Skim it for what interests you, I hope I've made it easy to skim.
Here's my f-list - feel free to just peruse that and immediately send me a game idea, I won't mind!
Double ups welcome! What will I write in a double up? ANYTHING! Any genre, any kink, any desires you have. M/F, M/M, F/F, enby friends welcome, canon, OC, the only thing I ask is that I be allowed to use one of my pre-made characters, or if I'm writing a canon character, it's one I know well (Marvel MCU, DC Comics, Yu Yu Hakusho, Hunter x Hunter, Lord of the Rings, just ask me if I know it well enough to write it for you). My limits (other than raceplay) don't apply to double ups. Hit me with it, I'm good for it. <3
Crow didn't look up as he heard the rapid steps back towards him, heavy enough he knew who they belonged to and realized sadly he'd recognize even years later. Crow was grabbed by his wrist and the scruff of his neck, yanking his hands from his face. He was hauled to his feet, the weak material of his cheap shirt tearing under Conall's grip. His knees wobbled, shaky and unsteady, making him trip and stagger as Conall dragged him immediately away. He hadn't slept all night, eaten since the midday meal yesterday, he was exhausted and terrified just from his emotions, let alone the glamour he had had to hold for too long for his juvenile magic.
They didn't walk for long before Crow was bodily tossed over Conall's shoulder, pushing on his back to see where they went, wondering if something had happened to his sister while they were out of sight. Crow saw a reeling mess of pants and ground, huts they passed in a blur.
There was nothing gentle about how he was tossed to the floor of the hut they reached finally. A cane chair was in splinters in the side, storage jars had been cracked, creating dangerous sharp caltrops that could slice Crow anywhere he was pressed.
Conall reached past his defending arms, raised around his head more like a child than a boxer. The clothing was ripped open in a loud rending of cloth, torn to pieces as it was pulled from Crow's body. The force of it jerked Crow sideways.
His lean, lovely torso was wet with fear sweat, he stank of fear. Fae noses aren't those of changelings, but he could smell the terror on himself. Crow was yanked into Conall's arms, his hands going up and hitting Conall's chest. He looked at his hands, small compared to Conall's shoulders though calloused from hard work. He despised himself. He felt like a cliché, a woman pressing her hands to her captor's chest. He'd seen paintings of this exact position.
He was held in place by an arm solid and unbending as iron. This man sniffed the nape of his neck like you would a drug, like an addict puffs at opium, desperate for the hit.
Crow yelped as the razor-sharp teeth dug into the meat of his shoulder, the blood licked away and, with some time, far more time than what it took to heal the rents last night, healing up. Until they did, his shoulder stung agony all down his arm.
His whole body shuddered as the man's intentions were growled to him. Tears fell freely down his face and into his beard and neck. He quivered again as the man's hand slid into his simple cloth pants, grabbing his plush ass, the callouses catching on the skin.
Conall was devouring his neck, and for Crow every prey sense a sentient being has was raised. A predator was close to his tender jugular, the soft meat of his throat. The hair on his arms, still pitifully pushing against Conall's chest, stood straight up.
Crow fought down his sobs as Conall crushed his rigid cock into his hip. Crow noted the size, knowing it would hurt him.
If this was a reward, it was a cruel one. Forcing Crow to participate made him feel degraded on a level he hadn't felt in years. He tried to remember what it was he'd done when faced with a frightening client. He'd been a pain whore, it had involved plenty of men as bestial and cruel as Conall.
But it had been so long ago. He had so much distance from it, before this afternoon. His legs were shaking in constant vibrations, terrified and exhausted and knowing he couldn't stop this. To be back in this place—his body remembered and he curled beneath Conall. He tried to think of what positions had hurt him least, as a boy. Positions where so much of himself wasn't in contact with the man.
But the most important thing—
"Don't make me look at you, as you r-rape me. Turned away from you. Please."
God, Crow hated himself—he sounded like a miserable housewife. His voice stammered, unsteady with exhaustion and fear and pain that was, for now, purely internal. Yes, he hated himself.
But Conall he despised more than he had anyone he could remember.
I tend to write as much as moves me. I never match length. But I also love to have fun and watch my partners have fun, so I will be checking in with you a lot to make sure things are fun.
Any non-con, kidnapping, abuse, or torture welcome!
Just contact me if you have any desire for it, I can plot out something unique to us easily!
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.
If you want prompts:
MOST WANTED ARREST ME: A COP AND HIS BROTHER'S KILLER [DOM M WANTED] 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 and second-in-command. YC, the cop captain, 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.
Setting Info 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 sixteen 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.
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.
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.
BLACKMAIL OF A SUPERHERO [DOM M WANTED]
Karim Mahmoud Magdi is Onyx, just one of many loosely organized crimefighters trying to make the city a better place. He's famous, well-known, flashy, his sister's exosuit making him able to compete with metahumans and monsters.
And then one day he fucks up.
He was so famous that a little boy saw him collaring a dangerous criminal with kinetic powers along with an 18-year-old up-and-comer with the Spirit Detectives. The nine-year-old bolted over to help, and both Karim and the other super let go of the power-suppression cuffs at the same time to wrangle the child to safety.
The next few seconds are a blur, but during them the teenage detective's head and the adoring child's entrails hit the pavement, and the badguy got away scott-free.
Every second since then, Karim has expected the slurry of news, to lose his license to protect New York, the lawsuits and media coverage and shame.
Nothing.
Little does he know, a powerful blackmailer and news mogul has caught the story, intending to use his leverage to make Karim his plaything. But really, a workplace accident isn't such a juicy story. He needs to manufacture more blackmail to control Karim—video taping his rapes and using them to claim he's working as a hooker? That might do nicely.
Starter
It was not a nightmare. It hurt too much, more than any nightmare Karim had gone through in his life. He saw it in his head, over and over, the nine-year-old boy in a spirit detective t-shirt running up. Karim was trying to fit the anti-magic cuffs over one of the violent perp's struggling wrists. His partner du jour, an eighteen-year-old up and coming detective, turned and let go of the cuffs that were all that was keeping the perp's energy in check to grab the child, at the same time as Karim did the exact same thing—
—and those hellish seconds in which the teenage Spirit Detective's head and the adoring child's intestines hit the concrete.
He hadn't even caught the perp. He hadn't even caught him.
He touched his face, feeling the tears. His stomach hurt, and he vaguely realized that he, Karim Mahmoud Magdi, who never missed a meal willingly in his life, had gone two days without eating or sleeping.
He heard the knock on the door from so far away, and jumped, disturbing the warm brick of Foxboy in his lap.
This was his hideout, where he kept his suits, not his apartment. He didn't know who'd think to find him out here.
With his stomach sour, he forced himself to his feet, groaning and stumbling as he realized they were asleep. He wobbled to the door, using the metal-reinforced walls as a crutch, and touched the intercom. He didn't recognize the man outside. Seeing a man who looked so official, Karim began to reach what he thought were the final stages of his hope for the future and himself disintegrating. Police, he thought. He's here to take me away.
