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new year new me 😈

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The first thing Sergei noticed when he awoke was how warm he was. It was midwinter, a blanket of snow was on the ground, and he hadn’t been this warm in months. Then he blinked his eyes open, and the heat suddenly felt oppressive instead of comfortable when he became aware of his surroundings.

He was lying on a couch, as far as he could tell, in some sort of lounging area. He wasn’t tied down, yet he couldn’t begin to lift his arms or legs. His entire body felt heavy, and his thoughts were slow and muddled, as if he wasn’t fully awake after a long, deep sleep. He could just think clearly enough to remember that he was in danger, but not quite enough to be bothered to do anything about it.

‘Warm,’ his mind whispered to him. ‘Stay still. Comfortable.’

“Back with us, I see.”

The voice startled Sergei enough to clear some of the haze in his mind, and he managed to turn his head to see where it had originated.

A man was lounging in a chair in front of an ornately decorated fireplace, the source of the heat in the room. Despite his simplistic clothing, he radiated an irresistible sort of elegance that transfixed Sergei. He found that he couldn’t tear his eyes away as the man stood and moved toward Sergei’s prone form. Then the man smiled, lips slightly parted, and ran his tongue over sharpened canine teeth, and Sergei remembered everything.

Sergei jolted back and struggled to push himself to his feet. He only succeeded in lifting himself onto his elbows, his limbs already shaking with the small effort. The man - the vampire - looked down at him, and the coldness in his eyes made Sergei feel even weaker. Despite it all, he forced himself to speak.

“Why am I here?” He asked, proud that he was able to keep his voice from shaking. “You killed the others. Why am I still alive?”

The vampire’s eyes narrowed and his mouth pulled back into the beginnings of a frown. “Your friends didn’t kill my thrall, did they?” His tone, ice-cold and venomous, made Sergei pull back further until the hard edge of the settee was digging into his back. “That was all by your hand, was it not?”

Sergei swallowed hard. It had been him, yes, who shot down the thrall. He had taken no joy in ending the life of someone who had once been human, but he had allowed himself the satisfaction of destroying a monster who had ended so many other’s lives. But really, it was more luck than anything that allowed him to land the finishing blow. His task had been to provide support from his hidden spot on an overarching cliff, while the rest of the party engaged directly. The opening for his arrow to find its way to the thrall had seemed like a blessing from the gods, and he had taken it without hesitation.

Despite his current situation, Sergei decided that he didn’t regret his decision. No matter what happened to him, the vampire was short his most loyal servant, and that was at least something accomplished. Even if they had fallen short of their ultimate goal.

“So, what?” Sergei asked, forcing his tone to remain defiant despite the opposite reflected in the way he shrank away from the monster leaning over him. “What do you want with me?”

The vampire regarded him coldly. “I was going to kill you,” he said. “Slowly, of course. But that’s far too…predictable. I considered keeping you to feed off of, but you wouldn’t last nearly long enough for me to be satisfied with your demise.” He paused, and smiled, which Sergei found was far more menacing than the frown he had worn previously. “Then, I realized that I’m in need of a new thrall.” He tilted his head, still smiling, and the cruel glint in his eye grew more pronounced. “And who better to serve the role than the one responsible for the other’s death?”

For a moment, Sergei was frozen, caught between disbelief and outrage. “You’re mad if you think I’d ever agree to serve you,” he hissed.

“I think that you won’t have a choice,” the vampire replied. “Not if you want me to release your sister.”

The mention of Antonia was almost enough for Sergei to throw off the haze that the vampire had placed over his mind. “What have you done with her?” He snarled, trying again to rise from his position. “If you’ve laid a hand on her -”

The vampire laughed. “Oh, she’s perfectly safe. Unharmed, as well, aside from a few scratches from the…scuffle, shall we say.” He leaned forward, his red eyes glinting dangerously in the firelight. “It’s up to you whether she stays that way or not.”

Sergei swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. “Let me see her,” he demanded. “Prove she’s still alive.”

“I don’t think so,” the vampire said. “Not yet.” He lowered himself into a chair across from Sergei, interlocking his fingers and leaning forward. “We still have so much to discuss.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” Sergei snapped. “Not until I see Antonia.”

“That’s her name, is it?” The vampire mused. “I suppose proper introductions are in order, though if you’ve come all this way to try to kill me, you probably already know my name. I should hope so, anyway.”

“Emil Ionescu.” Sergei spit out the name like a curse.

