hi guys welcome to my page. my name is son brohan but you can call me bro
---
about me:
I like dragon ball z, invincible, the boys, and naruto and the majority of my content will be based on these four
Im very new to Tumblr so I might struggle with some things please be patient with me
I like to sleep and because of it, I might not always be online. If I'm awake and if I'm available, I'll probably be posting something if im feeling it.
---
i only make SFW and platonic content, I can make dark stuff too with horror and other stuff but its not something I constantly create
I do not create NSFW content and please dont expect me to make any.
everyone is welcome but please dni if you're a weirdo. I donât want any proshippers, racists, homophobic people, pedos, or anybody here just to hate here. Its nothing personal.
It shouldâve been enough time for things to settleâfor Debbie to look back and realize sheâd overthought it. That there was a simple explanation she just hadnât considered yet.
But nothing settled.
If anything, it got harder to ignore.
You were still being picked up late.
Not every dayâbut enough for it to stand out.
Enough for Debbie to notice when she pulled up and saw you still sitting there, shoulders drawn in, eyes scanning every car that passed like you were waiting for the right one to finally stop.
âHey, Mom?â
Debbie glanced over as she started the car.
Mark was already watching her, more serious than usual.
âYeah, honey?â
He hesitated.
âDo you think⊠somethingâs wrong with them?â
Debbie didnât answer right away.
âWhat makes you ask that?â
Mark shrugged but it wasnât the careless kind.
âTheyâre just⊠different now.â
He looked down at his hands.
âThey donât sit with me anymore. Or anyone, really. And they donât eat at lunch. I tried to give them some of mine but they said they werenât hungry.â
He paused.
âAnd they donât play at recess either. They just kinda⊠stay there.â
Debbieâs grip on the wheel tightened slightly.
âHave they said anything to you?â
Mark shook his head.
âNo. I asked, but they just say theyâre tired.â
Another pause.
ââŠThey flinch a lot too.â
That made her chest feel tight.
âFlinch?â
âYeah. Like if someone yells or something. Even if its not at them.â
He frowned.
âI think I scared them once. I didnât mean to. I justâtalked too loud.â
Debbie exhaled slowly.
âHey. Thatâs not your fault.â
âI knowâ Mark said quietly. âI just⊠donât think theyâre okay.â
Neither did she.
That night, Debbie stood in the kitchen longer than she needed to.
The food sat untouched on the counter, already cooling. She stared at it for a moment, then reached for a container.
It wasnât unusual.
Bringing food over. Checking in. Making sure someone was doing alright.
Thatâs all this was.
Thatâs all she told herself it was.
By the time she made it to your house the sun had started to dip lower in the sky.
She knocked once.
Then waited.
It took longer than expected for the door to open.
When it did, your mother stood there smiling.
Too quickly.
Too brightly.
âOhâDebbie, hi!â
Her voice was warm, welcoming.
But something about it didnât quite land.
âHi,â Debbie said, returning the smile. âSorry to stop by like thisâI made a little too much and thought Iâd bring some over.â
She held up the container slightly.
Your motherâs eyes flicked to it, then back to her.
âThatâs so sweet of you. You didnât have to do that.â
âI know,â Debbie said lightly. âI just thought I would.â
There was a pause.
Then your mother stepped aside.
âWell, come in.â
The house felt⊠off.
Not messy. Not exactly.
Just quieter than it shouldâve been.
Like something had been pulled out of it.
You were sitting on the couch.
Back straight. Hands folded tightly in your lap.
You looked up the second Debbie walked inâlike youâd been listening for it.
âHi, sweetheart,â she said gently.
âHi, Mrs. Grayson.â
Your voice was soft.
Careful.
Up close, it was harder to ignore.
The way your shoulders stayed tense. The faint shadows under your eyes. The way your gaze flicked between Debbie and your mother like you were tracking something invisible.
âYou doing okay?â Debbie asked.
You nodded.
Too fast.
âIâm fine.â
âWhy donât you get us something to drink?â your mother cut in suddenly.
Her tone was still pleasant.
But there was something underneath it.
Sharp.
You stood immediately.
âOkay.â
Debbie watched you disappear into the kitchen.
Then, gently, she turned back.
âI hope everythingâs been alright,â she said carefully. âI feel like I havenât seen you guys as much lately.â
Your mother smiled again.
âOh, you know how things get. Busy.â
Her hands folded together tightly.
Debbie hesitated.
ââŠAnd your husband? I donât think Iâve seen him around.â
Just for a secondâ
Something flickered.
Gone almost as quickly as it came.
âHeâs⊠not around much anymore,â she said.
Still smiling.
But it didnât reach her eyes.
Debbie nodded slowly.
âI see.â
She didnât push.
A noise came from the kitchen.
Something slippingâ
Then shattering.
You froze.
Standing there, staring down at the broken glass.
âIâm sorry,â you said quickly. âI didnât meanââ
The shift was instant.
Your motherâs expression tightenedâsomething sharp and irritated flashing through it before she could stop herself.
She stepped forwardâ
Too fast.
You flinched.
Hard.
Debbie saw it.
For a second, your mother didnât seem to notice.
Her hand lifted slightly, like the reaction came before the thoughtâ
Then she stopped.
Like she remembered.
Her expression smoothed over almost immediately.
âItâs fine,â she said, voice tighter now. âJust clean it up and get another one.â
You nodded quickly.
âI will.â
Debbie didnât move.
Didnât say anything.
But something had shifted.
She stayed a few minutes longer.
Long enough to be polite.
Long enough to not make it obvious.
When she finally stood to leave, her smile came easier than it felt.
âThank you for having me.â
âOf course,â your mother said sweetly.
You didnât say much when she left.
Just a quiet goodbye.
Eyes lowered.
âTake care, sweetheart,â Debbie said gently.
âYou too.â
The door closed behind her.
For a moment
Everything was quiet.
Thenâ
A sharp exhale.
âWhat was that?â
You didnât look up.
âIâm sorry.â
âI bring someone into this house and you canât even act normal for five minutes?â
Her voice wasnât loud.
It didnât need to be.
It was tight. Controlled.
âI didnât mean to drop it,â you said quickly.
âThatâs not the point.â
You flinched.
âYou embarrassed me.â
Each word came slower now.
More deliberate.
âIn front of a guest.â
âI said I was sorryââ
âAnd now I have to deal with that.â
A pause.
Then, quieterâ
âYou donât think before you do things.â
Your hands curled slightly at your sides.
âIâll be more careful.â
A step closer.
You felt it before you saw it.
âYou should have been careful the first time.â
You nodded quickly.
âI know.â
Silence stretched.
Heavy.
Uncertain.
You didnât move.
Didnât speak.
Didnât breathe too loud.
After a moment, she stepped back.
âGo to your room.â
You didnât hesitate.
---
â Outside
Debbie hadnât made it far.
Sheâd barely stepped off the porch when the shift in tone carried through the door.
Muffled.
But not enough.
She stopped.
ââŠembarrassed meââ
Debbieâs chest tightened.
