stujet9rainshine-blog

[stujet9rainshine-blog]

Friend: Don't you think writing fan fiction is cringe?

Me, vividly remembering that Del Toro wrote canon teenage, half alien mpreg: No.

[stujet9rainshine-blog]

@hugsandchaos Next Prompt! (Only three more after this one!)

@nicktoonsunite (I used a couple of your comics as inspiration for this one shot.)

"One of them falling asleep on the other and the other either doesn’t move an inch or moves to wrap an arm around them or play with their hair."

Nicktoons Unite! Aged up characters with mutual pining, sleepy cuddles, the team being a found family, and sleepy ghost cuddles! (This one is my favorite so far!)

After dealing with one too many skeleton banditos trying to ransack the night bodega, Manny and Danny were finally heading back to HQ.

Danny stretched, yawning. "I don’t know how you kept up with this city by yourself."

"I didn’t really," Manny snorted, activating the dimensional portal back to Retroville. "There’s a reason my dad can’t stay retired."

Danny shook his head, yawning again. "That’s fair. You guys are super outnumbered here."*

Manny just hummed, hitting the open button on the portal. The familiar green swirl of energy whirred to life. "After you, Fantasma!"

Danny rolled his eyes, stepping through in a dramatic, one-legged fashion.

Manny followed, stepping out into Retroville a moment later—

—only to be immediately hit with the smell of bacon and eggs.

Danny let out a low whistle, making a beeline for the kitchen. "SpongeBob, you continue to be my favorite person in the world!"

"It’s just breakfast, Danny!" SpongeBob grinned from his spot at the stove, standing on a step stool as he expertly flipped pancakes.

"Yeah, breakfast I don’t have to cook," Danny emphasized his point by swiping a strip of bacon and popping it into his mouth.

Manny nodded in approval. "I agree with Fantasma over here. The best breakfast is a ready-to-eat one."

From the table, Timmy—still in his PJs, hunched over a bowl of sugary cereal—piped up: "And that’s why, when SpongeBob isn’t cooking, I solely survive on Poptarts."

"No, that’s because something is wrong with you," Danny said, walking over to flick Timmy’s forehead.

Timmy swatted at him. "The nerve!"

Manny chuckled, shaking his head. "Am I good to make a plate, Esponja?"

"Of course!" SpongeBob beamed. "Danny, you too! Come grab a plate before Timmy eats all the pancakes!"

Danny paused in his torment of Timmy and did a victory fist pump before heading over to the counter, standing next to Manny as they piled their plates with food.

Before long, the two of them had settled onto the couch, enjoying their well-earned after-patrol breakfast.

The couches in HQ were way too comfortable, and Manny melted into his seat as he stuffed his face with food.

For a fry cook, SpongeBob was an unreasonably good cook. And coming from Manny, that was high praise.

Between bites, Manny swallowed and called out, "So, Esponja, who did you make a deal with to be such a good cook?"

SpongeBob, perched in his beanbag chair, grinned. "I just put my whole soul into something ‘til I’m great at it!"

"Except driving," Timmy quipped, still hunched over his cereal.

SpongeBob let out a dramatic, theatrical gasp.

"Low blow, man," Danny muttered, mouth half-full of eggs.

Manny chuckled. "Do you have any personality trait that isn’t rude, Turner?"

Timmy shrugged, "Not this early in the morning."

Manny opened his mouth to fire back—

Then suddenly—

There was a warm pressure on his side.

Manny froze.

Slowly, he looked down.

Danny.

Danny was leaning against him.

Manny’s brain record-scratched so hard he forgot how to breathe.

His first instinct was to question what the hell Danny was doing—

But before he could say anything, Danny let out a soft snore.

Manny’s heart attempted to beat out of his chest.

"Díos mío," Manny whispered, voice hushed in awe. "I didn’t know he could actually sleep."

The entire room went dead silent.

The team stared at Danny, now completely knocked out, his half-finished plate still balanced on his lap.

"Oh my god," Timmy drew out, voice low in disbelief.

Manny immediately panicked, throwing a glare in Timmy’s direction. "Cállate! Be quiet!" He stage-whispered with the intensity of a man whose life depended on it.

Timmy threw his hands up in mock surrender.

SpongeBob, moving expertly silent, tiptoed over and gently slid the plate out of Danny’s lap, setting it safely on the coffee table. Then he let out a slow breath of relief. "Good. I didn’t wake him. I didn’t want him to punch me again."

Manny, who was barely breathing, snapped his head toward SpongeBob. "What do you mean again?"

SpongeBob, in the quietest whisper imaginable: "Danny punches in his sleep."

Manny’s soul left his body.

"Great. No one move," Manny whispered urgently, "let the ghost boy sleep at all costs."

And then.

Danny.

Danny literally snuggled in closer.

Manny had to actively fight off his own death.

Timmy smirked, "Manny’s having the biggest crisis of his life right now."

Manny, entirely unaware, just stared straight ahead, physically restraining himself from reacting.

This was fine.

Everything was fine.

Except it wasn’t, because now Danny was fully pressed against his side, warm and relaxed and completely trusting him—

And Manny Rivera was not built to handle this kind of stress.

Manny didn’t dare breathe.

Because Danny had never looked so relaxed.

And holy fuck, that made Manny’s heart do all sorts of acrobatics in his chest.

Danny was like a cat—he only relaxed around people he trusted.

Danny trusts me.

The thought alone was enough to make Manny feel like he was going to combust on the spot.

Timmy and SpongeBob, at least, seemed to value their lives, because they miraculously stayed quiet.

Everything was fine.

Until.

The portal activated.

A loud whirring hum echoed across HQ, sending a bolt of panic straight through Manny’s spine.

Jenny walked in, rocking her fashion choice of the day, completely oblivious as she chirped, "Hey, guys!"

She barely got two steps into the living room before all three of them—Manny, Timmy, and SpongeBob—shushed her, hissed like feral cats in perfect unison.

Jenny froze.

Manny, careful not to jostle Danny, leaned back just enough so she could see him and mouthed: "Danny’s asleep."

Jenny blinked. Then blinked again.

Then, whispering, she tiptoed toward the couch. "He can sleep?"

She finally got a good look at Danny practically cuddled up to Manny—and that’s when her face split into the world’s biggest shit-eating grin.

Manny squinted at her, mouthing: "I will kill you."

Jenny snorted, clearly unimpressed. "It’s moments like these I’m so glad my eyes are cameras," she whispered.

Manny, for emphasis, mouthed again: "Voy a matarte."

Jenny didn’t even flinch. "Jimmy or my mom will just put me back together," she winked, before dramatically flopping onto her designated Drama Couch™.

And then—

Then she had the audacity to announce loudly: "Your core temperature has increased by a degree. Care to share with the class?"

Manny was going to dismantle her the second Danny woke up.

Through gritted teeth, he hissed in as threatening a whisper as possible: "You’re a bitch."

Jenny, grinning like the chaos demon she was, flipped her hair and purred, "Oh, you," she gestured lazily, "stop dirty talking me while your crush is asleep on you."

Timmy choked down his laughter so hard he nearly died.

Manny wished he could die.

Or better yet—take them all with him.

He was seconds away from going full Puma Loco™ on the HQ when—

Danny moved.

Danny’s hand slid around his waist.

