#a beautiful organised sort of chaos

[dividedsingularity]

A few Ambyus inspired by @calmparticles' incredible Ambyu-Lance and Virovirokun art! (seriously all art and Deltarune lovers go follow)

[mr-cha-n]

Chapter One: How to Not Get Stabbed

Pairing: Lee Chan x reader

Genres: action, smut, angst, fluff, superhero AU

Warnings: violence (heavy), sexual content, penetration, mentions of death, profanities, drinking

Word Count: 22.2k

Summary: The peace of quiet of your garage is only broken by the hum of machines and clanking tools, and you like it that way - until a superhero crashes his car straight into your door.

The garage hums with the familiar sounds of clanking tools and low rock music playing from your dad’s old radio, its worn dials barely holding the station through the static. The air stinks of oil and metal, a mix of grease and gasoline lingering in the corners of the shop that reminds you of home. Rusted car parts and half-disassembled engines are scattered across workbenches in an organised chaos that only someone who spends hours here could understand.

Most of the time you spend in the shop is alone – you haven’t expanded enough to need to hire a second mechanic, although you’d been considering getting someone to do your telephone and books after you dropped the phone behind an engine block, trying to juggle too many things at once.

But, that’s how you like it. Being surrounded by machines and metal brings you far more contentment than interacting with your customers – a necessity, although often a frustrating one. The beautiful complexity of the mechanisms feels like creation in your hands, the ability to mend and perfect a power usually reserved for God alone.

Something about the surety of everything having its place, and knowing what that is, brings you a solace well needed in your grungy corner of life.

Your garage sits on the edge of the city, tucked in a dodgy part of town where most people would think twice about wandering after dark. It’s not unusual to see someone rush by with their hood up, or hear the occasional screech of tyres speeding away from something best left alone. Keeping to yourself is the chosen lifestyle here, and you are no stranger to the consequences of choosing to get involved.

Over the years, you’ve managed to build yourself a reputation – not just for your skill with a wrench, but for being a place where no one asks too many questions. You’ve seen all sorts roll past: street races, ex-cons, people looking for a little discretion. You don’t judge. As long as they respect the rules and pay their bill, you don’t pry into their business. It’s a system that keeps you afloat amongst an unforgiving landscape. Every time you flip the newspaper over to see another store shot up or looted, you feel even less obliged to know anything about your customers.

But, peace and quiet is never-lasting.

You’re stuck at the bottom of a lifted car, trying to wrestle a stubborn bolt loose from the undercarriage as the high-pitched squeal of your doorbell rings out through the shop. Your hands, slick with oil, slip on the wrench and you mutter a curse under your breath.

Heavy bootsteps lumber into the shop, stopping a few feet away next to your squat wooden desk.

Finally, with a grunt of effort, the bolt loosens. It comes free with a satisfying click, and you slide out from under the car, swiping your forehead with the back of your hand. You wipe your hands on a rag, and take a quick glance out toward the street, taking in the dark, rusty tone of the early evening sky.

“How’s she lookin’?” A familiar, gravelly tone calls out towards you.

A lopsided smile crackles over your lips as you tilt your head with a small shrug, your gaze finally locking with the customer. “She’s looked better – but I think you already knew that.” The car is an old classic, its parts worn and rusted like they haven’t seen a proper tune-up in years.

Mr Corallo lets out a huff of laughter. His arms cross together over his broad chest, revealing a snake tattoo on his lower left forearm – a reminder to everyone of who he is loyal to, and who protects him. “Yeah, alright. And you’ve got a cure, doc?”

“Give me a few days and she’ll be as good as new.” You tap the hood of the car lightly with your fingertips, wiping off a speck of oil that had dripped from your shirt.

Mr Corallo nods, pulling an envelope from his jeans’ back pocket. “Half now, half later, right?”

You give a small hum of agreement, walking around to wash your hands of the oil.

"Mr Scott thanks you for your business," Mr Corallo says, throwing the envelope down. The corners of his mouth curl up, revealing just a hint of teeth, and his eyes gleam with a dangerous glint, revelling in the uncomfortable shift in the air at the namedrop of Mr Scott.

“Always a pleasure.” You reply with a tight-lipped smile. The invocation of Mr Scott bothered you less than it would others, but he wasn’t a person you wanted to be associated too greatly with your garage. The ‘lawyer’ has a reputation for criminal activity more well-known than any of his actual court cases, and you’ve seen the evidence of his anger splattered across the Lower South Rim back alleys. But, like many of your seedier customers, his business kept your shop out of harm’s way, and so you could get over his more displeasing mannerisms.

“Oh, hey-” Just as you think he’s gone, Mr Corallo turns around one more time, his gait falling to a stop with one hand on the doorknob. “-you haven’t happened to see or hear anything about that incident at Brewer’s Quarter, have ya? Mr Scott’s been interested in finding out more about what went down.”

You pause, drying your hands on the towel, careful to keep your expression neutral. The incident at Brewer’s Quarter had been all over the news – a warehouse fire, but not of the accidental variety. Word on the street was that it had been a targeted hit, a gang skirmish that went too far. Brewer's Quarter is just a few blocks over, close enough to your shop that you’d heard the sirens blaring late into the night.

You hadn’t seen anything, not directly at least. Of course, there was that incident with the car, but you aren’t sure that had anything to do with the fire…

It was the early hours of the morning, police had scattered, the fire had been put out, and anyone involved was long clear of the area. You were walking back from the shop, having had a late night trying to sort out your accounts for the last month – a job that required at least two glasses of whiskey to get through it.

You didn’t tend to stay late at the garage often, and the prospect of walking around these streets late wasn’t one that sat well with anyone who knew them. But there was a shortcut to your apartment through the old dump on 64th that cut down your journey to a five-minute run, if needed.

The night air had been cool, the kind of eerie silence that clung to the aftermath of violence. You had been walking quickly, your hands shoved deep into your pockets, eyes darting around out of habit. The whiskey buzz had made the shadows seem a little more sinister than usual, but you were steady enough on your feet.

You’d first noticed something odd when you’d reached the outer chain-link fence cornering off the dump – a faint, metallic glint, barely visible in the low light. At first, you’d assumed it was just junk, another rusted-out shell of a car left to rot. But, as you got closer, you could see the car was too new for this area, and wrecked – badly wrecked.

Instinct told you to keep moving; this kind of thing usually spelt trouble. But something about the car had caught your eye, something familiar. The lines of it were sleek, too well-crafted to be an average street racer.

You had crouched down, running your hand over the dented hood, feeling the grooves where it had clearly taken some kind of brutal impact. The whole front end was smashed in, the windshield cracked and splintered like a spider web. There were scorch marks, too, as if the car had been through a fire.

Either this car’s owner was involved in some dodgy business, or he was a terrible driver.

And then you had seen it – the unmistakable emblem, barely visible through the soot and grime. The flaming star, the symbol of the Red Comet. For the past two years, you’d seen headline after headline regaling how the Red Comet had saved the city once again, always seemingly one step ahead of the people who threatened to tear it apart. You know hardly anything about the superhero, although apparently nobody does. Even his name is a phantasm of the media, given in the aftermath of his first appearance which happened to be on the day that a red comet streaked through the sky. And this was his car.

Your heart had skipped a beat. What the hell was it doing here, and in this state?

You knew you should have walked away. But something in you just couldn’t. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was the whiskey making you bolder than you usually were, but you couldn’t just let the car sit there. Maybe, it was your way of giving something back to the hero who’d saved the city time and time again.

After making sure that no one was watching, you’d decided to tow it back to the garage. You’d covered it up, keeping it out of sight, hoping that no one would come looking for it. For the next few nights, you’d worked on it in secret. The damage was extensive, but you’d seen worse. Underneath the mangled metal and burned parts, the car was a marvel of engineering. You’d never worked on anything like it before – high-tech gadgets, reinforced steel, the king of stuff you only saw in movies. Every time you popped the hood, it felt like uncovering another layer of mystery.

Some of the damage seemed aeons old – definitely not the product of its latest encounter. The craftsmanship suggested that its owner knew his way around the car, but the lasting injuries let you know that he wasn’t a trained mechanic.

You only left one trace of your involvement – a small note, scribbled on a scrap of paper and tucked neatly in the wheel well. It simply read: ‘Fixed her up. No charge. -M.’

You figured if the Red Comet ever came back for the car, they’d know someone had taken care of it. You hoped that the note would calm their suspicions of foul play...

“Nope,” you reply to Mr Corallo, your tone light and steady. “I heard about it, like everyone else, but I was two drinks deep by the time I heard the sirens, and I wouldn’t have been able to get down the stairs even if I’d wanted to.”

Mr Corallo watches you closely for a moment, trying to gauge whether you’re telling the truth. You’re good at this game, though; slipping in half-truths to conceal the true extent of your knowledge.

“Smart,” he says after a beat, the tension in his stance easing just a bit as he releases the door handle. “Wouldn’t want you getting in the middle of anything … unpleasant.”

He flashes a grin, but there’s a hint of warning behind it. You match his smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. With that, he finally turns and makes his way toward the door, his boots scuffing the concrete floor. You let out a slow breath, the tension in your shoulders easing ever so slightly as he steps outside. But just before he leaves, he calls back over his shoulder one last time.

"And if you do hear anything… well, you know where to find us."

The door closes with a soft click, and the garage is silent again, save for the low hum of the radio.

Every bone in Lee Chan’s body aches, and he’s surprised his skin hasn’t turned green and blue all over. Any little move hurts – and that’s with days of much-needed recuperation. Groaning as he pulls himself up out of bed, he looks down to inspect the damage. A few cuts, scrapes, and bruises, and a particularly nasty swipe along his left thigh that has begun to scab over.

Chan winces as he gingerly presses his hand against the cut, the sting reminding him of just how close things had gotten. It had been a mess – a confrontation with Tempest as the Brewery Quarter. The whole thing had escalated far faster than he’d anticipated. What should have been a routine patrol had turned into a disaster as Tempest decided to unleash a barrage of electrical blasts, wrecking half the district in the process.

The fight is a blur now, fragments of shattered glass and the acrid scent of smoke lingering in his memory. He’d been so focused on taking Tempest down that he hadn’t fully realized how much damage he had taken in the process.

In the end, it was brute force and desperation that won out. He had managed to hold up the building just long enough to knock Tempest off balance, forcing the villain into retreat. But victory had been fleeting. Tempest had disappeared in the chaos, vanishing before Chan could deliver a final blow. By the time the authorities arrived, Tempest was gone, leaving behind only destruction and debris, and Chan had barely made it out himself, collapsing in a nearby alley as sirens blared in the distance. He’d limped home under cover of darkness, his mask barely shielding him from prying eyes.

A low groan escapes him as he stretches. He limps over to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looks like hell—his skin is pale, dark circles linger under his eyes, and the bruises that cover his torso are turning an ugly shade of purple. He splashes some cold water on his face, trying to wash away the fatigue, but it doesn’t do much. His body is spent.

God, he needs a hobby.

A small laugh ripples through him at the thought, getting stuck painfully in his scratchy throat. Seungkwan had told him just as much last week when they finally had time to hang out. 

"You're not talking to enough people," He'd said, and he'd been right - Chan has hardly talked to anyone as himself in days. Making quippy remarks and telling people to get out of the way isn't quite the same as having a proper conversation with a friend.

Chan towels his face and stumbles into the kitchen, brewing a pot of coffee while his mind drifts. Maybe a hobby wouldn’t even help. Maybe what he really needs is to let go of the whole hero thing, at least a little. Being the Red Comet 24/7 is exhausting, and lately, it feels like it is swallowing him whole, leaving nothing for himself.

The coffee smells good, but Chan's stomach twists at the idea of caffeine. He sits at the kitchen table, cradling the warm mug in his hands but not drinking, staring blankly out the window. He can’t help but wonder if next time he’ll be able to handle it. Tempest is growing stronger, more reckless, and each encounter is becoming more dangerous. He doesn’t know how long he can keep doing this, how many more nights his body can take the punishment.

I have to get ahead of this, he thinks, rubbing the back of his neck. Figure out where Tempest is hiding before he strikes again.

The thought of rest is tempting, but he knows there is no time for that. Not with Tempest still out there, licking his wounds and plotting his next move. Chan glances at the clock. Morning is just creeping in, but his mind is already racing through the next steps - tracking Tempest, preparing his gear, and finding his car.

The nagging feeling of unfinished business crawls under his skin. Chan hadn't had time to think about it amidst the chaos of fighting Tempest. His ride had been totalled - again - and left behind in the fray.

He stumbles over to his laptop, ignoring the stabbing pain in his thigh, and pulls up the city's traffic cams. His fingers clumsily tap at the keys as he rewinds footage from last night, scanning for any sign of the car. He remembers the last place he'd seen it—by the Brewery Quarter, just before Tempest had thrown him through a storefront.

The footage shows chaos: explosions, debris flying, panicked civilians running. For a moment, it’s overwhelming—too much movement, too much destruction—but then he spots it. His car, smashed and smoking, left abandoned next to the dump.

His stomach twists as the camera catches something else: a tow truck pulling up beside it. But not a city truck. The logo is fuzzy, and there’s something strange about the way the driver moves—hurried, almost too careful for a standard recovery job. The truck hooks up his wrecked car and drives off, disappearing into the shadows of the industrial district.

"Who the hell…?" Chan mutters to himself.

His heart races as he shuts the laptop. If he’s lucky, whoever has the car just wants to strip it for parts. If he’s not, well… there are people out there who would pay a fortune for the tech inside that car. And some who’d use it for much worse.

He forces himself up, grabs his jacket, and heads out the door, ignoring the protest from his still-aching body. He knows the industrial district well enough to navigate it, even in his current state. If the car was taken there, it shouldn’t be too hard to track down.

The sun is starting to set by the time he reaches the dingy outskirts of the industrial district. This part of the city is a graveyard of old factories and warehouses, the kind of place where no one asks questions. Chan walks down the narrow streets, scanning every alley and garage for a sign of his car.

Turning the corner to the large, decrepit dump, the first thing that hits him is the overwhelming stench of rust and decay. The place is a sprawling mess of discarded metal, twisted scrap, and a mountain of broken-down machinery.

But, there it is. Chan immediately spots his car nestled between two towering heaps of rusted junk. The sleek frame, now only slightly dented, stands out against the twisted metal and debris.

As he gets closer, he notices that the car’s exterior, though damaged, has been worked on. The front end, which had been complete wreck, is now at least partially repaired. Fresh metal panels have been welded on and the wiring had had once been exposed in neatly tucked away. Someone’s been fixing it.

Chan’s mind races. Who would do this? And why?

As he begins inspecting the car, he notices a small white flap peaking out from the front-left wheel well. He's been in one too many fights to trust that pulling it out won't immediately blow him and the car up, but curiosity gets the better of him. Pulling a glove out of his backpack and creating a small blast shield from a nearby sheet of scrap metal, Chan takes a deep breath, positioning himself cautiously as he reaches out. 

Carefully, he pulls the note free. Nothing explodes, nothing clicks ominously. The paper is crumpled and worn, as if it’s been shoved in the wheel well in a hurry. Chan straightens, exhaling the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and unfolds it with cautious fingers.

''Fixed her up. No charge. -M.'

Chan stares at the note, his mind racing. It still feels like a trap to him, but nothing about this situation makes sense. The repairs, the hidden note—it’s too deliberate to be a coincidence, yet not malicious enough to feel like a typical setup. Whoever M is, they didn’t just stumble upon his car. They knew exactly who it belonged to, and for some reason, they’d chosen to help. The fact that the repairs are real, tangible, and expertly done is a gesture of… what? Trust? A warning? He can’t decide.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. The car is functional—enough to get him back on the road, at least. 

Sliding into the driver’s seat, Chan checks the dashboard. The wiring looks as pristine as ever, the engine hums quietly when he turns the key, and though the car still bears the scars of its encounter with Tempest, it’s ready to move.

Pulling out of the dump, he glances into the rearview mirror, half-expecting someone to step out from the shadows and reveal themselves. But the place stays still, abandoned, as the setting sun casts long shadows over the heaps of twisted metal.

Between the note, the footage, and the repairs, he's got enough to work out who this mysterious mechanic is, and what they want.

It’s about 11 pm, two weeks after you finished fixing up Mr Scott’s car, that you hear the crash.

The sound is unmistakable – the sharp screech of something heavy colliding with metal, followed by the distinct echo of glass shattering. The garage rattles slightly from the impact, and you pause mid-wrench, heart immediately kicking into overdrive.

What the hell was that?

You set down the wrench gently, wiping your hands as you strain to listen for any other signs of disturbance. The city is loud, but the crash came from too close – maybe just outside the garage. You mind runs through a quick list of possibilities: a car accident? A break-in? Something more sinister?

Instinct kicks in, and you head toward the door cautiously, flipping off the lights in the main work area to stay hidden in the shadows.

As you edge closer to the garage door, you hear another sound—a low, metallic groan followed by the clank of something heavy being dragged. There’s movement outside, slow and deliberate. You risk a glance through the small window in the side door and immediately spot the source.

There, just outside the window, the sleek black car that you fixed up all those days ago sits awkwardly on the side of the road, the front end crumpled around a streetlamp. The driver’s side door is hanging off its hinges. Standing next to the wreckage is a figure – tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing a long coat, their silhouette barely visible in the dim streetlight. They seem to be inspecting the damage, unfazed by the mess.

But there’s something off about the way they move, something too calm for someone who’s just been in a crash.

As the figure leans around the edge of the unhinged door, peering inside of the car, you realise that that’s because they are not the one who was in the crash.

Grabbing a heavier tool from the nearby workbench, you edge towards your door, heart pounding.

The figure straightens and, as if sensing your presence, slowly turns toward the garage. Even in the dim light, you can see their eyes – cold, calculating. The figure doesn’t move for a moment, just staring, and you can’t tell if they’re sizing you up or deciding whether you’re a threat.

Finally, the figure steps forward, their footsteps slow and deliberate as they close the distance to the garage door. You brace yourself, unsure if you’re about to get a question or a fight.

Then, you see something rustle from the corner of your eye. A blur, barely visible in the darkness, moves faster than you can register. One second, the mysterious figure is advancing towards the garage door, and the next, they're violently thrown back into the wreckage of the car. The sound of impact echoes through the night - metal crunching, glass shattering anew.

You blink, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to make sense of what just happened. From the shadows, another figure emerges, slightly hunched, moving with a combination of grace and exhaustion. The way they move—the fluidity of it—immediately gives them away. It’s him. The Red Comet.

He stumbles slightly, but regains his balance, turning toward the crumpled figure near the car. You can see the strain in his posture, the way his breathing is laboured. He’s injured.

The man in the long coat struggles to his feet, groaning as he wipes a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” the figure sneers, pulling something from the inside of his coat. A gleam of silver flashes in the dim light.

Before you can react, the man lunges, moving with startling speed, the blade aimed straight for the superhero. You want to shout, to warn him, but it all happens too fast. The Red Comet dodges, just barely, the blade slicing through the fabric of his suit as he twists to the side. But even though he avoids a fatal blow, the movement causes him to stagger, his injuries slowing him down.

The mysterious figure presses the attack, slashing again and again with precision and fury. The Red Comet blocks and counters, but it’s clear he’s at a disadvantage. You grip the wrench tighter, your knuckles white, debating whether to rush in or stay hidden.

Before you can make your decision, the Red Comet manages to disarm the man with a swift kick, sending the blade clattering to the ground. The figure growls in frustration, throwing a wild punch, but the Red Comet catches his arm and twists, throwing him hard into the side of the car. There’s a sickening crunch as the man’s body slams into the metal, and he falls to the ground, unconscious.

For a moment there’s silence. The only sound is the superhero’s ragged breathing as he stands over the fallen figure. His shoulders heave, and you can tell that every movement is causing him pain.

Then, without warning, his knees buckle, and he collapses to the ground.

“Shit,” you mutter, your body moving before your mind has fully caught up. You drop the wrench and rush toward him, your pulse racing. He’s still conscious, but barely. Up close, you can see the gash across his side, blood seeping through the torn fabric of his suit.

“Hey, hey—stay with me,” you say, kneeling beside him, your voice low but urgent.

The Red Comet’s masked face tilts towards you, his breathing shallow as he tries to sit up. “I’m … fine,” he manages to rasp, though the wince that follows tells you otherwise.

“Yeah, sure. You look like you’re just peachy,” you mutter, glancing at the wreckage around you. “Come on, let’s get you inside before someone else shows up.”

He nods, clearly too exhausted to argue. With some effort, you manage to help him to his feet, guiding him toward the garage. He leans heavily on you, his weight almost too much to bear, but you grit your teeth and push forward. You’re not sure how much time you have before the figure wakes up—or if they’ll wake up at all—but right now, your focus is getting the superhero somewhere safe and outside of foreign eyes.

You heave him onto your makeshift cot, the one you use when you decide to stay in the garage overnight. He groans as he lies back, and you can see the toll the fight has taken on him now under the garage lights – bruises, cuts, and that deep slash across his side that’s still bleeding.

"I'm going to grab a first aid kit," you say, your tone more commanding now that the adrenaline is kicking in. "Don't move."

He doesn't seem to be in any state to do so anyway.

You grab the kit and hurry back, your hands surprisingly steady as you kneel beside him. "Alright, I'm going to have to cut the side of your shirt away." You say, looking up at the masked face for confirmation. But, nothing comes. Moving forward, you realise that he's completely out cold, his breathing shallower than it should be. You know you need to patch up the wound before he loses too much blood.

Taking care to avoid causing more harm, you gently cut away the fabric of his suit. The fabric peels back to reveal the deep gash along his side—angry and red, still oozing blood. Your heart pounds, but your hands remain steady. You’ve dealt with injuries before - though, usually your own.

Working quickly, you clean the wound, wincing as you realise how deep it really is. This isn’t good. The gash will need stitches, but there’s no time for that now. You press a gauze pad against the wound to stem the bleeding, your mind racing.

"Stay with me," you mutter under your breath, wrapping a bandage tightly around his torso to hold the gauze in place. "I’m not letting you die on my cot."

Once the wound is secure, you check his pulse—faint, but there. The man’s been through hell, and whatever fight he was in tonight clearly pushed him to the brink. You can’t help but wonder how often this happens. How many times has he barely made it out alive?

You glance up at his masked face, wondering who exactly is lying before you. There’s the urge to check, the man completely vulnerable to you, but you think better of it. What would be the point of knowing anyway? It would just bring you more trouble.

