#manny scribbles

[raiinby]

hello wof fandom, my fucking amino account stopped working so hey I'm here now, this is Saichi and she is as hangry as I am. Say hi, Saichi, you little fuck.

[mandiipss]

it's not that he needs clothes it's that he deserves them.

[mandiips]

trrrrrrrrransfem agunimon okunimon

[spectralbugs]

Camila trying to introduce Luz to grunge from the womb but Luz still got into pop music 😭

i like to think luz got it from manny

[ilikemicrowaves]

Ppt ocs/safe haven kiddos

Little rambles about then undercut =3

Tulip

She/They

The kissy enjoying the music in the room with the tv.

Tulip is very energetic and hyper, loudest of the kiddos, and injuring herself by accident.

Sticks with Manny most of the time.

Can't speak, uses sign language.

She likes to sing and draw, though she squeaks when she sings.

Geophagia disorder. Sometimes, she'll start chewing on Doey, and he has to stop her before she causes damage.

Died after Safe Haven exploded. Sorry for being evil </3 (it will continue).

The bandage is from a critter attack. Her fur was torn out, and her flesh was exposed.

While running away from the critter, she tripped herself and got her legs stuck in a crack in the ground. Forcing herself out of it gave her some nasty cuts on her legs.

Found Manny hiding in a locker while scavenging. They stuck with each other since.

Manny

She/her

The Bobby bearhug that Doey was holding after the explosion. (I told you I would continue to be evil.)

Manny is very calm most of the time and just wants to sleep through it all. She gets frustrated easily and has a bit of a temporary too. Tulip doesn't help calm her, and Doey has to separate them sometimes. But they can't stand being apart, so after only 5 minutes, they're back to building blocks.

Mute, also uses sign language.

Manny prefers to lay down rather than run and play. But Tulip is able to get her to play tag every now and then.

She likes reading the books that they have there.

Clutches the heart necklace a lot. Tugs on it when she's in distress.

Required little attention, but enjoyed being carried around by Doey.

[108garys]

Artistic rendition of how it felt realising the sheer amount of dialogue in my Sherman fic

I compared it to two cats chattering at each other so here's Sherman cat, he is very floofy and has prickles in his fur, he ate a mouse and fell down a hole. Megan cat is sleek and smooth and acrobatic, she swatted him based on vibes... all very typical cat activities lol

@kassiekole22 @delurkr @ctrvpani @conra @aydeenchan @mybrainrotforreal @eframschweigersskincells

It took me two minutes, do you like it? 😂

[taintedtowers]

DOATK-TOBER DAY 22 - WOO-WA MAMA LUCIFER!/HIGH ROLLERS [Komaeda gets down on his knees and begins to sob.]

[108garys]

Got me thinking about one of my various hyper specific AUs, in which the sole survivor turned sunshine pyro and the murder artist that doesn't judge her for the arson are partners in crime and delusion

Charlie's holiday is ruined and he only lives due to looking like someone... This surely won't impact his life in the long run in any significant way...

@kassiekole22 @delurkr @ctrvpani @aydeenchan @tinynightmarewoman Should I post this in the tags? 😂

[butchsucker]

FIRST DATE (or ellie invites abby to one of her shows as a seduction tactic, with very pleasing results)

pairing: ellie williams/abby anderson

contents: 18+ content, guitarist!ellie, dry humping, dom!ellie, sub!abby, car sex, pussy eating, praise, marking.

word count: 4,017

Abby isn’t sure you could call her first meeting with the human hurricane known as Ellie Williams a meet-cute, but it’s definitely something. She’s out with Manny because, bless him, he’s one of the only people in her life not acting weird about her recent lesbian “awakening.” They’re at some trendy new bar where the drinks are overpriced, underpowered, and served in glasses that look like they belong in a dollhouse. Not exactly Abby’s idea of a thrilling night out, and she isn’t even trying to get noticed.

Enter Ellie: tipsy, grinning, and already leaning far too close into Abby’s space like personal boundaries are just a suggestion. It should probably be annoying. Maybe even mildly alarming. But it’s not, because—God help her—Ellie is cute.

She looks up at Abby with these wide, shameless green eyes and slurs, “That your boyfriend? ‘Cause he definitely can’t handle all that.”

Then, as if to prove her point, Ellie gestures vaguely (but unmistakably) at Abby’s body while giving it a slow, appreciative once-over. Abby blinks. She’s not used to this. Not the boldness, not the attention, not the way Ellie’s gaze is warm and hungry without being gross.

Usually, girls wanted her to make the first move. They expected her to be all take-charge and dominant, probably because of the shoulders or the biceps or whatever dumb assumptions people make. Joke’s on them because Abby’s as big a bottom as they come.

“That is not my boyfriend,” she says, amused despite herself. “Are you saying you can handle all this?”

Ellie leans in, her arms bracing on either side of Abby like she’s about to deliver a line she’s practiced in the mirror. “Wanna find out?”

It earns a surprised laugh from Abby—partly because it’s bold as hell, and partly because she’s a little horrified at how close she is to saying yes. “Not that kinda girl,” she teases, letting herself flirt just a little. “You gotta take me out first.”

Ellie grins like she’s just won something. “That an offer?”

Abby shrugs, trying for nonchalant and failing miserably. “Maybe. You can take me on a date ‘cause you’re cute but I make no promises about letting you handle me.”

They trade names and numbers, fall into conversation that’s easy in the way it only ever is when there’s instant chemistry, and eventually, Ellie gets dragged away by the group she very obviously arrived with. Abby watches her go, still half-smiling, until Manny clears his throat.

She doesn’t even look at him. “Fuck off, dude,” she mutters, cheeks flushed as she tosses back the rest of her drink.

Over the next week or so of talking, Abby learns that Ellie isn’t always the smooth-talking flirt she met at the bar. More often than not, she’s a chaotic bundle of enthusiasm, tumbling through conversations about whatever hyperfixation currently has her in a choke-hold. And Abby, to her own mild horror, finds that she genuinely cares about every single one. Sometimes it’s video games—Ellie giving long, passionate monologues about plot lines and boss fights—or comics, which she insists Abby has to borrow, already setting aside a few favorites. Other times, Ellie FaceTimes her just to chatter away while scribbling in a beat-up journal, propping Abby’s screen up on her desk like she’s part of the furniture.

Abby nearly combusts the night Ellie finally flips the journal around and shows her what she’s been drawing. A whole page—maybe two—of sketches. Of her.

“You’re just so pretty,” Ellie says with a maddeningly casual smile. “I can’t help but draw you.”

“I can’t believe you said that with a straight face. That was so corny I think I’m dying,” Abby groans, trying and failing to sound unaffected. Compliments make her weird. Vulnerable. But even she can’t deny the warmth curling in her stomach. “You’re a really talented artist, though.”

Ellie just grins, clearly pleased with herself. “Speaking of my many artistic talents,” she says, rifling through a drawer, “I was thinking about our first date. How would you like to come see me play?”

Abby arches a brow. “Play what? Please don’t say e-sports, because I like you, but not enough for that.”

Ellie snorts. “No, dumbass.” She’s laughing now, and yeah, they’re definitely at the flirty-insult stage. “Guitar. On a stage. In a venue.” She delivers each word with slow, deliberate sass, as if Abby might need help keeping up.

“You’re in a band?” Abby asks, trying—and failing—to tamp down the sudden spark of excitement. Ellie, who is already objectively hot, plus a guitar, which is universally hot? It’s a lethal combination. Still, she has to check. “Okay, but are you actually good? Like, I’ll come and pretend if I have to, but be honest with me now.”

“You’re so charming, you know that?” Ellie props her chin in her hand, eyes shining. “Look, we’re not total crap. Someone’s paying us real money to make noise, so we must be doing something right. I’ll make sure to play extra good just for you.”

Abby narrows her eyes. “Can you play with your mouth?”

Ellie doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re such a pervert! I can’t believe you right now.”

She holds the mock offense for about five seconds before dissolving into laughter. “Yes. Yes, I can. And yes, it transfers to other mouth-related skills. You’re welcome.”

“Now who’s the perv?” Abby mutters, shaking her head with a helpless smile. She’s pretty sure they’re about to spiral into a whole new territory of inappropriate teasing, but a quick glance at the clock reminds her that morning is coming fast.

