#implied flambert

[s0rinarl]

had no idea what I was trying to do with this one, I guess it's kind of loosely based off pin up art

[sterekorgtfo]

Flambae (clocking out for a shift): Goodnight, losers. I’ve got a date with Robert tonight.

Sonar: Saying you have a date with our dispatcher is kind of SUS, bro.

Flambae: What do you mean ‘sus’? What are you on about?

Sonar: Our dispatcher is a GUY that makes it sound like you’re GAY for him, which is SUS.

Flambae: I am gay. He is gay. We are gay.

Sonar: Woah, calling yourself gay? That’s gunna make people think you’re gay, dude. SUS A F.

Flambae: What the FUCK are you on about? I am openly gay, dude. People know I’m gay. I am gay for men.

Sonar: You’re “gay” for “men”? That’s pretty SUS bro. People are going to get the wrong impression.

Flambae (flaming up): THEY WILL BE GETTING THE CORRECT IMPRESSION, WHICH IS THE IMPRESSION IM ADVERTISING. I AM LITERALLY A FLAMING HOMOSEXUAL.

Sonar: SUS POLICE! My homie is being SUS on main! Put him in the SUS-cuffs and take him to Maximum SUS-curity Pri-SUS-n!

(Distinct app notification goes off from Sonar’s phone.)

Sonar: Well if you’ll excuse me, I’m bout to have gay sex with this fellow crypto-bromo from Fangr. Gotta put the MLM in MLM if you know what I mean. If you’ll excuse me.

(Sonar leaves.)

Flambae: WHAT THE ACTUAL F-

[kanosherm]

tongue piercing

[emmasmoke8]

Coupé sits on the arm of the couch in the safehouse her handlers always stick her in as they all wait for the next client to pay for her expertise. The waiting has always been the worst part for her which has inevitably refined her knife-sharpening skills since it is the only entertainment she is permitted in situations such as this one.

But her knives are sharp as they can be. With a sigh, she sets the one she was working on down on couch alongside all the other ones and the frame for the wings they are attached to.

Coupé rises from the couch. She walks over to the windows. They are difficult to see through since they're so tinted, but there's just enough that Coupé can see people walking on the streets far below her. She sets her hand against the cool glass. She knows she could never be like them, and the part of her that wishes she could has died. Still, the space it left behind leaves her with a hollow ache.

Before she can dwell on it, knocking sounds throughout the apartment tucked away in the shabbiest, dirtiest corner of the city. Coupé grabs a knife as she walks by them since that was not the knock of her handlers. She looks through the peephole first to find a foreign man with amber eyes holding a white box made from what looks to be paper. Though she doesn't see any weapons, he could have powers, which can be deadlier in many cases.

Cautiously, Coupé opens the door just enough to peek through the crack. Clearing her throat, she tries to suppress as much of her original accent as possible. "Can I help you, sir?"

The man's entire face illuminates when he sees her. There's even a smile on his face. It's a unique reaction to encountering Coupé, to say the least. "Janelle! I'm glad—"

She grabs him. Though he seems strong within his own rights, she easily drags him into the room and shoves him against the door when she slams it shut. She holds her knife against his throat, breathing just a tad more heavily than a calm assassin such as herself should. "What did you call me?"

The man blinks as if confused, entirely unphased by the sharp blade at his throat. "Your name. Janelle."

Given their positions, it makes no sense why Coupé is the one who feels visceral fear, yet she's barely managing to keep her breathing intact. That name—Janelle. No one is supposed to know it. Anyone who would've remembered it is long-dead. She buried that name with those people so that she might be Coupé to the world. It was a defense against all who could hurt her with that identity, and now she's stuck with the knowledge that this stranger knows what not even her handlers know.

It's because of this panic in her heart that Coupé drops her knife when it starts overheating in her hands instead of powering through the pain to maintain the offensive position. The man steps forward, setting his foot right over her knife. Without a weapon, Coupé lets the air around them get darker and darker, calling upon all the shadows in the room to heed her call.

The man does not care. He sets the box—and a book?—against Coupé's chest. She finds herself holding them both. The man opens the box. Instead of a bomb, it looks like he's brought her macarons. "I made your favorite dessert as an apology for showing up unannounced."

"How do you—" She cuts herself off. Although it's not worse than knowing what her name is, the fact that he knows her favorite dessert is also alarming. Her handlers don't care enough to remember that tidbit of information, and she has no one else who could have ever found out about it.

