When the multiple chars x reader (all in one story) include the peeps under eighteen but also the mfs above twenty so you're lowkey either the victim or the predator
dressing and acting like bruno mars for 8 days straight grinning and laughing dancing and twisting being all sexy and short until i pass out from dehydration/exhaustion with no prior signs of distress
drunk! perv! dunk. let me say it again. DRUNK.. PERV.. dunk.. the possibilities r endless. does he cum fast? does he fall asleep eating it? does dunk fuck you until HE’S overstimulated and basically crushing you? put me in his world and im putting medieval contraceptives to work, or im just locking it down and having his fat stupid babies
babe omfg YOUR MIND ???? i kid u not this ask actually drove my ass to open a google docs file
LOOK AT HIMMMM im getting him pregnant!!
thank you so much for these delicious thoughts anon, i’ll write a whole thing bc this food is too fucking good but walk with me for now
18+ minors dni
drunk!perv!duncan the tall
content: slight intoxication, leg humping (yay!)
imagining a swaying dunk being dropped off at your tent, already through the worst of it, but he still goes moony-eyed at the sight of you.
you take him from lyonel, who leaves you with a grin like he knows something you don’t (dunk spent the whole night rambling into his mug, in great detail, about the filthy dreams he’s been having of you and how badly he wishes it was real).
dunk is touchier when he’s drunk, shoving his clammy face into the crook of your neck when you lead him into your tent. doesn’t even hide how he’s inhaling the scent of you with open-mouthed huffs.
whines when you plop him down on his bedroll, clutching at your leg when you try to go get him something to drink. dunk presses his forehead to your belly, arms locked around you to keep you from leaving.
you know he’ll have a shit time of it tomorrow if he doesn’t sober up soon, but you like being trapped in dunk’s strong, brutish grip a little too much to do anything about it.
your hand buries in those sandy blond strands, scratching at his scalp while you try to figure out how to reach the waterskins.
dunk groans, loud and wet, and you watch with your jaw slack as he ruts his hips against your lower leg. one slow, firm drag that has his shoulders curling in and his broad back bowing.
“fuckkk,” dunk slurs, hooking a thick arm around the back of your thigh, moving you to his liking for a better angle to grind his cock.
your breath stays lodged in your chest, burning you from the inside out when he starts humping your leg in earnest, setting a sloppy, jagged rhythm that has him moaning wantonly into your dress.
“dunk–?” your voice cracks, pitched up in surprised — that he’s using your body for his own pleasure, and that you’re wetter than you’ve ever been watching your hedge knight reduced to the pathetic mess at your feet.
“want you s’bad,” dunk whines, spit pooling at the corner of his lips. he drags those glossy blue eyes up to meet yours, and thrusts even harder at the sight of your face.
“want t’fuck you,” he confesses, pressing himself deeper into the folds of your dress, like if he tries hard enough he can find his way inside. “think about you all the time– i wan’ you crying on my cock. want to know how you taste, m’lady.”
you file away his confessions for later, content to let him use you to his own end.
“bet you’d be sweet,” he grunts, eyes fluttering as he buries his face to your lower body, as close as he can get to what he wants. “–taste like fuckin’ heaven.”
your hands press harder into his head, digging your nails in until he whimpers. the sound goes straight to your core, fluttering and painfully empty.
“does that feel good, hm?” you coo, stroking the back of his head to soothe the sting. “you look so handsome like this, dunk.”
you can feel the heat of him leaking — he’s rucked up your skirts with greedy hands, only so he can soak your soft skin with the wet patch blooming on his trousers.
dunk pants open-mouthed, nodding with desperate jerks of his head. choked out grunts escape his glistening lips and that grip on your thigh is sure to leave a bruise, but none of that matters when he’s spilling into his trousers with a broken whine, cursing and shuddering through the syllables of your name.
all the while, you soothe him through it, distantly wondering how long it’d take him to get going again if you keep calling him pretty.