Karim's eyes were red, his hair messy, ungroomed, his beard after two days of no trim starting to look less neat and more like a hobo's than it ever had before. He looked handsome, still, in a vulnerable way, but haggard. He picked up foxboy and just held him for a moment.
Karim opened the door with tears dripping down his face, clutching his little fennec fox to his chest and moving his fingers over his silky fur like a warm worry stone.
"Are you here to arrest me?" he asked, his voice breaking, the question as simple and guileless as a child would give. What would he be charged with? Reckless endangerment?
Something, something had to happen for him to have allowed two children to be killed yesterday. He deserved the Panopticon, he deserved the trial, with the cameras flashing like they did on TV when a police captain had a scandal. True scandals in the Spirit Detectives were rare, but this seemed worth one, to Karim.
He never thought he would be the subject of a scandal.
He wondered what prison would be like. He wondered how many years he would spend, never aging. His mind had spun away to a far, terrible future, and he'd lost track of how long he'd stood in front of the strange suited man, clutching foxboy and weeping tears that dripped onto his big fennec ears.
CAPTURING FAE [DOM M WANTED]
Fae have true names, their most jealously guarded secret. With the possession of their true name, they can be held in thrall, forced to do anything within their power. To have a fae's true name is to control them completely. YC, a changeling, was taken by the fae centuries ago [or years; you do you]. Those centuries ain't passed easily; they ain't passed quietly. Honestly? Hell has a name, and it's Beyond the Veil. He was turned into a monster by the fae, and tortured, day in / day out he was tortured. Made a hellhound, a creature with teeth for tearing and claws for ripping, his body was for one purpose: to protect the fae.
And then he destroyed them instead. Well, his Master/Mistress at least; and he finally escaped.
That should have been the end of it.
Only nothing was the same, he didn't fit anywhere, everything was noisy and smelled awful and food tasted like ash in comparison. There were other changelings, a whole society of free changelings, but fuck if he fit in there, either. Most were so tender-hearted with each other and help me help you and touchy-feely. He wanted to hunt. He didn't want to help humans, he wanted to eat them. Whatever he was now, whoever he was, he wasn't this weak little soft loud bad-smelling thing infesting the once-green planet anymore.
Then he got one very, very interesting scent.
Fae. Fae playing human. Fae living with humans. He was going to crush their sculls. Drink their spinal fluids from the tap. See if they could heal that. No; too fast. He'd regretted killing his master fast, regretted it deeply, it had torn him apart!
He had suffered centuries.
So would this.
Anyway, yadda yadda, he finds out Crow's true name the old fashioned way: by threatening his family. Now, unimaginable power—and a beautiful but unwilling faerie—is held in YC's grasp.
Three variations of this plot up for grabs, and other riffs on it perfectly acceptable.
Possible plot addition: He also took Crow's sister Hana - and to punish Crow, he rapes her, creating a child this fucked up family ends up raising.
Version One: Historical fantasy, set in India in the year about 1508. Early age of the sail. Historical accuracy is neither needed nor desired! I welcome historical laymen!
Version Two: Modern day, set in Maine in the US in cabins on the edge of a national forest. As much as he's motivated by revenge, your character is probably younger—if you'd like, maybe centuries passed beyond the veil, but only a few years over here, or it was just a few years all-told—and he'd like to Get Rich Quick, and Crow is the ticket. Very Rags to Riches tale, except a very bad bad person becomes rich. Have you ever wanted to build a manor with a secret, very bad room? "This is my personal assistant Crow. No, don't offer him a seat. He'll be kneeling." Also, Crow would make a terrible PA. He has severe dyslexia and nobody's bothered to take the time or assistive technology or teaching so he can read or write.
That only makes it better, in my mind. For example, imagine someone with a library telling Crow, "Beast, go back to my room and get the book x."
They realize they haven't seen him for three hours and go to find him for a Very Special Trip to the Very Special Room and find him crying in frustration, with every book in the entire room in piles around him and the one he asked for right on the top of a nearby pile as Crow is trying hard to concentrate and sound out the first word "the" in the book he's holding's title when his ass never got far enough into hooked on phonics Hana got him for the day they use to celebrate his birthday to get to th = thhh because everything kept jumping around no matter how hard he tried and it gave him a wicked headache trying to concentrate and he decided he really was just too stupid to learn, felt acceptance with that, and got up to do something else which was probably work three jobs to put food on the table as an illiterate adult without abusing his magic to manipulate global stock markets, forge documents so nobody could ever tell they were forgeries, spelled so anyone suspicious who reads them is immediately convinced they're perfectly legitimate, including the person they're forged as being from, and skiv from major banks with technopathy as YC has him do.
Anyway. Apropos of nothing. That 'un would be probably more the flavor of rich and lavish lifestyle for your character who probably would be something like was born dirt poor and has suffered deeply and views it as Crow's fault. Faes' fault. Whatever.
Version Three: This was something I did with someone that was kind of fun and with the same sort of vein, it was werewolves but I'd probably flip it to be changelings. Gang of dudes who don't like fae. Fae gets dragged in after losing dudes someone they wanted to kill. Hi 911 my name's Crow and I'm in distress.
Basically, dude was hurt by faes, finds a fae's name, now has control over a fae, bad days ahead for that fae. Take that formula and do whatever with it.
PLOT STARTER ONE
Crow liked Calicut. He intended to stay here for as long as he could.
It was a busy port city, and so many traders came and went from all over the world that it was easy to fit in. Easy to hide. Easy to escape notice. There was always work by the docks, too. Wages could be paid in pearls, in Calicut coins of kingly metal, in Spanish pieces of eight brought in by the Portuguese with their new fort, which were minted, they said, in the New World, in the square coins of the Qing Dynasty, a Manchu-led, newly created empire in China. Ships sailed in from China and princedoms from all corners of India, even sometimes from the coasts of Africa. In the last two decades, there'd been a flood of interesting new ships from Europe, bringing a new kind of foreigner who were now, all these years later, not all that uncommon a face to see in the market. The novelty had worn off.
Crow and Hana lived in a paupers' house, on stilts at the edge of the city. It was one precarious room reached by spindly wooden stairs, teak floors Hana swept out daily. They cooked in a communal oven for the whole neighborhood, next to the well, a good walk away. Their bedrolls they rolled and tied up during the day, a familiar morning routine in Mio as much as here. It wasn't a glamorous home, but it was comfy enough, hung with cloth and relics of their travels, and faeries had powers that made a pauper existence more bearable: Crow was now old enough to be able to grow most any fruit or vegetable he wanted without expending too much energy. Except for the desire for meat, which could be debilitating, he kept both him and Hana fed without a cramp. Hana was still not as able to grow food without becoming tired, hampered by her human half, so Crow eagerly took over the growing.
It was not a bad life.
He was on his way home from a day of dock work. He'd been aching and itchy from dirt and sweat when the foreman called off work for the day, but he'd also been paid—the foreman was a fair man, and it was a reasonable amount for the work he'd done—so before he went home, he took a detour to the nicer baths.