She shouldnât listen.
She knew that.
ââŠshould have been carefulââ
Her hand curled slightly at her side.
It wasnât just the words.
It was the tone.
And the way your voice had soundedâ
Small.
Quick.
Like you were trying to fix something before it got worse.
Imagine being born a Viltrumite...and failing the one thing that proves you deserve to live.
ââââ
â It was never meant to be a test you could fail.
Viltrumite trials werenât designed with failure in mind.
They were designed to prove something already there.
Strength. Resolve. Worth.
You were expected to stand your ground.
You didnât.
--
It always would have.
The first strike came from your mother.
Vaedra.
She didnât hesitate never did. Her hand struck with precision, calculated and clean, sending you crashing into the stone beneath your feet. The ground split slightly on impact, cracks spidering outward from where your body landed.
âGet up.â
Her voice wasnât raised. It didnât need to be.
You tried.
Your arms trembled beneath you, unsteady, your body slow to respond in the way it should have. That alone was enough to earn a look of quiet displeasure.
Then Kaelor moved.
Faster. Heavier.
Your father's blow didnât just knock you down it kept you there.
â You were supposed to fight back.
That was the point.
Even children knew that.
Even you knew that.
But knowing didnât mean your body would listen.
Every attempt to stand was met with another strike. Not recklessânever reckless. Each hit was measured, deliberate, meant to push you further. Meant to force something out of you.
It never came.
â âAgain.â
Vaedraâs command cut through the space like a blade.
You didnât move fast enough.
You didnât move right.
And when you finally did manage to standâbarely balanced, barely consciousâit was already too late.
Kaelorâs next hit sent you back down harder than before.
This time, you didnât get up.
â Silence followed.
Not relief.
Not mercy.
Assessment.
Vaedra stepped closer, looking down at you with something colder than anger.
Disappointment.
âWeak,â she said flatly.
The word settled heavier than any strike.
Kaelor didnât respond immediately.
But you could feel itâthe shift in him. The expectation. The conclusion they had both been raised to reach.
Weakness was not corrected.
It was erased.
â Vaedra turned slightly, already preparing to finish it.
Clean. Efficient. Necessary.
Kaelor stepped forward.
He raised his hand.
And stopped.
It wasnât obvious.
Not at first.
Viltrumites didnât falterânot in ways that could be seen.
But there was a pause.
A fraction too long.
His hand hovered where it shouldnât have.
And in that momentâ
Vaedra noticed.
Her gaze snapped to him, sharp, questioning.
Dangerous.
Not because of you.
Because of him.
---
His jaw tightened.
His hand loweredâjust slightly.
ââŠWait.â
The word was quiet.
Too quiet.
Vaedraâs eyes narrowed. âThere is nothing to wait for.â
She stepped forward again.
Kaelor moved before she could finish it.
Not to strikeâ
But to block.
â That was when it changed.
Not because of what they said.
But because of what they didnât.
Kaelorâs gaze shifted brief, precise as he scanned the horizon.
Once.
Twice.
Ensuring.
No witnesses.
No patrols.
No one to question why a defective Viltrumite child still breathed.
Vaedra followed his line of sight.
She understood immediately.
And for the first time
She hesitated too.
--
It wasnât mercy.
It wasnât softness.
It was calculation.
Risk.
And something far more dangerous beneath it.
Something neither of them named.
--
Kaelor moved first.
Not gently. Never gently.
But when he lifted you from the fractured ground, his grip adjustedâsubtle, deliberateâso your head wouldnât fall back the way it had before.
So your breathing however weak wouldnât be obstructed.
Vaedra said nothing.
But she didnât stop him.
They didnât take you somewhere official.
Didnât call for aid.
Didnât report the outcome.
Because that would require answers.
And Viltrumites did not ask questions they didnât already know the answer to.
So insteadâ
They left.
The flight was fast.
It had to be.
You drifted in and out of awareness, the rush of air sharp against broken skin, the pressure unbearable.
At some pointâ
It lessened.
Just slightly.
Not enough to be obvious.
Enough to matter.
--
Their home wasnât meant for weakness.
It was built like everything elseâcold, structured, efficient.
But after that dayâ
It changed.
Not in appearance.
In function.
You werenât allowed outside.
Not anymore.
Movement was restricted.
Watched.
Measured.
Every action observed with the same scrutiny as the trial you failed.
Training attempts came first.
Of course they did.
Vaedra refused to accept the outcome.
âIf it can be corrected it will be,â she stated.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Until it became clear
It wouldnât.
--
That was when the cage settled into place.
Not visible.
Not named.
But absolute.
Kaelor stopped initiating the training.
Vaedra didnât.
But even sheâŠ
Reduced it.
Not out of pity.
Out of⊠practicality.
A broken thing couldnât be reforged if it shattered completely.
---
They never said they spared you.
Never acknowledged it.
To do so would mean admitting the truth.
That they had chosen wrong.
That they had hesitated.
But sometimes
When you were still.
When your breathing evened out enough to mimic sleep
There were moments.
Brief.
Unspoken.
----
A pause in Vaedraâs steps as she passed your resting place.
A glance that lingered a second longer than necessary.
Her hand adjusting somethingâfabric, positioningâwithout comment.
Precise.
Controlled.
Gone just as quickly.
--
Kaelor was worse.
Or better.
It depended on how you looked at it.
He stayed.
Not close enough to be seen as concern.
Not far enough to be absence.
Always within reach.
Always watching.
--
They never called it love.
They wouldnât know how.
But they kept you.
And on Viltrumâ
That meant more than it ever should have.
(Sorry if i haven't been posting. School has gotten pretty intense lately and I'm trying my best to keep up and get all my work done before the year finishes. I'll try to post on weekends and during whatever free time I have
Not perfectâbut easy in the way routines usually are. You knew what to expect when you got home. You knew what your mom would sound like when she called your name, what your dad would be doing in the evenings, what the house would feel like when the day was over.
Now, it felt like guessing.
Some days, the house was too quiet. Other days, it wasnât quiet enough.
You learned not to expect either.
At first, it was small things.
Your mom stopped asking about your day. Meals became inconsistentâsometimes overcooked, sometimes forgotten entirely. The TV stayed on longer, filling the space where conversation used to be.
You told yourself it was temporary.
That things would go back to normal if you just waited long enough.
They didnât.
The changes didnât happen all at once.
They stacked.
A sharper tone here. A look that lingered too long there. The way your name started to sound different when she said itâshorter, tighter, like it took more effort than it used to.
You tried to stay out of the way.
It helped. Sometimes.
Other times it didnât matter.
You learned quickly what made thing worse.
Asking questions.
Speaking at the wrong time.
Being too loud.
Being too quiet.
There wasnât a pattern you could follow. No clear line you could stay behind.
So you stopped trying to figure it out.
You just⊠kept going.
Like if you moved carefully enough, if you stayed quiet enough, if you didnât push anything too far
Things wouldnât get worse.
They still did.
Mornings became easier than nights.