The vampire looked satisfied at the sound of his name. “Very good. And you are?”

Sergei hesitated. He knew better than to give out his full name to a magical being, but the pull from the vampire’s influence was too strong to resist fully. “Sergei,” he said, biting his tongue to hold back his last name.

Ionescu looked amused at Sergei’s small show of defiance, and he didn’t push any further. “Well, Sergei,” he said, “my captain tells me that you and your sister were the leaders of the pathetic attempt on my life. Would you care to dispute that claim?”

Sergei bit down harder on the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want to reveal the truth, that Antonia was the true leader of their group, for fear of Ionescu’s anger turning towards his twin sister. He had helped, of course, but his strength was in archery, in support and cover. He wasn’t a leader. That was all Antonia.

“You’ve been feeding off our village for the past three weeks,” Sergei said, trying to deflect the question. It was easy to cover his fear with anger. “Did you think we would stand idly by and let you take what you wanted?”

Ionescu’s eyes flashed. His voice was low and venomous when he spoke. “If you had any sense, you would have.” He tilted his head, and Sergei could see anger resurfacing in the way his body tensed. “I killed no one, and would have moved on within the month. But now…you’ve forced my hand.”

Rage surged up in Sergei like a tidal wave. “Killed no one?” He spat, his voice shaking. “Seventeen of our women and children were bedridden, and three of them nearly saw the stars too early. ”

Ionescu laughed. “I suppose sometimes I forget how fragile you humans are.” He waved his hand dismissively. “None of them died, as I said. I have no interest in depleting my food resources.”

Sergei couldn’t speak beyond a frustrated growl. He knew that vampires didn’t view humans as anything better than cattle, but hearing it from the monster’s lips was something different entirely. He remembered Ionescu’s intentions with him and his anger flared again, paired with a growing sense of dread. If what Ionescu said was true, and he had Antonia captive as well…he was afraid of what he might do to save his sister.

Ionescu smirked, as if reading Sergei’s mind. Something that was entirely possible, Sergei realized. He knew Ionescu was powerful, but he didn’t know the extent of his influence.

“Thinking about my offer?” Ionescu asked. “I’d be happy to provide more details.”

Sergei hesitated. He wanted to tell Ionescu exactly where he could shove his ‘offer’ but he couldn’t risk endangering Antonia.

“Let me see my sister,” he demanded again. “Show me that she’s alive, and then we’ll talk.”

Ionescu leaned forward, gesturing to a shallow bowl half-filled with water that rested on the table in front of Sergei. “If you insist. See for yourself.”

Sergei felt the invisible weight over his body lessen, just enough so that he could sit up, slowly, and lean forward. He glanced warily between Ionescu and the bowl, nervous of some sort of trick. His fear vanished when he saw inside the bowl, where a rippling image of a cell and a figure was visible. He leaned forward further, enough to see that the scene in the seeing glass was of Antonia. His heart raced as he grabbed the edge of the bowl, his eyes scanning over every inch of her form. She was standing, pacing back and forth, a chain around each of her ankles and her hands tugging at her hair. Sergei could see dried blood crusted on the side of her face, and his heart jumped.

“That’s enough of that.” With a swift movement, Ionescu moved the bowl away, disrupting the image in the process. “You’ve gotten what you wanted.” He reached out his hand and grasped Sergei’s chin, tilting his face up to make eye contact with him. “Now it’s time for us to talk about what I want.”

“I won’t serve you,” Sergei snarled. “Kill us both if you want, I won’t become a slave to a monster.”

Ionescu didn’t look deterred by Sergei’s words. “You will,” he said calmly. “The only question is if you will do it willingly, and allow your sister to walk free, or if you will doom her to a slow, agonizing death. It’s your choice.”

“You can’t force me,” Sergei said, but his voice wavered. Truth be told, he didn’t know if Ionescu needed him to be willing in order to enthrall him. That was what he had been told as a child, but he had also been told that vampires had forked tongues like a snake and eyes that made you go blind if you looked into them directly. The way that Ionescu was looking at him made Sergei fear that what he had been told about thralls wasn’t accurate either.

“I can,” Ionescu said, and the glint in his eyes made Sergei believe he wasn’t bluffing. “It would be extremely painful for you, and a bit tiresome for me, but I’m willing to put in the effort.” He smiled, purposefully revealing his fangs. “So, boy. It’s your choice. Perhaps you’d like more details on what exactly I plan on doing to your sister if you say no?”