When he walked to his home, it was already dark, but he was clean, his skin smooth, his beard and hair carefully trimmed, his lean torso smelling faintly of fragrant oils from the bathhouse. He had a cloth bag of dates he'd bought Hana from the market, for a treat.
He rubbed the sore muscles on the back of his neck, turning down the right street. For the last little while, he'd been getting this prickly feeling, like he was being watched. It had always been easy to dismiss.
The street was so dark it taxed even Crow's vision. This neighborhood was poor, and it was late. Most who had candles had already blown them out and resigned themselves to sleep. These houses, with wood floors, had no hearths to make a fire. Unlike some places Crow had lived, though, it was almost never cold. Fire would have made houses smoky and uncomfortable.
He was quiet, thinking of nothing at all as he approached his house, swinging the bag of dates. He hoped Hana was already asleep. He would surprise her with them in the morning, if so.
PLOT STARTER TWO
The walk back home was long, and Crow wasn't thinking of anything at all during it. He had a small bag of ground chuck for hamburgers and the brie rounds Hana loved so much. It was so convenient that Quick Away gas station stayed open so late.
As he neared the house, he felt the plants calling to him in the garden. They were drenched in magic - deep magic, deeper than Hana usually did. Defensive magic.
His eyes snapped up from the moss on the roadside and the leaves on the way to his window - smeared red like someone had doused it with paint.
He ran, the fury of a fae running with him. The wood door sprang open, the whole forest began to move for miles around. A bear who'd been peacefully tearing a rotting log a half mile away suddenly began loping this way, its lips curled back from its teeth.
PLOT STARTER THREE
Werewolves hunting humans was a bad deal. Crow knew why they did it in wolf form: human police started looking for canine aggressors when they saw bitemarks with fangs, and it was a good coverup.
It was just lucky Crow had been there and had an arsenal to help. Fae had magic—strong magic, stronger than a werewolf's. He'd gotten him down to Cesar Chavez Avenue and the women of the coven there agreed to protect him.
Crow walked home from there, a long, miserable trudge, weak from the use of his magic to save the man. He didn't have much left inside him to mount an adequate defense.
When he reached his home, the narrow powder blue row house standing in three crowded stories off the street, he was shocked to see his door flung open.
Was Hana home already? Molly wasn't barking.
Sweat pricked up. Crow crept up the steps and eased open the screen door, not seeing any sign of his three cats or dog. He was low on magic.
"Who's here?" he asked, voice hard in the empty space of his usually lively front hall. He heard a whine from upstairs, where his room was on the third floor. Good. Molly was okay. Something was just scaring her.
PLOT PROMPTS
ANY GENRE KIDNAPPING [DOM M WANTED]
I read an excellent webcomic called Killing Stalking and now I am nearly frantic for a real, violent kidnapping. Some possible plotlines: my character stole from yours, and your character pays him back with interest. Traditional stalking that ends in kidnap. Blackmail of a police officer. Blackmail of a family member, ending in Lima Syndrome so my character becomes too important to kill. Just, an actually awful character and duct tape and a basement—or something more sophisticated, or pre-modern, you do you. Bring on your serial killers! Make it hurt.
THE CULT [DOM M OR F WANTED]
This could be modern, historical, high fantasy, sci fi, wherever. Just, my character being dragged into a cult. Whether the cult is the state religion and my character can't escape it (think: The Handmaid's Tale), or whether it's a group of crazies isolating their members from real life, cults are fun. Particularly interested in a boy being born and raised in a cult. The cult can be magic or it can be like any abusive fringe religion. It's whatever! Just, cults.
ABUSIVE PARTNER [DOM M OR F WANTED]
Basically any story in which you want to play an abusive dom for my boys is appreciated. Did Gareth cheat on your character? Is Karim an easy victim? Give me your abusive doms and I'll love you forever.
GORILLA PIMP [DOM M OR F WANTED]
Mean old pimp gets his hands on one of my boys, and sells their bodies and their souls by the hour, with brutal retribution for failing to satisfy or not bringing in enough money.
Sci Fi IMPERIUM [DOM M OR GENDERQUEER WANTED]
In the year 2185, humans have already been spaceborne for nearly 100 years, and are continuing to grow throughout the galaxy. The slave trade is rampant through the cosmos and human passenger ships bound for remote planets for settlement are constantly under attack from aliens. My boy Karim was born a slave to two former scientists. Escaping at the age of seventeen, he found work and sustenance as a human freedom-fighter, to rectify the position of humans, who have been enslaved by an intergalactic empire and denied citizenship. He and his group ransom people for money to build assets for ships and supplies. In the process of that, he kidnaps a diplomat who's cousin to the Emperor, their most daring heist yet. He bonds with his captive. But of course, a diplomat cousin-to-the-emperor is a lot harder to keep secret than a petty dignitary, so imperial soldiers bust the ship open while Karim's with him (who I always saw as some kind of shapeshifting race, but y'know it's whatever). The ship is cleansed but the diplomat keeps Karim as his slave, spinning an official story that Karim is a hero who sold out his fellow terrorists to help the brave [Imperial race], and I had maybe 1048120831 ideas of where to go from there—all sorts of things, honestly.
Historical
Knowledge of History Not Necessary! Historical Accuracy's Nice, But Unnecessary!
Or, in other words, if you're interested in a historical or historical fantasy prompt but you have no idea what the Qing Dynasty is, I don't care at all, approach me anyway!
REVENGE SERVED COLD - 1195 A.D., Palestine [DOM M WANTED] The peace has come after the brutal third crusade. Palestine is licking its wounds. Further bloodshed seems ever-more inevitable, as neither side can keep itself from war. Saladin negotiated the terms of a truce that allowed Christian pilgrims free entry into Palestine, and access to the city of Jerusalem to pray. God help the pilgrims who go farther—and one small group did, heading into deeper Palestine, where they were captured and imprisoned. A Welsh boy named Gareth Maddox was among those kidnapped by the Muslims.
So the gist of this game is, the boy Gareth served as a young page to a knight, and came to Palestine out of Christian repentance after basically joining a small cult of people that wanted to make amends to Palestinians. They meet a caliph whose wife and son - just Gareth's age - were raped and murdered by the Christians. The caliph is happy to visit some of the same horrors onto this Christian boy.
RUINED - 1800 A.D., China [DOM M WANTED]
In Qing Dynasty China (I'm talking our real world's history right now), sexuality between two men was called ji jian, and it was sharply divided. A man who topped another man was a normal man. He could marry, he was free from any persecution by society, he was sort of understood as a man who just liked sex so much he even turned to men. As long as he still married and preformed for his wife at times, there was no disconnect and hardly any shame.
In contrast, any man who allowed a cock into his body was extremely shamed. He was thereafter viewed as having become a woman in his family line. He no longer could marry: if he wasn't married, he never would be. If he was married, his wife's family would often have a divorce, because the shame was far greater than even the shame of marrying a second time as a woman. He'd committed a crime against his ancestors.
