Nolan Grayson - Blog Posts
Yall...Omni Man is hot...like really hot 🧍♀️
People. Hats off to you! Is that really what I think?Wow.....
The funny thing is that... I'm siding with Nolan. He was really right about his ideology. And this whole struggle is just a perfect indicator of Garmadon and Lloyd.
The source of the two previously images.
the old switcharoo
I bet there’s an actual universe of these two swapped
oh my god for real
I need for this to be Debbie when she sees Nolan in S3 😂
Mark who's "fuck you"-ing/mocking Nolan is my only favourite part of this ep. The rest is suffering
Ah yes, the dramatic anime scene of two gay(or bi) best friends arguing oh yessssss
Okay, that was gay as hell
Was rewatching the show and I just noticed that the “I fucked up” part stopped right on Nolan and I think that it’s a very interesting detail because man ofc you DID
I forgot that I can draw damn
(Something from my AU that I’m too shy to tell about)
GUYS
It's Viltrumite!Debbie & Human!Nolan
I have to draw this...
Okay, because I love doing stupid headcanons about serious characters(especially about their childhood), here's more >:3
• he definitely crashed into walls while he tried to learn how to fly
• had to cut his hair himself a few times so he looked like those ugly baby birds
• used to have long hair (just because why not) but then decided that it looks stupid and uncomfortable
• got scared by the cat when he firs visited Earth because he didn't know what the hell was that at first (Debbie had to explain)
• got tangled in the curtain
Okay, I think that this guy used to be the "weird kid" back on Viltrum
(Come on, he literally wrote adventure novels about space!)
I think that everyone always thought that he's weird because sometimes he was just "to tear off an ear you need to apply a force of about seven to eight kilograms " and the just leave without explaining what was that shit for.
And I think that he had an imaginary friend.
Idk what you think, but Nolan in 3d season (+ a bit at the end of 2nd) is my favourite
Like...he made a friend.... maybe(well he was DEFINITELY worried about Allen)?????? And he doesn't act like a complete ass?????? And misses his wife???????????????????????????? And he looks so freaking sad and beaten up AL THE TIME?????????????? Sorry not sorry I like this version of him he's funny and he looks like a sad dog
Don't get me started guys.....just.....stoppp them (it's a joke. don't)
They're so stupid oh my god...
So that's a family thing. (Debbie, your turn)
Mark, literally going through HELL, blaming himself for what his father did.
Nolan in some prison in the ass of space:
Okay..
Since I almost finished watching Invincible, I have an idea..
Guys...
Viltrumite!Debbie..... with human!Nolan
Guys...
I need for this to be Debbie when she sees Nolan in S3 😂
Aww a happy family
Artist:
tobo_katsuo on twitter
katsuoyanen on bluesky
The reason there isn’t more Omniman x Allen content is because they’re canon, no need to rewrite history
I'm going to need all of you to hear me out on what I'm about to spew, but I have yandere!batfam brain rot, and I just came across Yan!girldad!nolan grayson.
HEAR ME OUT!
Putting a page break here cuz idk how long this will be-
So- the usual neglected batsis that as a youngster craved the attention of her fam, but after being brushed away, after being ignored, after being straight up forgotten about, says fuck it, y'all aren't worth my love, I'll use the Wayne money to do as I please.
So she does. She uses the monthly allowance that is on auto pay straight to her card to do arts, to paint her heart away, to draw and play video games, to fund and pay off anything from homeless shelters to medical bills, trying to make a dent into the Wayne fortune both in selfish and non-selfish ways. She's basically a petty tween.
But then she wakes up with powers. She thinks she's a meta- batman doesn't like metas, that's what she thinks, she doesn't know Bruce doesn't want metas in Gotham due to Gotham being ground zero for meta trafficking. Boom, panic.
I think she has powers like flying, super strength, and like immediate healing if not "iron skin" like Superman. So she wakes because she hits the ceiling due to flying while asleep. She panics, falls, maybe breaks something, nobody comes to check on her-
Now, she always has toyed with the idea of leaving, but this? THIS? Breaking point, she packs necessities and the Wayne card and says bye-bye Gotham, good morning... Chicago? NYC? Idk, whichever place Omni man lives in ig.