he’s easier to manoeuvre in his post-orgasmic haze. sits down where you tell him to, cleans himself up and waits obediently while you fetch the waterskin.
though when you hold it out for him to take, he stubbornly refuses to drink, turning his head from the mouth. he’ll dodge and protest, until your hand comes up to hold his head still, fingers gripping his jaw as you tilt the opening against his lips.
only then will he drink, sharp gaze never leaving yours. his blue eyes are clear — so clear you begin to wonder how drunk he’d really been at all.
drunk! perv! dunk. let me say it again. DRUNK.. PERV.. dunk.. the possibilities r endless. does he cum fast? does he fall asleep eating it? does dunk fuck you until HE’S overstimulated and basically crushing you? put me in his world and im putting medieval contraceptives to work, or im just locking it down and having his fat stupid babies
babe omfg YOUR MIND ???? i kid u not this ask actually drove my ass to open a google docs file
LOOK AT HIMMMM im getting him pregnant!!
thank you so much for these delicious thoughts anon, i’ll write a whole thing bc this food is too fucking good but walk with me for now
18+ minors dni
drunk!perv!duncan the tall
content: slight intoxication, leg humping (yay!)
imagining a swaying dunk being dropped off at your tent, already through the worst of it, but he still goes moony-eyed at the sight of you.
you take him from lyonel, who leaves you with a grin like he knows something you don’t (dunk spent the whole night rambling into his mug, in great detail, about the filthy dreams he’s been having of you and how badly he wishes it was real).
dunk is touchier when he’s drunk, shoving his clammy face into the crook of your neck when you lead him into your tent. doesn’t even hide how he’s inhaling the scent of you with open-mouthed huffs.
whines when you plop him down on his bedroll, clutching at your leg when you try to go get him something to drink. dunk presses his forehead to your belly, arms locked around you to keep you from leaving.
you know he’ll have a shit time of it tomorrow if he doesn’t sober up soon, but you like being trapped in dunk’s strong, brutish grip a little too much to do anything about it.
your hand buries in those sandy blond strands, scratching at his scalp while you try to figure out how to reach the waterskins.
dunk groans, loud and wet, and you watch with your jaw slack as he ruts his hips against your lower leg. one slow, firm drag that has his shoulders curling in and his broad back bowing.
“fuckkk,” dunk slurs, hooking a thick arm around the back of your thigh, moving you to his liking for a better angle to grind his cock.
your breath stays lodged in your chest, burning you from the inside out when he starts humping your leg in earnest, setting a sloppy, jagged rhythm that has him moaning wantonly into your dress.
“dunk–?” your voice cracks, pitched up in surprised — that he’s using your body for his own pleasure, and that you’re wetter than you’ve ever been watching your hedge knight reduced to the pathetic mess at your feet.
“want you s’bad,” dunk whines, spit pooling at the corner of his lips. he drags those glossy blue eyes up to meet yours, and thrusts even harder at the sight of your face.
“want t’fuck you,” he confesses, pressing himself deeper into the folds of your dress, like if he tries hard enough he can find his way inside. “think about you all the time– i wan’ you crying on my cock. want to know how you taste, m’lady.”
you file away his confessions for later, content to let him use you to his own end.
“bet you’d be sweet,” he grunts, eyes fluttering as he buries his face to your lower body, as close as he can get to what he wants. “–taste like fuckin’ heaven.”
your hands press harder into his head, digging your nails in until he whimpers. the sound goes straight to your core, fluttering and painfully empty.
