CALL ME OUT

[bootyhunter]

CALL ME OUT:

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Currently writing Dandy (Space Dandy) / Rex Splode (Invincible) / and Simon Laurent (Infinity Train)

bootyhunter / himbomb / incelligent



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*Note: Sakamoto Tatsuma (Gintama) kaihentai and Asher Millstone (How to Get Away With Murder) moneyballer available on request



Also voicetesting Mike Wazowski (Monsters Inc) googlybear / Eddy (Ed, Edd, n' Eddy) edboy / Reagan Ridley (Inside Job) madcryentist / Abdul Ali (Squid Game) aitbaar / Portia Davenport (Search Party) portialain / Elliot Goss (Search Party) confabulous / Fleabag (Fleabag) feminitwit / Johnny Bravo (Johny Bravo) pretteh / and Joel Hammond (Santa Clarita Diet) screechy

Comments

misc || Rex Sloan

[himbomb]

[this will probably be sad- which means... let's do it]

HOLIDAY CMO | Simon Laurent

[incelligent]

[does this look like a kid who's got the "holiday spirit"]

HOLIDAY CMO || Space Dandy

[bootyhunter]

[he probably celebrates christmas on the beach next to boobie/booty-shaped mounds of sand]

subaru; cw: manspreading

[himbomb]

[Rex's recent slew of misfortunes have been a lot more self-wrought than the others prior, and as a result, he's ended up here, branding some kind of interdimensional prisoner with a need to do time or perform penance for his onslaught of violent childhood crimes.

He'd thought he'd been doing enough of that on the job- Working twenty-four seven, forfeiting the probability of living a long, boring life for one that seemed all at once more dangerous and exciting, but somewhere deep down, he knows that however tired he feels, it's still not enough. Something needs to change, about him, within him.

But can it? Will it ever?

For right now, he's thankful that this hellhole has a sauna at the very least, and that despite its trappings, it's not prison-prison. What kind of prison has a sauna? A clean one too, nothing shady, with froggy-fingered and meticulous attendants that hand out towels which somehow manage to not be particularly slimy. Right now, he's slung both arms outwards over a backrest, manspreading all over the place. Only when he hears another person entering does he turn to look to see who it is, scowling immediately upon the sight of he other young man.]

Okay. I know I'm not gonna see any boobs today-

[cease, desist, plz cease 2 exist-]

But would it be a crime for anybody vaguely sexy to walk through those doors? Other than me!

GAWD.

[victorypose]

[If Subaru had a nickel for every time he's woken up in another world, he'd have two nickels. Which isn't very much, but it's weird its happened twice.

Moreover, this time he actually wants to go back. He dreads to think what fate the others are meeting without him to rewind the clock, and that fear gnaws at his heart with every passing second, wearing him down. More selfishly, he can't help but ask: what worth does Subaru Natsuki have in a world like this?

With seemingly no way out, no end in sight - not until he's done his time for the repeated murder of one Subaru Natsuki - there is nothing else to do but carry on.

Which brings us to the sauna. Not out of a need to indulge, of course, no - that would be wrong, considering present circumstances. It's a matter of endurance, of shocking the system and toughing it out, to disract himself from those wicked thoughts. Or, so he says.

When he enters, however, it seems he just can't catch a break.]

What kind of a low blow is that?! This is a really vulnerable sitation for a guy, you know!

[He tightens his grip on his towel out of reflex, almost as if to further hide his scarred body under it.]

Anyways, I know it's not much to look at, but these are all battle wounds, so would it kill you to at least appreciate it from the 'cool' angle?

[It was a rather one-sided battle, but the stranger doesn't - and doesn't need to - know that.]

[himbomb]

[Rex hadn't paid the scars much mind upon first observation, having mostly taken stock of what looked to be a stringy physique attached to a generic isekai protagonist's forgettable face, which shows just how much the explosive hothead cares about qualities like substance or character.

Combat is more than Rex's bread and butter, as both are indulgent, high calorie foods that can be set aside with enough willingness and determination. Every day he can still fight is yet another he can stay alive, what with little to offer in terms of expertise otherwise, and so when he hones in on the so-called battle scars, he makes note of a few things. One- This kid, even if he has other superpowers, either lacks a healing factor or has acquired it recently. The marks seem to resemble bites, probably from something like a dog or another animal of a similar size, leading Rex to believe that they're from a squabble with a pet.]