The batfam, of course, doesn't notice. In this universe, I think even Alfred won't have been paying that much attention to batsis, man's too busy. So what if one day he does his rounds, cleaning, opens a door he hasn't been in a while.
The room is dusty. Dusty beyond hell, and one singular photo of batsis at like a kindergarten graduation makes him drop everything, including his heart. Old man goes feral, absolutely crazy, because where the fuck is this kid, this little baby, that he went and picked up because Bruce couldn't be bothered.
The batfam goes crazy too. In the mean time-
Batsis is, surprisingly, living her best life. Initially, she planned on getting an under the table job- clean a bar, babysit, be the errand girl of some shady drag dealer, etc. But Nolan sees her while she tries to get her powers under control, shakily flying, accidentally blowing to pieces a tree as she leans against it.
Omni-man as he lurks in the shadows: Debbie would love a daughter. I would love a daughter.
Batsis would call it kidnapping, Nolan calls it adopting without extra steps. Debbie takes one look at this shaken kid and immediately goes mama mode while reprimanding Nolan about taking a kid off the streets and not warning her so she could prepare better.
Mark? It takes about 2 hours before he realizes that they can be training buddies and that they have similar taste in some things. That's his baby sister. No arguments, just baby sis. Batsis? Much like a hungry, cold cat, she accepts her fate. It does feel nice to finally have some attention on her.
So she trains with Nolan and Mark, gets great, becomes a reluctant superhero, deliberately ignores Nolan's rants about her becoming such a great warrior, his little girl on the way of becoming the greatest conquror. Gothamite batsis just shrugs it off as just a Thursday.
Back with the batfam, pure chaos. Everyone is in shambles. How could they forget about a whole kid? Their siblings, Bruce's youngest daughter. Guilt is slowly turning into madness, and madness is slowly turning into a need to prove they can be better, that they weren't deliberately overlooking an innocent child because of personal pettiness, they were just distracted but now they'll right their wrongs.
Bonus p1:
Superman finally meeting batsis: What do you mean you're Bruce's kid? 😃 What do you mean you're a meta and instead of coming to uncle Clark you go and get adopted by murderous Omni-man? 🙂 What do you mean you kinda approve of him killing his enemies? 🫠
Batsis just wants Joker to die.
Bonus pt2:
Dick: What do you mean she's calling that other Grayson boy big brother? 😀
Damien: What do you mean I have another sibling? What do you mean she's calling that purple alien bastard her little brother?! I blame you, father.
Bonus pt3:
John Constantine: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU GAVE ONE OF BATMAN'S KIDS IMMORTALITY AND MAGICAL POWERS?
The deity/entity batsis has been depicting in her paintings for years: *shrugs* I was bored, my little priestess was sad, she's not anymore 🤷
That's the plot twist, batsis is actually magical, but her powers work the way they do because that's the only way she knows how to fight with them. Magic isn't on her thought as a possibility, even if she was into the occult.
Cue John drinking for 3 days straight before having the courage(or will) to go to the Bat.
❝Too Far Gone❞
Mark Grayson x Brainrot Girlfriend!Readerᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ
˗ˏˋ 𓉘 Part 2 of ”Corruption Complete” 𓉝ˎˊ˗
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
🦈 summary: mark’s corruption arc continues. he’s made it to the dark side—but the brainrot never ends. from forced meme bootcamp to cursed movie nights and chaotic friend group crossovers, mark’s peace is officially gone. and now… he might kind of like it?
🦈 contains: sfw. modern brainrot. fandom jokes. reluctant!mark, chaotic!reader. oliver returns with more menace. debbie thrives. william + rick join the chaos. wine obsessed!debbie. amber vs eve. tiktok audios. cursed AI videos. gacha reactions. passive-aggressive memes. „tragic boy 2.0”
🦈 wc: 2187
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: we’re back, baby. this was supposed to be a joke, and now it’s a saga. blame mark for folding like a wet napkin. shout-out to the “ballerina cappuccina” for lighting this fire. enjoy the chaos.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Mark stared at the whiteboard in front of him like it was written in an alien dialect. Which, to be fair, was only partially inaccurate.
“Okay,” you said brightly, tapping the marker against your palm. “Let’s review: What does it mean if I say ‘she’s giving One Direction in 2013 with a sprinkle of Tumblr Sexy Man pipeline energy’?”