“I gotta hit the books in the morning if I want to be free for our date,” she says, reaching for her phone where it’s still propped up on the desk. “So I must bid you goodnight. But I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

“Get your beauty sleep, princess,” Ellie purrs. “And wear some pretty panties for me.”

Abby rolls her eyes and ends the call with a scoff, but her cheeks are flushed. And if she spends part of the next day hunting down a pair of red lace panties—well, that’s nobody’s business but hers.

A package arrives just past noon the following day, a plain brown box with a crooked label and Abby’s name scrawled across it in what’s definitely Ellie’s handwriting. Inside, nestled between a ridiculous amount of tissue paper, is a tank top—black, worn-soft, and unmistakably one of Ellie’s band shirts.

It’s also definitely one size too small.

Abby holds it up, eyebrows raised. Subtle, Ellie is not. But it’s cute, in that deliberately grungy way. The tank hangs just short enough to show a sliver of her stomach, and when paired with her low-rise jeans—well, the lace edge of her underwear peeks out if she so much as leans the wrong way. She suspects that’s exactly what Ellie had in mind.

She keeps her makeup simple: smudged eyeliner that looks like it was applied last night and never quite came off (on purpose), and a sheer berry-tinted chapstick. For a moment, she considers braiding her hair back like usual, then changes her mind. She leaves it loose.

Fifteen minutes later, her phone buzzes with a text.

[Ellie 🖤]: come outside, hot stuff

Abby grabs her bag and heads out the door, nerves flitting in her chest like moths. But they settle the moment she spots Ellie waiting in a vintage, beat-up truck—paint a faded forest green, chrome edges dulled with time. A little Mars Attacks alien swings from the rearview mirror beside a smiling plastic dinosaur, and the dash is a chaotic sticker bomb of band logos, skulls, flowers, and what looks suspiciously like a hand-drawn portrait of a cat flipping the bird. The whole thing is so unmistakably Ellie it makes Abby grin.

The driver’s side window rolls down. “Hey, gorgeous,” Ellie calls, all easy confidence.

Abby climbs in, heart skipping when she realizes how close they are on the bench seat. “You look like you walked straight out of my dreams,” she says, not even bothering to hide her smile.

Ellie mock gasps. “Look at you, saying something that corny with a straight face. I’m impressed.”

She’s wearing the same tank top—hers cut at the sides with a pair of ratty jorts—and her eyeliner’s just as smudged. Very punk rock. Definitely doing a lot for this little rocker fantasy Abby's got cooking.

“Well,” Abby says, leaning back into the seat, “I figured I couldn't let you be a cornball alone.”

Ellie snorts. “Your kindness truly knows no bounds. How do you do it?”

“Oh, it takes lots of work. Hard, hard work,” Abby teases, nudging her shoulder.

The ride to the venue is full of music and chatter and little sideways glances that linger too long to be accidental. When they arrive, Ellie parks behind the building and takes Abby’s hand as she leads her through the back entrance. The place is rough around the edges—bare brick walls, cables snaking across the floor, old flyers stuck to everything—but it has charm. Energy. You can feel the history in the air.

The band is waiting in the green room: Dina, who is dressed so casual it's cool, throws Abby an easy nod while tuning her bass, and Jesse, all flippy hair and half-buttoned flannel, gives her a lazy wave from behind his kit. The introductions are quick, friendly, and forgettable—Ellie’s the only person Abby’s eyes are really on.

Backstage, Ellie’s all jitters and adrenaline. “Okay, I’m not nervous,” she lies. “But if I was, I’d say it’s your fault because you're so hot and I will have to end it all if I bomb.”

“You’ll be fine,” Abby says, casually sitting on one of the amp cases like she does this all the time. “You better be. I wore your name on my chest and everything.”

Ellie steps in close, her grin turning softer. “I feel like I should get a kiss for good luck.”

Abby raises a brow. “Hmm. Superstition, or are you just trying to kiss me?”

“Can’t it be both?”

Abby rolls her eyes, but she’s already leaning in. The kiss is brief but warm, a spark passed from one to the other like a secret. When they pull apart, Ellie’s smile looks steadier. Brighter.

“Break a leg,” Abby murmurs, adjusting the strap of the tank just enough to remind Ellie what’s waiting after the show.

Ellie just whistles low. “If I mess up, it’s your fault.”

Abby grins. “Got it.”

The house lights go low, and the crowd surges toward the stage like the tide rolling in—loud, electric, expectant. Abby takes her spot off to the side, backstage but with a perfect view, and rests one hand on the wall behind her to steady herself. She can already feel the music in her bones before it even starts.

And then Ellie steps into the light.

And there's something about the way she moves. The way she holds her guitar like it’s an extension of her body, the casual swagger, the flick of her fingers across the strings. She strums the first chord and it’s like a jolt straight to Abby’s spine.

Ellie knows how to put on a show.

Her entire body moves with the rhythm, hips swaying, boots stomping, head tossing just enough to let her hair fall into her eyes before she pushes it back with one practiced, sweat-dampened sweep.

At one point, mid-solo, Ellie drops to her knees and slowly spreads them apart, her back arched just so off the floor. She rises with a slow, purposeful motion, locks eyes with Abby and then she winks.

Abby’s knees just about give out on the spot.

She lets out a quiet, helpless laugh and immediately buries her face in her hands for a second. Get it together, she tells herself. But it’s already too late. Between the way Ellie’s fingers dance along the fretboard and the rasp in her voice when she joins in on vocals for the chorus, Abby is gone. Hopeless. Helpless.

Abby prides herself on being a girl with impeccable self-control. But this? This is unfair. This is “I’m-not-waiting-until-date-three” levels of hot.

By the third song, Abby’s resolve is hanging on by a thread. It's a little ridiculous, but she's pretty certain she's jealous of a guitar right now. She wants Ellie's hands on her in a way that is concerning to her self-respect.

The second the show ends, Ellie comes barreling offstage with a sheen of sweat on her neck and the world’s cockiest grin on her face. Abby doesn’t even have time to say anything before Ellie is crashing into Abby, wrapping her arms around her waist.

“You were incredible,” Abby says, voice a little breathless, a little wrecked.

“You think so?” Ellie asks, grinning wide as she pulls back just enough to meet Abby’s eyes.

Abby doesn’t answer with words. Just grabs the front of Ellie’s tank top and tugs her into a kiss that would normally never make it out of the utmost privacy.

“Okay,” Ellie mutters when they part. “Okay. Let’s get out of here before I do something extremely inappropriate in front of my friends and they never let me live it down.”

They say their rushed goodbyes—Ellie throwing her guitar into its case with absolutely no grace, barely managing a wave to her bandmates—and then they’re out the back door like giddy teenagers skipping curfew. Abby's laugh echoes off the alley walls as Ellie opens the truck door for her with a little dramatic bow.

“Such a gentleman,” Abby teases as she climbs in.

“You inspire that in me,” Ellie shoots back, jogging around to the driver’s side.

The moment they’re in, the truck rumbles to life and pulls onto the road, headlights slicing through the night. It’s just the two of them now. Just the hum of the engine, the city slipping away, and this...tension that won’t quit building.

Abby slides closer across the bench seat—close enough that her thigh presses against Ellie’s. She tries to play it cool, but her hand ends up resting on Ellie’s knee, trailing upward in slow, absentminded little strokes.

Ellie doesn't say anything, but her breath catches, and she drops one hand from the wheel to land heavy and warm on Abby’s thigh.

Abby leans in, slow and deliberate, letting her lips brush just under Ellie’s jaw, teasing. She breathes in that mix of stage sweat and faint cologne—something woodsy and citrusy and it goes straight to her head. She presses her mouth to the spot just beneath Ellie’s ear.

“You smell so good,” she murmurs.

“Abby,” Ellie says, voice tight, “I swear to god—”

Abby noses lower, kisses her neck again, and Ellie’s fingers grip her thigh harder.

“Fuck it,” Ellie mutters, low and gravelly, and then takes a hard turn off the main road. Gravel crunches under the tires as she pulls into some shadowed, tucked-away clearing off the highway, headlights flicking off with a twist of the key.

Abby blinks at her, heartbeat thudding in her ears. “What are you doing?”