You sit back on your heels, a shaky sigh of disbelief exiting your body. For now, he seems stable, but you know he’ll need more help than you can provide tonight. In the morning, you’ll redress the wounds and take him over to a hospital, if he wants.

You grab two blankets from underneath your desk, draping one over the suited man. Dropping a spare pillow down on the floor beside him, you make sure that you’re close enough that you’ll wake up if his condition gets dramatically worse. The floor is cold and hard, but the exhaustion hits you as the adrenaline drains from your body, and you fall into a dreamless sleep, your mind still half-occupied with thoughts of the masked hero bleeding out in your garage.

It takes Chan a whole minute after waking up to work out where he is. All of his instincts tell him to run, to get out quickly and quietly before anyone finds him, but the pain in his torso when he squeaks even an inch is enough to keep him bedbound.

Touching his hand to the wound, he feels the soaked-through gauze. That’s going to need replacing.

His hands trail up, confused at the suffocating stuffiness that labours his face. He quickly notes the cause – his mask is still on. You didn’t take it off last night, and he’s suddenly very grateful for the stuffiness.

Twisting his head to the side, careful not to strain himself any more than necessary, he spots you.

You’re slumbering next to him, your back crooked at an awkward angle from sleeping on the floor. Oil and grease still stain your skin and shirt, the liquids mixing with a darker substance – his blood – on your hands and wrists.

Chan can barely recollect what happened last night. He remembers being chased down, and not knowing where to go. He remembers typing something in the navigation pad and your shop being the first thing to come up. He remembers getting stabbed, you helping him in here, and nothing more.

Letting out a small sigh, he can’t believe that he actually came here. It was a reckless move that not only relied on an unknown person’s charity, but also put you in danger. It had been stupid and, more than that, selfish.

Yet, he’d made the right call. Anyone else could have left him to bleed out on the sidewalk, shut up their doors and windows and ignored him entirely. But you’d helped him, patched him up, and given up your bed to allow him to rest.

Chan isn’t sure the last time someone else had done so much for him.

A low groan escapes his lips as he tries to adjust himself slightly, wincing from the sharp pain that shoots through his torso. He catches his breath, forcing himself to stay still, even though every fibre of his being wants to push through the pain and figure out what to do next.

"Alright, Chan, just move carefully," he mutters under his breath, trying to psych himself up. Gritting his teeth, he gently pulls himself into a sitting position, groaning as the movement aggravates his injury. Every breath feels like fire in his ribs.

Before he can do much else, you stir slightly, blinking groggily as you wake. You stretch your arms and rub your eyes, clearly disoriented. It takes you a second to remember where you are, and then your gaze locks onto Chan.

"You're awake," you mumble, pushing yourself off the floor with a grunt. "And sitting up? That’s ambitious."

Chan gives a half-hearted chuckle, though it turns into more of a pained exhale. "Yeah, well, I thought I’d try not to bleed all over your place anymore."

You shake your head, already reaching for the first aid kit on the nearby table. "You should’ve woken me up. That wound needs fresh bandages."

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” he replies, feeling overwhelmed by your instinct to help. “You’ve done enough already.”

You pause, glancing at him as you grab the supplies. The look in your eyes makes him feel like a child again, shivering at the intensity of your gaze. “You must be my worst patient – the cars never try to leave in the middle of being fixed.”

Chan watches you work as you kneel beside him, carefully unwrapping the soaked gauze. Your movements are precise, steady, but there’s a certain gentleness there too. It strikes him how unphased you are by all of this. He shivers as your hands ghost over his obliques, careful not to irritate the damaged tissues. 

As the gauze comes off, you let out a little hum of confusion, tilting your head. Chan looks down, and understands your surprise. The cut, which had been deep and angry last night, is now scarred and blistering, not fully healed but significantly better than it should be.

You pull back slightly, your brows furrowing in confusion. “I’m no doctor, but that’s not normal,” you murmur, eyes flicking between him and the nearly healed wound.

Chan shifts uncomfortably under your gaze, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation. He’s always kept his abilities under wraps, never letting anyone else get close enough to notice the odd things that happen to his body – especially when he’s injured. But here you are, kneeling beside him, piecing things together faster than he’s ready for.

“Yeah … it’s … complicated,” he stutters. “I heal quickly. Doesn’t help much with the pain, though.”

You blink at him, clearly processing what you’re seeing. “So this is … normal for you?”

Chan shrugs, wincing as the motion pulls at his side. “Sort of. Part of the whole... superhero thing.”

Your eyes narrow a bit, but you don’t press him. Instead, you shake your head and return to reapplying fresh gauze. “Well, whatever’s going on, it’s saving me a lot of work,” you joke, though your voice is tinged with curiosity.

He lets out a low chuckle, though there’s still tension in his voice. “I guess so.”

When you’re done, you sit back on your heels and meet his gaze. “You really should rest more,” you say softly, the concern in your voice genuine. “Even if you heal fast, pushing yourself like this is ... well, it's a bad idea.”

Chan nods, knowing you’re right but unwilling to admit just how much he’s been pushing himself. “I’ll try,” he says, offering a half-smile.

“Good,” you reply, standing up and brushing the dust off your knees. “And when you’re ready, maybe you can tell me more about what’s going on."

He looks at you, the weight of the situation bearing down on him. The last thing he needs is to bring someone else into his mess, but after crashing (literally) on your doorstep and bleeding all over your floor, he supposes that he probably owes you some explanation.

"Yeah," he murmurs, "I can do that."

You seem satisfied, and start to walk back over to your desk, pulling out a rusty, old kettle and a bottle of long-life milk. After a moment, you notice him looking at you, and quirk an eyebrow. "Still awake?"

A small laugh reverberates through his chest as he feels himself being pulled back into the darkness of slumber. 

By the time that the superhero reawakens, you’ve achieved a number of things. After making yourself a cup of very strong coffee, tidying up your sleeping nest, and checking that he’s still alive, you descended into a deep panic, and then you solved it.

The events of last night had been freaky, although it isn’t unusual for crashes or violence to populate your area. But something about the way that man had moved, the look in his eye, had put you on edge. And now, you have a banged-up superhero sleeping in your garage, who can apparently heal himself at an extraordinary rate. The whole situation feels like being dragged into something you don’t understand or have the ability to deal with.

The one thing you are certain of, however, is that you feel better for helping him.

The weariness in his voice, the untrusting flinch of his body – it all spoke to a man who knew loneliness as well as you did. And even if he could have survived without your help, there is a level of satisfaction in knowing that you’ve done something for someone else; someone who isn’t a crime boss or gang leader.

After deciding that you’d actually dragged yourself into this mess, and that you had to stick with your decision, you felt a level of calm.

You’d spent the morning repairing the Red Comet’s car for the second time, wincing every time you saw your previous alterations damaged by the impact of last night. The collision with the lamppost had been particularly harmful to the car, and you realise that you’re going to need access to the superhero’s technology to be able to have a chance at fixing the complex mechanisms fitted under the hood.

By midday, the Red Comet stirs again. For a moment, as he reorientates himself, you sit in comfortable silence, the noise of the city outside barely filtering in. It feels a little odd to have someone else here. Usually, the garage is your sanctuary – your place to escape everything and everyone. Yet, having him here, even in his battered state, doesn’t feel like an intrusion.

Eventually, he breaks the silence. “I, uh … I guess I owe you an explanation.” His voice is rough, although less than it had been this morning, and it has a softer quality to it that you aren’t expecting.

You nod but keep quiet, letting him decide when to speak.

“I don’t normally ask for help,” he admits. “But I didn’t really have a choice last night.”

You watch him carefully. There’s something raw about him, something that feels more human than the stories you’ve heard. Right now, he’s not really a superhero – he’s a man, wounded, worn out, and trying to hold it all together.

“Well, you found the right place,” you reply, keeping your tone light. “I guess you found my note?”

His head snaps up, and although you can’t see his expression well through the mask, you think that he looks a little shocked. His gaze darts over to the car, now suspended in the garage, and back over to you.

“I did,” he nods, holding back from telling you too much.

When he doesn’t say any more, you sigh, wringing out your frustrations on a damp cloth. “Look, I know you probably just want to leave. I also know that I’m basically a stranger to you. So, I’m not going to force you to tell me more than you want to. But, some guarantee that this isn’t going to come down on my head would be appreciated.”

His head falls slightly at your words, a tired sigh echoing through the room. “I – I can’t guarantee that. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved at all, but now you are, and I can’t promise that nothing will happen.”

You feel your heart drop a little as your concerns are confirmed. You know that what he’s saying is correct, and that you’d expected it, but it still strikes fear through you to hear it put so plainly.

Before you can say anything further, the Red Comet pushes himself up from the bed, wobbling onto his feet. This pushes you a little too far.

“Nope. Stop. You’re not going anywhere. You don’t have to tell me what’s going on, but I’m not going to let you limp out of here and collapse two blocks down.” You grimace, your voice forceful and commanding.

He looks surprised that you’re stopping him. A moment passes between you, tension thick in the air, as you wonder if he’s going to push past you anyway. You know that he’s far stronger than you, even in his weakened state, and that he could leave any time he wants to. But he sits back down, a breath of relief releasing as he takes the weight off of his feet.

Another moment passes and he looks back over to the car. “It’s pretty bad, right?”

You nod. “About the same as you, I’d say.”

The superhero huffs a laugh, but the sound is strained and weak.

“Look, there’s a sink over there with some towels, and I can leave some water and food out for you to eat. I’m just going to go over to the shop to grab some extra supplies for my first aid kit, but no one will see if you want to take off the mask and get some air.” You explain, pulling a bottle of water out of the mini fridge next to your sink.

He seems apprehensive, until you pull up a chair. “You can sit on this – don’t strain that cut any more than you need.”

With that, you march out of the garage, grateful for the fresh air yourself. You’re not sure if he’ll take up your offer, or if, by the time you get back, he’ll be gone again. Either way, it’ll be his choice.

 Two days later, your garage is still shut.

You’ve had to make far too many phone calls to concerned customers asking why the doors weren’t open when they’d driven by, and when you’d next be open. News of the crash had spread quickly around this part of town, and that has given you an easy cover for your current closure. The repairs needed after your shop front was damaged mixed with the emotional toll of the crash happening so close to you becomes the perfect excuse.

In reality, you and the Red Comet had been working on his car. After doing the basic repairs, the superhero had returned to his place and brought back the technology he used to supe up the vehicle, and you’d spiralled into mechanical heaven. The gadgets were like nothing you’d ever seen before, and your mind was spinning with ideas of other ways you could use them in your shop.

Every now and then, the Red Comet would slip some more details into the conversation, slowly letting you in on the knowledge of what is happening in the city, and the threats he’s currently trying to tide. But it is a slow process, and you are still more in the dark than in the light.

Nevertheless, you have to admit that you’ve enjoyed the company. Contrary to his first impression, the superhero is chatty, having opinions on everything from the condition of the city’s transportation infrastructure to the performance of the Southville Stormriders in the upcoming championship. As his body heals, his spirit follows in suit, becoming more lively with every conversation. He has the aura of a kid forced to grow up too quickly, but you can tell that whatever passion and zest for life got him into the superhero gig still exists within him.

And he’s funny, which shocked you at first. He makes you laugh in a way that you haven’t experienced since your father passed, and the joviality is much appreciated in contrast to the looming fear that someone’s out for you.

You still haven’t seen under the mask, although he came back in normal clothes – a white tank under a black jacket, dark jeans, and heavy boots. Today, his face has been hidden behind a balaclava and chunky vizor glasses.

You’re working on the undercarriage of his car, lying side by side beneath it. You hand him a wrench, the sound of metal scraping against metal filling the small space between you. The work is a little tedious, but satisfying, especially with the challenge of integrating his advanced tech back into the framework. It’s the kind of hands-on talk you’ve always loved.

“Pass me the torque wrench?” His voice is muffled by the balaclava, but you can hear the concentration in his tone.

You hand it over, your fingers brushing lightly against his gloved hand. It’s the closest you’ve been to him since this whole thing started, and there’s an odd comfort in the proximity. You’ve spent more time together in the last few days than you have with anyone in the past year, and the easy companionship is something you didn’t realise you were missing.

"It’s getting warm under here," he mutters after a while, loosening the final bolt on the undercarriage.

You glance at him and nod. The garage has become a furnace with the afternoon sun bearing down on the metal roof. Sweat is starting to bead on your forehead, and you can only imagine how hot it must be for him with the extra layers.

He shifts beneath the car and pulls off his jacket, tossing it aside. Beneath, the white tank top clings to his toned arms and chest, the fabric stained with grease. His arms are littered with scars – some fresh, some old. You try to focus on the work, but it’s hard to ignore the way his muscles flex as he reaches for the next tool.

"So, how exactly does this tech work?" you ask, trying to distract yourself and also genuinely curious. "It’s like nothing I’ve seen before."

He chuckles, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "It’s… complicated. But I can walk you through it if you want. It’s mostly about energy efficiency—getting more out of less, that kind of thing."

You raise an eyebrow. "Sounds useful. Ever thought about putting this stuff on the market? You could make a fortune."

His smile falters for a second, and he glances away. "Not really. There’s too much risk. The wrong people get their hands on this tech, and it could be dangerous."

You nod, understanding the weight of what he’s saying. "Fair enough," you say, going back to the bolts. "I guess we’ll just have to make sure it stays in the right hands, then."

His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before he nods. "Yeah. We will."

For a while, the two of you work in comfortable silence, the steady rhythm of the tools and the soft hum of the city outside the garage filling the space. Every now and then, you share a joke or a story, the conversation easy and unhurried. You realize that, despite everything, this feels … normal.

The sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the garage. The temperature drops slightly, but the warmth of the day's work lingers in the air. You sit up, stretching your arms above your head, feeling the satisfying ache of a job well done.

"That should do it," you say, wiping your hands on a rag. "She’s ready to go."

You can see the balaclava shift as a grin appears on the superhero’s face. “Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you.” There’s a sincerity to his voice that makes you feel like his words are about more than just the car.

“You probably could have,” you admit, with a teasing smile. You offer him a hand. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

He takes your hand, his grip firm but not overpowering, and pulls himself to his feet. For a moment, as your hands connect through the gloves, you wonder what his life is like outside of this – what he does when he’s not saving the world or fighting villains. You wonder who it is behind that mask, and if he’s ever wanted a normal life, away from all of this.

But you don’t ask. You’re not sure you’re ready for those answers, if he would even be willing to give them. There’s something nice about the mystery – something comforting in not knowing everything.

"Drinks on me?" you offer, grabbing a couple of beers from the mini-fridge in the corner of the garage.

He hesitates for a second before nodding. "Yeah. That sounds good."

The two of you sit down, you on your makeshift bed and him on the hood of the car, facing opposite directions to allow him to drink comfortably. You take a sip of your beer, the cool liquid a welcome relief after the heat of the day. For a moment, everything feels still—quiet. Almost peaceful.

"Thanks for letting me lay low here," he says after a while, his voice sincere.

You have to stop yourself from glancing around at him, surprised at the weight in his tone. “Anytime. If you ever want to give up the superhero gig, I’d pay to have another set of hands around here.”

He chuckles softly, the low sound reverberating through you. “You wouldn’t want the business I’d bring.”

You shrug, a smile breaking across your face. “Eh, I’m not interested in what baggage you have. I’m really only about the money.”

A full, hearty laugh escapes him, and you feel warmed by the noise.  

“You know,” you say, leaning back onto your hands, “I’ve always wondered what it’s like. Being out there, doing what you do.”

He doesn’t answer right away, and for a moment, you think you’ve overstepped. But then he sighs, the sound heavy with the weight of a thousand unspoken thoughts.

“It’s complicated,” he finally says. “People think it’s all glory and heroics. A sort of celebrity lifestyle – free things, all the attention you could want, as friends or more. But most of the time it’s just … messy. You make decisions in the heat of the moment, and you hope you’re doing the right thing, but there’s always a cost, and sometimes, you don’t know if it was worth it until it’s too late.”

You feel your heartstrings tug at his answer. The idea of being a superhero always seems so black and white – good versus evil, right versus wrong. But you can see how every choice would have a consequence, and one that everyone else would have an opinion on. Given that, you admire that he’s stuck with it for so long.

“And I guess with your identity hidden you don’t get to reap those benefits very much.”

“Well…” He starts, and you can hear the grin in his voice. You let out a bark of laughter at the implication. “But actually, no, not really. Friends are a bit of a luxury when everyone you know is put in danger just by knowing you. The free doughnuts from Jupiter’s are pretty sweet though.”

“Ahh, a man with good taste,” you hum, nodding your head in agreement.

“I almost considered doing a sponsorship with them,” he chuckles.

“Do you ever wish you could just ... walk away from it all?” You ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it.

“Sometimes,” he answers, not seeming bothered. “But it’s not that simple. Once you’re in, you’re in. There’s always something more, someone else who needs saving. And if I’m not there to stop it … who will be?”

You nod to yourself, understanding the weight of that responsibility even if you’ve never carried it yourself. “That’s a hell of a burden for one person to bear.”

A beat passes before he responds. “It’s the life I chose. Or maybe it chose me. Either way, it’s mine.”

You’re about to respond when a sharp pinging sound cuts through the quiet. You spin round, confused at the origin of the noise, and see the Red Comet pull out a burner phone from his pocket, glancing down at the screen. The balaclava scrunches up as something in his face ticks.

“I’ve gotta go,” he says, standing up and moving towards the car door with one quick motion.

You feel the weight of your aloneness before he’s even left, but you just say: “Okay, be safe.”

The superhero stalls for a second, and you can feel his gaze lingering on you through the mask. Then, he nods a quick goodbye, dashing into the car and slipping into the night.

Your words have been echoing in Chan’s head all week.

Well, that whole conversation has. You’d asked him if he’d walk away from it all, and he had almost said yes. You’d asked him what it was like to be him, and he’d almost asked you if you wanted to find out. And you’d offered him something – a job, an escape, companionship.

Those are the words he’s thought the most about: ‘I’m not interested in what baggage you have’.

You’d said it so casually, like it was just part of the joke, but he’d felt it in his soul. The uninhibited acceptance of everything he is and has, the knowledge that a life around him could never be one of safety – it didn’t seem to matter to you.

It is that simplicity that tugs at him the most. You didn’t want anything from him, didn’t expect him to be more than what he is. And for someone who has lived his life under the pressure of constant expectations, that is a gift he hadn’t realised he’s been longing for.

When he’d woken up after that fight at the chemical factory, the night that he left you, the first thing he’d done was reach for his phone. For once, it wasn’t to check on the city’s news feed or get updates from the fiend. He hadn’t texted his informants or checked in with any of the underground sources he kept tabs on. Instead, he’d messaged Seungkwan.

He’d texted him out of the blue—no preamble, no explanation—just a simple: Hey, you free to hang out this week? It had been too long since he’d allowed himself to do something normal, something that didn’t involve running across rooftops or dodging bullets.

Seungkwan had responded almost immediately, and they’d planned to meet up at a quiet café on the edge of town.

Now, here, with his friend, Chan finally lets himself relax. As Seungkwan launches into another exaggerated story about his latest antics, Chan doesn’t once think about putting on the mask.

Seungkwan is mid-sentence, hands flying animatedly through the air as he recounts yet another ridiculous moment from his week.

"...and then I swear, the cat somehow managed to lock me out of my own apartment. I'm standing there, in the hallway, keys in hand, and all I can think is, 'Is this really my life now?'"

Chan can’t help but laugh – the kind of laughter that feels good, deep, and unburdened. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed this, the simple joy of sitting across from a friend, talking about nothing and everything all at once.

Seungkwan grins, leaning back in his chair. “See, this is why you need me in your life, Chan. To remind you that no matter how crazy things get, at least you’re not getting outsmarted by a house cat."

Chan shakes his head, still chuckling. “Maybe if you let it outside once in a while, it wouldn’t hate you so much.”

His friend gasps, an overexaggerated, sprawling exclamation. “If you want him to get hit by a car and die, just say so.” Seungkwan crosses his arms in front of his chest, pouting out his lips.

“At least then you’ll be able to get inside your house,” Chan replies, unable to keep the smile off of his face at the horrified look that crosses his friend’s features.

“You’re incorrigible,” Seungkwan sulks.

There is a moment of comfortable silence between them, the kind that only comes from years of friendship. Seungkwan’s face softens into something more serious, a tender look in his eye.

“You’ve been busy,” he says. “I haven’t seen you in, what? A month? Two?”

“Something like that,” Chan admits, leaning back in his chair. “Things have been hectic.”

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow. “Hectic? I’m guessing that’s code for ‘I’ve been running myself into the ground again’?”

Chan grimaces. Seungkwan has always been able to read him like a book, even when he himself wasn’t sure how to explain things.

“You could say that,” He finally replies, his voice quieter now.

Seungkwan leans forward, his expression softening. "You know, you don’t always have to be ‘on,’ right? It’s okay to take a break every now and then. Hell, you deserve it more than anyone I know."

Chan sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It’s not that simple. There’s always something. And if I’m not there…"

"If you’re not there, the world won’t end," Seungkwan cuts in, his tone firm but kind. "You’re not a machine, Chan. You can’t keep going like this forever. At some point, you have to take care of yourself too."

Chan looks down at his hands, the weight of his friend’s words settling over him. It isn’t that he doesn’t know Seungkwan’s right—it’s that he doesn’t know how to stop. Being the Red Comet has become so much a part of who he is that the thought of walking away, even for a little while, feels impossible.

But then he thinks about you—about the quiet moments in your garage, the way you’d offered him something without asking for anything in return. And for the first time in a long time, he wonders if maybe, just maybe, there’s a way to find some balance.

“I met someone,” Chan blurts before he can stop himself.

Seungkwan’s eyebrows shoot up. "Oh? Now this is interesting."

“It’s not like that,” Chan says quickly, though he isn’t entirely sure what it is like. “It’s just … they’ve been helping me out. And they said something that’s been sticking with me.”

Seungkwan tilts his head, waiting for him to continue.

“They said they weren’t interested in my baggage,” Chan murmurs, almost bashful to say it too loudly. “Like it didn’t matter. Like I could just … be there without all the weight of everything else.”

Seungkwan leans back, crossing his arms. “Sounds like someone who just likes you for you.”

“Yeah,” Chan whispers, surprised by how much that realisation has hit him.

“And that scares the hell out of you, doesn’t it?” Seungkwan adds with a knowing smirk.