“does that feel good, hm?” you coo, stroking the back of his head to soothe the sting. “you look so handsome like this, dunk.”
you can feel the heat of him leaking — he’s rucked up your skirts with greedy hands, only so he can soak your soft skin with the wet patch blooming on his trousers.
dunk pants open-mouthed, nodding with desperate jerks of his head. choked out grunts escape his glistening lips and that grip on your thigh is sure to leave a bruise, but none of that matters when he’s spilling into his trousers with a broken whine, cursing and shuddering through the syllables of your name.
all the while, you soothe him through it, distantly wondering how long it’d take him to get going again if you keep calling him pretty.
he’s easier to manoeuvre in his post-orgasmic haze. sits down where you tell him to, cleans himself up and waits obediently while you fetch the waterskin.
though when you hold it out for him to take, he stubbornly refuses to drink, turning his head from the mouth. he’ll dodge and protest, until your hand comes up to hold his head still, fingers gripping his jaw as you tilt the opening against his lips.
only then will he drink, sharp gaze never leaving yours. his blue eyes are clear — so clear you begin to wonder how drunk he’d really been at all.
drunk! perv! dunk. let me say it again. DRUNK.. PERV.. dunk.. the possibilities r endless. does he cum fast? does he fall asleep eating it? does dunk fuck you until HE’S overstimulated and basically crushing you? put me in his world and im putting medieval contraceptives to work, or im just locking it down and having his fat stupid babies
babe omfg YOUR MIND ???? i kid u not this ask actually drove my ass to open a google docs file
LOOK AT HIMMMM im getting him pregnant!!
thank you so much for these delicious thoughts anon, i’ll write a whole thing bc this food is too fucking good but walk with me for now
18+ minors dni
drunk!perv!duncan the tall
content: slight intoxication, leg humping (yay!)
imagining a swaying dunk being dropped off at your tent, already through the worst of it, but he still goes moony-eyed at the sight of you.
you take him from lyonel, who leaves you with a grin like he knows something you don’t (dunk spent the whole night rambling into his mug, in great detail, about the filthy dreams he’s been having of you and how badly he wishes it was real).
dunk is touchier when he’s drunk, shoving his clammy face into the crook of your neck when you lead him into your tent. doesn’t even hide how he’s inhaling the scent of you with open-mouthed huffs.
whines when you plop him down on his bedroll, clutching at your leg when you try to go get him something to drink. dunk presses his forehead to your belly, arms locked around you to keep you from leaving.
you know he’ll have a shit time of it tomorrow if he doesn’t sober up soon, but you like being trapped in dunk’s strong, brutish grip a little too much to do anything about it.
your hand buries in those sandy blond strands, scratching at his scalp while you try to figure out how to reach the waterskins.
dunk groans, loud and wet, and you watch with your jaw slack as he ruts his hips against your lower leg. one slow, firm drag that has his shoulders curling in and his broad back bowing.
“fuckkk,” dunk slurs, hooking a thick arm around the back of your thigh, moving you to his liking for a better angle to grind his cock.
your breath stays lodged in your chest, burning you from the inside out when he starts humping your leg in earnest, setting a sloppy, jagged rhythm that has him moaning wantonly into your dress.
“dunk–?” your voice cracks, pitched up in surprised — that he’s using your body for his own pleasure, and that you’re wetter than you’ve ever been watching your hedge knight reduced to the pathetic mess at your feet.
“want you s’bad,” dunk whines, spit pooling at the corner of his lips. he drags those glossy blue eyes up to meet yours, and thrusts even harder at the sight of your face.
“want t’fuck you,” he confesses, pressing himself deeper into the folds of your dress, like if he tries hard enough he can find his way inside. “think about you all the time– i wan’ you crying on my cock. want to know how you taste, m’lady.”
you file away his confessions for later, content to let him use you to his own end.
“bet you’d be sweet,” he grunts, eyes fluttering as he buries his face to your lower body, as close as he can get to what he wants. “–taste like fuckin’ heaven.”
your hands press harder into his head, digging your nails in until he whimpers. the sound goes straight to your core, fluttering and painfully empty.