Mark blinked once. Twice.
Oliver leaned forward like a predator scenting fear. “Say it, Mark. Say the answer.”
Mark sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “It… means she’s popular?”
“Popular how?” you challenged. “Contextualize it.”
“She’s… trending?” he tried.
“Wrong,” Oliver said, shaking his head gravely. “You’ve just been hit with a ✨deduction✨.”
He clicked a buzzer. Where it came from, no one knew. Where it went after that, no one wanted to ask.
You turned back to the board, adding another tally to the “Cringe Counter” in red marker. Mark’s score was now dangerously close to being labeled “culturally illiterate.”
“This is so dumb,” he grumbled. “This isn’t even a real language.”
“It is to us,” you and Oliver said in perfect sync.
Mark muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “cult behavior.”
You ignored him, moving to the next slide. A collage of pixelated TikTok reaction memes flashed onto the screen. “Okay, rapid-fire round: What’s the audio for this one?”
Mark squinted. “Is that… a raccoon in a nun outfit?”
“Yes, but that’s not the point,” you snapped.
Oliver gasped. “You don’t know the ‘Father, forgive me, but she was SERVING’ audio?!”
Mark opened his mouth. Closed it. “Why would I ever need to know that?”
“Because one day you might be the raccoon in the nun outfit, Mark,” you said, eyes burning with brainrot conviction.
He slumped back on the couch. “I regret everything.”
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿
What was supposed to be a calm, relaxing day became a Friday Movie Night. Which, in your (the Graysons’) household, meant one thing:
No peace. No mercy. Only WiFi-fueled chaos.
It started innocently. You were lounging on the couch, half-scrolling and half-plotting dinner, when Debbie offhandedly said, “We should watch something tonight.”
You, of course, took that as a declaration of war.
Ten minutes later, the lights were dimmed, the coffee table was drowning in chips and half-melted gummies, and everyone had been emotionally blackmailed into joining.
(“Mark, you saved the world. You can survive one night of meme cinema.”)
Mark sat like a hostage. William arrived mid-chaos with Rick, who brought snacks and the wrong kind of emotional preparedness. Debbie brought wine. Oliver brought his entire personality.
You? You brought a curated playlist of AI-generated edits that actively offended the concept of linear storytelling.
“Okay,” you announced, remote in hand. “Tonight’s film festival opens with: Edward Cullen breakdancing in front of an explosion to Skyfall.”
“…Why?” Mark asked, already regretting being born.
“Art,” Oliver whispered reverently.
The video began. Within fifteen seconds, Comic Sans text scrolled across the screen:
‘When he says forever but leaves the Minecraft server.’
Rick blinked. “I have so many questions.”
William, eyes wide, leaned in. “And none of them matter.”
The next clip was somehow worse—or better. AI-generated Loki slow dancing with the Riddler at prom while Will Smith stood in the corner like a disappointed gym teacher. The audio? A slowed-down remix of Let It Go over Sandstorm.
No one blinked.
“I hate this,” Mark whispered.
“You’re watching it,” you replied sweetly.
“…Shut up.”
Oliver pulled out a scoring notebook. “Okay, rating time. Editing? 10. Trauma delivery? 12.”
“Is there symbolism?” Rick asked, way too seriously.
“Absolutely,” William said. “The Riddler’s bowtie was a metaphor for late-stage capitalism.”
Even Debbie chimed in with a solid, “The pacing in the Subway Voldemort edit was weird, but I respect the emotional core.”
By the third cursed slideshow, everyone had a ranking system, emotional stakes, and deeply divided opinions about whether or not Gandalf doing a TikTok dance counted as character assassination.
Mark didn’t get up. Didn’t leave. Didn’t even look away. He just sighed.
And for some ridiculously stupid reason?
He didn’t hate it.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿
It happened on a Tuesday.
A simple, forgettable Tuesday. Rain outside. Soup on the stove. A blanket of rare peace over the house.
And then Mark opened his mouth.
“You’re being real ‘girl who fell off the swing in 2012 and never emotionally recovered’ right now.”
Silence.
Your spoon hovered mid-air.
Oliver, across the room, slowly turned like an animatronic coming online.
Debbie looked up from her crossword, one eyebrow arched with terrifying accuracy.