Danny’s arm wrapped around him.

Manny stopped breathing.

Manny stopped existing.

Oh dear God. Take mercy on my sinful soul.

Timmy looked like he was seconds away from screaming.

Jenny was already recording.

And Manny?

Manny was actively ascending to another plane of existence.

Manny looked down at Danny, who was now completely wrapped around him—hooked on like a baby opossum, limbs loosely but securely latched around his waist.

Danny’s head was tucked against his chest, his two-toned hair in perfect playing distance.

And well.

Manny’s impulse control had always been shit.

Before he could stop himself, his fingers were threading through Danny’s messy mullet, brushing through the wild strands, smoothing them down in soft, idle motions.

Danny hummed in his sleep.

Manny felt it in his soul.

Then Danny relaxed even more, his shoulders melting as Manny continued working his fingers through his hair, gently massaging at the roots.

Because of course he’d still be tense in his sleep.

Manny felt a pang in his chest.

That’s not fair.

Danny spent so much time dealing with stress, exhaustion, and the weight of the world—even asleep, his body still held onto that tension.

Manny made a silent vow right then and there.

I’m going to make him relax more often.

The halfa needed it.

He forgot the rest of the team was watching him do this in real time.

Until another voice—one that was just as smug as it was groggy—broke through the moment. "Now this is worth putting in the HQ scrapbook. Goddard, make a note."

Manny barely moved—just enough to shoot a glare toward the lab entrance, where Jimmy Neutron was standing, coffee in hand, looking entirely too amused for someone who had just woken up.

Still absentmindedly playing with Danny’s hair, Manny flipped Jimmy off.

"Also, shut up."

Jimmy, completely unfazed by Manny’s death glare, casually returned the middle finger before strolling over to Timmy. With a smug expression, he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Timmy’s forehead.

"So," Jimmy asked, too amused for his own good, "care to fill me in?"

Timmy grinned, looking way too entertained by all of this. "Danny passed out eating breakfast and is now holding Manny hostage."

Jenny snickered. "He’s willing. Don’t call him a victim."

The rest of the team nodded in agreement.

Manny narrowed his eyes at them. "You guys all suck."

He glanced down at Danny, still asleep, still hooked onto him, still completely unaware of the absolute hell he was putting Manny through.

Manny sighed softly, voice genuine despite the flustered edge: "He’s tired—be quiet. We may never see him sleep again."

The team collectively lost their minds.

Manny had no idea how long he’d been sitting completely still, Danny clinging to him like a koala, but one of his legs was definitely asleep.

And yet, he still refused to move.

Then—Danny stirred.

He shifted slightly, blinking lazily as he lifted his head up. His eyes were still glowing green, his expression soft and drowsy—and then he grinned.

Manny’s mouth went dry.

That grin—half-asleep, red-patched cheeks, completely relaxed—was going to put Manny into cardiac arrest.

Then Danny, still caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, murmured with a fond, tired voice: "Hey, tiger."

Manny’s brain blue-screened.

"Sí, okay," Manny barely managed, voice hoarse, "sleep okay?"

Danny’s brows scrunched together in confusion. "...What?" He drew out slowly, still groggy.

Manny wasn’t sure what else to say. Danny was awake now. Talking to him.

And he was still holding onto him.

Then—Danny fully registered the rest of the team, staring at him in various degrees of pure, unfiltered amusement.

Danny’s entire body went rigid.

And then—all at once—he vanished.

The weight of his arms was gone.

The next thing anyone knew, Danny was on the other side of the room, looking wildly alarmed.

"Holy fuck!" Danny squawked, face flushed a furious red. "How long did you guys let me stay like that?!"

SpongeBob, completely unbothered, glanced at the clock. "Don’t worry! You only slept for like an hour!"

Danny’s entire face turned the deepest red Manny had ever seen.

For someone who didn’t embarrass easily, this was next-level.

"Ancients smite me now," Danny muttered under his breath, mortified.

Manny—who absolutely heard him with his enhanced hearing—forced himself to stay calm.

"Don’t worry about it, Fantasma," he said as casually as possible. "SB told me that if I woke you up, you’d probably punch me."

Manny tried to get up—only for his leg to fully betray him, the pins and needles attack hitting him like a truck.

Danny, still wildly embarrassed, blinked at Manny’s attempt to stand. "Uh… you okay?"

"My leg is dead," Manny muttered, grimacing.

Danny—still very much not ready to process what just happened—cleared his throat. "I can, uh… I can get you some water?"

Manny smirked despite himself. "You worried about me now, Fantasma?"

Danny’s ears went even redder. "Shut up."

Jenny, from the couch, very smugly declared, "Oh, I love this timeline."

Danny, desperate to recover some level of dignity, retreated to the kitchen under the guise of getting Manny that glass of water.

Manny, having finally shaken off the pins-and-needles hell, grabbed both of their uneaten breakfasts and followed after him.

Danny had just finished filling a glass when Manny walked in, casually placing Danny’s plate in the microwave before offering him a small, warm smile.

"So," Manny started, voice soft, "did you have a good nap?"

Danny froze mid-sip.

The deepest blush Manny had ever seen spread across Danny’s face—so deep that Manny could actually see hints of green in it.

"Yeah... I did," Danny muttered, clearly wanting the floor to consume him.

Manny grinned. "I’d hope so—you were holding onto me for dear life."

Danny choked on air.

Manny, thoroughly enjoying himself, switched out their plates in the microwave, then handed Danny his food with a knowing look.

Danny stammered, "I, uh—" but clearly didn’t have words for whatever just happened.

Manny shoulder bumped him gently.

"Hey," Manny said, casual, "don’t worry about it."

Then, with zero warning, he leaned in closer, voice dropping into something warmer.

"Next time you wanna cuddle," Manny murmured, "can we not do it in front of the whole team?"

Danny fully short-circuited.

Microwave beeping in the background.

Danny just stared, blinking rapidly, mouth opening and closing like he was still buffering.

Manny winked, grabbed his own plate, and casually walked back to the couch, looking very pleased with himself.

Danny, still red-faced and holding his plate, just stood there.

Jenny peeked into the kitchen, grinning. "So, how’s it feel to be utterly ruined?"

Danny groaned, aggressively stabbing his eggs. "I hate him."

Jenny cackled. "No, you don’t."

Danny, muttering under his breath: "I really don’t."

[stujet9rainshine-blog]

twitter requests: part 1

[stujet9rainshine-blog]

@hugsandchaos We're almost through the prompts!!

"Danny’s powers are affected by his emotions and tend to act up when he’s feeling intense emotions, not just negative ones, the most common way being his eyes lighting up. Every time Manny kisses Danny or just makes him feel flustered or a bunch of love in general — I probably could’ve worded that better but I don’t know how — his eyes start glowing green. Manny would definitely tease him a little about it."

Some more teenage mutual pining! Some good old fashioned fluffiness. Play fights, Sleep overs, make overs, and Mario Kart with a small side of VeggieBurger.

Don't ask. I have no idea either.

Danny wasn’t used to feeling really extreme positive emotions.

Negative ones? Oh, absolutely. He was very familiar with those, thank you very much.

But ever since Manny tumbled through the ghost portal on what should’ve been a normal Tuesday, Danny had been feeling a lot more of the other kind. The kind that made his chest feel weird and his face warm. The kind that sent a buzzing, almost electric energy through his core.