Most vulnerable?

[He calls out in disbelief, silently making the assumption that the other teen would be easy to best in a fight if the occasion called for it.]

Pfft. It's not like you're droppin' trow or anything.

Shut the fuck up!

[victorypose]

[Dropping trow? Subaru's thrown off by the phrasing, and - finally, for once - understands what it must be like for the residents of Lugunica to talk to him. His profound moment of empathy is tragically cut short when the good-looking (but clearly bad-natured) stranger shouts expletives in his direction.]

Hey, you're the one that started it!

[With the look-over he's already given this guy, Subaru's sure he doesn't want to fight him. Not without return by death in his arsenal, at least, and not over this. The smart thing would be to de-escalate, but Subaru's mouth proceeds to move faster than his brain.]

Aren't saunas supposed to be relaxing? Where's all this aggro energy coming from? [And then, more to himself than anything else:] I swear, guys who know they look good have the worst personalities.

for crystal; nsfw, spoilers for invincible 2x06

[himbomb]

[Prior to having his brain scrambled by a not-so stray bullet, Rex probably would have put up much more of a fight before being sent on this particular mission. The warmer temperatures and greener pastures of California are actually a welcome change from the windy and largely less pleasant Chicago weather, but a remote farm with very little in the way of things to do would not have been his first preference for a solo getaway.

He now finds himself kneeling in what is most likely a mixture of hay and animal excrement, assisting one of the local farmhands with a morning milk-sesh (not like that). Rex then aims an udder towards a wayward gathering pail, his gloved hands remaining steady.]

H'okay... Fuck.

[Despite his apparent lack of discretion, the young Guardian would argue that he's been doing extremely well so far! Especially for such a city slicker. He's only mentioned his hamburger cravings audibly in front of one of these busy bovines once.]

D'uuh, forgive me for sayin' this, buuuut...

There's like...

[He's going to squeeze gently now.]

There's, like, no way these things can get turned on while we're doin' this, right?

[And as if that wasn't enough...]

'Cause the whole stroke n' squirt shebang is a lot closer to my early morning routine than I'd like to admit.

[graftage]

[The farmhand is smiling.]

[A pleasant, beautiful, cheerful smile.]

[As if he hasn't imagined a nice way to put this man in a strangling headlock for every single thing he's saying. Stay calm, John Steinbeck. Murdering people near some cows is bad for the cows! He lets out a little huff.]

......If your so-called morning routine is like milking cows, I'd worry a lot about what's going on down there, y'know.

[SPARKLE SPARKLE]

[himbomb]

Y'know, ever since I got shot in the head? Things have been a little wonky, I'm not gonna lie...

[He continues to drone on in an oddly chipper manner, blinking owlishly in John's direction, unphased by the clearly threatening grin.]

C'mon. I mean, come on! You've gotta admit that there are a few eerily coincidental similarities here, right?

[Rex could go on about how even the same term is used in some dastardly corners of the interwebs-]

I'd say? Juuuust think about it! Both things involve the release of bodily fluids. Also, oh-hoh, don't even get me started on how similar the colors are.

There's some tender meat handlin' that goes into it too!

Or, welp! Not so tender, for some people...

[Here, he lets out a misplaced chuckle.]

I wonder if it's the same for cows.

for merry (cw: nsfw for sure)

[incinerhater]

[For a certain ex-convict with a fiery temper and an even fierier crotch, it's a fairly uneventful Thursday evening after work. Following yet another magnificent meal he'd spontaneously thrown together, Flambae steps into the bubble bath he's drawn for himself. The pink, unnecessarily fragrant water reeking of artificial roses or ROSÉ even, is courtesy of a bath bomb Prism had gotten him as joke, citing his genuine enthusiasm for these glittery and often foully odorous monstrosities as one of the most tell-tale indicators of his actual age. In all fairness, she is the only member of the Z-team who could accuse him of being the millennial gay man equivalent of basic and walk away with nary a hair un-singed.

With a dry hand, he idly scrolls through his notifications on Grindr, of which there are far too many for someone with this bad of a personality. He doesn't entertain most of them, finding a lot of these thirsty sons of bitches too ugly or uninteresting for his taste, although he does find it in himself to laugh at a few fugly dick pics. Jesus Christ, what were they thinking?! Then again, knowing how all of this works, they weren't thinking at all.]