“does that feel good, hm?” you coo, stroking the back of his head to soothe the sting. “you look so handsome like this, dunk.”
you can feel the heat of him leaking — he’s rucked up your skirts with greedy hands, only so he can soak your soft skin with the wet patch blooming on his trousers.
dunk pants open-mouthed, nodding with desperate jerks of his head. choked out grunts escape his glistening lips and that grip on your thigh is sure to leave a bruise, but none of that matters when he’s spilling into his trousers with a broken whine, cursing and shuddering through the syllables of your name.
all the while, you soothe him through it, distantly wondering how long it’d take him to get going again if you keep calling him pretty.
he’s easier to manoeuvre in his post-orgasmic haze. sits down where you tell him to, cleans himself up and waits obediently while you fetch the waterskin.
though when you hold it out for him to take, he stubbornly refuses to drink, turning his head from the mouth. he’ll dodge and protest, until your hand comes up to hold his head still, fingers gripping his jaw as you tilt the opening against his lips.
only then will he drink, sharp gaze never leaving yours. his blue eyes are clear — so clear you begin to wonder how drunk he’d really been at all.
drunk! perv! dunk. let me say it again. DRUNK.. PERV.. dunk.. the possibilities r endless. does he cum fast? does he fall asleep eating it? does dunk fuck you until HE’S overstimulated and basically crushing you? put me in his world and im putting medieval contraceptives to work, or im just locking it down and having his fat stupid babies
babe omfg YOUR MIND ???? i kid u not this ask actually drove my ass to open a google docs file
LOOK AT HIMMMM im getting him pregnant!!
thank you so much for these delicious thoughts anon, i’ll write a whole thing bc this food is too fucking good but walk with me for now
18+ minors dni
drunk!perv!duncan the tall
content: slight intoxication, leg humping (yay!)
imagining a swaying dunk being dropped off at your tent, already through the worst of it, but he still goes moony-eyed at the sight of you.
you take him from lyonel, who leaves you with a grin like he knows something you don’t (dunk spent the whole night rambling into his mug, in great detail, about the filthy dreams he’s been having of you and how badly he wishes it was real).
dunk is touchier when he’s drunk, shoving his clammy face into the crook of your neck when you lead him into your tent. doesn’t even hide how he’s inhaling the scent of you with open-mouthed huffs.
whines when you plop him down on his bedroll, clutching at your leg when you try to go get him something to drink. dunk presses his forehead to your belly, arms locked around you to keep you from leaving.
you know he’ll have a shit time of it tomorrow if he doesn’t sober up soon, but you like being trapped in dunk’s strong, brutish grip a little too much to do anything about it.
your hand buries in those sandy blond strands, scratching at his scalp while you try to figure out how to reach the waterskins.
dunk groans, loud and wet, and you watch with your jaw slack as he ruts his hips against your lower leg. one slow, firm drag that has his shoulders curling in and his broad back bowing.
“fuckkk,” dunk slurs, hooking a thick arm around the back of your thigh, moving you to his liking for a better angle to grind his cock.
your breath stays lodged in your chest, burning you from the inside out when he starts humping your leg in earnest, setting a sloppy, jagged rhythm that has him moaning wantonly into your dress.
“dunk–?” your voice cracks, pitched up in surprised — that he’s using your body for his own pleasure, and that you’re wetter than you’ve ever been watching your hedge knight reduced to the pathetic mess at your feet.
“want you s’bad,” dunk whines, spit pooling at the corner of his lips. he drags those glossy blue eyes up to meet yours, and thrusts even harder at the sight of your face.
“want t’fuck you,” he confesses, pressing himself deeper into the folds of your dress, like if he tries hard enough he can find his way inside. “think about you all the time– i wan’ you crying on my cock. want to know how you taste, m’lady.”
you file away his confessions for later, content to let him use you to his own end.
“bet you’d be sweet,” he grunts, eyes fluttering as he buries his face to your lower body, as close as he can get to what he wants. “–taste like fuckin’ heaven.”
your hands press harder into his head, digging your nails in until he whimpers. the sound goes straight to your core, fluttering and painfully empty.