Chan can’t help but laugh softly, shaking his head. “I can’t drag anyone else into this – I feel bad enough that you know.”

Seungkwan’s smile softens. “Look, Chan, whoever this person is, they sound good for you. Don’t let that slip away because you’re too scared to let them in.”

He wants to push back, argue that you deserve better, it wouldn’t be safe, but the truth is that you’re already involved. That the shadow of the Red Comet had already eclipsed you and you’d embraced it. And that scares him more than anything else.

The garage is dim, the overhead lights casting long shadows across the tools and scattered car parts. The air smells of oil and metal, and Chan can hear the soft hum of the city outside – far enough away to feel distant but close enough that the noise never truly stops. He understands why you like this place so much.

Tonight, he’d come without the excuse of his car. He feels a little bit embarrassed that the thought of visiting you without a clear reason is making him so nervous, but if you suspected his real reason for being here, you didn’t let on.

Instead, he’s helping you with a different car, and you’re teaching him more basic repairs that he can do to his own vehicle when it inevitably gets scuffed up again. The implication is that then he’ll need to use your services less, but Chan’s far less interested in that.

You’re standing behind him, your hands resting over his, guiding him as he grips the wrench, showing him how to loosen a particularly stubborn bolt. “Here, let me show you. It’s all in the wrist.”

“Am I bad at this?” He asks, puzzled as the bolt doesn’t move despite the extra force he puts through it.

You chuckle, taking the wrench from him. “Bad? No. Just hopeless, I think.”

He laughs, watching you remove the rusted bolt, his gaze shifting between the tools in your hands and the subtle way your brow furrows when you’re focused.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” you say, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Usually I can’t get you to shut up about how I’m using the wrong size socket.”

Chan huffs a soft laugh at the absurd suggestion that he knows more about mechanics than you. You seem to have a way with the tools, the cars, the entire garage, that makes it all look effortless. There’s a confidence in the way you move, a fluidity to how you handle even the most rusted, stubborn parts, and Chan finds himself mesmerized by it. “I’m not always lecturing you.”

“Oh, please. I’ve had more mechanical critiques from you than my old boss did.”

He grins, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well, I’m just trying to make sure you don’t blow anything up.”

You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes playfully. “That sounds like a challenge.”

The low hum of the radio fills the quiet of the garage as you work. Suddenly, a voice crackles through the local news, catching your attention:

‘Another power outage struck the East Side last week, with authorities pointing to the recent attacks on the city’s power grid. Though no group has claimed responsibility, speculation points to the villain known as Tempest.’

Chan feels himself tightening a bolt with a little more force than necessary as the report continues:

‘Sources close to the investigation say the damage could take weeks to repair, and citizens are growing increasingly concerned about the city’s ability to handle these incidents. Vigilante Red Comet was spotted at the scene of the attack, but the damage seems to have eclipsed even his abilities.’

There’s a beat of silence as he grabs a wrench off of the bench, before setting it down with a sigh. “We should talk about it.”

You sit up, brushing your hands on your coveralls. “Tempest?” you reply, more softly now. He sits up too, his back against the car’s wheel, gaze distant.

“Yeah,” Chan replies, his voice dropping. “It’s getting worse. He’s not just causing chaos anymore. He’s targeting the city’s infrastructure. Power plans, grids, anything that’ll knock out a large portion of the city. The hit on the east side—it was a disaster. People are starting to panic.”

“Jesus. Why? What does he want?”

Chan runs a hand through his hair, frustration etched into every line of his face. “He’s … unstable. I think he just thrives on destruction. There’s no rhyme of reason with him. He’s got power, and he wants to show it. Or, at least, that’s how it’s always been with him. Recently, he’s felt more calculated, like there’s something new at play.”

You nod, your face thoughtful. “You think he’s working with someone else?”

“Maybe,” He shrugs. “I can think of a few people who would profit from issues with the city grid.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you look like you’ve just had a realisation. Chan’s fingers tap the metal beside him, his adrenaline shooting up at the suggestion of new information. “So can I.” You say, slowly getting up from your seat on the floor.

“I have a few regulars that come by the store, less than clean people, if I’m being honest. They don’t tend to bother me much, but recently Mr Scott’s people have been coming around more than usual, and they were asking about you.”

Chan's eyes narrow at the mention of Mr Scott. The tension in his jaw is unmistakable, and his fingers curl into a fist by his side. "Scott’s people have been around here? Asking about me?" His voice is low, dangerous. He doesn’t like that you’re in the middle of this, that you’re even saying the name of a man he’s been trying to avoid for as long as he can remember.

You nod, your expression cautious. “Yeah, it was subtle at first. Just questions about who comes in, what work I’ve been doing lately, but the last time they came, they dropped your name. They didn’t ask directly, but it was clear they were fishing for information.”

Chan’s breath hitches. He pushes himself up from the ground, pacing slightly, his mind racing. “That’s not good. Scott’s been trying to get a foothold in the city’s underbelly for years, but if he’s working with Tempest…” He trails off, the weight of the implication hanging in the air.

“And you? Where do you fit into all this? Why are they after you?”

His head hangs back, staring at the ceiling for a long moment. “I’m the only one standing between them and control. Tempest sees me as the only real threat to his chaos, and Scott... well, Scott doesn’t like people he can’t control. He’s offered deals, threatened me, tried to recruit me. But I’m too unpredictable for him.”

There’s a heaviness to his words that makes you pause. “So that’s it? They want you gone because you’re the last line of defence.”

He nods, eyes closed. “If I slip up, if I lose... the city falls apart.”

You let out a low whistle, trying to break the tension. “No pressure, then.”

Chan smiles faintly, but the weight of it is crushing him. “Yeah, no pressure.”

“You know,” you say, nudging his knee with your foot, “for a guy who spends his nights punching villains and saving the city, you’re pretty bad at explaining the whole ‘hero’ thing. No flashy speeches, no dramatic pauses. I’m almost disappointed.”

He snorts, feeling the pressure draining from his body, just slightly. “Yeah, well, I didn’t get the ‘how to be a superhero’ handbook.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Clearly. Maybe I should write it for you. Chapter one: How to Not Get Stabbed.”

Chan chuckles, the sound rough but genuine, and the tension eases. Your teasing banter cuts through the weight of everything, pulling him back to the present, away from the looming threats of Tempest and Scott. He looks at you, really looks at you, and there’s something about the way you’re sitting there, so calm and grounded despite everything he’s just told you, that makes his heart skip a beat.

He’s always admired your strength, the way you handle yourself in situations that would break most people. But now, sitting here with you, there’s something more—something deeper that he’s been trying to ignore for too long. The way your eyes light up when you tease him, the subtle curve of your smile as you try to lighten the mood, even though you know how dangerous things have become.

His chest tightens, a sense of longing creeping in before he can stop it. God, how did I let it get this far? He’s been trying so hard to keep you at arm’s length, to convince himself that this was just a friendship, that you were just a part of his life he could protect from a distance. But sitting here with you now, he can’t deny it anymore. He feels something—something strong, something that terrifies him.

“You know,” you continue, leaning back and giving him a grin that makes his heart race, “I’m thinking of starting a new side hustle – PR for superheroes. I can make you look all mysterious and broody, like the city’s very own shadowy protector.”

He shakes his head, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest. This is dangerous. Not the banter, not the situation with Scott or Tempest, but this—this closeness, this pull he feels toward you. He wants to reach out, to close the gap between you, to tell you what’s been gnawing at him for weeks. But the thought of dragging you deeper into his world stops him cold.

You have no idea how much danger you’re already in just by being near him. If Scott or Tempest found out how much you meant to him … the thought sends a wave of fear crashing over him. He can’t let that happen.

He feels you watching him, your smile fading slightly as you sense his inner turmoil. “Hey,” you say, your voice softer now, more serious. “You okay?”

Chan nods, forcing a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But you don’t buy it. “You know, you can talk to me, right? You don’t always have to be the tough guy. I mean, I know you’ve got the whole hero complex thing going on, but I’m not going anywhere.”

He swallows hard, your words hitting him like a punch to the gut. I’m not going anywhere. That’s what scares him. Because the more you stay, the more you get involved, the harder it’ll be to keep you safe.

You are halfway through reorganising your toolbox when you hear it – a heavy, deliberate knock on the garage door. There’s something about it, the measured calm, that instantly raises your hackles. You look around, and realise that the noise of your work and the bright lights above your head are dead giveaways that you’re still in the garage.

It’s not long before the knock comes again, and you get the sense that the third time won’t be so polite.

Swearing under your breath, you straighten up, trying to look as menacing as possible. You walk towards your door, not bothering to temper the sound of your footsteps. Your boots make a deliberate, echoing thud with each step as the tension in the room increases.

You yank the door open, not wanting to give whoever’s on the other side the satisfaction of forcing their way in. Two hulking figures fill the frame, their shadows stretching ominously into the garage. Their suits strain at the shoulders, muscles rippling beneath as they size you up. The one in front leans in slightly, his eyes cold and calculating.

“(Y/n),” he drawls, his voice a low rumble. “We need to have a word.”

The sound of your name rolling off his tongue makes your stomach twist, but you keep your expression hard, unflinching. Crossing your arms, keeping your stance wide and shoulders square, you look up and down at the man. “Funny. I’m not in the business of chit-chat. What do you want?”

The response doesn’t seem to satisfy them, and the next thing you know, you’re being hoisted up, your arms and legs swinging around furiously as the two men move you inside the garage, placing you down your desk chair.

The edge of your chair digs into your back as they force you into the center of the room. For a moment, panic surges, your heart hammering in your chest. Your breaths come quick and shallow, but then you see him.

The man from the crash steps into the light, his coat swaying slightly with each step as his eyes bore into yours, and the sight of him makes your blood run cold. His smile is familiar, twisted with cruelty, and it sends a wave of nausea through you. The two goons stand like statues beside you, blocking any potential escape route. You force yourself to stay calm, but the icy grip of fear claws at your chest.

“It’s nice to see you again, (Y/n).” He says smoothly, his voice laced with mockery. “Didn’t think I’d be back so soon, but it seems you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in something … unfortunate, and Mr Scott doesn’t like his pets to disobey his orders.” He stops just in front of you, towering over where you sit, pinned by his presence.

You grit your teeth, struggling to keep your emotions in check. Rage simmers beneath the surface, but your heart is still racing. “If you’ve come for more trouble, you’re going to regret it,” you spit out, your voice sharp despite the tremor you feel inside. You flick your gaze toward the two muscle-bound men, wondering how quickly you can move if this gets ugly.

The man in the coat laughs, a sound that chills you to the bone. “Oh, I think it’s you who’s going to regret it, sweetheart.” He leans in closer, his breath brushing against your cheek. “You’ve made some... interesting friends lately. Friends like the Red Comet. And that’s got Mr. Scott very curious. He doesn’t like being curious.”

Your stomach drops.

“I fix cars,” you say flatly, keeping your eyes trained in front of you. “Whoever walks through that door looking for a tune-up isn’t my business. Now unless you’ve got something that needs fixing, get out of my shop.”

The man straightens up, his smile fading as he gestures to the two goons. “Search the place.” They don’t hesitate, immediately scattering toward your workbench and tool racks, tearing through the space without any regard for your belongings.

You try to keep your breathing steady, but your mind races. If they find anything – any trace of the tech that linked you to the Red Comet – it could be the end for you.

“Stop!” you shout, jerking forward, but the goon behind you grabs your arm, yanking you back into the chair. Pain lances through your shoulder, and you twist against his grip, muscles straining, but he’s too strong.

“You’ve made this harder than it had to be,” the man in the coat says, stepping forward, his voice a mockery of sympathy. “But all we need are answers. Tell us what we want, and we’ll leave you in one piece.”

Your pulse races as you glance around, weighing your options. The tools are scattered across the floor, too far to reach easily. You know how to fight, but outnumbered three to one, it’s going to be a challenge. The man in the coat watches you closely, as if waiting for you to make a move.

The sound of metal clattering to the floor grabs everyone’s attention. One of the goons has knocked over a pile of parts, and in the chaos, you see your opening. With every ounce of strength left in you, you twist, wrenching yourself free. The adrenaline surges, your muscles burning as you lunge toward the nearest workbench, your fingers closing around the heavy wrench.

The sickening crack of metal meeting bone echoes through the garage as you swing the wrench at the goon’s head. He stumbles back, cursing in pain, but there’s no time to hesitate. Your breath is ragged, each gasp like fire in your lungs, and you scramble to your feet, racing toward the door.

But before you can make it, the second goon blocks your path. His fist swings toward you, and you barely duck in time, the force of the hit grazing your shoulder. The pain is sharp, but you ignore it, bringing the wrench up again and slamming it into his midsection. He doubles over with a grunt.

Before you can make it to the door, though, the man in the coat grabs you by the wrist, twisting your arm painfully behind your back.

“You should’ve stayed out of this,” he snarls, his voice dripping with venom. His grip tightens, and you bite back a cry as the pressure mounts, your muscles screaming in protest.

Just as you think he’s about to slam you into the ground, the door bursts open with a crash. In a blur of motion, the Red Comet sprints into the room, his fists a flurry of movement as he takes down the first goon in seconds.

His eyes lock onto yours, fury blazing behind his mask, and in a split second, he’s on the man in the coat. With a swift, brutal motion, he grabs him by the collar, slamming him against the wall. The impact reverberates through the garage, shaking the shelves as tools rattle.

“If you ever touch them again,” the Red Comet growls, his voice low and dangerous, “you won’t be walking out of here.”

The man’s smug expression falters, but before he can respond, the Red Comet knocks him out with a single blow, the thud of his body hitting the ground echoing in the now silent room.

You collapse against the nearest wall, your breath ragged, your muscles trembling from the exertion. The garage is still, the only sound the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. The Red Comet turns to you, concern replacing the fury that had been there just moments before.

“Are you okay?” His voice is filled with worry as he steps closer, his hands hovering over your shoulders like he’s afraid to touch you, afraid you might break.

You nod, still catching your breath, the weight of everything crashing down on you. “I’m fine,” you manage, though your voice is shaky.

He shakes his head. “This is my fault. I should have never come here.”

You reach out, resting your hand on his arm. The fabric is terse and warm, and you can feel that his muscles are still tense beneath it. “I’m not some damsel in distress. I can handle myself.”

His jaw tightens for a moment, but he nods. “Still,” he says softly, “I’m sorry.”

You stare at him, your chest tightening as the weight of the situation settles between you.

The strained cough of one of the men is a quick reminder that the situation is yet to be over. You glance around, feeling panic building as you try to figure out what to do before they wake back up. “Do you have, like, protocol for this kind of thing?”

The Red Comet nods, his posture straightening as he seems to shift back into superhero mode. “Leave them with me.”

You hesitate, your eyes scanning the room again. The unconscious bodies of Mr. Scott’s men lay sprawled across the floor, and despite the superhero’s calm demeanour, the tension in the air still feels thick and suffocating. You want to argue, to insist that you stay and help clean up the mess. After all, this is your garage—they came here because of you.

But then you look over at him. His shoulders are tense, his jaw clenched, but he seems more confident and sure of himself.

“I’ll be back,” you say, your voice softer than you intended. “Fifteen minutes.”

He nods, his gaze never leaving yours. You can see the gratitude there, mixed with something deeper—something unspoken. And as you turn to leave, your heart feels heavy with the weight of everything unsaid between you.

You step outside, closing the garage door behind you and leaning against it, trying to steady your breathing. Your mind is spinning, replaying the events of the last few minutes over and over.

Fifteen minutes pass like a blur, and when you finally open the door again, the men are gone. The garage looks almost untouched, only the scatter of a few tools out of place letting you know that the confrontation ever happened. And the Red Comet is standing there, his back to you, head bowed slightly as if weighed down by something.

“All okay?” You call softly, stepping inside. Your voice feels too loud against the stillness.

He doesn’t respond at first. The silence that follows feels thick, uncomfortable, as though it's hiding words he’s not ready to speak. Your heart pounds harder in the quiet. You move forward, feeling unsure, and reach out to him, grabbing his arm and guiding him to sit with you at the workbench. His surprise flickers for a moment, but he doesn’t resist your touch.

"I can’t keep doing this,” he finally breaks the silence, his voice sounding so broken that it hurts to hear. “I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t affect you. That being around me doesn’t put you in danger.”

Your breath catches. For a split second, doubt clouds your mind – am I making a mistake being involved in this?

But before the uncertainty can take hold, you push it away. You take his covered hand in yours. “I know what I’m getting into. I knew the risks when I fixed your car, and I know them now. And I’m still here, aren’t I?”

He exhales, shaking his head. “It’s different now. They know about you, and they almost hurt you.”

The words hang in the air between you, an admittance of the truth that feels too heavy. A cold chill runs through you, the fear creeping in despite your resolve. But hearing the despair in his voice—the way it trembles with guilt—makes you push past your own fear. Is it dangerous? Yes. But leaving him, letting him deal with this burden alone, feels worse.

Reaching out, you gently lift his chin so that he’s forced to look at you. A small, determined smile forms on your lips. “Hey, you may have saved the day, but I had it covered. Don’t underestimate my skill with a wrench.”

A choked, sob-like laugh leaves him, and his shoulders crumple slightly, releasing the bundle of stress he’d been holding.

“Look,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “You’re just going to have to accept that I’m involved now; there’s nothing stopping that. And I don’t want it to. You’re not getting rid of me even if you try.”

A beat passes, and you wonder if you’ve pushed too far. His posture is so still that you feel like you cannot move an inch either.

His hands are the first to move, slowly and a little shakily. When they reach the bottom of his mask, you realise what he’s trying to do.

In a flash, you pull your own hands back to cover your eyes, the instinct to respect his privacy taking over. “I’m sorry,” you blurt out, feeling awkward in the silence. “I didn’t mean for-”

“Don’t apologise,” His voice is softer now, more vulnerable. There’s a rawness you haven’t heard before, unfettered by material. You keep your hands over your eyes, and jolt slightly as you feel his own covering yours. His fingers wrap around delicately, and gently pull the cover away from you. “I want you to see me.”

Slowly, hesitantly, you open your eyes, your heart thudding in your chest.

When you look up, he’s there—entirely unmasked, fully exposed. Your lips part, and you instinctively reach out, your fingertips ghosting over his jawline. He lets you, his skin warm beneath your touch.

He’s beautiful, each feature perfectly balanced in its own way. But there’s something deeper in his eyes, a mix of concern, fear, and vulnerability that pulls at you. You can’t look away, and yet, you feel your attention drawn towards his soft, full lips.

For a moment, you just stare, processing the weight of what he’s just done. He’s standing in front of you, fully exposed, fully himself, no longer hidden behind the persona of the Red Comet.

And then you smile, a euphoric beam that lights up your face. The corners of his mouth perks up in response, slowly exposing his teeth and gums, and you realise that you’ve uncovered his most beautiful feature.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly, as if he’s afraid of what you might think now that you’ve seen him. “You’re too good for this, for all the danger that comes with me.”

You shake your head, your grip on his hand tightening as you refuse to look away from him. “That’s not for you to decide. I choose to be here, with you. And we’re going to figure it out. Together.”

His eyes search yours, and for the first time, your see something break in him – something deep and guarded that’s been locked away from far too long.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he admits softly, his voice trembling. “I don’t think I could handle it.”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his words, and without thinking, you pull him into a hug. At first, he stiffens, like he’s not sure how to respond, but then, slowly, he wraps his arms around you, holding on tightly as if you’re the lifeline he didn’t know he needed.

“You won’t lose me,” you whisper into his shoulder, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “I’m right here.”

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The garage is quiet, the world outside seeming to fade away as the two of you sit there, holding onto each other in the dim light.

When he finally pulls back, there’s a softness in his eyes. “My name’s Chan. Lee Chan. I’d like you to know that, too.”

Your heart swells, and your head tilts forward. “Thank you for trusting me.” You say, hoping your sincerity is clear to him. “Chan.”

Hearing his name from your lips seems to soften his worry, bringing him a sense of calm. You both stay still, sitting close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. The air between you feels charged with something unspoken. Your hand is still resting lightly on his cheek, your thumb brushing softly against his skin, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

His eyes flicker down to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze. His breathing hitches slightly. There’s a question in his eyes, a silent invitation.

Slowly, hesitantly, you close the distance between you. His breath mingles with yours, and just as your lips are about to meet, he pauses, as if giving you one last chance to pull away. But you don’t. You’re here, with him, and you want this.

When his lips finally press against yours, it’s soft at first, almost tentative, like he’s afraid of moving too fast. But then the kiss deepens, and all the tension, the fear, the vulnerability between you melts away. It’s as if everything you’ve both been holding back—the uncertainty, the emotions you couldn’t quite voice—comes rushing out in this one moment.

His hand moves to cup your face, pulling you closer as the kiss grows more urgent, more certain. You feel the warmth of his skin, the way his body moves against yours, and it’s like nothing else matters.

As you start to peel the suit from his body, careful to avoid touching the side he’d been stabbed, you reveal more and more of him. Your head swirls with thoughts of him – not just of the muscled body that now presses against yours, but of the vulnerability of the moment; the superhero allowing you to see all of him after so much hiding.

It makes you feel euphoric, being allowed a peak under the mask, knowing that he trusts you enough to let you.

As your own clothes are removed, you don’t feel any shyness. The tenderness of his reveal is enough to put you at ease, to want to give yourself to him.

He’s beautiful under your eyes, chest heaving as you wrap your legs over his, gently positioning yourself on top of him. The way your name falls from his lips, in the voice you know best of all, only makes you feel more eager to please him.

The movement of your bodies against each other is slow, subtle. It’s quiet, other than the breathy moans that escape you and him. It’s not the type of intimacy you’re used to – quick flings with rough strangers to satiate a need are completely different to the unhurried, deliberate push and pull between you.

It hits you part way through, as Chan’s hands flutter over your hips, that he must be holding back to not hurt you. A man with super strength, his grip the gentleness you’ve ever known. You wonder what it would be like to have him at full strength, pounding into you, another time. But, now, you’re addicted to the slow movements, the hesitant touches, and almost teasing way he’s dragging you both towards completion.

You fall flat onto him, your body twitching slightly with exhaustion as you finally reach the peak, unable to tear your eyes away from his face, scared that if you look away you’ll never see it again.

He’s panting beneath you, head thrown back in bliss, but he’s cradling your body, holding you up as you’re unable to do it yourself.

