Quietly loving my favourites :)

[cam-orange]

little doodle for another Flambert fic: Looking Glass by dumpling_dump Clicked on this fic for the mention of friendship between flambert specifically. And boy did the author deliver! They made me smile a lot here....

edit: the author has a tumblr! @dumplingdumpp Thank you for the lovely fic ^^

[dumplingdumpp]

oh my GOD i am freaking out!?! this is so beautifully made @cam-orange i'm kicking my damn feet. sending you the biggest virtual hug ever!!💓🫂

[omelette-otter-art]

Consider this emotional vomit cause I’m not well about him rn.

[chesue00]

You want Grace? You have to go through Leon first, Sir.

[k-0re]

You haven't changed. You just think you have.

[pralinesims]

[dumplingdumpp]

Flambert Pre-Canon AU pt.5

and so dumpling said: let there be another chapter.

It's time for the Talk™, baby!

Which you can read, here.

I hope you guys like it! I stared at this chapter for... way too long... haha :'D

[dumplingdumpp]

Flambert Pre-Canon AU pt.4

Hey, ya'll! Miss me? 😎

Just here to inform you lovely folks that Chapter 4 is now out on AO3!!

You can all read it here.

really hope all of ya'll enjoy!! having fun writing these two idiots fr <3

(note: ONLY SEE BELOW THE CUT AFTER READING CHAP 4)

on another note, if i had any drawing prowess, i would love to artistically depict the last scene of chapter 4 because roberts face would be so fucking hilarious.

alas, the precision of my hands are feeble and my trackpad not ideal, thus i leave yall with this.

[dumplingdumpp]

“...If you were going to do this, you should have finished the job, Mecha Man.” The villain's quiet, hoarse voice drifted toward Robert's ears, and Robert finally looked around himself long enough to digest the magnitude of the destruction around him. Almost like the villain had intended to burn everything down to ashes, including himself. Ugh, fuck. Fucking fuck. or; what if a trip to jail wasn't the end of that fated encounter?

....so, i caved... 😅

after part 3, any future updates (if i do end up making them), will now be on ao3. I am spacing the updates out though, so it’ll be a few days before the fic catches up to part 3. in the meantime, feel free to ask me stuff. 

and yes, i will also update tumblr when a new chap comes out :) i hope the ppl who were asking for this are happy 😂

[dumplingdumpp]

Flambert Pre-Canon AU pt.3

ya'll are legitimately crazy. Thank you guys for all the love and comments and reblogs!! So deeply motivating xD

I will probably attempt to make a masterpost for all the parts soon so that its easier to navigate, so look forward to that :)

I hope the food I made for ya'll is delish!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, turns out Blazer wasn’t just getting Robert drinks because he looked miserable, but because she knew his real name, situation, and therefore had a job to offer him-- which, considering he only just got out of his other one, is objectively pretty great. Granted, he’d be stuck dispatching heroes rather than being out on the field himself, but like Blazer said, given the amount of years he put into the job… Robert thinks he has a thing or two he can impart on these rookies.

The bigger reason, however, is the fact that SDN was offering to rebuild the Mecha Man suit. Robert had been on the fence before, but after that little bomb? Yeah, it was pretty much a no-brainer.

The night had gone pretty well, all things considered. Well, okay, the press conference he'd walked out on and the subsequent Skittle ambush had put a damper on things. And there'd been those two random heroes at the bar glaring at him for… practically no reason. But he was ending the night on a hopeful note. That had to count for something.

When Blonde Blazer and Robert finally parted ways, the only thing on his mind was getting back to Beef, the idea of meeting Track Star again, and possibly buying some kind of motivational leadership book.

Yeah, everything was going to be alright. -----

Robert was a fucking idiot.

Everything was going fine and dandy as he waited in the SDN reception area. He'd even helped some nervous kid tie his tie, slightly endeared by his stutter, when a figure suddenly walked through the glass doors wearing a large pair of sunglasses.

Robert’s heart had practically dropped to his ass.

His pulse hammered in his ears as he used Waterboy as a human shield, his eyes helplessly tracking over the familiar costume, the regained muscle, the healthy flush on his face and that fuckass ponytail he'd told him looked awful all those years ago--

And underneath the dread was something else.

Pride. Unrestrained, undeniable pride.

This fucker had actually done it. He'd become a goddamn hero.

While Robert—

I can't work here.

The rest of his conversation with Waterboy was a complete blur. He only snapped back into his body when Blazer pulled him into an empty conference room and said: “Take your clothes off.”

He blinked. “Uh, what’s happening right now?”

Turns out, SDN didn't want to advertise that their new dispatcher was Mecha Man. They needed him to keep his identity a secret. A small part of Robert was bitter about that. The bigger, more logical part was practically collapsing in relief. So, maybe he wouldn’t need to quit this job.