"I also brought a book! I remember it being a genre you liked. I'm sorry if you've already read it." He pulls the book out from under the box. He uses the book to shut the box, leaving a paper-back copy of a romance book between an elven prince and a mortal woman. Her fondness for this genre is just one more piece of information that no one is supposed to know.

"Who are you?" Coupé whispers, so shocked that the shadows slip back into their original positions. Though the room is brighter, nothing compares to the glow of the man's amber eyes. "What do you want from me?"

"Oh, I forget! I'm Faizan. I don't want anything from you!" Neither the name nor the accent is French, so she doesn't think he comes from her homeland. It isn't American, either, though, so where the hell did he get his information from? "But I do have someone who you would be great friends with! I'll introduce you."

A target, maybe? Is he blackmailing her: if she doesn't kill this person, he'll expose her? It's certainly one to get out of paying. Or he could have negative opinions of her handlers and decided to go straight to the source. The problem is that Coupé doesn't know.

Faizan pushes past Coupé. He examines the room with a thoughtful expression. "For now, we must do something about this place. Too dreary and undecorated. We clean and we add. Yes?"

She instinctively wants to kill him here and now, but there's no guarantee that he's the only one who knows the truth. He could've given it to someone else, or it could've been given to him. Coupé needs to determine that truth first.

It's for this reason that she picks her knife off the ground and puts it away. "...yes."

----

Coupé sits on the roof of the house across the street from Faizan's house. Either he isn't the mastermind she thinks he is, or he's playing games with her because most of his blinds aren't closed. She's able to watch him and another person (lover, no doubt, and possibly, more specifically, a partner, fiancée, or spouse) moving around the house.

This is her second night of doing this. The first one went off without a hitch, but this time, she's interrupted by someone. She prepares a knife, ready to strike. She looks over her shoulder to meet a pair of brown eyes in the dark blue mask belonging to Mecha Man.

"Let me guess: nothing today, either?" Coupé nods slowly. Mecha Man sighs. He slides down the rest of the shingles to settle on one knee beside her. "I've already hacked through his entire digital footprint. He didn't find his information that way. At this point, we have to conclude that he met his contact in person."

When Coupé was looking for Faizan, one of her first attempts was the internet. Unfortunately, she's not very skilled with it, so she didn't get very far. What she did do was attract the attention of someone with the same goal as her. Though they're both aware of who the other is ("I've heard about you. A black-market assassin with a perfect record. You're very expensive. Never thought I'd ever get to meet you in any circumstances that wasn't you hunting me down."), they've decided to work together until they can figure out what Faizan's up to.

"Did you check the rest of the family?"

Mecha Man nods. "As thoroughly as I did Faizan."

"I imagine one was more thorough than the rest," Coupé notes with a very tiny smile creeping onto her face.

Though he wears a mask, Coupé can see his cheeks tinging with a light shade of pink. He otherwise maintains a stony expression. "That is not a conversation we are having right now."

"But we will have it, yes?"

Mecha Man shakes his head. "Stay focused."

Coupé says nothing else, fully aware that they will, in fact, be talking about it later. Strangely, it makes her happy. It's like having a friend, she thinks, though she's never really had one of those before. Who would have thought that her first one would be a hero? Mecha Man himself, at that.

If they are friends, which they most likely are not. Still, it's nice to have this while it lasts.

[thelordz]

[crescencee]

I wonder what they’re thinking about

[lordofchips]

I wrote a little something about Flambae. It’s very Flambae glazing and my first ever fanfic thing so it’s probably not good but I’m trying to not fight the hyperfixation so it exists.

I didn’t know if i should post it on AO3 or here so I figured I’d post it here and if people want I can also put it on AO3… although it feels a little short for AO3.

(Fair warnings: I haven’t played the game and I suck at dialogue soooo)

1722 words

Note: Flambae’s name is not Chad in this, I like the hc that Chad is his “american” name

Warnings: fighting, implied torture, kidnapping, probably OOC

Not Beta-ed

Excerpt:

“Flambae hit the ground hard, felt the concrete snap, and pain erupted from his back. For a second he was concerned, before he remembered his niece was in the warehouse. He shouldn’t be concerned by the blow, or by his enemies’s strength, it hardly mattered. Flambae was going to kick this guys ass and save his niece. End of story.”

———————————-

His niece was in there. That was all that mattered right now. There were other hostages but Flambae could only think of his niece. He flew as fast as he possibly could as soon as the words left Blonde Blazer’s lips, ignoring everything else, even though it did seem urgent. It could wait.