You could leave. Go somewhere structured. Predictable. Safe in a way that didnât ask anything from you except to sit still and listen.
Even if you were tired.
Even if your head felt heavy and your thoughts didnât stay where you put them.
You still showed up.
âHey.â
Markâs voice pulled you out of it.
You blinked, realizing youâd been staring at the same page for longer than you meant to.
He was already looking at you, leaning back in his chair, pencil spinning loosely between his fingers.
âYou okay?â
You nodded.
A little too quickly.
âYeah.â
He didnât look convinced.
But he didnât push, either.
Mark wasnât good at leaving things aloneâbut sometimes, he tried.
You got better at pretending after that.
Sitting up straighter. Paying attention when teachers called on you. Smiling when it was expected.
It worked.
Mostly.
Except for the things you couldnât hide.
The way you flinched when someone raised their voice even when they werenât talking to you.
The way you pulled your sleeves down, even when the classroom felt too warm.
The way you rested your head on your desk when you thought no one was looking.
Mark noticed some of it.
Not all of it.
But enough.
School ended the way it always did loud, crowded, everyone moving at once.
You and Mark sat on the bench near the pickup line, close enough to the curb to watch the cars pull in one by one.
This used to be where you left first.
Your mom was always early.
Always waiting.
Today, she wasnât there.
It wasnât a big deal.
Probably.
You told yourself that.
Mark nudged you lightly with his shoulder.
âRace you to my momâs car when she gets here.â
You glanced at him.
âYou always cheat.â
âI do not.â
âYou start running before she even stops.â
âThatâs strategy.â
You almost smiled.
A familiar car pulled into the line.
Mark perked up immediately.
âThatâs her.â
He stood up fast grabbing his backpack.
Thenâlike he always didâhe turned back to you.
He hugged you quickly. Tight, but brief.
âSee you tomorrow.â
âYeah,â you said.
He pulled away, already halfway turned, waving as he ran toward the car.
Debbie stepped out just as he reached her.
She smiled the second she saw him, arms open before he even got there. Mark ran into her without slowing down, and she caught him easily, laughing softly as she hugged him.
It looked⊠natural.
Effortless.
Like something that didnât have to be thought about.
You looked away.
âHey, sweetheart.â
You glanced back up.
Debbie was looking at you now, her expression warmâfamiliar.
âHi, Mrs. Grayson.â
She gave you a small smile.
âHi. You doing okay?â
You nodded.
âYeah.â
She hesitated.
Just for a second.
Her eyes flicked past you toward the line of cars, then back again.
âIs your mom on her way?â
You followed her glance.
There were fewer cars now.
More empty space than there shouldâve been.
âI think so,â you said.
You werenât sure.
Debbie stepped a little closer.
Not enough to crowd you. Just enough to see better.
Thatâs when she noticed.
The marks along your armâhalf-hidden beneath your sleeve. The faint discoloration near your wrist. Not old enough to be forgotten. Not new enough to be ignored.
Her expression didnât change much.
But something behind it did.
âOhâhoney, what happened there?â
You froze.
Not completely.
Just enough that it took a second too long to respond.
âItâs nothing,â you said.
She didnât move. Didnât press.
Just waited.
You swallowed.
âMy cat,â you added quickly. âI was giving it a bath and itâumâscratched me.â
The words felt clumsy.
Like they didnât quite fit together the way they should.
Debbie nodded slowly.
âOh. Yeah⊠cats can be like that.â
Her tone stayed light.
Careful.
âMake sure you clean it up, okay? You donât want it getting infected.â
âI will.â
Another pause.
Then she smiled againâgentle, reassuring.
âAlright. You take care, okay?â
âOkay.â
She turned back toward the car.
Mark was already inside, watching through the window.
He waved again.
You lifted your hand, waving back.
The car pulled away.
Debbie POV
She didnât say anything at first.
Mark was talkingâsomething about school, about a game, about something small and normalâbut she only caught pieces of it.
Her hands stayed steady on the wheel.
Her eyes on the road.
Something wasnât right.
She couldnât explain it yet. Couldnât point to anything solid enough to say out loud.
But it sat there anyway.
Persistent.
Unsettling.
The timing was off.
The explanation didnât quite land.
And those marks
Debbie exhaled slowly, her grip tightening just slightly on the steering wheel.
Not enough for Mark to notice.
âHey, Momâdid you hear me?â
She blinked, glancing over at him.
âYeah, sorry, honey. What were you saying?â
As Mark started talking again, Debbie nodded along.
Listening.
Responding.
Present.
But her thoughts didnât stay in the car.
They lingered back at the bench.
Where you were still sitting.
Waiting.
And for the first timeâ
Debbie wasnât sure you should be.
(author's note:
hi guys i forgot to mention in the prologue that this is set during Mark's childhood so mark and reader are both in elementary school which means mark hasn't gotten his powers YET and his dad hasn't killed the guardians of the globe
There wasnât anything unusual about your family.
Not at first.
Evenings were predictable in the way most people took for grantedâdinner at the table, the quiet hum of the television afterward, your parents talking over each other about things you didnât fully understand. Work. Bills. Neighbors. Small things that filled the space without ever weighing it down.
Your father laughed easily back then. Loud, unrestrained like whatever joke heâd just made was the funniest thing in the world, even if it wasnât. Your mother would roll her eyes, but she always smiled after. It felt routine. Stable.
Safe.
Sometimes, the Graysons were part of that routine.
Mark would sit beside you on the floor, cross-legged and restless, talking about whatever had caught his attention that week. A new game. A comic. Something small and important in the way it only was at that age. Debbie would help your mom in the kitchen without needing to be asked, warm and familiar in a way that made your home feel a little fuller.
Nolan was quieter.
He stood out without trying toâtaller, stiller, watching more than he spoke. When he did talk, it was brief, measured. Polite. He wasnât cold, not exactly. Just⊠distant. Like he was present, but not entirely there.
It never bothered you.
None of it did.
Because everything felt the way it was supposed to.
--
The first crack was easy to miss.
It wasnât loud. Not at first.
Just a shift.
Your parents started talking less around you. Conversations that used to happen at the table moved behind closed doors. The television stayed on longer. The house felt quieter, but not in a peaceful way more like something was being held in place, stretched thin.
You remember the first time voices carried through the walls.
Not shouting. Not yet.
Sharp. Quick. Cut off too soon.
The next morning everything went back to normal.
Or at least, it tried to.
---
It didnât stay that way.
Arguments came more often after that. Louder. Harder to ignore.
Words you didnât understand were said with tones you did.
Accusations. Deflections. Silence that followed like something heavy settling in the air.
You stopped asking questions.
It was easier not to.
---
The day everything broke didnât feel important at first.
No yelling. No slammed doors.
Just tension--thick, suffocating, sitting in every corner of the house.
Your father didnât look at you much that day.
Your mother didnât look at him at all.
---
You donât remember exactly what was said.
Only pieces.
A name that wasnât your mothers.
A voice cracking in a way youâd never heard before.
