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turtle-steverogers · 5 years

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fugitives- chap 9

hey guys i finally stowed my shit and yeeted out a chap lol

thanks, as always, to @tommy-boyyy for helping me raise this baby. im sorry ive been a neglectful father

warnings: vomiting mentions, gunshots/death, race kinda panics, spot’s got a Bad Past. tread lightly

ship: eventual ralbert

editing: actually,,,yes. wow

word count: 4672 oml

“Save it. Hotshot, take care of him. Motherfucker really thinks he can trick the King of Brooklyn.”

“You got it, boss.”

Snarling, Spot turned away, busying himself with lighting a cigarette as a gunshot rang out behind him, followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground. He tried not to wince, his heart hammering in his chest as he turned around to see the druggie’s body, mangled and bloody on the ground.

Bile threatened to rise in his throat, but he ignored it, retaining his neutral expression as he took another drag of his cigarette, deliberately blowing the smoke in the direction of the body.

“Asshole,” he mumbled, flicking the small bag of oregano next to the guy’s head.

“Ready to go back?” Hotshot asked, slipping his gun back into the waistband of his jeans.

“Mark it first,” Spot snapped, “We’ll leave once you do that.”

Hotshot shifted uncomfortably, prodding the guy’s leg with the toe of his shoe and biting back a gag, “Yeah, okay.”

“Get to work,” Spot waved a hand dismissively, “I’ll keep watch.”

He averted his eyes from the scene and crossed to the mouth of the alleyway, keeping his arms folded as he scanned the streets. He could hear Hotshot spray painting behind him and at one point, the distinct sound of someone vomiting echoed through the space. Eventually, Hotshot joined him at his side, hands shaking as he stowed his spray paint can back into his jacket.

They set off back in the direction of Prospect’s base, The Refuge, complete silence ringing between them. The streets of Brooklyn seemed to darken, taking on a more sullen tone as they approached the tall, seemingly abandoned building.

They entered, voices from other members of Prospect dying down as they walked further in.

Spot sat down at one of the card tables, raising his eyebrows expectantly, “Deal me in.”

Spot dominated several rounds of poker, casually draining everyone of their money. Another round was just dealt when a knock at the door sounded. Bumlets placed down his cards and got up, extracting his gun out of his jacket as he did so. He walked to the door, executing Prospect’s signature knock.

The response knock resonated in return and Bumlets opened the door, gun still raised just in case. The room collectively relaxed when Trevor, Prospect’s resident spy, walked in.

He nodded his thanks to Bumlets, then crossed to Spot leaning down behind his chair to speak in his ear, “We got a situation.”

Spot furrowed his brow, “What kind of situation?”

Trevor’s eyes flicked around the room, “Alone.”

Spot nodded, putting his cards down and standing. He motioned for Trevor to follow him up the stairs and into his meeting room, which was adorned with nothing more than a few card tables pushed together. Spot sat down in one of the chairs that surrounded the table and motioned for Trevor to do the same.

“What’s going on?�� Spot demanded as soon as they were settled.

“Empire’s back on their shit,” Trevor bit out, “Traded with me this morning.”

Spot set his jaw, fist clenching on the table, “Do you have any idea who it was?”

“Uhh, didn’t catch his name, but he was a blondie. Curly hair.”

Spot’s nostrils flared as anger and a concoction of other emotions bubbled in his stomach, “Higgins,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “Was he alone?”

Trevor shook his head, “Nah, but you know who I’m talking about?”

“Yes,” Spot closed his eyes for a moment, grinding his teeth, “Not your place to ask.”

Trevor looked down, sheepishly, “Sorry, I-”

Spot held up a hand, effectively shutting him up, “Who was he with?”

“Uhh, some ginger.”

“Ginger?” Spot cocked his head, rifling through the members of Empire that he knew of, but no redheads came to mind.

“Yeah, he seemed pretty nervous, too,” Trevor added, “Didn’t do any of the talking. Seemed to just be along for the ride.”

“Ah,” Spot said, trying to process the new information, “Well, thank you for letting me know,” Trevor sat awkwardly for a moment and Spot scowled, “You can go now.”

Trevor nodded quickly, before standing and hurrying out of the room.

Spot sat back in his chair, propping his feet onto the card table. He leaned his head back until he was peering at the ceiling, a million thoughts swimming through his mind. His own trade that morning had been in Queens, not far from Trevor’s shop. Did that mean that he had been near Race? Had Race seen him?

He distantly wondered what would have happened if they had seen each other. Nothing good, no doubt.

Maybe a continuation of their last conversation.

A dull pang of regret hit his gut, slowly manifesting throughout his body. He reached into his pocket, extracting a juiced out lighter. He ran his thumb over the faded ‘R’ that was engraved on the side.

With a rush of adrenaline, he chucked it across the room, watching as it broke it half once it made contact with the wall.

XXX

“Are you alright?”

Race hung his head, closing his eyes as he held up his hand to knock on the stage door to The Bowery.

“Yes,” he sighed, knocking, “Leave it.”

