bootyhunter | CALL ME OUT

[You know what? Roman left that incredibly on-the-nose sight gag wide open for the taking. Given he was a wrist flick away from becoming a five-foot-six wicker man earlier, the display of power doesn’t surprise him even is it is, in fact, hot in the literal sense.]

Ohhh, I get it now. It was an inside joke and a warning that you’re a dick. Utilitarian insult.

[Roman hops off of the desk back to solid ground and walks around the chair while he keeps talking, as if he needs the extra bit of stimulation to focus.]

So’s the sexpot flamethrower costume the only thing that doesn’t catch fire or do you have flame-retardant normie clothes? Because the idea’s not having an orange beacon leading people to one of the guys they wanna fucking stab.

[The comment about being a dick earns Roman another steely glare. Good thing Flambae can’t set things on fire with his mind! Also because, wow, considering his lack of a functioning one… That would be way more inefficient.

The comment about the costume being sexpot-y does lighten up his expression, however. That’s right! It is sexy.

Flambae takes a seat again and leans back. Is he putting his feet up on the other side of the chair? What is this posture. He watches Roman hop down, amused. What a small, chicken-like man.]

The suit is the only thing in my closet that does not burn.

[He snorts.]

That and a few pairs of underwear, maybe? I am not sure, actually…

[He knows he left at least one of those at an ex boyfriend’s.]

It is hard to find materials that can withstand my power, you see.

[why does he sound so gloaty

disgusting]

But I can wear whatever.

[His ass is out in WeHo every weekend anyway…]

So long as it’s not hideous, like those fugly shoes of yours.

Edited 2025-12-15 15:28 (UTC)

[Roman rests his hands on the arm of the other chair and quirks up his eyebrows in response to that glare, because hey, Flambae is a dick. Then again, so's Roman. Look at them, just a couple of dicks hanging out.]

Well, not legally allowed to control whatever briefs or jockstrap you've got on under there, and pretty sure if figurative shit hits the fan everybody's gonna be too freaked out by the supervillain attack to notice if your flaming cock and balls are out? So whatever, just wear your best "civvie business fuck" costume.

[Roman doesn't bother to give the black dress shoes he's wearing a once-over before rolling his eyes at the insult.]

Okay, so somebody made you the fucking prime minister of fashion? Basic bitch shoes are just dress code now. Blame fucking Greg out there for sucking all the good taste out of the building.

[The freakishly tall cousin himself seems to have been looking through the windowed door for an unknown amount of time, and waves awkwardly when he notices he's being stared at.]

[Oh.

Every suit Flambae owns has a titty window of some variety, and his collared shirts are more for boozy brunches or gay pool parties than business. The man has never worked a corporate job in his life- Not before SDN at least.]

I don’t have-

[Most of his clothes are thrifted or heavily altered by his own doing with a needle and thread. Being such an impossibly large man with those broad shoulders and tiny waist, it has always been easier to simply fix things up at home, and he’s always had a knack for that creatively anyway.

He’s relieved to circumvent the conversation to bullying.]

Ah.

The tall child who looks like he has yet to lose his virginity.

[He looks directly at Greg peering through the glass. Flambae’s gaze is unwavering.]

Yes.

He was being very annoying and babbling at me around the door. Also, he was asking me about girls or some shit…

[He has done everything in his power to look as gay as possible so these conversations never happen 😭]

His head must be as empty as his pockets. Where did he get his cell, Fisher-fucking-Price?

Edited 2025-12-16 08:44 (UTC)

What? I’m sure you can look like a normal guy who didn’t get plucked outta jail to rescue kittens and stop terrorists. Don’t tell me you cut tit windows into everything you own.

[Most people aren’t going to show up in titty windows on account of “most of these men are old prunes with saggy tits and at least presenting straight”. Something Flambae’s clearly not familiar with from how annoyed he is that Greg would assume he’s straight.