“What,” you breathed.
Mark blinked, backtracking immediately. “I mean—not like that. I wasn’t saying you were—It’s just—I saw a TikTok—”
“A TikTok,” Oliver echoed, mouth spreading into a villainous grin. “So you have been studying.”
“I didn’t mean to say it out loud.”
“You quoted a cultural meme tag with precision,” you gasped. “Unprovoked.”
Mark stood frozen in the kitchen doorway like a raccoon caught in the fridge light.
“I blacked out,” he tried.
“You blacked in,” Oliver corrected, dramatically pointing. “Welcome to the hive mind.”
Debbie didn’t say anything, just sipped her wine with the smugness of a woman watching her son descend into madness she fully supported.
You dramatically slammed your hand on the counter. “You mocked us.”
“I still do.”
“And yet!” you shrieked, gesturing wildly. “You knew what that meant!”
Mark groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “This is your fault.”
“You’re damn right it is.”
Oliver held up the whiteboard from earlier and slapped a gold star beside Mark’s name. “Corruption milestone achieved: accidental meme reference in domestic context.”
“You’ve fallen,” you said softly. “You’re one of us now.”
Mark didn’t respond.
But he did mutter “she’s giving ‘delulu but functioning’” under his breath an hour later.
Oliver tackled him with a celebratory pillow.
You cried actual tears.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿
What started as a casual group hang spiraled—as most things in your social circle did—into chaos within twenty minutes.
Amber had stopped by under the innocent promise of “a chill night.” She brought wine, even wore slippers. Her guard was down.
Eve was already there. Cross-legged on the rug, hoodie half-zipped, energy drink in hand like it was liquid law.
Amber settles in with a sigh. “I was promised snacks and serotonin.”
Eve flops down beside her, stealing a chip from Mark’s bowl. “And yet you walked into psychological warfare.”
The TV is paused on a cursed slideshow. The image? A freeze frame of Shrek photoshopped into a Renaissance painting, holding hands with a pixelated Garfield.
The caption reads: “when you and your emotional support cryptid walk into therapy”
Amber groans. “No. Absolutely not.”
Eve perks up. “Why not? That one’s a classic.”
“It’s blasphemy.”
“It’s art.”
“It’s Garfield in a toga.”
“Exactly.”
Amber throws her hands up. “Why is he glowing?”
Mark, exhausted from the last three meme dissections, doesn’t even look up. “Symbolism.”
“Thank you!” Eve beams.
“Don’t encourage her,” Amber mutters, taking a swig of wine.
You sit smugly between them, remote in hand, before asking. “Next slide?”
“Absolutely.” The red-haired girl encouraged.
“I will scream.” Amber promised.
The next image pops up—a tier list ranking internet boyfriends. At the top? Invincible, labeled: ‘tragedy-coded, would cry during WALL-E’
Directly beneath him—Paddington Bear and that guy who fixed his crush’s WiFi in a TikTok once.
Amber squints. “What does this even mean.”
Eve leans in like a scholar. “It’s a commentary on emotional vulnerability in male-coded narratives.”
“You just made that up.”
“I did, and I stand by it.”
William mutters, “I’d date Paddington. He’s stable.”
“That coat? Immaculate.” His boyfriend adds.
Amber glances at you. “Are your friends okay?”
“Absolutely not.”
Oliver, feeling slightly left out, stirs up some drama. “Mark’s at risk of joining the list if he cries during Finding Nemo.”
“I DIDN’T CRY.”
“You sniffled,” Debbie says from the kitchen.
By the end of the night, Eve and Amber are locked in a passionate debate about whether or not liking Remy from Ratatouille is a red flag, William is drawing diagrams to explain meme evolution, and Mark’s soul has visibly left his body.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿
It was supposed to be harmless.
A passing moment. A flicker in the chaos.
You hadn’t even meant to record him. Not really.
You were filming Oliver’s dramatic reenactment of the “I’m just a baby!” audio using sock puppets and half of Rick’s hoodie when Mark walked by in the background—bored, hoodie half-on, sipping orange juice straight from the carton.
And then, with zero prompting, he did it.
He hit a trend pose.
Perfectly.
He didn’t even notice he’d done it. Just sipped, blinked, walked off like nothing happened.
Everyone stared.