Here, curled up into his grasp, you feel the safest you’ve ever felt. You want to tell him as much, let him know how much you appreciate him, but you can’t say anymore, too fulfilled to do anything but let your eyes flicker shut.

The hum of the city has changed.

What once was the usual rhythm of car horns, distant chatter, and the thrum of daily life has been replaced by something more unsettling – a tension hanging in the air that you can feel in your bones. The streets seem quieter, but not in a peaceful way. It is the kind of quiet that came just before a storm. A charged silence.

You stand in the doorway of your garage, leaning against the frame, arms crossed as you take in the atmosphere of the Lower South Rim. Even in your rough corner of the city, people are moving differently. Heads down, quick steps, and nervous glances thrown over their shoulders. There are more empty storefronts than usual, their "closed" signs flipped down in the middle of the day.

The power cuts have been getting more frequent. A few seconds here and there at first, and then they started lasting longer—whole city blocks going dark for hours. You think back on what Chan said about Tempest, about his attacks on the power plants and grid, and wonder what the next step is.

You can hear the buzz of a TV playing from the diner across the street, the static of an emergency news broadcast cutting through the afternoon haze. The voice of the newscaster drifts through the open window, tired and strained.

‘...no official statement from the Mayor’s office yet, but sources say that tonight’s blackout could affect up to 40 percent of the city’s power grid...’

You can’t help but let out a slow breath, your eyes narrowing as you scan the horizon, the towering skyscrapers of downtown standing like sentinels in the distance. Even from here, you can feel the anxiety that’s creeping its way into the heart of the city. People are scared. And for good reason.

A flicker of movement catches your attention, and you glance down the street. Two men in heavy coats are standing outside the old hardware store, their eyes shifting nervously as they talk in low voices. Normally, you wouldn’t think twice about it, but something about their hurried conversation and the way they keep looking around sets off alarm bells in your head.

You strain to catch snippets of their conversation as they move closer to your side of the street.

"...another one tonight... Tempest, they say..."

"...power plant’s next... you hear about Brewer’s Quarter? That’s not just a coincidence..."

Your heart clenches at the mention of Tempest, and the knot in your stomach tightens.

The men glance your way, cutting their conversation short as they catch sight of you standing there. You raise your chin slightly, meeting their gaze, and they turn and disappear down an alley without another word.

For a second, you consider following them, but then you catch the low growl of an engine coming up the street. It’s a familiar sound—Chan’s car. The sleek, black frame pulls up in front of the garage, its polished exterior gleaming in the dull afternoon light.

His eyes meet yours as he gets out of he car, and you can see the tension in his shoulders, the faint lines of worry etched into his face.

“Another blackout,” you say, nodding toward the TV screen in the diner. “And it sounds like Tempest is involved.”

Chan’s gaze flickers toward the diner as he listens to the broadcast for a moment. Then he looks back at you, his voice low. “It’s worse than that. I think I’ve figured out what Tempest and Scott are planning.”

You frown, stepping aside so that he can follow you into the garage. The heavy steel door shuts behind him with a dull clang, sealing the two of you away from the restless streets outside. The familiar smell of oil wraps around you like a protective barrier, but even in here the tension of the city’s looming crisis feels suffocating.

“What’d you find out?” You ask, your voice low with concern as you monitor the stormy look on his face. Your hand stretches out, instinctively wanting to make him feel better, and you settle it on his shoulder, drawing small circles on the tense skin.

He rolls his neck, letting out a long sigh. “Tempest is targeting the main power plant. If he pulls this off, it’s not just going to be a few blackouts. The whole city will go dark. Emergency services, hospitals, everything will be offline.”

Your stomach drops. “He wants to take out the whole grid?”

Chan nods, his eyes hard. “And Scott’s working with him. He’s planning to seize control of the city once Tempest throws everything into disorder. They’ve been building towards this for weeks. Those smaller blackouts were just tests. Tonight’s the real deal.”

A chill runs down your spine as the weight of the situation sinks in. The whole city could be plunged into darkness – people trapped in hospitals, traffic systems down, everything coming to a halt. And in the chaos, Scott would swoop in, consolidating power and taking control while everyone else is scrambling to survive.

“How do we stop them?” You ask, your voice steadier than you feel.

Chan straightens up, his gaze snapping round to you. “Nuh-uh, there’s no ‘we’. I’m not letting you put yourself in danger.”

You feel a slight prickle of irritation that he doesn’t trust you enough to let you help, but its tempered as you realise that he just cares about you. But, he’s wrong, and you think he knows it. There’s no way that he’s going to be able to stop Tempest and Scott at the same time, and your engineering expertise is too useful in this situation for him to stick you at home.

“Chan,” you say, softly, watching him shiver as you say his name. “There’s no way that you can do this alone. Please, let me help.”

The air between you feels charged, as if the storm Tempest is brewing outside has somehow seeped into the garage, thickening the tension. Chan’s eyes flash with conflict, his body tensing further at your words. For a long moment, he doesn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he looks away, his gaze fixating on the far wall as if searching for the right words there.

“No,” he says, but his voice is softer than before, lacking the firm conviction you were expecting. “I can’t risk it.”

Your hand remains on his shoulder, your fingers still tracing soothing circles, but you can feel the tension rippling beneath his skin. He’s at war with himself, caught between wanting to protect you and knowing deep down that you’re right.

“Chan,” you say again, more firmly this time. His name feels like a thread that connects the two of you, tugging at something vulnerable and raw beneath his guarded exterior. And when his eyes finally meet yours, there’s a flicker of fear, not for the situation, but fear for you.

“You’re not a liability,” you continue, your voice gentle but steady. “You know I’m not. I can help with this. You need me.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair in frustration, his fingers tangling briefly in the strands. “It’s not that I don’t think you can help. I know you can. That’s what scares me.” His voice is strained, the words heavy with the weight of something unspoken. “If anything happens to you…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but the implication hangs in the air, thick and suffocating. You can see the battle playing out in his mind—the need to keep you safe warring with the reality of what’s at stake. He’s terrified of losing you, of dragging you into a world of danger that he’s never wanted for you.

And you have to decide for yourself too. The city’s fate hangs in the balance, and you can viscerally feel the weight of it pressing down on your shoulders. This isn’t something you’ve done before, you’re not superhuman like he is, and even if you have a good swing, you’re not a trained fighter.

But, as the fear about what will happen to you ripples between you, you feel your own fear for him fighting back, equally as strong. “If you go out there alone, you might not come back. And then what? What do you think that’ll do to me?” You step closer, your hand sliding down from his shoulder to his chest. His heart is pounding beneath your touch.

He freezes at your words, his breath catching. You watch as his defences start to crack, realising that everything he’s feeling about you, you’re mirroring straight back to him.

“I’m not asking you to put me in harm’s way,” you continue, your voice soft but insistent. “But we’re a team. We’ve been through enough together that you know I can handle myself. And you know I won’t sit by while the city falls apart.”

His eyes close briefly, as if he’s trying to block out the truth in your words.

When he opens his eyes again, they’re filled with a mix of longing and fear, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You mean too much to me,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if admitting it aloud makes it too real. “I can’t lose you. Not like this.”

Your breath hitches at the vulnerability in his voice, at the raw emotion that’s finally breaking through. The tension between you tightens, like a taut wire about to snap. The air feels electric, charged not just with the danger outside, but with the undeniable pull between the two of you.

You step even closer, your body now inches from his. “Then don’t push me away,” you murmur, your hand still resting over his heart. “Let me stand by your side, Chan. We’re stronger together.”

For a split second, you think he’s going to close the distance, to give in to the longing that’s been simmering beneath the surface. His gaze flickers down to your lips, his breath coming quicker as he leans in just a fraction.

But then, just as quickly, he pulls back, taking a step away from you. The sudden distance feels like a physical blow, and you can see the pain in his eyes as he forces himself to pull away.

“Alright,” he says quietly, his voice filled with resignation. “But we do this my way.”

Relief washes over you, but it’s tempered by the new distance between you.

Chan straightens up, his face set with grim determination. You watch him morph into superhero-mode, no longer the man you know. “We go to the plant. Tempest won’t go down easy, but he’s not the brains behind this. Scott’s pulling the strings. Tempest just wants to destroy—Scott wants control. If we can cut off their communication and disable whatever tech Scott’s got rigged at the plant, we might have a shot at stopping them both.”

You let out a slow breath. “And what do you want me to do?”

“I’ll need you to guide me through the plant while I handle Tempest.” Chan continues, his voice frighteningly calm.

You watch as he begins emptying out his backpack – things you don’t recognise but know are meant for the kind of fight that’s coming. His suit comes out next, and you realise that you shouldn’t go in there unprotected either.

As if having the same thought, he pulls out a set of spare clothes. They’re his, and they sit slightly too large on you, but they give you some protection and hide your identity.

He moves to the garage door, pushing it open to reveal the darkening city streets beyond. The sun is already starting to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the buildings.

"We’ve got maybe an hour before they hit the plant," Chan says, his voice low and urgent. "We need to get there before Scott’s men lock it down."

You follow him to the car, your heart pounding in your chest as you climb into the passenger seat. The engine roars to life, and within seconds, you’re speeding through the streets of the Lower South Rim. The city rushes by in a blur of neon lights and dark alleys, but all you can think about is what’s waiting for you at the power plant.

The power plant looms ahead, a dark silhouette against the evening sky. The hum of machinery grows louder as Chan and you approach, its rhythmic thrum pulsing through the ground beneath your feet. The towering smoke and tangled networks of high-voltage lines have Chan biting his lip in anticipation of what sort of damage Tempest could do in this place.

He stops the car just outside the perimeter fence, far enough away to avoid being spotted by the guards patrolling the gates. He cuts the engine, and for a moment, the only sound is the distant buzz of electricity and the faint whistle of the wind through the nearby trees.

“We go in quiet.” Chan says, turning towards you. He feels almost unable to meet your eyes, and is suddenly grateful that the mask means that you cannot see his. His voice sounds urgent, pleading, and all he wants to do is tell you to stay here. But, instead, he has to be content with urging you to stay safe. “Tempest will be inside by now, and Scott’s men will be guarding every entrance.”

You follow his lead, slipping out of the car and crouching low as you both move toward the fence. The power plant’s lights flicker sporadically, casting eerie shadows across the yard.

“Here,” he whispers, pointing to a section of the fence he’d scouted out earlier that day. “There’s a gap in the security feed by the northeast corner. We can slip through there without setting off the alarms.”

You nod, your eyes scanning the perimeter for any sign of movement.

Chan pulls out a small cutting tool from his belt and makes quick work of the chain-link, creating a narrow opening just wide enough for the two of you to slip through.

"Stay close," Chan whispers, pulling you to your feet as the two of you creep through the shadows toward one of the smaller side entrances.

The place is heavily guarded – more than he expected. Groups of armed men patrol the exterior, their faces hidden behind black masks, each carrying enough firepower to take out half the neighbourhood. He can count at least three groups circling the building, their movement precise and practiced.

"They’re serious," you murmur under your breath, ducking behind a stack of shipping crates as one of the patrols passes dangerously close.

"Scott doesn’t leave anything to chance," Chan replies, his eyes narrowed as he watches the guards move. "But we’ve got an advantage. They don’t know we’re coming."

He feels like he’s trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to convince you.

“Can we take them?” You ask, glancing over. He has to stifle a small laugh, taken off guard by your instinct to run right into the fray of it.

Pulling a small device from his pocket, he shows it to you. “We don’t have to. This will scramble their comms for a few minutes – just long enough for us to get inside without raising the alarm.”

He activates the device and tosses it towards the guard post. Within seconds, the guards’ radios crackle with static, and they begin frantically tapping at their earpieces, trying to regain contact with their base.

"Now," Chan whispers, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the door.

You move quickly together, your footsteps silent against the concrete as you weave through the shadows. The guards are distracted, their attention focused on their malfunctioning radios, and you slip past them without a sound. It feels almost too easy, like he’s holding his breath, waiting for something to go wrong.

As you reach the door, Chan presses his hand against the electronic keypad, and the door clicks open with a soft hiss. You slip inside, the dimly lit hallway stretching out before you. The air inside the power plant is thick with the smell of metal and oil, the low hum of the generators reverberating through the walls. He wonders if it smells is at least a little comforting to you.

"This way," Chan says, nodding toward the far end of the corridor. "We need to reach the control room. If Scott’s got his tech set up, that’s where it’ll be." His eyes dart around the darkened hallway. The place feels like a maze—industrial pipes and steel beams crisscrossing overhead, the walls lined with electrical panels and junction boxes. Every corner feels like a potential ambush, every shadow a threat.

"How far to the control room?" you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"Two floors up," Chan replies, glancing over his shoulder at you. "There’s a service elevator near the back. We can use it to bypass the main floors."

Just as you reach the service elevator, a crackling voice echoes through the plant’s PA system, sending a chill down Chan’s spine.

‘All units, be advised: intruders detected. Sweep the lower floors. Shoot on sight.’

Chan curses under his breath, his fingers hovering over the elevator button. "We don’t have time for subtle anymore," he mutters, pressing the button as the sound of footsteps and barking orders echo through the corridors behind you.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft ding, and you and Chan slip inside, the doors closing just as the first group of guards rounds the corner. He catches a glimpse of their rifles as they move past, their boots thudding against the concrete. He takes the moment to glance over at you, and although he knows you’ve seen the guards as well, you appear steady and calm.

The doors slide open with a soft hiss, and you step out into a narrow hallway, the control room just ahead. But before you can move, Chan grabs your arm, his eyes wide with urgency.

"Listen to me," he says, his voice low and serious. "Once we’re inside, things are going to get messy. I need you to stay close, and if things go south, you get out. No arguments. Just run."

You blink, caught off guard by the intensity in his voice. "What are you talking about? I’m not leaving you in there alone."

Chan’s grip tightens slightly, his gaze locking with yours. "If something happens to me, you need to get out. Promise me."

You open your mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes stops you cold. He’s not asking. He’s telling you.

Swallowing hard, you nod. "Okay. I promise."

Chan lets out a breath, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. "Good."

He releases your arm, and the two of you move toward the control room. The door is just ahead, the hum of machinery louder than ever as you approach.

With one final glance at Chan, you push the door open.

The massive door creaks open, revealing the control room – sprawling, cold, and sterile. Row upon row of screens flicker with data, tracking every part of the city’s power grid. You can see the central control panel at the far end, its flashing lights indicating the system's full capacity. If Tempest gets his way, the entire city will be plunged into chaos.

But there’s no time to appreciate the magnitude of it all.

Standing next to the control panel, you see Tempest for the first time. His eyes glow with a crackling blue energy that dances along his fingertips. His face is twisted in a cold, sinister smile as he watches the screens.

At the far end of the room, perched in front of one of the larger monitors, is Mr Scott. He’s leaning back in his chair, completely at ease, his sharp suit unwrinkled, as if this whole operation is just another day at the office. His eyes flicker toward you and Chan as you enter, a slow, calculated smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Well, well," Scott drawls, his voice oozing with smug confidence. "The city’s little hero, right on schedule. And you brought company. How quaint."

Tempest’s gaze snaps toward you, the crackling energy in his hands intensifying. His grin widens, and you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as the air around him grows charged with electricity.

"Red Comet," Tempest growls, his voice a low rumble of thunder. "I’ve been waiting for this."

Chan tenses beside you, his muscles coiling like a spring ready to explode. You can see the weight of the situation bearing down on him, the knowledge that every second counts. One wrong move, and Tempest will fry the entire plant.

But it’s Scott’s next words that make your blood run cold.

"I’m impressed, Red Comet," Scott continues, his voice smooth as silk. "Not many people would be brave—or foolish—enough to bring someone they care about into a situation like this."

His eyes flick toward you, and suddenly, you realize what’s happening. Scott knows. He’s figured out who you are, and worse, he’s figured out how much you mean to Chan.

For a moment, everything seems to freeze. You can feel the weight of Chan’s gaze on you, the unspoken fear that he’s been trying to keep hidden now laid bare.

"Don’t listen to him," Chan whispers, his voice tight with barely contained fury. "He’s just trying to get in your head."

But Scott’s smile only widens, his eyes gleaming with malicious glee. "Oh, I don’t need to get in your head. I’ve already won. Tempest, if you’d be so kind…"

Tempest raises his hand, and in an instant, the air around you crackles with electricity. You can feel the charge building, the hair on your arms standing on end as the temperature in the room seems to spike. The power plant’s machinery groans in protest, the lights flickering as Tempest channels his energy into the room.

Chan reacts in a flash, grabbing your arm and pulling you behind one of the large control consoles just as a bolt of lightning crashes into the floor where you were standing. The air is filled with the smell of burning metal, and the ground shakes beneath you as Tempest unleashes another wave of energy, sending sparks flying.

"You okay?" Chan asks, his voice tight with worry as he crouches beside you, his back pressed against the console.

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. "Yeah. I’m fine."

But there’s no time to catch your breath. The room is a war zone now—Tempest’s lightning bolts crackle through the air, shattering monitors and sending showers of sparks raining down around you. Scott’s men scramble for cover, their rifles raised, but they’re clearly outmatched by Tempest’s raw power.

Chan’s eyes scan the room, searching for an opening. " “We need to split them up,” he mutters, his eyes scanning the room. “I’ll keep Tempest busy. You get to the control panel and shut down the grid. That’ll cut his power supply.”

His body softens for a second, as if he’s realised something. “Please, be safe. I lo-”

A spike of panic riles your body, and you put your finger on his lips, shaking your head. “Not now. Afterwards.” You know what he’s doing, giving you one last goodbye in case something goes wrong, but you’re not going to let that happen.

With one last look, Chan stands, his body moving with a grace and fluidity that belies the tension in the air. "Tempest!" he shouts, drawing the villain’s attention away from the rest of the room.

Tempest’s head snaps toward him, his eyes narrowing as a cruel smile spreads across his face. "Running away already, hero?"

Chan doesn’t respond. Instead, he leaps into action, moving with lightning speed as he closes the distance between himself and Tempest. The two of them clash in a violent burst of energy, Chan’s fists moving in a blur as he dodges and weaves around Tempest’s attacks.

You watch in awe for a moment, until the pair crash out of the control room, leaving you alone with your task. And Mr Scott.

Ducking low, you sprint across the room, weaving between the shattered remains of monitors and control panels until you reach the central console. Your heart pounds as you reach the panel, your fingers trembling as you start scanning for the emergency shutoff switch.

The control panel is a mess—wires sparking, glass shattered—but you spot the emergency switch buried beneath a layer of debris. Just as your hand reaches for it, a shadow falls over you.

“Now, now,” a smooth, chilling voice says. “Where do you think you’re going?”

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as you turn to see Mr. Scott standing just a few feet away. His expression is cool and collected, but there’s a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

“Did you really think I’d let you shut down my operation so easily?” Scott steps closer, his presence suffocating as he corners you against the control panel. “You’ve been very helpful, of course, playing your little part. But I’m afraid your time’s up.”

“You’re wrong,” you say, your voice trembling slightly but defiant. “You can’t win this.”

Scott chuckles, a low, mocking sound. “Oh, I already have. Tempest is keeping your little hero occupied. You really think Chan can save the city and you?” He steps even closer, his eyes narrowing. “He’s going to have to choose. And I know what heroes always choose—they save the city, and they let the people they care about burn.”

Fear claws at your chest. Scott’s words are like poison, seeping into your mind. You know Chan, you trust him, but in this moment, Scott’s chilling logic feels too real. You glance at the control panel, your fingers brushing against the switch. If you could just reach it…

But Scott is faster. He lunges, grabbing your wrist in a crushing grip, and slams your hand down on the panel, pinning you in place. “You’re not going anywhere,” he sneers.

Panic surges through you. You try to struggle, but Scott’s hold is like iron, unyielding. Your mind races, heart pounding as you glance desperately toward the outside, but Chan is nowhere to be seen.

Scott’s grip tightens on your wrist, and he leans in close, his voice a cold whisper in your ear. “See? He can’t save you. He’s too busy fighting for his precious city. And you… well, you’re just collateral damage.”

You grit your teeth, anger rising in you as Scott’s taunts cut deep. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot something – a heavy metal pipe, half-buried under a pile of debris.

Without hesitation, you spit in Mr Scott’s face.

He staggers back slightly, a furious yell retching out of his mouth. It’s all you need. You lunge forward, loosening his grip on your wrist, and close your free hand around the cold metal. With all the strength you can muster, you swing the pipe up and slam it into Scott’s arm.

He curses, and you yank your hand free. You fall backwards, breathless and shaking, but you don’t hesitate. You dive for the emergency shutoff switch, slamming your hand down on it. The room plunges into darkness as the power grid shuts off, the hum of electricity fading into silence.

Chan barely has time to move before Tempest is on him, unleashing a bolt of lightning that crackles through the air with a deafening roar. The strike slams into Chan’s side, sending him flying across the room. He crashes into a metal column, the impact knowing the wind out of him.

Tempest strides forward, his eyes glowing an eerie blue as arcs of electricity pulse around him. His grin is wide, feral, and filled with malice.

Chan groans, pushing himself up on shaky arms, his muscles screaming in protest. The force of the lightning has left a sharp, burning pain radiating through his body, his skin tingling and raw from the electric blast. He staggers to his feet, trying to catch his breath, but there’s no time. Tempest’s next attack is already coming—a barrage of lightning bolts raining down from above.

Chan dives to the side, rolling behind the column as the floor where he stood moments ago explodes in a shower of sparks and shattered concrete. The heat from the lightning is intense, the air thick with the smell of ozone and scorched metal.

He grits his teeth, struggling to keep his focus. Tempest is stronger than ever, feeding off the power grid, the electricity in the room swirling around him like a living thing. Every movement is effortless, every attack precise and brutal. Chan’s every muscle aches, and he can feel the burn of his injuries starting to slow him down.

He knows he’s outmatched while Tempest is drawing power from the grid, but there’s no backing down now. The city’s fate—and yours—rests on him holding Tempest off long enough for you to shut down the power.

He darts out from cover, launching himself toward Tempest in a blur of movement. His fists connect with Tempest’s chest in a rapid series of strikes, each punch landing with a dull thud against the villain’s armour. But Tempest barely flinches, his body crackling with electricity, his smirk widening as he grabs Chan by the arm, sending a surge of lightning coursing through him.

Chan screams, his body convulsing in pain as the electricity sears through his nerves. His vision blurs, his muscles locking up as he struggles to break free. Tempest's grip tightens, his laughter booming like thunder as he watches Chan writhe in agony.