Something bitter, sharp, final.
And then
He left.
Just like that.
No long goodbye. No explanation that made sense. Just absence, sudden and complete, like something had been pulled out from the cente of everything and left it hollow.
---
The house didnât feel the same after that.
It was quieter, but not the same kind of quiet as before.
This one lingered.
Your mother changed in ways that were harder to name.
At first, it was small.
She stopped smiling as much. Stopped talking unless she had to. The warmth she used to carry so easily felt⊠distant. Like it had been packed away somewhere you couldnât reach.
Then came the frustration.
Short answers. Sharper tones. A patience that wore thinner with every passing day.
You didnât understand why.
You only knew it was getting harder to breathe in a place that used to feel safe.
What if with the mark and eve dynamic reader has a near death experience maybe she was kidnapped or caught up in a villian attack
She becomes super paronoid refusing to leave her house no longer intrested in going out anywere insisting that its to dangerous to leave even when the couple offer to go out with her and if they do somehow manage to convince her to go out shes clinging looking around like a nervous pup
How Mark & Eve React When You Become Too Scared to Leave After an Attack
(I donât think they would push reader to come outdoors with them but they definitely would adapt to still spend more time with them. They will try to make reader more comfortable knowing that reader just went through something traumatic and they need care and a lot of gentleness. But they will definitely get protective and a little more overbearing after reader was put in danger and will not allow anything like that happen again to them)
They donât force you to go outside.
They just stop treating staying in like a real option.
---
Mark Grayson
At first, Mark understands.
He really does.
He doesnât push when you flinch at the door. Doesnât say anything when you hesitate too long before stepping outside and end up staying in instead.
âHey, itâs fine. We can just stay here.â
Easy. Immediate.
Like the decision was already made for you.
But it doesnât stay like that.
Because Mark isnât good at leaving things alone especially not when he thinks youâre in danger.
So he adjusts.
If you wonât go out, he comes to you.
More often than you expect.
More often than you ask for.
You start noticing how little time you actually get by yourself.
âThought you might get bored.â
Heâs already inside by the time he says it. Already setting things down, already making himself comfortable.
Like itâs normal.
Like heâs supposed to be there.
And when you do tryâ
When you finally agree to step outsideâ
He doesnât let it be casual.
He stays close. Too close.
Not hovering in a way thatâs obvious. Not enough for anyone else to really question it.
But enough that you feel it.
Every step.
Every pause.
Every glance over your shoulder.
âYouâre good. Iâve got you.â
Itâs quiet. Reassuring.
But he doesnât move away when he says it.
If anything, he shifts closer.
Just enough to keep you within reach.
And when your hand catches on his sleeveâtight, instinctive, not even something you think aboutâ
He stills.
Just for a second.
Then relaxes into it like itâs expected.
Like it makes sense.
âHey hey, itâs okay.â
Softer now.
Careful.
But he doesnât pull your hand away.
Doesnât tell you to let go.
If anything, he adjusts so itâs easier for you to stay like that.
---
Eve
Eve notices everything.
The way you hesitate. The way you keep checking behind you. The way your voice tightens whenever something outside gets too loud.
She doesnât ignore it.
She plans around it.
You donât even realize how much sheâs adjusted things until itâs already done.
Thereâs a blanket draped over the couch you usually sit on.
Your favorite snacksâones you didnât mentionâjust⊠there.
A small stack of your favorite movies set aside.
Bandages. Pain relievers. Things you might need.
Just in case.
âI didnât know what youâd feel up to, so I just brought a few things.â
Casual.
Like itâs nothing.
Like she didnât think it through in advance.
She doesnât overwhelm you with attention.
Doesnât hover the way Mark does.
But she fills in everything around you.
Quietly.
Thoroughly.
And when you try to brush it off
âIâm fine, you didnât have to do all thisâ
She doesnât argue.
She just looks at you.
Not skeptical.
Not annoyed.
Just⊠patient.
âI kno.â
A pause.
Then, softerâ
âJust use it anyway okay?â
Itâs not a command.
It just doesnât feel like something youâre supposed to refuse.
And when it comes to going outsideâ
She doesnât push.
Not directly.
âWe donât have to go far.â
âWeâll be right there with you.â
âItâll be quick.â
Each suggestion smaller than the last.
More manageable.
More reasonable.
Until saying no starts to feel like youâre overreacting.
---
When Itâs Both of Them
Thatâs when it changes.
Because they stop adjusting to youâ
And start adjusting things around you.
If outside makes you anxious, they shorten the trips.
If crowds make you uneasy, they avoid them.
If something feels like too muchâ
They remove it.
Entirely.
âYou donât need to deal with that right now.â
âYouâve already been through enough.â
It sounds like care.
It feels like care.
But it leaves less and less for you to decide.
The first time you go out with both of them, itâs⊠manageable.
You stay close. Closer than usual.
Not because they tell you to.
Because you donât feel safe otherwise.
You donât fall behind.
You donât wander.
At some point, your hand ends up gripping onto one of themâfabric, wrist, whatever you can reach.
Neither of them points it out.
Neither of them laughs.
Mark just shifts to stay aligned with you.
Eve slows her pace without saying anything.
Like itâs natural.
Like this is how itâs supposed to be now.
Laterâ
âYou did good today.â
It catches you off guard.
The way she says it.
Gentle. Reassuring.
The same tone someone would use for something small. Simple.
You donât know what to say to that.
Mark just smiles slightly.
âTold you it wasnât that bad.â
Like it was something you needed to be convinced of.
It gets easier to stay inside.
Not because youâre less afraidâ
But because they make it easier.
Movie nights become routine.
You donât even remember agreeing to half of them.
Mark picks something out before asking.
Eve sets everything up before you can help.
âJust sit Weâve got it.â
And you do.
Because itâs easier.
Because theyâre already doing it.
At some point, you end up leaning against Mark without thinking.
Half-asleep. Not really aware of it.
Your head rests against his shoulder then lower.
You donât notice when it shifts into something heavier.
Donât notice when you stop holding yourself up.
When you wake up, everythingâs quieter.
The movieâs still playing.
Eveâs voice is low, somewhere nearby.
ââŠtheyre exhausted.â
Mark doesnât respond right away.
You can feel the slight rise and fall of his breathing under you.
âYeah.â
A pause.
Thenâ
âThey donât have to worry about anything right now.â
Itâs not said to you.
But it still lingers.
----
Reader
You know somethingâs changed.
Youâre not unaware.
You notice how often they step in now.
How quickly they decide things.
How little you actually have to do on your own.
At first, it helps.
Youâre tired.
Still shaken.
Itâs easier to let them handle things.
Easier to stay where itâs quiet.
Where nothing unexpected happens.
Where they are.
But it doesnât stop there.
Because they donât pull back when you start stabilizing.
They donât ease up.
If anythingâ
They settle into it.
Like this version of you makes more sense.
Safer.
More manageable.
You try, sometimes.
Small things.
Handling something yourself.
Going a little further than usual.