The villian had appeared recently, clearly having come from somewhere else he was no longer welcome. All Flambae had heard was that he could fly, and if Flambae was completely honest, it didn’t really matter what the guy could do. He was going to loose. Flambae was going to burn the little fucker to a crisp and save his niece. It was simple.

He could see the warehouse now, a few guys with guns were already running away, presumably to get the fucker in charge. Good. The guy in charge was just who Flambae wanted to see. And beat up.

It didn’t take long for a door to open, and after it did a burly man in a big coat stepped out. He definitely had traits but they weren’t important, Flambae nosedived immediately.

He hit the villain at full force, sending him flying back into the warehouse wall. Flambae felt victorious for all but a millisecond before the man came flying back towards him at a crippling speed.

Flambae hit the ground hard, felt the concrete snap, and pain erupted from his back. For a second he was concerned, before he remembered his niece was in the warehouse. He shouldn’t be concerned by the blow, or by his enemies’s strength, it hardly mattered. Flambae was going to kick this guys ass and save his niece. End of story.

So he spun back up to look at the villain, and found himself staring at a surprisingly well groomed man for the environment, although Flambae did immediately try and change that. He sent waves of fire at his enemy, letting the bright orange flames heat up far more than he usually allowed. Once a sufficient amount of fire had been beamed directly into the bitch’s face, Flambae let up with a satisfied sigh. Which caught in his throat as the smoke cleared. The man in front of him stood there practically unharmed, and even had the audacity to brush some soot off of his shoulder, which somehow still had a jacket on it. Flambae was honestly shocked, and for a moment he reconsidered not listening to Blonde Blazer before leaving. He really only had a moment to think though, because the man retaliated fast. Fast enough that Flambae’s shock crippled dodge couldn’t entirely avoid the attack. As his shoulder made a horrible noise, Flambae recognized that he was probably in a situation. Just barely swerving out of a kick’s range Flambae allowed fire to engulf himself entirely, because at this point he knew he needed the durability.

As Flambae took to the sky’s, so did the bitchass villain, and thus the battle truly begun.

Flambae ducked, he swerved, he spun out of the way, he took punches and kicks all over. He couldn’t avoid the blows, and everytime he took one it seemed the bitch moved faster. He could barely get a hit in, and even when he did it barely did anything. The villain moved so fast and took hits like he was Phenomeman. He snapped back and forth, always moving with more momentum than seemed possible.

Flambae was loosing.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a tear in space, a portal he recognized, Malevolea jumped out, followed by more of the Z-Team. Flambae locked eyes with Alice for just a moment. He heard someone shout Robert’s name, something about a hostage?

Oh. Robert was in there too.

Fuck.

Flambae could barely focus, the villain kept jumping around, almost like he was using Flambae’s body as a launching pad to reach back down to the ground before shooting back up again. It was ridiculous, it was painful, and… it wasn’t flying.

The bitch wasn’t flying!

He never stopped moving, bouncing around off surfaces, he was propelling himself off walls and roofs and Flambae’s skull. The bitch was like a pinball, an annoying invulnerable pinball, but still a pinball. The bitch could only move so fast by touching the things around him. So what if he couldn’t touch anything?

Clearly Flambae’s fire wasn’t hot enough to prevent the stupid ball bitch from hitting him, but Flambae could work on that.

So he did. He stopped trying to dodge, stopped trying to attack, and just fueled the fire with everything he had. Each impact from the villain interrupted his attempts to heat up further, but Flambae couldn’t allow the ball bitch to win. His niece was in the warehouse. Robert was in the warehouse. Flambae was going to defeat this bullshit villian and save the people he cared about. End of story.

So he closed his eyes, and took deep breaths to keep himself focused. He ignored the yelling from his teammates, ignored the impacts of the ball man, and just kept fueling the flame. There was a moment of clarity in the burning silence, a point in sensation that passed like an instant, and then Flambae heard the ball bitch scream.

He opened his eyes, blue flame flickering in his peripheral. The villain was bright red and crisp, his jacket’s charred remains lying on the ground. The man looked up and began running for a wall, but Flambae beat him to it, flying close to the wall. When the ball man hit the wall he screamed again, his body burnt where he had made impact. As Flambae floated down the ground began to steam, the ball bitch hopping in pain like it was hot coals. Flambae began preparing a fire ball, figuring it would be an ironic way to go for the guy, before he heard Alice yell his name.

“Flambae! Chad! Fuck, Zahir!!” Her voice was strained.