Albert grimaced, closing his mouth as Race knocked. He had barely spoken on the entire journey back to Manhattan. To say he seemed on edge was an understatement. His face was still pale and during their entire Uber ride back, Albert could see a shaky hand lingering near his belt, right where his gun was located.

A chorus of shouts rang out down the street, followed by loud cursing. It was nothing out of the ordinary for the city, but Race jumped violently, flinching a bit before knocking more desperately.

The door swung open a moment later and the usual precautionary gun pointed out. Race whined a little and pushed past whoever was on watch duty at that moment.

“Not in the mood, Jojo,” he mumbled, walking in hurriedly and practically sprinting up the stairs in the direction of the bathrooms.

Jojo watched him go, then turned to Albert, concern and confusion written on his face.

Albert raised his hands, shrugging, “I don’t know, bro,” he said, “We ran into Prospect-”

Jojo’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something, but Albert shook his head.

“Well, we didn’t necessarily run into them, but we heard them do a trade near us and they killed some dude. Race got pretty spooked.”

Jojo nodded, “Yeah, he’s not great ‘round that stuff.”

“Yeah,” Albert said, “I know. Don’t think it helped that one of the guys was Spot Conlon.”

“What!?” Jojo looked horrified and Albert waved his hand for him to be quiet.

“Shhh,” He hissed, “but yeah. They didn’t see us, though. We’re safe.”

Jojo didn’t look convinced, but he dropped the subject anyway, shaking his head as he crossed to the rec room. Albert followed him awkwardly, pulling out his phone as they walked in. He busied himself in scrolling through Race’s secret meme account as Jojo perched himself on one of the tables, eyes trained on the TV.

“Ah, there it is.”

Albert looked up, his gaze travelling from Jojo to the TV, where a shot of a crime scene was being filmed. Sure enough, a covered dead body adorned with the death symbol was located in the alleyway Race and Albert had been beside. Albert winced, looking away as flashes of Elmer’s body streaked through his mind. He pursed his lips, blinking rapidly as he focused back in on his phone. Jojo must have noticed his reaction, because a moment later, the TV turned off.

“Wanna play cards?” He asked lightly, holding up a spare deck.

Albert clicked off his phone, slipping it into his back pocket and commending himself for maintaining steady hands.

He shrugged, “Sure. Are you gonna be as annoying as Race?”

Jojo laughed, already moving to deal out the cards, “No, I’m actually pleasant to play with.”

Albert chuckled as he sat down, pulling his cards towards himself and propping his elbows onto the table, “Oh, thank god.”

They played several rounds of Rummy, making comfortable conversation as they did so. Albert felt himself relaxing more in this time with Jojo than he had in all his time in Empire. Jojo was easy-going and collected. His calm stature was contagious, momentarily lifting the permanent pit of dread in Albert’s stomach.

But the pit quickly returned when a new voice sounded through the rec room.

“Albert, may I speak with you a moment?”

Albert blew a breath through his nose, trying to dampen the fresh anger that ignited within him as he turned around.

“What, Davey?” he glared, trying to hold his ground against the other man, but Davey seemed entirely unphased, the usual dullness in his eyes as strong as ever.

“Come with me,” he beckoned to Albert, but he made no move to get up. Davey let out an exasperated sigh, “Just for a minute, then you can go back to whatever you’re doing.”

Albert remained sitting and Davey took a step further into the room, leaning against the wall.

“I need to know the details of what happened in Queens today and Race is not in a position to answer questions about it right now,” He fixed Albert with a pointed look, “and you were the only other person that was there, so I’m asking you.”

“Fine.”

Davey lead him to the entrance room and sat down. Albert stood a few feet away, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he watched Davey.

“You may sit,” Davey said, linking his hands in front of him.

“Nah,” Albert said, “I’m good.”

Davey studied him for a moment, a judgemental eye scanning his features, “Very well,” he sighed, defeated, “Talk me through what happened today. Start with the trade.”

Albert rolled his eyes to the ceiling, keeping his gaze aimed upward as he spoke in a monotone voice.

“So, we got to the trade place on time. I think it was a like furniture store or some shit. Anyway, we made the trade with the guy at the counter-“

“Did you catch a name?” Davey inquired.

“Uhh,” Albert sifted through his memory, trying to recall who they had met with, “Trevor, I think.”

Davey nodded, motioning for him to continue.

“So after we did the trade, we went to some, like, convenience store? And on our way out, we heard shit going down-“

“Shit going down?” Davey pushed, “That’s vague. What specifically did you hear?”

“Shouting, uh, yeah,” Albert said, “Some guy tried to con some Prospect guys I guess. I think I heard ‘em accuse him of tryna give oregano instead of weed,” he paused, thinking, “Idiot move by the way. They don’t even look the same.”

“Albert, continue.”

“Sorry, sorry, anywho,” He shook his head, getting himself back on track, “So one guy, who, by the way, Race later told me was Spot Conlon-“

Davey choked, “Pardon!?”

“Shut up, let me finish,” Albert waved a hand, “He told another dude to ‘take care of him’ and they shot him, so yeah. We ran after that.”