“…Did he just—?” William whispered.
Oliver stood frozen mid-puppet grab. “Roll it back.”
You did.
And there it was: textbook trend behavior. Down to the head tilt.
“Put that on the internet,” Eve said, eyes wide. “Now.”
“No,” Mark said immediately, from the kitchen.
“Yes,” everyone else said in unison.
You posted it. You didn’t even try to be subtle. The caption?
’when the trauma makes you trendable. #tragedyboy2.0’
By the end of the night, it had 40k views.
By morning, 200k.
╭┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╮
ြ The comments were chaos:
➤“he’s so emotionally charged I could fix him AND he’d thank me”
➤“when you cry to Mitski but still hit a clean pose?? king”
➤“tragedy boy 2.0 just dropped and I’m obsessed”
╰┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╯
Mark stared at your phone, expression blank.
“I didn’t even do anything,” he muttered.
“That’s the point,” Rick said, nodding.
“Tragic aura,” Amber added.
“It’s the silent suffering that sells,” William confirmed, sipping his smoothie.
You handed Mark your phone with a smile. “Congrats. You’re a meme now.”
He stared at the screen.
Then at you.
“…I’m deleting all of your editing apps.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“You need help.”
“YOU TREND IN SILENCE.”
From the hallway, Debbie called out. “Make sure to tag me next time. I’ve got burner accounts ready!”
Mark buried his face in his hands.
Somewhere, a comment called him “WALL-E coded.” Another simply said, “blink twice if you need therapy, blink once if you already went and it didn’t work.”
He blinked once.
The internet cheered.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿
It started out as a joke.
A throwaway mention. A cursed sentence uttered in the depths of a late-night scroll session:
“Imagine if there was a Gacha Life video of Nolan betraying Earth.”
You had said it. Mark had groaned. Oliver had gasped.
And twenty minutes later—you were all gathered on the couch, screen mirroring a Gacha reaction video with a thumbnail that read:
“Invincible Characters React to Nolan’s Betrayal (SAD/CRYING/REAL)”
The title card was Comic Sans. The music was royalty-free piano tragedy. The vibes? Devastating.
Mark looked like he was about to walk into traffic.
“Why is my Gacha self crying in the corner?” he asked, horrified.
“Character depth,” you replied.
The video played.
Pixelated Gacha!Debbie gasped in slow motion as Gacha!Nolan punched Gacha!Mark into orbit. A single animated tear rolled down her face and sparkled. The screen flashed:
“TO BE CONTINUED…?”
“Oh my god,” Rick whispered. “They gave it a cliffhanger.”
“Of real history,” William added. “This is art.”
Debbie blinked at the screen. “Wait. That’s supposed to be me?”
“She looks twelve.” Amber said.
Eve raised her martini drink. “I respect the commitment.”
Meanwhile, Gacha!Mark lay motionless on the screen, sparkles and red overlay blood pooling dramatically as a voiceover whispered: “He was just a boy.”
Mark put his head in his hands. “This should be illegal.”
Oliver patted his shoulder. “That’s what makes it so powerful.”
By the end, there was a montage of Gacha!Mark’s “best moments” set to a slowed-down nightcore remix of “My Heart Will Go On.” The subtitles read: “Mark… you were the light in our darkness.”
No one spoke for a solid fifteen seconds.
Then you wiped a fake tear and said, “They got your trauma arc better than the actual writers.”
Mark muttered, “I’m moving out.”
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
•∘˙○˚.⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨🪼୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ∘˙○˚.•
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
By now, the “Tragedy Boy 2.0” clip had gone viral enough to birth its own ecosystem—edits, fancams, conspiracy theories.
And Debbie?
Debbie was thriving.
She’d quietly created an account under the name @markgraysondefenseunit, and she was everywhere.
╭┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╮
ြ Commenting on hate:
➥”he looks like he cries after arguments”
╰┈➤ @markgraysondefenseunit: “He resolves his trauma. Do YOU?”
╰┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╯
Debbie hit send, sipped her wine, and smiled like she just ended a war.
╭┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╮
ြ Fighting trolls:
➥“mid hero tbh”
╰┈➤ @markgraysondefenseunit: “Tell that to the asteroid he punched.”
╰┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╯
She cracked her knuckles before typing that one. Felt good.