Sergei’s hands clenched into fists and his resolve wavered. Fear and despair were heavy in his chest as the vampire’s words swirled in his mind. He wouldn’t let Antonia suffer, not any more. But he knew that if he accepted this offer, Antonia would stop at nothing to save him. She would kill herself trying. But maybe he could negotiate.

“You’ll let her live if I agree to this?” He asked. His voice was steady as a plan formed in his mind. “You swear it?”

Ionescu looked at him, his eyes glinting. “By my own blood,” he said mockingly.

Sergei swallowed hard and spoke again. “That’s not enough. Swear you won’t kill her, or any of my kin, now or in the days to come.”

Ionescu’s eyebrows raised. “Oh? You think you have the power to bargain with me?”

“You started the bargaining,” Sergei challenged. “I’m only continuing it. If I’m going to serve you for eternity, I want it to be worth my while.” His heart was pounding in his chest, fear making him weak, but he wasn’t going to accept the terms he had presented with without trying to change them.

“Don’t think you’re smart, boy,” Ionescu said, but his eyes flashed with amusement. “You expect me to stand idly by and give your sister, and all her descendants, free reign to mount attacks against me?”

“Not at all,” Sergei replied, his mind racing to come up with a solution. “If she, or any of my kin, are killed in a fair battle with your men, then I won’t protest. But I want you to swear that you won’t seek out my family, or kill any of them unless they provoke you in a direct challenge.”

Ionescu laughed again. “Quite the little negotiator, aren’t you? But I’m not satisfied. If I am going to hand out protection to your family, then I want more than your servitude.” He leaned forward further, his grip on Sergei’s chin tightening. “You won’t just be a thrall, Sergei. You will be my right hand, my first thrall. Those are my terms.”

The silence in the room was palpable when Ionescu finished speaking. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and Sergei fought to control his spinning thoughts. He felt as if he was on the edge of a precipice, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to come back from his decision. He also knew, with the options before him, that he didn’t truly have a choice. He could never forgive himself if he allowed Antonia to be hurt, to be killed in such a way.

“...I accept,” Sergei said, his voice surprisingly steady despite the turmoil inside of him.

Ionescu’s smile was predatory. He stood from his chair in a fluid motion, coming to tower over Sergei. He leaned down, his hands grasping Sergei’s wrists and pushing him back into the settee. “See, there?” He purred, leaning further down until his breath brushed against Sergei’s ear. “I knew you would come around. Now…this will only hurt for a moment.”

Sergei’s breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t think to protest before Ionescu sunk his teeth into Sergei’s throat, and all he knew was pain.

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Hey! Just wanted to pop in, since I was reminded of something you wrote and came back to reread it but then was bitten by the "are they okay? do they know people still think of them/their work sometimes?" bug. Hope you're doing...better than when you answered that other recent ask at least?

Hi! Thank you so much for checking in on me; it really means a lot. knowing that even one person comes back to my writings is such an encouragement lol. I’m doing……ok. definitely better than i have in the past; i just haven’t had much inspiration to write lately. again, thanks for the check-in! i hope you’re having a great day :)

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hi ! just checking in, how are you doing? :)

hey! honestly, not too great right now haha. things are looking somewhat positive for the future though, so we’ll see where i’m at in a few months :) thanks for checking in, it really means a lot <3

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this was so fun :0 pulling this out next time i buy weed

Come make fake ids with me so we can break into the facility

@howdosebrainwork @theonetostealyourkneecaps @lixorloveslicorice @magical-bear-dubin @akronus-the-insane @ripleyalamode @aagiiaginba @agentldiddy @catreplicators @goblinofthelaboratory

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somehow the name that i least expected to win has triumphed. my sister in law will be pleased

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compromise. i’ll (try) to do both

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I am not sure if you are doing the ask game still, but 11, 12 and 14?

sorry it took me a bit to answer this! and thanks for the ask :)

11. favorite whump scene?

that probably changes depending on what i’m watching/reading at the time; right now it’s this scene from lockwood and co. it’s pretty rare that i go back and watch a specific scene for the whump multiple times, but this one really does it for me :))

12. favorite general whump trope?

oh god that’s so hard. if we’re going really general, torture as punishment. more specific, probably whipping. it never gets old for me.

