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What I find very interesting about Flambae, as a character, is the way he subtly subverts the expectations others have of him.
He's an asshole. He supports his friends. He pursues success so hard he's willing to cheat openly. He never sabotages anyone. Heâs vengeful. He calls Mecha Man a hero regardless. He almost dies after being locked up in a sensory deprivation tank and never blames anybody. Heâs confident. Trees make him insecure. He has no idea how to be kind to people. He likes helping others. He wanted to die as a villain. He wants to live as a hero. He likes who Flambae is. He never talks about Chad.
I think Flambae is exactly who he says he is, and exactly who he thinks he isn't.
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(writes something) god this sucks so bad. this is awful. i'm the worst writer ever. this is nothing. (rereads it a while after writing it) oh dude this is fire. i'm the god of writing. (writes something again) god this sucks so bad. th
Flambae unlocks the âhow to make Robert Robertson less pissed at youâ tool completely by accident.
He always does his best to reduce damage while on missions. At the end of the day, heâs a combat type, and thereâs only so much you can do with literal fire.
But itâs going as well as it can be, thanks to Robert. And Flambae always prides himself with having the best dispatcher around.
With himself? Meh.
He can walk off a heat stroke. And dehydration. And lung damage. And more, probably.
Still doesnât change the sharp glare and scathing rant Robert has for him the minute he steps into SDN.
And he does pay attention. Or tries.
Thereâs some leftover vanilla cream smudged on Robertâs chin, most likely acquired after another vending machine raid.
He laughs, soft, easy, hand wiping off the fluffy cream.
He doesnât even notice how affection drunk he looks, with faint sunlight glazing gently over those eyes, until orange melts down to autumn gold.
Robert very much does.
âBob-Bob,â And his voice. How it can go from aggravating to tickled by fondness. âIâm fucking sorry, okay? Itâs not even THAT serious,ââ
âYou hit your head on a billboard.â
âJust a little!â
âYou had a concussion, Chadwick.â
âUgh, donât use full names! You only do that when Iâm REALLY deep in shit.â
He laughs, and laughs, and Robert should continue to be pissed, but itâs hard.
When those eyes are on him, watching him like the world starts and ends with him, itâs hard. âIâm sorry, Bob-Bob.â
Robert clenches his jaw and glares away.
âRobert,â and the name. His name. Smooth and pulsing worship. âDonât be mad. Thatâs my job.â
âFine! Fine. No medical. My place. Youâre getting checked out.â
Robert is a weak, weak man, and heâs so thankful Flambae is too oblivious to notice.
It is IMPERATIVE that Flambae has no idea about it.
Heâs really out here staring at Robert with the warmest eyes in the world, not because he wants Robert to stop being mad at him, but because when Robert exists, then heâs going to stare:
Ofc Robert is gonna scold him harder when they go to his place. And Robert is SO bothered because Chadâs eyes keep distracting him.
They look so content and the lines around Flambaeâs temples grin.
The absolute WORST move? When Flambae keeps reaching down to kiss at his face. Lips laughing on freckles and amused and arms hugging Robertâs shoulders to him. âCome on, Bob-Bobââ
Flambae unlocks the âhow to make Robert Robertson less pissed at youâ tool completely by accident.
He always does his best to reduce damage while on missions. At the end of the day, heâs a combat type, and thereâs only so much you can do with literal fire.
But itâs going as well as it can be, thanks to Robert. And Flambae always prides himself with having the best dispatcher around.
With himself? Meh.
He can walk off a heat stroke. And dehydration. And lung damage. And more, probably.
Still doesnât change the sharp glare and scathing rant Robert has for him the minute he steps into SDN.
And he does pay attention. Or tries.
Thereâs some leftover vanilla cream smudged on Robertâs chin, most likely acquired after another vending machine raid.
He laughs, soft, easy, hand wiping off the fluffy cream.
He doesnât even notice how affection drunk he looks, with faint sunlight glazing gently over those eyes, until orange melts down to autumn gold.
Robert very much does.
âBob-Bob,â And his voice. How it can go from aggravating to tickled by fondness. âIâm fucking sorry, okay? Itâs not even THAT serious,ââ
âYou hit your head on a billboard.â
âJust a little!â
âYou had a concussion, Chadwick.â
âUgh, donât use full names! You only do that when Iâm REALLY deep in shit.â
He laughs, and laughs, and Robert should continue to be pissed, but itâs hard.