…Alright, quitting was drastic, given the benefits and the whole rebuilding his suit thing. It's just--

Fuck, he really wasn't prepared to see Chad. He'd honestly thought he'd never see him again after Chad had basically told him they couldn't keep in contact. Of course, after some distance and time apart, Robert could regret the way they'd parted, but…

But nothing. 

They’d both made their choices, in the end. No matter that Robert had considered him a friend—his best friend—when all was said and done, Mecha Man was still the guy who'd maimed him and thrown him in jail. Chad's therapist had been right. He'd needed to heal without Robert hovering at his back, a constant reminder of his villainous past. 

And besides, what were the chances Robert would be assigned to Chad's team specifically? If he was careful, he could pass under the radar. Robert Robertson the civilian was about as unassuming as they came.

With that mini pep-talk in his head done and over with, Robert relaxed and continued his conversation with Blazer, thinking that it was going to be okay, until--

“Who locks a conference room?”

he met the ever-so-lovely Invisigal, who Blazer cheerfully informed him was part of the Phoenix Program (shit), and that he'd be her new dispatcher (fuck), and honestly everything after that was just white noise. 

His life really is just one big, stupid joke isn’t it?

After changing, meeting a guy named Royd in the men’s bathroom he went into to clear his head (the mini heart attack he’d had when he called him Mecha Man did not help clear his head), and somehow subtly asking Blazer if there was a chance he could work with literally any other fucking team (to which she laughed), finally…

“Holy shit, who’s this freckled faced fuck?”

Once Robert realized that the short, grumpy old man was in fact Chase, all his worries seemed to disappear into the air like smoke. He practically fell into him, and it was almost like he was ten years old again. 

Of course, that only lasted until the two of them sat him down and gave him a primer on his new team.

Blazer and Chase provided some casual, banter-y commentary on each ex-villain-turned-hero introduced, but he paused particularly long on Chad’s-- no, Flambae’s.

(God, that was just so him. Robert couldn’t help but think fondly.)

“Right, you’ve met him, didn’t you have a run in with him years back?”

“I did, yeah.” He said, his voice carefully neutral.

“So, you know he’s a certifiable dickhead.” Chase joked, and Robert had to restrain himself from saying: not all the time.

He also briefly scrutinized two others—Coupe and Punch Up. If his memory wasn't too fucked from the drinks, he could've sworn those were the two glaring at him at the bar yesterday…

Eventually, he ran out of ways to stall. Blazer left. Chase led him to his new cubicle, which housed a computer that looked like it'd been built in 1987. After some back-and-forth (Robert silently thanking whatever god was listening that he didn't have to meet the team face-to-face yet), the headphones went on.

Professional, Robert. He thought to himself. Just be professional. What are the chances that he’d even recognize your voice after all these years?

Deep breath. He had a job to do.

“Hey, team. This is your dispatcher, Robert Robertson. I’m starting my first shift--” -----

“--and look, change doesn’t come immediately--”

“Blah blah fucking blah. Christ, do you ever shut the fuck up?”

That stupid, infuriating smirk. “When I’m dead, maybe.” 

“With how much you talk, I swear I’ll be hearing your voice in my fucking nightmares for the rest of my life, giving me dumbass pep talks until I die of sheer second-hand embarrassment.”

“Awe, you dream of me? How sweet, Chad.”

The taller man could only groan, ignoring the laughing figure behind the barrier. ----

Chad's heart dropped straight to his ass.

That voice. That specific cadence in his ear—that familiar, deep tone and dry, deadpan delivery. His hand fucking twitched, muscle memory expecting the familiar shape of a telephone receiver that wasn't there.

While everyone else laughed and made fun of their new dispatcher, Chad felt himself slowly but surely losing his mind.

Because there was just no fucking way. Right?

Robert Robertson, he'd said his name was. It was such a stupid name, and yet somehow Chad could see it fitting perfectly. Could imagine himself saying it, the syllables strange and new in his mouth after years of just Mecha Man, Mecha Bitch, Mecha Dick—

There was just… no way. Right?

“You good?” Prism asked quietly, nudging him with her elbow.

“I'm always good. I'm the best,” he replied on autopilot, forcefully dragging himself out of his own head. He needed to get his goddamn head in the game.

After all, in what fucking world would Mecha Man lower himself to dispatching a team of fuck-ups? he thought bitterly, his departure still painfully clear in his memories despite knowing better.

Besides, so what if he sounded like him? Lots of people had similar voices. It just so happened that this one was… really fucking close.

Stupidly, impossibly close.

So. Flambae had a goal now.

Piss him off. Disobey orders. Make him quit by the end of the shift, like Golem bet he would. Starting fires and putting them out was an art Chad had practically perfected at this point. Nowadays he refrained from doing so, because he was a good fucking hero, but the unwilling assault of memories made him feel particularly unkind today.

And then he'd no longer have to listen to that voice in his ear, reminding him of a person he still secretly missed like a missing limb.

Yeah.

That was the plan. ----

Robert took back his feeling of pride. What the fuck was Cha-- Flambae doing?