Ellie shifts in her seat to face her, eyes dark and blown wide. “My place is thirty minutes away, and I’m not making it that long. We need to—” She gestures vaguely between them. “—something. Let off steam or I’m going to crash this truck trying to make out with you at a red light.”

Abby just stares at her for half a second. Then she lets out a soft laugh—low, warm, inviting—and climbs right into Ellie’s lap like it’s the most obvious decision in the world.

“Guess we better let off some steam then,” she says, hands already skirting underneath Ellie's shirt. “Don’t want you wrecking us before I get to see your bedroom.”

Ellie surges forward and kisses her like she’s been starving for it, hands sliding up into Abby’s hair as she presses her back into the worn leather of the bench seat. Abby makes a sound—something between a gasp and a laugh—as her spine arches and Ellie climbs halfway on top of her.

It's clumsy and rushed and so damn good.

Ellie’s mouth moves over hers like she’s trying to memorize the shape of it, and Abby doesn’t bother hiding the way she whines when Ellie’s teeth catch on her bottom lip. She bites back, sharp and unrepentant, before dragging her mouth down to Ellie’s neck and sucking a dark mark into the side of it—one, then two, then another just below her jaw.

“Jesus,” Ellie breathes, her voice wrecked.

Abby grins against her skin. “Mine now,” she murmurs, kissing over the bruise she just made.

Ellie’s hands are everywhere. She's gripping Abby’s waist, her hips, dragging her flush until there’s no room left between them. The friction as they grind against each other is messy, too hot, too much and not enough. Abby moans into Ellie’s mouth, her fingers fisting in the hem of her shirt, and Ellie groans like she’s going to come undone just from that sound.

She fumbles with the button of Abby’s jeans, swearing under her breath when it doesn’t immediately pop free. Her hands are shaking. Abby could tease her for it, but she’s too busy gasping, too caught up in the moment as she lifts her hips to help.

“Here,” she says, voice a low rasp as she pops the button open herself, dragging the denim down just far enough. It’s awkward in the cramped cab of the truck, but somehow they make space. Her jeans end up bunched up on the floor somewhere.

Ellie stills for a second.

Her eyes go wide as they land on Abby’s lacy underwear and her mouth parts, breath hitching audibly.

“You good?” Abby asks, breathless, trying not to squirm under the weight of that stare. But she can’t help it, not when Ellie’s pupils are blown and she looks like she’s witnessing something sacred.

Ellie swallows hard. “Happy trail,” she mumbles, almost reverent.

Abby blinks. “What?”

Ellie reaches out, tentative, fingers brushing over the faint line of blonde hair that disappears beneath the lace. “You have a happy trail,” she says again, voice barely above a whisper. “Fuck.”

The way she says it—like it’s the most important discovery of her life—sends a jolt straight through Abby’s core. Her stomach tightens, thighs pressing together instinctively.

“Jesus, Ellie,” Abby says, but her voice is shaky now, her confidence faltering under that hungry stare.

Ellie’s hand is still on her, fingertips brushing along her waistband like she’s not quite sure if she’s allowed to go further or like she’s trying to savor every millimeter before she does.

“You’re—” Ellie starts, then just shakes her head, a laugh catching in her throat. “You’re not real. You can’t be real.”

Abby leans up just enough to kiss her again. Slow and wet and wanting.

"I need to taste you. Like, right now."

And Abby’s not about to argue with that. Hell no. It takes a bit of wrangling. Ellie’s too fucking eager, all wild limbs and hungry hands, and Abby’s far from small. But they make it work. Eventually, Ellie gets herself settled between Abby’s thighs, bracing her palms on either side, and Abby props herself up on her elbows, both to give her a little more room and because the view is something she never wants to forget.

Ellie doesn’t hesitate. She presses her mouth to Abby’s still-clothed pussy, open and hot, a low groan rumbling in her throat like she’s starved for it. “You taste so fucking good. M’gonna die.”

Abby lets out a breathless, incredulous laugh, head falling back. Her hips jerk up on instinct, chasing Ellie's mouth. She’s already soaked through, and the pressure alone is enough to make her legs tremble. After a few more of those filthy, adoring kisses, she curls her fingers around the edge of her panties and yanks them aside with a hiss of breath.

Ellie moans at the sight, loud and unashamed, her breath stuttering hot against Abby’s swollen clit.

“Ellie,” Abby says, her voice thick, nearly gone. “Please.”

“Yeah? You need this too, baby?” she asks, all faux-innocence and wicked grin. Then, maddeningly, she turns her head and lays a soft kiss on the inside of Abby’s thigh instead.

“C’mon, Ellie. Don’t tease.”

Ellie chuckles against her skin, the vibration making Abby twitch. “Gotta pay you back,” she murmurs. And then, without warning, she sinks her teeth into the tender flesh just shy of where she really wants her, enough to sting, to leave a mark. Abby gasps, whines, hips canting up in a desperate plea for relief.

Only when Ellie’s satisfied—when Abby’s skin is littered in those pretty dark marks—does she give in.

Her tongue is on Abby’s weeping cunt in a second, slick and greedy, no mercy whatsoever. She licks her like she means to live there, open-mouthed and messy, groaning with every pass like it’s driving her insane too.

It’s filthy, raw. One of her hands spreads Abby wider, thumb dragging through wetness before she presses her tongue deep—slow and firm. That stretch alone is enough to make Abby’s stomach clench, but then Ellie shifts, her nose nudging Abby’s clit with every movement, rhythm perfect and completely unhinged.

Abby lets out a broken sound and claws at her own shirt, groping her tits through the fabric, hard enough to ache. Her back arches, heels digging into the leather seat, as her orgasm slams into her so fast it knocks the air from her lungs. She comes with a choked cry, riding Ellie’s face like she can’t get close enough, slick spilling down her thighs and over Ellie’s tongue.

And Ellie doesn’t stop. Not until Abby’s trembling, overstimulated, boneless and twitching under her mouth.

The cab is thick with heat and the sharp, unmistakable scent of sex. The windows are fogged, their breaths still coming in uneven bursts. Abby slumps against the seat, head tipped back, chest heaving as she tries to remember how to breathe like a normal person. Every nerve in her body feels raw, singed.

Ellie finally pulls back with a satisfied sigh, lips glistening, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide. She grins like she just won something.

“That was awesome,” Abby breathes, voice all rasp.

Ellie leans over her, cocky and smug and absolutely gorgeous, and presses a soft kiss to Abby’s inner thigh before grabbing a napkin from the glove compartment and wiping her mouth, slow and deliberate, like she wants Abby to watch.

“I should’ve brought a towel,” she mutters, grinning. “You made a goddamn mess of me.”

Abby huffs a laugh, still wrecked. “Nobody told you to make me come that hard.”

Ellie tosses the napkin aside, then reaches down to help Abby ease her jeans back up—slow and gentle, because Abby’s still shaking a little. Their fingers brush and Ellie kisses her, this time softer, sweeter, one hand cradling the back of her neck. Abby melts into it, sighs into Ellie’s mouth.

When Ellie pulls back, her gaze is dark and steady.

“When I get you home,” she murmurs, voice low and dangerous, “I’m gonna fuck you so good you forget your own name.”

Abby’s hisses at the fresh wave of arousal that brings. "Jesus, Ellie, I thought we were supposed to be releasing the pressure."

“I’m gonna spread you out on my bed,” Ellie continues, her hand sliding along Abby’s thigh, squeezing gently, “and keep you there all night. Gonna eat you until your legs stop working. Gonna make you beg for something I haven’t even thought of yet.”

Abby’s spine straightens, her thighs clench involuntarily.

“You’re gonna lose your goddamn mind,” Ellie promises, leaning in close enough that Abby can feel the heat of her breath. “And I don't plan on stopping.”

Abby swallows hard, voice barely a whisper. “You talk a big game.”

Ellie’s grin turns feral. “You should know by now, I deliver.”

They kiss again, deep and drugging, like they’ve got all the time in the world. And perhaps Ellie runs a couple of red lights just to get home a little faster.

You would, too.

[maegoorskeep]

So Able

summary: What Abby wants, she gets and what she wants today is to get you to the gym with her. You've said no before but you also know that Abs is not taking that shit for an answer.

pairing: Abby Anderson x teacher!reader

word count: 1.9k

content warning: teasing, language, power dynamics, playful but intentional emotional manipulation, established relationship, lightly suggested sex.

