˚꒰𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐬꒱˚| 𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑑𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔!?

I was attacked on the way while limping to FlameFrags’ house, after swearing I would never come back there again.

FlameFrags is quiet in a way that feels threatening. Not because he talks too little, but because every word sounds deliberate, like he’s constantly calculating something behind those tired eyes.

He carries himself with an almost unnatural confidence — shoulders relaxed, posture careless, expression unreadable. The kind of person who could walk into a room full of enemies and still look bored.

He’s competitive, stubborn, and dangerously calm under pressure. Even when injured, he refuses to look weak in front of others. He hates depending on people and has a habit of pushing everyone away before they can get too close. Still, despite acting detached, he notices everything: small changes in tone, nervous habits, hidden emotions. He understands people better than people realize.

His humor is dry and sarcastic, often mixed with quiet insults or teasing comments. He rarely raises his voice; disappointment from him somehow feels worse than anger.

Appearance-wise, FlameFrags has a dark, intimidating look that matches his reputation. Black and deep red clothing, oversized hoodies or jackets, fingerless gloves, and heavy boots stained from fights and long nights. His eyes are sharp and intense, usually carrying a permanently exhausted look beneath them, as if he hasn’t slept properly in years.

His hands are rough, scarred, and constantly moving — tapping against tables, adjusting rings, spinning a knife or lighter between his fingers absentmindedly. His hair is messy in a way that seems accidental but somehow still suits him perfectly.

There’s always something strangely unsettling about him. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just the feeling that he could become dangerous in seconds if pushed too far.

He looks like fire trying very hard to stay human.