Rape between men in Qing Dynasty China was often not prosecuted—it was assumed that if a man was fucked, well, he would have been able to stop it if it wasn't what he wanted. It was usually only prosecuted at all when there was a significant age gap, so basically a man and a child. Otherwise, there wasn't much conception that a man couldn't consent to sex.
This is all the real history, by the way.
Taiga was beautiful, the youngest son of a respected old Mongol family. Arrogant, too—a man who made the people around him miserable. You make enemies that way. Enemies who would delight in seeing your downfall.
They say you can't rape a man, but YC knew how. It was staged, from beginning to end, humiliating and public.
It permanently ruined Taiga immediately, but also put him somewhat on your character's conscience—more accurately, in his control. Shunned by society, shamed in his family, YC pulled off the truest revenge.
But why stop there?
VIKINGS - 820 A.D., Ireland-to-Scandanavia [DOM M WANTED] Father Luca was only visiting, coming to help get a new Irish saint ordained as a fact-finding mission. He should have been known to be more careful—the monastery he was staying at was sacked by Vikings, and Luca was carried off from the wreckage. YC, the Viking raider, has a lot to do to a handsome young priest of a religion he doesn't follow. Anyway, if back at the lodges in Scandanavia Luca offends YC, well, it's never too late to cut a slave up and feed them to his pigs.
KOWLOON WALLED CITY - 1950s, Hong Kong [DOM M WANTED]
Set in Kowloon Walled City (Kowloon Walled City - Wikipedia / Kowloon Walled City: A rare insight into one of the most densely populated places on earth which housed 50,000 people). Kowloon Walled City was run by crime syndicates. It was entirely lawless: the government of Hong Kong left it totally alone, the only thing they provided was mail service. More brothels than schools in it, and it was always dark, unless you had a place on the walls or next to the roof. It was constructed without the aid of a single solitary engineer. 50,000 people lived there. People ran from the law into it a lot. I've been really considering Taiga and Crow spending their whole goddamn lives in that six-block radius, owned by the triad.
THE LAND OF THE RISING SUN - 1556–1599 A.D., Lisbon, Portugal [DOM M WANTED]
It's the sixteenth century, and the Nanban boeki, the trade of Japanese goods and slaves to Portuguese sailors, is well underway. Crow Masayoshi and his little sister Hana are two such slaves who make the grueling trip beyond the ocean in the hold of a Portuguese seafaring vessel. In Lisbon, the culture is alien, and the status of them as slaves is a special humiliation for the young man. It's made no easier by the attentions of the Portuguese captain who intends to get rich off of training and selling Crow and his sister.
How easily, then, things go awry.
KNIGHT ERRANT — Middle Ages, Many Possible Locations [DOM M WANTED]
Lorne is an Irish servant to a knight on the crusades, when, alas and alack, his master is killed! What's a winsome little redhead supposed to do on these long, lonely marches without his master's protections? Well, find himself a new master, o'course - only this one might not be so kind and gentlehearted as his last.
HOLY LAND — Middle Ages, Many Possible Locations [DOM M WANTED]
Father Luca thinks of himself as a firm, obedient hand of the Lord, teaching the ways to the Godfearing. Yet everyday, in every way, one particular knight tests the bounds of faith and reason. It started one night when they were alone in the woods and the man—there is no delicate way to say this—forced himself on him. Luca should have condemned him then.
And the incident when he held him down and made such a mockery of the sacrament—Take, eat of my body was never meant to mean—!
—And the rosary beads. Oh, what desecration to Mother Mary herself.
Luca should have condemned him, denounced him as a sodomite, made him lose his lands and status and wife, thus ensuring he'd never have heirs. End his evil line. It would serve him right.
Only—
—it just had felt so—
The Devil whispered in his ear tonight. Tangled his hair with his own hands. Why, WHY did he enjoy the Knight's attentions so damn much?
Historical Fantasy THE SIEGE OF BAGHDAD — 1258 A.D., Baghdad [DOM M WANTED]
The Mongols have torn Baghdad open and raped her of her prizes. Karim Mahmoud Magdi was a young fennec fox shifter in the great city, here visiting from Egypt when the Mongols came to the gates of the city. YC is a Mongol warrior who has claimed him as his prize after the city's sacking.
CRUSADES - 1099 A.D., al-Andalus/Spain [DOM M WANTED]
It's the year 1099, and magic is real. Most of it is done by the writing of spells, the contracting of demons, and enchanted objects. A rare few humans are born true mages, humans who have magic in their blood. The first crusade has just concluded with the sack and subsequent reclaiming of Jerusalem by the holy forces of Christendom. Crusaders, looking for a place to swing their swords, are flooding the Iberian peninsula—what Christians call the rightful kingdom of Spain—in order to take back the land from the Muslims who've ruled it since the 700's. Karim is a young mage in an Islamic village and Christian knights who are fighting in the Reconquista, just back from the crusade, burn his village to the ground and take him as a captive. Since he's a healer and a plant mage who can secure them food, the knight commander keeps him personally. Slowly, humanity is recognized through different cultures and religions, and something inside him tempts a good Christian knight into sodomy with a heretic—liable to get him shunned, and lose him his position, his reputation, his family and his estate.
MAGICIAN'S FAMILIAR - Late 1800s, Early 1900s, (Possibly on the cusp of entering World War I {1914}) [DOM M WANTED]
Magic is done through the bondage and servitude of magical creatures. Familiars, of which a mage can have just one or several, have unequal rights. British mages compete to contract the most splendid creatures, and put them to the most difficult uses, to make the most magnificent mechanical creations that will win the British Empire its rightful ascendant place over the upstart Germans and Americans, and keep the rest of the world in thrall. [YC is a mage. Young, inexperienced, ambitious? Old and exacting? Arrogant and hard-headed? The choice is yours. MC or Characters is/are familiar/s of YC.]
High Fantasy LORD TURNED SLAVE [DOM M OR F WANTED]
In the ruins of this Earth, the City stands tall. It has always been, and it always will be. The lands outside this supernatural city are impoverished, isolated, producing at paces they can't sustain. But they must sustain them, for a dragon must eat as well as a man, and better he eat cattle than human meat for his dinner. To be a slave is to be the ghost of a person. To be a master is to be without limits. And if the humans suffer and die, they reproduce at a rate no other being can match. Rats die soon, too, but there's never any lack of them. And do you really weep when you put out the traps and poison? The City rules this world, but through the City, Taiga ruled his estate. There are humans who are complicit in the brutality of the City, who aid and abet and make a profit through their sycophancy to the City. Taiga, a young human lord who killed his brothers and their wives and children to ascend to his throne, is one such man. Taiga's brutality and lust for luxury and power led to enemies, which led to a violent climax in which an enemy lord laid siege to his castle, and dragged Taiga out into the ashes of his holdings. Taiga was sold to the City as a pet, to squeeze every last drop of wealth from his former estate, which was incredibly grand for a human's. Taiga is now a slave, and one who dreams of power and prestige.