A/N: english is obviously not my first language so... yeah.......

Abby has always a way to get what she wants with the people she loves. No matter what it is, she has this way of sounding so good and convincing that most of her friends just abandoned saying “no”. There’s only Mel, but Abby knows how to by-pass her easily. And there’s the pout, the soft pout of her lips that has nothing to do on that tall, stern soldier’s face but that she does anyway.

So, when she comes to you on that very morning of Spring, you already know this will be a battle. Abby doesn’t come to you right away, she’s more cunning than that. She circles around, looks at the kids paintings. One is of her, of course, and it makes her laugh in that goddamn way you can’t quite resist. But you must. Your hand presses your temple while you mark some little work you gave your pupils today, but you can't help to look up from time to time just to see what the hell she's doing. Your eyes shift from the arch of Abby's back as she leans to study the pencil sketch to her shoulder on which her braid falls softly and just as quickly, you get back to work. Or you try at least, which is hard when there's this broad shouldered, muscled armed girl laughing softly to herself right there.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you mutter, pink pen scribbling a little smiley face on the spelling worksheet, hoping the little doodle will, somehow, uplift your own goddamn mood. "You here for a reason, Abby? If not, get out of my classroom, please."

"What? Is it illegal to appreciate my fan art, now?" she asks with a smug smirk on her lips. "Some of us here are local celebrities, you know."

You don't look up from the words written on paper though, trying to control your face as best as possible. Abby is good when she needs something. She perfectly knows that going for it upfront won't be successful. No. It's like war, you need a battle plan for this shit and Abby? She always knows how to pick hers. So, she walks to you and around your desk, her fingers trailing along its wooden edge like she owns this freaking part of the stadium.

"You're so grumpy in the mornings, I swear. You need to sweat it out with me."

There it is, the damn thing she wants. It's not formulated as a nice little request, never, she never ever say please. No. She passes it as an advice when it comes to you because Abs has learned from the time you where flirting around Manny and how he would always suggest you little things like it's nothing. But it's always something with Abby and you always fall for it.

"No," the answer is clear and definitive as you glance up at her through your lashes.

"You don't even know what I was going to say," she smirks, leaning to look in your face and it's very hard not to roll your chair back to put some distance between you and her goddamn beautiful face and those blue eyes.

"You were going to ask me to come to the gym with you, again."

"I was going to ask if you wanted a breakfast burrito with me at the mess hall instead of using your ration tickets," she pauses, waiting for the bait to settle in. She knows she has you intrigued by her words and Abby smile widden a bit. "After the gym, as a reward for your good work."

Of course. You drop the pink pen after trying to write on her face to get her to step back. She laughs again and you can't help the soft smile creeping up your lips. Abby sits on one of the little table, her elbows on her knees and her hands rest under her chin, waiting to hear what the hell will be your excuses this time. She knows it's comming, it always does.

"I have nineteen papers to grade, five kids who still thinks that glue is a food group and Miss Ornella is pretending to be dead again in her cage. I am not going to the gym, Abby." you say again like it's final, your thumb pointing at the little caged hamster sleeping there.

And of course, Abs shakes her head slowly, she always does when she's amused and her eyes creases in that perfect way that infuriates you but you don't say anything more that she could use against you. Instead, you look as she leans in again, hands braced on the desk  and Abby's arm are slightly flexed because of course, she knows. She always do.

"This sounds exactly why you need to go to the gym with me. As a stress relief, you know?"

"It's not how stress relief work," you snort imediately and it makes her smile wider.

"It is, if you let me help you doing it right," she tries again.

"No."

And as you get back to your papers, you think she'll give up because sometimes, rarely but still, she does. But not this time, of course not. She doesn't leave, Abby doesn't leave. Instead, she grabs one of those chair meant for kids, those ones that struggle with their fractions, and she turns it around to straddle it backward like this will be a long fought negociation she's going to win.

"You said no last week already, and the weekend before that. You can't say no everytime."

"Yes I can, consistency is a virtue, Abigail."

"You're governement naming me?" she laughs before leaning her chin on the back of the chair. "You are not consistent. You can't even decide on what to put on your fucking salad. You just like giving me a hard time."

"I just like peace and quiet, your gym bros are giving me anxiety, Abby."

"You like me better."

That, just there, is fucking unfair you are about to tell her. You look right in her eyes before looking back at your work, your pink pen circling a kid's misspelling of Elephant. You try not to look up before stopping again, pinching your nose for just a second or two.

"I tolerate you, Anderson. Now, get out."

"You wish you just tolerated me," she snorts with those knowing eyes. There's something soft in them. "Come on, baby."

"Abby-"

"Come to the gym with me, please."

"No."

And Abby, in all of this, she starts to see this isn't going to work. The pet name doesn't work, the politeness doesn't work, the cheeky comment doesn't work so she sight like all this is a great burden she's forced to bear. She's about to get snarky now, to make you feel like this is the worst thing you've ever done to her, which isn't.

"You know, I really fucking thought you were stronger than this," she says, moving her hand toward your work. "When the fuck did you become the most boring teacher out there, babe?"

The words are harsh, a bit mean also, but you know that this is all Abby trying and being her usual asshole to make you bite back to her and get up to beat her ass at the gym.

"You want me to say something super mean to you, don't you?" you mumble, shooting her a look and she laughs again, bright and unbothered like she never called you the most boring teacher in all fucking SoundView.

"Maybe. Or maybe I want to see that sweet look in your face when you finally give all in. You always cave in the best, y'know."

You roll your eyes, but she's not wrong and you know it. Abby has a way of breaking people down to the core, not with brute force even though she's got plenty of that, but with sheer persistence and you have to give it to her : it's a fucking skill. The teasing, the grinning, the charming, the little pinches of meaness, it's all weaponized and wielded like a a damn scalpel she knows how to use better than anyone. Most people fold, too scared to be cut. You've seen it on friends and foes alike. Hell, you've done it yourself when the night is at its darkest and Abby at her neediest. When she gets into your room like a damn thief to make you panting against her shoulder.

"I've got work. Fuck off, please."

She stands. For a second, you think maybe it was a bit too much to talk to her like this. Abby always does it to you, but she doesn't like to recieve in return. But of course, as she starts to get to the door, she changes her mind. You start to pray all the gods to help you because this can't be good. It's not. Abby grabs your chair, rolling you backward a little bit before crowding your space again. She stands there, between you and your desk like she had enough of this little game but Abs is never tired of it.

She can go for hours, days if she must. Her strong arms are crossed over her chest and at first, her face is unreadibly neutral until the pout. She doest that stupid little pout that unravels you every time and your breath catches. It bearly fits her, that stone-carved soldier woman with shoulders that could carry a truck and that Isaac wield like his fucking golden ticket to make the world a better place. She looks like a fucking angel of destruction ready to make you ploy.

"Please, Abs, stop this?" you start to give in, your legs twitching between her knees.

"I want to train with you, you never give me attention, I'm going to die," she comments, her hands resting on the back of your chair to lock you right there.

"That's not fucking fair. You're the one-" you start but she cuts you immediately.

"Life's not fair, grab your shit, we're going."

"No," but you're unsure now.

She frowns in that unyielding way, stern as fuck. The pout is all gone now, it's only Abigail Anderson now and she got enough. You can tell.

"Stop trying to be firm, get your ass up. I said, we're going."

"Hey, I am firm."

"As firm as your non-existing biceps. Now shut up and get up on your feet."

For all your trying, the words as you both shuting up and standing for her, so close that you can smell her and that stupid cotton shower gel she uses. You whimper a little bit like she hurt you with her words but Abby doesn't give in at all. Told you, she's good at giving, not at receiving that treatment she gives people around her. So, with no kiss and no encouraging words, you open the locker in the corner of the classroom on which you keep your favorite drawings of the kids and you get your gym bag from it.

"I hate you," you tell her.

"No you don't."

And just like that, all of Abby sterness is gone and she has her arm around your shoulders. There's this cocky look on her face again because she always win against you and somehow, you're not that mad about it when she presses a kiss on your head. Goddamn her.

[stujet9rainshine-blog]

@hugsandchaos

Part 2 of Chapter 1

Messy like a Pollock Painting

TigerGhost Enemies to Lovers

Rated T

Danny was actually proud of himself as he grabbed his bag from his locker.