“Did you start that fire?” He asked the man, a hint of incredulity in his voice.

“No.” The ex-villain replied, very obviously fucking lying.

“The fire that’s burning two blocks from where you’re standing. You didn’t start that?”

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m on break, so how could I know?”

Robert gritted his teeth. He was already barely keeping up with the rest of these assholes' stunts, and now this?

Inadvertently, Robert had placed certain expectations on Flambae. Expected him to do better. Be better. Maybe that's why his voice dropped into a no-nonsense, frustrated tone he hadn't used with anyone else thus far.

“Flambae, stop fucking around. I’ve got enough problems without you making new ones. We both know you don’t need this shit to do well.” Disappointment laced his voice without permission.

There’s a short, but hefty pause before the man replies. “Whatever, man. What would you fucking know?” -----

Seriously, Flambae thought to himself furiously, what did this bitchass Robert Fuckingson guy even know? -----

Yesterday

Chad didn't—couldn't—go to sleep like he wanted to. After a solid hour of tossing and turning, he finally gave in and turned his phone back on, ignoring the messages from Coupe, Punch Up, and Prism. He went straight to his sister's contact.

Putting the phone to his ear, he ignited and smothered small flames fingertip by fingertip on his left hand, trying to ground himself against the rising emotion he could feel boiling under his skin.

Finally, on the sixth or seventh ring, she picked up.

"Yah, Zahir, do you see the time? What the hell do you want—?"

"Aabji," he said, and her irritated tone vanished instantly. Her voice gentled, doused in concern.

"Zahi? What's wrong? What happened?"

"He's—he's alive. Mecha Man is—I saw him, I s-saw—" His breath hitched, and he immediately pressed a hand to his eyes, hating himself for the way moisture stained his palm.

"Oh," she breathed. "Oh, Zahi. Dadashi. Is—Is that true? Really? Oh my god. That's—thank god. Thank god." She muttered frantically, her voice shaking.

"I'm, I couldn't t-talk to… I just saw him and—"

"Zahir! That man is one of the only reasons you were able to come back to us whole!" she cried. "Losing him once was not enough for you? Go back right now and—!"

"Aryana, it's not that fucking simple," he hissed.

"Then make it simple! Zahir…" She paused, took a breath. "I never told you this, but it was so hard for me to see you after you were locked up. Do you remember that day we had a screaming match when I visited you? Mecha Man was on his way to see you, and he saw me crying outside… he stopped to listen to me. I told him I was three months pregnant. He immediately recognized who I was when I started talking about you, and he told me that no matter how much of an absolute asshole you were, to be patient. That while I was hurting, you were most likely hurting too." Her voice softened. "Why the hell do you think I came back so soon to tell you about Farzana, huh? Without him, I probably would have hidden her from you until she was born."

Zahir pressed his hand to his face tighter, biting his lip harshly.

"You were both good for each other, no?" she whispered. "Mecha Man was such a workaholic, but he made time to slow down with you. And for you, he—"

"I know. I get it. I—" His voice cracked. "You don't think I want to throw that bitch over my shoulder and take him away somewhere to talk? To—To—"

"Then you need to find him, Zahir. Before you lose him again."

"I don't even know where he is, Aryana. I don't have his number. I don’t even know his real fucking name—I have nothing!" The admission burned coming out. "And even if I did—" He stopped, swallowed hard. "What if he looks at me and sees I'm still just—"

The baring of his deepest, most intimate fears fucking burned. He stopped himself, rubbing harshly at his eyes.

"Fuck," he laughed brokenly. "At least that asshole is alive for me to bitch over."

The day he'd learned of Mecha Man's crash, he'd left Prism's side and clocked out early from work just to get shitfaced. He didn't have many memories from that night, but he remembered flying to a remote location and burning so brightly that any tears that fell evaporated straight off his face.

"Zahir, you got better because he made you believe you could," Aryana said softly. "Don't you think he'd want to see that? Even if you're not perfect yet?"

"I don't know," Zahir whispered. "I don't know if I can handle it if he's—"

He couldn't finish. ----

(The next day, Robert Robertson's voice would crackle through his earpiece with barely concealed disappointment—”We both know you don't need this shit to do well”— his voice so similar to Mecha Man, and Zahir would realize that yeah, if he really had met him as he was, all these years later--

Flambae didn’t light any more fires that shift.) --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- instead of flambae, watch the Z-team themselves have a vendetta against mecha man bc of how flambae keeps losing his shit when he sees him 😂

Anyways, that's all for now folks!! huehue

(Request granted 🫡 @bushbees)

Update: now a fic 🎉

[dumplingdumpp]

They're putting the best fanfic ever on my dash and it's called flambert pre-canon au

oh stop 😂!! thank you so much, I appreciate you and everyone who has been sending me love!! Who knows, maybe someday I really will put all this into fic lmfao xD

anywaysss, part 3 may or may not be coming out tonight? 👀

I would also love any ideas you guys may have about the AU! Who knows, maybe I'll incorporate the juicy ones into any future snippets I might write that aren't necessarily linear to the story 😎

Again, appreciate you guys so much!! The kind words are deeply motivating huehue ❤️‍🔥

[alythekitten]

They can't stay away from each other ❤️‍🔥

PS I think I drew the cutest Beef here 😂😂😂

[littlehatofhorror]

Took inspiration from that special scene with Blonde Blazer.

