#fantasy abduction

[grumpygreenwitch]

The Fairy and the Prince #20 + #21 + #22

Part 1 - Part 2 - Parts 3 & 4 - Part 5 - Part 6, 7 & 8 - Part 9 & 10 - Part 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 & 16 - Part 17, 18, & 19 - Part 20, 21 & 22 - Part 23, 24, 25 & 26 - Part 27, 28, 29 & 30 - Part 31, 32, 33 & 34 - Part 35, 36 & 37 - Part 38, 39, 40 & 41 - Part 42 & 43 - Part 44 & 45 - Part 46 & 47 - Part 48, 49, 50 & 51 - Part, 52, 53 & 54 - Part 55 & 56 - Part 57, 58, 59 & 60 - Part 61, 62, 63, 64 & 65 - Part 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71 & 72

Originally posted 11/16/2022. Don’t forget, there’s also an update tonight, in addition to the rerun.

Autumn came, and with it William’s seventeenth birthday. Unlike Adam’s parents, William’s family did want to at least look like they gave a damn about the son they’d placed on the bloody altar of the Dowager Queen’s curse. They sent what was needed so he could host a small dinner for whatever friends and allies he’d made, and a gift of a fine jousting saddle. Adam was invited, and found himself the youngest once again; it made him think wistfully on what time he had spent at the palace. They ribbed him about his desire never to come to the crown, of course, and he accepted the teasing gracefully. They wondered why he lingered in the palace, if he truly had no intention of claiming the throne. Adam fully admitted to them that he would stay even after someone took the throne; he wanted nothing to do with the parents who’d thrown him into such a mess. Once there were a King, he’d be free to swear fealty, and perhaps they ought to get hopping to it?

It brought wry laughs because they could all too readily see his plight in their own, and they returned to making William’s birthday as memorable as they could.

Full of good food, warmed by strangely unexpected cheer and wobbling a little from too much sherry, brandy, and other rich liquors, Adam found himself unwilling and unable to tolerate the walls of the palace. He found his way to a bench in a nearby garden and flopped down on it with a groan that said he’d learned his lesson well: only two servings of roasted stuffed goose with peach glaze next time. Three, tops.

A crack of thunder woke him up so violently he fell off the stone bench, crashing down to the ground with a stinging impact, drenched by a freezing, torrential downpour that had failed to rouse him even as it chilled him to the bone. He sat up, panting as if he’d run for miles. His head was pounding with the aftereffects of too much liquor, and the food had gone to a stone in his gut.

There was someone walking along the lawn. Adam roused to his feet, feeling sick to his heart. In the light of a lightning bolt he saw it, clear as if it were daylight, indelibly etched in his mind and his memory: someone was walking across the green grass with the jerking, rigid motions of a puppet, pulled and pushed this way and that by its strings. On a second flash of light Adam realized that whoever they were, they were not alone: another figure, lithe and slender, a ghost of fog, a shape drawn in raindrops and wind, was dancing around them.

“Hey,” he croaked, his voice strangled by fear and drowned by the rain. He took a few uncertain steps forward.

The whispering voices of the water-spouts called out his name. They were full of warnings.

“Keep talking,” he urged them. “Keep calling my name. Please. So I won’t forget it.”

They sang his name, all of them, an endless echo powered by the violent rain, and Adam gasped for breath, unaware that he’d been all but drowning until that moment. “Hey!” he shouted.

Lightning answered. The swirling thing around the walking figure came to a standstill.

Adam walked. He ran. “Hey, stop!”

The thing of rain and wind and fog began to dance and circle again, and the walker jerked forward. Adam slid on the grass and the mud. “Stop! Leave him alone! Let him b-!” He skid to a halt, mouth open, every thought and emotion gone to a jumble and a knot in his heart.

Prince Rickard stared back at him, and took another step toward the woods. “Adam,” the older prince croaked. He’d just become eighteen late in spring. “Adam, help me.” Another step.

Adam realized, with the most profound horror, that Rickard was aware. He knew exactly what his body was doing, there in the rain. He was wearing a shirt and pants, but no boots, no coat. He’d been ready to go to bed, likely relaxing in his room, when the Prince in the Woods had sent his emissary to summon this newest sacrifice. And try as he might, and the older prince was very much trying, not all his terror and hate, not all his rage and ruthless determination, not one jot of his willingness to kill for the crown was helping him. His feet carried him one step closer to the woods, looming immense and black before them, alien and menacing as Adam had only once before known them to be.