Which to be fair: holy shit, is Greg fucking stupid? The absurdity makes Roman attempt to cover a smile given the orphaned giraffe of a man is still staring and him assuming the worst about whatever conversation he and Flambae are having about him.]

His dad left his mom to go have gay Canadian orgies or something. Pretty sure it broke his brain in all those departments.

[Roman makes a swatting motion at his cousin while mouthing “fuck off” before continuing.]

Fucking tragic. Poor baby Greg-Egg.

[Flambae snickers. At least Roman didn’t say puppies- He’s not a big animal person overall, even if he doesn’t hate them.

But it should be noted that he strongly prefers cats.]

If anybody ever dares to tell me that I look like a fucking normie-

[The last word is practically spat out, laced with disgust.]

I’m torching them in two seconds.

[He himself looks over at Greg, who… Is he waving? Flambae will flip him off with the hand with three fingers.]

I take it he is your baby cousin or something?

[It’s probably not helpful that his phone background involves a few of his attractive female teammates draped all over his manspreading ass. What, Prism and Malevola like to use him as furniture, he’s warm! And they’re good looking, so they make him look good.

He’s reclaiming the manspread for the gays. Homosexuals can be douchebags too, you know.

Flambae voice: I can take up space. I will take up all of the space… And spaces… That are indeed available…

For the community. But mostly for me.]

It’s fine, whatever! I’ll wear your stupid fucking suit.

It better be expensive, or I’m setting what’s left of your hair on fire.

[He snorts. Was that a receding hairline drag, shady…]

I don’t care.

[Poor Greg. As soon as he is acknowledged, he is forgotten.]

Nobody’s bullshit publicist is going to peg me as your date?

[He is not wanting to be dragged on Twitter for that…]

Half of these broadcast news money fucks think that's a non-metahuman slur.

[Roman half wants to ask if there are secret slurs people with powers use for people without them and if he can use said slurs (note: don't let him know). Thankfully, the sight of Greg's face when he gets flipped off is distracting enough. Poor Greg. Roman doesn't actually care about his gay dad either.]

Yep, one of those family hires once removed. Just tossed him at the news department and now he's our freakishly tall overpaid intern or whatever he fucking does over there. Hiding dead bodies, maybe.

[Roman, that is not a joke a guy threatened by supervillains should make.

He turns around while talking so that he can sit directly on the armrest of the chair. This is now a "sit on the armrest" conversation, apparently.]

What? Please, nobody's gonna peg you there. Aren't you pitching on the other team, anyway? Or whatever you call it. Baseball's the American euphemism for gay sex.

[Roman scoffs a tiny bit before continuing.]

I'm like drowning in pussy far as anybody's hidden camera is concerned, anyway. You've got nothing to worry about.

[He then pulls out his phone and opens up a few tabs with menswear on them.]

But I'll find something employee-expensive and not sugar-baby-expensive. Right in front of you so you can't threaten to wax my hairline if you fucking hate it.

That is not true.

[Neither the drowning in pussy part nor the gay euphemism bit, but he will only address the second thing.]

The American euphemism for gay sex is the Halftime Show.

[This is the most serious he has sounded all evening.]

At the fucking SuperBowl?

[There's a curious pause here. Must he elaborate? God, yeah, this guy is like. Giving Gay Republican vibes (son of, descended from)-]

It's a little too short despite being so fabulous, it's sandwiched between a bunch of bullshit that's marketed to pigheaded straight people, and yet it is one of the gayest events of the year.

[The next part is whispered:]

That's, like, the most ass I've ever seen on television all at once.

The most relevant to me, anyway.

Edited 2025-12-30 05:39 (UTC)

[Again because the thought of this is so preposterous-]

You really think it's fucking baseball?!

[Roman is about to make a snarky comment about what Flambae might be assuming about either what kind of genitals he's drowning in or how often, but the actual issue he takes with it does surprise him. ]

Yeah, I know what that is. It's all dudes throwing balls.

