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echo-goes-mmm · 3 months

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Ambrose and Elliot #27

Masterpost

Warnings: oral dub-con, implied non-con, starvation, violence

Master and his friends had passed out, finally. After hours and hours of drinking and sex and entertainment, they had fallen asleep.

It was late, but he couldn’t bring himself to rest. He lay on the floor, naked and cold, dried cum sticky on his sore thighs.

He stared up at the ceiling. His throat hurt, angry bruises blossoming over his skin. One of Master’s friends, Mr. Horneswood, had slammed his head against the floor, and it was only now that his vision had quit fading in and out and his nosebleed had stopped.

Master had never let them be so violent with him before. Beatings and getting choked was nothing new, and Master had chastised them for going too far several times. But not today.

He really thought they were going to kill him this time. He’d never passed out from being strangled before, and they had never hit his head until now, much less slamming it into the hard marble floor. Twice.

Hunger rumbled in his stomach.

He turned his head to see the table. It was half covered in near empty bottles and glasses, but there was food at the end.

He licked his lips. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and if everyone was asleep…

He slowly got up, wincing as he went. Master wouldn’t notice if a few rolls went missing.

Master had put out so much food, and his friends were more interested in getting drunk, so nearly all of of it was untouched.

He ate cheeses and fruit, pastries and rolls, and even dared to sneak some of the delicious roasted duck.

It wasn’t until he was full, sitting next to the table, that he realized.

Master had forgotten his chains.

Usually Master made sure he was in shackles when his friends came to visit, just to be certain he couldn’t get away from their lust.

Not tonight. Tonight he was unrestrained. He hadn’t even noticed until now.

He looked back at Master and his friends. They were still completely passed out, sprawled out on couches and slumped in armchairs.

He could run. There was nothing stopping him.

Nothing, except… what if Master caught him? He would be so angry. Master would beat him to death if he left.

They’ll kill you if you stay, said a tiny part of him. You know they will. You can’t keep doing this.

He bit his lip. Master was all he knew, his everything. It was the only thing he was good at; serving as his slave was his entire purpose. It was what he was made for.

What else could there possibly be?

You are going to die here.

The tiny part was right.

He grabbed his discarded clothes, tugging on the threadbare shirt, boxers, and pants Master had allowed him.

He stole a cloak off the coat rack and ran out the front door, pulling the hood over his hair.

He ran, and ran, and ran, and his legs hurt and his head pounded but it was better than death and blood and Master.

___________________

He should have stolen some shoes. He limped along, blood from the pads of his feet staining his trail.

Dawn had come and gone, but he didn’t stop moving. Couldn’t stop moving.

He avoided the roads, instead sticking to the woods. He couldn’t risk being seen yet. Master had horses, and money, and might pay someone to look for him.

It was a hot day. Sweat dripped down his face and soaked his clothes, the salt stinging the cuts on his legs courtesy of the wilderness.

He tripped over a stone early in the night, and torn a toenail clean off, which hurt like hell.

His legs were sore too, knees on fire and thighs chafing from the dried cum and fabric rubbing the skin.

Maybe it would be worth it to find some water and rest.

___________________

After hours of trekking through the woods, he heard running water. He picked up the pace, jogging towards the sound.

It was a small creek, secluded and quiet. Good.

He stripped off his clothes and waded in. It was freezing cold, goosebumps forming on his skin. He crouched down and drank some of the water, soothing his dusty throat.

He splashed some of the water on his face, wiping away the sweat. He washed off the best he could, and crawled out of the creek. There was a flat rock nearby, and he laid the cloak down on top of it.

A few hours of rest couldn’t hurt.

___________________

He followed the creek after his nap. It would get to a river eventually, and maybe lead to a town where he could beg for some scraps.

He should have stolen the rest of the food at Master’s house. Idiot.

The creek did get bigger, but instead of bringing him to a river, it ran by a traveler’s campsite. The road must be close.

The campsite had just been used, fresh but cold ashes in the firepit, and fresh horse manure still buzzing with flies.