“does that feel good, hm?” you coo, stroking the back of his head to soothe the sting. “you look so handsome like this, dunk.”
you can feel the heat of him leaking — he’s rucked up your skirts with greedy hands, only so he can soak your soft skin with the wet patch blooming on his trousers.
dunk pants open-mouthed, nodding with desperate jerks of his head. choked out grunts escape his glistening lips and that grip on your thigh is sure to leave a bruise, but none of that matters when he’s spilling into his trousers with a broken whine, cursing and shuddering through the syllables of your name.
all the while, you soothe him through it, distantly wondering how long it’d take him to get going again if you keep calling him pretty.
he’s easier to manoeuvre in his post-orgasmic haze. sits down where you tell him to, cleans himself up and waits obediently while you fetch the waterskin.
though when you hold it out for him to take, he stubbornly refuses to drink, turning his head from the mouth. he’ll dodge and protest, until your hand comes up to hold his head still, fingers gripping his jaw as you tilt the opening against his lips.
only then will he drink, sharp gaze never leaving yours. his blue eyes are clear — so clear you begin to wonder how drunk he’d really been at all.
drunk! perv! dunk. let me say it again. DRUNK.. PERV.. dunk.. the possibilities r endless. does he cum fast? does he fall asleep eating it? does dunk fuck you until HE’S overstimulated and basically crushing you? put me in his world and im putting medieval contraceptives to work, or im just locking it down and having his fat stupid babies
babe omfg YOUR MIND ???? i kid u not this ask actually drove my ass to open a google docs file
LOOK AT HIMMMM im getting him pregnant!!
thank you so much for these delicious thoughts anon, i’ll write a whole thing bc this food is too fucking good but walk with me for now
18+ minors dni
drunk!perv!duncan the tall
content: slight intoxication, leg humping (yay!)
imagining a swaying dunk being dropped off at your tent, already through the worst of it, but he still goes moony-eyed at the sight of you.
you take him from lyonel, who leaves you with a grin like he knows something you don’t (dunk spent the whole night rambling into his mug, in great detail, about the filthy dreams he’s been having of you and how badly he wishes it was real).
dunk is touchier when he’s drunk, shoving his clammy face into the crook of your neck when you lead him into your tent. doesn’t even hide how he’s inhaling the scent of you with open-mouthed huffs.
whines when you plop him down on his bedroll, clutching at your leg when you try to go get him something to drink. dunk presses his forehead to your belly, arms locked around you to keep you from leaving.
you know he’ll have a shit time of it tomorrow if he doesn’t sober up soon, but you like being trapped in dunk’s strong, brutish grip a little too much to do anything about it.
your hand buries in those sandy blond strands, scratching at his scalp while you try to figure out how to reach the waterskins.
dunk groans, loud and wet, and you watch with your jaw slack as he ruts his hips against your lower leg. one slow, firm drag that has his shoulders curling in and his broad back bowing.
“fuckkk,” dunk slurs, hooking a thick arm around the back of your thigh, moving you to his liking for a better angle to grind his cock.
your breath stays lodged in your chest, burning you from the inside out when he starts humping your leg in earnest, setting a sloppy, jagged rhythm that has him moaning wantonly into your dress.
“dunk–?” your voice cracks, pitched up in surprised — that he’s using your body for his own pleasure, and that you’re wetter than you’ve ever been watching your hedge knight reduced to the pathetic mess at your feet.
“want you s’bad,” dunk whines, spit pooling at the corner of his lips. he drags those glossy blue eyes up to meet yours, and thrusts even harder at the sight of your face.
“want t’fuck you,” he confesses, pressing himself deeper into the folds of your dress, like if he tries hard enough he can find his way inside. “think about you all the time– i wan’ you crying on my cock. want to know how you taste, m’lady.”
you file away his confessions for later, content to let him use you to his own end.
