions of people right now!

Sunil: Millions?! Eek!

Russell: *sigh* That’s Sunil. Talk to him if you ever need help finding anything. I promise he’s more helpful than he looks right now.

Russell: … that’s it?

Penny: Was there supposed to be more?

Russell: No, this is just the smoothest interview I’ve had all day. I’m kinda shocked.

Penny: Well, I’m glad I did good.

Russell: Yep.

Both: …

Blythe: Ruff ruff!

Russell: Oh, yeah, that’s right! Don’t forget to check out Blythe-Style pet clothes which you can find on the racks in the front of the store (which are made by a different Blythe and not this Blythe. A human Blythe. Obviously because why would a dog make clothes!! That’s absurd!!! Almost as crazy as a group of people who can understand ANIMALS hahahaha!!!)

Russell: Those questions aren’t- Whatever. Ask us anything, I guess.

---

Hello, and welcome to the ((very much unofficial))* Littlest Pet Shop page! Please drop any questions you have for us in our inbox - Best, R. Ferguson

*((this is in no way related to or authorized by hasbro or the Littlest Pet Shop brand. This is a fan project fully made for entertainment purposes. I make no profit from this.))

((Hello!!!! Double parentheses mean that I, the person who runs this blog aka @octodrawn, am speaking. I wanted to give you a couple guidelines before you submit anything. If you’re interested, please click read more!

I want to start this off by saying I am a human person with responsibilities, boundaries and a lack of free time so it may take a while to answer your ask. I also have the right to not answer every ask I receive.

We are keeping things generally PG/PG-13 here, so that means Minimal swearing, no violence, Minimal references to drug use, nothing sexual except for maybe the occasional ‘I did your mom last night’ type jokes because they are funny to me.

This is primarily an art ask blog, but I will only use text for posts on occasion.

I’m not gonna put a cap on ‘what do you think of __ x __’ questions for now, but if they become a majority of questions asked, then I will. Currently, no ships are canon in this AU, so don’t expect any answers to say anything differently.

Don’t take the setup of this blog being diegetic too seriously. If you want to send something that’s like *gives them all cookies* or *transforms them into turtles* I won’t stop you.

Have fun and be yourself :-)

Please keep this in mind before asking anything. This is all for fun, so please don’t take this too seriously.

I’ll be making a tag list soon but feel free to send asks now :3))

[smallishzine]

Just a small heads up, if you include shipping you may wanna make it clear that there are ships and what ships are there. A lot of people aren’t comfortable with shipping, especially since I’ve seen people say Joel thinks it’s a bit weird to be shipped with anyone other than Lizzie (needs to be fact checked, this is just what I’m seeing in boat boys comment sections). Maybe consider making the ship stuff a separate section or just telling people in advance (pinned post, bio, anywhere clear works) that it includes shipping so those who don’t like it can walk away.

important info about the zine plz read even if you didn’t send the ask:

thank you for the heads up! We’re about to get super rambly and vaguely off topic but we promise all your points get addressed. This is actually a great opportunity to clarify, because I realized I didn’t explain myself particularly clearly, if some one does choose to include shipping, its all going to have to be subtext (as always except for shadowbeans whose alternate ship name I still refuse to use), but that is for non-canon ships. Regardless of how people feel about it, c!Joel and c!Jimmy did in fact kiss in Real Life smp, and c!Joel and c!Sausage did in fact have a child together in esmp2, so we’re not gonna rewrite events. Basically when I say shipping in the context of this zine I mean taking relationships the c!Joel had with other people and creating moments that didn’t necessarily happen but feel plausible for the characters that are able to be interpreted as romantic as well as platonic. Also, everyone’s definition of ship art is different, so the level that I was thinking is pretty mild (and btw I’d like to interject here that this is not me dissing on shipping or ship art love shipping so much that I found a ship called the relation and I never left it, but I also know that people have all sorts of comfort levels with different things so this zine is going to be dry docked but I assure you that out there on my super secret personal blog we are very much lost at sea). Like, to give some examples of what would be okay versus not okay for the zine: kissing is pretty much off limits, honestly mostly because that’s a pretty boring zine piece, there’s nothing going on except the ship, but anything where any sort of romance is up to the interpretation, such as hugging, handholding, spending time with, these are all normal things, but also this can’t be the focus of the piece. Please no one just draw like Joel and someone hugging and call it a day. Implied shipping is allowed to feature in your piece, not be the main focus of it. That’s just not an interesting zine piece. Valid art/writing, still amazing stuff keep sharing it on the internet it’s very interesting, just not in the context of this zine. Anyway, you are correct about not everyone being comfortable with that stuff, so if any piece comes off as really shippy without violating the guidelines we’ll make sure to label it correctly, but also, I should make it clear, I’m really hoping that shipping doesn’t become the focus of this zine. It is a Joel zine, so Joel should remain the focus, and any shipping would be subtextual and not central to the zine. There are many great Joel ships out there with lovely content to consume, but that’s not really the focus of this zine. Also, that aside, if Joel doesn’t want his character (because we are talking about shipping cs here. Cc!Joel is a lovely person, but this zine is going to be in-character. Also while cc!Joel should absolutely be respected in what sort of fan content he wants people making about him, his character is, well, just that: a character. Its like saying you can’t ship two characters from an animated tv show because their irl voice actors aren’t comfortable being shipped. It’s just two different things) shipped with characters who don’t belong to his wife, he should probably stop making his c! kiss all those men. And have children with them. And send them love hearts in the mail. And call them babe. If he did it in canon it’s probably safe to say we’re good having them do it in fan content. But again shipping should be an extremely small part of the zine if it’s there at all and should be subtextual enough that even people who don’t ship can still positively engage with the zine!!! If it needs a warning, it’s probably too shippy.

also all this aside if I’m handling this wrong guys I’m sorry I’m only one person and it’s really stressful trying to please everybody I promise I’m trying my best but I just wanna get together with a bunch of other people who share this strange fascination with the bean man and make art and writing about it I don’t wanna get canceled or something I promise I’m trying my best. I’m really struggling to balance my love of creating shipping fan content and realizing that not everyone is comfortable with that and it’s really difficult and stressful I just can’t we all just draw and write what makes us happy I just want this to be a fun experience and being yelled at on the internet for drawing two characters who’s ccs aren’t in an irl relationship being something other than friends is not my definition of a good time. I’m not accusing you anon of doing anything like that the ask was very respectful but I’m worried this post will prompt less polite people to come and yell at me.

-mod Dinn

[heterosexualomegaverse]

Personal top favorite fics on ao3 of all time

- living's just a waste of death by author tothendoftheline

Best Political Animals fanfic out there. I consider it the canon ending. I think all my longest comments ever I posted on ao3 were on this fic. It's a mostly canon compliant detailed exploration of what TJ's life would actually be like. How his (childhood) trauma effected him. His time as a white house kid, his sexuality, his addictions. It starts pre-canon and goes on long after canon has ended. TJ starts working on himself, his relationships with his family change, he gets new friends (kinda). Idk if I'm selling it well but I love it so much.