Even if his energy left Danny reeling half the time. Even if he was a complete gremlin.

Manny was wild and chaotic and so different from the people Danny was usually around. But somehow, that was… nice.

A breath of fresh air.

And okay, maybe Danny had grown a little fond of him. As a friend, of course. Just a friend.

Manny definitely didn’t make his heart skip or his face heat.

Absolutely not.

Why would anyone even think that?

But Danny did feel himself relax when Manny was around.

…Unless he got his hands on one of his mom’s ghost weapons. Then, suddenly, Danny was very stressed.

Always casual, always grinning, Manny would wave him off with, "Relax, Fantasma! My grandpapí lets me use his weapons all the time!"

"Based on what you’ve told me about your grandpapí, that doesn’t make me feel better!" Danny snorted, already plotting a way to liberate the Ghost Grabber from Manny’s possession.

Going intangible and slipping in front of him worked just fine.

"Hey!" Manny squawked, eyes going wide as the weapon vanished from his grip.

Danny smirked, twirling it in his hands. "Snooze you lose, mi amigo!" He made a show of tucking it away behind his back.

Manny narrowed his eyes and twirled on the spot, trying to snatch it back, but only ended up shoving Danny in the process.

Danny gasped dramatically. "Rude!"

Manny made another grab, but Danny was faster, shoving him back playfully and keeping the weapon out of reach.

Manny’s expression shifted instantly. "Oh, so that’s how you wanna play it?" His smirk was devastating as he strutted forward, closing the distance until they were chest to chest.

Danny’s breath caught.

The sudden closeness made his skin buzz—his core hummed in response, and every nerve where Manny was practically leaning into him went haywire.

He must’ve hesitated just a second too long, because Manny took advantage—grinning triumphantly as he swiped the Ghost Grabber back.

Danny just stood there, brain buffering.

Manny blinked, brow furrowing as he caught Danny’s expression. "You okay?" His tone softened. "Your eyes are glowing." Then, grinning a little more awkwardly, he rubbed the back of his neck and muttered, "Sorry. Didn’t mean to actually make you mad."

Danny blinked back at him. "Huh?"

He wasn’t mad.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught his reflection in one of the metal panels in the lab. Lo and behold, his eyes were very much glowing green.

Oh.

He must be more worked up over the game than he thought.

"Oh, no big deal," Danny lied, forcing a casual shrug. "Just don’t want you to get hurt." He turned quickly, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pocket. "Ready to head back upstairs?"

Manny eyed him for a moment, then nodded, putting the Ghost Grabber aside. "Lead the way, Fantasma."

Danny prayed Manny didn’t hear the way his breath shook as he climbed the stairs.

~

Sam’s mansion was the perfect place for a sleepover. Spacious, private, and with a bed big enough for all four of them to sprawl out comfortably. They had everything—snacks, video games, and absolutely no adult supervision.

Danny was trying to be normal. Casual. Totally fine despite the fact that Manny was here. In his pajamas. Being cute.

Danny was in denial mode. Hard.

And then Manny started unpacking his overnight bag.

Sam, ever observant, raised an eyebrow when she spotted a small makeup bag among his things. "You do makeup, Manny?" she asked, trying to sound casual but failing just slightly.

Manny grinned, eyes twinkling. "I’m flattered you think my eyes look this perfect naturally."

Danny short-circuited for a second.

Sam pounced. "Okay, this definitely means I get to do goth makeup on you," she declared, hopping off the bed and immediately pulling a large kit from her vanity.

Manny lit up with far too much enthusiasm. "Oh, hell yes. Can we do, like, the rocker emo goth look instead of the more traditional stuff?"

Sam tried not to look too smug but absolutely failed. "I think I can manage."

Danny blinked.

Since when did Manny know about different goth aesthetics?

Manny, meanwhile, started pulling out some of his own products. "Okay, here’s the stuff that’ll match my skin, because I am definitely not white."

All three of them laughed at that, and Danny forced himself to focus on setting up his Switch with Tucker, not on the fact that Manny was somehow more attractive while talking about foundation shades.

Danny and Tucker settled into a game while Manny and Sam gleefully did each other’s makeup, whispering and laughing like they were plotting something (which they probably were).

Then—

"We’re done!" Manny announced proudly.

Danny and Tucker looked up, and Danny froze.

Sam looked good—her usual makeup was already dark, but the tweaks Manny made softened it, giving her a different, almost softer edge.

Tucker grinned. "I like how Manny did your makeup, Sam. It’s different and cute!"

Sam flushed, twirling a strand of hair. "Thanks."

Manny pouted. "What about me?"

Danny, still processing, blinked. "Oh! Uh—" He coughed, trying to will away the warmth creeping up his face. "You look really good. Rocker’s a good look for you. You should send a picture to Frida."

Manny bounced, instantly grabbing his phone. "Oh, you’re right!" He snapped a quick selfie, fired off a message, then turned back with a grin. "Your turn!"

Danny’s entire soul left his body. "Uh? What?"

"Yeah!" Manny gestured wildly. "We all have to look goth and fabulous now."

Sam perked up. "Oh! I get to do yours, Tucker!"

Tucker sighed dramatically but was already sitting up. "You act like you’ve never done it before."

Sam beamed and immediately got to work.

Danny, meanwhile, was trying so hard to fight the big, pleading puppy eyes Manny was throwing at him.

He lost.

"Fine," Danny grumbled, sitting up as Manny cheered victoriously.

Danny closed his eyes as Manny started, relaxing as gentle fingers brushed against his skin, blending, smudging, fixing. The feeling was soothing in a way Danny didn’t expect.

It wasn’t fair.

Because now Danny was fully aware of Manny—his warmth, his touch, the way he hummed softly while working. And worse, he liked it.

Manny pulled back. "Done!"

Danny blinked open his eyes.

Manny froze.

Sam and Tucker both paused.

Danny frowned. "What?"

Manny’s expression shifted slightly, concern flickering behind his golden eyes. "Uh… you okay? Your eyes are glowing."

Danny blinked again. "Huh?"

Manny scratched the back of his neck, looking a little awkward. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to, like, actually make you mad or something."

Danny tilted his head, confused. "I’m not mad."

But then he caught his reflection in the massive vanity mirror Sam had.

And yeah. His eyes were glowing.

Danny froze.

"Oh," he muttered. "I… huh. Must be more worked up than I thought."

Sam and Tucker exchanged a look.

"Are you sure they only glow when you’re mad?" Manny asked cautiously.

Danny shrugged. "I think so? But I’m decidedly not mad right now."

Sam squinted. "Weird."

Tucker hummed. "Suspicious."

Danny, desperately trying to ignore the way his heart was currently trying to punch through his ribcage, cleared his throat. "Anyway! What’s next? We watching a movie? Playing something? What’s the plan?"

Sam smirked. "Oh, we definitely have to play a game now."

Manny, fully back to being excited, perked up. "Ohhh, Mario Kart? Because I will destroy you all."

Danny sighed in relief, eager for any distraction from whatever just happened. "You wish, Rivera."

As they all settled in, Sam leaned closer to Tucker, muttering just loud enough for him to hear:

"Did you see how fast he started glowing?"