"Pathetic," Tempest sneers, throwing Chan across the room like a ragdoll. Chan crashes into a bank of machinery, the sharp edges biting into his back as he collapses to the ground. His chest heaves, his body shaking uncontrollably from the aftershocks of the lightning. Every nerve feels raw, every movement like fire.

For a moment, he can barely move. He hears Tempest’s footsteps approaching, the crackling energy growing louder with each step. Chan’s vision swims as he tries to push himself up, his limbs sluggish, the weight of the fight pressing down on him. Tempest looms over him, the villain’s eyes glowing brighter as he raises his hand, ready to deliver the final blow.

“You’re done, Comet,” Tempest growls. “Your city is done.”

Chan’s breath comes in ragged gasps, his mind racing. He’s out of options, out of strength. But then, through the haze of pain, he thinks of you. You’re trying to shut down the grid—buying him time, risking your life to stop Tempest. He can’t let you down. He can’t let you face this alone.

With a pained groan, Chan forces himself to his feet, swaying slightly as he stands. His body protests every movement, but he grits his teeth, pushing through the pain. He raises his fists, squaring his shoulders as he locks eyes with Tempest. “I’m not done yet,” he growls, his voice filled with defiance.

Tempest’s smile falters for a moment, irritation flashing across his face. “You should’ve stayed down,” he spits, raising both hands, lightning coiling around his arms in a deadly swirl.

The air hums with electric tension, and for a heartbeat, time seems to freeze. Chan braces himself for the incoming strike, every instinct screaming at him to dodge, to move, but his body is slow to respond, his muscles stiff from the earlier shocks. He knows he’s not fast enough. Not this time.

But just as Tempest unleashes the full force of his power, the room suddenly plunges into darkness. The lights flicker once, then die. The hum of electricity disappears, leaving only silence in its wake.

Tempest freezes, his hands still crackling with fading energy, but his powers falter—flickering like a dying flame. His eyes widen in shock as the realization hits him.

The power grid is down.

Chan feels the shift immediately. The oppressive weight of Tempest’s electric aura vanishes, the air stilling as the last crackle of lightning fizzles out. Tempest stumbles, his control over the electric currents slipping through his fingers.

Chan takes the opportunity. With Tempest momentarily weakened, he surges forward, his body moving on pure adrenaline. His fist connects with Tempest’s jaw in a brutal uppercut, sending the villain staggering back. Before Tempest can recover, Chan grabs him by the collar, pulling him close.

“This ends now,” Chan growls through gritted teeth.

Tempest’s eyes widen in fury, but without the power grid to fuel him, his strength is faltering. Chan slams him into the ground, pinning him with a knee to the chest. Tempest struggles, his hands sparking weakly with residual electricity, but it’s no use. The fight has been drained out of him.

From across the room, he hears your voice crackle through the earpiece. “I did it—the power’s down, but—Scott’s here! I need—”

Your voice cuts off suddenly, and Chan’s heart drops.

“Hold on,” he mutters, his grip tightening on Tempest’s collar. He delivers one final punch to the villain, knocking him out cold, before rising to his feet, every part of him screaming in pain. But there’s no time to rest. You’re in danger, and Scott is still out there.

Without hesitation, Chan takes off, sprinting through the now-darkened room, desperate to reach you before it’s too late.

Chan races through the maze of darkened corridors, his heart pounding in his chest, every step driving him closer to you. His breath is ragged, and every muscle in his body aches, but the thought of you alone, facing Scott, fuels him. He can’t let anything happen to you. Not after everything.

He rounds a corner and skids to a halt as he hears voices ahead—yours and Scott’s. The sound sends a chill down his spine, the urgency in your voice mixing with the low, taunting rumble of Scott’s.

“I told you,” Scott says, his tone dripping with mockery. “Your little boyfriend can’t save you. He’s too busy with Tempest to even know you’re in danger.”

Chan’s heart clenches at Scott’s words, and he presses himself against the wall, moving silently toward the source of the sound. He peers around the corner and his blood runs cold.

There you are, backed into a corner near the control panel, Scott towering over you with a cruel smile on his face. His fingers trace a small, menacing blade in his hand, the tip glinting in the dim emergency lights. You’re holding your own, standing tall despite the fear that’s clear in your eyes, but Chan can see the tension in your shoulders.

Chan's breath catches in his throat as he watches the scene unfold. His first instinct is to charge in, but something makes him hesitate, his heart pounding even harder. It's you—there’s something in the way you’re standing, the way your movements subtly inch you towards the metal pipe lying next to the control centre. You’re not just holding your own—you’re planning something.

“I’ve been in worse situations,” you say, your voice tight but steady, the words slipping through gritted teeth. “And you’re not nearly as intimidating as you think.”

Scott laughs, a low, cruel sound. He steps closer, the tip of the blade catching the dim light, and Chan tenses.

“I’m not looking to intimidate,” Scott sneers, “I’m just making a point. Once Tempest brings the city to its knees, people like you won’t have a place anymore. There won’t be anyone to run to. No heroes. No Red Comet to save you.”

You shift slightly, your gaze flickering to the corner of the room. Chan follows, and his heart skips a beat as he spots it – a small metal canister tucked away near the base of one of the computer systems.

“Shut up,” you snap, your voice filled with a fiery determination Chan has always admired in you. “You talk too much.”

Scott’s smirk falters for a second, and in that moment, you move. In one swift motion your hand snatches up the heavy pipe from the floor and, with all the strength you can muster, hurl it towards the canister of compressed air.

The wrench strikes the canister with a sharp clang, and for a heartbeat, nothing happens. Scott’s eyes widen, his smirk faltering as he processes what you’ve just done. Then, with a deafening whoosh, the canister bursts open, releasing a blast of compressed air with explosive force. The sudden eruption knocks over machinery, sending a wave of sparks into the air, and ignites a small fire as it hits an exposed electrical panel.

Chan darts in, fear spiking as the room plunges into chaos.

Scott stumbles back, his arrogant composure shattering as the explosion disorients him. He throws his arms up to shield his face from the heat and debris, his confident swagger replaced with pure instinctual panic.

"WHAT—" Scott shouts, but his words are drowned out by the roar of the flames licking at the side of the control panel, smoke curling into the air. The ground trembles beneath your feet as the machinery in the room jolts, sparking uncontrollably from the burst.

You dive forward, using the confusion to close the distance between you and Scott. He’s still reeling, eyes darting around the room in shock, trying to regain his bearings, but you’re faster. You slam your shoulder into him, knocking him off balance. His knife clatters to the floor as he stumbles, barely catching himself on the edge of a console.

“No more talking,” you grit out, grabbing a broken-off piece of equipment from the floor. You swing it with precision, striking Scott’s leg just below the knee. He cries out, collapsing to the floor in a heap, pain and fury etched across his face.

You step back, panting heavily, and spot Chan. He’s standing in the doorway, his chest heaving with exertion, eyes wide with a mixture of shock and relief. For a moment, the noise and confusion around you both seem to fade, leaving only the two of you. His gaze flickers from you to Scott lying on the floor, and then back to you. He can’t help but be overwhelmed with pride for you.

He rushes forward, dodging a sparking cable that snaps to the ground beside him. “Are you hurt?” he asks, his voice filled with barely contained urgency. His hands hover near your shoulders, wanting to touch, to check for injuries.

“I’m fine,” you breathe out, though your hands tremble. “I had it under control.”

Chan shakes his head, disbelief mingling with a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I saw that.”

Before he can finish, a groan from the floor snaps both of your attention back to Scott, who is struggling to push himself up, his face contorted in pain. His eyes, wild with anger, lock onto you and Chan, but there’s a flicker of something else there—fear.

“You think this is over?” Scott spits, his voice hoarse and filled with venom. “Tempest is already—”

“-is already beaten.” Chan cuts in, his voice low and dangerous. He steps forward, his body tensed like a spring coiled up, waiting for a release. Scott’s arrogant demeanour falters. His eyes flicker between you and Chan, weighing his options, and for the first time, it’s clear—he knows he’s lost control.

Scott's face twists in frustration as he struggles to comprehend his downfall. His once smooth and confident façade now appears cracked, broken by the realization that his carefully orchestrated plan has failed.

"You’re finished," Chan growls, stepping closer, his presence looming over Scott like a shadow. "Tempest is down, and your men are scattered. It’s over."

Scott’s jaw clenches, his hands balling into fists as he scrambles to pull himself together, grasping for the last shred of control. "You don’t understand," he spits. "You might’ve stopped me here, but this city... it’s already rotting. You can’t save everyone, and when it crumbles, you’ll fall with it."

Chan’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t flinch. "Maybe. But not today."

With a final blow, Chan knocks him unconscious. The room falls silent except for the distant crackle of the damaged electronics and the faint hum of the emergency lights flickering on.

As Chan turns to face you, his features softened in the dim light, a sense of relief washes over both of you.

He steps closer, searching your eyes for any lingering fear or doubt. But instead, he only finds exhaustion and a shared understanding of what you’ve both just survived. His hand reaches out, cupping your cheek gently as his thumb brushes against your skin, wiping away the smudge of ash from the battle.

His breath hitches, the emotion of it all threatening to overwhelm him as you stare at each other. He takes a deep breath, pulling you into his arms, holding you tightly, afraid to let go. You cling to him, feeling the steady beat of his heart against yours, a grounding rhythm to remind you that you’re both still here.

“I’m not letting you go,” Chan says softly, his voice thick with emotion. “Not now, not ever.”

You smile, your heart swelling as you look into his eyes. “Good,” you whisper back. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

And in that moment, with the city still buzzing in the background, the chaos subsiding, and the weight of the battle falling away, Chan closes the gap between you, pulling his mask out of the way, and kisses you. It’s slow and deliberate, filled with the kind of tenderness that only comes from knowing that you’ve both found each other on the other side of something dark and dangerous.

And as you pull back, resting your forehead against his, he knows that whatever the future holds, you’ll face it together.

You look up at him, your eyes sparkling under the glowing light of the plant. A small, soft smile curves your lips, your face contorting as if you’ve remembered something important. “I love you.”

Chan’s entire body stutters at your words. His breath catches, and for a moment, he’s complete still, feeling like the world has stopped spinning around him.

“I love you,” you repeat, your voice quieter now, more certain. The words hang in the air between you, vulnerable and raw, yet filled with a warmth that settles into every corner of the moment.

Chan exhales slowly, his grip on you tightening just a little, as if anchoring himself to the reality of what you’ve just said. His hand slides up to cup your face, his thumb brushing tenderly across your cheek. He opens his mouth, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I love you too. And I don’t know how to do that without pulling you into this fight, but I know that I can’t keep pretending that I don’t feel this.”

The world outside might be chaotic, and the battles ahead uncertain, but right here, in this moment, everything feels clear.

Chan pulls back slightly, looking down at you with a smile that’s equal parts relief and joy. “Whatever happens next, we’ve got this,” he says softly, his voice steady with conviction.

And you know, without a doubt, that he’s right.

[girlkisser13]

athena cabin headcanons

children of athena

• they all have amazing penmanship.

• they help with any school/summer work when a camper needs it.

• they also offer a free tutoring service to other campers.

• they have a long list of study tips for demigods, including what has worked for them to help focus their adhd in school (as most demigods struggle with remaining on task in work environments).

• they secretly love police procedural/detective shows. law & order, criminal minds— you name it, they watch it. and there's always a "friendly" competition to see who can solve the crime first.

• someone engineered glow-in-the-dark paper for late-night studying and planning. they always have a huge supply.

• they have a pet owl that they all take turns feeding and looking after.

• they help organise camp events that aren't run by chiron and they have a calendar full of birthdays and dates that are special to other campers.

• they are the only people on earth to have discovered a constantly comfortable reading position.

• they all start to feel slightly nauseated if they're in water for too long. showers, the lake, a pool, the rain— any water. this comes from athena's rivalry with poseidon. the only way for it to be neutralized is if they are in the presence of a friendly child of poseidon.

• some of them trap spiders and use them in experiments. this helps them gain more knowledge, combat their fears, and take revenge on these spiders all at the same time.

• they aren't normally ones to break rules. however, they rarely go to bed on time. when other campers ask them why, they simply laugh and say, "we're all night owls." (get it? i’ll stop. 😔)

• they aren't scared of normal horror movies. they usually just laugh at how frustratingly stupid the characters are. the only movies that make them scared are ones where spiders are involved.

• they take monopoly way too seriously and take it as a personal affront that they keep losing to the hermes cabin.

• they have a website that you can only view inside of camp half-blood. it’s sort of a virtual log book, which makes it easy for the kids that have been away during the year or on quests to catch up on what they’ve missed.

cabin exterior

• their cabin is designed in a classic greek architectural style, reminiscent of the parthenon, with tall, elegant columns supporting a triangular pediment.

• the cabin itself is made of grey, marble-like stone. the stone is etched with intricate designs and ancient greek patterns.

• the exterior features intricate carvings and statues of owls. they are perched on the roof of the cabin and integrated into the designs on the columns.

• carvings of books and scrolls are incorporated into the exterior design, highlighting the importance of knowledge.

• celestial bronze shields and pieces of armor are displayed on the inside and on the outside of the cabin. these items are both decorative and functional, ready for use if needed.

cabin interior

• their cabin gives off industrial vibes with its marble and concrete exterior.

• this is balanced out with beautiful ornate rugs, cozy woven blankets, and hardwood (olive obviously) floors.

• two words: organized. chaos.

• they have a caffeine station for pulling all-nighters or for long afternoons of studying, debating, and inventing.

• their cabin always smells like peppermint oil because spiders hate it.

• they have floor to ceiling bookshelves and boxes of rolled blueprints EVERYWHERE.

• they all have a customizable personal space with a bed, a desk with adjustable lighting, and ample storage for personal items and projects.

• personal areas feature soundproofing options to allow for quiet studying or rest amidst the bustling cabin environment.

cabin traditions

• they have debate nights at camp half-blood that get more and more heated until the cabins start watching the two opposing sides instead of listening to the actual debate.

• they even have debate nights in their own cabin. huge cups of coffee are passed around as the "discussion" of the day begins, growing louder and louder as time goes by. books are pulled from the shelves, laptops are opened and the most obscure sources are cited just to prove the most minor points.

divider by @plutism

[star-xxx1]

Money is the anthem of success pt. 2

Mob!Natasha x fem! reader

Wanda x reader (only for a bit)

Warnings: Dark! Natahsa, talks of killing, Masterbation, drugging, angst and fluff, kinda dark reader, comfort.

Part 1 Here.

A/n: kinda love this...<3

Natasha sat in front of her large, oak desk, surrounded by stacks of papers and documents that needed her attention. However, her attention was focused on two things you and the grand alliance. The desk was a symbol of her success, made of rich, dark wood, and adorned with beautiful inlays. Light reflected off of the polished surface, casting a warm glow throughout the room. Despite the luxurious surroundings, Natasha felt a sense of unease. A strange feeling loomed over her, constantly teasing the redhead. The confusing feeling had been growing stronger and stronger in Natasha's chest, like a storm brewing inside her. She tried to push it aside, to ignore it, but it refused to be tamed. It was as if some invisible force was pulling her in two directions at once, and she didn't know which path to take. She wanted to believe that she was just being silly, that there was nothing to this sudden rush of emotions. But she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more, something deeper and more profound at play. And so, she was left to suffer in silence, torn apart by her own feelings, unable to make sense of the chaos within her.

She glanced at the clock on the wall, knowing that it was slowly ticking away at her dull life, life without you. Staring into the distance of the large empty room, she felt the feeling settling into her chest her emotions were a mess. Her current relationship seemed to have died long ago, her being the muder, slashing the short-term fling into shambles. But she didn't break it off, still holding on to it for reasons she couldn't quite understand. They were now strangers sharing a bed. There was her ex, you, plaguing her mind like a broken record unwillingly on repeat. You were all she could think about, an obsession. You being that one person who had managed to break down all of her walls and make me feel alive in a way that she hadn't felt in years.

Now, the second stressful thought, the grand alliance, an event where many maifia organisations could make alliances, it helps you get around in world of crime. Natasha became consumed with making sure it was decorated to her exact standards, spending every minute of every day on the tedious project. Along with decor, she had to go through catering, entertainment, transportation, safety, logistics, security, marketing, and technology. It took weeks to set everything up. Clicking the send button one last time, everything was scheduled and in place. Pushing her back into the chair, she interlocked her hands behind her head and lifted her muscular legs onto her desk. She let her thoughts engulf her. What was she going to say to you when she saw you next? Well, that's if she did?

She let her mind run away and In to a a field of pure bliss, memories of you, all sort rushing back to her, sad, happy ,romantic, funny, dirty...

Oh, she loves you so much, she needs you, she needs you to hug her and tell her that everything is all alright, that she hasn't lost you, that you still love her. She wished she hadn't slapped you that she would have been more leanint, maybe her fathers ways weren't the best, she sighed. 'I should have been nicer, listened to her,' she thought, beating herself up. She remembers your touch as if you are there loving her. Her skin burning in a pleasant way, goosebumps rising. Your moans, pants, whimpers, filled her mind, along with the picture of your shaking body underneath her flushed form, succumbing to the pleasure that she so sweetly Inflicted.

You put her under a love sick spell that so truly could not escape. She couldn't help but slip her hand down into her lace panties, parting her folds by running a singular digit through her aching core, collecting her arousal, heat dripping every. She rubbed her pink, sensitive bud, toying, and pinching it. Closing her eyes, she let her mind run wild with the thought of you. Certain scenarios and flashbacks play in her mind, all while Natasha moaned your name out loud. She wanted more. Slipping a finger into her greedy cunt, she started a steady pace. Muscles tensing, hips bucking up trying to chase after the pleasureable sensation, all she could think about was you. Adding another finger a whorish moan escaped past the lips of the dangerous women. Her cunt was dragging her in, sponey walls clenching and stretching around her fingers. She chanted your name like it was payer while picking up the pace, her free hand clawing at her clothed tits, her hardened nipple rubbing against her palm, making them even more erect. A tight coil formed in the depths stomach, longing to be released. Her body twitched as if electricity ran through her veins, caught up in the pure pleasure. That overwhelming coil finally snapped, screaming your name. Eyes rolling to the back of her head, body trembling, as her sweet juices gushed onto her fingers. Bitting her lip to suppress more moans as she slowly pulled out digits, dragging her finger against her fluttering walls.

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"Y/n, my love!" Wanda screamed at the top of her lungs from your bedroom. Cutting up the last apple and throwing it into the bowl of delicious fruit, you screamed back.

"One second hunny, I'll be there!"

Grabbing the blow and making your way to the bedroom, you open the door to reveal a very domestic looking Wanda who was smiling up to you. Your heart burst at the site. She was adorable. Her hair in a messy bun, settled into bed, sitting up straight with her back against the lagre, lush head borad. Fluffy Covers on her lap and computer on top. Smiling back, you made your way around the bed and into your side, passing her the fuirt.

"Here you go, wands. I thought you might want a snack," you said while resting your head on her shoulder.

"Thank you," she smiled while kissing your forehead.

"What did you want me here for?" You asked, grabbing the cloud like duvet and throwing it over yourself.

"The grand alliance is on Tuesday. Um, how do you feel about that?" she said, puffing up her cheeks and looking at you with nervous eyes. "It's important," she added. You gave her a knowing glare.

"Erh, well, I know it's very important to you -" you started.

"I can go by myself!" She chimed in.

"No, it's okay, I want to be there with you. I want to be by your side and support, I want to watch it organisation grow... and Natasha," you struggled to get her name out "I don't think she will care, I mean she has her whore she'll be to focused on her" you expressed. Wanda smiled and kissed your lips.

"Thank you, hunny."

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Dressed to the nines, Wanda exudes confidence and elegance. Her fiery red hair cascades in soft curls, framing her face with a seductive allure. Her slender figure is adorned with a stunning black dress, hugging her curves in all the right places. The fabric shimmers under the lights, reflecting the stars that dance in her vibrant green eyes. As for you, you radiate beauty and grace, captivating those around you with your stunning presence. Your attire is a testament to your allure, the fabric enveloping your body in a silky embrace. Every move you make commands attention, drawing gazes from all directions.

As you step into the grand hall of the event, all eyes turn towards you and Wanda. The enchanting music fills the grand hall, reverberating through the space and setting the stage for an evening of sophisticated enchantment. The atmosphere is filled with an aura of anticipation and excitement. With laughter, animated conversations, and the clinking of glasses, as joy overtakes the lingering bitterness of your recent worries. With Wanda by your side, the night takes on a new vibrance. Her playful banter and coy smile reassure you.

As you navigate the vast sea of attendees, the palpable chemistry between you and Wanda draws the attention of onlookers. Whispers of awe ripple through the crowd, but it is your unwavering connection that stands out the most. Wanda's hand tightens around yours, her eyes locked with yours in a silent affirmation. In this glamorous setting, you slowly find yourselves in the centre of attention, surrounded by powerful figures and influential individuals. Around an hour went by, chatting to those around you, until a hush fell over the room, eyes shift towards the grand staircase.

Natasha was the definition of beauty and elegance. Her back straight, and her chin held high, her face stonic. She was dressed in an elegant suit, the lines of the fabric sweeping gracefully over her body. The jacket nipped in at the waist, and the skirt flowed out in a perfect line. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek bun, with a few strands left to frame her face. Her makeup was flawless, with a neutral palette that complemented the rich brown of her suit. The colours of her outfit were echoed in her accessories, from the subtle sparkle of her earrings to the glossy shine of her heeled boots. As she descended the staircase, the guests looked on in admiration. The way she moved was graceful and confident, and she seemed to glide across the room rather than walk. The cut of her outfit was flattering, its lines elongating her form and drawing the eye to the classic beauty of her features. Natasha was the epitome of elegance and style, and the guests couldn't help but stare as she made her way towards her destination. Her presence in the room cast a spell of sophistication and charm, and for a moment, it seemed as if the world had stopped turning for her. In that moment, she was the star of the show, and it was clear that she had earned that title. And yet, as beautiful as she was on the outside, there was something deeper about her that was even more dark. The room burst into applause as Natasha took her seat, her grand entrance a resounding success. As the evening went on, her hard work and diligence were rewarded as the guests hailed her as a master organizer, a woman who had brought together a beautiful and unforgettable event.

And unforgettable is what it will be.