Davey blinked, dumbfounded. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to formulate words, “Did, um, did they see you?”

Albert shook his head, “Didn’t even know we were there,” he said, “only dude who saw us in Queens was the one we traded with.”

Davey seemed satisfied with this answer, “okay, good.”

XXX

Race hurried up the stairs, the world blanking out as he stumbled towards the bathrooms. The only thing he could hear was his heart hammering in his chest, thudding relentlessly against his rib cage.

He’d kept it together all the way back from Queens, narrowly dodging Albert’s prodding questions and concerned glances.

He was fine. Really, he was. He just hadn’t heard a certain, distinguishable Brooklyn accent in a while and he wasn’t necessarily equipped to deal with it.

Because last time he’d heard that voice, everything had gone to shit. Last time he’d heard that voice, his sanity was challenged; his morals were compromised. His life as he knew it was-

He shook his head, willing for the wave of memories to leave his goddamn mind. Distantly, his knee twanged and he reached down to rub it, his hand grazing over the rough scar underneath his jeans.

“Damnit, Spot,” He muttered as the old wound throbbed with each heartbeat, reminding him painfully of that god-awful day.

He lowered himself to the floor of the bathroom, scooting so that he was leaning against the wall. He only just remembered to lock the door. He couldn’t handle anyone intruding right now.

He closed his eyes, using the hand that wasn’t holding his knee to scratch at his throat. He knew from experience that this was something he’d just have to ride out. There was no easy or quick way of dealing with this.

He grit his teeth, trying in vain to keep the more brutal visions out of his brain. But it wasn’t working.

With a gasp of defeat, he lost himself to his head.

XXX

“We need to discuss him.”

Jack pointed at Albert as he entered the dining hall. It was later in the evening and Davey had taken to cooking dinner, which consisted of packaged ramen and fruit snacks. Cooking was apparently not his forte.

Albert looked up from his bowl, slurping the noodles into his mouth loudly. He shrunk in his seat slightly, feeling overwhelmed by the new attention that was on him. He didn’t like being around the other guys without Race. He felt out of place.

But Race hadn’t reappeared since their return, leaving Albert to mill about solo.

“What about me?” Albert asked, not managing to keep the nerves out of his voice.

Jack ignored him, keeping his attention on Davey, “Another ‘Less is More” sign popped up today over by Bleecker Street,” he scrubbed an anxious hand down his face, “Whatever Prospect’s planning is in full swing and we needa put a stop to it sooner rather than later, which means-“

“-Albert’s going to have to get in on their game now.” Davey finished.

“Exactly.” Jack slumped down in one of the chairs, stress written in his stature, “But how we’re gonna do that is the real question.”

Albert busied himself back in his food, plucking a fruit snack out of its bag. As much as he hated being talked about as if he weren’t there, he knew better than to interrupt.

“Hmmm,” Davey tapped his fingers against the table, his eyes wandering as he brainstormed options, “The trouble is, how can we get Spot to trust him? His judgment is much better and he’s much less persuadable than Race.”

Jack clicked his tongue, frustrated, “I know. That’s the problem.”

“We could have him save good ole Spottie’s life.”

All three of them jumped as Race spoke from the doorway.

“Racer,” Jack exclaimed, “doing okay?”

Race avoided the question, walking further into the room and joining them at the table. He sat down, kicking his feet up and crossing his arms at his chest, his usual cockiness in full swing. The faint redness in his eyes was noticeable, but everyone had enough tact to pretend like they didn’t see it.

“Think about it,” Race continued, “We put Conlon in a compromising situation. Break him down. Make it hard for him to keep his cool, let alone fight for himself. Then, bam! Al here swoops in and saves the day,” Race smirked triumphantly, “After that, Spot owes him one. We frame Albert to be a long time customer of theirs. Make it seem like he wants in on their gang. There’s his repayment right there,” when he was met with blank stares he groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically, “Membership to the gang. That’s the repayment, come on guys. Keep up!”

Davey nodded slowly, mulling over Race’s idea, “That’s actually really smart,” he concluded, “But how do we break him down.”

“His dad,” Race said immediately.

Jack looked up, bewildered, “What?”

“His dad was Prospect’s leader before him,” Race said, “Awful guy. Fucked Spot up a lot-”

“How do you know all this?” Albert interjected.

Race plowed on, only acknowledging Albert’s question in his eyes, which sparked nearly imperceptibly, “He was also targeted by a bunch of guys in the city. Had a lot of unfinished business and bad ties. People were after him all the time while he was alive.”

Davey was staring intensely at the table, his fingers drumming faster by the second. Suddenly, he snapped, his back straightening as the gears in his head seemed to click into place.

“We use Spot as a target of vengeance,” there was a weird excitement in his tone.

Race pointed at him, grinning, “exactly.”

“Now we just need some guys to pose as old enemies,” Jack said,

Race was quiet for a moment, his eyebrows scrunched together, “Uh,” he shook his head, thinking, “I might know some people? Maybe?”