There were berry bushes nearby (unfortunately inedible ones), and he was struck with a thought.

His white hair was identifiable. No one had white hair, Master said so. Master said he was so pretty with white hair. It was why he was allowed to exist; it made him good enough to live despite being a stupid slave who couldn’t do things right.

Master could find him if his hair was still white.

He pulled off the berries, crushing them in his hands. He slathered his hair with them, staining the white to brown. Much better. He pulled his hood back up and followed the horse tracks to the road.

___________________

The road led to a city, and he kept his head down passing through the gates. The guards didn’t even look at him.

There was a tavern just next to the gates, and the smell of food made him hesitate. It was a busy place, even had some stables attached.

He bit his lip.

He didn’t have any money. He went around the stables, and there was a dumpster out back. He peered into the trash, but he couldn’t see anything he could eat. Damn.

The back door to the tavern opened, and he backed away. Not fast enough, because the tavern owner spotted him immediately.

He scrambled away, but she grabbed him by the arm.

“What’re you doing?” She growled. “You a nasty little thief?” She shook his arm, and he whimpered, shaking his head.

“I- I was just hungry-”

She let go of him and he stumbled backwards into the ground. “‘M sorry! I just wanted to look in your trash!” He started to cry.

“Hmph.” She crossed her arms, staring him down.

“Please don’t call the guard,” he begged, sobbing. “I’ll go away, I swear.”

“I don’t like beggars,” she said. “So come here.”

She was going to hit him, and he deserved it for bothering her. He shakily got to his feet, and limped forward.

“There’s a pile of dishes in the sink. Scrub ‘em.”

“W-what?”

“You scrub the plates,” she pointed at him, “and you get food. That way you ain’t beggin’.”

“Thank you! Tha-”

“Shut up.” She turned and walked inside, and he followed.

There was in fact a sink piled full of dishes, and he got to work scrubbing them clean. The kitchen was hot, but he didn’t dare take off his cloak. He was so hungry he was lightheaded, and the smell of food was torture to the gnawing ache in his belly.

The dishes kept coming, and he ignored the strange looks from the wait staff.

After a few hours, the tavern owner handed him a package wrapped with paper.

“Get out.”

He left without argument, opening the package and eating as he walked.

The sandwich was the best thing he ever tasted.

___________________

The second town he came across, the innkeeper let him sleep in the stables in exchange for scrubbing stains out of sheets.

The third city tossed him out before he could offer anything, and he stole some apples from an orchard by the road before getting scared off by barking dogs.

He had a bad feeling about this next town.

The innkeeper was at the counter, and it was not busy at all. It creeped him out. “How many nights?” asked the keeper, a flat tone to his voice as he scribbled in his ledger.

“I, um. I don’t have any money,” he admitted, “but um, is there anything I can do for you?”

The innkeeper slammed the book shut, and he jumped. The innkeeper looked him up and down, leaning back in his chair.

“I’m just hungry,” he said weakly, “do you have any scraps?”

“Nope. Get out.”

“Please,” he tried again. “I’ll do anything.”

The innkeeper stood up. “I said leave.” He began to shove him outside, and he stumbled, bare heels digging into the wood.

“I’ll blow you,” he blurted, and the innkeeper paused. He held his breath. Why did he offer that?

The innkeeper grabbed him by the arm, dragging him into the back.

The innkeeper tossed him across the room. He swallowed, his mouth going dry. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The innkeeper stalked forward, and he dropped to his knees, tongue lolling out. The innkeeper unbuckled his belt and he knew what to do.

The innkeeper was rough and impatient, and he let the innkeeper fuck into his throat. He just wanted it over. The man grunted, finishing into his mouth, and he was hungry enough to swallow the cum without hesitation.

“Good enough,” said the man, tucking himself back into his pants, and relief flooded him. “Wait here.”

He got a hunk of cheese and a loaf of bread for the trouble.

“Next time offer your ass,” said the innkeeper with a nasty grin, “and maybe I’ll let you sleep the night.”

