#leif writes

[leif-writes]

Can you write about the Hanks from Date Everything :D

If you need inspiration, maybe something about what they do when one of them is injured or hurt

Can be either a fanfic or headcanons, so you can choose which one is easier to do :D

The Hanks - Headcanons ☆

Genre: Headcanons || Fandom: Date Everything || No TW or Warnings :) || Kinda short, sorry :c

In terms of injury scenarios, I'd imagine they keep going unless they can't. In the event of a K.O for any reason, they'd probably RUN full speed with the injured Hank with complete disregard for anything (or anyone.)

Sort of like sharks, no one in the house ever sees the Hanks stop moving - even when they appear to be, there's always a slight muscle twitch or a tapping of the foot.

Sometimes they just sit in a circle and - although it seems as if they're doing nothing - they'll stand up and be like "Alright! We've made a decision!"

all spent a whole week learning how to do a back-flip and then did nothing with that skill.

has scared the non-living CRAP out of some objects because sometimes they like to just appear from nowhere and then they start talking about what they did today like they didn't just preform a magic trick.

Stella tried to rope them into her pyramid scheme unsuccessfully; and it went like this: Stella: Well hello Hanks! Could I interest you in signing up to buy some--Hank #4: No thanks brah! Hank #1: We only need one thing, and that thing is--(All:) RED BOWL!!!!!!! Stella didn't speak to them after that.

always happy to speak to the player 'cause "they know so much stuff".

Thanks For Reading :D

[leiflemmon]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/80677726

I have a new fanfic! I think this is my first time writing Tenna OR Spamton? I see what the yaoi folks are on about now, they're pretty fun to get into.

SUMMARY:

Why had Kris opened up this Dark World, anyway? It’d been so long since they’d so much as plugged Tenna in, let alone wanted to play with him as a precious friend and toy. Was it their new friend, Susie? If so, Tenna really had to thank her for re-awakening that childlike wonder. Why, in that case, he owed Susie his life as much as he owed Kris! What a remarkable pair they made, huh? Oh, Asriel and Noelle and Dess would be so excited to have someone new into the group! What sort of programs would she like, anyway? Monster movies, of course, but what else? Action movies? Music videos? Cowboys?

Ooh, his circuits hummed just thinking about it! He glowed brighter, rubbing his gloves together.

“So! What’s on the guide for today, Krismas? I have so many new ideas to show. I know it’s late, but we can fit in one gameshow episode, surely! Do you remember when you--”

“Shut up.”

Tenna froze.

(Before TV World starts, Kris has to have a talk with a certain TV and set up some ground rules. Tenna is not a fan of dealmakers and scams these days, and refuses. Unfortunately, Kris is prepared to exploit that.)

[deadgodsuggestions]

The Painter’s Love for Dorian Gray. 

I write on the twentieth of September, and to-day there is an ache in my breast, one that speaks of a coming death, the singing of angels’ trumpets, of a cold hand walking me to my savior—that man they preach about in churches, where men think as often as they are faithful and lie as often as they boast and brag; these men in these churches preach of that holy man, that perfect man whom I can only hope will one day save me. What is there to save me from, though—is it even possible to save a man such as myself, who walked willingly into a vixen’s snare, one who sat idly as he was forsaken, forgotten, replaced—Replaced by a man like Harry, no less. Is there any saving for fools like myself, for nonbelievers like myself—a man that would trade Heaven and God away for another evening spent painting at the side of Dorian Gray; for any perfect man they preach of may not compare to him, not with his golden hair, plucked from an angel’s scalp and sewn into his skin, nor with those crystalline eyes of Dorian Gray, those eyes which not even the Hope Diamond can compete with—and surely, there will never be anything in competition with how empty his head his; there will never be a thing in existence with eyes more vacant or tongue less thoughtful than that of Dorian Gray. My heart races as I write, and still there is an ache in my breast—I shouldn’t speak so harshly of Dorian, not when he is so young and there is so much more of life for him to discover; certainly not when Harry holds his soul in the palm of his fist, has him trapped in this fantasy, this foul, faux romantic life. 

Yet, am I not trapped in a faux romance as well? One of my own creation, that is the difference—Dorian had no say in the creation of his, nor does he realize the hurt that should befall him when the curtain closes, when the charade is over and Harry is done with him. I choose to live in my daydreams—fiery colored daydreams of Dorian’s breast against my own, of golden hair caught between my fingers and those rosy lips so daintily parted against my own—maybe he should whine for me with that boyish voice of his, maybe he should need me in all the same ways I need him; and cool toned daydreams of waking up to Dorian in my arms, of reveling in the airheadedness of his sing-song voice as we lounge in the garden, hand in hand, heart to heart, where I have the luxury of listening to him, whether he’s venting what troubles that pretty little head of his or proclaiming his love for himself yet again—the manner of his talking never matters so long as he does; even Dorian Gray’s meanest words send my heart racing and my cheeks flushing. 

Should he ever know how badly I desire him?—even on his worst of days, when all he can conjure is meanness, a narcissus in his own right—and any man with the looks of Dorian Gray has that right to be a narcissus, it should be a crime to deny them of that. There is heartache that comes with Dorian, as it is with every person, but still—that is not to say that I don’t most long for good days, for fingers intertwined and chaste kisses and whispered “I love you”s—oh, how I long for my Dorian to share my love. 