14. favorite emotional whump trope?

answered here! :)

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hello everyone i am once again asking for financial assistance

i know i just reblogged my post about commissions the other day but my situation has become a bit more urgent so i wanted to make another post. i’m currently staying with my brother, who has a one bedroom apartment and needs me out by august 7th, at the latest. i currently have about 500 USD saved, which i’m hoping to get up to 1000 by the start of august; which means i need another 400 to be able to rent out a room (including security deposit). i’ve found a potential roommate but since i don’t have the funds for my share of first month’s rent/security deposit, we were planning to find a place in september, which is why i’m looking for a cheaper room for the one month that i don’t have a place to stay yet.

not gonna lie i’m pretty desperate here, i’m really hoping that i’ll be able to convince my manager to give me more hours but i’m running myself into the ground with how much i’m stressing about all this. just sharing this post around would mean so much to me, i would seriously appreciate it. my paypal and my post about commissions are linked below, thanks again to anyone who can help at all!

commissions info

paypal

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hello everyone i am once again asking for financial assistance

i know i just reblogged my post about commissions the other day but my situation has become a bit more urgent so i wanted to make another post. i’m currently staying with my brother, who has a one bedroom apartment and needs me out by august 7th, at the latest. i currently have about 500 USD saved, which i’m hoping to get up to 1000 by the start of august; which means i need another 400 to be able to rent out a room (including security deposit). i’ve found a potential roommate but since i don’t have the funds for my share of first month’s rent/security deposit, we were planning to find a place in september, which is why i’m looking for a cheaper room for the one month that i don’t have a place to stay yet.

not gonna lie i’m pretty desperate here, i’m really hoping that i’ll be able to convince my manager to give me more hours but i’m running myself into the ground with how much i’m stressing about all this. just sharing this post around would mean so much to me, i would seriously appreciate it. my paypal and my post about commissions are linked below, thanks again to anyone who can help at all!

commissions info

paypal

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hi hello everyone it's me again. i know i've been pretty absent lately; believe it or not i have actually been (slowly) working on a few updates that I'm hoping to finish soon. that being said, i am so, so very close to finally being able to get an apartment and stop living on my brother's couch...we both want me gone at this point honestly. unfortunately my job is not providing me with nearly enough hours, and it's going to take a lot longer to get the few hundred dollars that i need to afford an apartment lease.

So!! if you know anyone who has the means/potential desire to commission me, or even toss a few pennies my way, that would be amazing. thank you so much to all the wonderful people who have helped me out through all of this, including my friends who have been great encouragements with just their words.

!!Opening Commissions!!

In yet another installment of life kicking me while I'm down, my bank account was compromised and I lost over a third of my savings. I can't work full-time because of my chronic pain and mental health, so I've been trying to do freelance and online work for the past month, but it's not the most reliable source of income. Basically, I'm looking for any way to scrape together funds so that I'll have an ok amount saved for when I move in May.

If you're aware of the rest of the saga then you know I can't get help from my parents, and my siblings, who would help if they could, aren't financially well enough off to provide much.

All this to say! I'm opening up commissions for writing and art! I set up an account on fiverr for my art commissions - I'm trying to get a refurbished tablet for cheap so I can resume digital art but for now it's just traditional.

My Fiverr

For writing, if you donate through my Paypal and send me a screenshot, I'll write something you request, with the length depending on how much you donate. Right now I'm thinking:

$5 or more: a snippet, around 400-500 words

$15 or more: short one-shot, around 900-1100 words

$30 or more: longer one shot, around 1900-2100 words

$45 or more: 3000-3500 words

My Paypal

Any little bit helps, even just sharing this post around!

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I wanna do something nice.. say something you appreciate about the person you reblogged this from!! even if it's smth as small as their profile photo :)

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Another Arrival

[SV-240 masterlist]

Timeline: set after Difficult Conversations, Part Two.

contents: recovery from slavery whump and forced relationship, illness, medical setting (medbay on a space ship), mention of therapy, very vaguely implied past death.

