Masterlist // Series: What Comes After // Warnings: torture, whippinng // this is a flashback piece, a heavier whump in comparison to other pieces of this series
Billie – she thought, sometimes, she forgot how her name sounded in someone else’s mouth – was exhausted and in pain. Her body was in a constant stage of ache. Discomfort at best, excruciating pain more of than not. Something quite fucking annoying, she hated all of this. She stopped counting the days, or trying to count the days, after three weeks. Or more like after one of the guards found her and had slammed her into a wall, hands around her neck and screaming about how she shouldn't even try to keep track of time.
She was on the floor, doing her best to not react like she wanted to. Squirm and moan and cry only added more hits to any punishment. This time, more strokes of the belt on her back. She wondered if she did something to deserve the whipping or if her captor just felt like trying to tear the flesh from her back. It didn’t matter that much, not when it wouldn’t change a thing about her situation. Billie would still be sweaty and bloody on the floor.
The leather snapped again, again, again, again and again and she couldn’t breath and it didn’t stop and hit again-
“Hey, hey, Billie?” The voice was smooth, she flinched at the touch on her shoulder, blood was too hot, covering her back, leaking from- “Billie, Billie,” the hand hovered just close enough for her to feel its warmth. “Hey, it’s me, Erin. I won’t hurt ‘u. It’s just me.”
Billie blinked, sight blurred. She was on her knees, hugging herself, in a fetal position. Rogers was a solid, warm presence beside her. She didn’t know what triggered it this time. It has become a little less frequent as months passed by, but she was frustrated with how she still kept being reduced to a teary, whining mess by memories of things that happened over a year ago.
Still weakened by stupid memories.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“No.”
“Ok.”
Trusting Rogers meant a part of her wanted to crawl into her lap and let the woman comfort her with warmth, gentle words and pressure of a hug. Billie opted out this time, the memory had been vivid enough she felt tender where she was hit in it.
Villain freezes, feet suddenly too heavy to move and heart pounding fast enough to try to flee from their chest by itself.
“Since when do you wear a collar?” Hero laughs above them, legs dangling over the edge of a rooftop.
If they could move, they would. But their body feels stuck to the ground and their stomach flips with both hate and panic, and all Villain manages is to look straight at Hero’s sparkly eyes, facing laughter with darkness as they jump to the floor and land in front of them.
“Why would that be any of your business?” Villain says, soft as a threat. Low as they were taught.
“Is it a kink or something like that?" Hero smirks. "If you had told me about it, this fight between us could've been so different, sweetheart."
Villain smiles and hopes that the emptiness behind it is hidden enough to pass as sarcasm. “Why don’t you go back to your oh-so brave team and leave me be? Are you this desperate for attention?”
But apart from a snort, Hero dismisses the comment and comes closer. With horror slowly seeping into Villain’s veins, they don’t even think about stepping away before Hero stops toe on toe with them and reaches out to play with the leather surrounding their neck.
They’ve grown used to it, by now. Barely scratches anymore, and only when they remember it’s there do they feel the pressure circling their airways. When that happens, though, it’s hard to keep from falling on the ground clawing at the stiff leather and struggling to breathe.
“It’s pretty,” Hero comments, lifting a brow as they trace the collar’s edge, only the tip of their finger grazing Villain’s skin. It is still enough for their breath to quicken.
“Leave me alone,” Villain says, hoping their voice doesn’t sound as strangled as it feels.
“Did you always use it underneath your uniform and I never saw it before or is it new?”
“Hero–“
“It isn’t what I expected, but I have to admit it makes you that much more interesting.”
“I can’t–“
“If I tell you to sit, will you obey?”
“Fuck you.”
Hero’s laugh is loud and unrestrained, and it would’ve made Villain angrier if it didn’t make Hero lower their hand as they take a step back and bend over with laughter.
“You are a gem, Villain,” they say in between giggles.
You are my gem, Villain dear. Now take off your shirt and bring me the whip so I can carve you into something beautiful.
Villain’s breath catches, and for a second, there’s no dark alley and laughing Hero. There’s a wide room and a wall of weapons they are way too familiar with.
“What if I tell you to roll?” Hero mocks, leaning against a brick wall with a smile dancing on their lips.
And what if I order you to roll over, dear?
I roll over. I am yours to play with and obey, Supervillain.
Very well. Roll over.
“C’mon, I’m just playing with you,” Hero says, cocking their head. “You don’t have to make that face. You do you, I just think it’s amusing to see the villain who wrecks my town wearing a collar.”
They blink, and the streetlights are dimmer than the one in their memory. Again, and Hero’s grin isn’t as cruel as Supervillain’s. Once more, and they are back in the present.
Did Hero say something?
“Villain?” they call, the grin faltering for just a second as they approach them again, a slight crease between their brows. “You home?”
“I have to go,” Villain sighs. The moon is almost at its peak, and they are almost late.