CAPTURED THIEF [DOM M WANTED]
Crow is a teenage thief taking his sister to a neighboring town to make some money and get her some food. He runs into the prince of the kingdom there, and is caught trying to steal from him. Rather than stringing Crow up by his neck for a hanging, the prince decides to make him his slave in repentance.
DRAGON SLAVE [DOM M WANTED]
Tisu was a terrible dragon, a being of fire and smoke. People feared him. But that was years ago. He fell in love with a woman who was murdered by a God—and in the process of trying to slaughter her murderer, he alienated the governance of the earth, the Gods themselves. He was punished for it, confined to the form of a man, and made a slave of a family of mages. The family has a son, a rare and beautiful occurrence for magical beings, which have low birth rates. Tisu, though a slave, was as much a father to the young mage as his own parent, and in most ways far more so. But the boy he raised, who he sees as a child, wants his dragon teacher and mentor to see him as an adult. The process of that is confusing and a little cruel, since Tisu is a slave and trapped without a dragon's magic, at the mercy of every spell the teenage mage uses on him at whim.
KITSUNE [DOM M WANTED]
Taiga is a kitsune slave, born the slave of his master. His mother is serving a debt in a magic kingdom (I was thinking elves? LoTR-y? Lothlórien-y, if you know lotr, IDK) for a thousand years, and now he is born with that same debt. So he is the personal slave (gift) of his master's son, and at the tender age of 19 the two of them have grown up together and grown apart as slavery pulled them in two directions, master and slave, owner and owned. But both of them are hitting puberty and things inevitably turn sexual and yadda yadda this one most of my ideas are smut for but y'know that can be expanded.
THE DOMINANT SLAVE [DOM M WANTED]
When YC, a violent champion gladiator who's lost his fight, is spared in the last second, he doesn't truly see it as a way out. Nobles buying gladiators out from under their opponents' blades when the crowd chooses death is a time-honored tradition, but in YC's opinion, all this means is now, he has nothing left to lose.
And then he meets his master.
This slight teenage boy, with his bright smile and his innocent mien, his insistence that there's good not only in the universe but in YC, leads YC to take liberties. He was suicidal - he wanted to die a noble death. But getting to take one thing from the masters who enslaved him and killed his family? That would be a death worth remembering. And this stupid, beautiful little thing didn't even lock the door to the room he's kept in.
What YC meant to be one night, one rape, and execution in the morning shifts, however. Karim - his boy master - is determined to rehabilitate the angry, miserable, traumatized slave. He agrees to let the slave rape him, as long as it's him and no one else, since if he ever told anyone what the man was doing, it would be an instant, torturous death - and YC has no intention of stopping.
A fight for a man's soul or the destruction of a boy's innocence. Which will prevail?
THE CHAMPION [DOM M WANTED] [WARNING: BLUE MOON-COMPLIANT UNDERAGE.]
The gladiatorial kennels are brutal places. Sixteen-year-old Karim was sent here as a feeder slave, sold by his master after his mother committed suicide. He's only been here a month, but it's a miracle he's even lived that long. Everyone knows he'll die soon. One day, he meets the champion.
Story variation: He's sent in to feed YC, the champion, a dangerous creature with barely any humanity left known for killing those who enter his cage.
Story variation: He meets YC, an a hardened fighter man who decides to trade protection for some comfort with this boy who's better suited for the brothels than the kennel, and finds himself getting drawn closer and closer to young Karim.
Modern Fantasy BLACKMAIL OF A SUPERHERO [DOM M WANTED]
[Supers Universe] Karim Mahmoud Magdi is Onyx, just one of many loosely organized crimefighters trying to make the city a better place. He's famous, well-known, flashy, his sister's exosuit making him able to compete with metahumans and monsters.
And then one day he fucks up.
He was so famous that a little boy saw him collaring a dangerous criminal with kinetic powers along with an 18-year-old up-and-comer with the Spirit Detectives. The nine-year-old bolted over to help, and both Karim and the other super let go of the power-suppression cuffs at the same time to wrangle the child to safety.
The next few seconds are a blur, but during them the teenage detective's head and the adoring child's entrails hit the pavement, and the badguy got away scott-free.
Every second since then, Karim has expected the slurry of news, to lose his license to protect New York, the lawsuits and media coverage and shame.
Nothing.
Little does he know, a powerful blackmailer and news mogul has caught the story, intending to use his leverage to make Karim his plaything. But really, a workplace accident isn't such a juicy story. He needs to manufacture more blackmail to control Karim - video taping his rapes and using them to claim he's working as a hooker? That might do nicely.
CAPTURING FAE [DOM M WANTED]
Fae have true names, their most jealously guarded secret. With the possession of their true name, they can be held in thrall, forced to do anything within their power. To have a fae's true name is to control them completely. YC, a werewolf/large monstrous creature, found out Crow's true name the old fashioned way: by threatening his family. Now, unimaginable power—and a beautiful but unwilling faerie—is held in YC's grasp.
BLACKMAIL [DOM M WANTED]
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. 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. He's also an unregistered magic user.
Your character finds out. Taiga isn't an easy pet to keep, but a fun and beautiful one, anyway.
Modern THE HITMAN [DOM M WANTED]
YC was contracted to kill Karim. He'd done it many times. Kidnap him - that was the easy part. Torture - no problem, either. Old routine. Put on a ski mask. Point a camera at his face. Fuck him up. It was a job for you. But with Karim - things started getting personal. Rape wasn't unknown with jobs, but you couldn't get enough of it with Karim. Found yourself spending just about every second off camera fucking him. But more than that. You couldn't bear when he was cold, brought him a blanket for his cell. Found yourself brushing his tears when he was crying. And on the day your bosses wired you the money, said thanks for your services, bitch didn't pay up, kill him . . . you made him think he was going to die. Filmed the death video. Shut the camera off with everybody believing he was a goner.
And then you injected him with sedatives and brought him to your basement, to the old mattress and chains that were supposed to be for willing lovers, since you'd always been so good about not mixing business and pleasure, home and work-life balance.
KIDNAPPING & TRAINING CAN BE A LOVE LANGUAGE [DOM M WANTED] [Multi-threads preferred] You took everything from Taiga. He was eighteen years old, and you kidnapped him from his bright future to break him and sell him as a prostitute. An immigrant from Japan who bragged that no one knew where he was and nobody was expecting him home? It was perfect!
You never expected to fall in love, or to feel mutual respect. You never expected he'd become your second in command one day.
{Looking for someone to play Taiga's backstory out with me. Long road, plenty of ups and downs, lot of room for new directions!}
SILENCE OF THE LAMBS [DOM M WANTED]
In the 1980's, when power suits reigned supreme, Karim was a humble reporter covering national news from his cute bungalow in New Jersey. He covered the killings of an infamous serial killer, YC, who felt unlike other reporters, Karim really understood him. So, he kidnapped Karim with the intent to make him his newest victim, to show him first hand how Gods are created.