“Rickard, stop.”

“I can’t,” the prince wheezed.

“Why should you,” the thing of rain and fog whispered, and Adam saw her clearly at last, beautiful and deadly, inhumanly so in every regard. She wore a maid’s shape, and next to her Arditty would have looked plain and forgettable. She had pale eyes and wind-tossed hair, and sometimes she wore fine courtly clothing and sometimes nothing at all. “Come, prince, my prince. Come. Are you not now a man? Should a man not be a king?” Her lips brushed against Rickard’s cheek and the older prince made a high sound of terror and revulsion.

“Leave him alone!” Adam shouted at her, and she laughed at him, high and cold and cruel. “Rickard, stop!”

“I can’t.” Through the sodden shirt Adam could see that Rickard was truly trying. Every muscle on the older prince’s body was standing out starkly, to no avail. He’d taken three more steps already on his way. “Adam, strike me, break my legs, do something. Stop me. Help me, please.”

“What’s to help, oh, what’s to help, prince, my prince?” She tangled up around him as intimately as a lover in bed, running her hands and her too-sharp fingers through Rickard’s rain-plastered hair. “Have you not lied, cheated, schemed for this crown you wish to claim? Have you not killed, have you not spilled blood, oh, blood, warm and rich.” She licked along the side of Rickard’s neck, who closed his eyes tightly and fought his head away. She spun around him in a flash of lightning, laughing. “Is this not what you have always wanted, prince, my prince, my sweet, delicious prince?”

Adam saw the treeline far too close, and shadows like wolves prowling along the edges. “Rickard,” he said at last. “Rickard, answer her.”

“Help me,” the older prince croaked. “Adam, please.” Nothing remained of the bully, of the older boy, sure of his strength and his cold machinations. There was only a terrified young man trapped by a power entirely beyond his understanding.

“Rickard, answer her!” Adam shouted. “Tell her! Tell her you don’t want the crown! Tell her you give it up -!” He had to throw himself back, crashing down on a heap in the muddy ground when the fairy maid lunged at him, hissing like a blizzard wind, her fingers gone to talons of ice. “They can’t take you if you do!”

Rickard fought to drag in a breath. Everything he’d done, everything he’d lost and sacrificed, every part of his heart and his soul that he’d cut away, came crashing down on him like the most terrible of avalanches. He’d thought it would all be worth it if he could only claim the crown. He’d never imagined it had all along been a contest he’d lost before he’d even begun. “I -” His voice strangled, gone to nothing; she’d closed her hands around his throat.

“Cheat!” Adam cried out. “You’re cheating!”

The rain cut off as if an ax had swung and murdered it. The wind went perfectly still. The fairy maid gasped and locked her pale white starlight eyes on the young prince. “You dare -!” All her power suddenly came to rest on him, bidding him be silent, bidding him be still.

Somewhere far behind him the spouts whispered his name, and Adam flicked his hair from his face and her power from his mind. “You’re cheating,” he told her sharply. “He has to take your test, but only if he wants the crown. You can’t make him if he doesn’t want it, and if you don’t let him choose, you’re cheating.”

“He wants it,” she hissed.

“You don’t speak for him.”

Something, immense and dark and so powerful it felt as if the night itself were speaking, did something at the edge of the woods. Growling, she released her grip on Rickard’s throat, and the older prince crashed down to his knees, coughing, breath rasping in and out of him erratically.

“Rickard,” Adam said. “Rickard, tell her. Tell her now, because we’re here and it’s about to be too late. Tell her.”

The older prince went down until his forehead touched the mud, and began to weep. “I,” he croaked, “do not want the crown.”

“Liar.” She coiled around Rickard like a snake. “You’ve killed for it. You’ve bleed for it. You’ve done everything for it.”

“I do not want the crown,” Rickard repeated, straightening up to his knees. “I forswear it. On my heart, on my life, on my blood, I renounce it. Let it go to someone else. I do not want it!” he shouted the last bit at her, his voice raw with all that he’d done and lost for a prize he could never have.

She went to pieces under the force of his voice, or so it seemed. One moment she was there, and the next they were alone in a patch of cold fog, two young men at the edge of the woods. The rain began to fall again, but this time it was just an autumn squall, cold and dreary, already losing strength.

Rickard went down again, hands curled to fists in the mud, and wept. Adam crawled over to him and wrapped his arms around his once-enemy, not knowing what else to do.