He scrambled for the door, laughter trailing behind him. There wasn’t going to be a next time.

___________________

There was a next time.

There were several next times, all of which he tried to avoid but couldn’t if he wanted to eat.

He didn’t sleep in the cities anymore, too scared after someone forced themselves on him while he slept exposed in the stables.

That time, the innkeeper was even angry to find him still in the hay the next morning, and had used a horsewhip to punish and chase him out.

He trudged along the road.

Gods, he was so hungry. He felt faint, a chill to his bones despite the sun beating down on him.

He’d been heading north the whole time, and now the cities and towns were few and far between.

The last stop was pleasant, the woman who owned the lodge only asking him to sweep the floor in exchange for a bowl of chicken and rice.

That was a week ago.

The berry bushes along the road were bare now, the birds plucking them empty. He chewed on tree leaves and ate dandelions when he could, but it did little for his stomach.

Please, he prayed to the gods, I know none of you care, but please.

Maybe he should have stayed with Master.

He shook the thought from his head. Anything was better than Master.

Even if it was starving to death in the wilderness.

___________________

The road became thin and rough. It narrowed down to a single cart wide and he wondered if he had walked to the end. But over the horizon was a blurry shape beneath the setting sun, and he dared to hope it was either a village or that he was finally dying and was hallucinating.

He kept walking.

It was a village, with an inn.

He stumbled through the door as nightfall fell.

The tavernkeeper was at the counter, and there was a small crowd in the dining room.

“Please,” he slurred, ready to offer whatever was left of him.

But the tavernkeeper held up a hand to stop him.

“I’ve heard of you,” he said, and his heart sank. Did Master know too? “You’ll do anything for a meal and a bed for the night, right?”

Not necessarily a bed, but he nodded, the effort making his head pound.

“I want a private conversation with you in the morning,” said the keeper, his expression hard to read. “That’s all. I'll even throw in breakfast afterwards.”

He stared at the tavern keeper.

“Yes, sir,” he rasped. No one had ever offered him breakfast. Was it a trick? Too keep him here longer, so that Master would come and drag him away?

The keeper gestured for him to sit at the bar, and disappeared into the kitchen.

He returned quickly with a bowl of stew and a crust of bread, and, of all things, a mug of warm cider.

He never had cider before. Master never allowed him to drink.

The tavern keeper told him where his room (a whole room? with a bed? and a lock?) was, and left him alone to eat.

The food was amazing, and he had to stop himself from scarfing it down and making himself sick. He’d made that mistake before, and completely lost his meal. He remembered crying over the vomit.

The bed was just as good as the food, but he couldn’t close his eyes.

What if the innkeeper told Master where he was? How long would it take Master to come for him?

He rolled over in the bed.

Surely the tavernkeeper wanted more than just talking.

If he were smart, he’d sneak out before dawn. But the keeper promised breakfast, and he wasn’t smart.

He couldn’t pass up two meals in a row. It was too tempting.

He thought about the mysterious generosity of the cider, and the sweet taste of the apples used to make it.

This could be his last night alive before he died by his Master’s hands.

He cried himself into a fitful sleep.

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @starfields08000 @littlespacecastle @mylovelyme @whump-cravings @zeewbee @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @keepingwhumpwiththekardashians @fanastyfinder @roblingoblin285 @whumpzone @snakebites-and-ink @astrokea @magdalena-writes @latenightcupsofcoffee @tobiaslut @whumpsoda @loserwithsyle

#part one of this series has always bothered me since i started getting better #so heres the fix and some bonus content.#this was going to be an extra but i actually liked this more as an actual flashback chapter #If you haven't read any extras i highly recommend it #you get (1) an example of Ambrose and Elliot as seen by a villager #and (2) Ambrose just after his husband left #plus (3) a potentially canon future chapter #so check them out if you havent #ambrose and elliot #my writing #whump #slavery whump #multiple whumpers #intimate whumper #runaway whumpee

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im-a-king-baby · 7 months

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Hi!