- Known Associates by author Thingswithwings

Fic that made me ship Steve and Rhodey lol. Though Steve calls him Jim. Was rereading it yesterday and damn its so good. an (I think) realistic depiction of queer life in the 1930's and 1940's then the movie plot happens and Steve is in 2012 and now has to figure out what/ who he is in this century. Also got a plot about kinda being experimented on and turned into super soldiers.

- The Barnes Files by author PaintedDoe

Bucky Barnes' therapy sessions in transcript format. (can you tell I love character studies)

- Flawed Perfection by author Squiggles13

Also part of a series but I haven't read the other parts yet. This one also mostly starts as Bucky going to therapy but then the tfatws plot happens but changed to be way better.

- Teach Me by author stucktogether

Steve/Bucky college au. Steve things he's straight but can't seem to keep his eyes off of Bucky. It's isn't until they've fooled around a half dozen times or so that he things he may just be bisexual. This Bucky's also got some deep lore.

- Treading water by author sparkagrace

SteveBucky olympic swimmers au where they were childhood friends that got separated at 12 but reunited at the olympics, except Bucky's presence brings back a lot of feelings that Steve can't deal with. This one gets real angsty. It has a sequel that is even more angsty.

- (A series) 'Til the End of the Line by author ohstars

SteveBucky with marvel canon except what if they were gay. Until endgame where shit is changed a lot cuz you know the time-travel staying in the past obviously doesn't happen. It does go on after that. They finally come out to the team (cuz they were closeted to whole time with Sam being the only one who knows) They have kids together, get married and then there is some time travel shenanigans and a lot of stuff until they both die of old age.

- The Island Man by author Amber_Skye

What if Steve Rogers was never found in the ice and got rescued by shield, but instead got out himself, but still only in 2012? And no one believes he is actually Steve Rogers Captain America? He ends up homeless doubting his own mind. Maybe he really isn't Steve Rogers? Maybe he really is crazy

anyway idk why I wrote this. I just wanted to list some of my faves. didn't really put a lot of thought into this, it's late and I'm tired.

[clownsuu]

Have you read any welcome home fanfics? What ones to you like or would recommend? Love your art btw! :)

Iv read a few! Though sadly there is very little of what I’d like to read, so I can’t really say any recommendations as of current 😔🥄🥄

also take some sleep deprived doodles JDGDDDH

cw obsessive behavior

He just like me fr fr

[bloodydeanwinchester]

okay everyone, now that we're almost at the end of 2023 i would LOVE to know what your favorite fanfic that you read for the first time this year was?

i'll go first, mine was The Benjamin Franklin Key-and-Kite Experiment

[unknownarmageddon]

Christ Alive

a kross oneshot. in which they go to a party cackles

based on the song skeletone by bones uk rental suits au belongs to me and @psycho-chair

The parking lot was mostly empty, save for two, maybe three, cars. It was dark, the only thing visible in the black murk past the washed out lights of the gas station’s overhang was the passing specks of car headlights. 

    Cross leaned on the elbow he held propped on the counter, tried to tune out the mediocre mainstream music playing distantly over the store’s speakers, and watched the only customer inside idle about the shelves. 

The lights buzzed. two of the fridges against the back wall flickered every so often.

      The door chimed as it was opened, and another stranger entered. They wanted 50 dollars’ worth on pump three. And a pack of cigarettes. The door chimed again, then they were gone. 

The lights buzzed. The fridges flickered. Everything was delved in a cool colored haze. 

     The last remaining person in the store bought two drinks. With the dinging of the door as they left, a father and two kids entered. They piled their spoils, a mound of snacks, onto the counter.

      There were several minutes of vacancy. Nobody in the store but him. It felt like an eternity, always did. Cross fiddled with the shelves behind him to waste time. 

Buzzing lights. Uneven churring from the slushy machine in the back. 

        The door chimed. Footsteps, sneakers scuffing on tile. 

Cross turned, and could practically feel the grin boring into him.

Him again. 

    He was leaning forward over the counter with his arms crossed in front of him. His jacket had obtained a few new stains, both red and black. The faint, electric sound of music played from the chunky maroon headphones around his neck. 

Cross felt himself grin for a moment. He couldn’t help it.

“Hey pretty boy.” He looked at Cross with deep dark sockets. 

“Killer.” 

“Fancy seeing you here.” Killer quipped. 

    He pulled himself up to sit on the back edge of the counter, still facing Cross. Cross furrowed his brows. 

“I told you to stop sitting on the counter.”

Killer hardly considered moving. His soul hummed like even it was laughing. “You’re gonna have to make me, sweetheart.” 

Cross knew that wouldn’t have worked. And he didn’t really care, not enough to force him. 

“You miss me?” Killer quipped.

“I haven’t decided yet.” Cross replied. 

Killer laughed. “I’m wounded.” 

     Cross turned back to the shelf, and Killer slid off the counter to stand next to him. 

    “Ya got any plans tonight? Other than the blast you’re clearly havin’ already.” Killer murmured, hands shoved the pockets of his jacket. The fabric of he and Cross’s clothes brushed as they just almost touched, they were that close.

When did Cross ever have plans? He shook his head. 

Killer’s grin got wider. Cross narrowed his eyes at him. What was he planning.

     Killer hopped back over the counter and headed for one of the fridges in the back. Cross leaned over the counter on his elbows to watch him. 

“Y’know, there’s gonna be a party tonight. At ten.” Killer jerked open the door and crouched, now partially obscured by the shelf behind him. His voice came to Cross echoed by the distance.

“Where?”

“Some guy’s place in town, I dunno, all I’ve got is the address. He was really talkin’ a big talk, I wanna see if he’s full of shit or not.” Cross could tell he was grinning. He had that kinda voice. 

“And you want me to go with you.” Cross responded after a pause. 

From the fridge Killer retrieved two energy drinks. He stood and the door was closed with a shove from his foot. 

“Exactly.” 

He hesitated, apparently for dramatic effect knowing him, and waited for an answer.

“…I’m not going.” 

“C’monnn, you gotta get outta this boring ass gas station sometime. Have an actual good time.” Killer pressed.  

“I don’t do parties.”

“How bad could it possibly be?” 

“I doubt I would miss out on much.” Cross responded.

“You’d never know. Unless you go.” Killer persisted.

       Cross didn’t respond after that. He stared at the tile in front of Killer’s feet, turning the notion over in his mind. He knew damn well that if Killer wanted something he’d find a way to get it, so he doubted how much good resisting would do. 

      Killer weaved through the aisles to the middle of the store, then went for the far back. He cracked one of the energy drinks. 

“When are you gonna start paying for those?” Cross called to him. 