“bet you’d be sweet,” he grunts, eyes fluttering as he buries his face to your lower body, as close as he can get to what he wants. “–taste like fuckin’ heaven.”
your hands press harder into his head, digging your nails in until he whimpers. the sound goes straight to your core, fluttering and painfully empty.
“does that feel good, hm?” you coo, stroking the back of his head to soothe the sting. “you look so handsome like this, dunk.”
you can feel the heat of him leaking — he’s rucked up your skirts with greedy hands, only so he can soak your soft skin with the wet patch blooming on his trousers.
dunk pants open-mouthed, nodding with desperate jerks of his head. choked out grunts escape his glistening lips and that grip on your thigh is sure to leave a bruise, but none of that matters when he’s spilling into his trousers with a broken whine, cursing and shuddering through the syllables of your name.
all the while, you soothe him through it, distantly wondering how long it’d take him to get going again if you keep calling him pretty.
he’s easier to manoeuvre in his post-orgasmic haze. sits down where you tell him to, cleans himself up and waits obediently while you fetch the waterskin.
though when you hold it out for him to take, he stubbornly refuses to drink, turning his head from the mouth. he’ll dodge and protest, until your hand comes up to hold his head still, fingers gripping his jaw as you tilt the opening against his lips.
only then will he drink, sharp gaze never leaving yours. his blue eyes are clear — so clear you begin to wonder how drunk he’d really been at all.
drunk! perv! dunk. let me say it again. DRUNK.. PERV.. dunk.. the possibilities r endless. does he cum fast? does he fall asleep eating it? does dunk fuck you until HE’S overstimulated and basically crushing you? put me in his world and im putting medieval contraceptives to work, or im just locking it down and having his fat stupid babies
babe omfg YOUR MIND ???? i kid u not this ask actually drove my ass to open a google docs file
LOOK AT HIMMMM im getting him pregnant!!
thank you so much for these delicious thoughts anon, i’ll write a whole thing bc this food is too fucking good but walk with me for now
18+ minors dni
drunk!perv!duncan the tall
content: slight intoxication, leg humping (yay!)
imagining a swaying dunk being dropped off at your tent, already through the worst of it, but he still goes moony-eyed at the sight of you.
you take him from lyonel, who leaves you with a grin like he knows something you don’t (dunk spent the whole night rambling into his mug, in great detail, about the filthy dreams he’s been having of you and how badly he wishes it was real).
dunk is touchier when he’s drunk, shoving his clammy face into the crook of your neck when you lead him into your tent. doesn’t even hide how he’s inhaling the scent of you with open-mouthed huffs.
whines when you plop him down on his bedroll, clutching at your leg when you try to go get him something to drink. dunk presses his forehead to your belly, arms locked around you to keep you from leaving.
you know he’ll have a shit time of it tomorrow if he doesn’t sober up soon, but you like being trapped in dunk’s strong, brutish grip a little too much to do anything about it.
your hand buries in those sandy blond strands, scratching at his scalp while you try to figure out how to reach the waterskins.
dunk groans, loud and wet, and you watch with your jaw slack as he ruts his hips against your lower leg. one slow, firm drag that has his shoulders curling in and his broad back bowing.
“fuckkk,” dunk slurs, hooking a thick arm around the back of your thigh, moving you to his liking for a better angle to grind his cock.
your breath stays lodged in your chest, burning you from the inside out when he starts humping your leg in earnest, setting a sloppy, jagged rhythm that has him moaning wantonly into your dress.
“dunk–?” your voice cracks, pitched up in surprised — that he’s using your body for his own pleasure, and that you’re wetter than you’ve ever been watching your hedge knight reduced to the pathetic mess at your feet.
“want you s’bad,” dunk whines, spit pooling at the corner of his lips. he drags those glossy blue eyes up to meet yours, and thrusts even harder at the sight of your face.