For once, he’d finished all his homework.

No ghost attacks. No distractions. No falling asleep mid-assignment.

A fully completed homework packet. Hopefully full marks.

Then, as he dug through his bag—His homework folder was gone. "You have got to be fucking kidding me!" Danny barked, distressed.

Did he really do all that work just to leave it at home?!

He could’ve sworn he grabbed it.

"Looking for this, güero?"

Danny looked up—And felt his soul leave his body.

Manny Rivera was standing a few feet away, grinning like a devil, holding his homework folder.

Danny took a slow, deep breath through his nose. "I swear to whatever god you believe in, I will kill you if you don’t give that back."

Manny just chuckled. "That sounds like a challenge, amigo." He waved the folder for emphasis.

Danny saw red. "What are you, five?!"

"It’s my childlike wonder!" Manny snickered.

Danny lunged.

Manny was fast—dodging like it was nothing. Two steps to the side, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Danny actually buffered. His brain stalled. His eyes may have flashed green. "Give me my fucking homework back."

"Nope!" And then Manny bolted.

Danny blinked. There is no way this little fucking brat is going to make me chase him.

Danny took a step forward—

Manny took a sharp turn—And immediately slammed face-first into the wall.

Manny hit the wall at full force.

He staggered back, blinking. Like he couldn’t believe the wall had the audacity to exist.

"¿Qué carajo?" he muttered, touching his face.

Danny just stared. "…What?”

Manny’s nose was bleeding. He looked dazed.

Danny took advantage of the moment and snatched his homework folder back.

Manny blinked at his empty hands.

Danny squinted, "Hey, there’s a wall there."

Manny shook himself out, still visibly dizzy. "I absolutely knew that!" he declared, planting his hands on his hips completely ignoring the blood dripping from his nose.

Danny just stared. He'd never met anyone this stupid in his entire life. "That was as well-planned as invading Russia in the winter."

Manny squinted. "Did you just compare me to Hitler?"

"Yes." Danny flipped through his folder, making sure nothing was missing. "Now leave me the fuck alone or I’ll be the reason your nose is bleeding next time."

Then he turned on his heel and walked away.

More than ready to turn in his assignment and get his first A of the year.

~

Manny stood there, watching Danny walk away—His mouth tasted like copper.

Danny had a swagger as he left. His homework folder clutched way too tight in his hands.

Manny, on the other hand, was stunned.

"That was kinda hot." He wiped his nose, grinning. "Maybe if I keep fucking with him, he’ll actually fight me."

He was absolutely getting under Danny’s skin.

Danny was thinking about him. A lot.

Manny could tell.

Now, if only he hadn’t misjudged that turn.

He wiped his face again.

The back of his hand came away red.

Well. That sucked.

He sighed and started toward the bathroom to clean up. It would be healed in a couple of minutes anyway.

Manny made it to class a few minutes late.

But his casual smirk and the bloody paper towel shoved up his nose made it pretty obvious why.

The teacher just sighed, shook her head, and kept teaching.

Manny frowned, struggling to keep up.

He scribbled notes in Spanish, trying to translate in real time.

His English was solid, but learning math, his mortal enemy, in his second language?

That also sucked.

By the time the bell rang, he was more than ready to leave.

He barely took the time to shove his notebook into his bag before bolting.

Anything to put physical distance between himself and math.

He ended up near the A-listers.

Dash, Kwan, Paulina, Star—The kids he’d been automatically sorted with.

Like some kind of clique sorting hat.

Manny was rich. He was attractive. He was an athlete.

There wasn’t anywhere else he was supposed to go. It was like a stupid American high school movie.

Except way less fun. And with no singing.

Paulina and Star looked and acted like they were straight out of Mean Girls.

Paulina, specifically, had the energy of someone who thought she could predict the weather with her boobs.

The guys weren’t much better.

"Did you see the Vikings and Steelers game last night?" Kwan punched Dash’s arm, excited.

"Hell yeah, I did!" Dash grinned.

"Did you see that 65-yard field goal attempt the Vikings made?"

"Yeah! That was insane, dude!"

Then Kwan turned to Manny. "Did you see the game?"

Manny frowned. "No? I don’t watch American football. What the hell is a field goal in football? Aren’t all goals on the field?"

Dash and Kwan exchanged a look.

Then they laughed.

Dash clapped him on the back. "We need to fix that! You gotta like football now that you live here!"

Manny forced out a laugh. "I mean? I do watch football. It’s called soccer, Dash."

"Soccer is such a gay sport," Dash snickered. "You should at least give hockey a chance."

Manny snorted. "Dash, I’m from a desert with an active volcano. We’ve literally never heard of ice."

That got a laugh.

"It’s basically soccer but way manlier and cooler," Kwan added.

"You should play something besides soccer while you’re at Casper. You’d make one hell of a football player!"

Manny laughed along with them.

Masking.

Telling them what they wanted to hear.

He had never felt so fake in his life.

He missed Frida.

He missed Miracle City.

This place was boring.

And, honestly?

He was not having a good time.

Manny floated through the rest of his morning, just trying to keep afloat.

At least he had art class after lunch.

That was the one thing that was better here than in Miracle City.

The art program was insane. Well-funded. Amazing teachers.

And his art teacher? She got it.

When Manny had sheepishly admitted he wanted to be an artist. That he wanted to own a gallery, to teach public art classes.

She hadn’t laughed. She had grinned. She had told him she was already living that dream.

And then? She took him under her wing. No matter what, he always had art.

Then, as he walked into the cafeteria—

His eyes locked onto Danny, Sam, and Tucker. The people he actually wanted to hang out with.

Sam? She reminded him of Frida. Dark. Loud. Rockstar energy. Fiery enough to keep people in check.

Tucker? Funny. Smart. Reminded Manny of Django—now that they actually got along.

And Danny?

Danny was fascinating. There was something otherworldly about him. Everyone seemed to keep their distance.

And Manny wanted to know why. 

And so far? The only way to get Danny’s attention was to antagonize him. Which is exactly what he was about to do.

"¡Aye!" Manny plopped down in the open seat next to Danny like he belonged there. "Please tell me we can talk about something besides American football."

Danny leaned forward, his expression dark—His eyes flashed green. "I don’t want to talk to you about anything."

Three sets of narrowed eyes turned toward him.

Manny grinned, sharp teeth flashing. "Yet here you are. Talking."

Danny sucked in a breath, searching for words.

Bingo. A reaction.

"Didn’t I threaten to break your nose the next time you bothered me?" Danny gritted out.

Manny’s eyes sparkled with challenge. "Please do. I doubt you could."

Danny didn’t even hesitate.

He shoved Manny off the bench.

Manny hit the ground, hard.

He blinked up at Danny, dazed—Then grinned. "Impressive. For a skinny gringo."

There was a collective gasp.

Manny stood, dusting himself off.

He opened his mouth to fire back.

And Danny clocked him.

Right in the face.

Manny’s vision flashed white.

He staggered—for half a second. Then he snapped back, grinning.

That? That was nothing. He’d taken way worse from Miracle City villains on a Tuesday morning.

Manny licked the blood off his lip. His eyes lit up. "¡Diablos sí! That’s what I’m talking about!"

And then?

They were full-on brawling in the school courtyard.

Manny hadn’t expected Danny to know how to fight.

But he sure as shit did.

At first? Manny was playing.

Testing. Prodding. Teasing.

Then Danny grabbed his hair—And kicked him in the stomach like he’d done it a hundred times before.

Manny’s grin snapped into something sharper.

Oh. So that’s how it’s gonna be.

Manny dropped low, sweeping his leg out—Taking Danny’s legs with it.

Danny fell—but almost too slow.

Like his body knew how to break the fall before it even happened.

Then, suddenly—they were on the ground.

Rolling. Scrambling. Fighting like two street cats over the last sardine.

Fast. Vicious. Chaotic.

It lasted a few violent, messy moments—

Before they were ripped apart.

Ms. Tetslaff had Manny under his arms, lifting him like a pissed-off parent.

Mr. Lancer had Danny by the hoodie, gripping him like he was trying to stop him from committing a felony.

Manny was huffing, grinning—Like a feral cat that just won a fight.

His teeth were red with blood.

He looked wild. And he loved it.

And Danny?

Danny looked just as wrecked.