🟣Commissions 🟣 Kofi 🟣 Patreon

[dumplingdumpp]

Flambert Pre-Canon AU pt.2

I did not expect to get that much engagement, ya'll. It motivated me to make more food for you guys. Who knows, maybe one day I really WILL write a fic 😂.

Also, yes, Mecha Man is very familiar with the police around LA and asked for a favor. He ended up visiting Flambae literally a few days after he was arrested, so when he described the guy with "fire powers and three fingers," they got the gist xD. Also, when Mecha Man visits Chad, the visitation room is p much cleared out aside from 2 guards outside standing watch as a favor from the warden, who's wife was saved by Mecha Man a few years ago :))

And yes, the guards do gossip and ship the two of them very strongly. Lmfao.

Here's part 1 of this AU, for any newcomers interested. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey, fucker,” 

“Yes, fucker?”

The man behind the glass snorts, long, dark hair falling into his face. It’s been close to 8 months since he’s started talking to Chad, and they usually have a good routine going by now. Bantering and talking shit was how they passed the time, and although it was the bare minimum, it was now something that the man looked forward to… both men, really.

Which made it all the more surprising when Chad visibly hesitated before speaking.

“Do you remember when I first started talking to your bitch ass? When I asked… why you were here-- and shit.”

Robert furrowed his eyebrows. “Uh, yeah. What about it?”

“You said… that I reminded you of you.” He says, his fingers drumming against the ledge, his eyes deepening in thought. 

“At first I thought you were just saying shit,” He continued. “But then, I really thought about it, y’know? What the fuck about me reminded you of yourself? Not my looks, obviously. You could only dream of looking as sexy as me.”

Robert rolls his eyes dutifully at the jab-- although Chad had lost a lot of muscle definition since being in jail, he certainly wasn’t lacking in any way in the looks department-- but tightens his hand over the receiver in slight apprehension.

“Obviously nothing career or power-wise. Besides the mecha, you’re a normie, aren’t you? Also, I was a villain, you are a hero, blah blah blah. So, I didn’t fucking get it for the longest time, Mecha Dick. I really thought you were fucking with me,” Chad paused. Then his eyes locked onto Robert's, orange boring into brown with uncomfortable intensity.

“But then, I think about why you’re even fucking here, and I remember… you heard me that day, and your next instinct was to come see me? What the fuck?” He laughs. It wasn’t a happy sound.

Robert isn’t laughing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Robert says simply, and Chad scoffs, leaning back against his chair. “I’m doing this because I… should.”

“...Sure, Mecha Man,” Chad says, his voice accented and for once, not teasing or mocking. “Whatever gets you out of that damn tomb you call a suit.”

If it had been anyone else, Robert wouldn’t have let the comment get to him. After all, what exactly did they know about how he went about his life?

But Chad knew.

Chad had seen him arrive during lunch breaks, only to bolt mid-sentence when emergency calls crackled through police radios. He'd seen Robert half-dead on his feet after parties he hadn't wanted to attend. One embarrassing time, Chad had even seen him tipsy after a mission where Robert had failed to save a little boy—watched him die on the pavement while the suit's diagnostics beeped calmly in his ear. It was the first time Chad had spoken to him without an insult in every other sentence.

Chad knew all the harmless gossip from the hero scene. He'd started sharing his own. Robert had not talked to anyone—anyone—as much as he'd talked to the man behind the bulletproof glass.

Inadvertently, without either of them acknowledging it out loud, Chad had become his only friend.

Robert recognized this. Accepted it.

Then put the phone down without a word, refusing to give name to the thing they both carried inside themselves like stones.

Chad's gaze burned into his retreating back—pinpricks of heat, of knowing.

Robert shrugged the feeling off with practiced ease and walked away.

----

Robert blinks awake from the dream-- more like a memory-- feeling like he’s been run over by a truck or three. And then curbstomped by a kaiju.

A doctor comes by soon enough. He’s been in a coma for the past three months, they say. The Mecha Man suit is destroyed, they say. He’s been severely injured, they say.

Superpowers do wonders for the last problem, though. Robert feels only marginally like death once they discharge him with only a sling to commemorate his little firework show. 

There was talk of a press conference. Robert didn't register any of it. Numbness had filled every corner of his mind and body since he'd opened his eyes, like someone had packed his skull with cotton and his chest with concrete.

The Mecha Man suit was destroyed. The Astral Pulse was gone. Shroud—his father's murderer—was still out there, alive and well and probably laughing.

