Flambert soulmates au, where soulmates are all born colorblind until they finally meet (an idea I think I read somewhere, but I can't remember where)
The first color Flambae ever sees is gunmetal blue, harsh and cold in a sea of oranges and yellows. It stands out, bright and bold as other faint colors flickered into view.
It was beautiful. It was awful.
The Mecha Man suit stood tall and imposing, scuffed from Flambae's flames and streaked with smoke and soot. There's no outward change to the suit, no acknowledgement that the pilot was experiencing these changes in vision, the influx of emotions not his own.
The only sign that something has changed between the two strangers was a lengthy pause from the Mech, but in the end the fight still continued. Flambae fought on because his soulmate was a fucking hero, one that had been active for long enough that he'd surely lock Flambae's ass in prison and throw away the key. He fought because despite burning the mall in an attempt to snuff himself out, he didn't want to be imprisoned.
So Flambae continued to corner the Mech, even as he was distracted by the gleam of metal, the gorgeous streaked blue paint, the flames flickering different shades across its surface.
He strengthened his fire, blasting relentlessly at the suit like its very existence had threatened him- which it had, in a way.
The pilot was stressed, he could feel it. Mild panic twisting around his heart like a vice. It was punctuated by little stabs of pain and burning, and underneath it all. . . Sorrow.
It only made Flambae burn hotter.
But then the hatch hissed open, and Flambae cut off his onslaught in an instant, stunned as the shell cracked open and a man hopped out. He was dressed in a dark flight suit, orange details contrasting nicely with the cool blue tones of his Mech, and donned in clunky looking armor plates. Flambae couldn't see much of his face behind his cowl, but he did notice the deep, beautiful shade of his eyes.
The man approached slowly, unhurried despite the sweat accumulating on his face, dripping along the shape of his jaw. He was unbothered by the flames around him, even though Flambae could feel the man's skin simmering in the heat. He almost seemed regal in a way, with how he marched straight for the one in charge of his burns, ignoring all else around them.
“Don't do this,” Mecha Man spoke, voice so soft and gentle he was barely heard over the roar of flames. Intense feelings of calm washed over Flambae, overriding his own emotions enough that the flames he'd wreathed himself in dimmed, then died.
“Why should I listen to you, Mecha Bitch? You want me to just turn myself in? Skip right into my prison cell? Go fuck yourself,” Flambae spat out, his voice dripping with flames despite burning out.
“No, no prison. . . But you do need help.”
Flambae scoffed, crossing his arms. He could just leave, turn around and run before the cops came piling in, but his stupid soul sang in the presence of its other half, its better half. It kept his feet rooted in place, forced him to listen to the man's claims.
The man's emotions flitted all over the place, signifying a racing mind. He jumped through various thoughts faster than Flambae could process each little shift, until he finally settled on something.
“Let me arrest you.” Flambae opened his mouth to protest, but the man barrelled on, “You didn't kill or severely hurt anyone, all you really did was major property damage. I can keep your sentence light, so long as you agree to pick up community service and attend therapy, because you can't keep self destructing like this, I can. . . I can feel your anxiety,” He explained, and Flambae bristled.
“And therapy's the coward's way out! You expect me to spill my deepest darkest secrets to some government prude? I can handle myself just fine!”
“Clearly you can't! Look around you, does this look handled?” Mecha Man gestured at their surroundings, looking and feeling distinctly unimpressed.
Ugh, stupid emotions, they're not even his!
“Yes,” Flambae hissed back, biting irritation from the other flooding their bond, followed by something almost curious.
“What if I go to therapy with you? Will you reconsider then?” He asked.
Flambae scoffed, annoyed and earning another person's annoyance right back.
“Fucking fine, but only because you're an annoying bitch.”
“Lovely.” The man sighed.
The first color Robert ever sees is a miasma of reds, yellows and oranges, undulating flames drawing him in. It was nauseating, albeit in a breathtakingly beautiful way.
They were a lot more colorful than he thought they'd be, and despite the situation, Robert couldn't help but admire them.
Then his soulmate stepped further into view, fire coiled around his prideful form, and Robert was reminded that he was in the middle of a fight. Not even the newly awakened soulmate bond seemed to stop the flame elemental, burning anger and fear and anxiety filtering through the bond in waves. He was determined, and hurt, and beautiful.
Any other time Robert would fight back, but with the horrible cocktail of emotions hitting him all at once, Robert knew he had to do something to help the man.
So he dropped his controls, and got out of the suit.
The flames stopped right away, horror and confusion swirling through the bond. The other man dropped his hands, thick eyebrows scrunching over bright amber eyes, burning like twin blazes on the man's face.
His bafflement continued as Robert approached, shifting right to anger when he offered a different outcome than immediate prison.
He didn't know what compelled him to suggest joining the firestarter in therapy, but he figured it would help them in the long run as soulmates.
Even if the universe decided to stick him with a major dick.
Not really happy with the ending, but I couldn't think of anything else for this idea. Feel free to use it for anything! I don't think I'll add onto this, as much as I love it