Disclaimer: Nathaniel is an abusive father. Neither he nor Wren ever addressed the abuse, so they sporadically kept in touch after Wren moved out. Because of that Nathaniel will be appearing in a few post-captivity pieces. There will be a resolution to this arc later on, but for now every piece featuring him will be tagged with his name, as well as #tw childhood abuse and/or #tw childhood trauma where applicable. Stay safe!

~~~

About twenty-four hours before arriving on Earth Wren wakes up shivering, feeling as if his head had been stuffed full of cotton, pressing against his skull, causing constant dull pain.

“That… was to be expected,” Vitkus says after taking his temperature. “You caught a cold.”

“Just a cold?” Wren looks at her in disbelief, wrapping the blanket he’s been given tighter around himself. “I feel like shit.”

“You spent a long time on a whole different planet with alien viruses and bacteria,” Vitkus explains, pulling a chair closer to sit by his side. “Your immune system is… struggling.”

Wren hums, letting his eyelids drop for a moment. It makes sense. It’s been years, but he can still vaguely remember the fever after being bitten by an alien animal, and Daniel telling him afterwards that it must have been caused by the bacteria on its teeth. Then he must have gotten used to them, and now… now this ship is an alien environment, and Earth will be too.

“Great,” he sighs. “Defeated by the common cold.”

Keep reading

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Could you write an AU where Berkeley was never caught and he recaptured wren for revenge?

[SV-240 masterlist]

contents: recapture, defiant whumpee, tied to a table, death threats, torture, knives, carved mark, non-graphic fingore/amputation.

~~~

"Rise and shine, sweetheart."

Wren flinches, blinking slowly but not seeing much, still groggy after… whatever happened between him being out and about and waking up here, wherever here is.

A firm slap to the face sobers him up. He wishes it hadn’t.

He’s tied up again - or rather tied down, lying on his back on something, probably a table, his wrists and ankles held in place by coarse rope. He’s shirtless, vulnerable, and the air is cold against his skin. Pulling at the restraints achieves nothing, and he starts panicking, struggling to breathe, because this was supposed to be over, he was free, and now he’s been kidnapped again by-

“Daniel taught me how to tie a good knot, so don’t bother. I’m sure he’d send his regards if he could.”

Daniel. Sweetheart. Whoever this is knows, must have known his tormentor, and when Wren turns his head to face the source of the familiar voice, his breath catches in his throat, his eyes go wide and his blood runs cold.

Berkeley.

He looks different - his hair has been shoddily cut short and dyed brown, he’s wearing colored contacts to hide the blue of his irises, and his freckles are concealed, but Wren still recognizes him immediately. Just like the last time he saw him there’s fury in his eyes, but no more hysteria or fear; only something dark and resigned.

“My disguise is no good, is it?” he snorts. “Is it my voice? Or is my face just burned into your mind? Or is it because I’m the only other person who knows what Daniel used to call you?”

This can’t be happening.

“You know you won’t get away with this,” Wren says, trying to mask the trembling in his voice.

“Is that really the best you can do?” Berkeley rolls his eyes. “Fuck, you’re pathetic.”

“This isn’t like that.” Wren shakes his head, but his heart stutters for a moment when Berkeley swears, as if that, not the kidnapping, not the restraints, not the unnerving expression, was proof that something was wrong. “People know I’m not dead. They’ll find me and finally lock your cowardly ass up.”

“They haven’t found me yet, though, have they? So I’d say we have some time for ourselves.” Berkeley shrugs and approaches slowly, step by step - and once he’s right by the table again, in a blink of an eye he wraps his hands around Wren’s throat and presses down, making him gasp.

“I could kill you.” He tightens his grip, and Wren’s hands twitch as the restraints stop him from instinctively reaching up to grab his attacker. “That would be it, Daniel would be avenged, yada yada. But I don’t give a shit about Daniel.” The corners of his lips rise slightly, a half-hearted remnant of his usual smirk, as he takes in Wren’s panic, wide eyes, frantic gasps. “I told him buying you was insane, but he convinced me. Then I told him he was too lenient with you, letting you wander around like you were free just because he wanted to play house. Of course I was right, and now he’s dead, and I’d just call it karma if you hadn’t ruined my life too. Everyone I worked with has been locked up. I’m being hunted.” His voice wavers a little bit. “And it’s all thanks to you, Rackham.”

His grip gets even tighter, and Wren’s eyes glaze over with tears. He’s still struggling, but he doesn’t control it; it’s pure instinct trying to save him from something he can’t be saved from.

Berkeley lets go, takes a step back and watches as Wren starts coughing, turning his head to the side to avoid choking. He’s still panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly, when he glares at Berkeley and asks, in as defiant a tone as he can muster:

“So what do you want from me?”

Berkeley laughs - his laughter is different, not genuine like it used to be, not hysterical like during the call, but completely dry; the laughter of someone completely disillusioned, with nothing to lose.