Yooo! I don't think I've seen this one.

[Is he taking about usernames or the intricate folds of some rando's foreskin, who's to say? The last time he sent nude photos to a number with an unfamiliar area code, he had ended up in Blazer's office and was forced to sit through perhaps one of the most uncomfortable conversations anyone could possibly dream up.

Well... For her, at least. All that bad publicity for SDN had done wonders for his dating life, so. He wasn't all that unhappy about it.]

hello

(◕ ɔ ◕✿)

[please read that in the signature maybe spanish accent]

if it is you

that reporter from the shitty celebrity gossip column

i can just give you my cell! i'm not ashamed of my body, it's fucking gorgeous! as you already know

[JESUS CHRIST]

but we'll have to make it look like an accident 😉

and if you try to say otherwise i will burn down anything and everything you have ever loved 😘

including that shitty tie you wore on cnn! i mean, cerulean in front of a periwinkle background, really? if you were trying to make your eyes pop, i think you only succeeded in making a few of us want to pop that stupid head of yours right off jajaja

god here we go

[bobbob]

[ Robert ...

doesn't know why he's doing this, really. Maybe all the straight apps were dead ends, maybe he didn't even try one of those and this is just something completely different for a change. He's been making a lot of "different" choices ever since the suit was wrecked and he came to SDN. So maybe they can chalk it up to that. Or at least some of it, they can.

Finding and recognizing Flambae's profile on the app? He's not so sure that qualifies for the excuse. Furthermore, he could have backed the fuck out of it and immediately pretended it didn't happen, but he didn't. He in fact did the opposite. Not only did he look (for more than a few seconds) ... he sent a message.

Even when telling himself it was to further troll his adversary-turned-teammate, his stomach and chest are all tight and in knots like this is elementary school and he's sending a boy he likes a secret valentine for the first time. Fucking stupid. But at least he can see that Flambae is rather consistent across the board. His response that he hears in that almost Spanish accent, followed by that stupid face —

Yeah, it's him. ]

I'm not that guy. I mean, I don't work for the press.

[ he taps that out quick and sends it without thinking much further on it. But jesus, talk about fashion police here. It's ... kind of— no, he's not going to think it. ]

Nice pics though.

[ And he ... means it? Fuck, he doesn't know how to be in the dating(or hook-up) scene at all. ]

tags thirstily from the airplane

[incinerhater]

[Oh, this is definitely not that reporter. He was smarmier and also sounded a lot less… Straight? Then again, there are a lot of “straight” men on here. In his early days he kissed quite a few.

Something about the cadence of this peculiar reply incites a very familiar sort of ire in him, one he can’t place for whatever reason, even though he is positive he recognizes it-]

THEN WHY ARE YOU HERE YOU FUCKING MOTHERFUCKER

[And then the NEXT part of the message loads-]

shit

[There’s a lull, but only because Flambae is doing something he does once in a blue moon- Thinking. God, what are this guy’s pics… They look like they were photographed by an ant?! A blind ant, unless they are all blind, some kind of bug without fingers-]

first time?

on grindr, i mean

on one of… these

[Dating apps, he means. On his side of things, he lets out a loud groan. The things he does for the gay community! Clearly this guy is shit at conversation, so he will have to throw him a few more scraps-]

rriii… riri…

like ahhh

rihanna? the super ultra mega popstar?

[Clearly he is a fan.]

if you are looking to find love in a hopeless place

yeah

this place can definitely feel pretty hopeless sometimes

if you aren’t as fucking beautiful as ME 💅🏻

obviously

cw: nsfw, for chai, dispatch + succession so all the warnings and hr violations included in that

[incinerhater]

[Now, all things considered, Flambae's arrival at Waystar Royco could have been a hell of a lot more destructive than it actually ended up being... Despite the fact that he strutted through those revolving doors chest hair first.

The muted grays and sad beiges within the place somehow make the oranges in his color scheme seem that much brighter, and yet even with the way his nose creases in a petty combination of disdain and disgust as he surveys the glossy interiors, Flambae is in a surprisingly good mood. He's never been flown out first class before, much less by a client as inconceivably wealthy as this one. That and both Blazer and Bob-Bob had emphasized how out of all the heroes he had been personally requested by the client, much to Sonar's dismay, seeing as hairy Harvard graduate actually had previous run-in's with other members of the family. While any regular employee without a criminal record would probably recognize this as a prize opportunity to prove themselves, Flambae's arrogant, caked-up ass is not-so-secretly smug he ended up being chosen.