“want t’fuck you,” he confesses, pressing himself deeper into the folds of your dress, like if he tries hard enough he can find his way inside. “think about you all the time– i wan’ you crying on my cock. want to know how you taste, m’lady.”
you file away his confessions for later, content to let him use you to his own end.
“bet you’d be sweet,” he grunts, eyes fluttering as he buries his face to your lower body, as close as he can get to what he wants. “–taste like fuckin’ heaven.”
your hands press harder into his head, digging your nails in until he whimpers. the sound goes straight to your core, fluttering and painfully empty.
“does that feel good, hm?” you coo, stroking the back of his head to soothe the sting. “you look so handsome like this, dunk.”
you can feel the heat of him leaking — he’s rucked up your skirts with greedy hands, only so he can soak your soft skin with the wet patch blooming on his trousers.
dunk pants open-mouthed, nodding with desperate jerks of his head. choked out grunts escape his glistening lips and that grip on your thigh is sure to leave a bruise, but none of that matters when he’s spilling into his trousers with a broken whine, cursing and shuddering through the syllables of your name.
all the while, you soothe him through it, distantly wondering how long it’d take him to get going again if you keep calling him pretty.
he’s easier to manoeuvre in his post-orgasmic haze. sits down where you tell him to, cleans himself up and waits obediently while you fetch the waterskin.
though when you hold it out for him to take, he stubbornly refuses to drink, turning his head from the mouth. he’ll dodge and protest, until your hand comes up to hold his head still, fingers gripping his jaw as you tilt the opening against his lips.
only then will he drink, sharp gaze never leaving yours. his blue eyes are clear — so clear you begin to wonder how drunk he’d really been at all.
Actually, I’m going insane about Flambae’s and Robert’s fight and I need to talk about it.
I found it so interesting how the bank Flambae was robbing was confirmed to be vacant.
No hostages. No injured. No foul play. The only one burning inside that building was Flambae himself.
The officer telling Robert ‘it’s not worth it’, Robert’s first response being deescalation, — made me think.
It didn’t necessarily feel like the trademark ‘hero giving the big bad a chance to shake hands before battle’. It felt like talking someone off a cliff and failing.
BUT. That being said.
Flambae 100% had the upper hand on Robert.
Particularly. it’s very interesting it’s the one fight in the game, so far, where the user has no influence. You can only control the dialogue.
Meaning?
Robert was getting his ass KICKED.
And that’s not saying he’s weak, — mind you. It took Toxic, 3 other supervillains, and a literal BOMB to take Mecha Man down.
Flambae? Did it one on one.
Also, I NEED people to understand how scarring this was for both of them, but Robert in particular.
Robert, as we’ve seen, tries his best not to use lethal force. Even before Toxic’s powers were revealed. Even if the option is to let him drop. There’s a mattress waiting to catch him.
That’s just the kinda man Robert is.
The fact that he was so desperate he considered dismemberment as his only way out? That’s NOT a win for him.
My theory is: Just like in the bar scene, Flambae panicked horribly when his fingers got cut off— as anyone would, — and turned himself in.
There’s also a VERY good chance Robert took him to the hospital. From what we’ve seen, the wounds healed extremely well, so it’s fair to assume he got medical help very quickly.
Flambae does go MIA after finding out Robert is Mecha Man, but, even if he has EVERY right to: He doesn’t become a villain again.
It’s worth stating that, even if SDN was around since Astral, the Phoenix program was established during Robert’s era.
So not only do I think Flambae was there since day one, — I think he’s the reason this program EXISTS.
when it’s really bad again and it’s still way better than it used to be but it’s still really bad. and you do all the right stuff and you try and try and it still really hurts but it’s working but it still hurts and you go see the beautiful majesty of nature and your soul is so close to being at peace but your mind is still in pain. and it’s better but it’s still bad. and the sun is setting.
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