And he hadn't dreamt about Chad in a long, long time.

Not until now.

Not until his brain had dredged up that particular conversation, that particular moment when someone had looked at Robert Robertson and seen straight through the metal plating to the rot underneath.

Whatever gets you out of that damn tomb you call a suit.

Robert closed his eyes and tried not to think about orange eyes and three-fingered hands and the last person who'd given a shit whether he lived or died.

Tried not to think about how, eventually, he'd walked away from that, too. ----

Chad was acting weird, and everyone fucking knew it.

It was the only reason Punch Up and Coupe had strong-armed him into drinks, rather than his usual style of tagging along whether people wanted him there or not. The elemental hero kept up with his teammates' banter while morosely nursing his piss-poor excuse for a drink, when Punch Up's eyebrows suddenly rose.

"Ey, isn't that guy there that Mecha Man lad?" The short Irishman squinted across the bar. "Didn't he kick the bucket?"

Chad's head whipped around before he could stop himself.

Because there, looking like a miserable whelp with the world on his shoulders, was a thin man in a familiar blue flight suit.

A man Chad hadn't spoken to in years— ----

"I uh, got an offer."

Mecha Man listened with that patient, steady attention that used to piss Chad off. That stare. Once upon a time, he'd wanted to set it on fire.

Now…

"They're calling it the Phoenix Program," Chad continued, tucking his hair behind his ear. "It's some sort of… rehabilitation shit. They take villains and turn them into heroes—or something. Personally, I think it's a dumbass idea—"

"You should do it." Mecha Man's voice was warm, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Chad fought to keep his eyes anywhere else. "You'd be good at it. I mean it."

"...I don't know about being a hero, but taking the offer would get me out of here. I'd be able to see my family again. And—and properly meet Farzana."

Something softened in Mecha Man's expression. "Your sister and niece—"

"Shut up. I don't agree, okay? So just—" Chad blew out a breath. Without the damn collar around his neck, it would've been smoke. "...I want to be in her life. I need to be—and not through a fucking prison cell. Alright?"

"Be that as it may…" That smile again, small and genuine. "I still think, if you tried, you'd be a great hero, Chad." ----

Chad ignored the surprised calls from Punch Up and Coupe behind him and bolted for the exit.

He hoped to god Mecha Man hadn't seen him. ----

"I'm getting released next week. They're still keeping an ankle monitor on me, but they're removing the collar."

A chuckle through the receiver. "That's—wow. Can't believe they're releasing you back into the wild again. Promise not to maul anybody?"

"Oh, fuck off." ----

Chad was a blazing shooting star in the night sky as he flew away from Crypto Night, putting distance between himself and that blue flight suit. His phone buzzed relentlessly with notifications.

He ignored it. ----

"My, uh, my stupid shrink said something about—about making new beginnings. And shit."

"Uh huh."

"And I've… been thinking, that for me to really make this fresh start or whatever… I have to cut a lot of shit off. From my past."

A pause. "...Yeah?"

"I—don't try to find me when I get released. Give me like a week, or something, then you can show me all your dumbass heroic tricks—"

"The past includes me, right?" Mecha Man's voice was quiet. Too quiet. "This is you saying—"

"Mecha Bitch, shut the fuck up. I'm just—"

"Chad, it's okay." A breath. "I'll… I'll see you in a week, yeah? Like always?" ----

Chad had been so stupid.

He'd spouted all that bullshit about cutting ties because he'd been terrified. Terrified of what it would mean to talk to Mecha Man without bulletproof glass between them. Without a phone receiver to hide behind. Without the artificial boundary of prisoner and visitor to define what they were to each other.

For two and a half years, Chad had poured his guts out to the most heroic motherfucker he knew. He'd learned how to be a person again with a wall between them. How was he supposed to do that face-to-face? How was he supposed to stand in front of Mecha Man in the real world and just... talk? Like a normal fucking person?

So he'd panicked, and lied, and pushed.

And he'd thought—god, he'd really fucking thought—that Mecha Man would do what he always did. Push back. Show up anyway. Refuse to take no for an answer like he had at the very beginning, when Chad had told him to fuck off week after week and he'd kept calling anyway.

Chad had told him not to come, fully expecting him to make an entrance with that stupid, knowing smirk on his masked face.

But he hadn't.

And that's when Chad realized he'd fucked up. That Mecha Man had actually listened to him for once. Had respected his boundaries. Had taken him at his word and let him go.

In the end, Chad had never learned his real name. Had no way to contact him once he was released. No phone number. No address. Nothing but a voice through a prison phone and a sillouhette he'd only ever seen through reinforced glass.

Sometimes, he thought what they'd shared had been some strange, fucked-up lucid dream he'd conjured to make his time in jail feel less like dying slowly. 

But seeing him now, after that goddamn news report—thinner but alive, bruised, miserable as fuck—

Chad turned off his phone and forced himself to go to bed.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Update: Now with part 3!