[Roman lets Flambae explain the point, partly because yeah, it's kind of funny how serious he is about this point. He nods sagely at the explanation, slightly exaggerated in his seriousness but appearing to consider the point. Lady Gaga and Beyonce aren't exactly marketed to straight men, after all. He speaks with that same semi-seriousness to weigh in.]

Mm, yes, very good point. Lot more borderline dry-humping and physical contact in American football too. The European one has the balls in your face, though, so clearly--

[Then Flambae sounds genuinely outraged, and Roman cracks a smile and drops the scholarly analysis.]

Shit, I don't know, take it up with the other guy-fucking expert who came up with that one.

What size are you, anyway?

[He turns his phone around to show off a couple listings. They look well-made, but there's a strange uniformity to it all aside from some slight differences in color and fit, the same sort of oddly sterile look the entire office has. More like a uniform than a style choice.]

[The worst part of this is that Flambae listens with a continued earnest seriousness, for once taking the opportunity to actually listen to Roman’s words instead of sizing up his totally unremarkable appearance.]

Other guy-fucking expert…

[He’s just mindlessly repeating the words. When it comes to sizing in suits, Flambae’s proportions are a tailor’s worst nightmare. His shoulders are linebacker broad, his waist is tiny, and his ass is sitting high and tight over a pair of legs that, while hairy and muscular, could rival the length of a 90’s supermodel’s. It’s no wonder he tailors nearly all of his things himself.

After a few seconds, he leans even closer to the phone, blinking furiously. Somehow, his eyebrows make all of the confusion feel even more pronounced.]

Why are the letters so small?

They are almost as tiny as you.

[Coming closer was so hard… These normcore-ass suits are just so ugly to him, he doesn’t want to look at them.

Oh, he should answer the question.]

I don’t know.

[💀🥲]

I haven’t worn anything like this in a while.

None of the weddings and funerals in my family have been recent.

[He had been smaller before.]

Edited 2025-12-30 07:37 (UTC)

What, you need fuckin' binoculars from up there? Gonna need a neck brace hanging around you tall bitches.

[Clearly it is the world that is tall and not Roman that is short.]

Course ya don't, spandex guy. Alright, just gonna fuckiiiin... [Roman looks Flambae up and down with a few vaguely analytical-sounding mutters that aren't even real words before tapping a few more things on his phone.] ...go big in the shoulders and make 'em play jigsaw puzzle from there.

[Yeah, Flambae's fucking impossible to guess sizes for, even while staring directly at him and trying to assess what would be closest. Roman doesn't think most dudes that height have that kind of tit-to-waist ratio. It's more like a supermodel than security personnel.

Okay, yeah, if Roman puts this guy in something that's too form-fitting, even the most boomer straight-goggled publicist might start to make an assumption. A fuming viewerbase sounds kind of amusing, but Roman remembers his dad telling them not to fuck around. Everything from "getting shot" to "gay tabloids" probably falls under that umbrella.]

Then we got! Black, gray, off-black, navy black, navy blue, off-blue, dark blue, off-gray-blackish-blue...

[He's just fucking around at this point because there's not a ton of real difference.]

[He should be more professional. To some degree, even Flambae knows this, but something tells him that sheer subservience will not do in this situation. Men like Roman are used to pushing people around, and he's chatty. If he loses interest or gets restless, he will be likely to wander, and that is absolutely when he'll get into trouble.

Perhaps the banter will be to his liking. He's crass, like the other members of the Z-team, but sorely lacking in the grit department. That and he is tiny and hiring security, so he absolutely cannot fight.]

Call me a bitch again and you?

[He points to the photos.]

You will be all of those fucking colors.

[Oh! Is he being admired? He'll puff his chest out and straighten his posture... Subtly! Kind of.

Black is kind of his usual thing, but he'd like some plausible deniability. After all, serving as a human shield for a billionaire will not guarantee him more blowjobs on the weekend. Quite the opposite, in fact.]