It doesnât go unnoticed.
âYou donât have to push yourself.â
âJust let us handle it.â
âItâs not a big deal.â
And maybe it isnât.
Not on its own.
But it adds up.
Until doing things alone starts to feel⊠unnecessary.
--
In the End
They just donât want it to happen again.
Thatâs all this is.
Thatâs what they tell themselves.
What they tell you.
âYouâre safe.â
âYouâre okay.â
âWeâve got you.â
And they mean it.
They really do.
Itâs justâ
At some pointâ
Youâre not sure if youâre getting better.
Or just getting used to needing them.
(they might take advantage of your dependency and use it to infantilize you even more. as much as they don't like seeing you scared and overwhelmed like this, they kind of like seeing you rely on them and their care during your time of need)
im planning on writing a story, fanfic, or whatever it is called here on tumblr but im lost on how it needs to be structured and how you create a masterlist because every time I've tried to make one, the links don't work or the way I organize my fic looks like a hot mess
do you guys have any advice on how I should structure it and what to do I could really use some help here
so what do you think of a rivalry Todd Williams vs mark Greyson on whoâs the better friend much to readers annoyance when they want to do nothing with either of them.
Todd Williams vs. Mark Grayson â Competing to Be the âBetter Friendâ
I donât think they would compete in a way thatâs obvious.
Itâs not loud not at first.
It just keeps happening.
And it gets exhausting fast.
---
Mark Grayson
Mark doesnât try to take you away from Todd directly.
He just makes it harder for you to stay where you are.
Heâs not aggressive about it. If anything, he comes off as patient understanding, even. But it doesnât take long to notice how often he inserts himself into your time.
He lingers.
He offers.
He waits until you feel bad enough to say yes.
Itâs subtle. Easy to brush off.
âYou donât have to sit with him, you know.
I mean only if you want to.â
He says it like itâs your choice.
Like he isnât standing there waiting for you to make the right one.
And if you donât?
He doesnât get angry. Not really.
He just⊠looks at you differently.
âOh. Okay. I just thought we were gonna hang out today.â
Its not accusing. Not outright.
Just enough to make you hesitate next time.
---
In class it starts small.
The teacher lets everyone pick partners.
Youâre already planning to work alone quiet, simple, no complications.
Mark moves before you can say anything.
âHey, do you wanna just work together?â
Heâs already next to your desk. Already pulling his chair over.
Itâs quick. Casual.
Too quick.
Todd notices.
You donât see him get up but you feel it when he stops beside the desk.
âDidnât know you needed help that bad, Grayson.â
Mark doesnât back off this time.
âI donât.â
Itâs not loud. Not a challenge.
But he doesnât move either.
For a second, itâs just the two of them waiting.
Then Todd leans down slightly voice lower, out of the teacherâs range.
âPick someone else.â
Mark doesnât.
And now youâre stuck in it.
--
Todd Williams
Todd doesnât wait.
He doesnât ask.
If he wants your attention, he takes itâand unlike with everyone else, he doesnât make a spectacle out of it.
Not with you.
Heâs⊠calmer. Still rough, still blunt but not as loud. Not as obnoxious. Not as much as a douchebag
That almost makes it worse.
Because it feels intentional.
âSit here.â
Not a suggestion. Never phrased like one.
But he pulls the chair out anyway, like it already belongs to you.
Like you already belong there.
He doesnât hover like Mark does. Doesnât linger or try to convince you.
He just decides.
At lunch, itâs more obvious.
You get there first for once.
Sit down. Set your stuff down. Try to enjoy the five seconds of quiet.
Todd shows up not long after.
He doesnât ask if the seatâs takenâjust drops into it, dragging the chair a little closer than necessary.
Thatâs it. Spot taken.
Then Mark walks over.
He slows when he sees Todd sitting there. You can tell heâs debating it.
Still, he tries.
âHeyâdo you wanna come sit with us? I saved you a spot.â
You donât even get the chance to answer.
Todd cuts in.
âTheyâre already sitting.â
Flat. Dismissive.
Markâs expression tightens.
âI wasnât asking you.â
Todd finally looks at him, unimpressed.
âDidnât sound like you were asking them either.â
Thereâs a pause.
Mark looks at you againâbut now thereâs something else there. Expectation. Waiting.
Todd doesnât even bother looking.
His hand taps once against the table, right next to yours.
Grounded. Final.
Mark exhales, annoyed.
Then he walks off.
Todd doesnât comment on it.
Just stays where he is like there was never another option.
---
When Itâs Both of Them
It doesnât stay separate.
Eventually, they stop working around each other and start working through each other.
Thatâs when it gets uncomfortable.
Because it stops being about spending time with you.
And starts being about winning it.
--
It happens in small ways at first.
They interrupt each other.
Talk over each other.
Then
They start answering for you.
âTheyâre busy after school.â
âNo, theyâre notâwe already talked about it.â
âYeah? When?â
âJust now.â
You donât remember agreeing to anything.
They donât notice.
---
It escalates without either of them realizing it.
Mark tries to keep things even, reasonable.
âYou donât have to decide right now just come by if you want.â
Todd doesnât give you that space.
"Youâre coming. Itâs not a big deal.â
Different approaches.
Same result.
---
And the worst part?
They donât look at you when they argue.
Just at each other.
---
Reader
You notice.
Of course you do.
Itâs not subtle anymoreânot really.
But itâs also not something you can just shut down without consequences.
Todd isnât someone you push unless youâre ready to deal with it.
And Markâ
Mark makes it harder in a different way.
Because heâs nice about it.
Because he makes you feel like saying no is unfair.
So you donât.
Not most of the time.
You let Todd take the seat.
Let Mark wait you out.
Let them decide things you didnât agree to.
Itâs easier.
Safer.
Quieter.
---
You could say something.
You just⊠dont.
-
In the End
Theyre both trying to be the better friend.
Thatâs the whole point.
Thatâs what all of this is for.
---
They just never stop to ask if you actually want either of them to be.
(Sorry if its kind of messy its super dark and I don't have my glasses on)
It starts in the quiet hours of the morningâtoo early for anything good. You sit in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to fix what canât be hidden, pressing trembling fingers against bruised skin and telling yourself it wasnât that bad. That maybe you overreacted. That maybe you should apologize.
You donât.
Instead, you call him.
You hadnât meant to. Not after everythingâafter the breakup, after he told you the truth about who he was, after deciding it was better this way. Heâs moved on. So have you.
But when he sees youâreally sees youâsomething shifts.
And when he asks what happened, you hesitate.
Because you know exactly what heâs capable of.
⊠Content / Notes âș
Platonic dynamics. Exes â strained friendship. Civilian reader. Canon-divergent scenario. Heavy platonic yandere Mark Grayson. Protective obsession. Loss of autonomy. Emotional suppression â explosive anger. Implied violence. Injury detail (bruises, black eye). Comfort juxtaposed with unease. Possessive protectiveness without romantic intent. Ambiguous but heavily implied character death. Post-breakup dynamic. Early morning setting.