“I want to make you suffer. I want to see you cry and beg, because that’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? And Daniel’s not here to stop me from hurting his precious little sweetheart too much.” He lays his hands on the edge of the table, close to Wren’s side, and leans over him. “I don’t know how long I want to draw it out yet. I feel like no matter how much you’ll scream and cry and beg it will never be enough to make up for what you’ve done, but when I feel like the time is right… that’s when I’ll finally kill you.” He can’t help but smile at that, and a shiver of excitement runs up his spine.

No. Wren has to press his lips together to stay quiet, avoid protesting out loud, but his heartbeat is painful and deafening. If the air in the room was cold before, now it’s downright freezing. No, no, no, not again, I was safe, I survived, I can’t die now, I can’t die like this.

“Hey, don’t worry, Rackham,” Wren flinches, still staring at Berkeley in horror, when he pats his cheek, smiling. “Like I said, I won’t kill you until I’m through with you, and I haven’t even started. So, what should we do first…?” He runs his finger down Wren’s chest, making him shiver, and cocks his head to the side, thinking. “I guess I should warn you that Daniel is- was,” he lets out a dry chuckle, “better at this than I am, so there’s a chance I’ll kill you by accident, or something. I want to start with something safe, though, so we can have more fun later.”

Wren is more than familiar with the meaning of the look in Berkeley’s eyes, together with his smirk - the gleam of an idea he’s not going to like at all.

“There’s this word you don’t like, right?” Berkeley walks over to a counter lined with various tools he’d found in the hideout. “Daniel told me to stop using it after my first visit.”

He picks up a knife and lifts it up to let his helpless captive take a good look at it; he inspects it with narrowed eyes, humming to himself before deciding that it’s the right tool for the job. He takes a rag and some antiseptic as well and turns around, delighted to see terror in Wren’s eyes, obvious despite his attempts to hide it behind a glare.

“I think it’s fitting, though.” Berkeley returns to the table and sets the knife aside for the time being. “After what you’ve done.”

“You’ve always liked the sound of your own voice,” Wren says, eyeing the knife anxiously, knowing exactly what Berkeley’s talking about but not wanting to accept it.

“Maybe.” Berkeley smiles; it's easier to smile now, when he can escape from his bleak reality back into the thrill of being fully in control. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear your voice, and by that I mean your screams. Feel free to do that as much as you like. No one’s gonna hear you here.”

The good news is that Wren is fairly sure he won't give Berkeley the satisfaction of hearing him scream; Daniel - whom Wren hasn't thought about this much in weeks, but he has more pressing matters to worry about right now - had cut him so many times that it had become part of the routine, such mundane torture. He’d be terrified if Berkeley plunged the knife into his abdomen with full intention of finishing what Daniel had started, but apparently the plan is to keep him alive.

For now.

The bad news, of course, is that he’s been kidnapped, brought somewhere no one can hear him scream, and he’s going to be tortured all over again.

I’m on Earth this time. Everyone knows I’m alive. They’re going to save me.

He closes his eyes.

Before it’s too late.

He flinches when Berkeley wipes down his chest with the rag, which he must have dipped in the antiseptic. When he notices his captive’s frown, he shrugs.

“Just to be safe. I can’t exactly take you to a hospital if something goes wrong, can I?”

"Why not? I'm sure everyone would be happy to see both of us," Wren says, fixing his eyes on the ceiling. "You could still do a good deed and not be charged with murder on top of everything else."

“So you think this is going to be my first murder,” Berkeley snorts, and Wren’s eyes snap to him in shock.

“You-”

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.” He shrugs, amused. “It’s just funny you assumed that. Anyway, Rackham,” he says as he grabs the knife and grins, “let’s get started.”

It doesn’t matter how much Wren had gone through with Daniel. It doesn’t matter that this shouldn’t affect him. He starts shivering, and he decides to blame it on the cold. He doesn’t want to close his eyes and show his torturer how scared he is, so he goes back to staring at the ceiling; the downside of that is that he can see Berkeley lowering the knife in his peripheral vision.

The sensation of the knife cutting into him is familiar, but so much time has passed that it still comes as a shock. It’s just a short line, the knife is dragged downwards and then raised, all but confirming Wren’s suspicions.

I.

It’s just a word. A stupid word. Soon to be carved into him, sure, but he is going to be found soon, and surely the cuts will be healable then, they will be gone without trace and that will be it. 

He still has to blink away tears when the knife returns. A line, a semicircle, then another, separate line.