Flambae spun around to see his best friend holding up a large light shield, sweating like crazy, with the rest of the Z-Team huddled behind her. The ground was burning, the concrete melted and the walls stained with smoke. The ball bitch was hoping around on alternating feet and yelling about surrender.

Oh. Ok. Flambae had won. That was good. His niece! The heat dropped back down quickly, and Flambae turned to the team.

“Someone hold this bitch down! He’s a ball or some shit! Can’t fight if he can’t move.” He ordered, happy to see Golem move to pin the ball to the still hot ground. Satisfied, Flambae turned to the next order of business, there were probably still some henchmen around, so it would probably be best if Malevolea, Sonar, Invisigal, and Punch Up took care of that. Prism and Coupe could easily remove any bindings the hostages might be in, and Waterboy could put out the remaining flames. Flambae repeated his thoughts aloud, didn’t wait to see if he was listened too, and marched off into the warehouse.

The search for hostages was pretty quick, although none of the ones present were the ones Flambae cared about. So he kept walking. Eventually he found a room containing Robert. An incredibly injured Robert. A Robert who looked like hell on earth. Although Malevolea would have to corroborate that claim. Flambae smashed the handcuffs on Robert before looking him in the eye with unhidden desperation.

“Where is she?”

Robert understood immediately.

“Left corner of this room, door, she’s as unharmed as I could manage.”

Flambae dashed off, ripped the door off its hinges, and let out a cry upon seeing his niece huddled in the corner, with a single bruise on her forearm.

“Moksha, sweetie, it’s ok, Uncle Zahir is here, you’re ok. It’s all alright, the ball bitch is gone. You’re safe sweetheart. I’ll take you home.” It all came out in a breath, Flambae didn’t even remember Robert was in the room to hear his real name. Moksha began to cry, and rushed into Zahir’s arms immediately, her eyes lighting up in relief. Zahir lifted her up, held her in his arms making comforting shushing noises, and turned to made eye contact with Robert, hoping his expression could convey his gratitude. Flambae really didn’t want to have to thank Mecha Bitch out loud.

He walked out slowly, cradling the 11 year old in his arms, and exchanging a nod with Alice, who was using her lasers to cut a hostage free. He exited the building, noted Waterboy was indeed putting out a small fire. Golem still held the ball bitch, even hiding him from Moksha’s view. Flambae ascended slowly, keeping his fire away from his niece, and flew to his sister’s house. When he arrived his sister was crying, and took Moksha from his arms. Zahir hugged them both, finally allowing himself to break, tears spilling in relief. The family slowly settled in the living room, and Moksha spoke while her mother bandaged her arm.

“Uncle Zahir? Uhm… please tell your friend thank you for me alright? He-“ her voice broke, “they were going to hit me, and he- he- they hit him instead. He’s hurt, to protect me. He’s a very good friend.”

For a moment Zahir was confused, who was Moksha talking about? But then- oh, Robert. Robo. Mecha Bitch. He couldn’t help but protest.

“Robo?! He’s not my friend! We are not friends. Nope. Nuh uh. No friendliness at all.”

This appeared to confuse Moksha quite a bit. Zahir could just see the gears turning in her head. Finally it seemed she made an epiphany. “Oh! Ok! Then please tell your boyfriend I say thank you, he protected me. He seems really nice.”

Zahir sputtered, he felt his face heat up, protests dying on his lips. Robert?? His- no that’s not- why would she? Embarrassment was beginning to lead to slightly uncontrollable flame, and his sister motioned him out of the house.

That left Flambae on his sister’s lawn, trying his absolute best not to picture Robert as his… his boyfriend! God. Eleven year olds sometimes. But- Robert probably did need to go to the hospital or something, and he had left the team at a still smoldering warehouse. Flambae sighed, and took off back to go help the team.

He’d correct Moksha later.

———————————————————

After this he makes it back to the warehouse before the adrenaline wears off and he collapses immediately lol.

I hope you enjoyed? Feel free to use as inspiration if you want, I love the idea of Flambae being able to burn blue, especially because Robert is the blue Mecha Man lol.

(Please keep comments nice)

(Also any advice on how you’re supposed to format fanfic on tumblr is appreciated)

[zombieslasher]

Big brothers don’t let little sisters maul their exboyfriends

@flambaebae ‘s Beef human design from Puppy Dog Eyes, I love him, so much? So he’s mine now, sorry :3

Rosemary is based on @/dirtycombatboots ‘s Dahlia but she has different origins which I’ll explain in a later post