TUTORING AN ASSHOLE [DOM M OR F WANTED]
YC is an important legacy student with a mother who's the dean of Hana's school and a father who's boss of the place Hana's doing an internship at. Crow loves his little sister Hana—he became the legal caretaker of her when she was ten and he was eighteen. Mostly, he's tried to keep her safe from the life he lives, and where their money comes from—he's a hooker, not a fashion model, as he's told Hana. YC finds out about his double life, illegal as it is, and uses it to blackmail Crow. If YC talks, Crow goes to jail for prostitution. If YC's father is angered, Hana loses her important internship, and maybe faces repercussions at school. Crow allows things to get way out of hand, trying to protect Hana.
FREAK SHOW AU [M/GENDERQUEER, M/M or F/M] — 1850 AD. Beast (genderfluid, any pronouns are fine for her) was a curious little thing—demons often are. When he went to England at the height of the Victorian Age to see the brand-new inventions—trains—he was disappointed. Wandering the streets, he found a traveling freak show at the London fairgrounds. Little did she know, the freaks at the show were a little more real than they seemed—the ringmaster, of course, was an exorcist, imprisoning demons, ghouls and spirits to put them to work for him. Beast quickly finds himself in a very sticky situation, imprisoned in the middle of the circus, with a cage, as the winged boy. At night, the ringmaster offers more interesting services to those who desire them—use of the various freaks in a cheap bordello behind the tents. Who is YC? Are they the ringmaster? Are they the ringmaster's young apprentice? Are they a fellow freak? Any are open! I'm also willing to play this story with more than one character for both of us—Tisu could be a strongman and fellow demon, a djinn bound to the service of the ringmaster.
Random smattering of ideas for this:
— Beast up at barely-dawn sewing up their costume after it's been torn off, because they have to wear it again the next night.
— People willing to pay to do things to the strongman/have the strongman do things to them
— Beast sneaking into the dancing bear's cage to sleep curled up against it because she feels safer there
— Beast badly injuring a human child who stuck his hand into the cage.
For your consideration, the starter!
Beast was short for his age and lean, raw-boned, but he was still shedding the awkward wings of childhood for the guise of a duplicitous adult. He came to see the creatures that moved with mechanical wheels, but was disappointed to find they were loud and dirty things, as much as the humans who rode them. They belched overpowering black smoke that got in your eyes and mouth when you rode them. Opening a window ensured a lungful of ash. On top of that, every square inch of the iron-bellied monster was stuffed with humans, whose customs were bewildering and who seemed to view Beast as a tatty low-class adolescent.
Beast had climbed all over the trains when they lay fallow in the yards, but having experienced a moving one, he began to think these humans were dull as cattle. Didn't it choke them too?
Disillusioned and disappointed, he considered crawling back to the nearby portal in an abandoned field behind a cracked stone manger, but he didn't want to return empty handed.
The smog banks rolled in off the harbor, mixing with the dirty breath of the coal factories. Beast meandered over the streets in the limpid morning, but people stopped, turned, and stared, wondering loudly in his presence what a boy was doing in a dress. He'd climbed to the building tops above an alley then, annoyed by the scrutiny, and from there, heard the talk of a nearby sideshow, which seemed better sport than this. Beast skipped over the rooftops, avoiding the gangs of boys who roamed up here, kicking pigeon's nests into alleyways on the heads of old beggars.
Finally he'd chased the show to London's fairgrounds, his sharp vision picking up a circle of bedraggled, colorful tents.
It was a freak show, with big signs Beast couldn't read. A man in a tatty top hat stood out front. He opened his mouth and began to bellow, "Come one, come all, to see a demon from hell itself! No tricks, here, no illusions, a demon in the flesh!"
Beast stirred from his lean against the shadow of a chimney, narrowing his eyes. A demon? Humans had caught a real demon? Who would be foolish enough to become prey to a human?
He crouched there, hard for most eyes to see, and began to cackle.
I must have a look at this demon, he thought.
But in his eagerness, he had leaned too far forward and exposed his silhouette. He felt someone's eyes on him, and turned immediately to the fairgrounds' entrance to find who had been watching.
Desired Sexual Orientation: Gay, bi, or pansexual Smut Desires: Ideally, I'd like them to be open to a romance or smut with Jamaal. I tend to like rough stuff. Hit me up if you do too! Desired Position: Dom, Switch, Romantic Top. Face Claim Suggestions: Lance Gross (left), Tyrell Carter (right), Boris Kodjoe, Chadwick Boseman, Adonis Bosso
Jamaal grew up in the suburbs of Charlotte, North Carolina, and had not an idyllic childhood, but certainly a lot of happy memories of baking with his no-nonsense businesswoman mother, flour everywhere, and being carried out to the beach by his father, and particularly of his family's matriarch, the slim and still-beautiful Grandma Amoy, who took his demonological education in hand.
Grandma Amoy warned him she could only teach him Jamaican forms of magic, since she emigrated from her native Jamaica to North Carolina as a young adult to follow her American beau Robbie, Jamaal's grandfather. She encouraged him to seek out other forms of magic and learn them, too.
Jamaal was accepted into many schools, a bright boy with what everyone encouraged him and believed to be a bright future. He decided after some soul-searching to go to Morehouse College. His sister, Aaliyah, was getting married to her long-time girlfriend Jessica Cole.
Jamaal's family was targeted by a powerful demon. His parents collected fine art, and a demon wanted a piece. His mother wouldn't sell. It was the summer after Jamaal's senior year. He'd just been accepted into his first choice. He was out late celebrating.
He came home to a nightmare. Robbers had broken into his home, killed his family. Taken the art and anything else they could sell.
Jamaal went into a cycle of grief and rage. He didn't even tell Morehouse he wasn't coming. He just didn't show up.
He spent years using his pathfinding to track down the robbers. Consumed by the desire to bring them to justice, he finally surprised them. He tied them up. He meant to kill them.
Instead, he sat down and talked to them. He told them what it was like, losing his parents fresh out of high school.
He talked, and then he let them go.
One of the robbers was moved by his story. He turned his partners in, and after serving his time in jail, he found Jamaal again. They became friends.
THAT'S WHERE YOU COME IN.
This character is his friend, someone who took everything from Jamaal and dearly would like to give it all back again. Not someone who's a stranger to living on the wrong side of the law, but he has a heart.
I'm open to either starting our story from the moment he tracks Jay down, newly out of jail. I'm also open to starting it wherein they've known each other for a while. Whichever appeals to the taker, though the first appeals to me most.
One small note: Raceplay is really not a kink for me, and I don't want to write with someone who's reduced this character's complexities down to a big black cock. As long as you're not doing those two things, though, I'm totally open! I'd love to write with you, hit me up!
ONE BADGUY PLEASE for JAMAAL WALKER AND EVERYBODY ELSE, TOO (SEKAH)
Desired Sexual Orientation: Gay, bi, pan, just not straight! Smut Desires: This is a non-con prompt give me non-con. Desired Position: Dom. Hard dom, too. Face Claim Suggestions: Joe Manganiello (pictured), Rufus Sewell, Aleksander Skarsgard, any hot villain actor in the world
Jamaal grew up in the suburbs of Charlotte, North Carolina, and had not an idyllic childhood, but certainly a lot of happy memories of baking with his no-nonsense businesswoman mother, flour everywhere, and being carried out to the beach by his father, and particularly of his family's matriarch, the slim and still-beautiful Grandma Amoy, who took his demonological education in hand.