Tucker snickered. "Oh, yeah. He’s so screwed."

Danny had no idea what they were whispering about. But he was pretty sure he didn’t like it.

After a brutal Mario Kart session, Sam had whooped everyone’s asses in every single race.

Tucker and Danny weren’t even surprised—Sam was stupidly good at video games, and Manny, new to their usual gaming nights, took every loss deeply personally. He whined dramatically the entire way back to the bed, flopping onto it with a loud groan of defeat.

Danny, on the other hand, was already half asleep and barely made it onto Sam’s oversized bed before melting into the mattress.

Manny, of course, had to be extra about it, throwing himself onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh. "I have been betrayed by my own reflexes."

Sam rolled her eyes but smirked, settling in next to Tucker, who immediately rested his head in her lap. She started playing with his hair, massaging his scalp like it was routine.

Danny, content and sleep-heavy, grabbed the nearest blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders with a pleased sigh.

Then Manny scooted closer.

Danny barely even registered it as Manny snuck under the blanket, pressing in against his side and resting his head on Danny’s shoulder.

Danny hummed in contentment.

Sam chuckled, eyes flickering over to him. "You’re glowing again, Danny."

Danny blinked at her sleepily. "’m not."

Manny leaned in, voice warm with amusement. "Yeah, you are."

There was a beat. Then, casually, he added, "But you’re also purring. Are you a broken cat?"

Danny, too tired to properly process that, scrunched his nose. "I’m not mad and purring at the same time—what?"

And then Manny gasped.

With a sudden burst of realization, he grabbed both sides of Danny’s face, smushing his cheeks slightly as he grinned. "You glow when you’re really happy!"

Danny froze. His brain buffered.

And then his face burned.

Sam, ever the agent of chaos, hummed thoughtfully. "Oh yeah, totally. It just got brighter."

Danny groaned, trying and failing to hide in the blanket.

Manny grinned even wider, practically vibrating. "Something you wanna tell me, Fantasma?"

Still sleepy and soft, Danny mumbled before he could think, "I… yeah, I’m happier when you’re around."

Manny squeaked.

Actually squeaked.

"Oh wow," he breathed, looking absolutely thrilled. "I’m going to make it my life’s goal to make you glow as much as possible!"

Danny groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I’m not going to survive that."

Manny just laughed and snuggled in closer, grinning to himself as Danny’s eyes continued to softly glow in the dim light of the room.

Sam and Tucker?

They just exchanged a very knowing look.

[stujet9rainshine-blog]

Everlasting Trio drawing!

[stujet9rainshine-blog]

Not me losing all of my collective brain cells.

Gavin likes watching Richard smoke. Sometimes this leads to system failures.

[stujet9rainshine-blog]

Gavin: - 20 shots drunk - started a fight over nothing - took his T-shot today (feeling extra gay)

Nines: - got called by Jimmy to pick up Gavin - won the fight for Gavin - system instability is constant

Connor: - Flabbergasted

I believe in trans Gavin Reed supremacy.

second time drawing human faces please forgive me💀😭🙏

[stujet9rainshine-blog]

Links!

Ao3 - Stujet9rainshine

Twitter/X

BlueSky

Hall of Fame Works

Most Kudos: In Between

Nines had been working as an ER nurse in the trauma unit for around six years by the time 2035 rolled around. Now here he was having his whole life turned upside down by a singular android. A GV200 police android who acted as a glorified EMT to bridge a difficult gap between crime scenes and the ER.

Nines never expected for the GV200 to catch feelings of the human variety or for himself to catch feelings of the romantic variety. But here they were, falling in love and finding out what it means to be deviant.

Personal Favorite: The Golden Bandito and The Phantom

In the deserts of the Old West, The Phantom hunts men who deserve justice—cold, relentless, and cursed to wander beyond death. His latest target: The Golden Bandito, a charming outlaw with a trail of stolen gold and broken hearts in his wake.

But when a ghost meets a man who doesn’t fear him, the hunt twists into something neither of them expected. Amidst gunfire, haunted pasts, and endless horizons, an outlaw and a specter find themselves bound by more than fate. As they become entangled, Danny must confront the man he was before death, and Manny must face the loneliness hidden beneath his charm.

Because sometimes, the most dangerous thing you can steal is a heart.

[stujet9rainshine-blog]

Manny rode hard.

Not away from the law. Not away from another heist gone wrong.

But from something far worse.

Something he couldn’t put a bullet through. Something he couldn’t outwit. Something that had wrapped itself around his soul and would not let go.

He hadn’t set foot in a church in years.

Not since he was a boy, kneeling beside his mother, whispering prayers with the kind of blind faith that only children could have.

But that was a lifetime ago.

Before he became The Golden Bandito. Before he threw his lot in with the lawless. Before a ghost marked him as something unnatural.

But now?

Now, he was desperate. Now, he was a man on the edge of something he could not name.

And if he couldn’t outrun his fate, if he couldn’t drown it, if he couldn’t fight it—

Then maybe—just maybe—He could be absolved of it.

The confessional was small. Dark. Heavy with the scent of burning incense and old wood.

He sat, elbows on his knees, hat clutched between his hands, head bowed.

And for the first time in years,

He whispered the words he thought he’d never speak again.

“Bendíceme, Padre, porque he pecado.”

His voice felt foreign in his own throat. And yet, the weight of it settled deep.

Silence.

Then—

A voice, calm and measured.

“Dime tus pecados, hijo.”

And Manny��Manny did not know where to begin.

“I am haunted.”

I know I've been dumping a bunch of random stuff about my TigerGhost Western AU. But like. I've written like 2 million words give or take of fiction in my lifetime.

And I can say with certainty this is my Magnom Opus. Like I've been editing it and it's just... Brilliant. I feel like I'm reading someone else's writing.

It's... It's just so intense. The story is haunting and beautiful. And like... Can one really go wrong with gay cowboys in the late 1800s?

[stujet9rainshine-blog]

👀

I’m crying writing this fic right now, and I’m going to drag you all down here with me by the ankles once it’s finished

[stujet9rainshine-blog]

I know I've been dumping a bunch of random stuff about my TigerGhost Western AU. But like. I've written like 2 million words give or take of fiction in my lifetime.

And I can say with certainty this is my Magnom Opus. Like I've been editing it and it's just... Brilliant. I feel like I'm reading someone else's writing.

It's... It's just so intense. The story is haunting and beautiful. And like... Can one really go wrong with gay cowboys in the late 1800s?

[stujet9rainshine-blog]

Timmy once again letting his impulsive thoughts win

[stujet9rainshine-blog]

Has anyone drawn this yet?

[stujet9rainshine-blog]

Talk Like That part 2 Teaser Animatic!!! aaa!!!!

[stujet9rainshine-blog]

Help. Me.

College AU ^

Air Force AU ^

Supernatural Western AU ^

Send someone to rescue me. I've been in a cave with a keyboard for months.

@hugsandchaos I'm on a fucking roll.

"Danny admiring and tracing his fingers on Manny’s scars. Just picture it; Danny holding Manny’s face and looking at some of the less noticeable scars on his face or maybe his hands, and Manny is secretly loosing it on the inside because Danny is holding his face or his hand and being so careful, what the hell-- And the reverse is just as good, especially if Danny has the litchenberg scar because the death scar concept is awesome, but I think about Danny admiring Manny’s scars and Manny proudly telling the stories of how he got them a lot."