“Okay,” Davey said. They all stared at Race, waiting for him to continue, “Well, who?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I got distracted,” Race said, sheepishly, “Right, so these two dudes, you might know them, Oscar and Morris Delancey?”

Jack’s eyes widened in recognition at the names, “The two dudes that, like, were arrested a few years back?”

“That’s them,” Race said, “They owe me one for saving their skin from some bulls a while ago. I could get them on board.”

Davey turned to Albert, “You ready?”

Albert swallowed, sucking in a breath. Jack, Race, and Davey were all looking at him expectantly and he tried his best to hold down the anticipation that had spread through his limbs. He could feel adrenaline coursing through his body, spreading like a drug through his veins. He was really doing this.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “Yeah, I am.”

Race’s beam was the first thing he registered.

XXX

Albert sat at the edge of his bed, half-heartedly shoving clothes into his bag. The nervous excitement for what would be occurring in less than 24 hours had worn off, leaving him wary. He had no idea what exactly he was looking for, let alone enough knowledge to recognize clues if he sees them.

Besides, he had barely assimilated to one branch of gang life. The thought of having to grasp a whole other gang was jarring. He sighed, zipping up his bag and slipping his charger into the side pocket.

“Hey, I gotcha something.”

He looked over to see Race hovering at the mouth of his section, one hand behind his back.

The corners of his mouth quirked up, “Ooo, didn’t peg you for a gift-giving kinda guy.”

Race rolled his eyes, taking Albert’s words as an invitation to sit on the foot of his bed, “Shut up, it’s a practical gift.”

Curiously, Albert scooted closer to Race, “What is it?”

Albert’s mouth dropped open as Race placed a switchblade on the sheets of his cot. The blade itself was a glinting gold color, while the handle had a sleek wooden finish. His name was embossed on the bottom of the blade, the letters barely visible unless it was held up against light. As terrifying as it was, it was beautiful.

Albert reached forward, taking the knife in shaking hands. He turned it over a few times, getting a feel for the weight. He’d never handled a true weapon before and there was something oddly invigorating about it.

“I know a guy that does engravings scary quick,” Race admitted, pulling Albert out of his trance, “Thought I’d get you a little something to tie to you us while you’re gone, since we can’t getcha tatted up until you come back…”

The ‘if you come back’ that hung in the air was suffocating and Albert’s gripped tightened around the blade. He couldn’t let himself go there now. He was at a point of no return, he may as well go into it with confidence.

“Besides,” Race said, cutting through the tension, “You’ll need something you defend yourself and I don’t have time to get you comfy with a gun.”

Albert looked up at him, flicking closed the knife and stowing it under his pillow, “Thanks, man,” he smiled.

“Yeah,” Race said, “‘Course,” He moved so that he was laying down on the cot, feet still on the floor, “How are you feeling about all this?”

Albert shrugged, mirroring Race’s position, “I don’t know,” he said honestly, “Scared? I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

Race glanced at him sideways, “Anything to do with that dumb message they’ve been leaving.”

“Well, obviously,” Albert scoffed, “But what if they’re talking about it and I don’t even realize ‘cause I’m not in on shit.”

Race looked back towards the ceiling, his eyes scanning over the catwalks, “How about this,” he said, “We can meet up somewhere every night and you can tell me everything you heard during the day,” He allowed the words to sink in and Albert considered them.

“How will I even get out of their base or whatever each night?”

“Spot sleeps early,” Race said and Albert could only briefly wonder how he knew that before he kept talking, “and no one notices the fire escape on the third floor in the back.”

The puzzle pieces seemed to fall into place and a chill ran down Albert’s spine, “holy fuck, you were-”

“Don’t.” Race said, his voice low and his eyes harsh as he looked at Albert.

Albert held eye contact for a moment, before giving up, “Right, okay.”

“Anyway,” Race said, his tone lightening again, “we can see if those meet-ups work. That way, everyone’s on the same page.”

“Okay,” Albert agreed. This arrangement instilled a strange amount of comfort into him and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Being in Prospect was bound to be one of the hardest things he’d ever have to do, but going through each day knowing he could see someone he’d unironically begun to associate with safety allowed him some solace.

Race smiled, “It’s a plan.”

XXX

The sun was harsh, beating down unceasingly on Albert’s back. He shifted his backpack strap from one shoulder to the other, grimacing as he felt sweat drip down his neck. It was weirdly warm for a Winter day, the temperature pushing into the high 50s. Large crowds of people were outside that day, no doubt taking advantage of the freak heat wave to walk their dogs properly and take their kids out to Central Park.

Albert lingered near the side street in which the plan was supposed to be executed, casually sipping a slurpee as he leaned against the wall. He was facing away from the street, but his ears were straining to listen for Spot’s distinct voice. He glanced down at his watch. 3:04. Six minutes until Spot was to show up, expecting a trade.

Race had stayed at the Bowery, offering Albert nothing more than a quick hug and a good luck banana before he’d rushed off, leaving Albert to deal with his nerves alone. Jack had traveled with him only as far as the subway station, filling him in on the known members of Prospect along the way. They’d met the Delancey Brothers at the station, only talking to them briefly before Jack left, leaving them to follow through with the plan.