---
The bathroom light is too bright.
It hums faintly overhead, flickering just enough to make your reflection feelâŠoff. You donât look like yourself. Not really.
Your fingers hover near your cheek before pressingâlightly at first, then with more pressure, like youâre trying to test if it still hurts.
It does.
You suck in a breath through your teeth, pulling your hand back quickly, like youâve been burned. The skin there is already darkening, blooming into something you wonât be able to hide in a few hours. Your lip is splitâjust enough to sting every time you press it together.
âIt wasnât that bad,â you murmur to yourself, voice rough and quiet in the empty apartment.
The words sound wrong out loud.
You reach for your phone on the counter, hesitating as your thumb hovers over the screen. Thereâs a momentâjust oneâwhere you consider something else entirely.
Calling your boyfriend.
Apologizing.
Maybe if you just explainedâmaybe if you hadnât pushed so much, if youâd just listenedâ
Your stomach twists.
You set the phone down. Pick it back up. Set it down again.
This is your fault.
âŠIsnât it?
A shaky breath leaves you as you press your palms against the counter, staring at your reflection like it might give you an answer.
It doesnât.
The silence stretches.
Thenâ
You grab your phone and scroll.
Past contacts you donât trust. Past names that donât feel safe. Past numbers that wouldnât pick up this early anyway.
Your finger stops.
You stare at it for a long second.
ââŠHe wonât answer,â you whisper, like saying it might make it easier.
You hit call anyway.
It rings once.
Twice.
Three timesâ
âHello?â
His voice is groggy. Sleep-heavy. Confused.
ââŠHey,â you manage, and your throat tightens immediately.
Thereâs a pause on the other end. You hear the shiftâfabric, movement, something like a bed creaking.
âHeyâ? Whatâs wrong?â
You donât answer right away.
You canât.
âHey,â he says again, sharper this time, more awake. âAre you okay?â
âIââ Your voice cracks. You swallow hard. âCan you come over?â
Another pause.
Longer this time.
ââŠRight now?â
You nod instinctively before remembering he canât see you. âYeah. I justâI needââ
âIâm on my way.â
The line goes dead.
â
You barely have time to move from the bathroom before thereâs a knockâtoo fast, too soon.
Your heart jumps.
You open the door.
And there he is.
Mark Grayson stands there in a t-shirt and sweats, hair a mess like he didnât bother fixing it, chest rising a little too quickly for someone who supposedly just woke up.
His eyes land on you.
And stop.
The shift is immediate.
Itâs subtle at firstâjust a tightening in his expression, his brows pulling together slightly.
Then his gaze sharpens.
Tracks.
Your cheek. Your lip. The way youâre holding yourself.
ââŠWhat happened?â
You look away.
âItâs nothing,â you say quickly. Too quickly. âI justââ
âThatâs not nothing.â
His voice is firmer now. Not loudâbut thereâs weight behind it.
You shrug, trying to make it look smaller than it is. âIt was just an argument, it got a littleâout of hand. Itâs fine now.â
âOut of hand.â
He repeats it like heâs testing the words. Like they donât sit right in his mouth.
You force a small laugh. âYeah. Itâsâitâs really not a big deal, I justââ
âWho did this?â
Your stomach drops.
âMark, itâsââ
âWho.â
The word is sharper now. Edged.
You hesitate.
Because you know him.
You know what he can do.
âHey,â you say softly, stepping a little closer, like that might ground him. âItâs okay. Really. I probably justâsaid something I shouldnât have andââ
His jaw tightens.
âThat doesnât matter.â
âIt kind of does,â you try, a little more urgently now. âI mean, I shouldnât haveââ
âThat doesnât matter,â he repeats, more firmly this time.
Silence stretches between you.
You can feel itâthe tension building under his skin, the way heâs holding himself back.
ââŠIt wasnât the first time,â you admit quietly.
You donât know why you say it.
Maybe because the look on his face makes it hard not to.
Maybe because part of you wants someone to know.
His expression stills completely.
ââŠWhat?â
You swallow. âI justâdidnât think it was that serious, you know? And I thought if I justâhandled it better, it wouldnâtââ
âStop.â
The word cuts through your sentence.
You freeze.
His hands curl slightly at his sides, fingers flexing like heâs trying to keep them still.
âWhere does he live?â
Your heart stutters. âMarkââ
âWhere does he live?â
Thereâs something in his voice now that wasnât there before.
SomethingâŠfinal.
âI donât think thatâs a good idea,â you say quickly. âItâs fine, really, I just needed someone to talk to, I didnât mean for you toââ
âYou shouldâve told me sooner.â
Itâs quiet.
Too quiet.
Your breath catches.
âMarkââ
âAddress.â
You hesitate.
And thatâs all it takes.
ââŠPlease,â you add, softer this time. âDonât do anything stupid.â
He looks at you.
Really looks at you.
Then his gaze flicks just briefly to your bruised cheek.
ââŠIâll handle it.â
Before you can say anything else, heâs gone.
The window rattles slightly in his wake.
â
He finds him faster than expected.
Of course he does.
People like that arenât careful.
They donât think they have to be.
Mark Grayson doesnât bother knocking.
He doesnât make a scene, either.
Just waits.
Watches.
And when the guy steps outsideâalone, distracted, phone in handâ
Mark moves.
Itâs quick.
Disorienting.
One second heâs there, the next heâs notâpulled into an alley a few blocks away before he can even process whatâs happening.
âWhat theâwhat the hellâ?!â
The guy stumbles, panic setting in immediately as he tries to regain his footing.
Mark doesnât let him.
Pins him backâfirm, unyielding.
âHeyâhey, wait, man, I donât know what youââ
âYou do.â
His voice is calm.
Too calm.
The guyâs breathing turns uneven. âLook, if this is aboutâabout earlier, IâI didnât meanââ
âYou hit them.â
Itâs not a question.
âIâI didnâtâit wasnât like thatââ
âYou hit them.â
âI said I was sorry!â he blurts, panic rising, hands shaking. âI called them, I told them Iâlook, I love them, okay? I didnât mean to, it justâit got out of hand, I swear it wonât happen againââ
Mark watches him.
Listens.
Waits.
ââŠIt already happened more than once.â
The guy falters.
Thatâs all the answer he needs.
âPlease,â he tries again, more desperate now. âPlease, man, Iâll fix it, Iâll do whatever, justâjust let me go, okay? I wonât go near them again, I swear, Iâllââ
Mark tilts his head slightly.
Studies him.
Measures.
Thenâ
ââŠNo.â
The word is quiet.
Certain.
The guyâs face drains of color.
Mark steps forward.
â
When you hear the window again, you flinch.
You hadnât even realized how long it had been.
You turn.
And heâs there.
For a split second, relief hits you.
Thenâ
You see him.
Thereâs somethingâŠoff.
Not obvious, not at first glance but thereâs a stiffness to the way he stands, a faint darkening along the fabric of his clothes that wasnât there before.
And in his hands
A plastic bag.
Another one.