“You think about that party, ‘kay, pretty boy? Think about it.” Killer called back instead and pulled the headphones on. He vanished among the shelves. Cross saw the top of the storage room door as it opened, then closed.

      Cross was left alone in the store again. The trickle of costumers came and went, and he worked on autopilot. His mind was occupied by the party and the loiterer in the storage room.

     His first reaction was to not go. And he trusted that reaction. All he knew about it was that it would be loud and crammed with people he likely didn’t want to be around. And that he wouldn’t know anyone but Killer. He didn’t think— no he knew it wouldn’t be worth it. 

     But who knew how well Killer would take that news. And he kind of had a point about getting out of the gas station. 

      Cross worked for three more hours. Occasionally he would watch Killer slink from the back to steal another energy drink or two, or a bag of chips. Cross pretended not to notice. Every time Killer passed the counter he would toss a smug grin at Cross. Meant only for Cross. The kind that loosely hid all the kinds of things he would say out loud if they were alone. Cross pretended not to notice those, too. 

        He would’ve stopped him, confronted him again for never paying for what he took. But Cross didn’t exactly want to be on the receiving end of that knife he flashed the night they met. And when Killer was around he had company, and the extra shitty customers never came back. It was a fair trade. So what if a few cans went missing here and there. 

        When Cross’s shift came to an end he left the counter in favor of the storage room. The smell of smoke flooded his nose the minute he pushed open the door. It wasn’t invasive, but it was noticeable enough whenever you walked in. It’d always smelled like smoke in here, after Killer showed up.

           The culprit sat on the floor in the corner beside the door. He had fully tucked himself into that corner, in the gap between boxes and freezers that lined a few of the walls. He had one leg propped on the other, and the magazine he held obscured his face. Cross could still hear Killer’s music blasting through his headphones even from where he stood. 

“My shift’s over. You gotta leave.” Cross greeted him.

Killer pulled the headphones down and looked up over the edge of the magazine. He hadn’t heard him.

“Shift’s over.” Cross repeated. 

The music cut off; the magazine was shoved under a shelf. “You got it, boss.”

He pulled himself to his feet and left his corner to push past Cross, who tailed him in return. 

     The gas station’s front door chimed for the last time as they exited out onto the pavement in front of it. It was cold, Cross zipped up his jacket. His breath clouded in front of him as he watched insects buzz around the precious glow of the station’s lights. 

     After a moment of standing he stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around at the vacant parking lot, awkwardly awaiting for whatever Killer was going to do. He didn’t trust him enough to leave first. 

His eyes landed on him. 

“What time’s it?” Killer asked.

Cross checked his phone. “Nine forty.” 

      Killer hopped off the slight incline of the pavement and moved through the darkness. To Cross he became a raccoon you’d see outside your garage. So blanketed in darkness it doesn’t look much like anything at all. Except, his soul provided a red halo around his silhouette. 

“You comin’?” Killer called over his shoulder and stopped. It was more of a request than a question. 

Hesitation. Cross glanced to his left, then back at Killer. “No?”

“You scared, sweetheart?” Killer replied. He could barely see him, but again Cross could tell he was grinning.

“No.” 

“C’mon, just this once. It’s just a party. One time’s not gonna hurt anything.” He said. More firmly, sharply. 

Killer gestured with his head, nodding, beckoning Cross to come with him.

“You always say that.”

“Am I wrong? Let’s live a little. Nothin’s gonna happen.” He spread out his arms, turning on his heel to look back at Cross. 

Cross scowled doubtfully. He’s known Killer for long enough to at least know going anywhere with him didn’t have any guarantees of anything. 

    Killer slunk back toward Cross and grabbed him firmly by the zipper of his jacket, pulling him down so their faces were level. His face was warmed by Killer’s breath. Killer looked him over, then dead on. 

Killer huffed a laugh. “You’re scared.”

     Cross paused for a long time. A car alarm started from somewhere distant in the dark. Then it was quiet again. 

“We’ll take the truck.” He decided eventually, flatly.

      Killer’s eyes widened. He released Cross and ran for said truck, which was parked back in front of the gas station. It was small, old, and white; one of those trucks that didn’t have back seats, and the front was one long singular bench with seatbelts that just went across the lap. 

      Killer was grinning, exclaiming to himself, in his triumph. He had gotten Cross to cave, andthey were taking the truck. 

      Killer rapped on the truck’s side with his palm as he stepped along it toward the door. He tried the door prematurely, eagerly. It was still locked. Then there was a click as Cross pressed a button on the interior of the driver side door and the rest of the doors unlocked. Killer jerked his open to slide into the passenger side; Cross got in after him, with less enthusiasm. 

The key met ignition and the vehicle grumbled to life like an aged animal. 

     Its beige leather seats were long worn, its paint was chipped in spots, it was overdo for a wash, and its windows were dusty and still functioned on a crank, but it served its purpose. 

     They left the parking lot. Cross heard Killer fighting with the window beside him, but he eventually got it open. Cold air streamed into the cab. Killer leaned against the door with his shoulder out the window. His feet were kicked up onto the dash. 

    In front of the windshield, dangling from the rear view mirror, hung a silver pendant on a chain and a long-expired air freshener. 

With each imperfection in the pavement they hit the cab bumped. 

“What’s the address?” Cross asked.

     A slip of paper was dug out of Killer’s pocket and examined. He put his legs down. 

“Left, up here.” He pointed, the turn signal clicked in time.

“Go for a bit,” He said now. “Here,” 

“Right, past here and down that road,”

     They drove for a while, mostly in silence save for Killer’s directions and occasional quips or broken humming.   Sometimes the headlights of a passing car or a lone streetlight would illuminate the cab; otherwise it was dark. 

Killer pointed at the windshield again. 

They were here. 

      What Cross saw was the front of an apartment building, one a few notches nicer than his own. That building immediately set the tone for the whole party in stone in Cross’s mind. It was fucking intimidating. He shouldn’t be here. 

   He glanced over at Killer, who was already slipping out of the truck. Cross inhaled and followed. 

———

       Upbeat music he’s heard everywhere a million times blasted through the apartment. Talking, laughing, shouting, all joined it. Lights everywhere, sounds everywhere. So many people were crammed in this single space.

     Cross was made hyper-aware of the presence of the other guests. The way they were dressed, the way they held themselves. They belonged here, he didn’t.

      He became Killer’s shadow. He kept his arms tight to his side, his eyes trained on his feet and Killer’s stride. He followed directly behind him as his companion sauntered through the apartment.

       They collected a few stares. What a sight they must be, two stupid boys wading through somewhere they shouldn’t be, one with stains on his clothes and one in a plain black jacket he’s had since high school. One with oil flowing from his eye sockets, one with an old rusted pickup. 

          Cross liked to imagine the things they whispered to themselves as the skeletons passed. Exclamations of surprise, of judgement. Eyes glued. 