When those eyes are on him, watching him like the world starts and ends with him, itâs hard. âIâm sorry, Bob-Bob.â
Robert clenches his jaw and glares away.
âRobert,â and the name. His name. Smooth and pulsing worship. âDonât be mad. Thatâs my job.â
âFine! Fine. No medical. My place. Youâre getting checked out.â
Robert is a weak, weak man, and heâs so thankful Flambae is too oblivious to notice.
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Kinda obsessed with the idea of Robertâs coma extending, therefore, completely shifting the timeline.
He does wake up, eventually.
With time rotting in his bones and a filmsy roll of ductape and just his fatherâs repair manual. But Mecha Man rises again.
There is no astral pulse. Just a very impressive imitation Chase maybe, possibly, stole for him from SDNâs best scientist.
But the suit falls more. Falls harder.
And itâs common knowledge that when a hero falls in Torrance, Torrance always looks away.
Flambae, in his infinite stupidity, does not.
He stands above that armor, a blue myth of steel and ruin, six feet deep in a crater, in some random arid patch of land just shy of Torrance.
He should just keep walking.
He stomps away, at first. Fists curling with a vengeance he has no right to have, with wrath in his throat and the past laughing behind him.
And he comes back.
Then stomps off again.
Then paces.
Then screams for a whole 5 minutes. At nothing and everything.
And Mecha Man has the nerve to sound amused, even through 3 broken ribs and more, probably.
âYou cooking something? I smell BBQ. But maybe thatâs just your cologne. You have cologne BBQ? Or is it BBQ cologne? Excuse the concussion.â
âPlay dead until I get you out of here,â he snarls. And like a fucking idiot, he slides down, palming at the hatch while spitting profanities through his teeth.
âRight, okay. So, If you direct your pretty eyes to the right, thereâs an emergency button next toââ
Before he even comprehends it, Flambae grinds his teeth and lifts him. Armor and all.
ââŚOr that, yeah. That works, too.â
The ride is oddly quiet. Strangely, the raw scrap of his suit against the concrete is oddly comforting, as he tries keeping his eyes open.
âI could fucking take you to a fucking doctor, that knows what the fuck theyâre doing, instead of my house. Because I was supposed to be done with the hero thing.â
âUh, I left my healthcare in the other super suit, so. Thatâs not happening.â He quips. There is no laugh. âAnd, uh. I was right. Back then and right now.â
âAbout the fuck what?â
âYouâre a really shitty villain.â
There is no response to that.
But Flambae also stays up at 4 in the morning, trying to close stitches with clips of Greyâs Anatomy next to him.
And Robert might have solved his roommate problem.
Flambae makes a stitch extra tight, which Robert snorts at.
Theyâre clumsily tied, mostly from inexperience than outright vengeance. Robert gets the difference.
Flambaeâs hands are dry.
White creases and small branch-like cracks all over tanned skin.
He catches a faint hint of oil, both the mechanic and cooking kind. Pepper and smoked cinnamon and sweet smoke.
When they trace over his pulse, the ugly swell of his fractured femur, the throbbing burn in his lungs, they donât feel bad. The feel careful.
âSo. Youâre fighting the same fucking Transformers wannabe motherfuckers like last time, â he murmured. He could cut the world in two, with a voice like that. âWith no back up.â
âWow. You keep up fast.â
âItâs not fucking funny.â
Flambae laughs and the air tastes like charcoal.
âAfter your ass kissed concrete the first time. They spread too fast, and too much, and my program had to close. Just to barely keep up. A year. Thatâs how long we lasted.â
ââŚAnd what are you now?â
âApparently, a goddam nurse for the idiot whoâs gonna punt these dumbfucks into the ground.â
Robert snorts. âYou know, for someone who claims to hate me so much, youâre betting a lot on me.â
âBitch, I know,â Flambae seriously nods.
And Robert never knew what to do, really when Flambaeâs eyes stare at him directly.
âWhen I was in Supermax, and you fell on the news? Live? The whole fucking cafeteria, filled with villains you busted, or wanted to bust YOU? They celebrated.â
â Thatâs reassuring.â
âI didnât.â
For that, Robert has no comeback.