Albert had subtly slipped into a 7/11 along the way, allowing the Delanceys to walk ahead and prepare for their portion of procedure. But his drink tasted sour against his tongue as anxiety threatened to engulf him. He wasn’t ready.

He shook his head, taking another sip. Yes, he was. He had to be.

“Who the fuck are you two,” Spot’s thick Brooklyn accent cut into Albert’s perception and he sucked in a breath, inching closer to the side street, “I’m supposed to be trading with some chick.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, Conlon,” one of the brothers, Oscar maybe? Snarled.

Albert heard a gun cock, “The fuck are you talking about?” Spot snapped.

“See, that little daddy of yours fucked up our lives when he was around,” Morris said, his voice taunting.

“Got our sorry asses arrested,” Oscar added on.

Albert knew this was a lie. Race told him that they’d gotten arrested for drug possession and vandalism, but it sounded convincing enough.

“And see, we only just got out of jail,” Morris said.

“And we wanted to get some payback.”

“But when we went looking for Papa Conlon we found that, oh no! He was gone.”

“So we figured we’d just go for next of kin.”

Albert had to give them props. They sounded really fucking creepy.

“What my fucking father did was his business, not mine,” Spot ground out, but Albert didn’t miss the faint tremor in his voice. Race was right. He was scared- threatened.

“Oh, we know,” Morris mused, “But I’m sure you deserve this, too.”

The sound of a punch echoed and Albert heard Spot grunt in pain. It sounded like one of the brothers had gotten his face.

“I don’t know what your fucking problem is.” Spot sounded weak. Something Albert would have deemed impossible for him.

Spot wasn’t graced with an answer as another punch rang out, followed by the sound of something hitting the ground.

“Do you miss your daddy?” Oscar growled, “Do you miss him doing the dirty work? Or has the rush of murder grown on you.”

“Stop,” Spot panted, “Please.”

“Begging now, are we?” Morris laughed, “Didn’t know the King of Brooklyn had it in him to beg.”

Another gun cocked and Albert pursed his lips. This was his cue.

“Please, I’m sorry my dad fucked up,” Spot pleaded, “I’m not him.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

Albert took a deep breath, steeling himself. It was now or never.

He rounded the corner, giving himself a running start before he barreled over Oscar, who had his gun pointed at Spot’s face. Spot was cowering on the ground with hands help up in front of his face, eyes squeezed shut.

Albert fumbled with Oscar for a moment, landing a few hits in before spitting at him, “Get out of here before I call the police.”

Morris and Oscar made a beeline for the streets, leaving Albert alone with Spot. Albert couldn’t help but be surprised at Spot’s appearance. He was significantly shorter than he had imagined, sporting a leather jacket similar to Race’s. He was no doubt well built, his muscles bulging almost obnoxiously through the sleeves.

The most notable thing about him, though, were the converse he was wearing. It didn’t seem entirely on brand for a notoriously tough gang leader to be wearing converse and Albert bit back the urge to laugh.

He quickly wiped his hands on his jeans, rubbing off the nervous sweat and dust, before holding it out for Spot. Spot opened his eyes slowly, staring at Albert cautiously. He made no move to take his hand and for a scary moment, Albert thought he saw recognition in his eyes. But it was gone almost as soon as it had appeared.

Spot stood on his own accord and stepped back, clearing his throat, “thanks,” he grunted.

Albert nodded, “No problem,” he swallowed, trying to embody Race’s unwavering and convincing confidence, “You’re Spot Conlon, right?”

Spot’s head whipped up and he reached for his gun, only to let out a frustrated growl when he realized that it was on the ground, several feet away after being knocked out of his hand during the brawl.

“Relax,” Albert said, trying to sound nonchalant, “I’ve just been one of Prospect’s customers for a while.”

“What, and you want some drugs or something?” Spot spat.

“No,” Albert said, lifting his chin defiantly. He ignored the voices in his head, telling him to run. Get out of there, “I want in.”

wow wild ride this bread is considered gotten

rip druggie sorry bro -whizzy

thanks for reading, chief

hmu to be added to my tag

TAG LIST: @bencookisagod @we-dont-sell-papes @suddenly-im-respecsable

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#newsies #newsies fic #fugitives #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #ralbert #spot conlon #Jack Kelly #davey jacobs #more people #idk #wow #someone scalp me #next chapter is gon make yall hate me

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fyrapartnersearch · 7 years

Text

Hello I am here and so are you, so we have one thing in common already

✿Short and Sweet✿

I am looking for an 18+ long-term partner whose primary pairings are M/M. I don’t want anyone who takes things too seriously, RPing is a relaxing pastime and if I’m stressing about replying constantly/meeting word counts I’m going to hate it. That being said I do like doing paragraph replies with anywhere from 300-1000 words, depending on how long my replies are I can reply every day or every week (it really just depends on my motivation/mood/schedule)

Please skim over my interests and the like at the bottom to see how compatible we are. Since I’m looking for a long-term partner, I’d like for us to have several things in common. Please don’t contact me if only one or two of our interest match up. <3

