Handy Manny Fanart Novels & Stories

V Manny looks like he wants to bang Keya’s brains out! He’s enormous and reminds me of that fine-ass wrestler Scott Steiner from WCW. Just bigger and much more handsome! “Keya! You good gurl?” I ask. She jumps looking dazed like she forgot we were here! But nods. Damn he’s got her brainwashed already!? I chuckle holding out my hand for him to shake.

I let that sit and can hear him catching up. “Mr. Laine, how can I help you?” “Mr. Craft, Dennis McCathy, how do you know him?” I ask. “He is my nephew. I believe he works for you,” Mr. Craft sounds very confused. “He used the flag from the Sons of Hellfire in game art. I’m sure you can understand my concern,” I say and wait for him.

Manik pulled out his phone to direct his men to the square and come and seize Aryaman so he could be taken to jail. That's when he spotted a thick, folded up paper lying on the ground next to him. It had clearly fallen out of Aryaman's hoodie. Manik reached for it and opened it to its full size. He froze as he saw what was on it. Nandini too peeked into it from behind, her eyes opened wide in shock. It was Robail's treasured Al artwork of her. He clearly loved it so much that he tore it off his basement wall and carried it with him.

My mom asked briskly “yes ma'am” “Okay Teresa, I'm right behind you” my mom replied. I and my mom followed the lady into a nicely decorated room with grey walls. Sheer white curtains cascaded the windows of the dim, serene and lethargic room. Smooth blades of copper coloured fans hovered below the milk cathedral like ceilings of the charming room. Besides a large king-sized bed, sat a man on a wheelchair. He looked malnourished with slouch and thin exterior, like someone who had narrowly escaped the hands of a deadly disease.

I asked, half-hoping he'd just simmer down. "Like it? Anne, this is— Look here, you got the curve of the visor just right and the mouth guard detail is perfect. Do you know how much incorrect fan art I've seen?" I blinked at him. "Just how much fan art have you seen?" "A lot. Your dad's is my favorite, but he might have some competition now," Victor said eagerly. "What else can you draw?" "I don't know. Whatever." I shrugged, trying to stay casual even as my face started to heat up. "You want me to draw a Zord or something?"

And then with the air of Santa pulling out a major big toy from his sack, he handed her a card that read Jonathan Newman, professional artist and further down the card was his address and phone number. A painter? How did he-