***

Prince Rickard went home the morning after, alone on his charger, after giving up his claim before the Dowager Queen. He was ashen and there were shadows like bruises under his eyes, but his voice was steady and his steps sure.

Adam watched him go, and went down to the edge of the woods. The rain had washed them clean, and there were birds flitting through the nearly naked branches, hunting down gifts of rosehips and slugs. “I do not want the crown, I surrender my claim to it,” he told the birds and the trees and an errant beetle, and waited.

A wood thrush sang somewhere in the woods. The beetle crashed against his boot and fell on its back; Adam bent down to right it, and looked at the autumn wilderness in exasperation. “Really, now. Do we have to wait until I’m eighteen? I know what I want.”

A breeze tore a few leaves from the trees and sent them spiraling down. Adam resisted the urge to stomp his foot in vexation; he was not a baby to be throwing a tantrum when balked. “Fine. Until I’m eighteen, then,” he declared, and went to find his friends.

***

The last few days of autumn were marred by Adam catching a terrible cold that the palace’s physicians couldn’t explain; it wasn’t as if the young prince had gone traipsing about in a freezing downpour an entire night, after all. He was left restless and unhappy in his bed, plucking at the blankets that were piled on him in an effort to break his fever. He tried to study, but he could barely focus on food, let alone reading. There was a bit of a nervous moment for his human friends when one of the healers came to give him his hourly medicine and the prince, half delirious, started calling out for people with very inhuman names.

Culli-maid went out to the woods after that, bundled up in a heavy shawl, carrying a basket with honey and bread and figs from the Royal hothouse, and a crispy roasted trout.

She needn’t have bothered with the offerings. Linden nearly ran her down when they saw her coming, their fingers tangled up in each other like the knotted roots of a surly tree. Needlemaw had heard from William that Adam was sick, but little else; all they otherwise knew was that Adam had been out on a Hunting Night. Culli’s news were far more welcomed, worrisome as they were, than any gift of honey. She was sent back with word to leave one of the windows in the prince’s rooms open. Boul looked deeply crestfallen at that; he was a troll, a creature of earth and water. Climbing was one thing he’d never learned, in all his years with his wild friends. Culli-maid solved that by sending Dane down with a wheelbarrow, ostensibly for firewood.

Adam woke up from a heavy, feverish sleep to the scent of linden flowers and a cool hand brushing back his hair. “Would you please,” he whispered hoarsely, “thank the water-spouts for me. They helped me more than they know.”

Linden couldn’t help but laugh. “What were you thinking, what were you doing?”

“I wasn’t thinking much,” Adam admitted. “I had five servings of stuffed goose and I think I drank half the bottle of blackberry brandy, and never, ever again.”

“Well, ‘tis a hard lesson learned, that, but a good one to learn,” Needlemaw’s voice purred low at him, full of wry amusement, as Linden sprawled on the bed next to their best friend.

He told them everything, these two disparate groups that had become the bonds of his life, strange as it was and stranger as it had become. He drowsed once in the middle of the telling, and then picked up the thread again as he woke up, unaware that he’d stopped. He slept again after that, only vaguely aware that the physicians had come back with his medicine; Culli-maid heard much of how the treatment was surely working, making the young prince biddable and meek.

When he woke up again the hearth was banked to rich red coals. Culli’s shawl and mending basket rested on the chair by the window, and the nearby study table was covered in books and scraps of well-worn parchment. Adam licked his lips and grimaced at the taste of bitter medicine, and heard a low, familiar chuckle. “You wouldn’t laugh if you had to drink it,” he muttered, grinning.

“I don’t get sick from the rain,” Linden replied, their voice low and cheerful.

Adam turned. He felt wrung out and exhausted, but clear-headed for the first time in forever. He gazed at the shattered, many-colored eyes. In the dark, Linden’s wild burst of gold-tipped white hair had slicked down, pressed close to their skull, and their features looked sharp and deeply inhuman in the gloom, sun-kissed to the color of a tree’s bark. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“Ugh,” Linden replied, shifting in the immense bed and seeking out Adam’s hand so they could lace their fingers with the prince’s. “And you thinking you’re selfish.” When Adam smiled at that, they went on. “You’ll get better now, then?”

“I suppose. Anything so I don’t have to drink any more bitter tea.”

Linden snorted. “You could have let him go, you know. He’s been nothing but horrible to you.”