✧Settings✧

Sci-fi/Space Opera

Post-apocalypse

Medieval/Fantasy

Modern Day (No generic High School/ Domestic stuff)

Historical

War

Fandom: Warhammer 40k, Star Trek, Star Wars, Mass Effect, Voltron:LD, Fallout, Elder Scrolls, Dragon Age, W.o.W., SnK, Tokyo Ghoul, (I only do OcxOc in fandom settings. I will not play, or play against canon characters)

✧Kinks/Other✧

Likes

Size Differences

Power Bottoms

Gentle Giants

Fem Boys/Crossdressing (both as a sexual and non-sexual thing, really just depends on how it’s presented)

Monster boys/Men

Robots

Aliens

Toxic relationships

M/S Relationships

Bondage

Dislikes

Standard dislikes (Toiletplay, Bestiality, Pedophilia Etc.)

Incest

Mpreg

✧Contact✧

Email: [email protected]

Skype: Dunkmastersassquatch (Kaptain Krunch)

✿Long and Detailed✿

I am looking for a totally rad person who is 18 years of age or older and who places value in long-term partnerships/friendships. I like to get to know my partners and would like to be able to speak casually with them about our ideas or whatever. If you are also looking for someone who just wants to kick back and have some fun making our characters miserable then please continue below to see how well our interests line up!

✪ About Me✪

Age: 20

Times Zone: Central Time

Occupation: Severely depressed college student

Hello, I write and also draw and also am looking for an RP partner who shares many of my interests so we can write together for many, many years and over many RPs.

I’m pretty laid back about most things. I just ask that you communicate with me about things instead of just assuming and that you are fairly literate. (Text speech/ Lingo is a-okay as long as it’s OOC or fits the RP)

I’d like for us to be friends as well as partners because it helps motivate me to write/draw/ feel the good vibes ™. So please, please talk with me about your interests/ fandoms/day as well as any plot ideas or twists you may have because I will certainly jabber on about mine. BTW Feel free to say no to my ideas if you’re not interested, I’ll be disappointed, but I’ll get over it. (I will assume the same goes for you)

✪ About My Roleplaying ✪

Comfort level word count: 300-500

Tense: Third Person, Present (will do past if it’s super important to you)

Frequency: Depends, but if I’m at my comfort level I’ll probably be able to respond multiple times a day. Anything above that will of course take me longer.

I would prefer to RP over skype or some other IM system ( I could be convinced to get a Discord, but the thing is my internet is super slow and downloading it would take an hour, I’m not exaggerating it’s that bad, and I just really don’t feel like doing that right now) however, E-mail is also okay.

Skype: Dunkmastersassquatch

Email: [email protected]

Grammar and what not is kind of important I guess, but not as important as content. I’m not sure if this ad is really an accurate example of my writing potential as I’m just kind of spewing out whatever. That being said if you’re okay with the level this ad is written at, then you’ll probably be okay with my actual writing. If you’re not okay with it then, eh, take a chance?

As for my characters, I play Doms, Subs, and Switches and don’t really have a preference for one over another. Keep in mind that sometimes my subs are whiney, uke boys and sometimes they will twist your nips and call you a cuck. AKA my character’s personalities are not dependent on their position in bed, HOWEVER sometimes their personality will, coincidentally, line up with the stereotype of their position.

✪ Pre-existing Ideas/Interest✪

Just to show you kind of how my mind works. Feel free to ask for one of these (and add to them <3) or not. The summaries don’t indicate which character I want to play (because I’m mostly good with playing either) so let me know if you have a preference towards a character.

✧General✧

Sci-fi/Space Opera:

1. I have this alien race that are essentially gender neutral, like there’s no way to tell their gender unless you get in their pants. They pretty much consider even KNOWING what gender they are as extremely intimate and somewhat taboo. So they take forever to choose a mate and when they do it’s for life. I’d be pretty down for doing something with that.

2. A near-homeless man finds an old broken down robot behind one of his favorite restaurants. It’s an old, outdated model, but he thinks he can fix it up with just a little time.

Post-apocalypse:

The world is broken, it’s times like this when people need to come together to rebuild what was lost. Like that’s going to happen, every semi-competent faction is vying for control of more land, more money. Its times like THIS when smart people, really smart people can get ahead. That’s just what the tactician is doing. He’s a smart guy who’s never lost a battle and he’s up for grabs to any faction that’s willing to shell out the cash. However, smart guys like that tend to make enemies and the faction he’s working for insists he have a bodyguard.

Supernatural:

1. It’s an equal exchange, the vampire bites you and gets fed and the represents they release gives you the high of your life. It’s only good business to do it in a hotel room or something so you’re not tripping on the streets, but what happens when your vampiric dealer doesn’t want to leave. (I have a bit more to this world so just ask if you’re interested)

2. He’s always been a bit of a loner, a ghost to society. When he moves into his new apartment he doesn’t really see it as much of a change, until he lays down to sleep and feels hands running through his hair.