     But, in reality, no one said anything. No one heckled them. He even doubted that many people were paying attention to them. Even still he was all too aware. 

      Finally, he and Killer breached the thick of the waves. Killer was saying something to another guest as he handed Cross a plastic cup of red liquid, which he accepted without much thought. 

“Whad’ya think?” Killer asked Cross and leaned against the table. He gestured with his free hand at everything around them like he was showing it all off. He held his own beverage in the other hand, Cross clutched his with both. 

    Cross didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to think. It was loud. There were way too many people. He’d decide eventually, he thought. 

     Killer lifted his cup to his mouth, then paused and lowered it. He deadpanned at it. 

“This tastes like shit.” 

Cross half-laughed, Killer grinned. 

      They stayed at that table for the duration of three, maybe four, songs. Killer did most of the talking. Cross only listened, offering the occasional hum in agreement or comment. Killer would point out people in the crowd he found notable for whatever reason to him. Made jokes, teased, rambled about menial things. He complained about the music, but he still tapped his finger against his cup in time. 

       Cross kept searching Killer, trying to figure him out. He wondered if he noticed how out of place they were. Or if he cared. But then he thought about it more, and he doubted he did.

     The song changed; Cross didn’t recognize this one. It was slower, but not melancholy. Carried by a steady rhythm and smooth electric guitar. Like the pounding of rain on concrete at night. 

Killer glanced up. “Fuckin’ finally, something good.”

     He set his cup down and pulled away from the table. “Alright I’m tired of standin’.” 

He stood with his back turned a moment, surveying the crowd, thumbs jammed in his shorts pockets, before he swiveled to offer his hand to Cross. “C’mon, you gonna do me the honor?” 

    Cross retracted, set his cup down and put his hands in the pockets of his jacket like he was hiding them. 

“I don’t dance.”

Maybe he would, in any other circumstance. When there weren’t so many people.

“Fuck babe, what do you do?” Killer replied. The corner of his mouth ticked up. 

    He pulled back toward Cross to nudge him with his elbow like he was trying to push him forward. 

“Dude,” Cross laughed. 

“We’re at a party, you gotta dance at least once.” He argued. “It’ll just be me, don’t worry about them.”

Cross conceded. “Just for this song, alright?”

    Cross quickly learned that Killer didn’t know how to dance either. They devolved into a mess of movements, a tangle of limbs. Killer held a hand to Cross’s hip, Cross held one to Killer’s shoulder. Occasionally their hands would intertwine. 

      They exchanged steps off-rhythm. Killer was quick, Cross took strides to catch him. 

      Cross continued to be aware of the other dancers, even here. He couldn’t shake them from his mind. He wasn’t nearly as coordinated, and he had a habit of staying too stiff and rigid. But Killer had enough confidence for both of them.

       All Cross saw was the carpet, his eyes glued to their feet. Making his best effort not to trip. Or get stepped on. He risked a glance up at Killer’s face. He was grinning with the most actual enthusiasm Cross had seen from him tonight, and it became infectious. 

“You keepin’ up, pretty boy?” Killer asked, catching Cross and keeping him from looking back down. 

“You’re horrible at this.” Cross replied.

“And you dance like you’ve taken ballet since kindergarten.” Killer scowled, but his eyes were still grinning. 

     In the last remaining minute of the song they slowed, swayed, leaning into each other. They let the wave of other dancers surge around them. Killer hooked an arm around Cross’s neck, Cross laid his over his shoulders. Cross watched him, awaiting his next move silently. 

Killer took Cross’s left hand and pressed a slow kiss to his knuckles.

Cross decided this party wasn’t that bad, at least.

          Killer’s song ended. They untangled. Cross followed Killer as he slunk over to the apartment’s kitchen, where refreshments were strewn over the counters. The nearby balcony’s door was propped open, and Cross lingered there in the opening. Cool outside air hit his back. 

       Now Killer was chatting up another guy at the table. Like he always did when they went out anywhere. As if out of habit. Cross disregarded them; all he heard was Killer say “is that a challenge?”.  He would’ve dwelled on it more, been more bothered, but he put his attention on everyone else. He scanned the crowd like he expected to be jumped. 

   Beside him Killer returned and he felt him press up against him. He knew he was grinning. His hand wandered Cross’s arm, then his back. He smelled like smoke. What was he after. 

Cross’s face grew warm. His shoulders tensed. But he averted his eyes, kept his focus on the crowd. 

     His gaze landed on one woman in particular, not far from the table. She was surrounded by her own group of people, but for some reason she was staring directly at him, both of them. With this look in her eye.

      Her lips, which were covered in a red smothering of lipstick, ticked down in a grimace. 

What a sight they must be. 

      A wildfire of anger burst up through Cross. His bones grew hot, like he was being burned by it. She made him so fucking mad. He couldn’t process why.

      She hadn’t even said anything. Not yet. But he knew she would. It was a matter of time, with the way she was  looking at them. 

     Cross searched her, trying to gauge her. He knew these kinds of people all too well. 

   He returned her look in a blank stare. In it, he silently poured out every bit of desire he had to wipe that look off on the wall behind her. He doubted he’d actually do something, though. It wasn’t worth whatever hell would come of it. 

Still, it leaked into his voice.

“Someone’s staring.” He said, quietly, and Killer retracted slightly.

      He followed Cross’s gaze. His grin fell. The soul in front of his chest flickered, becoming an unstable ever-shifting shape far from a circle. To Cross it resembled a star nearing on a supernova. 

      He wasn’t being nearly as discrete as Cross; he glared back at her with just as much anger. If not more. Like a dog with teeth bared. 

 His voice dripped venom. “I’ll deal with ‘er.”

     Cross’s companion pulled away from the table and over to the woman. Each step carried a buried intention, buried fury, with it.

Cross felt like someone’s gonna die. 

     Cross blinked and Killer was already in front of her. She said something to him, and he heard Killer shout back at her. He blinked again and Killer’s fist was flying. The woman’s head skewed to the side unnaturally, awkwardly. Then she fell to a heap on the carpet; A painted lady sprawled across the floor like a body bag. 

       She struggled to her elbows, coughed blood onto the carpet. The tease of a grimace became a full-fledged snarl. Her pretty prim lipstick was smeared. 

Cross didn’t hear anything. Hardly even saw anything but Killer and the woman. Only the pounding of blood in his ears and flashing lights in the corner of his vision. 

A needle of sudden anxiety, anticipation, stabbed Cross. Nothing good was gonna come from this.

If they hadn’t been before, everyone was certainly staring now. 

     The few nearest were on Killer like a pack of wolves to a carcass.

Someone was gonna die. 

       The surge consumed Killer. Shouting roared over the music. Cross barely saw him as he clawed, fought, screamed. Grinned. The suddenness of it all startled Cross out of his anger. 

     Two attackers were thrown back, blood streaming from their noses. Two more took their place. 