[dumplingdumpp]

Flambert Pre-Canon AU

Hello, ya'll. Had a little brain worm that I couldn't find the energy to put into a real fic, so I'm putting it here instead. If anyone wants to take the idea and make it their own, go ahead!!

here's a little look at a Flambert pre-canon AU. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------

See, the way Robert saw it, villains were villains because they thought of doing bad things and chose to act on them anyway, even while knowing that people would suffer because of their actions.

Plus, quite frankly, maintaining the suit and keeping up with the whole superhero-ing gig took up enough of Robert's life for him to not really… well, give a shit, about any supposed ulterior motives a villain might have for doing shitty things.

Was he aware they existed? Duh. It's just that, y'know, everyone's fucking having a rough time of it in some way, and you don't see them burning down an entire goddamn shopping mall complex, do you?

So yeah, Robert was here on a mission. De-escalate, subdue, and then bring the motherfucker with a death wish into custody. Anything after that was, respectfully, not his problem.

(Robert was a lying liar. He always stuck his nose where it wasn't wanted if somebody needed help, but he'd made a talent of firmly planting himself within the 'denial' stage of grief since—oh, he doesn't know, his father died?—and he was quite comfortable with just staying there. So.)

Anyway, with all that being said, it was only natural that Robert ignored the cops' warnings and marched himself inside the complex, wanting to 'talk.' And he would, if the villain wanted to. He was just… not optimistic about it, and was like, 90% sure he was going to get into a fight.

Which is exactly what happened.

Granted, the whole finger-slicing thing was… well, not his ideal way of getting the guy to stand down. But it was either that or getting burnt to a crisp, so the guilt didn't linger too long.

And that was the end of it. Guy gets sent to jail, Mecha Man secures another win, everyone moves on.

…At least, it would have, if Robert hadn't heard the guy's last whispered words before passing out from exhaustion and pain.

“...If you were going to do this, you should have finished the job, Mecha Man.” His quiet, hoarse voice had drifted toward Robert's ears, and Robert finally looked around himself long enough to digest the magnitude of the destruction around him. Almost like the villain had intended to burn everything down to ashes, including himself.

Ugh, fuck. Fucking fuck.

Robert picked up the villain with his large metal hands and brought him to the police. They wasted no time snapping an ability dampener around his neck before putting him on a stretcher.

The fingers—stubs, on his hand—had been cauterized by his own powers, so at least they weren't bleeding anymore, but his body had clearly gone through the wringer and needed medical attention, and so off the ambulance went.

“Thank you, Mecha Man. We'll take care of it from here,” a police officer said kindly. “No need to worry about that hooligan any more than you need to.”

Hah. ---

See, here's the thing, right.

Robert wasn't good at looking into himself and picking out his problems—okay, well. He actually was good at that, just not good at acknowledging them, or admitting they existed at all.

Some of these may or may not include: his daddy issues, a martyr complex, depression, PTSD of many flavors, his disturbing pain tolerance, and his general attitude toward the thought of dying—that is to say, not that bothered. And what he meant by that was, well, he was expecting to die in this suit, like the Mecha Men before him. What did it matter if it happened years from now or tomorrow afternoon?

In other words, if surrounded by people who cared about and loved him, he'd be on some kind of suicide watch. But he wasn't, so he didn't talk about it. Or think about it, if he didn't need to. Which was all the time, because he had more important shit to think about, like how to fix the mech suit and, y'know, apprehending actual real-life supervillains.

And he was fine not thinking about it, until a flaming asshole just had to—

“...If you were going to do this, you should have finished the job, Mecha Man.”

Seriously, just fuck everything.

What was he even going to do? Tell the high-security prison they were throwing the guy in to rot for the rest of his life that he'd wanted to kill himself that day? That they should go easy on him?

The fact of the matter was, they shouldn't. He'd committed arson within a goddamn shopping mall. People could have died. Being in pain didn't excuse the harm you did unto others. It just doubled it.

And yet. ---

Robert walked into a high-security prison a week later in his flight suit and picked up a phone, meeting dull, tangerine-colored eyes on the other side of reinforced glass. Without the ridiculous getup and greasy ponytail ensemble, the man looked especially vulnerable.

“...Uh, hey,” he attempted.

The man behind the glass stared at him with pure, unadulterated hatred.

“Fuck. Off.” He hissed into the receiver, and slammed it back down onto the table. The guards immediately made a fuss at the aggression and pulled him away, his hands cuffed before Robert could even blink.

As the villain was led away, Robert leaned back against the chair and looked at the ceiling, releasing a puff of breath.

What the hell was he even doing?

“...If you were going to do this, you should have finished the job, Mecha Man.”

Robert rubbed his eyes tiredly and sighed. If Chase were here, he would've told him he was pursuing a dead end. A fool's errand. He probably would have kicked Robert's ass out of the prison and banned him from ever going back. Probably.

Who knows anymore. Robert certainly didn't. He himself had made sure of that, more than anybody else.