D. I.

“So,” he says through gritted teeth, “now it’s your turn to leave your signature on me, huh?”

Berkeley rolls his eyes, but can’t hide a smile.

“Very funny, Rackham.”

“Thanks.”

O, cut out agonizingly slowly - and yet Wren doesn’t scream, barely even whimpers. It’s his tiny victory, not giving Berkeley the satisfaction he was hoping for. No matter what he does, it won’t be worse than what Daniel used to do. 

“How about I make a pun? I’m disappointed you’re not delivering.” He grits his teeth when the knife pierces his skin once more to carve the final letter, and he has to stifle a groan. “Alright, I got it: Your lack of appreciation for my jokes cuts me deep?”

Berkeley snorts at that and shakes his head. “Alright. I do appreciate them, for the record, cause I know what you’re hiding behind your idiotic humor.”

Wren frowns, but it’s not like he can argue with that. As the last line is added, he has to blink away new tears.

T.

Idiot.

Berkeley takes a step back to take a critical look at his work - even bloody letters on Wren’s chest, where he’ll have no choice but to see them, impossible to ignore unlike the brand on his back.

“Smile for the camera, idiot!” He snaps a few pictures, making sure to capture Wren’s expression, so desperately blank, but tense with pain and emotion, until he’s happy with the result. “Perfect. I can add these to all the damn photos Daniel had sent me. Maybe I’ll show you someday, take a trip down memory lane, hm?”

“I’ll pass,” Wren spits, glaring at Berkeley as he leans against the side of the table.

“You should still see this one, though,” he says, holding up his communicator - found in the hideout too, modified to be impossible to track down - with one of the photos displayed.

Just like when his mouth was stitched shut for the second time, it’s seeing the effects of the torture in a picture that finally hits. It’s not a picture of a survivor - it’s a picture of a hopeless, powerless captive at his captor’s mercy. 

It was supposed to be over. I was supposed to be free. I won, and it doesn’t mean shit.

“This is what your body will look like when they find it,” Berkeley says in the tone of casual small talk. “I mean, I’ll probably make a couple more modifications, but this” -he runs his finger around the carved letters, careful not to touch them- “is the first thing they’re going to see. A completely normal word for them. They’ll probably wonder why I’d choose something so mundane and… tame, but it doesn’t matter, does it? We know why, and that’s enough.”

Trying not to dwell on the promise of more modifications, Wren follows Berkeley with his eyes as he pushes himself upright and starts pacing to and fro: three steps, heel turn, three steps, lost in thought.

“You know, you disappointed me, Rackham,” he sighs.

“I’m so sorry,” Wren says, trying to sound unbothered, yet his heartbeat picks up the pace. It was supposed to be over. What else does he want?

“I wanted to hear you scream, remember? And you didn’t deliver at all.”

Wren swallows when Berkeley stops to pick up the knife and twirl it in his fingers.

“I should've expected that, honestly. It’s not your first time, and Daniel had cut you more times than you can count, hm?”

“It’s kinda what you signed up for when you sold me to a sadist.”

“Guess so,” Berkeley laughs, looking at Wren with narrowed eyes. “In that case I think I should try to come up with something Daniel never did to you, to really keep you on your toes.”

Then he smirks, and Wren knows he’s doomed.

His thoughts are racing when he follows Berkeley with his gaze as he circles the table, gently tapping the tip of the knife with his finger. Something he’s never experienced - or at least Berkeley thinks so, because he can’t know about everything Wren went through on SV-240. Even though the last thing he wants is to recall Daniel’s voice, Wren desperately tries to remember any torture methods Daniel had told him about, lamenting not having the means to try them out, but his mind draws a blank. He doesn’t have much time to try and predict what’s going to happen to him anyway; when Berkeley finally stops by Wren’s side, his movements are so fast that Wren barely has a chance to process what’s happening.

Berkeley takes his right hand.

Cut my hand?

Straightens out his fingers.

But it’s nothing new.

Grabs his pinky.

Wait-

Holds the knife right above the joint connecting the finger to the palm.

No, no, he can’t-

“You were complaining about the lack of puns.” Berkeley smiles down at Wren, who stares back at him with wide eyes. “So here’s one: keep your fingers crossed that the cut is clean.”

“No-”

It takes a second or two for Wren to get past the initial shock of having his pinky cut clean off, and when he does, the pain catches up to him, new and nauseating.

This time, much to his captor's delight, he does scream.

~~~

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