How about both?!

We got some drunk teenagers being affectionate. Manny's a little mellow since he's overwhelmed. But they're so touchy and in love?

Danny had never been drunk before.

Not really, anyway. He’d had a beer once (hated it), taken a sip of one of Tucker’s questionable mixed drinks (also hated it), and had definitely inhaled something ectoplasmic once that made him floatier than usual (jury was still out on that one).

But this? This was different.

Manny, with a smug grin and a twinkle of mischief in his brown eyes, had pulled a bottle of tequila out of his bag like it was the best thing he’d ever stolen.

Danny had eyed it warily. "That is a lot of alcohol."

"Sí, and?" Manny grinned, shaking the bottle teasingly. "Come on, give me fun Danny."

Danny huffed, arms crossed. "My parents are out of town. Jazz is gone. If they find out I got drunk, I’m dead."

Manny wiggled his eyebrows. "We’re already breaking rules, eh, Phantom? What’s a little alcohol?"

Danny had no real counter-argument, so, with a dramatic sigh, he let Manny pour them each a shot. One turned into two. Two turned into three. And then—

Well.

Now they were sprawled across the couch in Danny’s dimly lit living room, tequila bottle a little more than half-empty between them, warm and loose-limbed from the alcohol.

Danny was giggling. Actually giggling.

Manny, tipsy but still cocky as ever, threw an arm around Danny’s shoulders, his body very much leaning into Danny’s personal space. "You—" he pointed a lazy finger, "are a very, very bad influence, mi amor."

Danny snorted. "Me?" He flopped sideways, letting his head rest against Manny’s shoulder. "You’re the one who smuggled tequila across the border."

"Pfft. Details."

They sat in comfortable silence, tangled together on the couch, both of them excessively touchy in their drunken state. Manny’s fingers idly toyed with the drawstring of Danny’s hoodie, while Danny absently traced patterns over Manny’s arm, his touch light, almost absentminded.

Then Danny blinked as something caught his attention.

His fingers stilled as they brushed over a scar over Manny’s left eye—the one that slashed through his eyebrow, slightly jagged, like a wound that had been deep at one point. Danny had always wanted to ask about it.

So, with all the grace of a drunk man on a mission, he poked it. "How’d you get this?"

Manny blinked, looking flustered as he immediately failed to meet Danny’s gaze. "Uh…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I actually gave that one to myself."

Danny’s drunken brain latched onto that immediately. "Really?!" He leaned in, his eyes wide, very interested now.

Manny groaned, clearly debating if he should even answer. But Danny was looking at him like he’d just asked for the world’s greatest story, so with a deep sigh, Manny caved.

"Yeah," he muttered. "It was the first time I used the belt." He waved a vague hand. "Sliced my own eye real good. Papá used it as a ‘life lesson’ opportunity—" he made huge air quotes, "—but we didn’t realize ‘til way later that I lost most of my vision because of it."

Danny squinted. "Wait. You can still see when you use your powers, though, right?"

Manny nodded, relaxing slightly. "Sí. For some reason, when my eyes glow with the ancient tiger spirit or whatever, I can see perfectly fine."

Danny, still very much drunk, blinked slowly. "Wild."

Then his eyes shifted to another scar—one wrapped around Manny’s wrists, jagged and slightly raised, like something had cut deep and healed badly.

Danny didn’t even think before asking. "What’re these from?" His words were slurred but still heavy with curiosity.

Manny flushed instantly. "Oh. Uh…" He shifted, clearly debating how much to say before sighing. "I got those the first time someone cut off my grappling chains."

Danny frowned. "…What?"

"Apparently," Manny continued, "that counts as cutting my hands off."

Danny startled, sitting up a bit straighter. "You’re kidding!"

Manny snorted. "I wish." He flexed his fingers slightly, tilting his wrist as he examined the scar. "It hurts like a motherfucker."

Danny stared at the mark, his drunken mind running a bit slower but very determined about one thing.

So, without thinking, he grabbed Manny’s wrist, lifted it to his mouth, and kissed the scar.

It was a little clumsy, a little off-center, but very deliberate. Then Danny looked up, grinning. "There! Now it shouldn’t hurt!"

Manny froze. His brain shut down completely.

His hand immediately went to cover his face, but Danny still saw it—the deep, undeniable blush spreading across Manny’s cheeks.

Danny’s brain, now thoroughly drunk and invincible, took that reaction as encouragement.

With a slightly mischievous smirk, he grabbed Manny’s other wrist and did the same thing—another gentle, slightly off-balance kiss pressed against the scar. This time, he met Manny’s eyes while he did it.

"Díos mío," Manny barely managed, voice dangerously close to a squeak.

Danny beamed, very pleased with himself. "Tigre down?"

Manny made a wounded noise and flopped backward onto the couch, dramatically covering his face with both arms. "Ay, mi corazón, you are going to be the death of me."

Danny giggled, absolutely delighted. "Guess I better kiss all your scars then."

Manny groaned, his whole body going boneless from sheer overload. "You’re going to kill me. You’re actually going to kill me."

Danny, still drunk, leaned over him, grinning like a menace. "Better drink more so you don’t remember in the morning."

Manny, very much losing his mind, just groaned again and buried his face in a couch pillow.

Danny laughed and he spent the last several minutes draped over Manny with the grace of a drunk teenager, kissing every scar he could reach—big and small.

Manny, meanwhile, lay beneath him, eyes wide, looking like he was about two seconds from spontaneously combusting.

Danny, for his part, was thoroughly enjoying himself. Then, suddenly, a thought hit him. He sat back onto his heels so fast that Manny visibly inhaled like he could finally breathe.

Manny started to sit up, still looking very flustered, but before he could regain any sense of control, Danny reached for the hem of his hoodie.

"¡Aye!" Manny yelped, immediately panicking. "We’re both drunk! Don’t start getting naked!"

Danny scrunched his eyebrows, already halfway out of his hoodie. "I’m not?"

And then, with all the confidence of someone who had absolutely zero shame in his current state, Danny tossed his hoodie and t-shirt aside.

Manny made a noise somewhere between a dying cat and a strangled bird. "¡Aye, carajo! Danny! What the fuck?!"

Danny just grinned, voice slurred but full of amusement. "You showed me yours, I show you mine?"

Manny, wildly flustered, scrambled to catch up. "What are you talking about, idiota?!"

Danny let out a giggle—an actual, adorable, drunken giggle—and grabbed Manny’s wrists, pulling him close. "See?"

And then he guided Manny’s hand to his left side.

Manny blinked, his tequila-addled brain trying to process—And then he saw them.

His breath hitched.

Trailing up Danny’s left arm, spanning across his chest and stopping just at his collarbone, were the faintly glowing green marks—jagged, branching, unmistakable.

"Díos mío," Manny gasped, his hands moving before he even thought about it, fingertips tracing along the uneven lines, soft, reverent. "What…?"

Danny’s breath stuttered in his chest at the touch, but he managed to murmur, "Lichtenberg scars. Got ‘em when the portal activated with me in it."

Manny’s hands stilled for a second, his wide, golden eyes locking onto Danny’s face. "…Wait." His voice dropped. "You mean—"

Danny nodded. "It’s technically my death mark."