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It was hard was hard for Natasha to see you with another woman, gracefully moving throughout the hall. She couldn't take it any longer. She didn't expect you to see you here, especially with Wanda. She faintly knew off the redhead from conversations with you. Tonight was the night that she got you back. She knew she wouldn't have a chance like this again. Pulling out her phone, she hastily texted Clint and Steve.

The crowds attention was pulled onto Clint as he jumped onto the stage, starting up the auction. You sat next to Wanda chatting about the valuables up on stage. Carol, one of Natasha's employees, slipped past and dropped a dissolvable tablet into your fruity drink. Natasha watched with an amused face as she watched the pink drink bubble and fizzy as the tiny, white table disintegrated. You were so clueless, so adorable, as you swigged the drink down.

After a while, you felt a sudden aruge to use the restroom. You quickly excused yourself and wondered to in the back halls. Natasha unpatiently waited a bit. Finally, Steve dropping off a cloth covered in chorlfom before she sneaked off to the restrooms.

Humming a tune contently to yourself, you let the lukewarm warm water devolp your hands, the smell of hygienic, antibacterial soap filling your nostrils. Looking up pure terror filled your body, Natasha was there. For a moment, time seemed to come to a standstill. Your heart raced as you looked into her familiar eyes, remembering all of the happy times you had shared together. The colour of your face drained. But as you looked at her now, you realized that things were different. In her eyes swirled a raging sea of desire, want, need. Her face in a deranged expression, a wicked grin spreading onto her face. In that moment, you knew that you needed to run. With a heavy heart pounding on your ribcage like a jackhammer, you made a run for the exit.

Natasha grabbed you, holding a firm arm around your waist, pushing her body hard agains you back, longing to feel your touch again. Before you could scream, a white cloth was violentally shoved against your face. You struggled to keep your eyes open, as the fumes flooded your lungs, making you feel dizzy and disoriented as she whipsered sweet nothings into your ear. Stumbling, trying to get away from the Natasha, but your vision was blurred and limbs felt weak. Once your body completely went limp against Natasha, she scooped you up, leaving the event through a secret passage way. Clint was there waiting from the bosses arrival. That night, she drove off successful you back in her fatal but loving arms once again. She did think about her absence, but no one could question the black widow herself about her disappearance.

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When Wanda realised that you weren't back, she started getting worried. This was a huge event full of criminals. Anything could have happened to a pretty girl like you. She checked the restrooms, balconies, and the foyer. Everywhere. Seeing that Natasha was gone only increased her worries. She couldn't find you at all. Panicking, she informed her crewmates, who started a search for you.

Meanwhile, you were half home, well, your new home. The car sped down the dark roads, avoiding public areas, the tinted windows down just to a crack. The breeze blew through the open window as the driver drove through the pitch-black night. The only light in the sky was the endless sea of stars, twinkling like glitter thrown onto a black velvet fabric. The air-conditioning hummed softly in the background, soothing her tired body after a long day of work. In the darkness, she held your unconscious form. Listening to the steady hum of the tires on the road. The scenery outside began to fade, leaving nothing but a darkness so thick you could cut it with a knife. Soon, the only light came from the car's headlights, lighting up the road before you. The road stretched on forever, with no signs of life anywhere.

"My sweet girl," she whipsered, stoking your forehead. Her love lay beside her, peacefully asleep. As she gazed at you, Natasha revelled in your beauty. The soft curves of your body, the delicate lines of your face, the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you breathed. You were her world, her everything, and she couldn't imagine life without you again. That dreadful feeling in her chest faded. Natasha leaned in and kissed your cheek, feeling a rush of love and gratitude. Your skin was soft and smooth, and she couldn't resist running her fingers over their facial features, tracing the outline of your nose and chin. As she looked at you, she was reminded of all the reasons she loved you. You kindness, your compassion, your humour, and your unwavering devotion. You were her best friend, her partner in crime, and her soul mate, and she knew that she was the luckiest person in the world to have you.As you slept, Natasha leaned in and whispered all her love for you. Sbe knew that you couldn't hear her, but that didn't matter. The words were for her, a reminder of all that she was grateful for. And in that moment, she felt content, knowing that she had you back.

Natasha knew that you may need time to trust her again, but she was willing to go through all that. She wanted to treat you better, to show you her version of love, not her stupid father's.

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Waking up in an unfamiliar, dark room, you realized that wasn't your bed. You glanced around, trying to make sense of your new strange surroundings,and different clothes. Your heart began to race as you realized you had been kidnapped again. You sat up quickly, body trembling as you looked around the room, just making out dark furniture and shadows in the corner. Just then, you heard a shuffling sound. Your heart skipped a beat. You slowly turned to face the sound and saw Natasha sitting at her vanity.

"Hello, my love, long time no see, huh?" Natasha chuckled out, looking at you through the elegant mirror wearing a slik, black robe. Without hesitation, you jumped out of bed and bolted for the door, mind racing with thoughts of escape. Natahs watched you sighing, "stupid flight or fight," she muttered to herself.

You sprinted through the halls of the mansion, looking for an exit, but as you turned the corners, you realized that the halls were infinite. No matter how far you ran, there was no escape, Natasha slowly following her, her pace calm and steady. Sprinting through the maze-like mansion, trying to avoid Natasha and find a way out of the mansion.

"Y/n!" Natasha repeatedly shouted out your name.

Your heart hurt. Weaving through the labyrinth of halls and rooms, searching for an exit, but every door you tried is locked. Feeling a sense of panic and desperation, your heart was pounding in your chest. Your breath becomes shallow gasps, but you refuse to give up. You continued to run, trying to find a way out, praying that you would be able to escape from the harsh clutches of Natasha Romanoff.

Reaching a dead end, you pull on the door handle, hoping it would open you. You could hear her footsteps getting closer and closer, they taunted you. Every. Single. Step. Giving up, you slid down the door, crying hysterically. You brought your knees up to your chest, hiding your face.

"Ah! there you are," Natasha said, looking around the corner, taking in your crying form she rushed to your side. "My love, don't cry. I'm not going to hurt you," she said, sitting next to you.

"I want Wanda," you sobbed out.

"She gone, love." You looked up at her with teary eyes,"What do you mean she gone!" You said voice breaking, knowing natashas cruel ways. "Dead," she said in a sickly sweet tone, brain flicking back to sending out a team while you were asleep. You sobbed harded. "you bitch!"

"I know, my love, I missed you, I'm truly sorry for everything, Wanda, though not at all she was in the way," she cooed while pushing her body close to yours "why are you doing this? You've hurt me enough. You cheated on me!" Your voice was a mess. "And now Wanda!" Your voice raised.

"Why can't you leave me be?!"

"Y/n, I love you, I'm so sorry. It was all a mistake. I've been going crazy this past few months. Please y/n I need you!" Her voice was laced with desperation. You could tell she was truly sorry. Her words gave you some type of comfort. It felt like you weren't enough for her, but now it was like you were. It felt like a massive hole had been filled. Back then, you always craved Natasha's validation, receiving it felt amazing. She had done terrible things, but you just couldn't help to fall for her again. Despite the cruel killing she just ordered on your lover, you couldn't help but sightly lean on her. Looking back on it, it felt you used Wanda as a distraction. So blinded by hurt and anger.

"Please baby, I need you," Natasha whipsered out tears forimg. All you could manage was a little nod. "Is that a yes?"

"Yes," your voice was barely above a whipser. There was no point in fighting her. She was too powerful. Your body missed her embrace. Now, in her full presence, you realized how much you yearned for her.

"I'll better, I promise baby," she whipsered sincerely, supporting you while you cried out your heart. Leaving kisses all over your head. You glimpses at the vulnerability in her gaze, the walls she built again, crumbling down as she curls up beside you. Natasha wraps her arms around you, pulling you into a cocoon of warmth and safety. Her touch is tender, as if trying to convey all the love and reassurance she's capable of. She buries her face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in, finding solace in your presence. Soft whispers escape her lips, a chorus of apologies and promises. "I'm here for you, always. I'll do whatever it takes to heal your wound hearts." In this moment, the world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you as you seek solace within each other's embrace. Natasha's restless fingers glide along your arm, tracing invisible patterns as a silent testament to her devotion.

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Pt.3 is in the works I hope you enjoyed!

@alianovnasposts @badbitchrebequinha

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. ﹙ the serial killer magician. ﹚: alessio agresta arias 9819 .𖹭 ݁

. . . when it's his love if it aint' rough it isn't fun !! 🍒 : “ play the cards once, play them twice, mio amore. but once you hit the ace of spades, baby, your hand’s over, ”

꒰ verse ꒱ 9819 

꒰ species ꒱ enigma ( illusions )

꒰ ethnicity ꒱ italian-spaniard

꒰ age ꒱ 40

꒰ gender ꒱ male

꒰ mbti ꒱ enfj

꒰ alias ꒱ the spade, ace of spades, the heir, leader of ace, the magician, the card killer, emerald ripper

꒰ story ꒱ 

the radio shouts his name. a signature grin printed on newspapers. everyone knows those sharp eyes shining bright. alessio agresta arias - otherwise known as the ace of spades. leader of the outlaw organisation: ace.

a robin hood to some, an outlaw to others. often seen as a magician of sorts - what with his various tricks and illusionary skill. able to escape from any and all chases or trials.

but what would be most notable as of recently - would be the slew of murders linked to his name.

the emerald ripper; is a name many have come to known. one that he seems to wear with pride. what of the fact that a few politicians fall in his name? his duty to this city and its less fortunate remain. down with the system, he’ll proclaim.

ever as cunning. chaos masked by maturity. a man of great calculation and intelligence. always five steps ahead in this game of poker between himself and the council that runs his beloved city.

catch me if you can, he’ll grin into the face of justice. for he himself is retribution in itself.

 

꒰ appearance ꒱

dark, slightly messy and wavy medium-length hair, which extends above the base of his neck

striking emerald green eyes ( with bordered pupils ), peering into your soul and then disappearing into a crowd of people that were not there before.

fair olive skin. two beauty spots below the right corner of his eye. masculine facial features with a few androgynous aspects here and there

6’7” ( 201cm ) and an athletic build of lean muscle

dark male aesthetic and clothes. can lean to punk sometimes

nose ring on left nostril

triple lobe piercings and two helix piercings on both ears

double tongue piercings

smokey eye makeup and eyeliner. typically dark make-up in general with black lipstick at times

often wears silver and black bracelets

black rings on his fingers with short and black nails

has a minimalistic spades symbol tattooed on his inner left wrist

 

꒰ personality ꒱

charming in nature and effortless in his actions. he often has quite the attractive personality and draws attention to him

has quite the humour but is loud-mouthed about it. always cracking some sort of joke. this can range from dry to morbid to effortless

very observant and ever as calculating. always makes sure that he’s five steps ahead and doesn’t let people guess his next move

knows when to be quiet and knows when to talk. can have a sharp mouth but knows when to sit and observe

mature but can be quite chaotic through it all. a risk taker by nature - he loves the thrill of a good chase. the potential of getting caught.

a quick thinker. able to think on his feet and act fast.

steals from the rich to feed the poor. greatly believes in justice for the lower class and does not have any sympathy for the rich.

not quick to anger but when he is angered - he displays it in quite the unnerving way. through smiles and grins. he enjoys getting riled up.

can sometimes be a bit blunt and has quite the sarcastic tongue

can also be quite provocative. he enjoys seeing the way that he can make someone tick. he finds it amusing.

very dutiful despite his laid-back exterior. always makes sure that he finishes the job

might be a bit morbid and callous - he believes in risky and sometimes extreme methods to complete a mission. sacrifices can be made for the greater good

a natural leader. is surprisingly organised despite his chaos. there is a method to the madness.

a jack of all trades. able to pick up a skill and master it.

always loves a good challenge and a good gamble. anything to get his blood pumping. wagers are something he quite enjoys.

 

꒰ with a lover ꒱

alessio is a very playful lover, always poking at you for fun. teasing you to watch you pout at him or furrow your brows. and he keeps doing it aaallll because he loves messing with you

oh and lets not even get started with his love of flustering you to the point of fainting - his flirting is meant to make your heart swell and burst over and over again from the words he does not hold back on.

will complain if his hand is not in yours and will spare no second putting it on your waist or hip either. one of his love languages is touch, it’s important to him. even if it’s the minimum. like linking fingers.

quick to jealousy, but with the very twist that he loves when you make him jealous and rile him up. loves the thrill of the chase for you.

very protective of you. he does not like not knowing where you are, but it isn’t out of possessiveness - no. his enemies are swift. and he be able to forgive himself if they hurt you.

sometimes makes little doodles on your hands just for the fun of it and so that you have something to remember him by. little stars, moons, spades, he’s doodled small cartoons of himself too. he loves doing it, because it makes you giggle and laugh.

takes you to his base so that he can show you off. loves letting everyone know that you are his. Loves when some people have the audacity to cast a glance of jealousy

clings onto you in the mornings because he doesn’t want to let you go too soon. he hates having to get up and not being able to pull you close and just cuddle.

loves having late-night stalks of the city rooftops with you, moving from roof to roof. settling you down by a railing and drinking coffee with you.

puts his jewellery on you as another little thing for you to remember him by. and so that anyone else don’t have any ideas of stealing you away. they know his jewellery.

loves randomly grabbing you at different times of the day. lifting you up into his arms or throwing you over his shoulder, loves hearing the laughs burst from you and the complaints.

kiss attacks. kissing, everywhere. he adores you! he wants to show that as much as he possibly can.

sometimes makes illusions of butterflies or other mini animals that you like to swirl around your vision so that you can fall asleep. humming to you softly if it helps you rest.

 

꒰ strengths ꒱

illusions: alessio has a particular skill in illusions because of his enigma genes. and can create big and small illusions. a great quality for when you are on the run.

weapon mastery: alessio is excellent with weapons, ranging from guns, knives, swords, grenades, etc. and even makes some of his own weaponry.

adaptive: Alessio is quick with adapting to what is unknown to him. Quick to learn new environments, personalities, etc.

wit and intelligence: his wit and intelligence are some of his biggest, primary strengths that he takes advantage of every day.

 

꒰ weaknesses ꒱

illusions: while his illusions are useful, they can also tire him out depending on the expanse they take up. 

 

꒰ relationships ꒱

valerio agresta arias: father

elena arias perez: mother

lorenzo agresta arias: younger brother

zhào jìngyí: enemy

rishen herrera: enemy

zhào xīyáng: best friend, secret work partner, spy on the inside.

denara agyros: best friend, the lady who is always patching him up

zhào mùchén: enemy

 

꒰ extra ꒱

his organisation, ace, is an underground institution that focuses on the protection of the general public. they believe that the poor and less fortunate should be taken into consideration too. thus they often steal from the rich to give to the poor and are considered outlaws by the general government as they often go toe-to-toe with the council.

he’s quite the innovator and designs a lot of the tech for his organisation

his favourite food is calamari

he is good friends with denara’s son meenu, her hedgehog.

[harus-simp]

First impressions

-Zhang Hao x reader-

Warning:none

Author's note: A little something I thought of 🤭

Hope you guys like it:D

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Zhang Hao didn't believe in love at first sight at all, but when you locked eyes with him he felt at your complete mercy.

Oh, the pressure the pressure. It was getting to a point where the trainees were having a really hard time on the camp as the eliminations and the 3rd mission were approaching.

Zhang Hao and team Overdose had worked really hard in order to make an amazing performance for their audience, however he had been struggling as a leader, doubting himself and his ability to carry the team on his shoulders.

So when they send them outdoors to do some activities it felt like a weight lifted off his shoulders, at least for a few moments.

When they heard that they would held a special event for star creators they put even more efforts in their games, really determined to get the best for their dear fans.

But, in spite of the fun moments they were sharing Zhang Hao still was anxious about their performance. And they had to now perform to some star creators beforehand? He couldn't even catch his breath, God.

He reminded himself that all his hard work would eventually pay off and bring a smile to star creators faces all around the world, so he kept trying as hard as he could.

.

.

.

The day finally came and they were decorating the place and organising it so that their fans could be comfortably watching their performances.

"How do you think they sorted out this event, like they won a contest or something?" asked him hanbin

He was throwed off by the question for a moment, he hadn't thought about that tho. Was it random?

"Well now that you mention it I'm not quite sure"

But he couldn't process further because they were told to go to the stage and wait for the star creators to arrive.

As he stood behind the curtain he felt really nervous for a reason? He didn't know why but he had a strange and suspicious feeling about all the event act in itself.

Hanbin and Gyuvin started their work as mc's reading the script they held on their hands in hopes of a response or a cheer from the other side, however they didn't heard a word coming from the people. How weird, they didn't even heard them gossip or talk between themselves. What was happening?

When the curtain fell off they were not met with some fans, no, before them stood (well more like were seated) their family and friends.

Yeah that was such an mnet thing to do, he should have figured it out earlier.

Each team performed for their family and friends flawlessly until it was overdoses team turn. They asked each person who had came to support them, but it wasn't until the turn of one of his team mates came that he couldn't stop staring at certain someone.

"Well jay, tell us who came today to support you" asked gyuvin already memorising the script

"Today came my friends y/n, f/n and o/f/n"

Zhang Hao was gobsmacked by your figure and your beauty, he felt like time stopped and it was only you he could see.

And then you both exchanged a glance, a glance that was prolongated by a lot. He literally had had like a chemical reaction to your presence, and let's just say that he wasn't the only one.

You on the other side was also captivated by his pretty face and his curious expression adorned by his sparkly dark eyes.

Oh, now he definitely had to work harder, he wanted to impress you with his dance and singing abilities, he wanted you to look at him specifically. Of course you would watch your friend, but he wanted you to focus on him in great part of the song. It felt like a kid looking for attention (new jeans pun intended 😀)

Once the performances were finished they were allowed to say hello to their relatives properly by coming off stage. In all the chaos that was formed he noticed how jay had approached him when he saw his parents couldn't make it, so he offered to introduce him to his friends. And how could he deny it, when all he had been thinking about till then was you.

"Hey guys, this is Zhang Hao, he was quite lonely right there, so figured out he could use some extra company"said jay

"Oh, your parents didn't come?"you asked curiously

"No, unfortunately they couldn't get here"he answered with a pity smile.

"Well then, from now on we will be representing your parents as well"

It was just the way you casually said it that made his heart rate speed to unimaginable paces. He smiled softly thanking you with a small laugh for your cute gesture.

"By the way, over me was amazing! You guys pulled the concept incredibly well!"

"Thank you"

All those compliments you were throwing him were making wonders to his face as his cheeks flushed in a deep crimson red tone. He swore he didn't believe in love at first sight, but you were making it too hard to not make it believable anymore.

Jay saw the little glances you were throwing to each other throughout the whole event and he kinda was determined to be a wingman over there, so every opportunity he had he let you alone with Zhang Hao (yeah you better thank him later 🙄).

When the event came eventually to an end, you were feeling kinda disappointed because you wanted to spend more time with this curious guy that had captured your heart as hard as him, but well that's what it is.

You bid goodbye to everyone you met, including jay of course,with only Zhang Hao left.

"Well it was a pleasure meeting you hao!"

"The pleasure's mine y/n"

And just like that you both parted ways, however jay wasn't gonna let this slip so he went to his friend and brought him to a corner to interrogate him.

"Hao, do you like my friend?"he asked directly.

"What? N-no I-"

But he fell silent as he couldn't find a proper answer.

"Yeah, figured out so, you guys can't keep your eyes of each other seriously"

In that moment he felt so embarrassed and shy for someone catching you both like that, it wasn't something intimate but it felt like it for him. Had he been that obvious?

"Well, you'll thank me later anyways, give me your phone"

"Huh? For what?"

"Oh c'mon trust me for once!"

He extended his phone towards jay not really sure about his intentions.

"Now y'all can be all lovey dovey without hurting my eyes, you're welcome"he said while getting away

When hao saw his phone he saw y/n's phone number as a new contact on his phone, yeah he was totally extatic.

He quickly typed a message and send it to you.

-Hey there, I'm Hao :))

-Hey hao ;))

-I don't know if you felt the same but this is the first time I've ever felt a strong connection with someone, so let me take you out sometime?

-I kinda felt something special as well with you ngl, so I'd really love that <3

He had a good feeling about this ;))

°◇°◇°◇°◇°◇°◇°◇°◇°◇°◇°◇°◇°◇°◇°◇°◇°

f/n= friend name

o/f/n= other friend name

[ashton-ryder]

TIMELINE REPORT - FROM DAY 0 OF OUTBREAK. // REPORTEE: RYDER LAST DATE OF UPDATE: MAR 20

supply list library of astrophysics books, university staff and student pass, laptop, mid-range telescope, physicists tools, laser pointer, circuit board scraps, mini solar power generator, tactical flashlight, compass, M18 handgun & 9mm bullets & handgun silencer, M27 rifle & 5.56×45mm NATO & rifle silencer and scope, military combat knives, old dog tag, water bottle, regular supplies from a lived in apartment slowly dwindling away.

1st Nov - Ashton had finish teaching his physics lecture for the undergrad students that morning, with nothing else to do on campus after that, he brought his thesis work from the labs back home (alongside a birthday gift or two from his graduate mates), rather avoiding the evening rush hour if he stayed. He buried his head in his research until he hears the screams, the crashes, the gunshots, and he looked up and out towards the direction docks and the colour drained from his face. He called his mother who was in Minnesota alone, letting her know he was alright, that everything will be alright. And that's the last he heard from her. he didn't sleep that first night.

2nd Nov - He pulled out the handgun he had locked up all these years, stepping in to join the group that was looking to help the caretaker secure the building, more than happy being at the front lines pushing back the zombies.

3rd Nov - ashton's birthday :c

4th-15th Nov - ashton goes in and out between helping organise their new normal, helped Rosie sort out the garden, continued his thesis work, tried contacting his mom again to no avail. Tried reaching his university, silence. Tried reaching his own military contacts, silence. He started volunteering to go outside and do recons, find survivors, and just do something to figure out what the fuck was going on. it wasn't always approved but when he did, he tried to bring back valuable information on the zombies and any survivors.

16th Nov - after the crash, Tobias shared the radio they found in the ambulance with Ashton to take a look and see what can be done. He devotes more of his time in fixing the radio, as well as trying to make contact with the military. He starts monitoring horde movements from the rooftop daily, helping map out safe routes for scout and recon missions. They were left to fend of themselves, losing hope for help to come anytime soon, so scavenging, raiding and looting had begun. He does his best to bring back what some of the residents request on scouting and scavenging missions. still in denial and working on his thesis when he has nothing else to do.