I'm done with my re-reading of ELYN, and THE line I will keep with me is this one :

“I don’t want anything from you.”

Simon pulls back to look at him. He’s applied concealer to the bags under his eyes, this close Wilhelm can see the streaks of it on his skin as he gives a weak smile. “You want the most of anyone.” Which isn’t fair and isn’t true. Except that it is. “I just want you to be happy.”

“Yeah,” Simon says. “That.”

This is sooo powerful ! The weight of the expectations of your loved one... 😭❤😭❤

And I would love to know why Simon gave Wille a key for his room... What was he expecting ?

And if it's not too much, what do you think made August get clean and turn his back to royalty ?

Again, thank you so much for this story ! ❤

Hiii, sorry this took so long. Can't believe I am expected to work a job instead of just having fanfic related feelings on tumblr all day every day. Very rude. None stars.

(if your ask is in my inbox I promise I am getting to it! If you still want to submit questions for any of the memes I reblogged, I will happily ramble all day every day so the ask box is always open <3 )

"I just want you to be happy."

(I need you all to know that doing this meme is really reinforcing the 'a first draft does not have to be perfect or even good' mantra because guess what was also not in draft 1! All of this!)

There is a side of Simon's character that I think is justified in canon which is that he doesn't like letting people down. He switches schools to support Sara, he agrees to date Marcus even though he clearly doesn't want to because Marcus asks. So this moment starts with Simon talking about how he started on coke because he didn't want to let the fans down by being exhausted. Originally there was another step in the middle where he talks about how Candace wanted him to get clean but also be the superstar (and do a documentary!) and he couldn't see a way to have both. And then that his breakthrough was hiring Joseph, and Keira and realising that having money means you can pay people to care about you in very specific ways.

Wilhelm swallows. “Sometimes people help you just because they want to.” Simon’s mouth quirks slightly off to the side, like Wilhelm’s said something amusing. “That’s what they tell you. But they always want something from you, you just don’t realise what until it’s too late.” “I don’t want anything.”

Wilhelm I think genuinely believes that he's telling the truth here, but Simon has had to become a lot more aware of how he is perceived and the expectations of him from having this very public career. Like, for all Wilhelm saying 'you can take time, the fans won't disappear if it takes you more than 2 months to make an album', Simon has also seen the fan tweets complaining when the tour skips certain cities/countries, when they have to wait for the album, when they don't release a tour vlog. (One of the big reasons he doesn't have a phone is to stop him from reading all of that because at a certain point you can't satisfy everyone and Candace is like 'this is not helping you so let's put a stop to it.')

So in this moment Wilhelm is saying 'I don't want anything' but also he wants them to be together and happy and Simon is very aware that the easiest way for him to be happy is by drinking and taking the drugs. He's spent the last week and a half in coke withdrawal which is basically just being miserable all the time and going into rehab is going to be more of that. And then, the Simon who comes out of rehab is going to be very different from Simme-the-popstar and different to Simon-from-high-school and current-Simon has no idea what that person will look like or if it will even be someone Wilhelm likes.

So for Simon getting clean means getting away from anyone else's idea of who he should be. And that's hard. And sometimes you hit on the perfect line to articulate what would otherwise be 5 paragraphs of rambling tumblr post and those moments are the best part of writing for all that they come so rarely <3 (and also they do not always come in draft 1 and that's okay)

2. Why does Simon invite Wilhelm to the hotel room

I think SImon's base logic is the same as why Wilhelm went, this sense of 'if we can get away from the cameras we can be Us instead of Simme and Crown Prince Wilhelm and things will make sense again.' But on top of that is this thing that Simon is doing where he is attempting to use sex to solve his problems (arguably this desire is coming from the same place as the drinking and the coke. It's the 'I don't know how to feel good when I'm not performing, but if I invite someone up they'll tell me I'm amazing and then we can have orgasms and that'll feel good for a little while').

So Simon is thinking 'I need to see him in private' but then he doesn't have any plan beyond that so it's back to the usual plan of sex=feeling good, with a side line in 'if I give him a good enough time he won't notice anything weird or ask any questions and everything will be fine.'