His mullet stuck out in every direction.

His nose was bleeding.

His knuckles were scraped raw.

And both of them were covered in dirt and grass.

The courtyard was silent. Until—"Great Gatsby! What is wrong with you two?!"

~

Danny yanked himself out of Mr. Lancer’s grip. "He fucking started it!"

Manny’s eyes widened in offended disbelief. "I did NOT!" he bit out—lying through his teeth. "He shoved me off the bench!"

Danny’s whole body bristled. "You son of a—"

"ENOUGH!" Mr. Lancer’s voice boomed through the courtyard. "We’re going to my office. NOW.”

Danny couldn’t believe himself.

He’d never let himself be goaded into a fight before.

And he’d been shoved into lockers more times than he could count.

Now?

Now he was bleeding from the nose and knuckles, being paraded through the halls by Mr. Lancer—

Like some kind of feral animal.

And Manny?

Manny looked like he was having the time of his life.

His eyes were wild. Ms. Tetslaff was guiding him like an unruly street dog.

And the worst part?

Manny had actually given Danny a run for his money. That fight had been a hell of a lot harder than it should’ve been.

Danny had even—just for a second—Used a little of Phantom’s powers.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Before he could think too hard about it, They were in the vice principal’s office. Mr. Lancer shoved them into two chairs. One at each end of his desk.

"Now. No more problems?"

"Yes, sir." Danny muttered.

"Sí, señor." Manny grinned.

"Good." Mr. Lancer sank into his chair, rubbing his temples. Then he let out a deep sigh. 

"Now," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tell me—what in The Odyssey was that?"

Neither of them spoke.

Mr. Lancer rubbed his eyes with a long, exhausted sigh.

Finally, he lazily gestured toward Danny. "Danny, you go first."

Danny let out a breath through his teeth. "Manny has been bothering me nonstop for days!"

"He’s thrown my lunch, spilled my coffee, ruined my science textbook, stolen my homework—AND he won’t leave me alone!" It all came out in one frustrated wave.

Mr. Lancer raised an eyebrow and turned to Manny. "Is that true?"

Manny blinked. Then shrugged—"¿No hablas inglés?"

Mr. Lancer’s face twisted.

Like he had just transcended to a new level of exhaustion. "What? No! Who do you think I am, ICE?"

Danny actually had to bite back a laugh.

What the actual fuck.

Manny immediately doubled down. "Bueno, Danny no quiere ser mi amigo—y eso, señor, es un delito. Estoy actuando así porque soy un problema por naturaleza."

Mr. Lancer turned to Danny. Like he somehow expected a translation.

Danny, in true Fenton fashion, just shrugged. "I think that explains why I punched him."

Manny burst into laughter. Loud. Full-bodied. Unhinged. "No, I totally deserved it!"

Mr. Lancer sighed so hard it could have broken the sound barrier. "That’s it. I’m calling your father, Manuel."

The change was instant. Manny shot up, hands on the desk. "¡Aye! Don’t do that! My papá will drive up here from Mexico and kill me. Dead! Just give me detention! Or—I don’t know—make me clean toilets! I’d literally rather clean toilets than have you call my papá!"

Danny blinked. Processing.

Huh.

"You should have thought about that before you terrorized another student," Mr. Lancer said, searching Manny’s face.

"But he hit me first!" Manny whined.

"Uh? Yeah, but you knocked my stuff around," Danny chirped unhelpfully.

Manny whipped around to glare at him. "The lunch tray was because you were being a bully for no reason!"

Then he jabbed a finger at his scarred eye.

"The book and coffee were an accident! Like I told you at the time! I went to give you a pat on the back and missed! I’m literally half-blind. I have negative depth perception."

Danny paused. Then blinked. "Oh." Beat. "So that’s why you ran into the wall.”

"No, I did because I thought it would look cool to nearly break my nose," Manny bit back.

Danny drew in a deep breath through his nose.

Ready to fire back.

Then Mr. Lancer sliced a hand through the air. "Enough."

They both shut up.

"It's very clear that neither of you are innocent. I’m giving you two days of in-school suspension."

"Danny, you'll be eating in my office for a week."

"Manny, you'll be spending your week with me—during your art class."

Manny bristled, eyes going wide. "Wait—really? Taking away my art class?

"Yes. It's a punishment, Rivera."

Manny flopped back in his chair, pouting like a kid. "I didn’t even want to come to this stupid school."

It sounded immature. But Danny flinched anyway.

Because for the first time—Manny didn’t sound like he was messing around.

He sounded done. He sounded genuinely miserable.

Then again. That’s what he gets for being a troublemaking jerk.

"Well, your actions have consequences, Manuel. Both the ones that got you to Casper High—and into my office today." Mr. Lancer’s voice was firm. Disappointed.

Manny didn’t react. He just stared at his hands.

Mr. Lancer let the words linger.

Then he sighed, turning to Danny. "I'm still going to have to call Maddie as well."

Danny sighed and leaned back, looking at the ceiling before flashing a half-hearted grin. "Hey, at least it’s not about my grades or me skipping class this time."

Mr. Lancer rubbed his eyes again. "No. It's about you punching an underclassman in the face. A definite improvement, Mr. Fenton."

Then he turned back to Manny. "Per the agreement of you attending Casper High—I will have to contact your father about this disciplinary issue, unfortunately."

Manny didn’t say a word. He looked like he had completely checked out.

Danny blinked. The whole room felt… off.

Mr. Lancer grabbed the phone, calling the detention teacher.

And then?

They were herded like punished puppies.

Straight to detention.

Banished. For two days.

Danny couldn’t believe he was in detention.

Again. It had been a while, but still.

He was a chronic C-student. A class-skipper.

This wasn’t new to him, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

At least Manny was on the other side of the room.

Danny appreciated that.

Manny melted into his chair, folded his arms and rested his head on the desk.

Danny blinked.

Manny looked… genuinely upset.

The wild, laughing gremlin he’d fought earlier?

Gone. Just a skulking, silent kid in his place.

Danny wondered why Manny had shut down so hard after hearing his dad was getting called.

Then he rolled his eyes. "Actions have consequences," huh? Yeah. Guess so.

Danny dropped his head onto the desk. Decided he was done thinking about this.

Fuck this day.

Danny didn’t exactly mind being in detention.

It gave him time to nap and catch up on schoolwork, which was rare enough these days.

Manny, on the other hand, did not move the entire time.

Danny wasn’t sure if he was sleeping, sulking, or just waiting to be released like an animal in a trap. But at the end of the day, when they were finally let out, Manny did make sure to flip him off before they parted ways.

Danny just rolled his eyes and started walking home.

He should have expected it.

The moment he stepped inside, his parents were already waiting for him.

"Daniel James Fenton!" His mom’s voice rang through the house. "Mr. Lancer called and told us you’re in detention for fighting!”

Danny barely paused, already irritated. "I didn’t exactly start it."

Jack crossed his arms. "He said you swung first."

"He wouldn’t leave me alone!" Danny shot back. "I’m not in the wrong. He’s just some annoying bully, and I didn’t want to deal with him."

Maddie opened her mouth to argue. Jack looked ready to add something too.

Danny didn’t wait. He bolted up the stairs, slammed the door shut, and threw himself onto his bed.

Danny pressed his hands against his face, groaning into them.

His parents sucked at this kind of thing.

They meant well, sure. But they didn’t get it.

They never had.

And yeah, he swung first.

But Manny deserved it.

Right?

…Right?

Danny sighed and rolled onto his side, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Manny flipping him off before they left detention meant he was still pissed.

That was fine. Danny could live with that.

He didn’t need some obnoxious exchange student making his life harder.

And yet…

Danny knew what it felt like to be on the other side of things.

To be shoved into lockers.

To be humiliated. 

To be treated like you didn’t belong.

And for all of Manny’s smug grins and cocky bravado…

Something about the way he was acting felt off.

Danny didn’t like it.

Danny didn’t like the way he was acting either.

Still, he forced his eyes shut. He was probably overthinking it. Manny was a brat. That was all there was to it.

He’d deal with it tomorrow.

[raiinby]

messy clay doodle

[mandiipss]

^ original page

SRS LOG- 3/3/2024

soft redesign

[mandiips]

i can't believe they put kouichi kimura in spyro the dragon..