Still, Robert returned two days later during a short break and tried again. And was barely able to get two words out before he was rejected.

Again.

And again.

And again— ---

—Until one day, the villain finally lost his shit and asked the question Robert had been pondering himself.

“Why the fuck are you doing this?” He seethed.

Robert didn't even know his name. The guy didn't really have a villain name he called himself as far as Robert knew, and he could have read his file to find out his actual one, of course, but…

“I heard you, that day,” he said, deciding to be truthful. Robert had never been good at lying when it really mattered. "Before you passed out."

The man's expression scrunched up in confusion before something seemed to click in his head. His gaze quickly shifted from utter disbelief to hot embarrassment to cold hatred at the drop of a hat. Robert winced mentally.

“That's what this is?” He laughed sharply, like broken glass. “Pity? Well, let me make it clear to you now, Mecha bitch, since I have the chance. I don't fucking want it. And least of all from you.” He hissed, and the phone went down with a slam before the officers led him back to his prison cell.

The corrections officer on duty gave Robert a pitying look on the way out. Robert just grimaced sheepishly and ignored it. ---

Back at his depressing, minimalistic apartment, Robert lounged on his mattress and pet his new puppy, Beef, as he took a second to ponder the fiery villain's question.

Was it truly just pity that brought Mecha Man to the other side of the glass? Or was it something else? Why, exactly, was he doing this at all?

God, this was why he didn't do shit like this. He didn't like thinking. He didn't like diving into his own head.

Robert imagined dull eyes and a wan face, and promptly sucked it up. Alright, bullet-point style seemed the way to go, right? Right.

Exhibit A: Pity. Did he feel it? Well, yes and no. Yes, because the guy had properly fucked up his life in irrevocable ways. And no, because, well, if you were going to do stupid shit, you had to accept that there would be consequences.

Funnily enough, any ounce of pity he did possess had nothing to do with the man's desire to die.

Exhibit B: Hero complex. Was it a Mecha Man thing? An 'I can fix him' prerogative that pretty much most heroes worth their salt possessed deep inside them? Was this just Robert sticking his nose where he'd sniffed out a problem?

…No, not really. Not that Robert wasn't the type to help out—just, he'd apprehended villains that were way more down-on-their-luck than this guy, and he'd never done anything like this for them. So what made this one different?

Exhibit C, and his least favorite: Robert saw the villain's pathetic, hollow face and saw his own reflection staring back at him—and it pissed him off. Because Robert had a legacy and a suit that tethered him, while this hotshot had fucking pyrokinesis. What the hell was he doing with his life, and why was he choosing to make himself more fucking miserable when he could get out?

Well, Robert didn't know the full context of the guy's breakdown, obviously, but—God, he could do so much good with that power. And yet, somehow, he'd been brought down to his knees in the worst possible way, using it for its baseline purpose—destruction. And despite not being affected by his own flames, he'd basked in the inferno like he'd wanted to die in it.

Like Robert and his goddamn suit.

So what, was it like a salvation thing? An 'if he could see the light, so could I' type of bullshit? God, Robert almost wanted to punch himself at the stupid thought.

Beef barked and pawed at his chest as Robert scratched under his chin, the puppy's tail wagging happily.

“Yeah,” Robert said, looking down at his dog. “I don't know what the hell I'm doing either.” ---

Robert went back a week later, his Mecha Man flight suit recognizable even from a distance. Fiery irises stared at him through the glass, piercing and… restless, almost. 

For the first time, it was the villain who picked up the phone first, his movements jerky and aggressive. The way his three-fingered hand curled over the plastic seemed as though if his powers hadn't been subdued by the collar, the handle would be melting in his grip.

“You know, I'm not sure if humiliating yourself every week here is some kind of kink of yours, but I don't want any part of it.” He scowled.

Robert took a second to digest the words before an incredulous chuckle left his mouth, surprising both the convict and himself. “Yeah, no, sorry—degradation isn't really my thing,” he said dryly. “Actually, I wanted to… answer your question. From last time.”

“...What?” The villain's eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What more is there to say? You pity me, and now you're treating me like your little bitch pet project.”

“I don't pity you… uh, sorry, I haven't actually figured out your name yet. Looking through the files kind of felt like cheating, so—uh, yeah. I don't pity you. Funny enough, you kind of… remind me of myself, a little.”

“Fucking what?” The elemental laughed harshly, leaning his head down on his fist, something equal parts gleeful and hateful dancing in his eyes. “I remind you of you? That's a joke if I've ever heard one. And fuck, you don't even know my name? What are we even doing here, Mecha dick? You were the one who put me in jail, cut off my fingers, and took me away from my family. And best of all, I'm a villain. We are nothing alike.”

“Okay, first of all, unless you needed reminding, your fire was responsible for millions of dollars in property damage and endangered the lives of multiple civilians. You put yourself in jail,” Robert said firmly, and the villain clenched his jaw, his eyes going dark at the reversal of blame. 