17th Nov - Sweet potatoes that had been growing over the fall originally meant for scientific research, had been harvested before winter came. The residence now have a large amount of sweet potatoes curing away some to be used early on and others to be kept for the long term months away.

18th Nov - Ashton turned on his phone again, hoping for something different, hoping to contact his mother, or just even send a text to make sure she's okay. Still no service. No signal. No hope. Ria joins him at the diner for their meal before the chaos struck. He last saw Courtney a day or two ago on the roof, she performed a beautiful piece in front of him, and now she's chomping on someone else. They were too far from the action to be useful but Ash went to go track down those bitten and escaped, with Nat and Ria taking down the poor old lady that once shared tea with him when he first moved in.. and then he went off to get his gun to clear out the higher floors, making sure no infected was left, checking in on the residents, putting the poor guy that hid in his apartment and died and turned all alone out of his misery. When everything went quiet, no more groans and screams, he did a sweep before meeting Zach by the staircase helping lift the last of the bodies into the second floor Atrium where they did a head count and mourned for the dead. He couldn't sit around and not do anything and be useless and so he brought out the radio once more. He was missing something he was sure, and he knew it'll click sooner or later. With Zach and Nat's help, they finally figured out the radio and Ash fixes it with a sharp crackle into the first joys of audio they've heard from the device.

21st Nov - Ashton spent the past few days preparing for their trip to the ship after the decision was made to find answers at the start of the outbreak. The radio had hinted towards something on the ship that had made it on but shouldn't have, that it wasn't just a cargo ship. He and Zach departed at daybreak the moment the hordes thinned out, taking the 2 hour trek to the ship and found out that Korea had created immunity test kits in order to find suitable immune antibodies to create the vaccine. The immunity test kits on the ship were meant for global distributions to reach and warn the world while they still could and find a wider pool of immuned antibodies. Zach and Ash grabbed as many as they could in case the ship ever goes under one day. He aggravates an old injury from his left shoulder in the process of escaping the ship but ultimately comes back safe and sound, if you don't count dying a little bit inside coming back with Sada in tow as well.

22nd Nov - After the 24 hour quarantine, Ashton went to Tobias to get his shoulder checked, considering that he was the one to operate on it in the first place, no better time for a check up. His shoulder was wrapped up as a bandage brace and given a few days to recover by itself with the aid of ice, heat, and anti-inflammation pills. The men also then reported in their findings before the decision on what to do with the test kits was made.

23rd Nov - Thanksgiving dinner was nice. Ashton thinks about his mom and tries to reach her again.

2nd Dec - Ashton spots a familiar face of his old marine comrade Kang coming towards the building letting him and his fellow scientist partner in.

12th Dec - After decisions were made, preparations were done to set the whole building up for the test kits and today was the morning Mr Wexley decided to make the announcement. Ashton awkwardly stood beside him with Zach during the announcement. (not important but he just wanted to note down he felt awkward :/) Ash volunteers to be the first resident to demonstrate the test, proving everything was alright and alleviate any fears or doubts people had. He and Zach then went out for a quick run that morning, keeping his promise to Charlie and picked up cigarettes for Jeremiah.

13th Dec - Ashton receives his results of delayed immunity (bummer). He still immediately puts him name in for the supply run, as if it was as easy as taking a walk. Mr Wexley seeks him out to ask a favor from him to take charge of leading the residents, strategizing and assigning the supply runs and giving them safety briefings before heading out for the first time. Ash also offers to teach self defense to anyone heading out.

16th Dec - Ashton had been at the diner that morning later than usual, otherwise he could've been dead. All seemed normal until Charlie came rushing down with an unconscious Skyler in tow. The Carbon Monoxide gas leak hit them all in the morning and Ashton volunteers to start going through and evacuating the residents from their apartments alongside the rest of the others braving through the gas. Ash and Mr Wexley found the source of the leak and worked to clear it out together. With the crisis averted, most came out unscathed except for one, and of course it's Sada's fault, who else. Ashton felt the affects of the gas for the next few days but nothing time and some actual oxygen can't fix.

23rd Dec - Ashton and Zach spent the days leading up to this prepping the teams for the big supply run, everyone pitching in to be divided into teams and focus on various supplies they needed to get before the snow hits them in the face and they need to tide over the winter. All hope was practically lost to be saved and their focus was only on survival at this point in stead of rescue. Ashton has tried to plan out for all worst case scenarios, exit plans, and yet, the worst just couldn't even be thought out well enough, or maybe Ash had just lost his edge from his time away from the marines. His own team should've been a small quick team, in and out. And everything had gone wrong, he should've seen it coming. Losing Skyler there and then had been heartbreaking and coming back to a shit storm everywhere else.. just fuck.

24th Dec - 2nd Mar - The events from their supply run pulled Ash back into a familiar place, a dark place, of leading and letting people down, people dying because of him and his decisions. He focused his efforts on surviving, keeping everyone alive, nothing else. He continued to trudge through the snow to search for the missing residents that never made it back, they were strong hardy people, they can survive, Ash just needs to find them. Till then, he found it very hard to look at people in the eye, especially Charlie. Losing Skyler, sending both her brothers out there for them to not come back, they have to come back. Charlie couldn't lose JP and Jer, and honestly neither could Ash. He never told anyone of his solo runs outside, finding more supplies that they never managed to get and hoping to find their people. He got caught once or twice, but perhaps no words were needed to justify why he was doing it, why he was trying to make it right. Winter came and finally went, at least they've survived the worst. And Ash hopes to continue to look for the rest of the Wexley residents again. ..It can't get any worse. ..Right?

4th Mar - Spring was coming and that meant the snow was starting to melt away, giving Ashton more chances to head out, by now getting full approval from Mr Wexley to do his runs, with his own self condition to at least make it back with supplies and make his trips to search for their people useful. Today his managed to find rice, one of those staples that just never expires, perfect find for them to have carbohydrates and make it last long. He came back first with the spoils straight to Charlie to offload supplies before quarantine. Charlie gave him the news that JP made it back, Ashton instinctively hoped to head back out immediately to avoid the 48 quarantine, taking it as he never came back instead. And that was the first time Charlie yelled at him like at. He would've fought with her if he wasn't so exhausted, hurt by her words enough for him to cave in, promising her that he'd stay in the Wexley for a few days and just be there for her.

4th - 9th Mar - In the last few days, Ash stayed in the building, resting, sleeping just reconnecting with their people again. He checked in with Val, finally spoke with Beau again hoping he'd feel better, made sure Mal was okay, looked for JP once their quarantines were done, it was actually really nice. A soft reminder for what they still had despite what they've all lost.

9th Mar - …Five days constitutes a few days, right??? Ashton was always one to keep his promises, rarely a man to ever break them. But the lack of work to do had him itching again, needing something to do in the building. He started off with the retcon work he hasn't done from the rooftop since the snow hit, observing the activities of the city from the roof and tracking them down, human and non human. He didn't expect to have spotted a Ziggy shaped human on the streets from above. Ash broke his promise to Charlie in that instant to save his friend and bring them back home.

12th Mar - Ash thought that would be a one and done promise break, Charlie wasn't too mad at him considering a life was at stake and it wasn't far. But the next one perhaps was what hurt the most. Ash never had any intentions of heading out that day, he already spoke with JP hoping to dig some information that could help them find Jeremiah. But with the lack of information, that was a thread Ash swiftly dropped, not wanting to force JP into a dark headspace remember the time of their run. So he did not expect to see JP anxiously knocking on his door, wanting- needing to go out and find his older brother. Ash didn't have the highest hopes but he did trust JP and he was definitely not about to let him wander out there alone just as he finally made it back. Ash, JP and Oscar went out for the day, looking in the area JP thought would be the best bet. They came across a raider, at first almost ready to fight when they mentioned they're just looking for someone that fucked them over, a description matching the oldest Rose, the group led the raider astray into a wayward direction, at least inklings of the fact that Jer or someone that looks like Jer is alive somewhere. Ash forced them to end their search by dusk, not about to let them stay outside overnight and upon coming back, it was almost unbelievable to hear Jer had made it back home. Ash couldn't find himself to believe it and he broke protocol just to make sure it was true before he accepted his 48 hours.

15th Mar - coming out free from quarantine once again, Ash caught up with the recent changes and news from everyone, Val's new quarantine protocols to be put in place starting today. Ash preferred quarantining in the comfort of his home but he understands the need for this.

9th - 20th Mar - Charlie hasn't spoken to Ash ever since :(

20th Mar - Birdie makes her back to the Wexley with survivors and Roman's kid, June, in tow and intel to the brim of the outside world and most pressingly, a call for help. Ashton joined in as one of the volunteers to join the journey in saving the survivors on the boat stranded in the waters, raiders prowling around waiting to jump on them. Charlie hasn't spoken to Ash since the day he came back with JP, he wanted to give her the space she needed from him, letting her be as mad as she wanted to be with him. Jeremiah had chosen to head out too and he might as well go outside and look out for the other brother like he did with the middle Rose. But more importantly, Roman was still out there trying to save these people, Charlie can be mad at him all she wants, but this felt like the right thing to do, if it meant helping get Roman back to his family and Charlie. The volunteers of Jeremiah, Eric, Zach, Oscar and himself gathered that very same day, got further information from Birdie and began working out a plan for the next day.

---- to be updated

[hellishere7980]

IMW Chapter 11

Meanwhile in the Watchtower

The Watchtower was in chaos.

It had been 2 hours since the live broadcast broke and shocked the world. 2 hours since the Justice League realised they had missed something this big for almost eight years, and didn’t know about it until a week after the situation had been solved by a group of heroes that they had never heard of.

Every screen in the meeting room was on, flashing snippets of information about the reign of Shadow Moth. Videos of the battles and interviews, articles, websites and social media as their supercomputer compiled every bit of information it could find.

The room was filled with noise, a constant roar as everyone tried to be heard.

The magic users were together in a cluster; consulting books, grimoires, scrolls and each other in a confused panic.

They were muttering as they paced, wondering how they had missed magic of the magnitude Paris had witnessed when among them were some of the most powerful magic users on the planet; John Constantine, Zatanna and Doctor Fate.

Other members of the Justice League tried to make sense of it in their own way, arguing, (like children in Robin's view) as they scrambled to come up with any sort of reason for how something this big had gone unnoticed, why they had missed it and the reason behind it all in the first place.

Batman stood by himself, waiting for the super computer to finish so he could sort the information and start the process of following any leads he found to start answering the many questions he had. He was internally panicking about Isabella but shoved it down. First he’ll deal with this then open that can of worms.

His title as the World’s Greatest Detective had taken a blow. And so had his ego.

His Isa was in a warzone and hadn’t even known!

He changed into his Batman gear and walked into the zeta tube in time for the emergency meeting the Justice League had issued.

Everyone was in too much shock to start it productively, and they were stuck waiting for their supercomputer to finish its deep dive. The computer beeped, signalling that it had finished its task. The room fell into silence as everyone immediately turned their attention to the screens and monitors, and Batman begrudgingly did the same. For a second, no one moved, unsure who was going to begin to sort through and read out the info.

But Red Robin stepped up. For a moment Bruce wondered what Isa would have done with him for bonding? Shutting off that line of thinking, Batman hardened his heart as a wave of pain and grief washed over him as memories of her beautiful eyes floated through his head.

Now wasn’t the time to think about her. He had shipped her off for her safety. Nothing was going to change that.

Focusing back on the present, Batman watched as Red Robin sat in the chair in front of the keyboard connected to the largest monitors and grabbed the mouse, looking “This website was recommended by the French Government for anyone wanting information on what happened and it is the only website or platform that has the Court of Miracles’ stamp of approval on it. It’s linked to an app of the same name that has the alarm Paris used to alert its citizens of an Akuma attack and the attacks classification.” Red Robin said, voice carrying clearly over the silence in the room.

Batman watched as Red Robin brought up a website called Bug.Out, the screens in the meeting room showing it for everyone to see and at a quick glance, Batman was interested to see that a lot of the information he wanted was likely going to be found in that one website alone.

From what he could see from the homepage, it was very well organised. There were many clearly labelled drop-down headings that allowed for an easy search for information while below them was a link to download the Bug.Out app.

Red Robin clicked onto the Timeline tab and began at the beginning, speaking at first but trailing off as people began to talk, cutting him off to discuss what they learnt. As they got further through the Timeline, Batman got steadily more frustrated and horrified.

It started years ago, and victim zero had been an 13-year-old boy in school.

In front of his classmates, the boy, whose name wasn’t given for privacy reasons, was turned into a giant stone monster and went on a rampage, destroying everything in his way, killing hundreds of people and injuring many more before he was stopped by two heroes; Ladybug and Chat Noir.

The people of Paris didn’t have time to come to terms with what happened, stuck between panic at the attack that hadn’t been explained and awe at having heroes when a cloud of purple butterflies descended over the city, turning hundreds of people into giant stone beings and froze them in time.

The heroes weren’t seen for twenty-four hours as those people remained changed, frozen in their forms before the same eleven-year-old boy was turned back into the giant monster and began his rampage again, this time, with the help of the stone beings.

The destruction was city wide, the death toll becoming thousands before the original monster was stopped by Ladybug and Chat Noir once more, and the villain behind the attack introduced himself and gave an ultimatum to the two heroes.

Batman watched intently as Red Robin brought up the footage that had been recorded of that first battle, showcasing it across multiple screens.

Stoneheart stood at the top of the Eiffel Tower, his size causing it to groan and bend under his weight as he roared at the military and police personnel surrounding him and his small army of stone beings, a hostage clasped in each of his hands before he threw one. In a blur of red, Ladybug appeared and caught the girl, later identified as Chloé Bourgeois, before she splattered on the ground. After making the girl go to the barricade, Ladybug faced Stoneheart, Chat Noir landing beside her.

The military gave the order to open fire, but Ladybug told them to stand down, the order ringing out magically over the screams and noise. An argument ensued between her and the military, but the distance between the camera man and the hero made it impossible to hear what was being said. Attention only turned from the argument back to Stoneheart as the monster released a pained groan and a wave of glowing purple butterflies erupted from its mouth, forming a face high above the Eiffel Tower, shocking everyone into a fearful silence.

The face introduced itself as Hawkmoth and gave an ultimatum, demanding the heroes’ magic or it would destroy the city and kill everyone in it.

What Batman wasn’t expecting was for Ladybug to laugh and give a sarcastic applause as she walked towards the army of stone monsters like they were nothing, giving the newly introduced terrorist a reality check and a tongue lashing, promising him angrily that she would take his magic.

Ladybug then sprinted at the stone army, using her weapon to launch herself up and over them as they rushed her with a thunderous cry of fury. She then sent the weapon straight into the face of Hawkmoth, piercing him between the eyes. The villain shouted deafeningly in pain, despite not being there in person, and disappeared in a blinding flash of light, leaving everyone frozen in shock.

All that remained was Ladybug, standing in front of the Eiffel Tower; tall, confident and an unwavering pillar of strength as she promised that she would do everything in her power to bring Hawkmoth to justice and keep Paris safe, her voice magically amplified once more.

What followed was something the likes of which Batman had never seen before.

Lifting her hand above her head, her weapon clasped in it, a wave of glowing white butterflies burst from it flying in all directions covering the city. Many people captured them on camera and exclaiming in awe as they fluttered around them.

Batman watched the remaining battle between the heroes, Stoneheart and his army and saw how the heroes won. He studied closely how the akumatized boy transformed back into himself when they ripped a piece of paper and captured the purple butterfly that appeared out of it. But what caused his jaw to drop was when Ladybug vanished the parachute she had somehow summoned earlier in the fight.

Despite it being the second time Ladybug had displayed her magic, this was the first time it was caught on camera properly, and by more than one person.

It was beautiful; a wave of iridescent red that flew around the city, covering everything in its path and restoring everything to the way it had been before the battle.

The damage fixed, the injured healed, the monsters back into people and the dead alive.

Nothing Batman had ever seen was like that; the ability to reverse all of the damage, to bring people back from the dead and heal the injured in a matter of seconds, across a city the size of Paris and with a population of over two million.

No magic user was that powerful. Not Zatanna, Doctor Fate, or Constantine. No one had that kind of power. No one.

It was unreal. God-like. Terrifying.

[blakbonnet]

1, 8, 12, 14, 15 for Olu and Ed!

Ooh, thanks Joy!

1. Why do you like/dislike this character?

Ed: literally nothing there to dislike, he's the most adorable man in the world 🤷🏽‍♀️ and one of the most interesting characters to like tbh man has everything

Olu: the only braincell on the ship 😔 rip king

8. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you despise?

Ed: So so much, god especially twisting his beautiful character arc to write bad meta 🙃 fox says fandom is suffering and that hasn't been truer unless you're in the ed teach tag fr

Olu: I don't think I've seen any olu butchering tbh most people love him

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

Ed: too many to count, my favourites include that he'd love coke flavoured popcorn, thinks a trip to the aquarium is his ideal first date, wakes up super super early, has a sort of organised chaos kind of personal space

Olu: Oldest sibling energy

14. Assign a fashion aesthetic to this character.

Ed: dark y2k in the streets and soft 90s core in the sheets

Olu: boho casual for your man through and through

15. What's your favorite ship for this character?

(Doesn't matter if it's canon or not.)

Ed: Stede/Blackbonnet, it's the only person I'll ship him with tbh neither of these people should ever date anyone else

Olu: Tealoranges is/was cute but I was never into any particular ship for him tbh unless you count the Revenge being one massive polycule 😌

[silvawardrobesvd]

From Chaos to Order: Tips for Organising Your Built In Wardrobes

Your built in  wardrobe is not just a storage space; it's a sanctuary for your clothes, accessories, and personal style. Yet, all too often, these closets become chaotic, cluttered spaces that make getting ready in the morning a stressful experience. If you're tired of sifting through a sea of garments and struggling to find what you need, it's time to embark on a transformational journey – turning your built in wardrobes Sydney from a place of chaos into a realm of order and elegance. 

Assess Your Wardrobe Contents

Before diving into the organising process, take a step back and evaluate the contents of your wardrobe. Empty it completely if possible and sort through your clothes, shoes, accessories, and other items. Decide what you want to keep, what needs repair or cleaning, and what you can donate or discard. This initial step will help you declutter and create a clean slate for organising.

Categorise Your Clothing

Group your clothing items into categories such as tops, bottoms, dresses, outerwear, and so on. This makes it easier to locate specific items and maintain order in your wardrobe. Use sturdy hangers for dresses, blouses, and jackets, and fold items like jeans and sweaters neatly on shelves or in drawers.

Utilise Wardrobe Accessories

Make the most of built in  wardrobe accessories such as shelves, drawers, and hanging rods. Consider installing additional shelves or pull-out drawers if your wardrobe lacks them. Use clear storage bins or dividers to keep small accessories, like scarves, belts, and jewellery, organised and easily accessible.

Seasonal Rotation

Rotate your wardrobe seasonally. Store off-season clothing in vacuum-sealed bags or under-the-bed storage containers to maximise space and keep your wardrobe clutter-free. This practice ensures that only the clothes you need for the current season are readily available, making your daily outfit selection a breeze.

Invest in Quality Storage Solutions

Investing in storage solutions like shoe racks, tie and belt organisers, and dividers for your shelves can significantly improve the efficiency of your built in  wardrobe. These accessories make it easier to maintain order and accessibility, ultimately saving you time during your daily routine.

Label Everything

Labels are your best friends when it comes to staying organised. Label shelves, drawers, and bins to remind yourself and others where each item belongs. This simple step can prevent items from getting misplaced and maintain order effortlessly.

Regular Maintenance

Keep your organised built in  wardrobe in tip-top shape by implementing regular maintenance routines. Dedicate a few minutes each week to straighten up, reorganise, and put away any stray items. A little effort goes a long way in maintaining order and preventing clutter from creeping back in.

Utilise Vertical Space

Don't forget to make use of vertical space in your wardrobe. Install hooks or pegs on the inside of doors to hang bags, scarves, or accessories. Over-the-door shoe organisers can also be a great way to store small items, maximising every inch of your wardrobe's interior.

Create a Color-Coded System

Organising your clothes by colour can make it easier to find specific items and create a visually appealing wardrobe. Arrange your clothes from light to dark or follow a colour-coded system that makes sense to you. This not only adds functionality but also adds a pleasing aesthetic to your wardrobe.

Personalise and Beautify

Lastly, add a personal touch to your built in  wardrobe by decorating it with items like scented sachets, stylish baskets, or a full-length mirror on the inside of the door. This not only adds beauty but also encourages you to keep your space organised by making it a more inviting place to spend time.

Transforming your built in  wardrobe from chaos to order is a rewarding endeavour that can simplify your daily life and enhance the aesthetics of your bedroom. By assessing your wardrobe contents, categorising your clothing, utilising accessories, and maintaining regular upkeep, you can enjoy a well-organised and visually pleasing wardrobe that reflects your style and makes getting dressed a breeze. Take the time to invest in your wardrobe's organisation, and you'll reap the benefits of a clutter-free and efficient space for years to come. With these tips in mind, you can confidently navigate the journey from chaos to order in your built in  wardrobes and enjoy a more organised and stylish living space.

[organizingsense]

Home Organization Specialists: Your Secret to a Clutter-Free Haven

Have you ever dreamed of having a perfectly organized and clutter-free home that radiates harmony and style? Look no further, as Organizing Sense is here to turn that dream into a reality! Our team of dedicated professionals are not just home organization specialists; they are true maestros of decluttering and creating spaces you'll be proud to show off.

Meet The Maestros of Organisation!

When it comes to transforming your living spaces, you deserve nothing less than the best. At Organizing Sense, we take immense pride in our team of experts who possess a diverse set of skills to address all your home organization needs. From renowned interior designers to experienced home organizers, each member of our team is handpicked to ensure that they bring exceptional creativity and out-of-the-box thinking to the table.

Our team understands that every home is unique, and your requirements are specific. That's why we go the extra mile to tailor our approach to your preferences. Whether you want a minimalist, modern, or eclectic style, we've got you covered! We not only declutter your space but also infuse it with a touch of elegance that reflects your personality and aesthetic taste.

Our Process: Creating Order Out of Chaos

Our home organization process is structured, efficient, and tailored to meet your individual needs. With our expert guidance, you'll be amazed at how we can transform even the most cluttered spaces into havens of organization and serenity.