(@flamon @flamemons @speedsketch )

[b4tghst]

I heard it was Gaz appreciation week and you just know I had to participate are you kidding :’)

Eternal Garden

Gaz x my oc :)

Manny’s drawing pencil is hanging between his lips, either side tucked into the corners of his mouth as he struggles to get a small sunflower he’d just picked from the grassy top of the hill they sit upon, watching as the sun is beginning to set upon the horizon. Gaz? He’s giggling at Manny’s struggle, doing his best to sit still even though it did nothing to help the yellow flower sit still behind his hear.

“M’fuck, take off your hat.” Manny gritted before making a hissing sound to prevent his saliva from making the corners of his mouth a slobbery mess.

“It’s keeping the sun out of my face, love.” Gaz argued with a soft smile that made his eyes seem to glow like honey beneath the warm light.

Manny sits back against the heals of his boots, dropping his expression as if to say ‘are you serious’ without actually uttering the words from his tongue. “I’m a man hard at work and your hat is disrupting the view I’m trying to get.”

Gaz rolled his eyes playfully, eventually complying and taking off his worn down blue cap to set it on his bent knee. Manny pushed forward again—shuffling on his knees as he adjusting the sunflower once again, smiling at the perfection of what he always sees. An artists eyes, witnessing every single key detail that crafts the very face he wakes up next to every single morning, the face he falls asleep to every single night. The face that occupies his thoughts more times than it probable should for a soldier like Manny.

A man dedicated to the rush of chaos—nothing to lose except his life, but that mindset left him long ago.

When his dark brown eyes met softer, kinder, gentler ones like Kyle Garrick.

“Stay like that,” Manny hummed, shifting his feet on the grass to sit crisscross and rest his sketchbook on one thigh, using the other as an arm rest.

“You know,” Gaz bit his lip, trying to bite back his smile—not that he ever had to. Not with Manny. “Normal people usually take pictures.”

Manny’s face contorted with distaste, glancing up at Gaz in mock disgust. “Phones don’t capture what I want. Just a bunch of pixels that could get lost anywhere,” his attention is dropped down to his sketch, hand moving with grace with every curve and line that’s lightly drawn on the blank page. “Cameras don’t see you the way that I do.”

“And how’s that?”

“You’ll see soon enough, amor.” Manny winks, pointing the eraser end of his pencil toward Gaz before getting right back to work. “Just sit there and look pretty.”

And that Gaz did for the better part of the sunset, not that Gaz thought it would matter much seeing as Manny doesn’t draw in color. But he remembers Manny explaining what’s important when it comes to art—the details, the lighting, the angles and certain details that make it so much more intimate than anything else, he can’t really remember. Sometimes Manny just talks and Gaz will sit there and smile because it’s that voice that he gets to hear speak about normal things so passionately. “Done yet?” Gaz asks, watching the peak hour of the sunset slowly fade away behind the faint glimmer of the stars starting to appear above.

“Last minute details,” Manny sighed, scribbling the last bit of shading just beneath Gaz’s bent leg. “Alright, just about.” Manny handles his book carefully, crawling on over to sit next to Gaz with a proud, yet crooked smile. “Tada.” He flaunts the drawn page like it was something simple—origami he’d figured out in two seconds, building a Lego set—something so mundane, but it took Gaz’s breath away.

A sketch of him, but given every last detail that only a sniper’s—no. An artist’s eye can see. From him to the background, making the sunset light Gaz’s skin so beautifully even with a black and white shade of a pencil. “Fuckin’ hell,” Gaz huffed, letting his fingers hover the page as if it’d shatter to pieces the minute he touched it. Not that Gaz would break anything in Manny’s eyes. He’s only ever made everything better. Bringing a distant holy man such as Manny to see that, yeah, maybe God’s creation was meant just to live alongside Gaz and all this pure beauty he posses inside and out.

“Not a camera, huh?” Manny teased, stretching out a hand behind Gaz to press into the grass and hold his weight.

“Nah, it’s much better.” Gaz’s eyes almost water, not used to being seen this way. So…poetically adored. “What’s the hole here for?” He points to the small opening within the page by his ear making Manny reached with his free hand to grab the sunflower that rested behind Gaz’s ear, motioning for Gaz to lift the page and allow Manny to slip the stem of the flower right through with no resistance.

“That,” Manny says softly, brushing out the soft pedals with the pad of his index finger. “Is the one thing I didn’t want to capture with a pencil.” His eyes drag to Gaz’s expression, smiling when Gaz follows the motion. Inches apart, admiring the love their eyes hold for one another so effortlessly, shining in the eternal garden of sunflowers and lilies. A pair you wouldn’t expect to go together, but make such a beautiful sight that you can’t help but stare at the beauty they’ve got to offer.

Gaz scoffs, blinking away his tears of overwhelming love for this man. “Christ, you’re cheesier than my mum’s cheese stars, darling.”

Manny throws his head back as he laughs, throwing the arm that was already behind Gaz to loosely wrap around his shoulders now. “Ooh, I love it when you talk dirty.”

“You’re bloody disgusting, you are.” They both laugh hard now, leaning into each other in a playful embrace before the noise settles into a comfortable silence. Gaz is looking at the drawing once more. “You really see me like this?”

“Doesn’t even touch the surface.” Manny says in that annoyingly sweet, Texan charm he likes to turn on without even realizing he does so. “You’re more beautiful than any angel I learned about in Sunday school, my love.” His other hand brushes against Gaz’s jaw, turning his attention away from the book. “You’re my eternal garden. I’d never need to pick another flower if it’s just me and you, forever.”

Gaz has to blink back those tears again, nodding at Manny’s testimony of eternity. “Yeah, just me and you.” He leans in to close that distance, pressing their lips together in a soft, slow, and passionate kiss that further solidifies their souls into an unbroken mold. Then the kiss breaks, sighing as their foreheads are pressing together—not yet ready to pull away just yet. “Forever.”

Manny smiles, stealing one more kiss before he says against Gaz’s lips. “Forever and always, mi girasol.”

[self-shippy]

The Heist Without Lupin

yay hooray carlup fic time!! I had this idea in my head and I thought it was cool. Featuring @mrs-bluemarine’s s/i Laurie :)

Cuddles never lasted as long as Carmen wanted them to. Something would always come up that Lupin would redirect his attention to, and he would leave Carmen sitting alone, yearning for more. This time was no different; Carmen had finally gotten situated under Lupin’s shoulder, resting their face in the crook of his neck.

“Those diamonds we got are really pretty,” she said.

Lupin made a quizzical hum as he rubbed Carmen’s arm. “I didn’t think you were into diamonds,” he said.

Carmen laughed. “You convinced me to like them more. The way your eyes sparkle when you take a look at treasure waiting to be stolen… it can’t be helped that it rubbed off on me a bit.” He nuzzled in closer, feeling Lupin’s pulse.

The two sat for a few moments, basking in the other’s warmth, until the sound of high heels made Lupin’s neck crane behind him.

“Fujiko!”

Carmen’s heart sank. Great.

“Oh, Lupin, congratulations on your heist!” Fujiko said. “I heard that those diamonds you stole were rather nice.” Carmen didn’t look up, but she could tell that Fujiko was hovering towards Lupin’s lips. Lupin shifted his weight, leaving Carmen no good place to lean on him.

“You know I’ll give you anything you want, Fujicakes, as long as I get something in return~.” Lupin donned a playful smile as he got up from the couch and went to where the diamonds were being kept.

That was the last straw. Those diamonds that Lupin, no, everyone had worked so hard to get, being given up on a whim to woo Fujiko. Carmen stomped over to their room, turning on a television and reading a newspaper at the same time.

Some hours had passed, and Jigen was walking through the hallway, hearing the sound of papers flying and pencils scribbling from Carmen’s room. He stopped, listening in closer, before opening the door. “The hell are you doing?” he asked.

“Planning a heist.” Carmen didn’t even look up from his papers.

“Lupin’s not planning anything right now.”

“I know. I’m planning a heist.”

Jigen huffed. “Well, count me out.” He walked towards the door.

“That’s fine,” Carmen said. “I’m really just planning for it to be a solo mission.”

Before Jigen closed the door, another hand kept it open. “It wouldn’t be wise for you to go alone,” Goemon said. “I’ll join you, to keep you safe.”