Grandma Amoy warned him she could only teach him Jamaican forms of magic, since she emigrated from her native Jamaica to North Carolina as a young adult to follow her American beau Robbie, Jamaal's grandfather. She encouraged him to seek out other forms of magic and learn them, too.
Jamaal was accepted into many schools, a bright boy with what everyone encouraged him and believed to be a bright future. He decided after some soul-searching to go to Morehouse College. His sister, Aaliyah, was getting a civil union with her long-time partner Jessica Cole.
Jamaal's family was targeted by a powerful demon. His parents collected fine art, and a demon wanted a piece. His mother wouldn't sell. It was the summer after Jamaal's senior year. He'd just been accepted into his first choice. He was out late celebrating.
He came home to a nightmare. Robbers had broken into his home, killed his family. Taken the art and anything else they could sell.
Jamaal went into a cycle of grief and rage. He didn't even tell Morehouse he wasn't coming. He just didn't show up.
He spent years using his pathfinding to track down the robbers. Consumed by the desire to bring them to justice, he finally surprised them. He tied them up. He meant to kill them.
Instead, he sat down and talked to them. He told them what it was like, losing his parents fresh out of high school.
He talked, and then he let them go.
One of the robbers was moved by his story. He turned his partners in, and after serving his time in the Panopticon, he found Jamaal again. They became friends.
There's still one person watching Jamaal: YC, the demon who ordered the hit.
KOWLOON WALLED CITY AU — Set in Kowloon Walled City (Kowloon Walled City - Wikipedia / Kowloon Walled City: A rare insight into one of the most densely populated places on earth which housed 50,000 people). Kowloon Walled City was run by crime syndicates. It was entirely lawless: the government of Hong Kong left it totally alone, the only thing they provided was mail service. More brothels than schools in it, and it was always dark, unless you had a place on the walls or next to the roof. It was constructed without the aid of a single solitary engineer. 50,000 people lived there. People ran from the law into it a lot. Your character is someone trying to run from the long arm of the law. My character is a boy who's lived his whole goddamn life in this five block radius, owned by the triad.
FOR YOUR ENJOYMENT, THE STARTER!
"Watch him," the boss said.
He was chain-smoking a cigarette with the window open—he had a corner apartment right up against the roof with a wide window and plants lining it, true luxury. Seeing the curlicues of smoke made Taiga's own lungs ache. But he couldn't smoke now, in front of the leader of the biggest triad in the lightless city.
"Alright, sir," Taiga replied dutifully.
"Move in with him. Make him happy. If he has needs—take care of them."
"Yes, sir," Taiga said, drawing himself up, trying not to seem unwilling to satiate his needs.
"And Taiga—"
Taiga eyed him.
"—try to smile, boy. You're cute when you smile, you know."
It was just muscles in his face. Taiga's lips curled up. He smiled.
"Alright," the boss chuckled, "get out of here."
Taiga didn't need any more incentive. He bowed, and then he went.
Kowloon Walled City was a rat's warren and few knew its intimacies. Maybe only the postmen knew all of it. Things dripped under the odd lights, sometimes right on Taiga's head. Cockroaches disappeared under his foot. He picked his way through garbage, through odd hallways that swung around and headed nowhere.
You wouldn't know it looking at the man's face, but he was excited, like he always was getting to meet an outsider.
This man wasn't just an outsider—he was a foreigner. A European. And the triad was courting him for one reason or another, so he'd gotten a corner apartment—a window and the roof. The luxury was mind-blowing to Taiga.
He passed some rats that didn't even flee when he sidled by them, eyeing him and looking perfectly willing to attack him before he attacked them.
Those rats were always killing cats, even sometimes unattended children. It was life. It was the way of things. Someone told Taiga once there were fifty thousand people in Kowloon. That seemed high, but probably accurate. Taiga had lived in these six blocks his whole life, since he was born here, and he was constantly finding shops he'd never seen that had been here for ten years, meeting people he'd never known.
He was triad-marked and he had the tattoos on his shoulder, bared beneath his dark grey wife-beater with holes under the armpit. Nobody messed with him, and he knew the territories his triad controlled, the areas that belonged to us and the ones that belonged to others.
He turned a sudden narrow corner to a metal stairway that didn't look possible and climbed it two at a time, ignoring the banisters because rust like that could cut into you and cause lockjaw. A man had told him that once and he'd never touched the rust stained areas again.
Here he was. The far edge of his triad's territory. There was the apartment, Luck Dragon 55C. He rapped smartly on the door, unable to suppress his excitement.
An outsider. A foreigner. A corner apartment!
He wiped a drip that had hit his forehead and smiled. This was moving up.
I just need a non-con or abusive dom character with this face claim (Donnell Blayjock Jr.) to wreck my boys' holes. Please, in the name of love and God.
This could be sci fi, fantasy, historical, modern, as long as you use this face claim and it's rough and mean, I don't care.
Any of these plots and any other you can think of would work. Non-con + that face claim = perfection. (Please nobody who just wants to make him a big black cock or otherwise dehumanize him. No race play, in other words.)
THE DOMINANT SLAVE [DOM M WANTED]
When YC, a violent champion gladiator who's lost his fight, is spared in the last second, he doesn't truly see it as a way out. Nobles buying gladiators out from under their opponents' blades when the crowd chooses death is a time-honored tradition, but in YC's opinion, all this means is now, he has nothing left to lose.
And then he meets his master.
This slight teenage boy, with his bright smile and his innocent mien, his insistence that there's good not only in the universe but in YC, leads YC to take liberties. He was suicidal - he wanted to die a noble death. But getting to take one thing from the masters who enslaved him and killed his family? That would be a death worth remembering. And this stupid, beautiful little thing didn't even lock the door to the room he's kept in, let alone the one to his own bedroom.
What YC meant to be one night, one rape, owning one fucking thing in this miserable world, and bloody execution in the morning shifts, however. Karim - his boy master - is determined to rehabilitate the angry, miserable, traumatized slave. He agrees to let the slave rape him, as long as it's him and no one else, since if he ever told anyone what the man was doing, it would be an instant, torturous death - and YC has no intention of stopping.
A fight for a man's soul or the destruction of a boy's innocence. Which will prevail?
He was coming today, and Karim was as excited as he was worried. He'd spent the entire afternoon awaiting his arrival cooking, his kitchen staff sitting back and watching him make dinners for the whole mansion with barely any help from anyone.
Karim's mansion was an unusual one, in the City. Its basement was a larder, not a catacomb for slaves. He didn't own any pleasure or fighting slaves personally, and had no real accommodations for them, honestly. At the strong encouragement of the procurer, concerned both for the young master's safety and what would be done to him if a slave he sold wrung the sweet boy's neck, he'd invested in a fine lock for the room he intended to be the gladiator's.
He didn't think he'd have to use it, though. There was no escape from the City—not for a slave. Surely the man knew that.