(I do have a while Simon POV scene of the hotel after Wilhelm leaves that will probably be posted somewhere at some point so here is a teaser:

Wilhelm must have left by now. And if part of Simon was hoping that he’d still be there when Simon opened the door - so SImon could say what, he doesn’t know - that part is quiet enough not to show surprise when there’s just Gareth in the hallway in his perfectly pressed suit with his perfectly neutral gaze. Does Gareth feel emotion? Nobody knows. He has all of one facial expression so if he’s judging Simon for bringing the prince of Sweden up to his rooms or judging him for failing to keep the prince of Sweden there for longer than an hour, or not judging him at all because he has full respect for the whore lifestyle, Simon never has to know.

3. August

Oh hey! I thought this choice might get me more hate so thanks to everyone for coming on board with me for the off-screen August redemption arc 😅

So fundamentally ELYN (and, yknow, YR) is a story about legacy and inheritance. Both the big glaringly obvious thing of the crown, but also the other things: the secrets, the class culture, and the genetic predisposition to addiction. (I can't remember right now if August's father's suicide was drug-related in the show, but for the fic I definitely had that in my mind).

So August functions as a parallel for both Simon and Wilhelm. The obvious 'was taking drugs to cope with stress, stress kept increasing, ultimately broke under it' . But also on Wilhelm's side, August is desperately trying to live up to the legacy of a dead man. He's idolising his father, wanting to make him proud and unable to acknowledge that this culture of appearing perfect and not talking about problems is what killed him.

The way I always pictured August's arc was that he hit rock bottom somewhere in the military - he'd been relying on pills to get him through stress, this was infinitely more stress than high school, plus the fallout from Sara's confession (which had been covered up by the court, but was still impacting him). I never had a concrete idea of what the exact rock bottom was (maybe stealing pills?), but he was dishonorably discharged and checked himself into rehab where he basically got a big dose of Welcome to Real Life. Meeting normal people. Realising they're not so different. 'There's a whole world out there that's not our careful circle of cultivated Heirs and Heiresses and people have problems but they also have whole entire lives where none of these things you're so worried about matter at all.'

And he did the work. He re-evaluated his biases. He grew up. He met a girl, who I think was class-adjacent but more practical than the Hillerska-royalty types (I like to think she was maybe an art assessor who came to help him auction off large parts of the estate holdings) and they got talking. Their relationship seems to have moved pretty fast, but hey August took some pride in the elements of being prefect that involved taking care of people so maybe he's ready for a family. (Originally there were going to be 8 years between the show and the fic so I gave him 3 kids, and then when I cut it down to 6years it felt mean to delete a baby so that's why he has twins.)

The 12 step program has a step for 'making amends', I think August probably got in touch with Wilhelm and was like 'I owe you an apology and amends, and I understand if you don't want to talk to me but if I can ever help you or Simon, I'm here.' And that went ignored until Wilhelm called him from basic training, and then five years later when he got a call from Simon in hospital like 'So Malin gave me your number...'

One other bonus August ELYN headcanon I have is that Wilhelm phoned August from the car on his way to the debate and was like:

"I think if I do it now I can bring it all down, but if I can't they're going to come after you, and then the children. I'm sorry I can't protect them anymore." "It's my job to look after my family," August says. "And I promise I will not let any of this shit touch them. You have my full support, go do what you have to do."

(there is a whole other tumblr post about how I don't believe in writing bad people just people who sometimes make bad choices but this is already Very Long and I'm not sure if I actually answered the questions so we'll leave it there 😅)

#draft 1 doesn't have to be perfect! I say restarting my novel for the fourth time so that I can figure out 'the right' way to do chapter 1 #advice I need beaten into my skull somehow #tattoo it on my forehead #bonus content meme #this is still open if anyone else wants to message prompts #or just ask me anything #I don't know how to let this fic go so let me ramble at you!#elyn fic #elyn spoilers

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