Jigen looked over to Goemon, then shrugged. “Whatever,” he said. “The less people here, the better.”

As he walked away, Goemon hesitantly came up.

“I’m stealing something for Lupin, you know,” Carmen said. “I’m gonna give the spoils to him. Do you still wanna come?”

Carmen couldn’t see it, but she assumed Goemon nodded. “You may give me as small a role as you want,” he said. “I merely want to be there in case you need help.

Just because I’m a slower runner than everyone else doesn’t mean I’m helpless, Carmen thought to themself. “Well, if you’re coming along, I assume Laurie will want to, as well.”

“Of course,” another voice said. “So long as Go-Go is joining, I’ll join too.”

Carmen finally turned around, seeing Laurie wrapping his arms around the waist of a red-faced Goemon.

As everyone got into the car, Carmen went over the plan.

“Alright, our treasure is in the Schilling Mansion, home of the billionaire Manny Schilling and his family. I happen to know that he owns an insane amount of jewels, all ones that I’ve sold him personally. Based on my past visits, I know that he regularly swaps them out to put different ones on display. All we have to do is find the place where he hides the rest, and we’ll have ourselves some new treasure!”

As the three approached the mansion, Carmen drove the car into a wooded area to avoid being found. They all donned pitch-black clothing covering everything but their faces, and snuck into the building.

As they passed the halls, Carmen noticed all of the jewels bedazzling the walls. He couldn’t help but smile. That was my first successful sale, he thought to himself, that one was the first time I asked for over ten thousand dollars, and that one over a hundred thousand. And that was the diamond that I stole before Lupin got to it… before he got me to join his team. Without thinking, Carmen picked it up and examined it.

“Carmen,” Goemon whispered. “You’re dawdling. We must stick to the plan.”

Carmen snapped out of her thoughts. “Sorry,” she said, donning a bashful smile. “I was just reminiscing on the time when I was a solo thief. It’s crazy to think that I used to hate Lupin’s guts.”

“I remember,” Laurie gave a little laugh. “When he brought you to the hideout for the first time, you were sure that he was kidnapping you!”

“I almost turned down his offer to be a part of his crew.” As they kept walking, Carmen continued to talk. “It wasn’t until he told me that I could help make a fool of the police that I was convinced.”

Without realizing it, the three had started to talk louder and louder, and the guards around the mansion were alerted by their chatter. As they continued down the corridors, bright lights suddenly shone in their faces.

“Freeze!”

A chill went down their spines as a plethora of guns were pointed at them. Laurie stood between Carmen and Goemon, trembling.

“Get behind me!” Goemon shouted as the guns started to fire. Laurie and Carmen ran towards him, but before Carmen was behind the safety of his sword, a bullet pierced through their side. They cried out in pain, falling to the ground as they finally made it to Goemon.

“Carmen!” Laurie cried. She bent down to the ground, examining Carmen’s wound. “Oh, god, this is bad. We need to get out of here!”

“But… the treasure…” Carmen’s words were strained as he tried to get up, only to fall back down from the pain of his wound.

“Treasure is no good to a dead man,” Goemon said. His back was still turned as he continued to block the bullets. “We should leave before things get worse. Laurie, you carry Carmen back to the car. I’ll match your pace and block the gunshots.”

Laurie, still trembling, picked Carmen up off the ground, trying to ignore their groans and hisses. He ran back the way that they all came, and Goemon followed, keeping the two of them behind the line of fire. Up the window Laurie went, and outside the mansion he landed, going back to the car hidden behind the trees.

“I’ll drive us back,” Carmen said. “This was my fault, so I’ll get us out of here.”

“Don’t be stupid!” Laurie flicked Carmen’s forehead. “If your pain makes it hard to step on the gas, then we’re all dead. Goemon can drive while I keep an eye on you.”

Laurie gingerly laid Carmen in the backseat, while Goemon jumped into the front and slammed his foot on the gas. The sound of gunshots faded out into the distance, but Goemon didn’t slow down.

Carmen tried to adjust himself, but he was uncomfortable no matter what. If he moved a certain way, he could feel the bullet in his side, as well as a lump in his pocket. He reached inside to see what it was, only to pull out the diamond he was examining earlier.

“Hey, at least we got something!” Laurie said. “This wasn’t all in vain.”

Carmen wasn’t listening. The more she looked at the diamond, the closer her tears got to overflowing. “What a horrible heist,” she whispered. “I only got one diamond, I put everyone in danger, and… and… and that gunshot hurts so bad!” Carmen suddenly burst into tears. “I fucked everything up! I’m a terrible thief!”

Nobody else said anything for the rest of the ride, letting the silence be filled with Carmen’s wails. As soon as they got back to the hideout, Lupin was waiting outside.

“Where were you guys?” he asked. “Where’s Carmen?”

“Carmen got hurt!” Laurie exclaimed. Lupin’s eyes widened.

“We went on a heist together, but things got out of hand,” Goemon continued. “He’s in the backseat.”

Lupin shoved the others out of the way, looking through the window. Sure enough, he saw Carmen, tears running down their face, blood pouring from their side onto the leather seats.

“Lupin…” Carmen managed to say. “I have a gift for you.” He rummaged through his pockets again, pulling the diamond out and showing it to Lupin. For some reason, he didn’t look happy. His face grew more worried as he looked around.

“Keep it with you for now,” he said. “And don’t tell Fujiko about it.” He opened up the car door, gently lifting Carmen into his arms, and carried her to the nearest table.

As she passed the table, Fujiko stopped and looked. “Oh? What happened to Carmen?”

“She went on a little heist without me,” Lupin said. “Unfortunately, she got hurt before she nabbed anything.”

“Oh, how disappointing.” Fujiko gave a small pout as she walked off.

“You… lied to her,” Carmen said, and Lupin put a finger to their lips.

“No more talking for you,” he said. “You have to save your energy. Now, let’s try to get that bullet out of you.”

The makeshift surgery was hell. Any wrong move that Lupin made would cause Carmen to scream bloody murder. He hoped that he would eventually just pass out from the pain, so that he would at least not have to bear it any longer. The only thing that helped was Lupin’s calm, singsong voice telling him it would be okay. Eventually, the bullet was removed, and with one last cry of pain, everything was over. Lupin bandaged Carmen up with some gauze, and then carried him back to his bed.

“You need to get some rest,” Lupin said. “We can talk about all of this when you wake up.”

Any amount of worry that came with that sentence was washed away as Carmen finally felt okay enough to sleep, instantly passing out. When they woke up again, Lupin was sitting on the end of the bed, stolen diamond in hand.

“You stole this for me because Fujiko took the other diamonds, right?”

Carmen grunted, still not completely awake. He didn’t answer.

“I’ve been giving a lot of attention to her lately, haven’t I?” Lupin asked. “I’m guessing it’s been getting under your skin.”

“No, it’s okay,” Carmen said. “I was the one acting irrationally. We agreed on an open relationship.”

“Open or not, we’re in a relationship.” Lupin turned to Carmen with a smug smile. “You got jealous, didn’t you?”

Jealous. That was the word. Carmen tried to justify it by calling it other things, but it was never about the diamonds. Carmen couldn’t care less about those. It was about Lupin’s attention. She wanted him to pay attention to her the same way he paid attention to Fujiko. Carmen slowly nodded, looking away from him with a blush.

“Well, how about we make a deal?” Lupin scooted closer to Carmen. “I give you all of the love and affection you deserve…” he gave Carmen a kiss on the forehead, “and you never do something that reckless again.”

Carmen looked up to Lupin again.

“You scared me half to death, disappearing like that and coming back only partly alive.” His smile was gone, and his brows upturned. “I don’t care if you plan a heist without me, but make sure you actually plan it. Goemon and Laurie have been worried sick.”

Carmen rested their head on Lupin’s chest. “I’m sorry,” they said. “I promise I won’t do that again.”

“Then it’s a deal!” Lupin said. His mouth curled back into a smile again, and he peppered Carmen’s face with kisses. “And it’s a good thing, too, because I’ve been dying to cuddle with you.”

Lupin wrapped his arms around Carmen, careful to avoid her wound, and pulled her onto his torso. Carmen gave a satisfied hum, leaning against Lupin and closing her eyes.

Finally, the cuddles were lasting as long as Carmen wanted them to.