He's been led into an office by some pathetic excuse for a security guard, or so the reformed villain thinks, and recommended to take his seat. As soon as the doors shut behind him, Flambae puts his orange boots up on the table, leaning backwards in his chair to eye the contents of a certain Roman Roy's garbage can. When Roman finally does enter the room, it takes every ounce of Flambae's self restraint to keep himself from loudly uttering how small and swagless the other man seems.

He knows he should smile or extend a hand for shaking, but alas, that would destroy the impeccably cool image he believes to have created for himself, so instead he removes the multicolored Oakleys and line-facedly nods in half-hearted acknowledgement.]

Ah, yes! Small and swagless little rich bitch boy.

[Well, there goes that.

In his little earpiece, it sounds like a variety of voices all ring out in unison. Flambae chooses to ignore them, for once, and nods in Roman's direction.]

You are definitely in need of some superheroic protection.

[Those amber eyes sharply veer in the direction of the wastebasket again, taking note of the copious amounts of tissues. He takes a long, intentionally exaggerated sniff of the air. Is that the stench of semen? And he's positive that there isn't any note of a used condom in there, oh boy-]

In sooooo many fucking ways, holy shit.

[On that last word, not just the whistle he blows afterwards... There is another... Whistle? He's missing one of his front teeth, in addition to some of his fingers on one of his hands.]

cw: nsfw, double the canon hr violations

[cratetraining]

[Roman’s pretty sure the bodyguard thing is a waste of time. It’s the business sector of Manhattan; when isn’t someone with a big scary mask threatening a storm coming to rain down the floods of retribution on the elites or some other anarcho-Marxist bullshit of the day to justify getting to play with their new toys of mass destruction?

That’s what he’d told Gerri, at least, but judging by the severe stare she gave him before continuing with giving him the time and place he’d be talking to a Superhero Dispatch Network rep, the current threats towards Waystar Royco were credible enough to make it a worthwhile investment. Since their legal proceedings lately have been a pressure cooker, Roman figures it’d make sense for some wannabe supervillain to try and kill or kidnap a member of the Roy family for clout.

Kendall had been weirdly psyched about the idea of needing extra super-security. Well, he does have kids that are smaller and easier-to-abduct, plus apparently a guy he knew from Harvard works at SDN. Personally, Roman doesn’t want to have to hang out with the man-bat his brother used to do coke with, so he’d chosen someone else.

Why Flambae specifically? He’s not fully sure. Maybe it’s because he's one of the closest to average-looking guys (aside from the flame patterns and giant slutty v-neck) and he doesn’t want to advertise to the entire city that he needs guarding. More likely, it’s because the blonde superwoman makes a face the moment Roman asks about Flambae that says “Really? That guy?” and tries to dissuade him. If that’s the clearly wrong choice, Roman’s gotta find out why. It’s not like it’s a choice that could get him injured or killed, right?

Greg’s flat spindly ass shuffling out of the office lets Roman know the new babysitter’s here, so he abandons whatever pointless C-suite-adjacent task he was up to in order to get a sense of what exactly is up with “Flambae”. Even sitting down, it’s obvious the guy has at least half a foot on Roman height-wise, and the bright orange on his supersuit burns from contrast with the understated color of the rest of the room.]

Hey, Flame Boy. Didn’t have time to change between here and the strip club–?

[Roman doesn’t expect to be interrupted from his deliberately dismissive greeting to establish some kind of hierarchy, stopping his stride to his desk to actually absorb who he’s talking to. His expression is not nearly as offended as the COO of a media conglomerate should be at being called a swagless bitch boy.]

Ohhhkay, yeah. That’s a no. Must’ve been a wardrobe department fuck-up.

[From the loud snort of air and Flambae’s joke about protection, Roman recognizes a set-up when he sees it, and his mouth curls into a light smirk that’s trying not to look quite as amused as he actually is while he takes a seat…directly on the edge of his desk rather than the other chair in the room.]

What, you have powers that tell you if someone’s been rawdogging in the office? Fuck. I feel safer already.