“Second of all, if I didn't do what I did, I would be the one six feet under.”

The man's nostrils flared, but he didn't interrupt.

“Thirdly,” Robert continued, “I feel like you're lashing out at me because you expected you weren't going to get out of there that night, and now that you have to face the consequences, you're blaming everything on me—”

“Jesus fucking Christ, what are you, my therapist?” The man interrupted, cringing in disgust. Behind his exaggerated expression however, Robert noticed his left hand gripping the small ledge in front of him so tightly his knuckles had bled white. “I don't need you to tell me shit I already know, alright? So just, fuck—fucking fuck off and let me rot here like everyone wants me to!”

Robert stared at the dark-haired man in front of him and saw himself as he was after his father's funeral—pushing away members of the Brave Brigade, ignoring Chase's calls and texts, rotting inside his father's suit like it was a tomb he'd chosen for himself. In this man's eyes, Robert saw a ticking timer, just waiting for when he would just die already, as if it had already been pre-determined.

The Mecha Man legacy.

The boiling flames under his skin.

All of a sudden, everything felt a little too real. Still, Robert swallowed and opened his mouth.

“No,” he said quietly. “I think—I think you still have things to live for. And I… I'll be here next week, to remind you of that.”

The man on the other side of the glass went still, his eyes unblinking as he stared at Robert. Robert couldn't decipher what he was thinking.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with something unspoken.

“...It's Chad, asshole.” The man finally murmured into the receiver, before swiftly putting it down and turning his back to the hero, walking toward his cell without another look back.

Robert couldn't help but smile, feeling an unexpected warmth bloom in his chest. That was progress, right? Actual, real progress.

“There is no fucking way his name is Chad,” he said to himself as an afterthought, the words echoing slightly in the empty visitation room.

Outside, he climbed back into his mech suit and headed toward the next distress call. As he flew, Robert wondered if he’d get whatever it was he wanted from these conversations by next month. 

Hopefully, after today's breakthrough, things will get a little easier.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Unbeknownst to the hero, their chats would continue for 2 and a half years. ----

5 Years Later

The office floor at SDN was full of the usual hustle and bustle of dispatchers and superpowered heroes, among them the unassuming (barely) figures of Flambae and Prism, two proponents of the Phoenix Program. The two ex-villains were casually making conversation and shooting the shit as they usually did when a sudden gasp tore through the white noise around them.

“Oh my god…” A woman’s voice follows.

Looking at each other, the two immediately move to find where the drama is. The two were nothing if not nosy as fuck.

As they exited the break room and entered the main dispatch floor, more than half of the office’s occupants' eyes were glued on the TV screen above them, depicting some breaking news.

“What the hell’s got all their panties in a twist?” Prism murmurs, her fingers moving rapidly on her phone instead of craning her neck like an idiot. Beside her, Flambae shrugs and rolls his eyes. “Probably some fucking supervillain shit.” He says, but still siddles close to his friend to peek at her phone.

Prism immediately clicks on the first recommended video on her YouTube page with the garish ‘Breaking News’ thumbnail on it and a ‘live’ indicator at the bottom right. The short 5 minute-and-climbing segment had already gained more than a hundred thousand live viewers.

“Damn, the fuck is going on?” She murmured as she played the video.

The video immediately starts at the latest part of the live recording.

“Mecha Man is down! Mecha Man is down!” A voice screams through the speakers of her phone. The shaky video footage barely captures a smoking hunk of twisted metal meters away from the camera man. “Fuck, the ambulance is on the way, but we don’t even know if he’s alive, man. This is crazy!” Another voice exclaims, some white teenager who just happened to be near the crash site.

“Well, shit,” Prism exclaims. “Whatchu think, boo? Is the Third Mecha Man biting it?”

The man beside her is silent, and when she turns to look at him, surprised at the lack of response, she’s shocked to find his face contorted into barely restrained distress.

“Fuck,” Flambae says, turning away. “I’ll be right back. Don’t follow me.” 

Prism watches the tall man go, and wonders what her friend is hiding.

_____________________________________________________________ AAND thats all i've got hehe. I have a lot more ideas about how this AU would go but not enough time or energy to write all out. Ya'll let me know if you want me to drop more bits of lore on this universe!

Update: now with a part 2 🤙

[ashcremated]

Winter, spring, summer and fall, four seasons, four loves

(i did this art for the zukka week of a couple of years ago but zukka still real and true 🤟🔥)

[prehistoricsystem]

most beautiful fucking thing i’ve seen all day

[purplepenguintime]

I love zukka but I will not stand for the erasure of my girl

[izbnart]

Batman animation 👍🌟

[dumplingdumpp]

dick practically melting into Bruce's hand.. the countdown reflecting in Jason's eyes before the bomb explodes and the smoke forming into red hood... Steph crawling away from black mask and the direction of the bullet looking like a flatline... Damian getting stabbed at the end of that flatline... BRUCE...

This is so gd good 😭🙏