Manny’s expression cracked into something shocked and distraught. "Death mark?"

Danny exhaled, buzzed but still steady. "Yeah." He shrugged. "There’s only one way to become a ghost, Manny."

Manny stared, jaw slightly slack.

Danny continued, "But the portal also brought me back. I’m only half dead? That’s why the scar kinda… glows."

Manny’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. His brain had completely stopped functioning. "¿Qúe carajo," he whispered.

And then, before Danny could react, Manny leaned forward.

Danny barely had time to register what was happening before Manny was in his lap, head tilted downward as his lips gently pressed against the center of Danny’s chest, right over the faint, glowing scars.

Danny gasped.

Heat flooded his face, his entire body tensing. "H-Hey!"

Manny, completely unbothered, just shrugged against him. "You did it to me."

Danny opened his mouth, fully intending to argue—And then Manny grabbed his left wrist, bringing it up between them, and started kissing his way down the length of the scar.

Danny completely forgot what he was going to say.

Manny's lips brushed every jagged turn in the scar, trailing from Danny’s collarbone to his shoulder, then slowly down his arm, each press of warmth making Danny’s breath stutter.

Danny swallowed, voice shaky. "Manny…"

"Shh," Manny murmured, voice softer, deeper.

Danny shivered.

Manny kissed the inside of his wrist, lingering there for a moment before finally pulling back—just enough to look at him, eyes hazy but warm. "You’re incredible, mi amor."

Danny, drunk and overwhelmed, just let out a breathy laugh, his entire face burning. "I'm never drinking with you again."

Manny grinned—a little too pleased with himself—before flopping back onto the couch, dragging Danny down with him.

Danny landed half on top of him, groaning. "This is your fault."

"And?"

Danny huffed but didn’t move. "You’re ridiculous."

"Sí."

They stayed like that, tangled together, warmth buzzing between them, the taste of tequila on their lips and the weight of each other’s hands on old scars.

And if they woke up the next morning horribly hungover and very much still wrapped around each other—

Well.

Danny wasn’t complaining.

[stujet9rainshine-blog]

I'm so glad you liked it! I'm having an absolute blast with these prompts. It's nice write something that doesn't end up being 50k+ lol

Also, drunk teenagers are stupid and Manny and Danny are already kind of stupid. So it works xD

@hugsandchaos I'm on a fucking roll.

"Danny admiring and tracing his fingers on Manny’s scars. Just picture it; Danny holding Manny’s face and looking at some of the less noticeable scars on his face or maybe his hands, and Manny is secretly loosing it on the inside because Danny is holding his face or his hand and being so careful, what the hell-- And the reverse is just as good, especially if Danny has the litchenberg scar because the death scar concept is awesome, but I think about Danny admiring Manny’s scars and Manny proudly telling the stories of how he got them a lot."

How about both?!

We got some drunk teenagers being affectionate. Manny's a little mellow since he's overwhelmed. But they're so touchy and in love?

Danny had never been drunk before.

Not really, anyway. He’d had a beer once (hated it), taken a sip of one of Tucker’s questionable mixed drinks (also hated it), and had definitely inhaled something ectoplasmic once that made him floatier than usual (jury was still out on that one).

But this? This was different.

Manny, with a smug grin and a twinkle of mischief in his brown eyes, had pulled a bottle of tequila out of his bag like it was the best thing he’d ever stolen.

Danny had eyed it warily. "That is a lot of alcohol."

"Sí, and?" Manny grinned, shaking the bottle teasingly. "Come on, give me fun Danny."

Danny huffed, arms crossed. "My parents are out of town. Jazz is gone. If they find out I got drunk, I’m dead."

Manny wiggled his eyebrows. "We’re already breaking rules, eh, Phantom? What’s a little alcohol?"

Danny had no real counter-argument, so, with a dramatic sigh, he let Manny pour them each a shot. One turned into two. Two turned into three. And then—

Well.

Now they were sprawled across the couch in Danny’s dimly lit living room, tequila bottle a little more than half-empty between them, warm and loose-limbed from the alcohol.

Danny was giggling. Actually giggling.

Manny, tipsy but still cocky as ever, threw an arm around Danny’s shoulders, his body very much leaning into Danny’s personal space. "You—" he pointed a lazy finger, "are a very, very bad influence, mi amor."

Danny snorted. "Me?" He flopped sideways, letting his head rest against Manny’s shoulder. "You’re the one who smuggled tequila across the border."

"Pfft. Details."

They sat in comfortable silence, tangled together on the couch, both of them excessively touchy in their drunken state. Manny’s fingers idly toyed with the drawstring of Danny’s hoodie, while Danny absently traced patterns over Manny’s arm, his touch light, almost absentminded.

Then Danny blinked as something caught his attention.

His fingers stilled as they brushed over a scar over Manny’s left eye—the one that slashed through his eyebrow, slightly jagged, like a wound that had been deep at one point. Danny had always wanted to ask about it.

So, with all the grace of a drunk man on a mission, he poked it. "How’d you get this?"

Manny blinked, looking flustered as he immediately failed to meet Danny’s gaze. "Uh…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I actually gave that one to myself."

Danny’s drunken brain latched onto that immediately. "Really?!" He leaned in, his eyes wide, very interested now.

Manny groaned, clearly debating if he should even answer. But Danny was looking at him like he’d just asked for the world’s greatest story, so with a deep sigh, Manny caved.

"Yeah," he muttered. "It was the first time I used the belt." He waved a vague hand. "Sliced my own eye real good. Papá used it as a ‘life lesson’ opportunity—" he made huge air quotes, "—but we didn’t realize ‘til way later that I lost most of my vision because of it."

Danny squinted. "Wait. You can still see when you use your powers, though, right?"

Manny nodded, relaxing slightly. "Sí. For some reason, when my eyes glow with the ancient tiger spirit or whatever, I can see perfectly fine."

Danny, still very much drunk, blinked slowly. "Wild."

Then his eyes shifted to another scar—one wrapped around Manny’s wrists, jagged and slightly raised, like something had cut deep and healed badly.

Danny didn’t even think before asking. "What’re these from?" His words were slurred but still heavy with curiosity.

Manny flushed instantly. "Oh. Uh…" He shifted, clearly debating how much to say before sighing. "I got those the first time someone cut off my grappling chains."

Danny frowned. "…What?"

"Apparently," Manny continued, "that counts as cutting my hands off."

Danny startled, sitting up a bit straighter. "You’re kidding!"

Manny snorted. "I wish." He flexed his fingers slightly, tilting his wrist as he examined the scar. "It hurts like a motherfucker."

Danny stared at the mark, his drunken mind running a bit slower but very determined about one thing.

So, without thinking, he grabbed Manny’s wrist, lifted it to his mouth, and kissed the scar.

It was a little clumsy, a little off-center, but very deliberate. Then Danny looked up, grinning. "There! Now it shouldn’t hurt!"

Manny froze. His brain shut down completely.

His hand immediately went to cover his face, but Danny still saw it—the deep, undeniable blush spreading across Manny’s cheeks.

Danny’s brain, now thoroughly drunk and invincible, took that reaction as encouragement.

