[M/M] [Non-Con] [Modern Fantasy] Arrest Me: A Cop and His Brother's Killer

[Sekah]

About Me


Want to read what I like, and don't? Check this out! Curious about the character you're playing opposite? Look at the next post! Want to contact me about a completely different idea? Go for it! Want to change this idea drastically? Hell yeah! Want to use the setting but not the prompt? Let's do it! Prompt but not the setting? Sure thing!

I'm one of the most open partners you'll ever meet. Hit me up! It'll be fun!

Desired Kinks:
—non-consensual, particularly if it's done realistically and respectfully.
—stockholm's syndrome is great
—lima syndrome is an all-time fav
—spanking, whipping, paddling, some kind of beating with hands, belts, crops, whatever moves you (MC recieving)
—erotic-asphyxiation (recieving)
—humiliation (submissive behaviors like boot-licking, lowering one's eyes, kneeling for master, abasement in general) (MC exhibiting these behaviors)
—rough sex
—blackmail is a big fave
—torture is never an issue
—stark, often brutal realism is generally my go-to writing style
—petplay is love
—really any kind of bondage
—the sub fearing for his life/life and death situations

SETTING


Borrowed from the amazing fic The Affairs of Wizards. Imagine a world where people born with the ability to manipulate magic are forced to choose between being second-class citizens and working for the government in what amounts to modern slavery. Nothing is more dangerous than being an unregistered magic user, except perhaps being a registered one.

Magic is tested for at the ages of six, twelve and fourteen, and all the children who have it are removed to the centers, witch centers, infamous places where they'll stay, in bunks as many as four high, wearing the same clothes and with the same haircuts and given an education that ends at fourteen. All discussions of magic are severely punished—let the gentler folks outside, the regular folks, learn their magic resistance and anti-magic tech and how to spot magic and where to look for magic and how magic works in the magic seminars they take at fifteen to eighteen, when they're sure there's none of those dirty unnies listening in. As for the mages, at eighteen, they have a choice—or rather, the choice: stay in the kennel, as many call them, where after age eighteen one can be leased either to government contractors or to the public on government contracts with very few clauses for welfare (don't worry, you'll earn 45 cents every two hours of work you do, no matter what it is or how strenuous or dangerous, that you can never actually touch de facto and goes back to a non-witch biological family member you might not have seen since you were six when you die) . . . or be free. Of course, many of the youngsters choose freedom, if not most of them. Of course, most of them learn quickly how much freedom as a witch is a trap. Legally barred from most types of housing and illegally barred from the rest, most are homeless. Since it's illegal for a witch to own a bank account, and no bank would ever do business with them in the first place, they can't possibly build wealth or capital—they can have cash, and that can be stolen, and everybody knows the police don't give a crap if you take shit from an unnie. Who the fuck cares?

And who would hire one? The only jobs generally safe for unnies is prostitution and the like, since the tales of how unnies bewitch men—usually men—and tempt them from their families, their ability to beguile and their innate hypersexuality (poor things, can't even help it), make them desired as novelty hookers. But often safe prostitution is barred to them, and it's not the legal forms of it open to them. They don't get jobs in Vegas or places it can be legal. The general rule for Unnies is, if it's legal, they can't do it. But it's a catch twenty-two, because it's a one-strike rule in all fifty states. You get caught doing one misdemeanor. One misdemeanor— and your choice, that precious freedom you were so gleeful to receive at eighteen—it's gone. Poof. Rabbit out of a hat, and you can't stuff it back in. Back to the center, leased to somebody somewhere, Goodnight Irene.

And you've never, in all likelihood, unless you did it stupidly as a kid, done magic in your life. That collar won't come off you, is designed to stick to you, it makes you sick and lowers witch—mage, you might mutter to yourself, you're a mage, not the unnie they call you—life spans to about thirty or thirty-three. Maybe you've heard from the underground resistance—if you've been lucky enough to hear those whispers—about the fact that in other countries, where magic has always been legal, like Mexico, Thailand, Turkey, Switzerland and Finland, mages live to two hundred.

You're not the wicked witch they read the stories about to kids, the villain of every book you've ever read. You know there's banned books—you want to read them—someone told you, this posh university girl sympathetic to mage rights, she'd read these two British books over summer in London where the wizards were the heroes—Lord of the Rings, and Harry Potter, weren't those the name? You'd never seen them anywhere here, and when you asked in a bookstore if they had it, a policeman was called, and you were questioned, and that's how you discovered some books were banned in this country. You're not allowed to go to London or anywhere outside the US, since witches are legally classified as weapons in the US and transporting them into or out of the country, or on a plane at all, and in some states (especially in the South) over state lines, is illegal, so you'll never go—maybe make that perilous journey to Mexico, one day . . . you yearn to cross that fabled border every night . . .


But that's only if you end up registered. If you're not? The devil's own luck to you, kid. You're gonna need it. Some places with high enough security might have a magic scanner (every port of entry in the US has a magic scanner somewhere), and realize you don't have a wristband marking you as a legal unnie. It can show up on a simple blood test, for Chrissakes, if they do certain types of them, and doctors are legally forced to report or end up in jail. As they say in that popular movie, what was it called? Oh yeah.