[Roman’s pretty sure he hasn’t jerked off in here that recently? Do superpowers come with semen senses too?]

tagging from the airplane, let me know if this is ok he will put the fire out himself

[incinerhater]

[Flambae’s earpiece crackles with static over the intercom, the sounds ranging in a variety of pitches and tones, but Prism’s loud, “Bold words from a guy who looks whiter than all of the corpses on date line,” and Robert’s cheeky, “You gonna take that Flambae?” are the lines of dialogue he chooses to focus on in spite of the seething rage that he is not so carefully containing between tightly pursed lips.

He’s enraged, certainly, but the fire behind it isn’t as passionate as it was when Mecha Man couldn’t remember him at the bar. What the fuck is that about? He’ll file it away for later, or something.

This kind of petty bullying feels far more familiar, less personal. They are more akin to run of the mill homophobic drivel he hears from people who can’t hold their liquor or stomach a punch from someone who could easily burn them to a crisp. Oh, he is mad, but he sucks in those ridiculously chiseled cheekbones and chooses to suddenly examine his nailbeds with a glance of petty disdain-]

It just so happens-

[The (probably???) Latin accent of his feels especially strong here.]

That semen and suffering have a similar sort of stench. Goddamnitfuckingtinylittlebitchassmotherfucker-

[Aaand the rest of that supposedly under the breath cuss out continues in Spanish as he gets up and walks toward Roman in an extremely menacing fashion, then grabbing what Flambae assumes is a very expensive tie before yanking Roman closer.]

It is Flambae, [Pronounced in the French way,] and from here on out you will address me properly.

[He rubs his thumb over the bottom of the tie, which catches fire as he does. He keeps his hand in the middle of the flame as it simmers, clearly unaffected by the blaze.]

You got it?

[That is meant to sound like a threat.]

this is gonna be so yaoi please look away if there is anyone here

[incinerhater]

[It's a little after seven as Flambae makes his way to Robert's apartment, dressed in an oddly casual* outfit for him. It's not quite jeans and a T-shirt and he's made an effort to put on some nice jewelry, but a night into day spent cooking means that he hasn't exactly had the time to go the usual nine yards when it comes to his appearance. This isn't the average Grindr escapade and Robert seemed shy when they had been exchanging messages, so the chance of something explicit happening is unlikely, or so he fucking thinks.

After the screaming match yesterday, Flambae had gone and grabbed some fresh shrimp from a seafood isle in Torrance, ensuring that the marinade had just the right blend of spices. Robert is one of the whitest men he's ever seen, so he's erring on a side of caution when it comes to the heat of the dish, which is a simple creamy, seafood pasta. He's paired it with a fresh salad and a homemade vinaigrette, and if they don't end up going toe to toe in his tiny WeHo studio apartment, there is a strawberry pana cotta for dessert.

(*art credit is here!)

He knocks on the door, super, super loudly, Jesus Christ, and if/when Robert answers, begins:]

Yo! Bobbert. You look...

[He wants to say, "Poor."]

Exactly like you did yesterday. What a fucking surprise!

[Somehow, that sounds friendly, if that makes any sense at all.

Like his demeanor is finally as warm as his elevated body temperature.]

I didn't have all that much time to change, with all the cooking and what-not, so I reek of garlic, which means... If we encounter any vampires on the way home today, I guess they're fucking toast.

[A beat passes.]

You are bringing the pudgy little one, yes?

[Flambae prepared a special plate for him too. The notorious Beef... God, he's the one who knows all of MechaMan's secrets.]

WAS THE FIRST ONE NOT ALSO SO YAOI

[bobbob]

[ Robert took a shower after work (because of course, what if they do get intimate and- wow, he is not a giddy schoolgirl) and headed home with Beef in tow and is now standing in front of his closet wondering if — no, he knows actually that staying in his work clothes might be the nicest thing he could do. It's not like he's been to any fancy restaurants or events or anything else lately. He's only been in the suit and at the gym. SDN uniform it is. ]

What do you think, Beef?

[ He and the small, round dog look at each other for a long moment before Beef toots and that's that. With a sigh and a shrug, the closet goes shut again. ]

Yeah I figured.

[ And once he's nearly jumped out of his skin altogether at the strength and audacity of that knocking, he does pull open the door. ]

Remember how I told you, on the app, that I haven't done this in a while?