╭┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╮
ြ Replying to thirst:
➥“me n him rn [photo of two frogs cuddling]”
╰┈➤ @markgraysondefenseunit: “wrap it up sweetie, you’re not his type.”
╰┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╯
Debbie raised an eyebrow, muttered “delusional,” and hit send without flinching.
For her defense—she did tell Mark about it, not her fault everyone thought she was just joking around.
So she stayed silent.
Until the day he scrolled through comments on his own post and paused.
“…Why does one of these accounts call me ‘my brave little meatball’?”
You smiled, innocent. “Huh. Weird.”
Oliver snorted into his juice.
From the kitchen, Debbie sipped her wine.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
a/n: this was supposed to be short. it was not. it got out of hand. again. also—did anyone clock my weird obsession with Tuesdays or are we all just politely ignoring it? be honest.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
With Love, @alive-gh0st
❝Always You❞
Mark Grayson x Childhood Friend!Reader ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི
-ˋˏ❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀ˎˊ-
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
❀ summary: you showed up uninvited, made his dad question all his life (and facial hair) choices, and never left. now you’re older, hotter, still annoying—and mark? very much in love. congrats.
❀ contains: sfw. childhood friends to lovers. slow-burn vibes. emotionally repressed!reader. soft!mark. reader has a difficult home life. light trauma but make it casual. fluff, banter and comedic tension. mark grayson being stupid-in-love.
❀ wc: 1899
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: first time posting just to feed y’all some mark grayson fluff.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
You don’t remember exactly how you ended up in the Graysons’ house that first day.
You’d only just moved in next door, and your mom was already yelling about boxes. The man she was with—this week’s guy—smelled like beer, sweat, and no patience.
So you left.
Well… not really, but something along those lines.
You wandered down the sidewalk barefoot, dragging your backpack behind you, until you spotted a house that looked safe. Lived-in. Rich. You rang the doorbell like it owed you something.
Debbie Grayson opened the door, took one look at your face, and smiled. “Hi there, sweetheart. You okay?”
You didn’t answer. Just walked right past her like you belonged there.
Mark was on the floor with a comic book. He looked up, mouth half-open.
You pointed at his dad. “Is that mustache glued on, or is it a punishment?”
Nolan nearly dropped his coffee. Debbie choked on a laugh. Mark blinked, unsure whether to be offended or amazed.
You were five.
By the end of the day, you were sitting cross-legged on their carpet, eating cookies like you’d always been there. You told Nolan he “sounded like a guy on TV,” which earned another chuckle from Debbie and a long sigh from the man.
By the end of the week, you were staying over so often Debbie started keeping a toothbrush for you.
By the end of the month, you were helping Mark build Lego towers in his room—then immediately yelling at Nolan for knocking them over “on purpose.”
(He did. He 100% did. Nolan Grayson, Earth’s strongest man, had personal beef with a five-year-old and no shame about it.)
And before long, Mark couldn’t remember a life where you weren’t in it.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
Being around you was chaos wrapped in kindness.
You’d stick your tongue out at Mark and Nolan the second Debbie turned her back, then curl into her side during movie nights like you were her own kid.
You terrified Nolan with the things you said—adult questions in a child’s voice, bold and unfiltered. Like asking, “If you flew into space too fast, would your brain explode?” Or, more memorably: “Do aliens poop?”
“Enough,” Nolan muttered one night after your fifth question. “You’re worse than a Pentagon interrogation.”
“But I’m cuter,” you argued, and Debbie nodded like that settled the matter.
You were nine when you figured out Omni-Man’s identity.
You’d been watching the news over cereal, Mark beside you, both in matching Grayson hand-me-downs.
With squinted eyes at the screen, you groaned in disbelief. “Seriously? That’s your dad’s disguise? I can recognize that ugly mustache from space.”
Mark froze with his spoon halfway to his mouth. “Wait, what?”
“Dude, it’s so obvious.”
You didn’t even flinch when Nolan walked in seconds later, fully suited up but holding his slippers like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Morning,” you said sweetly. “Nice cape.”
Nolan grunted and turned on the coffee maker without a comment.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
Debbie adored you. Nolan, surprisingly, respected you—maybe because you always challenged him without fear. And Mark? Mark had someone who understood him without even trying.