âBecause I knew how fucked we were. Me, my family, Torrance, â everything. Because as much as IâŚâ Robertâs bones tighten. âFeel about you? When you were up there? You were the goddam best. And youâll be the best again.â
ââŚSure. No pressure or anything.â
It means something.
It floods his throat with doubt, it makes his teeth sharp, but it means something.
And Flambae gets up, and washes his hands, and slaughters some vegetables for something that smells amazing.
âYou have any other place to go? Any other?â
âNot unless I wanna put people in danger. Which, I donât think Iâd have to worry about with you. We could work together. Make a plan.â
âMe?! No. Absolutely not. Iâm done with the hero bullshit, and the villain bullshit, you hear?!â he exclaims, âright now, my only fucking job is fixing busted tires, oil changes, and broken windshields. â
âAnd helping me recover. Apparently.â A snort. At least that. âI donât think youâre done. Not unless I am.â
âOh, yeah, because Iâm such a fucking well of goodnessââ
âBecause it follows you,â he interjects, softer than he thought was possible. âThe hero thing. It stalks you for the rest of your life. And you try to trick it. Hide from it. it doesnât work. Trust me, I tried.â
And Flambae doesnât have anything to say to him, either.
ââŚWhy did you pick it up? The hero thing?â
âBecause Iâm fucking good at it. â itâs spoken, but not very loud. Not as clear as the next part. ââŚAnd my father said I could.â
âYeah?â
Flambae gives a brisk nod, and turns away, and Robert counts the three moles on his arm.
âHe wasted his whole life trying to save mine. I donât want him to bury me like that.â
Truly, thereâs not a lot Robert can say to that. He wants to. But nothing quite fits the enormity between them.
Flambae speaks up again, no room for debate. âYou stay until you recover. Then you go to Blazer. And when youâre about to strike Shroud down? You tell him Chad says fuck you.â
Kinda obsessed with the idea of Robertâs coma extending, therefore, completely shifting the timeline.
He does wake up, eventually.
With time rotting in his bones and a filmsy roll of ductape and just his fatherâs repair manual. But Mecha Man rises again.
There is no astral pulse. Just a very impressive imitation Chase maybe, possibly, stole for him from SDNâs best scientist.
But the suit falls more. Falls harder.
And itâs common knowledge that when a hero falls in Torrance, Torrance always looks away.
Flambae, in his infinite stupidity, does not.
He stands above that armor, a blue myth of steel and ruin, six feet deep in a crater, in some random arid patch of land just shy of Torrance.
He should just keep walking.
He stomps away, at first. Fists curling with a vengeance he has no right to have, with wrath in his throat and the past laughing behind him.
And he comes back.
Then stomps off again.
Then paces.
Then screams for a whole 5 minutes. At nothing and everything.
And Mecha Man has the nerve to sound amused, even through 3 broken ribs and more, probably.
âYou cooking something? I smell BBQ. But maybe thatâs just your cologne. You have cologne BBQ? Or is it BBQ cologne? Excuse the concussion.â
âPlay dead until I get you out of here,â he snarls. And like a fucking idiot, he slides down, palming at the hatch while spitting profanities through his teeth.
âRight, okay. So, If you direct your pretty eyes to the right, thereâs an emergency button next toââ
Before he even comprehends it, Flambae grinds his teeth and lifts him. Armor and all.
ââŚOr that, yeah. That works, too.â
The ride is oddly quiet. Strangely, the raw scrap of his suit against the concrete is oddly comforting, as he tries keeping his eyes open.
âI could fucking take you to a fucking doctor, that knows what the fuck theyâre doing, instead of my house. Because I was supposed to be done with the hero thing.â
âUh, I left my healthcare in the other super suit, so. Thatâs not happening.â He quips. There is no laugh. âAnd, uh. I was right. Back then and right now.â
âAbout the fuck what?â
âYouâre a really shitty villain.â
There is no response to that.
But Flambae also stays up at 4 in the morning, trying to close stitches with clips of Greyâs Anatomy next to him.
And Robert might have solved his roommate problem.
Most people draw him scowling or with a rbf, but your Flambae is always smiling from ear to ear and his eyes.... Ough you draw him with such soft and kind eyesss
I need to grind up all your Flambae art and do a line of it, eating your art for breakfast lunch and dinner is not enough
AWW TY :((( honestly, i love all Flambae art, but him being happy is my favourite thing lol
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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