       At some point Killer’s jacket slipped,  leaving shoulders exposed. And one of his sleeves was torn now. Bits of bleach-white bone were visible like Cross was peaking through a break in the blinds. 

         For a moment, he just stood and watched. Watched Killer fight like an animal. Admired the fluidity of his movements. Stared into the flames. 

God,

He couldn’t help it. 

Maybe this is what he came to this dumb party for. 

       Killer got tackled by two guys much larger than him and Cross, simultaneously, was thrown into the mess by someone behind him he didn’t see. It was like he was in a hornet’s nest. It was confusing, loud, violent. He didn’t know what to do, how to do it.

        Somehow, he gathered himself and he and Killer managed to push back the swarm. Everything broke like oil and water, if only for a moment. 

        Killer now stood on Cross’s right, clutching his wrist tight in his hand. On the other, his left, was a smear of red lipstick. He held it curled in a fist. 

Cross’s magic pounded in his ears.

    There was a single heartbeat of still, then they were on them again, just as quick. They tore at them, stampeded over them. Except now Cross was in the middle of it. And at that moment he wanted to be anywhere else. But he didn’t really, either. This was where Killer was. 

It became war.

     Like with dancing, Cross wasn’t as confident a fighter as Killer. And he doubted his skills. But he wasn’t harmless, he hoped. 

      He tried to stay close to Killer, to not lose him to it all. That became his only goal. To not lose Killer, and to survive. 

      Cross grabbed another guy by the shirt and pulled him off of Killer, then had to spin to push someone different back with a strike from the elbow. It was overwhelming, smothering. Everyone on every side at all times. 

        Occasionally he got glances of Killer as he would stumble backward, only to run back in, laughing. He never stayed in range of who he fought, always jumping in and back out. Circling, a wolf nipping at the ankles of an elk. But he hit hard, knew what he was doing. 

          Warm blood ran into Cross’s eye, obscuring his vision. He must’ve busted an eyebrow. 

         Even before that, his vision became blurred. All he saw were movements. He focused everything on not drowning. Where was Killer? He had lost sight of him at some point. But the thought was ripped from his mind as he sustained a kick to the back and staggered. He gritted his teeth and returned the hit, pushed someone he didn’t see long enough to identify away. He rammed someone else with his shoulder. 

      Then he took another, harder, blow. This time to the side of the head. He felt like his whole skull was jarred and he staggered again, almost falling this time. 

Someone grabbed his wrist. 

It was Killer.

     He ripped Cross from it all, fingers dug into his arm. Then they were running. He knew they were being followed. Killer shouted something. At some point they were in a stairwell, descending. Pounding in his skull was all he heard. 

Suddenly, cold night air.

They were outside. There was Cross’s truck.

       They ran to it and pulled the door’s open so hard he was surprised they weren’t thrown off their hinges. They were slammed closed just as hard.

       Cross stuck the keys in the ignition and turned as fast as he could manage. 

       Six remaining pursuers flooded from the apartment. They tried to follow, yelled curses and profanities. 

“Go, go, go!” Killer shouted.

“I’m trying!”

     They pulled out and ended back on the road. 

      Finally, things started to slow back down. But Cross still felt like he wasn’t there. He felt like he was still at that party, busting his knuckles on strangers out for his blood. He didn’t even feel relief yet, that they were in the safety of Cross’s truck now. He didn’t feel much of anything.

    The first thing Cross fully registered was Killer slamming his arm on the side of the door four times. “Holy shit!” 

He put his hand to his head. “Holy shit.” 

    He was making an expression Cross couldn’t read, or place. Was it excitement? Surprise? Detest? Fear? Maybe just adrenaline. He was grinning. But he always was. His eyes were wide. Like he had just gotten off a rollercoaster. 

Cross glanced at him again after checking the road. “You’re bleeding.”

He was, from the nose. 

“So’re you.” 

     Cross put a finger to his eyebrow and felt warm liquid. The wound stung, he just now noticed. He wouldn’t notice the rest of his pain until much later, when the adrenaline was out of his system. 

“Dude that was fucking insane.” Killer breathed. He almost laughed as he said it. 

“It was worth it, though.” He added. “God, getting to wipe that look off her face,” 

“Mm,” Cross hummed absently. Was it worth it? Part of him agreed silently. 

“Showed her. Fucking showed her.” Killer continued, mostly to himself.

      “You’re alright?” Cross asked, eyes pinned to the road. He still felt jittery. He hated having to sit here this long. 

“Oh, what, me? Yeah I’m fine, I’m fine. Nothin’ I can’t handle.” Killer replied. He wiped at his nose, then cleaned the remaining lipstick from his hand on his jacket. 

He was so… unaffected. Like this was an everyday occurrence for him. Maybe it was. 

      Cross rubbed the blood from his brow again. It hadn’t stopped bleeding yet. He wondered how bad it was. But he didn’t check the rearview mirror for his reflection. 

He felt Killer’s eyes on him.

“It’s a look, y’know.” Killer quipped. 

Cross laughed quietly. “What, having dried blood on my face?”

      They drove in silence for a while. Cross’s soul was still pounding. At some point he collected himself enough to remember to put on his seatbelt. He listened to the occasional clicking of the turn signal and Killer’s mindless tapping. It grounded him, pulled him away from the party. 

“I didn’t know you could fight like that.” Killer said eventually. “Didn’t think you had it in ya.” 

“I was just trying not to get killed.” Cross responded dryly, like it was a fact. He hadn’t thought it was that impressive. 

Killer laughed. Even though it was the truth.

“Wasn’t too bad, either. I could teach ya a thing or two, though. If you wanted.” 

Killer offered with a grin.

Cross considered it just for a moment. “I think I’m fine.”

“Your loss. You think about it, ‘kay?” Killer replied. “I’d love t’see what you could do if you knew what you were doin’” 

Cross just hoped he wouldn’t find himself in a situation where he needed to know what he was doing.

      Killer leaned forward to start messing with the truck’s radio. He flicked through stations and static. 

“I didn’t expect that many people to come after us.” Cross said. 

“Yeah, god, it was like everyone at that party was pissed.”

“What’d she say? I saw her say something to you.” Cross asked.

“What d’you think? Some stupid shit about us. I dunno, I don’t remember.” Killer said, scowling at the radio. Cross knew he remembered, but he didn’t press. 

Killer eventually found a station he was satisfied with and leaned back. Now a loud, quick, shouty rock song Cross hadn’t heard quietly filled the background of the cab. 

Killer stretched out his arms. “Well, I’d consider tonight a success.” 

Cross stared at him.

Killer laughed. “Eyes on the road, sweetheart,”

———

        After what felt like an eternity they ended up at Cross’s apartment. Cross fumbled with keys to unlock the door and they stumbled inside. Everything was dark, lit only by the lights of the street and a standing lamp near the door Cross bothered to flick on as they entered. 