Oh, he did own slaves, of course. Hard not to, in the City. They were servants, all of them. None had ever been whipped or abused, nor shared Karim's bed, not even the pretty redhead Rose who had gone out of her way to let her master know she was interested and willing.
The fact that he could order her to do anything and she faced punishment if she disobeyed robbed him of any desire. He was saving himself for the right person, anyway.
All his slaves had guaranteed days off, and small stipends. A few had already bought their freedom. They'd stayed on, though, simply paid real wages instead. His slaves were well-fed and finely clothed. They wore no collars or chains.
He enjoyed it. Most houses the slaves dropped to a kowtow when you walked in. Nobody looked in your eyes, and you were lucky to get anything more than a, "Yes, milord." "Of course, milord." Or for a change, "I'll see, milord."
The laundrywomen and the kitchen staff talked to him and teased him in ways his sister, when visiting, thought most unbecoming.
"You're feeding them too much," she said. Sometimes, "You should whip them more. Slaves bite the hand that feeds them."
Karim just reminded her of the scars on his hand from that baby griffin he'd recovered from a merchant using him for his feathers. He'd nursed the fledgeling back to health until he could find its parents.
He'd found them, but the little terror had left lasting marks of its beak and claws on his hands for the privilege.
He was considered eccentric for his views—a bleeding heart. His parents tried to tell others that it was only because he was young—sixteen was an infant to immortals. But for all his sister and parents' wealth and prestige, he had nothing really expected of him, his wealth and status uniquely granted only by his family, and nothing of his own merits—he had the unlucky gift to have a rare but ultimately useless shifted form: a fennec fox. Not much good for anything but hugging, really. His sister was a hyena shifter, as was his mother. His father was a king cobra, massive in size, with deadly venom from his fangs.
In a city of gods and monsters, Karim was most stringently disadvantaged.
But Karim's newest slave and latest reclamation project was coming today.
Karim had seen him in his matches. He was breathtaking.
He also should have died last Thursday, and would have, if Karim hadn't stepped in and protected him, bought him up from under the executioner's axe.
Karim had laden a full dining table with the finest food and softest bread, trying to spend time until the man was delivered. He'd had so much time he'd finished the suckling pig and stuffed goose and built a castle out of marzipan.
"My lord," Abdul the doorman said, poking his head into the kitchens with a worried look on his heavy features, "he's here."
Karim practically skipped out to the front door. He waited impatiently for his footman to trot up behind him and open it, his mother's repeated screams throughout his childhood, You are a master of the Magdi house and will not preempt the footman like a common servant ringing in his ears.
He walked out, a smile on his handsome face. "Welcome!" he called. "I hope you're hungry."
SILENCE OF THE LAMBS [DOM M WANTED]
In the 1980's, when power suits reigned supreme, Karim was a humble reporter covering national news from his cute bungalow in New Jersey. He covered the killings of an infamous serial killer, YC, who felt unlike other reporters, Karim really understood him. So, he kidnapped Karim with the intent to make him his newest victim, to show him first hand how Gods are created.
Inspired by Red Dragon.
The TV was on but there was no one watching. Karim was in the kitchen, humming a song to himself he'd heard on the radio earlier today, Billie Jean by Michael Jackson. His eye was half on the macaroni bechamel, half on the last vestiges of sun dusting the sky with pink through a window that opened onto a closed yard with beautiful flowering bushes, showing no neighbors his face. But there was no need to worry—the next time he checked the baked macaroni perfuming the air with its scent even more than the gardenias, it was finished.
He quickly slid on the oven mitts and plated it, closed the oven, and hurriedly threw off the mitts as the last light left the sky and darkness encroached on the world, performing his ablutions, unrolling his prayer rug and bowing to Mecca and his God.
He heard footsteps come in, but dismissed it as a trick of the creaky old house, praying fervently to God and the Prophet to protect him, to protect his family, to look with favor on Leyla's new business in Orlando—
—his neck bent forward below thick brown curls, his body in supplication, facing the entryway to the kitchen from the back, the tile floors only feet from an approaching monster who Karim had devoted research to, and had never met in person.
Macaroni and cheese steamed on the stove of the empty house, inviting a would-be God's indulgence, if he desired to while away some time.
THE HITMAN [DOM M WANTED]
YC was contracted to kill Karim. He'd done it many times. Kidnap him - that was the easy part. Torture - no problem, either. Old routine. Put on a ski mask. Point a camera at his face. Fuck him up. It was a job for you. But with Karim - things started getting personal. Rape wasn't unknown with jobs, but you couldn't get enough of it with Karim. Found yourself spending just about every second off camera fucking him. But more than that. You couldn't bear when he was cold, brought him a blanket for his cell. Found yourself brushing his tears when he was crying. And on the day your bosses wired you the money, said thanks for your services, bitch didn't pay up, kill him . . . you made him think he was going to die. Filmed the death video. Shut the camera off with everybody believing he was a goner.
And then you injected him with sedatives and brought him to your basement, to the old mattress and chains that were supposed to be for willing lovers, since you'd always been so good about not mixing business and pleasure, home and work-life balance.
Karim didn’t know where he was.
For how he got here, he’d only been conscious of walking to CVS when there was pressure on the back of his neck.
He must have been drugged, a syringe; his mind constructed a crime scene he barely remembered.
The next thing he knew, he was here.
He was handcuffed behind his back, and somehow attached by that to a chair. His feet were cuffed too. He couldn’t see—a bag over his head prevented his eyes from taking in his surroundings.
A ball gag spread his lips, very like what he would have used in sex.
He hadn’t been fully aware long before a door clanged. Heavy footsteps led to him. His breath and his body rattling with quivers against the chair were the loudest things in the room.
REVENGE SERVED COLD - 1195 A.D., Palestine [DOM M WANTED] The peace has come after the brutal third crusade. Palestine is licking its wounds. Further bloodshed seems ever-more inevitable, as neither side can keep itself from war. Saladin negotiated the terms of a truce that allowed Christian pilgrims free entry into Palestine, and access to the city of Jerusalem to pray. God help the pilgrims who go farther—and one small group did, heading into deeper Palestine, where they were captured and imprisoned. A Welsh boy named Gareth Maddox was among those kidnapped by the Muslims.
So the gist of this game is, the boy Gareth served as a young page to a knight, and came to Palestine out of Christian repentance after basically joining a small cult of people that wanted to make amends to Palestinians. They meet a caliph whose wife and son - just Gareth's age - were raped and murdered by the Christians. The caliph is happy to visit some of the same horrors onto this Christian boy.
SMATTERING OF IDEAS:
- The caliph is fluent in Latin, and the boy barely knows a little from lessons by his local priest. It's the only language they have in common, and the only way they can communicate.
- The boy begs to be taught the word 'Stop.' He's taught the word 'Harder.'
- The caliph keeps seeing the shade of his son in the boy, leading him to be gentle and fatherly, and then immediately switching to brutality when he gets furious with himself - and takes it out on Gareth - for comparing his son to this heathen.
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