Your home life, though, was never something you talked about.
It wasn’t bad, not technically, but it didn’t feel like a home. The yelling never stopped. The guys came and went. You learned early not to ask questions, and that silence was safer.
So you stopped asking.
But one night—when you were eleven—you showed up at Mark’s window with bruises on your arms and dirt on your knees. You didn’t say anything. Just climbed inside and curled up next to him on the bed.
He didn’t say anything either.
He just pulled the blanket over you and let you fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.
After that, the Graysons stopped asking if you were coming over. It was just assumed.
That’s how it always was.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
By middle school, the two of you were inseparable. You walked to class together, bickered over who got to name the group projects, and ganged up on anyone who tried to mess with either of you.
One day, in the cafeteria, some eighth grader bumped into you hard enough to knock your tray.
“Watch it,” he sneered, clearly expecting you to back off.
You looked him dead in the eyes while tilting your head innocently. “Try that again and I’ll make sure you’re crapping Jell-O for a week.”
The kid blinked.
Mark stepped in beside you. “She means that in a… non-lethal way.”
“Do I?” you asked.
Mark turned to you, deadpan. “Can you not threaten to rearrange someone’s insides with pudding in front of the lunch monitors?”
You gave him a shrug. “No promises.”
People thought you’d grow apart in high school. That Mark would change. That you would change.
But you never gave him the chance to drift. You clung—stubbornly, fiercely—like you knew if you let go, something in you would unravel. And Mark never wanted to be anywhere else anyway.
High school didn’t change you much. If anything, you just got bolder.
Mark got taller. You got sharper. People asked if you were dating. You both said no.
But neither of you looked too convinced when you did.
You still wore his hoodies. He still shared his fries with you without asking. You stole his blankets. He carried an extra charger in his bag just in case you forgot yours.
He never forgot your birthday. You never missed a single one of his baseball games.
It wasn’t just friendship. Not really.
Not with the way you rolled your eyes at affection from anyone else but melted instantly when Mark laid his head on your shoulder.
Not when you’d fight with him one minute and be curled up against him the next, hoodie sleeves too long, fingers grazing his under the blanket.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
Mark watched you far more than he should’ve.
He noticed the way your laugh cracked just a little when you were too tired.
The way you hugged too hard, like you were making sure someone stayed.
The way you’d stand between him and anyone who dared to mouth off—like you were the one with superpowers.
He didn’t need to know the exact moment he fell in love with you. For him—it was always there, he just hadn’t been smart enough to understand.
Maybe it was that one day when you were watching cartoons on the floor, and Mark was pretending not to stare at you. You turned to him, grinning, and said something dumb like, “You’d probably get beat up in a real fight.”
But your eyes were soft.
He smiled back, and thought, God, it’s always been you.
But he never told you. Not really.
Because every time he almost did, you’d turn away. Or laugh. Or call him something close enough to a slur and throw popcorn at his face.
Maybe that was your armor. Or maybe it was his fear.
Either way, the words never made it out.
So he held onto them in silence. Carried them like bruises from a fight—but these ones never quite healed. Let them bleed out slowly over the years through lingering glances, soft touches, and unspoken understanding.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
You were sixteen when he nearly told you.
It was late. You’d been watching horror movies with you curled up against him, almost half-asleep.
“Hey,” he whispered.
“Mm?”
“You know I—I really—uh, care about you, right?”
You cracked one eye open. “Mark, if this is your weird way of trying to tell me you love me, just do it.”
His breath hitched.
You snorted. “Relax. You’re too chicken to actually say it.”
“Am not.”
”Then say it.”
He paused.
You reached over, poked his cheek, and mumbled, “Didn’t think so.”
And then you fell asleep with your head on his shoulder, blissfully unaware of how badly his heart was racing.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
Even now, sitting in his room, you’re stretched across his bed with a random comic forgotten beside you, legs tangled in his blanket like you own the place.
(Because you kind of do—not that he’d give you the satisfaction of knowing that.)
Mark watches you from his desk chair, ’Seance Dog’ comic in hand, but he’s not reading a word.
“You’re staring again,” you mutter from his bed, cheek half-squished against his pillow, voice muffled and judgmental.
“I am not,” Mark lies—incredibly unconvincingly.