May the odds be ever in your favor.


PLOT


Taiga is a crime boss who runs a prostitution ring. He was a prostitute himself, but the favorite of the former boss. He became his second-in-command and then killed him and took over the family. Your boy is a cop captain who blames Taiga for the sexual abuse and potentially, if you'd like to write that, death and/or murder of his brother, which happened when Taiga was former boss's lover. He kidnaps Taiga and drives him to a deserted area. He reveals to Taiga he has potent blackmail material recovered from the computer of Taiga's former lover, containing everything from information on who Taiga is closest to to the fact that Taiga is an unregistered magic user—in other words, a man who should already be a slave. There, in alphabetical order, are all of Taiga's weaknesses. The cop, too, is an unregistered magician, with a dangerous power called technopathy, which allows him to manipulate any form of electric technology he finds. In keeping with that, all of Taiga's secrets are already emailed to the papers, the government, and his many enemies. Only the cop's technopathy is holding the email in cyberspace, disallowing it from reaching its intended recipients. And that starts a whole series of non-con situations between Taiga the former hooker and the cop. Wires get crossed, empathy appears, things get complicated.

I KNOW THESE MIGHT FEEL PRETTY SKETCHED OUT FOR YOUR ROLE, THEY'RE NOT, TAKE THE PROMPT AND DO WHATEVER THE HECK WITH IT.

THESE ARE SOME READY-MADES TO SLIP INTO, TAKE THE FLAVOR AND DO SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT AND I'LL LOVE IT JUST AS MUCH. I WELCOME WRITER CREATIVITY! It can be done a hundred thousand million different ways—any story can.

Basically, dude has electric magic *twiddles fingers*, wants to use it to fuck up the life of the guy who fucked up his brother's. But maybe complete dehumanization of the enemy isn't so easy when a human is looking you in the face? Take that formula and do whatever with it.

FOR YOUR ENJOYMENT, THE STARTER


Taiga was at a scientific presentation held in the music hall really intended more for professionals in the field, seated up in a private box in the VIP section. He'd wanted to be alone today, and what that meant in mafia terms was going out with only one bodyguard, instead of five. Besides, Martin Palmer was a violent, physically imposing gorilla with a thunderous scowl and heavy eyebrows above his eternal shades. He looked like no one you wanted to mess with.

Taiga was watching the talk with greedy eyes, a small notebook in his lap with neatly printed lines of Japanese, his mother tongue, as he sketched down notes about the presentation.

His highest level of schooling was only high school. He'd been kidnapped before he went to college. Things like this, events open to the public, reading academic journals thirstily, were the only way he could sate his curiosity about the world, and desire to know more about the cutting edge advancements of the day.

Taiga sighed, pausing to take a sip from his complimentary bottle of water and replace it when the door behind him to the private box slammed open.

"Down on the ground!" a cop shouted, the ringing voice and cracking door drawing the attention of all the scientists and enthusiasts out in the half-full audience. The speaker turned on the podium, his surprised exclamation echoing over the speakers.

Most of the magic-sealing darts hit Palmer, who stared at them with his brooding eyebrows high. In his surprise at his loss of magic, the Legionnaires had time to stream in, guns at the ready, pointed directly at Palmer and Taiga's vitals.

"Get on your knees, hands behind your head," a Legionnaire said. Taiga obediently put his hands behind his head, his notebook sliding out of his lap as he knelt prettily.

Martin followed a moment later, his knees thunking on the ground like they were made of wood. Prison was usually finite; a bullet was permanent.

The anti-magic dart was still embedded in Taiga's shoulder. The wound burned. The loss of his own hidden magic was sickening, made him nauseous. His stomach churned. He refused to show it, because that would be a very grave mistake.

You didn't let it be known that you were an unregistered magic user and get away with it scott free.

Officers cuffed Martin, reading him his rights, explaining his warrants. Two counts of assault and battery against a woman Taiga recognized as Palmer's girlfriend.

Taiga's lips pulled down in a frown. He closed his eyes for a moment, unexpectedly sad. Martin's arrest probably wouldn't stick, and he'd be welcomed back into Gula's folds as a hero.

The girlfriend had caused the apprehension of a Kairos Vice Lord. She would die. Any children would die. Every relative she had would die, too. Granted, Taiga knew he'd be understaffed and had nothing on his person or in his car they could book him with—and there wasn't probable cause for a warrant. He had no idea who this girlfriend was, and they wouldn't get anything on Palmer other than that unless they found drugs in his apartment or something similar. None of it had enough to do with Taiga that a warrant for his home would be justified. On top of that, he saw no less than two Kairos informants in the milieu of cops coming and going. If a warrant was begged for and issued, Gula loyals would have gone through and disposed of anything prosecutable long before the cop cars wailed up the driveway.

A legionnaire came up with his gun out. He ordered Taiga to stand, and turn. He grabbed Taiga's wrists and pulled them down to cuff them.

"Am I under arrest, officer?" Taiga asked lightly.

"You've been found in the presence of a suspected felon. We have probable cause. We'd like to bring you down to the precinct to question you." The cop began a pat-down. "Your name, sir? Do you have your driver's license on you?"