        The first thing Cross did was go for the fridge in the conjoined kitchen. It was mostly empty, but he found a cold canned drink and tossed it to Killer. He pressed it to limbs, to his face, soothing the bruises he had acquired. 

         He had a faint, dark ring around one of his eye sockets in the start of a black eye. Cross took his wrist and slowly, firmly, guided his hand to the socket. 

“You caused a lot of trouble.” Cross murmured, sighing, as he held his hand there. 

“You saw the way she was looking at us.” Killer replied sharply.

Cross retracted his hand, stood there to look at him. “Still,” 

“She was basically just askin’ for it, anyway. No one else was gonna do it.” Killer argued.

“I think I’m gonna have a headache for a week. Thanks to you.” Cross said, though he was just barely smiling.

“You’re welcome.” Killer grinned.

“Mm.”

          After, the can was handed back to Cross. It was just barely warmer, just barely flecked with blood. He pressed it to his own bruises, and to his eyebrow. The start of a headache stabbed at him. 

            Cross watched Killer as he fixed his jacket from where it had fallen off his shoulders. Just as closely as when he had watched him fight.

He felt both of them linger there, unsure. Awkward. Mutually asking “what now?”

“Well, it’s been a hell of a night, but I better be gettin’ outta here. I’m a busy man, y’know.” Killer said finally, flicking up his hood over his head. 

“Already?” Cross asked. 

Of course.

“Don’t worry, you’re not gettin’ rid of me that easy. I’ll be back.” Killer said, brushed up against Cross as he headed for the door, grinning up at him. He caught Cross’s hand and held it in his for just a moment. 

      ‘I’ll be back’ could’ve meant a myriad of things. Cross could see him tomorrow. Maybe in a few hours, even. Or he could see him next in however many days.

      Cross’s mouth teased a smile and he shook his head. He followed him to the doorway, where Killer lingered, holding the door open with one hand. 

It sounded like it was raining outside. 

     For some reason, in that moment Cross remembered what Killer had said at the gas station, before they left. 

His eyes widened, then narrowed at him. “You’re such a liar. You said nothing would happen.” 

“Your favorite liar.” Killer grinned.

    He leaned farther through the doorway toward him and pressed a kiss to Cross’s teeth, as if it was some kind of weird apology. It tasted like smoke. And blood. Cross let it happen, didn’t want it to end as quick as it did. 

“We should do this again sometime.” 

Then it was over, Killer was gone, and all Cross saw was the door as it clicked closed.

[buttercupshands]

my friendship with canon ended now fanon is my new best friend

but first a cute bird

basically my mind decided that it's now free to draw whatever AUs and stuff that I want including random stuff like this

and this!

I think my way of coping with 423 is just... ignoring it ever existed so now it's just this and an occasional canon stuff

but good for him he deserves to have all the fun fanon can offer

fun fact: this was the first sketch out of all of them in this post!

[koszmarnybudyn]

I really can't belive that after watching all of the first campaign my first posted/fully finished fanart will be of the triplets and not the boobs. Anyway these three are stuck in my brain and refuse to leave.

And no text and transparent backround version:

[mamawasatesttube]

saw someone being wrong about kon on the internet again (i know. shocking) and you are all so lucky i'm sick and feverish and lazy because i DID just seriously entertain the thought of writing up a small essay complete with issue and panel citations about why it's simply incorrect to say that kon never really seemed to reciprocate any sort of crush on tim before geoff/tt03. this is just not true. you dont have to actually ship them but to downplay their importance to each other even in the earliest days is simply incorrect. i'm too tired and achy to bother digging through comics to pull up all the issues that have the bits i want to point at but like... they were both very mutually important to each other from early on. it was in no way shape or form one-sided, whether you want to read that as platonic or romantic. man.

[iratusmus]

fiona fox is the love + light of my life . also no i am not taking any criticism on her questionable tshirt collection i can and will defend all of my choices.

also bonus artist commentary in the alt text

[ivalice-tifalucis]

With the release of From The Rehearsal Room - Tokyo to Ramin's youtube I finally, finally, continue and finish this side project I'm doing.

Initially, I used AI to mastered it because the first version I got from bilibili were not in good quality but I wasn't satisfied and I found the much better quality. But with Ramin uploaded it to youtube, I re did all the mastering just with audacity for both Part 1 and Part 2. The Part 2 is still from the better version I found from bilibili, by the way.

What you need to do is just download the file and put it on your music player. The metadata is all completed as if it's whole legit album. Enjoy, guys!!

And I'm being weird so all the lyrics that are put there are from my listening although I still use what I found online but I still listened and compared. They made few ad-libs and changes and I notice because for the songs that I wasn't familiar, the lyric that I found online and what they sang was slightly different. Perhaps they sing the newer version of the lyrics or mistakes? Even each Sheytoons songs they sing one in both parts differ from the ones I found online.

Another sample from my favorite:

Source and Credits Part 1 | Part 2 (Ramin's upload) Album cover Photos

Vocal & Guitar: Ramin Karimloo, Hadley Fraser Piano: Ryohei Mori

[draconic-distress]

boys when they melt in their shoes smh my head

-Like what you see? Why not buy a commission?-

[flower-sniffing-friend]

Behold! The first fic I posted on ao3

Written for @dicktimweek prompt Day 4 - Only One of Them Knows They're Dating - which was too funny to me to not write

Featuring: DickTim (of course), Asexual Dick Grayson, Fluff, a little bit of angst in upcoming chapters but still mostly fluff, and Tim Drake who 100% know they're dating even if he forgot to tell that to Dick

[kooki914]

I know this may sound like a silly question, but specifically for the undertale version of Asgore: what coud a partner do to help him become more assertive? Asking because I'm planning to ship him with an OC and I still despise how basically in the ending Toriel gets to verbally tear intro him and he doesn't bother to defend himself (specially with the "just get one soul and leave to kill 6 more ppl to break the barrier" wich she coud have done herself but refused to while living inside her own little bubble ignoring the suffering of her fellos monsters, I undestand she was grieving but I feel it coud have been done without making her seem on the right and nobody speaking agaist her). I also know that by doing this he may appear out of character or that "he changed just for his partner", but knowing that a partner can help you to change for the better while highliting you best personality traits, and I was wondering wich coud be the most coherent way (my plan is for them to spend at least 5 years together, and that Asgore also helps his parter change for the better since they arrive having strong biases agaist monsters).

I don't think this is a silly question at all! It's something I've tackled somewhat in my Spadesgore fics, the idea that someone's habits rub off on Asgore and what can seem like a negative change to outsiders (him being more closed off and assertive) is actually a positive one in the long run because he actually, y'know, gets a spine and stops putting other people's needs above his own.