The blue shit [Flambae, it's a suit.] is fine.

I will make it work.

[Roman raises his eyebrows at the threat as if intrigued. It's very unprofessional and counter-productive for a bodyguard, so of course it catches his attention.

Flambae's probably not going to actually do anything to him, but that he's willing to say it at all gives Roman a slight buzz.]

So you're gonna kick my ass instead of torching it. Whew, lot more personal, huh?

[A little spark of mischief flashes in his eyes like he's enjoying this direction of conversation.

He does cart that blue suit, though.]

Consider this the tip. Don't think Greg would pull off whatever snatched waist thing you've got going on in there if I tried to pawn it off after whatever laser show these masked fucks are planning blows over.

[There goes Flambae's headset again, picking up with chitchat and idle chatter, along with a stern reprimanding from certain everyman voiced by Aaron Paul. At this point, he chooses to ignore it, focusing on the asset.

Flirting is unprofessional, sure, but there are so many times where himself or one of the others has been advised to do it anyway, and often, it is in the manner in which he isn't so adept at. He's too forward or too threatening, so it's rare that anyone will indulge him on his own terms.

If this goes well, it could mean more money for SDN, which also provides the opportunity to gain funds for other things- Rehabilitation, more health benefits, blah, blah, blah, provided that the powers that be use it for the right purposes.

He can't trust that they will. Still, he'll raise a manicured, furry eyebrow and shrug those broad shoulders of his.]

Meh! I guess it would be closer in range... Sooo, it'd be easier to, ah! See and hear you suffer, sure.

[There is a murmur from the headset again. It's Malevola, who seems to be yapping with Sonar about how there's some money owed in her favor, something about a bet on Roman's sexuality.]

But you should know that as a professional hero-

[He says that so proudly it is very annoying!]

I tango with a series of common criminals on a daily basis for my day job, so!

I would not consider any regular old beat-down, mmm, all that special.

Especially if it just so happens to be burn-free.

[Then it could have just as easily been one of the others.]

[Too bad Roman cannot hear the color commentary from the rest of the team. The idea of a betting pool around what he’s into is funny. The fact that Sonar’s guess is probably based on whatever Kendall’s told him might be something of a minefield, but Roman doubts Kendalls tells other people much about who his little brother is or isn't fucking.

What would his family think about it? Roman considers the thought sometimes between feigning indifference and acting out, but he's always tried to keep those between-moments of self-reflection as short as possible. He'd gotten good at talking circles around therapists for similar reasons.

That lack of space keeps him from being able to name why he's so interested in details about how Flambae might hurt him given the chance. It might just be more interesting than having a regular bodyguard and nothing deeper.]

The burn scars your calling card, then? People going into jail with Freddie Kreuger-lookin' faces and cauterized assholes?

[He squints a little in thought the moment he says that, as if a little bit disturbed by the painful mental image he just put in his own head. That doesn't stop him from asking:]

Eugh, can you cauterize an asshole? Like, medically? That a fucked up form of torture anybody's tried?

[He casts Roman an incredulous look. Why would he want to make anyone look like Freddie Kreuger?! The world is full of hideous bastards and Flambae prefers the ones who are beautiful, so would he really be in the business of making things worse for himself...

For once, Flambae considers his reply carefully. Forget Sonar, if he gets hired back, he might probe Malevola for any details regarding this family's dirty laundry. Roman is one percent rich, the kind of wealth that extends to more than just "fuck you" money, so there's a chance that he'll get into some pretty messed up shit just to get his rocks off.

And if that's the case, he wants no fucking part in this. There are lines that even Flambae will not cross, and torturing the less fortunate for some sort of sick pleasure fantasy isn't something he's willing to enable even tangentially.]

It is possible, yes.

[Damn. If he tells Roman that his calling card was petty theft, a few assault charges and primarily property damage, he'll sound lame, maybe?! He doesn't want to risk that.]