Palmer had been relieved of his gun, taser and a knife. He was being led away.

The scientists were all gawping up, many standing. Cops were overseeing an emptying of the cavernous building.

"I'm Taiga Hisoka," he said and watched the ripple go around the cops. The brave ones looked excited at potentially nabbing a Kairos Vice Lord. Most suddenly looked queasy, aware of the threat of three generations of revenge.

The hands of the officer patting him down froze on his hips. A startled little oh flew out of his mouth.

Taiga finally smiled. "Don't lose my notebook, please, officer," he told the man bagging up his science geek notes for evidence.

The cop patting him down still had his hands on the dainty swell of Taiga's famous hips.

[Sekah]

TAIGA HISOKA

SHORT DESCRIPTION Taiga has an addictive personality that he turns to drinking, gambling, and sometimes opium. He’s shrewd; a good businessman, you might call him. Arrogant as fuck, you might also call him. Both are equally true. Whether he has a right to be arrogant remains to be seen, though he is by all rights an intellectual. He is not a milquetoast; anyone who buys into the idea of him as a fop has never seen his cunning, never been on the wrong end of his ambition. He's not a bully—it's too sophisticated. He is not in a habit of making enemies, either. He knows the value of friendly thoughts.

Sexual & Romantic Orientations.

Bisexual, but listing far to the side of androsexual. Masculine bodies entice him particularly. He is attracted to women, and others on every end of the gender spectrum, but his attractions are a bit less immediate.

HERE'S A SAMPLE HISTORY. HE HAS THOUSANDS OF HISTORIES, THOUGH (PROBABLY LITERALLY AT THIS POINT), SO JUST TAKE THIS AS A WAY TO GET TO KNOW WHAT HE MIGHT BE LIKE

Abilities: Familiarity with weapons and machines. He could tell you a gun’s make and model by hearing it fire. Give him a gun or a bomb and he can take it apart or put it back together, no exceptions

Name: Hisoka Taiga. For Western speakers, Taiga Hisoka.

In Kanji: 密化太雅
密化—Hisoka. 密—Secret. 化—the making of. Play on 密か, which means secretly.

太雅—Taiga. Japanese given name, primarily masculine. 太—big around, plump, thick. 雅—elegant, graceful, gracious, refined.

Hometown: Kiso-cho (木曽町), Nagano Prefecture, Japan

Native Language: Nagano-ben, a Tokai-Tosen dialect of Japanese.

Other Languages Spoken: Fluent in English. Intermediate-advanced in Mandarin Chinese. Proficient in Spanish.

• How I Became Who I Am •

Taiga was born into a rural, middle-class Japanese family. His parents are Kazuo and Shouko Hisoka. He has four elder brothers (Kenta, Daiki, Shotaro, and Makoto), all grown. Each has wives and families and white collar jobs, the youngest, Makoto, still a salaryman. Taiga was invited to his wedding, but he declined. Taiga often says if he had their lives he would kill himself.

By the age of sixteen he was dabbling in serious gambling. He remembers many scenes from that life with a great deal of fondness. He remembers how his life seemed so linear then, a straight path to the top.

She was glaring at him from across the table, fingers itching at the cards's edge. He found something perversely erotic about the light in her hazel eyes as they gleamed with fear. He was at home in this, more than he'd ever felt before: the tobacco smoke and alcohol burn of nighttime, the cards laid down under a bare bulb, coy women and secret smiles, the ever rising stakes. She was something different.

He put down his cards and smiled, too late to pay for his tell.

But it was not the straight path he imagined as a teen. Thinking he was being recruited as a card shark for a gambling ring, on the day that was to be his debut, he was instead enslaved by a prostitution ring.

That’s when he met him.

Cortez was a demon in human form, and like his namesake he upset the balance of power in Taiga’s conquered mind. He humbled the young man and taught him lessons everyone should learn, and lessons no one should teach.

Taiga wanted out. The life he was living was a prison. He took action, and the action he took was ending Cortez's life. Now the young mafioso has taken control of his husband's mafia, though at the tender age of twenty-five his position is hardly secure.

He has many more backstories - trust me on that.

FACE CLAIMS

YOUNG TAIGA/SECOND FACE CLAIM
Choi Minki / Ren

Taiga... sit down, shut up, and open your mouth for this gag.
There's a good boy.

OLDER TAIGA/FIRST FACE CLAIM
Zhao Lei












Pictured: Taiga's tattoo, received non-consensually, which reads
lil sissy bitch



But he looks like a fucking dork twink when he smiles,
which he does rarely, and don't forget it.

DRAWN TAIGA (NSFW)
All non-furry art pictured is not found art, but art specifically of my character, either a commission, present from an artist co-writer, a friend or fan's present, or made from a dollmaker.

MISCELLANEOUS

Miscellaneous

TAIGA MOODBOARD



TAIGA CRACK [THANK GOD FOR MY FRIENDS]

Taiga dancing to Gentlemen by Psy, and high on catnip.
https://youtu.be/ASO_zypdnsQ

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Bump! I'm back, and would love to get a version of this one going!

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