With Undertale specifically it's a VERY complicated question because I feel like step 1 of any Asgore development in Undertale is that he needs to fully face the brunt of his actions. I'm actually somewhat of the opposite opinion to you about the "confrontation" between him and Toriel, I think the narrative very clearly spells out that his "violence when you're faced with violence" response was the INCORRECT one (while Toriel choosing pacifism in the face of a bloodthirsty nation was, arguably, the least morally dubious choice any character could've made), but Asgore never... confronted the root of that problem? He essentially got a slap on the wrist for the murder of 6 children, and while that WAS narratively satisfying for a game about forgiveness and letting go of the past, I think a bit of self-discipline is in order for Asgore, post the events of the game. Him confronting HIMSELF rather than relying on someone else to do it for him is kind of pivotal to that, in my opinion, because this isn't something a relationship can mend FOR him. Let me elaborate.

WARNING - since this post is analyzing Asgore, there's implications of suicidal ideation, but it's not discussed at length. And, fair warning, this post is less "proper character analysis" and more "wayward speculation based on narrative beats for the sake of shipping" <3

While Asgore is the type of person to feel borderline incomplete when not in a relationship with someone (see: all of his behavior in Deltarune; and in Undertale the way he just Stops Speaking once it's clear Toriel wants nothing to do with him, it's like he's just entirely shut himself out of the conversation as if he has nothing to offer anymore, only ever speaking in vague platitudes until the final boss is defeated and he's osmosed into the friend group), contrary to what he thinks a relationship Won't Fix Him NOR his issues around self-worth. It's something he has to tackle on his own because, if he enters another relationship without doing so, he's gonna end up in the same cycle of trying to impress his partner, exhausting himself, and putting his partner between a rock and a hard place because he's both extremely emotionally needy while NEVER communicating his needs properly, closing himself off while desperate for intimacy.

It's borderline masochistic, his tendencies to just passively wait for outsiders to judge, reward, punish, and practically command his every action. It's why he's kind of a bad leader? He's community oriented, but in that way where he wants to please everyone instead of enacting lasting change, because (I think) he can't really envision a greater good because he's got anxiety up the ass. He's REactive rather than ACTIVE, and while that's typically not THAT big of a deal (again, his Deltarune self as an example of how you can have a normal-ish life even with that weird mentality), when you're put in the position of a leader and then refuse to make conscious choices out of a fear of hurting someone, you're inevitably going to hurt Everyone, which is exactly what happened in Undertale. I guess an easy way to make Asgore a little more self-assured is, paradoxically, give him less power. This may seem antithetical, but if he's allowed to, like, sit and breathe for a minute without everything resting on his shoulders, and small, inconsequential decisions are up to him without the title of "King" looming over him, it might make him feel more confident in THOSE choices, specifically. This doesn't fix the core issue, though, more just gives him a safety net where he can hide from his royal problems with someone who sees him as more than just his title and duty, which is valid (and honestly really cozy and cute), but I'm here to break people and put them back together, so strap in.

You mentioned your OC is a human who has a lot of bias against monsters initially, so allow me to run (a mile) with that for a minute. You probably already have a meetcute in mind for them, but it's honestly a really good setup, I can't help but throw my two (or three) cents into it. It forces our POV character (the OC) to go through considerable change throughout the events of the narrative (whether you fic this or not you've already implemented character development into your romance plot and I Adore that), and in turn a changing perspective on Asgore himself. Try to think of things a human might hold him accountable for, justly or otherwise, someone who heard of mythical monsters and a terrible king who slays children. Your OC might start off somewhat siding with Toriel at first (as she was the only monster who attempted to SAVE humans rather than kill them), but gradually grow to sympathise with Asgore once they get to know him, not just because he's a walking pity party but because that human and Asgore might have more in common than they first thought. (This is where I run out of info on your OC and can't really fill in the blanks LMAO go wild with this part. It can be something as simple as gardening or something as deep rooted and psychological as "the need to please other people in order to feel like you're worth anyone's time". Bonus points if it's both and the gardening is symbolic of the psychological issues.)

From Asgore's perspective, though, this would be utterly baffling. To this day, I don't doubt he somewhat idolises Toriel, he clearly still longs to be close with her, so to see someone (a HUMAN no less) stop empathising with her feelings and instead side with his own? He'd think they're nuts! ... But also, it'd be deeply validating in that guilty-pleasure kind of way (guilty because he doesn't think he deserves redemption). It actually starts turning gears in his head, though... If someone in a position like that, someone belonging to a nation he's hurt so badly, can see the GOOD in him and try to nurture a bond with him despite it all... doesn't it mean he's genuinely worth something? Even if he himself can't see it yet?

(This is, you may note, similar to what happens with Frisk in most fan-plots, but also highlights where I think Asgore's "redemption" in Undertale falls a bit short on the character level. Frisk never really gets to spend time with Asgore, since it's narratively irrelevant whether they like the guy or not, because the point of their conflict is that Frisk refuses to kill him, and refuses to be killed BY him. It's a conflict that re-states the core moral of the game, while also partly dismissing a genuine bond between the characters because it's necessary for it to stay vague for them to properly represent the narrative forces that they do (humanity and monster-kind). The popular fanon is that Asgore adopts Frisk similarly to the way Toriel does, but, in the game there's literally nothing to support that. The equally valid interpretation is that Frisk sees Asgore as just Some Guy they're lukewarm with for the sake of not kickstarting another monster-human war, even if they genuinely don't like him on a personal level, just like Toriel doesn't anymore. Because, again, there's nothing in the game to support Frisk being besties with literally EVERYONE, they just hang out with monsters sometimes and Don't Kill Them, it's not a high bar.)

IF you don't want to take the angle of your OC siding with Toriel (if the monster bias is THAT bad in the beginning), I'd instead propose really hammering home the monster hatred. Just by existing, by being someone hostile to Asgore over something he DIDN'T expect to get hostility over (the fact that he's a monster, and not the fact that he's a murderer) would maybe make him question why he WANTED to be told he was irredeemable, and why it's so strange to receive that input for the wrong reasons. Maybe he tries convincing the human that, actually, monsters are good and HE'S the one who's to blame for everything bad, and when he's brushed off with "no all monsters suck" it just baffles him more. Bonus points if later on it hits him like a truck that your OC developing feelings for HIM specifically made them get over their monster hatred. He thinks it's a case of "if you learn to love the worst of something you'll love the best too" but then has to come face to face with the idea that he ISN'T the worst of monster kind! That they actually prefer HIS company over other monsters! And not even for superficial reasons! And maybe there's still prejudices to overcome with the human, but they're trying FOR him, not in spite of him, and it's yet another little sign from the heavens to Asgore that maybe, just maybe, he's not as irredeemable as he thought.