Medieval Historical/Medieval Fantasy:

1. (Medieval Fantasy) This was the big expedition, this cave was going to have all the riches of his dreams. The cave-in however, that wasn’t to be expected. These cave were abandoned right? So why can he feel something watching him.

2. (Medieval Fantasy) After 10,000 an evil necromancer awakens from the curse that paladin put on him, he’s ecstatic to find out his Orc bodyguard was cursed too. Now they can continues their plans for world conquest and also get some revenge.

3. (Medieval Historical) He’s a highwayman all he wants is your money or your life. One day an unsuspecting priest comes along and tries to bargain for his life with the word of God. It’s didn’t work, but something in his eyes kept him from killing the priest.

4. (Medieval Fantasy) Someone’s plotting to kill the king and all bets are on the shady court magician. There’s no proof though, so the king assigns personal servants to all within his court as a “gift” (to spy) Maybe the court magician isn’t as evil as everyone says….or maybe he’ll have his new servant face down in the gutter by tomorrow.

Modern Day:

1. He’s been crushing on the cute boy in his precalculus class since the semester started. He finally gets the never to ask him out, only to later find out that his love interest is a furry. What’s a furry?

2. He had no clue his dorm mate was a mass murderer, what even more surprising is that he’s in love with him. (Killing Stalking sort of thing)

3. Crime Bosses weren’t supposed to fall in love, especially not with someone in law enforcement, even if that “law enforcement” is a mall cop.

Historical:

I don’t really have any prompts of my own I just put this here to let you know I’m into this too. Do refrain from using real people from history, I’m not into that. (Including real events/facts is A+ tho.)

Superheroes (actually mostly villains) and stuff:

1. He’s the number one fan of the number one bad guy in the world. Sure he wants to see the world burn, but if the posters on this nerd’s wall say anything it’s that he wants to watch it burn too.

2. The boss isn’t the smartest guy around, but that’s why he’s here. His henchman and unofficial bodyguard, he’s content to let his boss run about with his foolish plans even if the ones in his own head are 10x better.

✧Fandom✧

I will only do OCxOC in fandom settings. I will not play or play against canon characters. It’s just not my thing, sorry. v-v

Warhammer 40k:

*While I’m not a super lore whore I will try to keep pretty close to it. This means that, yes, I expect any Space Marine characters to be impotent. But I mean hey have you SEEN the size of their fingers, I mean, tsk, come on…COME ON…*

1. A Tzeentch/Slaaneshi psyker finds an ancient deamonic staff of domination (it’s prolly Slaaneshi too, let’s be honest) which forces its user’s will on one other person. Being a whimpey little psyker he decides to use it on a chaos lord of Khorne, who is pretty upset about the whole thing, to say the least. (this is actually based off two of my O.C.s we can keep as close to their story, or as far from is as you’d like.)

2. Love can bloom…or it can violently explode within the chamber of an ancient Eldar long rifle. While exploring some ancient ruins one day, a lone rogue trader finds a discarded rifle on the floor. Upon picking it up he finds that it…speaks to him? It’s really got a tongue on it too, but hey it’s too awesome of a weapon to give up. (Yes this is a relationship between a man and the soul of an ancient Eldar that resides in a gun….)

Star Trek:

1. The son of a prominent Romulan commander abandons his duties and becomes a notorious smuggler. Now he’s on the run from the Tal’ Shiar (who are trying to drag him home), a Ferengi trader (whom he may or may not have sold faulty weapons to) and a Klingon bounty hunter (who he’s tempted to be captured by.)

2. Comfort women were a common sight within the quarters of Cardassian soldiers during the occupation. However, this Gul would rather seduce a known Bajoran resistance fighter. After all the greater the challenge, the greater the reward.

Star Wars:

1. An admiral is supposed to be reliable, smart, and efficient he is, after all, in command of an entire fleet of ships. This admiral, as CT-7465 has found out, is a little too young and laid back for the job. (Clone Wars Era)

2. They were supposed to stay together, best friends fighting side by side against the Sith, until he became a Sith. (Pre Prequels.)

Voltron:LD:

1. A Galra commander is dragged along by one of his friends to one of those ridiculous slave auctions. He expected to sit there bored as his friend lusted over all his new “options”. For the most part he was right, but why does that boy keep catching his eye? (A sort of sweet Galra bby)

2. A Galra commander is fed up with spending his nights alone, he needs someone to share his bed and he wants them to be perfect. So he picks up one of those slave order catalogues and starts filling in all his specifications. When his slave finally arrives, he’s not quite what was ordered. (An abusive Galra bby)

3. (Alt. Universe) The Human Empire dominates the galaxy under Emperor Shiro Takashi and a recently promoted chancellor now has the kind of money he needs to fulfil one of his most devious fantasies: owning a Galra pet.

Fallout:

I don’t really have any plots for this either, but I would absolutely love to do something in this universe!

Elder Scrolls:

He’s a nord: strong, hearty, well endowed, and he’s got Talos to thank for it. Now these elves come in and tell him Talos is no God, well that’s just not right. But the Thalmor agent that’s threatening his arrest is really, really handsome.

