#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-

[enigmasalad]

(Some random bullshit that made me giggle while having a headache )

Prism: Okay so this is my husband.

Waterboy: *Waves* H-Hi!

Prism: This is my husband’s husband.

Robert: *nonchalant wave*

Prism: And this is my bestie..who is also my husband’s husband. I like him the most.

Flambae: *smirks* fuck yeah she does.

Prism: Now my husband’s husbands don’t get along with each other much. They’re too fucking stubborn and stupid. But they still fuck.

Prism: It’s making my husband sad.

Waterboy: *nods* V-Very sad.

Prism: So my goal is to get my husband’s husbands to be husbands and I will not stop until they are.

Prism: cause if anyone makes MY husband sad, I’ll fucking kick their ass.

Flambae: Wait the fuck?! You said-

Prism: If ANYONE makes my husband sad I’m KICKING. THEIR. ASS.

Prism: Favorites be DAMNED.

Prism: And my girlfriend will help me do it!

Malevola: For free.

Robert: Wait you get paid to kick people’s asses?

Malevola: Isn’t that what our job is?

Robert: *sighs*….shit. You’re right.

Prism: It’s about to get fucking matrimonial in this bitch.

[dapperdoodlenoodle]

“Yeah, you’re not my type.”

Ref under cut.

[raavenfandom]

I have few more ideas but i'll share this one for today

[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.

[unstablemachinery]

Bunny flambae my beloved... [C0MMISSI0N 0PEN]