ââŠMark?â
Your voice comes out smaller than you intend.
His expression softens immediately when he looks at you.
âHey.â
Like nothingâs wrong.
Like he didnât just disappear for who knows how long.
âWhatââ You swallow. âWhat happened?â
Thereâs a pause.
Just a second.
Thenâ
âYou donât have to worry about him anymore.â
Your stomach drops.
ââŠWhat does that mean?â
He doesnât answer right away.
Instead, he sets the bags down carefully on the counter.
âI grabbed some stuff,â he says instead. âIce packs. Bandages. Uhââ He pulls out a pack of mini sodas and snacks, setting it beside them. âAndâŠthese.â
A small, slightly crumpled stuffed animal follows.
You stare at it.
Then back at him.
ââŠMark.â
âIâm gonna clean up first, okay?â
He says it gently. Like heâs asking.
But heâs already moving toward the bathroom.
You donât stop him.
â
By the time he comes back he looksâŠnormal again.
Cleaner.
Like whatever you saw before wasnât real.
He kneels in front of you, opening the first aid kit with careful hands.
âSit still,â he murmurs.
You do.
Of course you do.
His touch is careful. Gentle in a way that doesnât match the tension still lingering in the room.
He presses a cold pack lightly against your cheek, watching your reaction.
ââŠTell me if it hurts.â
âIt already does,â you try to joke wekly.
He doesnât smile.
âThatâs not funny.â
You fall quiet.
ââŠHe said he was sorry,â you admit after a moment, staring at your hands. âHe said he didnt mean it.â
Markâs hands pause for just a second.
Then continue.
âYeah,â he says quietly. âI know.â
ââŠDid you talk to himâ
A beat.
ââŠSomething like that.â
You swallow.
ââŠMark what did you do?â
He finally looks up at you.
Thereâs something in his eyes you donât recognize.
Not angr.
Not really.
Something steadier.
âHes not going to hurt you again.â
Itâs not reassurance.
Itâs a statement.
Your chest tightens.
ââŠOkay,â you say slowly.
Because you donât know what else to say.
He softens a little at that.
âCâmon,â he murmurs, standing and holding out a hand. âLetâs get you to bed.â
You hesitate.
Then take it.
â
The movie plays quietly in the background, something youâre not really paying attention to.
Youâre curled up under the blankets, the stuffed animal tucked awkwardly against your side.
Mark sits beside you close, but not suffocating.
Present.
His arm rests lightly around your shoulders, careful of the bruises, fingers absently tracing slow, grounding patterns against your arm.
âYou should get some sleepâ he says after a while.
You shake your head slightly. âDonât think I can.â
ââŠThatâs okay.â
Silence settles again.
Its quieter now.
Safer.
And somehow
Not.
ââŠMark?â
âYeah?â
You hesitate.
ââŠThank you. For coming.â
His hand stills for a moment.
Then resumes.
ââŠYou donât have to thank me.â
Another pause.
âYou shouldâve called me sooner.â
His voice is softer this time.
Almost gentle.
You nod, even though youâre not sure if you agree.
Your eyes drift shut eventually exhaustion pulling you under.
And Mark stays.
Watching.
Listening.
Making sure you breathe evenly.
Making sure youre still there.
Long after the movie ends.
Long after the sun starts to rise.
And somewhere in the back of your min
You canât shake the feeling that nothing about this is over.
That itâs only just begun.
--
( this is based off what actually happened in a few of the comic panels of invincible with some slight changes and it's inspired off of when Amber and Mark broke up and amber called him so she could help her deal with her abusive boyfriend who was hitting her. so in this universe, reader would be taking the place of amber)
so before i ask for a small drabble, what guidelines do you specifically have for requests?
i know you donât like NSFW or some weird stuff, but what specifically?
i donât have any plans in mind for requesting weird things, nor NSFW, but what about angst or a specific reader pov?
thank you if you do respond đ«Ą
âđ« anon for now
hi
my guidelines is that the request be SFW. It doesnât always have to be platonic, I'm okay with it being romantic or anything else just as long as it doesn't contain erotic stuff like smut or anything else related. Like for example, I can write one where reader is on a date with Mark Grayson. Or one where you're flirting with Amber đ. I can definitely do content with violence, profanity, and gore but I won't do like graphic super detailed gore because that's excessive and disgusting.
and when i say weird stuff, im talking about vore and all that other gross stuff
i can honestly do anything as long as its not sexual and super weird in general. so no im not writing sex but i can do jokes, comments, etc about it in dialogue and mention it in the writing but im not writing out a full out scene of it
It starts with distanceâyour refusal, your silence, the way you reject every attempt Anissa makes to step into a role you never offered her. She tells herself it will take time. That youâll adjust. But when patience fails to bring results, she begins to intervene more directlyâreshaping your environment, your choices, and the way you hold onto someone she believes you should have already let go of.
⊠Content / Notes âș
Platonic dynamics. Step-parent relationship. Civilian reader. Canon-divergent (post-redemption Anissa). Soft â moderate platonic yandere traits. Infantilization (non-sexual). Emotional manipulation. Grief themes. Forced family dynamics. Cultural conflict (Viltrumite vs human values). Reader defiance. Mild unease.
(as much as i dislike anissa, i was running out of ideas until i looked back at some of my invincible comics for inspiration and came up with this)
Anissa doesnât understand why you wonât love her.
Not in the way she understands love.
She has given you everything that should matter.
A home. Protection. Stability.
A family that will outlive empires.
And still you look at her like she is temporary.
You donât try to hide it.
You donât call her anything.
Not mom. Not even Anissa, most days.
Just silence.
Or worseâ
corrections.
âSheâs not my mother.â
Anissa does not react.
Not outwardly.
But something in her stills.
Because that is not how this is supposed to work.
On Viltrum, children do not choose where their loyalty lies.
It is not something debated.
It is not something⊠refused.
---
At first, she allows it.
Your distance.
Your grief.
Your attachment to someone who is no longer here.
She studies it the way she studies everything humanâ
with patience.
With observation.
You notice it in small ways.
The way she watches you when you speak.
The way she tilts her head slightly when you mention your mother
like she is trying to understand a language she does not respect.
âYou speak of her often.â
You shrug.
âBecause sheâs my mom.â
A pause.
Measured.
âShe was.â
The correction lands sharper than anything louder would have.
You glare at her.
âDonât do that.â
She doesnât understand the hostility.
Only the resistance.
âYou are holding onto something that no longer serves you.â
And there it is.
That tone.
Calm. Certain.
Like she has already decided you are wrong.
From there, things begin to change.
Not all at once.
Never all at once.
----
Photos go missing.
At first, you think you misplaced them.
Then you realize you didnât.
You bring it up to your dad.
Scott hesitates.
Just for a second.
Too long.
âItâs... probably for the best.â
You stare at him.
âYou canât keep living in the past.â
And just like that
he chooses a side.
Even if he doesnât say it outright.
After that Anissa becomes⊠more involved.
She starts answering for you.
Small things at first.