You glance over with one brow raised. “You always stare when you’re thinking something gross.”
“It’s not gross!”
“So it is something.”
“…Maybe.”
You sit up, stretching your arms overhead with a dramatic yawn. “If you’re about to tell me you’ve been in love with me since we were, like, eight, just say it. Don’t do the weird broody stare like you’re in some CW drama.”
Mark blinks. “I mean… okay, not since eight. But maybe since… twelve?”
You blink at him.
Then before he can overthink like always—you let out a long, theatrical sigh and flop back dramatically again. “Ugh. Finally.”
Mark startles. “Wait, what?”
“You heard me.” You shoot him a lopsided grin. “Do you know how annoying it is being the only one aware of the mutual pining in this room? I’ve been carrying this ship on my BACK.”
Mark’s mouth opens. Closes. “Wait—you like me?”
“I’m literally lying in your bed, wearing your hoodie, and insulting you in front of your anime figurines. What do you think?”
“…Okay, that’s fair.”
You pause. Then smirk. “So… now what?”
Mark thinks for a second, then shrugs. “I mean, I could kiss you, but I’m 99% sure you’d just roast me for it.”
You hum. “Depends. Are you going to do that thing where you hesitate awkwardly and make a weird-ass face?”
Mark throws a pillow at you.
You cackle, catching it midair. “I’m kidding, dumbass. Come here.”
And when he does—grinning like a total idiot, heart thudding like he’s about to leap off a building for the first time—you tug him forward by the collar of his hoodie and kiss him first.
It’s warm, a little clumsy, way too long overdue.
And when you pull back, breathless and smug, grinning against his mouth—whispering, “Took you long enough, Grayson.”
Mark laughs, his cheeks tinted pink.
His fingers are still in your hair.
And for the first time in years, his heart feels lighter than air.
Because he’s always been watching you.
But now, finally—you’re looking back at him the same way.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
-ˋˏ❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀ˎˊ-
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Later, as you both lay tangled in blankets and shared warmth, Mark breaks the silence.
“…Do you think my dad knew?”
The question lingers in the air, and your mind drifts back to the old days—the easier ones—before your eyes open.
You blink up at the ceiling. “That you’re in love with me? Yeah. He always knew.”
Mark groans. “Debbie probably has a betting pool going.”
“She does,” you say without hesitation. “Amber’s in on it too. I think William’s the bookie.”
Mark gapes at you. “Are you serious?”
You grin, smug. “Dead serious. I’m pretty sure I just made someone twenty bucks.”
Mark buries his face in the pillow. “God.”
Patting his back, mock-comfortingly, you snort under your breath. “Don’t worry. You’re still the last one to find out.”
“…That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“It wasn’t supposed to.”
And somewhere in the house, Debbie smiles to herself in the kitchen, sipping her wine like she didn’t just win her own bet.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st
🫠 Omni-Man Is My Jam. Drabble.
(Short drabble thingie while sleep deprived celebrating my incoming birthday, 200+ words,🫡 while I finish up some of my other fics, ready to explode. If you're feeling generous, here's my kofi.)
Omni–Man:
Long hard day of work or doing nothing, you lay on your bed to catch up on some much needed down time with yourself and phone before Omni–man invites himself in through your ever-forgetful window. The persistent viltrumite you can never get rid of even when you want to.
What does he say to that? from MK1, "I can hold my breath for weeks."
So it's no surprise when you're the one gasping for air, one hand desperately clinging onto your pillow for dear life to not blackout from the sequence of eye-rolling orgasms, the other with fingers digging deep into his short hair as he stays determined and hyperfocus on eating the sweet little pleasure between your trembling thighs caught in his strong beefy hands. You definitely blacked out after the 5th or was it 9th orgasm?
When you awoke at midnight, it wasn't to peace. Omni–man never seemed to take a break, almost threatening with an infinite amount of energy and stamina as he loomed over you, your legs draped over his mountainous shoulders. "I'm going to demolish this pussy." And he meant it in every soul punching thrust, increasing in intensity.
And when he finally calls it a night… Oh you could only twitch in response, dazed and gaping in many ways than one as he chuckled, throwing a lazy blanket barely covering the mess he made of you before flying out in an instant.
His message on your phone blinkied in the darkness: 'Be prepared for next time, pet.'