With a slightly mischievous smirk, he grabbed Manny’s other wrist and did the same thing—another gentle, slightly off-balance kiss pressed against the scar. This time, he met Manny’s eyes while he did it.

"Díos mío," Manny barely managed, voice dangerously close to a squeak.

Danny beamed, very pleased with himself. "Tigre down?"

Manny made a wounded noise and flopped backward onto the couch, dramatically covering his face with both arms. "Ay, mi corazón, you are going to be the death of me."

Danny giggled, absolutely delighted. "Guess I better kiss all your scars then."

Manny groaned, his whole body going boneless from sheer overload. "You’re going to kill me. You’re actually going to kill me."

Danny, still drunk, leaned over him, grinning like a menace. "Better drink more so you don’t remember in the morning."

Manny, very much losing his mind, just groaned again and buried his face in a couch pillow.

Danny laughed and he spent the last several minutes draped over Manny with the grace of a drunk teenager, kissing every scar he could reach—big and small.

Manny, meanwhile, lay beneath him, eyes wide, looking like he was about two seconds from spontaneously combusting.

Danny, for his part, was thoroughly enjoying himself. Then, suddenly, a thought hit him. He sat back onto his heels so fast that Manny visibly inhaled like he could finally breathe.

Manny started to sit up, still looking very flustered, but before he could regain any sense of control, Danny reached for the hem of his hoodie.

"¡Aye!" Manny yelped, immediately panicking. "We’re both drunk! Don’t start getting naked!"

Danny scrunched his eyebrows, already halfway out of his hoodie. "I’m not?"

And then, with all the confidence of someone who had absolutely zero shame in his current state, Danny tossed his hoodie and t-shirt aside.

Manny made a noise somewhere between a dying cat and a strangled bird. "¡Aye, carajo! Danny! What the fuck?!"

Danny just grinned, voice slurred but full of amusement. "You showed me yours, I show you mine?"

Manny, wildly flustered, scrambled to catch up. "What are you talking about, idiota?!"

Danny let out a giggle—an actual, adorable, drunken giggle—and grabbed Manny’s wrists, pulling him close. "See?"

And then he guided Manny’s hand to his left side.

Manny blinked, his tequila-addled brain trying to process—And then he saw them.

His breath hitched.

Trailing up Danny’s left arm, spanning across his chest and stopping just at his collarbone, were the faintly glowing green marks—jagged, branching, unmistakable.

"Díos mío," Manny gasped, his hands moving before he even thought about it, fingertips tracing along the uneven lines, soft, reverent. "What…?"

Danny’s breath stuttered in his chest at the touch, but he managed to murmur, "Lichtenberg scars. Got ‘em when the portal activated with me in it."

Manny’s hands stilled for a second, his wide, golden eyes locking onto Danny’s face. "…Wait." His voice dropped. "You mean—"

Danny nodded. "It’s technically my death mark."

Manny’s expression cracked into something shocked and distraught. "Death mark?"

Danny exhaled, buzzed but still steady. "Yeah." He shrugged. "There’s only one way to become a ghost, Manny."

Manny stared, jaw slightly slack.

Danny continued, "But the portal also brought me back. I’m only half dead? That’s why the scar kinda… glows."

Manny’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. His brain had completely stopped functioning. "¿Qúe carajo," he whispered.

And then, before Danny could react, Manny leaned forward.

Danny barely had time to register what was happening before Manny was in his lap, head tilted downward as his lips gently pressed against the center of Danny’s chest, right over the faint, glowing scars.

Danny gasped.

Heat flooded his face, his entire body tensing. "H-Hey!"

Manny, completely unbothered, just shrugged against him. "You did it to me."

Danny opened his mouth, fully intending to argue—And then Manny grabbed his left wrist, bringing it up between them, and started kissing his way down the length of the scar.

Danny completely forgot what he was going to say.

Manny's lips brushed every jagged turn in the scar, trailing from Danny’s collarbone to his shoulder, then slowly down his arm, each press of warmth making Danny’s breath stutter.

Danny swallowed, voice shaky. "Manny…"

"Shh," Manny murmured, voice softer, deeper.

Danny shivered.

Manny kissed the inside of his wrist, lingering there for a moment before finally pulling back—just enough to look at him, eyes hazy but warm. "You’re incredible, mi amor."

Danny, drunk and overwhelmed, just let out a breathy laugh, his entire face burning. "I'm never drinking with you again."

Manny grinned—a little too pleased with himself—before flopping back onto the couch, dragging Danny down with him.

Danny landed half on top of him, groaning. "This is your fault."

"And?"

Danny huffed but didn’t move. "You’re ridiculous."

"Sí."

They stayed like that, tangled together, warmth buzzing between them, the taste of tequila on their lips and the weight of each other’s hands on old scars.

And if they woke up the next morning horribly hungover and very much still wrapped around each other—

Well.

Danny wasn’t complaining.

[stujet9rainshine-blog]

@hugsandchaos I'm on a fucking roll.

"Danny admiring and tracing his fingers on Manny’s scars. Just picture it; Danny holding Manny’s face and looking at some of the less noticeable scars on his face or maybe his hands, and Manny is secretly loosing it on the inside because Danny is holding his face or his hand and being so careful, what the hell-- And the reverse is just as good, especially if Danny has the litchenberg scar because the death scar concept is awesome, but I think about Danny admiring Manny’s scars and Manny proudly telling the stories of how he got them a lot."

How about both?!

We got some drunk teenagers being affectionate. Manny's a little mellow since he's overwhelmed. But they're so touchy and in love?

Danny had never been drunk before.

Not really, anyway. He’d had a beer once (hated it), taken a sip of one of Tucker’s questionable mixed drinks (also hated it), and had definitely inhaled something ectoplasmic once that made him floatier than usual (jury was still out on that one).

But this? This was different.

Manny, with a smug grin and a twinkle of mischief in his brown eyes, had pulled a bottle of tequila out of his bag like it was the best thing he’d ever stolen.

Danny had eyed it warily. "That is a lot of alcohol."

"Sí, and?" Manny grinned, shaking the bottle teasingly. "Come on, give me fun Danny."

Danny huffed, arms crossed. "My parents are out of town. Jazz is gone. If they find out I got drunk, I’m dead."

Manny wiggled his eyebrows. "We’re already breaking rules, eh, Phantom? What’s a little alcohol?"

Danny had no real counter-argument, so, with a dramatic sigh, he let Manny pour them each a shot. One turned into two. Two turned into three. And then—

Well.

Now they were sprawled across the couch in Danny’s dimly lit living room, tequila bottle a little more than half-empty between them, warm and loose-limbed from the alcohol.

Danny was giggling. Actually giggling.

Manny, tipsy but still cocky as ever, threw an arm around Danny’s shoulders, his body very much leaning into Danny’s personal space. "You—" he pointed a lazy finger, "are a very, very bad influence, mi amor."

Danny snorted. "Me?" He flopped sideways, letting his head rest against Manny’s shoulder. "You’re the one who smuggled tequila across the border."

"Pfft. Details."

They sat in comfortable silence, tangled together on the couch, both of them excessively touchy in their drunken state. Manny’s fingers idly toyed with the drawstring of Danny’s hoodie, while Danny absently traced patterns over Manny’s arm, his touch light, almost absentminded.

Then Danny blinked as something caught his attention.