I without he is anathema to me. It’s such a sad sight, truly, an artist with no muse—it is the same as the seas with no water, a sky without light, no sun nor stars nor moon to illuminate the ground; I without Dorian Gray is an abomination, and a sad one; one that makes that ache grow and throb with the beating of my heart—I fear it should kill me should I continue to write, but I find myself too alone to refrain from such a passionate act; if I cannot hide myself away in the portrait of Dorian Gray, then I should hide it away on paper, perhaps hide that paper away with a flame. I shudder to ponder him finding this—he would never understand, never even try in the way that sometimes non-artists do and always fail, for a non-artist can never love in his heart the same way that artists do—and if that’s the case, I truly am a fool to vy for Dorian Gray’s love, for it will never amount to mine. No, should he find this he would turn his nose up to me, regard me with contemptment, as something beneath him, something smaller, lesser than him—there is nothing but pain waiting for those who love Dorian Gray, because should he not treat me lesser, he would still break this fragile heart of mine—perhaps by indulging me, by making me a game, a plaything, a parrot to echo the words of a narcissus back to him—all things Harry has taught him to do. 

Yet still, I find myself trembling at the thought; oh how lovely it would be to be loved by Dorian Gray, even if only in a superficial way. How selfish, how foolish am I?- to so willingly be used only for the risk of being touched, perhaps even caressed by someone I love—the only person I’ve ever loved, truly and with my whole heart, the only thing that has ever given my art meaning. 

That ache in my breast has spread—my throat burns with tears yet to fall, tears swelling in the name of my Dorian—my Dorian who Harry stole away from me, who chose blindly to abandon me, the only man ever to love him for more than his pretty face; although, I do love that face of his, that form, his hands, the ever-so-rare freckle—… That isn’t the point is it, though?-that I love Dorian Gray?-rather, the point is his lack of love for me. 

I shall dwell on it no longer. 

[mythcarv3r]

bc I have literally no self control

So @theyelmore told me I had the ok to think up an idea for this pirate thing she posted about so here we go

mfe pilots as pirates (otherwise known as the “Tay has no self control” challenge)

• Veronica is the captain

• Nadia is her right hand/the navigator

• Ina is the log keeper

• James is the quartermaster (I had to look up what this meant I feel like boo boo the fool)

• Ryan is the guy who like does maintenance on the ship? I don’t know pirate jargon

(I also had to look up the meaning for log keeper and idk if it’s right but I’m just gonna go with it)

• Veronica and her crew are the fiercest pirates on the seven seas, robbing ships and pillaging villages

• Numerous bounties for their heads are out but no one can ever catch them, no matter how hard they try

• At this point, the cops would accept them dead or alive

• One night, while in the midst of a heist, Ina and Nadia get snatched up by bounty hunters and taken away on their ship, leaving everyone panicking

• It’s only with the help of another set of pirates (the Paladins uwu), that they’ll be able to reach Ina and Nadia in time and save them before they kill them

• Instead of killing them, they’d turn the two girls into slaves or something bc idk it seems like something that’d happen

• They get sold off to Lotor or smth idk (At least until yknow, they realize that Ina and Nadia aren’t gonna succumb to whatever sick desires he has and he’d treat them bad and stuff)

I’m not good with pirates but this seemed fun so there u have it

[leiflemmon]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Got sick TWICE this month, so I'm passing it on to Kris Deltarune while I recover.

[leiflemmon]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

It’s a warm summer afternoon, the sky cloudless blue and the grass streaked yellow like drying paint, when you and Susie start walking together towards the edge of the world.

It’s no good to put people on pedestals. Everyone in Hometown says otherwise--that this time they’ll get it right, this time the pedestal will fit, this time the golden child will stay gold--but you’ve seen what it did to Asriel, and you’re a little tired of trophies and placards on the wall. It’d be unfair to Susie, to raise her up higher than anyone can reach when all she wants is to be around everyone.

So it’s no good to say holy things like, "you’re the best person I’ve ever met" and "I want to be around you forever" and "I wish I was like you."

But when Susie sighs a breath and mutters, “Man... this town is Goddamn weird, huh?” you can’t help but laugh.

(OR: after the Roaring, the betrayals, and the Angel's ascension to Godhood, Susie sees Kris off on a summer road trip with Dess out of Hometown. Too bad there's nothing past Hometown.)

[leif-writes]

could i request dating Mac headcanons maybe? :3

I’m a really big fan of them!!

Of course!! Here ya go.

Dating Mac - Headcanons 🖥️✰

Genre: Headcanons || Fandom: Date Everything || very very very light angst || Short to Moderate Length

note: ohmigod i am so sorry i abandoned y'all. im back now i swear

Mac will randomly tell you random facts and tidbits of knowledge they find you may like; ex "you've seen 1.2% of the world from lockscreen stockphotos alone" or "your most visited website is valdivian's landing page." They do this out of affection, but they often tell of things that could be taken as offensive from anyone else.

They love to listen to you talk about literally anything. Anything you say they pay attention as if it is the most fascinating thing in the world, because, well, it sort of is to them.

they love it when you ruffle their hair. it is very soft.

sometimes they'll feel they aren't doing enough and will fixate on doing as much as possible for you for the next week or so, prioritizing you over themselves. they're aware it isn't healthy but it's a habit they struggle to break.

sometimes you'll catch them staring off into space and you'll ask what they were thinking about and it'll be like "I was just thinking about the {insert incredibly complicated thing that you need extensive knowledge to even understand what the fuck they're talking about}

whilst not the hugest fan of being called pet names, they have multiple pet names for you that are either used non-stop or in very specific circumstances where you're not really sure if they even classify as pet names.

if you were to touch grass and go on a date with them outside of the house, they'd want to go to the aquarium or any sort of niche museum they read an article about online.

[leiflemmon]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Saw a theory once that the steps to get to the mystery man are real similar to certain compulsions--walk through doorways, count to 100, wash your hands--and it made me so fascinated I drafted out a whole oneshot about it.

In which Kris's nightly compulsions are worse than ever after the stress of the last few days. Exhausted and delirious, they aren't surprised when they imagine the soul talking to them.

They ARE a little surprised to hear it sounds like Gerson Boom, though.