Adam rubbed at his mouth with the sleeve of his sleeping shirt. “Linden, lots of people are horrible to me. Lots more are always going to be horrible to me. That’s not my fault, it’s never going to be, but I can’t be horrible back just because. How exhausting would that be for nothing gained.” He licked his lips and grimaced at a lingering taste no rubbing could take away. “You should always start out being nice. I did. I didn’t stay nice for Rickard, but when he stopped picking fights I didn’t go looking for them. I didn’t want to be his friend, I just wanted him to leave me alone.”

“Did he?”

“Yes. The thing with being nice right off is, other people end up being nice back. Because they already were, or because they’re ashamed, or just because they’re tired of being mean, or a lot of other reasons. Rickard being nice was him leaving me alone, and I don’t mean the fighting. He could have just made me part of his schemes. He didn’t. And… Maybe, if things go the way everyone thinks they will, someone will be there, like I was for him.”

“I will be.”

“I think that would just scare me more. I’m used to the thought of me being in trouble. I don’t know what I’d do if it were you instead.” Adam paused. “Are you in trouble now? For being here after dark?”

“No. I told them I wouldn’t come back until I knew you were alright, and if they got in my way I wouldn’t come back at all.”

They laughed at that, their small bits of defiance, unaware or perhaps simply uncaring of the vastness of what they’d accomplished. Adam rubbed at his mouth once again and licked. “Ugh!”

“It’s stained your lips, too,” Linden pointed out.

“That’s probably why I can’t get rid of it. Wouldn’t have hurt them to put a bit of sugar in it.”

[obsessionavecdescouteaux]

Sorry darling, I had to sedate you or else you’d scream. I know my basement may not be ideal, but soon enough it will feel like home to you

[redbunni3]

I need me an older man

[teethextraction]

from yesterday, the most inescapable hogtie I’ve been bound in so far🤎

[astrostx]

sure, i have an abduction kink because of the intense need to be desired by someone so desparately that they cant help but to claim me in my entirety for their own wants, but also like

have you seen the economy? spending my time in a cage rent free is a dream come true<3

[avakitsune]

I think I promised tiddy gifs?

[autassassinstalker]

If you need essential oils for deep relaxation, I recommend chloroform.

[obsessionavecdescouteaux]

Abducting her lover and taking him to an abandoned church where I slit his throat over the alter like a sacrificial lamb and force her to watch as I remove his heart

[teethextraction]

is it fun? knowing your orgasms aren’t yours to control anymore? no matter how much you try struggling, the vibrator will always be taped between your legs; your pleasure is for everyone else’s amusement but yours ♥️

[norhuu]

A Victorian lady’s girlfriend gets abducted by aliens, sketched in pencil and pen.

[k1ssable-k1nks]

Thinking about...

Being kept in a closet that's been soundproofed with my hands cuffed over the clothing rod.

I am naked, blindfolded, and gagged with headphones on. I can't sit down and I'm left there for hours.

Most of the time is spent listening to various mantras about being submissive to my captors played with an overwhelming amount of moans and wet sounds behind it.

The last hour, the track switches over and a text to speech voice starts listing everything that could happen to me once the door opens, instilling a strong sense of fear as the list goes on.

[breakingcuties]

Taking car rides with your owner is the best, especially when you didn’t know you were going on a car ride and you didn’t know he owned you, much less seen him before.

[bridgetteofhearts]

He took picture after picture. He calls me his supermodel, his movie star. I opened my legs for him and he's already taking pictures of my princess parts. His friends love me, they love the movies dad and I make. They love how I look so happy. How I smile for the camera. Like if I was smiling at them.

"Here you go, sweetheart" the man smiles, I look at my gift and he can tell I didn't like it. He feels bad about making me feel unpleasant feelings and gives me two gifts next time.

I know why they're so good to me. They just want a chance to be with me like daddy, but daddy is always around. They're obsessed with me, they can't give up so they wait patiently.

Daddy is not home, the doors are locked and I'm in my room playing with my toys. I didn't notice the front door being forced until it was too late and three big scary men were dragging me out of my house and putting me in a van.

Now I'm a supermodel, a movie star... but I cry and scream ruining every picture and take because they don't like it when I look like I'm being forced... I should like it, shouldn't I?

[obsessionavecdescouteaux]

Date idea: Dragging you through the woods by the noose I forced around your neck

[redbunni3]

😚

[teethextraction]

hogties are already so inescapable— when they decide to continue tying you up, wrists attached to your hair, is there really any point in fighting it?