1. Sort and Categorize

The first step in the journey towards an organized home is sorting your belongings into logical categories. This process allows you to see the extent of your belongings, helping you make informed decisions on what to keep and what to let go of. We'll assist you in this process, ensuring that you're comfortable with the choices you make.

2. Edit and Declutter

Bid farewell to the unnecessary baggage that clutters your life! Our team will help you through the decision-making process of what to keep, sell, donate, or toss. Making these choices can be challenging, but with our support, you'll find it liberating to let go of things that no longer serve a purpose in your life.

3. Organize and Contain

Once we've decluttered your space, it's time to organize the remaining items effectively. We'll design a personalized organizing system, handpick products that best suit your needs, and arrange everything in a manner that optimizes space and functionality.

4. Establish Routine

At Organizing Sense, we believe that organization is not a one-time task but a way of life. To ensure that your newly organized spaces stay that way, we'll work with you to establish routines that make maintenance a breeze. A little effort every day goes a long way in keeping clutter at bay!

It Is All Within You

We understand that decluttering and organizing can feel overwhelming, but our team, much like top-notch decluttering companies, is here to remind you that the power to transform your home is within you. With our expert guidance, we unleash the potential of your spaces, creating an environment that inspires productivity, tranquility, and happiness.

Adi Groysman: The Mind Behind Organizing Sense

At the heart of Organizing Sense is Adi Groysman, the owner and lead professional organizer. Adi's high-energy approach, exceptional attention to detail, and unwavering passion for organizing and cleaning spaces set the tone for the entire team. With Adi's innovative thinking and dedication, our team breathes fresh air into cluttered kitchens, pantries, home offices, and wardrobes, ensuring a perfect blend of functionality and aesthetics.

Step into a World of Harmony and Organization!

At Organizing Sense, we firmly believe that an organized home fosters a sense of calm, clarity, and joy. Our expert team of decluttering maestros is committed to transforming your living spaces into functional and beautiful havens. Let us partner with you on this journey to create a home that you'll love coming back to every day. Take the first step towards an organized and clutter-free life. Contact us today to schedule a consultation with our home organization specialists and experience the magic of Organizing Sense. Your dream space is just a call away!

[1993]

i'm so obsessed with your pinterest... how do you organise your boards?

oh my god, thank you, it's my baby.

right now they're just sorted by color! "lullabies for the little criminals" is for the light tones, "romanticizing the worst years of my life" is for the dark tones, "what chaos is imaginary" is for black and whites (and occasionally ikb) and "wear your culture like an armor" is a combination of the above three but it's bodies and mugs only.

the true beauty lies in the unorganized pile beneath the four "cornerstone" boards, in my opinion! that's where all the colors are. i'd give them a board too (i'd call it "gucci bloom", maybe, after the perfume) but it doesn't match the rest. so i just leave them as they are. "excess in the grotesque", as they say!

[iruludavare]

     Hands rest upon the rails once they take their spot on the balcony, the silence a comforting veil of warmth and ease against the night. And indeed, Serena's eyes flitter over to meet his as the words fall from him. She has heard the rumours. Whispers of some debauchery-laden claims to which his name is attached, sometimes with disapproval, sometimes with excitement. She has known this long before their initial meeting, from gossip told to her by a stranger who grinned ear-to-ear like some jester whose soul was inexorably bound to dirtied stories of the court around them, their sole source of joy. Yet here he is, having been nothing but kind. Nothing but respectful. Nothing but concerned about her and willing to wait on her more than himself. Quick-witted and perhaps a little flirtatious, but nothing to validate those claims through word or action— not even when Blue had the chance to. The man from those rumours, would have surely lost interest by now, aghast by composure and distance and an all-too-busy schedule— so much that all interactions would have ceased as though they never began in the first place.

     By the pillars of moonlight beaming down upon the tower, much like those of an artificial sort shooting upwards from the ground below, he is illuminated. The darkness of night broken by pale light, turning his skin, his hair, his eyes a delicate shade of the colour with which he shares a name. Austere and yet inviting; familiar. Casting upon his features shadows that further lines and shapes hidden in direct sunlight, the texture of skin glittering in peaks like crushed glass. Indeed, from here, he could be made of opal, or stone. Like a statue, carefully crafted to appeal to the masses, but whose details and posing calls forth a questioning of emotions and of knowledge and of philosophy— a confrontation of the self.

     He really is quite beautiful.

          "Th-There's, uh, something fascinating about how the city was planned— at least, it is to me. It looks like a wheel from an old carriage. And Prism Tower, where all of the light of the region pools together... like a beacon of hope."

     Comes her response, for now she holds back on thoughts of what he truly meant— if it had been the view or her he had been complimenting. She turns to the horizon. Of yellowed circles of light lining streets and plazas, winking in the darkness below. A galaxy of its own making. The pulse of a city that somehow beats towards its centre in organised chaos. Then to the sky, of stars fighting through haze to be seen. It is nothing like home. A breathtaking sight obscured by manmade haze, ornate manipulations of fabricated light.

          "It reminds me of something I grew up being told:

'All lives touch other lives to create something anew and alive'. I wonder if whoever designed this city had been told it, too..."

     Perhaps it would be fine, she thinks, to seek affirmation of what he had meant. To mimic actions and speak words of reciprocated interest if one assumption was true, and confirmation of the view if she had simply thought too much on it all. So, her head turns, eyes resting upon his features, much like he had for her. And all over again, she is struck by moonlight and stars. The world just below slowing to a halt, words heavy on her tongue.

          "...But... what you said about the view...? I, um... You know, it makes me happy to hear that. I think it is, too."

"Hey now I'm kantonian, you know. It's only polite. Manners are an awful big deal for us~"

Completely bullshitting her, any semblance of honesty dissolves the moment that singsong lilt follows his words.

Blue's carried the label of a so-called playboy for some time; a baseless rumour that evolved past his control. In return, the only way he could command that rumour was to embrace it. The truth however was often much farther than what people saw on the surface.

If only either had the nerve to ask the question. Maybe if Blue were a womanizer there wouldn't be any guess-work, for either he or Serena.

"Damn, you're really dashing all my hopes that I was on a date, with the Brilliant Kalos Champion," Blue replies, taking care not to speak too loudly. Last thing either of them needs after their respective, tiring days is for some reporter to pop up and take their conversation out of context.

When she smiles at him, Blue nearly finds himself frozen like that first night outside the theater. Captured by the way she seems to glow, drawn to the light like a moth pirouetting in the night. Greatful, furthermore, for how the dim evening hides the flush that rises to his cheeks.

"Oh my, you're such a thoughtful chaperone~" the man replies, half laughing as he leads the way.

The cool air is a relief, wind carrying away the heat in his skin as Blue breathes it in. Silence lingering comfortably ass they head towards the balcony, and for a long moment the man doesn't say anything.

"You were right when you said there was a great view up here," he finally says, and if Serena were to turn her head she would find his eyes, not on the view of Lumiose City, but instead on her face.

[lokidokieokie]

You’re Stuck With Me Now!

Summary: Because the compound is in chaos, you venture off to your room and find something that you weren’t meant to. Safe to say that you are now officially Loki’s problem. 

Warnings: Language

It was just like every other day in the compound; and by that, you meant chaos. The compound was chaos. 

For some reason, there was a wide variety of different coloured silly string coating the walls of the common area, specifically over Vision’s tower of toasters that he ‘saved’ from Costco. Clint was hanging upside-down from the vents after, what you’re assuming, was a prank gone wrong; Natasha was (probably) rightfully threatening him with a taser because of it. Thor was sitting in a dark corner, huddling with his ‘army’ of Pop-Tarts, forming some sort of battle plan. Wanda and Pietro were sitting on the couch, hysterically crying because the Notebook was on, Vision was trying to comfort them both to no avail. Tony was dancing on the bar shirtless, singing (quite terribly) to Aqua’s Barbie Girl. Bucky and Sam were trying to one-up each other on the ‘best’ pick-up lines they could come up with, much to poor Peter’s chagrin. And Bruce—sweet, sweet Bruce—was about to have a nervous breakdown because of shit hitting the fan. 

It truly was pure chaos. 

Deciding that it would probably be better to venture off into your shared room with Loki, you left the rest of the gang to their psychotic tendencies. 

Silence. 

“Perfect.” You smiled. 

Looking around the room that you shared, you noticed that it was absolutely filthy. Clothes were thrown all over the floor, Loki’s books were everywhere (literally), the rubbish bin was overflowing, paper from your failed drawings littered the floor...it was just a mess. 

Deciding that you could use your spare time wisely, you connected your phone to your speaker and began belting out your favourite tunes. Slowly—due to your constant need to dance to your favourites—you began to clean what was known as your room. Clothes were either neatly folded away or placed in the hamper, the rubbish and paper were carefully separated and disposed of. 

Now came the fun part: Loki’s books. 

Putting Loki’s books back was a challenge. Things were organised in such a meticulous way that you were sure he would notice if one was out of place just by walking in through the door. Shoving some books in (hopefully) that right places, you notice that one won’t budge further than half-way into the shelf. 

“Why won’t this stupid book go into its place?” You continued to try and push the book in, but it just wouldn’t budge. Scared that you would damage it, you pulled the book back out, and began to investigate. 

“Something must be blocking the book. God knows what he’s shoved onto these shelves.” Quickly moving some things around, you come across a nice wooden box, with a golden rose on the lid. Wonder what could be in here?

Hoping that you weren’t opening Asgard’s version of Pandora’s box (your boyfriend would be the one to own such an item), you carefully unlatched it, and lifted the lid. There pretty much was just a bunch of junk. Some Asgardian gold coins, crumpled pieces of a paper and a-

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Is that what I think it is?

Can’t be. I’m imagining things. Someone must’ve spiked my water at breakfast.

The most beautiful emerald ring that you had ever seen was sitting inside a little velvet box. The intricate swirling of the rose gold ring perfectly encompassed the large tear-drop gem. 

He’s going to propose. Your eyes widened. 

Running out of your room, you made your way back to the common area, hoping to find your magnificent boyfriend. Finding him on the couch, you sat down next to him and stared into his eyes, hoping to find some sort of indication that proved that you did, in fact, find an engagement ring. 

Deciding that you should just test the waters, you spoke, “Loki, I found something that I shouldn’t have when cleaning our room...”

“Whatever did you find, my dear?” He didn’t even look up from his book when he answered, that meant war. 

“Something green that’s expensive and shiny and was hidden in a wooden box on your bookshelf.” His eyes widened, and he coughed. 

“I have not a clue what you are talking about, love.” You frowned, you wanted to coax it out of him. 

“Is it not for me?” Cue the fake tears. 

He sputtered, “of course it’s for you, Darling. Who else would it be for?” Got him, you smiled. 

“You’re going to propose!” That seemed to gain the attention of the rest of the Avengers, as the chaos seemed to stop. 

“Of course, I was! Now put it back where you found it and pretend you didn’t see it.” You huffed. 

“Na-uh, Trickster. Ever heard of finders-keepers? We’re engaged now.” He laughed and kissed your cheek. 

“Are you not going to do the whole, get down on one knee, declare your undying love bullshit?” Tony asked. Clearly, he doesn’t remember his proposal to Pepper. 

“Will you marry me, Darling?” He asked, with a hint of laughter in his eyes. 

“You’re stuck with me now!” You grinned, he smiled, everyone celebrated.

Here was another one!

Find my Masterlist here!

[valentine-cafe]

. ˚◞♡ alessio agresta arias 9819  — the serial killer magician◞ ₊˚

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ “play the cards once, play them twice, mio amore. but once you hit the ace of spades, baby, your hand’s over,” ꒱

. ˚◞꒰verse꒱ 9819

. ˚◞꒰face claim refs꒱

. ˚◞꒰species꒱ enigma

. ˚◞꒰ethnicity꒱ italian spaniard

. ˚◞꒰age꒱ 40

. ˚◞꒰gender꒱ male

. ˚◞꒰mbti꒱ enfj

. ˚◞꒰aliases꒱ the spade, ace of spades, the heir, leader of ace, the magician, the card killer, emerald ripper

. ˚◞꒰appearance꒱

𖹭. dark, slightly messy and wavy medium-length hair, which extends above the base of his neck

𖹭. striking emerald green eyes ( with bordered pupils ), peering into your soul and then disappearing into a crowd of people that were not there before.

𖹭. fair olive skin. two beauty spots below the right corner of his eye. masculine facial features with a few androgynous aspects here and there

𖹭. 6’7” ( 201cm ) and an athletic build of lean muscle

𖹭. dark male aesthetic and clothes. can lean to punk sometimes

𖹭. nose ring on left nostril

𖹭. triple lobe piercings and two helix piercings on both ears

𖹭. double tongue piercings

𖹭. smokey eye makeup and eyeliner. typically dark make-up in general with black lipstick at times

𖹭. often wears silver and black bracelets

𖹭. black rings on his fingers with short and black nails

𖹭. has a minimalistic spades symbol tattooed on his inner left wrist

 

. ˚◞꒰personality꒱

𖹭. charming in nature and effortless in his actions. he often has quite the attractive personality and draws attention to him

𖹭. has quite the humour but is loud-mouthed about it. always cracking some sort of joke. this can range from dry to morbid to effortless

𖹭. very observant and ever as calculating. always makes sure that he’s five steps ahead and doesn’t let people guess his next move

𖹭. knows when to be quiet and knows when to talk. can have a sharp mouth but knows when to sit and observe

𖹭. mature but can be quite chaotic through it all. a risk taker by nature - he loves the thrill of a good chase. the potential of getting caught.

𖹭. a quick thinker. able to think on his feet and act fast.

𖹭. steals from the rich to feed the poor. greatly believes in justice for the lower class and does not have any sympathy for the rich.

𖹭. not quick to anger but when he is angered - he displays it in quite the unnerving way. through smiles and grins. he enjoys getting riled up.

𖹭. can sometimes be a bit blunt and has quite the sarcastic tongue

𖹭. can also be quite provocative. he enjoys seeing the way that he can make someone tick. he finds it amusing.

𖹭. very dutiful despite his laid-back exterior. always makes sure that he finishes the job

𖹭. might be a bit morbid and callous - he believes in risky and sometimes extreme methods to complete a mission. sacrifices can be made for the greater good

𖹭. a natural leader. is surprisingly organised despite his chaos. there is a method to the madness.

𖹭. a jack of all trades. able to pick up a skill and master it.

𖹭. always loves a good challenge and a good gamble. anything to get his blood pumping. wagers are something he quite enjoys.

 

. ˚◞꒰with a lover꒱

𖹭. alessio is a very playful lover, always poking at you for fun. teasing you to watch you pout at him or furrow your brows. and he keeps doing it aaallll because he loves messing with you <3

𖹭. oh and lets not even get started with his love of flustering you to the point of fainting - his flirting is meant to make your heart swell and burst over and over again from the words he does not hold back on.

𖹭. will complain if his hand is not in yours and will spare no second putting it on your waist or hip either. one of his love languages is touch, it’s important to him. even if it’s the minimum. like linking fingers.

𖹭. quick to jealousy, but with the very twist that he loves when you make him jealous and rile him up. loves the thrill of the chase for you.

𖹭. very protective of you. he does not like not knowing where you are, but it isn’t out of possessiveness - no. his enemies are swift. and he be able to forgive himself if they hurt you.

𖹭. sometimes makes little doodles on your hands just for the fun of it and so that you have something to remember him by. little stars, moons, spades, he’s doodled small cartoons of himself too. he loves doing it, because it makes you giggle and laugh.

𖹭. takes you to his base so that he can show you off. loves letting everyone know that you are his. Loves when some people have the audacity to cast a glance of jealousy

𖹭. clings onto you in the mornings because he doesn’t want to let you go too soon. he hates having to get up and not being able to pull you close and just cuddle.

𖹭. loves having late-night stalks of the city rooftops with you, moving from roof to roof. settling you down by a railing and drinking coffee with you.

𖹭. puts his jewellery on you as another little thing for you to remember him by. and so that anyone else don’t have any ideas of stealing you away. they know his jewellery.

𖹭. loves randomly grabbing you at different times of the day. lifting you up into his arms or throwing you over his shoulder, loves hearing the laughs burst from you and the complaints.

𖹭. kiss attacks. kissing, everywhere. he adores you! he wants to show that as much as he possibly can.

𖹭. sometimes makes illusions of butterflies or other mini animals that you like to swirl around your vision so that you can fall asleep. humming to you softly if it helps you rest.

 

. ˚◞꒰strengths꒱

𖹭. illusions: alessio has a particular skill in illusions because of his enigma genes. and can create big and small illusions. a great quality for when you are on the run.

𖹭. weapon mastery: alessio is excellent with weapons, ranging from guns, knives, swords, grenades, etc. and even makes some of his own weaponry.

𖹭. adaptive: Alessio is quick with adapting to what is unknown to him. Quick to learn new environments, personalities, etc.

𖹭. wit and intelligence: his wit and intelligence are some of his biggest, primary strengths that he takes advantage of every day.

 

. ˚◞꒰weaknesses꒱

𖹭. illusions: while his illusions are useful, they can also tire him out depending on the expanse they take up. 

 

. ˚◞꒰relationships꒱

𖹭. valerio agresta arias: father

𖹭. elena arias perez: mother

𖹭. lorenzo agresta arias: younger brother

𖹭. zhào jìngyí: enemy

𖹭. rishen herrera: enemy

𖹭. zhào xīyáng: best friend, secret work partner, spy on the inside.

𖹭. denara agyros: best friend, the lady who is always patching him up

𖹭. zhào mùchén: enemy

 

. ˚◞꒰story꒱

the radio shouts his name. a signature grin printed on newspapers. everyone knows those sharp eyes shining bright. alessio agresta arias - otherwise known as the ace of spades. leader of the outlaw organisation: ace.

a robin hood to some, an outlaw to others. often seen as a magician of sorts - what with his various tricks and illusionary skill. able to escape from any and all chases or trials.

but what would be most notable as of recently - would be the slew of murders linked to his name.

the emerald ripper; is a name many have come to known. one that he seems to wear with pride. what of the fact that a few politicians fall in his name? his duty to this city and its less fortunate remain. down with the system, he’ll proclaim.

ever as cunning. chaos masked by maturity. a man of great calculation and intelligence. always five steps ahead in this game of poker between himself and the council that runs his beloved city.

catch me if you can, he’ll grin into the face of justice. for he himself is retribution in itself.

 

. ˚◞꒰extra꒱

𖹭. his organisation, ace, is an underground institution that focuses on the protection of the general public. they believe that the poor and less fortunate should be taken into consideration too. thus they often steal from the rich to give to the poor and are considered outlaws by the general government as they often go toe-to-toe with the council.

𖹭. he’s quite the innovator and designs a lot of the tech for his organisation

𖹭. his favourite food is calamari

𖹭. he is good friends with denara’s son meenu, her hedgehog.

[normalweirdoboy]

When The Periwinkles Wilt

By Agniva Maiti (me)

Guys! After a whole month of compiling, editing and formatting, my new short story and poetry anthology is finally out for purchase on Amazon!

It's available in three formats on Amazon: ebook, black&white and colour.

You can read the Kindle version for free if you have Kindle Unlimited ;)

🇮🇳amazon.in (only kindle edition)

🇺🇲amazon.com (kindle, b&w, colour)

🇬🇧amazon.co.uk (kindle, b&w, colour)

🇫🇷amazon.fr (kindle, b&w, colour)

🇮🇹amazon.it (kindle, b&w, colour)

🇨🇦amazon.ca (kindle, b&w, colour)

🇦🇺amazon.com.au (only kindle and b&w)

also available in other countries, just go check in your country's amazon store ^^

I'm planning on going to another publisher to get the paperback version in Indian stores, I'll update you guys.

Well, cheers!

Made myself a kiwi-aloe-pomegranate juice cocktail to celebrate 😆 Doesn't taste as disgusting as it looks lol.

Book description:

"When the Periwinkles Wilt is a beautiful and insightful exploration of emotion and love. It deals with complicated feelings and not always knowing exactly what to do or how to feel."

"...a constant echo of internal melodrama and domestic misery. The friction between serenity and chaos, love and longing- living under the burden of humanity’s collective moral ambiguity."

I think most of you will agree when I say “Life is a rollercoaster ride”. And I really like this analogy. In life, there are ups and downs. It’s calm when the rollercoaster goes up but when it goes down again, it scares the hell out of you. Then next time when you go uphill, the thoughts of the inevitable downfall haunt you. Life is pretty much the same.

Eventually, you start to hate the high and prefer to stay in the low, because it hurts more to fall from higher ground.

This book is about the low, not the high. It contains poems and short stories related to various themes like depression, peer and parental pressure, rejection, self-hate etc., though at first glance they might all seem like heartbreak poems (not that there’s a dearth of them here... ). Love, friendship and relationships are the main foci of this book. The writings are divided into six separate categories just to organise them and make them easier for you to navigate.  I’ve always wanted to compile something of this sort since the time I published my first poetry anthology ‘These were not for you’ under a pseudonym. Why did I use a pen name back then? And why am I publishing these in my name? Well, I don’t have a definite answer to that. Maybe because I’ve since come to accept these thoughts and emotions. I’ve learned not to be ashamed of the ‘low’. There’s certain calmness in these melancholic themes and a lesson of stoicism. Bad days will come, there’s no avoiding them. But what matters is how you deal with them and even more important, what you learn from the experience.

Not all relationships work out, not all friends stay, not all ventures lead you to success, but that's obvious, isn't it? Happiness is fleeting, and once it’s gone, all you’ll be left with is that same feeling of destitution. But we must learn to accept it. Running away will not solve the problem. I’ve had friends who took to addictive means to escape this reality, I’ve seen people talk of death as if it were a saviour; I’ve also known some of the most optimistic and light-hearted personalities in my short lifespan on this planet. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t spend enough days locked up in my room, crying my eyes out or seeking to ‘escape’. Though my forms of escapism were much milder: books, poetry, the internet, music...

The aim of this book is not to give you false hope. I won’t say crap like, “everything will be okay, give it some time” or “it’s okay not to be okay”. Everything might not be okay and I know it sucks not to be okay. What I want you to do, my reader is to accept. Accept the bad, ‘cause it is inevitable. Just learn to live through it, smile through it. You’ve come this far, my friend, you can do it. I believe in you and I want you to believe in yourself. And maybe these few poems and stories will give you some solace when the times are bad.

Hope you will enjoy my amateurish works, and I wish you all the very best in life.

-   Ogni, 3rd July 2022, Dimapur