Another potential avenue, that's less directly correlated with shipping, is to give him a kid that is his responsibility alone to take care of. Whether that be a literal adopted child, or a kid he has to impromptu take care of for a while, I feel like having someone (anyone, really) other than himself to provide for sort of nudges his priorities back in place (even if it doesn't really dismantle the core of his issues). (My reasoning for this being a potential avenue is how much Asgore's let himself go in Deltarune when no-one lives with him, juxtaposed to his well-maintained house in Undertale where he's constantly taking visitors and patiently waiting for his wife to come back.) Something small and defenseless that depends on him for support and protection is something that could really make him realise how much his well-being actually means in the grand scheme of things, that even if it isn't pleasant he has to stand his ground if only for the sake of this child that depends on him for literally everything (which was, incidentally, also his motivation for starting the war in the first place - avenging the children he failed to protect with a fiery vengeance as the only concrete decision he made in his time as king (that we know of)).

Maybe the point of contact/conflict between your OC and Asgore in this scenario is someone who doesn't believe he should be allowed to take care of a child (what with the 6 dead in his basement), and while the feud may start as mild, it might get more and more out of hand and forces Asgore to actually put his foot down and Demand custody rather than ask politely, maybe because the kid in question trusts him and nobody else for backstory reasons, or because they're literally His Kid (Chara slots in really well into this role IMO but you don't have to go with that route if you don't want to tackle revival shenaniganery). This is, imo, much harder to execute in literary form? (If you're not gonna fic this, ignore this part) It bumps up the conflict from slowburn to full on enemies-to-lovers, even if it speedruns the process of Asgore getting a spine, and if you can pull that off hats off to you but I always struggle with proper enemies to lovers with no intermediary of "friends" in between.

IN ANY CASE, past the "will they - won't they" phase, once they're actually together, I'd suggest your OC lightly nudge Asgore into that self-assuredness he's desperately missing, and moreover I suggest it not be on purpose. While it's probably the healthier option to talk to your partner if they're having self-esteem issues, this is fiction and I love drama, if you expected anything else you came to the wrong person, and ALSO this is Asgore we're talking about. He's the king of "never talk about my emotions, ever" so even if something is brought to the forefront he'd probably just apologise and privately cry about it without fixing literally anything. It would be more impactful (imo) if Asgore chose to adopt some of the habits of his partner without him being prodded over it, or pushed into it. At first, small things, like actually asking for the pickles in his order himself (/ref, meme), but slowly it might evolve into him realising just how much he's been neglecting himself. Scenario example of what I mean - his partner has actual self-preservation instincts and can help themself when in a tough spot, and Asgore is caught off guard when that same kindness is offered to him (as the king of monsters, his subjects revered him so heavily they kind of forgot he can actually get hurt or might need help with otherwise ordinary things, and Asgore stopped helping himself along the way because of it).

A different scenario might be something benign, like an insult or backhanded compliment Asgore brushes off, but his partner doesn't. Asgore might hold the (correct) position that, as a political figure, there's literally no point in trying to stave off every insult or mean opinion, and (incorrectly) asserts it doesn't have an effect on him overall. Because, in reality, it DOES stick. He has a hard time shaking off disapproval and hatred when he's carrying around so much guilt (juxtaposed to how genuinely confident he seems in Gerson's stories of Asgore before his children fell down and before Toriel left, when Asgore could ACTUALLY roll with the punches and not mind public embarrassment because the opinion of the masses didn't matter to him as much as it does now), and maybe his partner can point out to him that he seems weirdly more fixated on the actual Contents of the insult than they do. Where they just didn't like someone's tone or intent, Asgore's actually focusing on What they said, and it's a clear indication of the way he compartmentalises and somewhat takes in every criticism he's ever received. Because depression and low self esteem just does that to a motherfucker sometimes.

Overall there's also a sort of... tricky line to tread when trying to write around/through one of the character's defining flaws. Asgore was always described as a pushover, so what are you really left with when trying to override that fatal flaw that makes him what he is? This sort of trope, "your strongest attribute is your biggest weakness", stems all the way back from ancient Greece because its a GOLDEN trope, and when making fan content I think there's an interesting line that can be drawn. Asgore's best quality is his friendliness and approachable-ness, so how do we NOT diminish that while actually diminishing the FLAW part of that core character trait? Maybe Asgore's more confident and self-assured now that he has a partner that supports him basically unconditionally, but ALSO he still cracks under pressure easily and gives into demands if pressed enough. Maybe he stands his ground more and can actually tell people off without being a total pushover, but ALSO he ends up feeling a lot of guilt over doing so and maybe regresses back into old habits soon after.

Because, again, a relationship won't fix him, and to me that's part of the appeal. Instead of finding someone to "make him whole", it's more about finding someone that's gonna be there for him during the good and the bad days, someone who maybe fills in for some of the traits he lacks, but never overrides what makes him who he is. Because, let's be honest, him being a pushover is probably what allows him to properly consider a relationship with someone who started off so heavily biased against him. Having little self esteem paved the way for him to not dismiss this person outright, opening his arms to someone who started off with genuine hatred towards him, and it's not a good habit(!!), but it's woven into his vary nature as a character, and I always find it interesting to see that push and pull between progress and loving even the bad parts of someone's personality. Again, especially because it's fiction, there's a lot to explore when it comes to that line of thinking, "do I want to make you better or am I trying to change a fundamental part of you"? I don't think Asgore would be abandoning his nature by having a spine and not taking shit from literally everyone, BUT it might be a line of thinking HE falls back on, because he's had literally hundreds of years of this habit built up, it's gonna be hard to make any progress without immediately taking two steps back again. Especially because it's Asgore, he's basically a smiling boulder that refuses to move or change (and I say that affectionately).

TL;DR:

I think finding a way to instill a sense of Inherent Worth in Asgore is a good way to shake him into being a little more assertive. It's what I did in my own fics (and a lot of this post was me re-treading the same ideas with different characters to pair Asgore with), and the premise of someone who dislikes him from the get-go but learns to love him in time is (in my opinion) the best vessel to do that through. Because, if this person, who means a lot to him, can get over their biases and love him, (like ACTUALLY love him, not the way his subjects love their king, but the way a person loves another person) doesn't that mean there's worth to him being himself, and not just what people expect of him? Is the fact that he's beloved by someone he loves not reason enough to try and survive another day, and thrive in the long run?

It's difficult to instill worth in a character that's had hundreds of years of literal and figurative dehumanization on his hands, but it has to start with small things. Him being more than just a king. Then, him being more than just a friend, more than just a person you're eventually going to grow tired of or disgusted with, and eventually someone who doesn't need constant approval to feel like he's allowed to breathe. Small kindnesses go a long way, and if he starts to see himself in someone he wants to protect, or ends up in a position where he's being provided for by someone he loves, it can build up those ideas of worth and (ironically) independence, because it's less about pleasing a crowd and more about Not Dying because he's actually not that bad to have around in the first place.

[house-on-sand]

personally i think all the former robins should be allowed to be canonically some flavour of queer i think they deserve that

but that's just my opinion