If the act of having your hole roasted with real fire instead of just spit didn't take you out, from the pain, and everything...

I'm pretty sure the not-being-able-to-shit would kill you, right?

[A beat passes.]

Is that not how shitting works?

Why are you so interested in this, anyway...

[is this something roman wants to try

what is going on here]

Edited 2026-01-03 04:24 (UTC)

[He nods at that assertion that, yes, being prevented from shitting would kill you. This is truly cursed territory to walk into.]

Yeah, that'd be the torture part. Probably what they do in whatever circle of hell they keep the real sickos in. The guys who fucked corpses and ate babies get a literal spit-roasting instead of the dick kind.

[Roman shrugs, like he didn't jump into this.]

I dunno, was thinking like "damn guys, he literally smoked my ass!" before the implications fucked it. I'm not looking for snuff porn or whatever. Purely non-lethal porn over here.

[Do not cauterize his ass. Keep it slightly above room temperature at most.]

Fuck, where was I going with this? You said you beat up a lot of people while your hands are on fire? Do that to whatever bullshitter that's totally gonna kill us.

[Due to the nature of his fire-related comebacks, he has absolutely used that one.

The line about pornography gets Flambae's eyes to narrow. God, so Roman is the worst kind of person. Sonar may be close to at least one of the members of this strange family, but somehow, even his bullshit boob talk is more tolerable than this. At least he's being completely sincere about the slop he's into, which makes him predictable.

Ugh. Which means in the off-chance that Roman does try to flirt with him if he gets sloppy or drunk, he'll be blindsided! Disgusting.

At the mention of defense and his abilities, Flambae nods.]

You are making it sound like you would like to watch.

[Those orange eyes narrow again.

Oh, yeah. This guy is definitely into voyeurism.]

I will do whatever it takes to return you in...

[Was he supposed to say "good" shape when the man looks like that.]

If you panic, you know...

Dropping you will be a whole lot easier than escorting you out of there.

Wherever... Fucking there will be. Somewhere in Manhattan.

[jokes on him manhattan is fucking huge ok la boy]

Edited 2026-01-04 02:18 (UTC)

[It’s the sort of trash talk that’s just par for the course at Waystar Royco. Dry explanations of business deals and shareholder numbers don’t get the point across the way sex and vulgarity do.

Roman’s uniquely vulgar even then; he can sense the judgements being made as he follows that sexual thread and it feels correct somehow. He meets Flambae’s gaze with a bit of noncommittal coyness.]

Maybe. What, don’t wanna show off?

[This guy does seem to like the attention, and Roman can’t help wanting to feed into it a bit. Plus, there is some morbid part of him that does want to know what a real fight for these people looks like.

The last comment gets a small scoff out of Roman.]

I’m not gonna freak out. Heights aren’t shit, we’re working in a fucking skyscraper.

[He leans back in his chair a bit and gestures at the window. His attitude does not change at how blatantly Flambae is a fucking West Coaster.

…okay, Roman did go to college and work in California for a good while. Is that an insult he can use or have reclaiming rights on or whatever?]

Besides, your brain does this thing where you get hyper-focused when shit hits the fan so you’re too busy to freak out, y’know? It’s basic psychology.

Sure, man.

[Said to the cadence of “Sure, Jan.”

Flambae meets Roman’s gaze with a coy look of his own, making eye contact but doing his best to remain nonchalant and flippant. He does love to show off, though, and Roman would not be mistaken to assume that.

So, he gets up off and out of his weird little perch.]

I have a feeling you would be singing a very different tune if we just…

[Here, he tests his limits again, giving Roman a playful shove to the rickety shoulder. Flambae’s clearly fucking around, but the force he’s capable of using is the looming, unspoken threat in the room.]

Pushed you out of there, hm?

[He cocks his head towards one of the giant glass windows, then circling Roman’s chair like a predator does its prey.]

So you like to be carried?