âTheyâre not hungry.â
âThey donât need that.â
âThat isnât what they meant.â
You frown every time.
Correct her every time.
âI can speak for myself.â
She looks at you.
Not annoyed.
Not angry.
Just⊠assessing.
âYou are emotionaâ
Like that explains it.
Like that justifies everything.
âYou ar not thinking clearly.â
Itâs always said the same way.
Measured.
Gentle, in a way that doesnât feel gentle at all.
---
She starts deciding things.
Your schedule.
Your meals.
Where you go.
Who you see.
Not forcefully.
Not violently.
Justâ
inevitably.
âYou do not need to concern yourself with that.â
Her hand rests on your shoulder when she redirects you.
Heavy.
Unmoving.
Not painful.
But impossible to ignore.
âIâve already taken care of it.â
You hate that the most.
It feels like shrinking.
Like every choice you try to make gets⊠absorbed.
Rewriten.
Simplified.
Until you donât recognize it anymore.
---
And thenâ
she compares you.
âMarky does not resist like this.â
Your stomach twists.
âMolly listens when she is corrected.â
You laugh.
Sharp. Bitter.
âGood for them.â
Her gaze hardens just slightly.
âThis behavior is not⊠appropriate.â
âYou are not a child.â
You snap.
A pause.
And thenâ
âYou are behaving like one.â
Itâs not cruel.
Thatâs the problem.
Itâs said like a fact.
Like gravity.
Like something that doesnât need to be argued.
You step back.
Finally angry enough to stop holding it in.
âIâm not them.â
âIâm not your kid.â
âAnd you donât get to replace her.â
For a momentâ
something shifts.
Not anger.
Not rage.
Something colder.
Scott steps in then.
Like heâs been waiting for the exact moment things would break.
âHeyâhey, thatâs enough.â
His voice is careful.
Too careful.
He looks at you first.
Not Anissa.
âYou canât keep doing this.â
Your chest tightens.
âDoing what?â
âActing like she doesnât matter.â
That stings more than anything Anissa has said.
âSheâs trying.â
You laugh again.
But it sounds wrong this time.
âSheâs trying to replace her.â
Scott exhales.
Rubs his face.
âNo one is replacing anyone.â
But he doesnât sound sure.
---
And Anissaâ
Anissa watches both of you like sheâs learning something.
It starts small â a few boxes of cookies, a familiar face at the door, a routine forming quicker than it should. What begins as a simple transaction turns into something steadier. Something expected.
The first time you knock itâs just another door.
Another polite smile. Another quick pitch. Another maybe-sale.
The man who answers looks a little tiredâhesitant, evenâbut before he can say much, something shifts behind his eyes.
A pause.
Thenâ
âChocolate.â
A voice murmurs. Not quite his.
He blinks, like he didnât mean to say it out loud.
You list off what you have anyway. Thin Mints. Caramel chocolate chip. Peanut butter patties. Treefoils. Lemonades. The usual.
Thereâs a beat of silence.
Then, suddenly
âIâll take⊠all of those.â
âAll ofâ?â
âAll the chocolate ones,â he corrects quickly, already reaching for his wallet.
Behind his eyes, something hums in approval.
Good. Smart choice. We like this one.
He clears his throat, trying to cover it up.
You thank him. Of course you do. Itâs a big purchase.
You donât think much of it. Not yet.
It becomes a pattern after that.
A familiar knock.
A familiar face.
A door that opens faster each time.
Sometimes heâs already there before you even finish knocking.
âYouâre early,â Eddie says once.
âThey are right on time,â Venom corrects quietlyâonly for him.
---
You start setting up a table eventually. Less walking, more waiting. A few friends, a supervising adult, neat rows of boxes stacked in careful displays.
He still shows up. Not every time. But enough. Always for the same ones. Always watching a little longer than necessary.
You learn his name somewhere along the way. Maybe you ask. Maybe someone else says it first.
It sticks.
âThank you, Mr. Eddie!â
The words are light. Casual. Easy.
But something about them lingers.
Eddie pauses, just for a second.
Venom goes completely still.
ââŠThey remember us.â
Eddie exhales. Something softer slips into his expression.
âYeah,â he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. âGuess they do.â
After that, he starts coming by more often.
Other people stop coming as much.
Itâs gradual. Easy to miss.
A regular here. A neighbor there. Gone.
Your stock still sells. He makes sure of it.
âWe do not like the others,â Venom admits one evening, voice low.
âThey take what is ours.â
âTheyâre just buying cookies,â Eddie mutters under his breath.
âSo are we.â
At home, your parents mention something in passing.
A man asking questions.
Nothing invasive. Nothing too strange.
Just⊠timing. Days. How long you stay out.
You might brush it off. Or maybe not.
One day, you donât show up.
No table. No knock. No familiar voice at the door.
Eddie notices. Venom notices first.
âWhere are they.â
âI donât know.â
âYou should.â
âIâm not tracking a kidââ
âYou should.â
The next time you do show up, itâs like nothing happened.
But the door opens faster than ever.
âYou skipped yesterday,â Eddie says a little too quickly.
A pause.
Then, softerâ
ââŠEverything okay?â
Venom lingers closer to the surface this time. You can feel it.
The first time you really see him, it isnât at the door.
â
Itâs later. After. After the shouting. After the running. After the money is gone.
You were counting boxes when someone grabbed the cash off the table.
The mugger thought no one noticed.
Eddie had. He always does.
âEddie.â
âI see him.â
âHe took from them.â
âI know.â
The alley swallows the mugger quickly. Out of sightâbut not out of earshot.
Thereâs the sound of frantic footsteps. Then heavier, slower movements. Something low, massive, shiftingâcloser than it should be. A noise you canât quite place, wet and sudden, like⊠something emerging.
A struggle. Brief. Muffled. Then silence.
Your troop hears the scream. Something nasty. The alley swallows it. They donât see. They only hear.
When Eddie comes back, itâs almost jarring how normal he looks.
Almost.
Breathing heavier than before. Hair slightly disheveled. Shirt and pants creased, edges darkened by somethingâdirt, something darker, maybe blood. Something under his fingernails. Not enough to notice unless youâre looking.
He doesnât mention it. He doesnât need to.
The money is in his hand. All of it. Held carefully. Too carefully. Like it matters more than it should. Like you do.
âYou should be more careful" Eddie says.
Gentler than expected. Quieter. Concern, not anger.
Behind him something shifts. Not fully visible. But there. Watching. Content.
âThey will not touch you again
----
Things settle on the surface.
He still buys cookies. Still lingers. Still watches.
Venom speaks more now. Not always where others can hear. But sometimes
âYou are safe,â he tells you once.
Up close, his voice isnât loud. Just⊠certain.
âWe make sure of it.â
You might get used to it. Or maybe you donât.
Maybe its the way the street feels quieter now. Or how no one interrupts when youâre talking to him. Or how he always seems to know when youâll be there.
Or mayb itâs the way he says your name. Carefully. Like he plans on remembering it for a very long time.