[ Yeah that's all the explanation anyone's getting tonight for his appearance. As for Flambae's, Robert gives him a lookover that's about as unsubtle as Visi's was to him. It's ... really kind of strange to see Flambae in anything but his costume. But he can't get too distracted by that when he has to get distracted by the awful fucking joke. ]

Oh yeah, I was worried about that. Thanks.

[ He rolls his eyes a little, but it's in that really quick, almost fond sort of way that people have. Then he glances over at Beef. ]

You don't mind? That'd be great, actually. I don't like leaving him alone and Chase is busy tonight.

[ Playing bingo or whatever 80-fucking-year-olds do. So without further ado, Robert scoops Beef's leash and Beef himself up into his arms, and they can be on their way. ]

[incinerhater]

[Flambae nods at Robert's mention of not having done this in a while.]

You mean ever?

[bad bad bad that sounds like he is calling robbo a virgin

he isn't

that's waterboy]

It's okay that you've never been with men before.

[was that a... it's not a purr but

it is something. like an rrrr

what is happening]

I'm flattered! If anything your first foray into foreskin should be with me. Out of all super-shitheads on the Z-team, I've known you the longest, no?

[It's nice to look at him without the jeering gaze of the others somehow burning into his flame resistant back. His own suit leaves little to the imagination, so every time something freaky has gone down with another potential suitor, it's obvious. Such is the price he pays for looking good and feeling like his suit actually tells his story and nobody else's, but...

There's a freedom to the way he jests back, it feels less antagonistic than it usually does at work. He's flirting more obviously, and when Robert looks him up and down, he'll meet his eyes with a shitty, one-sided grin, giving him a good opportunity to glance for as long as he likes.

In regards to Beef-]

He better show the fuck up, I fixed him a plate!

[Truth be told, he couldn't be happier. The sauce came out perfect, his apartment smells like heaven probably should, and he's finally got his "rematch" with his favorite super-adversary, only this time maybe they will be blowing each other instead of trying to blow each other up?]

I know, I know, Mecha-Man can walk his fucking self, but... The Google Maps is unreliable when it comes to my address, and in my neighborhood? I am the nice one.

[He shrugs.]

Wouldn't want you to show up to work tomorrow with a shiner or anything.

The others are already suspicious enough.

[Sonar caught him peering into Robert's lunch desperately searching for any kind of flavor profile... Thankfully, he hadn't brought it up during the workday.]

starts a stupid new thread

[incinerhater]

[Unfortunately whenever Robert is opening his locker and examining the contents within it... Flambae will spookily and quietly be walking up to the other side of it and just. Leaning. Waiting for the barrier between them to be closed...

fucking creepy tbh]

curls my yaoi fingers into yaoi fists

[bobbob]

[ It just so happens that Robert is minding his own business at his locker and is really not thinking about whether someone is on the other side of the door. There usually isn't, unless Phenomaman needs to accost him for one reason or another, but that's almost always when Robert is in some compromising position like changing his clothes or just out of the shower.

At the moment all he's doing is putting some stuff away and getting ready to head over to his desk and start the first half of the shift. He's still in a crazy good mood, even a little light on his feet. Luckily he has not run into too many people just yet. Just Chase who was too distracted getting a Beef in his arms to really pay attention to any silly behavior from Robert.

He closes the door and immediately jumps when this massive roadblock is still in his way.

Oh wait, it's just Flambae- ]

Okay, whoa. Hi?

[incinerhater]

[He leans onto the lockers, clad in that godforsaken supersuit as usual, almost as if nothing ever happened between them, although he is holding a certain bouquet of blue daisies in one of his giant yaoi hands, slugging it over a shoulder like it's no big deal. The arrangement isn't anything crazy fancy, as it isn't even from his usual flowers guy. It's just an ordinary thing that you'd find at a local grocery store, although that's entirely intentional.

Something simple, thoughtful, and not all that fussy.]

Boo.

[Thanks, Golem, it's now his favorite pick-up line.

Flambae does take note of the empty locker room, although he leans in to give Robert another peck on the lips. Unfortunately, this one's far less intimate than the one they shared after breakfast.]

Found another thing at the grocery store that reminded me of you-

[what an insanely tsundere way to present a bouquet can you believe??? you know what, at least he didn't throw it at robert's face, this is progress actually]

Smells a little better this time!