You do have very short legs.

Edited 2026-01-10 19:32 (UTC)

[The corners of Roman's mouth twitch up slightly when Flambae jokingly threatens him. Obviously he won't fuck up his job via defenestration, but the point is that he could.

Roman knows that should probably scare him, but it feels more akin to a buzz keeping him interested. Because Roman's still in control, or because it could be ripped from him at any point?

Eh, his sense of danger's always been a little fucked. Buffer, taller kids in boarding school would have a similar shtick of encircling him like a pack of roided-up fight dogs, and he'd laugh them off too.]

Yeah, no shit? I'd be dead, genius.

[Of course, those kids would just beat the shit out of him anyway. Might as well make a game out of how fast he could piss them off. Which is why he claps his hands together sarcastically impressed at that one.]

Wow, tall people have all the fucking zingers. "Can y'even fit on them rolley-coasters you own, lil' guy? Doh-hoh!"

[The voice Roman puts on is too cartoon-ish to be recognizable as a specific freakishly tall CEO.]

Asking if I like being carried first, though...you this much of a gentleman with all your clients or just the ones you set a fire on?

[Has he ever wanted to be? It’s a dark question, one he would not ask without proper introduction or even a more appropriate setting, but considering Flambae’s own history and callousness, it’s something he wonders about certain people.

Well, even if it’s something he wants, he’s not getting his fucking wish! Ever since WetWipeBoy/WaterBitch has joined the team and been cleaning up messes with his belly button blowhole, staying at the top of the leaderboard has been tricky…

At the use of the hokey voice, Flambae frowns, his nose wrinkling with distaste. Roman looks and sounds like a muppet turned happy tree friend, which, again, he is trying to keep him from becoming! Also, it could be a drag to either Ernie or Bert which is equally offensive… Tongues made of felt or no, those stringy-haired(literally) puppets are gay icons.]

I am asking because you are continuing to act like a little freak, [Cue a disdainful, exaggerated gasp as he folds a pair of long arms over that broad chest, although… They are not really covering anything.] and I was wondering if maybe you could have a normal feeling or something.

That and some men are very difficult about it, but I take my job as a hero very seriously, so…! I do not care if you have built up some burly, big man-chichi bearing image-

[Then he shoots another look over in Roman’s direction, stopping himself.]

What the fuck am I even talking about, look at you. You are smaller than Beyonce! But then again, considering her freaking gigantic mark on pop culture…

[Chai did I lose track of this tag I need to be banned from writing lengthy dialogue forever-]

We all are.

[Screw being a hero this is what he is serious about.]

Do not make a big stink about it, or I’ll let your long face hit the window of a glass building on our way out.

Okay?

[It’s at least a little more Statler and Waldorf than Bert and Ernie. So the bitchiness at whoever thought that was a good one is more appropriate. Maybe. Roman and appropriate usually aren’t put together in a sentence.

Flambae definitely isn’t the first person to call him a freak, so he’s weirdly comfortable with the statement, tilting his head slightly against the palm of his hand.]

Pshh, who has feelings?

[He says it like whoever does is a huge loser.

Roman kinda just lets Flambae ramble about his physical and cultural stature for a second since apparently he is going somewhere with the Beyonce thing. Even if Roman did have enough real music opinions to refute that one, he doesn't have a full-on death wish.

~~Somewhere Kendall is hit with the sudden urge to talk about Jay-Z~~]

Hey, I’m not brain dead. Making people think I’ve got a big dick is pretty low on the priority list compared to making sure I still have a dick at all, y'know?

They tell you that the fucking Bomber-man is after us or something? If we upped security every time some Party City douchebag sent us death threats, you'd be the one buying me clothes.

CALL ME OUT

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Cw: suicide mention

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2/2

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cw gross/ass horror? I'm so sorry

this is just disgusting

cw nsfw on so many levels. possibly not safe for life

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laughs ghoulishly having watched more of the show

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