Dragon Age:

1. The Inquisitor is just a normal guy who happens to have a glowing hand. Completely normal right? And normal people don’t really find the company of extravagant Teventer mages and buff Qunari spies to be all that appealing (no matter how handsome they may be.) No, he needs someone simpler, someone who can remind him he’s still just a normal guy. (I don’t really consider the inquisitor to be a canon character b/c they’re kinda player based.)

2. Seheron belongs to no one but the ones who live here, he wishes the Qunari and the Teventers would learn that and leave his home alone. He’s getting sick of only feeling safe when the fog covers him. (Fog Warrior/Qunari Soldier)

W.o.W.:

Does it count as necrophilia if they’re Undead?

Blood elves are pompous stuck ups and orcs are barbaric savages, so why are they fighting on the same side?

Tokyo Ghoul: *Trigger Warning for suicidal thoughts*

A recent high-school graduate learns he’s contracted a terminal disease. His parents are too poor to afford treatment, in fact they’re too poor to support him or his four siblings. Since he’s going to die anyways, he might as well spare them the cost for the few months he has left. But he doesn’t like the idea of anyone else having to clean up his dead body. Maybe he can at least be useful in killing himself, ghouls eat people, right?

✧Tropes✧

Monsters: I love QT monster boys (slime boys, nagas etc.), but I also love big bara giants. My thing is either: their head and torso are humanoid and everything else can be whatever OR they have to be a full blown, all out monster (they have to have sentience though, I’m not into bestiality stuff.)

Size Difference (ranges from slight difference to HOLY HELL YOU ARE MASSIVE WTF I ONLY COME UP TO YOUR STOMACH): I love big bara boys who fall in love with small tiny babes. The big bara can be all super macho or whatever I’m into that too, but what I really, really like is when they’re a squishy romantic who is completely devoted to their bby. Like they are willing to do anything their tiny love says at a moment’s notice. Bonus if the tiny boy is an absolute argumentative spitfire.

Age Differences: I don’t care how big the age gap is so long as the youngest is 18 or older.

Hey, Listen: This seems like a good place to put one of those “if you’ve read this far” things, not that I expect everyone to. However, if you have read all this then put the words “coco for cocoa puffs” somewhere in your message to me. <3

Toxic Relationships: Physically or mentally abusive (or both). Things can either work out in the end with the abusive cunt changing their ways, or not. I’m good with either.

Angst: I’m completely okay with letting characters straight up die. If that’s not something you’re into just say so and we can keep it fairly happy. However, if it’s something you’re willing to do HIGHFIVE!

Hopeless romance: In complete contrast to Toxic relationships I’m also into 100% fluffy and supportive relationships (so long as they both go through some hell. Can’t keep things too happy)

One-Sided: I love when characters think they are in a hopelessly one-sided love (but in fact aren’t). What would make it even better is if they are casually having sex with each other (because their friends with benefits/ one of them thinks the other is imagining someone else/ whatever) while both of them are secretly in love with each other, but neither of them knows it. Love is confusing.

Yandere/Ice King: Self explanatory

Unlikely Lovers: This could be characters who hate each other, but are hopelessly attracted to each other, people on opposing sides (Good Guy/Bad Guy) who fall in love, or characters who hate each other at first due to prejudices (ex. Orc/Elf) but are forced to work together and fall in love along the way.

✪ About 18+ Content: ✪

✧Violence/Cursing✧

I am okay with gore and death and the eternal void so long as it’s fitting/ pre-planned/ we’ve been writing together for a while and you know what you want to do won’t upset me.

I’ve avoided doing it (I think) in this ad out of respect for other’s preferences, but I my cuss level is that of someone who has recently stubbed their pinkie toe against the corner of the bed. So, if you want to contact me please be okay with that, it’s understand able if you yourself don’t want to cuss, but don’t try and force that standard on me. (This goes for pretty much everything else involving ideals/morals)

✧Sexual Situations✧

Obviously, you have to be 18+, even though I kinda said that at the very beginning I want to say it again. If you’re not 18+ and I find out you’re not I will immediately drop you and also likely report you as underage to which ever site you came to me from. You are endangering people when you pull that kind of stuff. So, if you’re under 18 (even if you’re 17 and your birthday is just two months away or the age of consent in your country is below 18) don’t contact me.

Anywhoo, I love smut, but I don’t want it to overtake the RP. I am pretty kink friendly, but I do have limits (which I’m about to list) if there’s something you’re having doubts about just ask, please don’t assume what I’m okay/not okay with.

Kinks I enjoy:

<3 <3 BDSM: Collars, bondage, S&M

<3 Violence: Biting, Scratching, Light asphyxiation

<3 <3 <3Power Bottoms: AKA I love when the smaller guy gets it in the bum, but he’s got complete control of how his top moves (demanding that he slow down/speed up that sort of thing)

Kinks that I think are pooie:

Pooie

Watersports

Necrophilia

Pedophilia

Bestiality

Incest

Mpreg

#oc rp #multiple paragraph #long term #email #messenger #submission

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