[Oh yes. He means the shrimp, the raw... Uncut shrimp, yikes.]

Did you get in okay?

[Flambae hopes so. It seems that he attracted the entire peanut gallery instead this morning.]

prism is way too cool for a stupid album name like this im sorry 2 her

[incinerhater]

[Prism's album release party had been a massive success to a degree that neither she nor Flambae was really expecting. It was no secret that the viral campaign behind her up and coming self titled project would recruit a hoard of Los Angeles' coolest alt-girl baddies and party-going twinks, but the gay bar is packed to a capacity that might as well be its legal limit. If he wasn't so used to this kind of crowd, Flambae might've mentally made a note of how the Prism's fanbase's pervasive overuse of lipliner and botched filler really did make them look like a box of glittery sardines.

Panicking, he scopes the crowd for his notoriously tiny and nondescript boyfriend, someone whose abject lack of fashion sense and personal identity would stand out amidst the sparkly crowd. Finally he manages to spot him, swallowing and feeling nervous all of a sudden.

Thanks to his superpowers and glorious skincare routine, Flambae has been able to resist the harrowing notion that he's getting too old for this sort of thing, but despite his enthusiasm for his (notably significantly younger) best friend, his nerves have been running amuck since he left work. He's in a custom black corset he's made for himself over a black mesh top, tucked into a pair of vintage red leather bell bottoms that are flared around the ankles but tight around the ass.

Somehow, he assumed that leaving his boyfriend some time before his unfortunate arrival would mean that he would be dressed differently than he had been at work, and yet...

There's Robert in his stupid blue shirt featuring their company logo, right next to a male dancer in nothing more than a pair of white gogo boots and matching hot pants. Flambae puts a hand over his mouth, gasping. Somehow, this is worse than he could have ever imagined.]

God-damnit Robert, I almost cannot believe my beautiful almond-shaped eyes...

[He inches closer. Does he kiss him??? Flambae is still reeling from the shock of Robert's frightfully plain appearance. He's clean, probably.]

You don't even have, like, a white T-shirt and some bad blue jeans from two thousand and fucking eleven?

[That was more along the lines of what Flambae was expecting.]

Oh no, don't tell me.

The last date you went on... You were in that stinky little supersuit, weren't you.

The one that makes you look like-

[He attempts to mimic the standing man emoji again, freezing up and making his shoulders unnaturally square on purpose.]

That sad, faceless little man.

shhh it's fine, it's the hottest album

[bobbob]

[ No part of any of this is what Robert would consider his "scene", but then that's probably obvious to anyone with eyeballs. He thought about what to wear, but does he actually own any clothing that would qualify? Does he own any clothing at all outside of his various uniforms? No probably not. So he ends up with his work shirt and pants. At least the shirt buttons up and has a collar ...

Except that's not what you wear to an album debut party at a gay bar. Whatever. He stops thinking about it because there's no point.

Aside from looking homeless (according to some of the drag queens nearby who tried to give him money) he is pretty out of place in general, so he's not at all difficult to find. In that at least, he's a bit relieved. If he didn't get scooped up by Flambae quickly, he might just skip out on the scene altogether. Otherwise trouble would definitely find him, and it probably wouldn't be the kind of trouble he'd like.

Being approached and immediately insulted and then compared to the 🧍‍♂️ emoji? That is the trouble he's looking for. Apparently. He even smiles a bit lopsidedly as he's roasted alive. ]

No actually, I think I also wore this on the last date I went on.

[ If you count having dinner in the SDN courtyard (or whatever that was) with Blonde Blazer as his last date. Before that? Who knows when the hell he actually ever went on a genuine date. It's probably better if neither of them really thinks about it. ]

Anyway, I know you think my supersuit is hot.

[incinerhater]

[Oh! He is fuming at that last bit.

Flambae folds his (overly toned) arms over his (unnecessarily yaoi) chest. His nostrils flare in a familiar manner, and for a few seconds, he can't even believe he was so desperate to see him again. Even worse, he's right, and he can't let Robert have that.

The suit is so sexy (to him, specifically)...]

It makes you look like a fucking vibrator.

[He will simmer in front of Robert for a few seconds.]

Like one of those round-headed ones from Japan?

[Hitachi wand...]

Honestly, for this kind of thing… It would have been better if you just showed up in your underwear and we smothered you in glitter.