His fingers stilled as they brushed over a scar over Manny’s left eye—the one that slashed through his eyebrow, slightly jagged, like a wound that had been deep at one point. Danny had always wanted to ask about it.

So, with all the grace of a drunk man on a mission, he poked it. "How’d you get this?"

Manny blinked, looking flustered as he immediately failed to meet Danny’s gaze. "Uh…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I actually gave that one to myself."

Danny’s drunken brain latched onto that immediately. "Really?!" He leaned in, his eyes wide, very interested now.

Manny groaned, clearly debating if he should even answer. But Danny was looking at him like he’d just asked for the world’s greatest story, so with a deep sigh, Manny caved.

"Yeah," he muttered. "It was the first time I used the belt." He waved a vague hand. "Sliced my own eye real good. Papá used it as a ‘life lesson’ opportunity—" he made huge air quotes, "—but we didn’t realize ‘til way later that I lost most of my vision because of it."

Danny squinted. "Wait. You can still see when you use your powers, though, right?"

Manny nodded, relaxing slightly. "Sí. For some reason, when my eyes glow with the ancient tiger spirit or whatever, I can see perfectly fine."

Danny, still very much drunk, blinked slowly. "Wild."

Then his eyes shifted to another scar—one wrapped around Manny’s wrists, jagged and slightly raised, like something had cut deep and healed badly.

Danny didn’t even think before asking. "What’re these from?" His words were slurred but still heavy with curiosity.

Manny flushed instantly. "Oh. Uh…" He shifted, clearly debating how much to say before sighing. "I got those the first time someone cut off my grappling chains."

Danny frowned. "…What?"

"Apparently," Manny continued, "that counts as cutting my hands off."

Danny startled, sitting up a bit straighter. "You’re kidding!"

Manny snorted. "I wish." He flexed his fingers slightly, tilting his wrist as he examined the scar. "It hurts like a motherfucker."

Danny stared at the mark, his drunken mind running a bit slower but very determined about one thing.

So, without thinking, he grabbed Manny’s wrist, lifted it to his mouth, and kissed the scar.

It was a little clumsy, a little off-center, but very deliberate. Then Danny looked up, grinning. "There! Now it shouldn’t hurt!"

Manny froze. His brain shut down completely.

His hand immediately went to cover his face, but Danny still saw it—the deep, undeniable blush spreading across Manny’s cheeks.

Danny’s brain, now thoroughly drunk and invincible, took that reaction as encouragement.

With a slightly mischievous smirk, he grabbed Manny’s other wrist and did the same thing—another gentle, slightly off-balance kiss pressed against the scar. This time, he met Manny’s eyes while he did it.

"Díos mío," Manny barely managed, voice dangerously close to a squeak.

Danny beamed, very pleased with himself. "Tigre down?"

Manny made a wounded noise and flopped backward onto the couch, dramatically covering his face with both arms. "Ay, mi corazón, you are going to be the death of me."

Danny giggled, absolutely delighted. "Guess I better kiss all your scars then."

Manny groaned, his whole body going boneless from sheer overload. "You’re going to kill me. You’re actually going to kill me."

Danny, still drunk, leaned over him, grinning like a menace. "Better drink more so you don’t remember in the morning."

Manny, very much losing his mind, just groaned again and buried his face in a couch pillow.

Danny laughed and he spent the last several minutes draped over Manny with the grace of a drunk teenager, kissing every scar he could reach—big and small.

Manny, meanwhile, lay beneath him, eyes wide, looking like he was about two seconds from spontaneously combusting.

Danny, for his part, was thoroughly enjoying himself. Then, suddenly, a thought hit him. He sat back onto his heels so fast that Manny visibly inhaled like he could finally breathe.

Manny started to sit up, still looking very flustered, but before he could regain any sense of control, Danny reached for the hem of his hoodie.

"¡Aye!" Manny yelped, immediately panicking. "We’re both drunk! Don’t start getting naked!"

Danny scrunched his eyebrows, already halfway out of his hoodie. "I’m not?"

And then, with all the confidence of someone who had absolutely zero shame in his current state, Danny tossed his hoodie and t-shirt aside.

Manny made a noise somewhere between a dying cat and a strangled bird. "¡Aye, carajo! Danny! What the fuck?!"

Danny just grinned, voice slurred but full of amusement. "You showed me yours, I show you mine?"

Manny, wildly flustered, scrambled to catch up. "What are you talking about, idiota?!"

Danny let out a giggle—an actual, adorable, drunken giggle—and grabbed Manny’s wrists, pulling him close. "See?"

And then he guided Manny’s hand to his left side.

Manny blinked, his tequila-addled brain trying to process—And then he saw them.

His breath hitched.

Trailing up Danny’s left arm, spanning across his chest and stopping just at his collarbone, were the faintly glowing green marks—jagged, branching, unmistakable.

"Díos mío," Manny gasped, his hands moving before he even thought about it, fingertips tracing along the uneven lines, soft, reverent. "What…?"

Danny’s breath stuttered in his chest at the touch, but he managed to murmur, "Lichtenberg scars. Got ‘em when the portal activated with me in it."

Manny’s hands stilled for a second, his wide, golden eyes locking onto Danny’s face. "…Wait." His voice dropped. "You mean—"

Danny nodded. "It’s technically my death mark."

Manny’s expression cracked into something shocked and distraught. "Death mark?"

Danny exhaled, buzzed but still steady. "Yeah." He shrugged. "There’s only one way to become a ghost, Manny."

Manny stared, jaw slightly slack.

Danny continued, "But the portal also brought me back. I’m only half dead? That’s why the scar kinda… glows."

Manny’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. His brain had completely stopped functioning. "¿Qúe carajo," he whispered.

And then, before Danny could react, Manny leaned forward.

Danny barely had time to register what was happening before Manny was in his lap, head tilted downward as his lips gently pressed against the center of Danny’s chest, right over the faint, glowing scars.

Danny gasped.

Heat flooded his face, his entire body tensing. "H-Hey!"

Manny, completely unbothered, just shrugged against him. "You did it to me."

Danny opened his mouth, fully intending to argue—And then Manny grabbed his left wrist, bringing it up between them, and started kissing his way down the length of the scar.

Danny completely forgot what he was going to say.

Manny's lips brushed every jagged turn in the scar, trailing from Danny’s collarbone to his shoulder, then slowly down his arm, each press of warmth making Danny’s breath stutter.

Danny swallowed, voice shaky. "Manny…"

"Shh," Manny murmured, voice softer, deeper.

Danny shivered.

Manny kissed the inside of his wrist, lingering there for a moment before finally pulling back—just enough to look at him, eyes hazy but warm. "You’re incredible, mi amor."

Danny, drunk and overwhelmed, just let out a breathy laugh, his entire face burning. "I'm never drinking with you again."

Manny grinned—a little too pleased with himself—before flopping back onto the couch, dragging Danny down with him.

Danny landed half on top of him, groaning. "This is your fault."

"And?"

Danny huffed but didn’t move. "You’re ridiculous."

"Sí."

They stayed like that, tangled together, warmth buzzing between them, the taste of tequila on their lips and the weight of each other’s hands on old scars.

And if they woke up the next morning horribly hungover and very much still wrapped around each other—

Well.

Danny wasn’t complaining.