“No, I’m having so much fun–“
Villain rolls their eyes, and when they do, something shines in their vision and sends a shiver down their spine. The moon already is at its peak.
“–tell me more about the collar, how long do I have to make up for not noticing it? Because I have a ton of jokes ready–“
They are late they are late they are late. They can’t be late.
They don’t even look at Hero as they bolt forward, as fast as their trembling legs will allow. Supervillain’s breath blows against their ear, whispering threats and promises that aren’t there anymore. For now, at least.
“Wait!” Hero shouts, running after them. Villain grits their teeth and speeds up, but they are so very tired and not even the rush of adrenaline is enough to beat Hero, who catches up way too fast and grabs them by the jacket.
Villain stops as soon as they feel Hero’s hands on the back of their neck, weakly trying to squirm away from the touch as they gasp for air.
“What is this little box?” Hero muses and Villain’s stomach drops somewhere close to their feet.
“Hero, stop, I’m late, can you just–“
Hero’s fingers touch the box attached to the collar, and electricity answers.
Too late.
It explodes into Villain’s body, bolts of lightning forcing them on their hands and knees. The feeling is known, but it doesn’t matter how many times they’ve been shocked, it still feels like the first time. Villain convulses on the sidewalk, sobs falling down their lips and half-formed pleads following, almost inaudible.
“P-p-ple-please,” they pant. “S-s-stop, pl– mmph, I’ll b-be good, ple-ease!”
Once it finally stops, all that echoes inside their mind is the pressing need to please Supervillain, be good, run back home so the shocks won’t start again.
When Hero’s voice sounds, Villain barely understands it.
“Villain,” they whisper, kneeling in front of them, all traces of a smile gone, only an unsaid question written in their weirdly worried eyes.
Villain rolls to their side and pretends not to see it. “P-ple-please. Have t-to get back.”
“Is it Supervillain? The one doing this to you?”
“Please,” Villain murmurs, curling in on themself.
For once, Hero doesn’t try to force them to talk. They simply wrap their arms around Villain's shaky form and lift them carefully, holding them against their chest.
“I’ll get you to your base,” Hero promises, voice so serious Villain looks up with wide eyes, surprised by the anger behind the words. “And then I’ll deal with Supervillain.”
“N-no, p–“
Electricity erupts from the collar again, and as a wave of searing, sharp pain travels through their body, all Villain can do is writhe in strong arms that hold them tighter, and muffle their screams against Hero’s neck.
Trauma culture is having to actively remind yourself the person holding you as you fall asleep is your loving partner and not your father so that you don’t panic and hurt them or run away ;-;
I was trying to write a joke post about having a flashback in a cute boy's bathtub as just a regular and fun part of dating with PTSD.
But instead I ended up wondering.... has Ed ever had a flashback around Calico Jack? Has he started to have one and then shut that shit down immediately because he doesn't feel safe with Jack? Or was it to the point where he couldn't stop it? Did he leave to deal with it alone?
It's shameful, really, until Stede can find the strength to remind himself it's not, but he doesn't quite have that right now. Ever since the privateering academy, on any day where he's particularly stressed, if he hears a loud noise too similar to a bang, he flinches. And sometimes he just doesn't quite recover so easily.
His hands are over his face when Izzy takes him by the shoulders, another visible flinch rushing through him at the unexpected touch, but he lets himself be guided, let's himself be undressed, his focus too devoted to trying to catch his breathing and not the memories rushing through him - snap, BANG, scream, snap, BANG, scream -
The tiniest of whimpers leaves his throat when he thinks Izzy is away - though truly no farther than a few feet, pouring him water. His hands have moved to his hair, all tangled up in the golden strands and tugging just a little, to keep him down to earth.
If he had any of his senses, he'd note that Izzy is being remarkably gentle right now. He does not.
Izzy asks and Stede simply unsteadily shakes his head no, taking the glass with a shaking hand though he does not drink. His breath is coming in unsteady gasps already, he's not sure he can manage.
therapy / talking about trauma / post - trauma starters.
@gowithplana said: hey, hey, hey. look at me, look at me. it’s okay.
This didn’t happen often. Not anymore. He had worked hard on coming to grips with some of the less savory things he’d endured in his life, when he was first called Drift, in the Dead End where all worthless, useless, forgotten things went to fade into misery and addiction.
But little things, he understood, could trigger the worst of the memories. Someone resting a hand in a sensitive spot on his frame without him knowing. A strong grip, right at the elbow, never too tight but feeling just this side of almost. Too many frames pressed too close in a crowded space. Any little thing, and it always felt so... disarming.
But at least this time there was a voice cutting through, one that did not belong to any of those memories, attached to none of the hands that he could almost feel on his frame.
Bright gold optics flicker as he blinks, and he stares back at Optimus with a few shaky vents, audial flares tipping back sharply.
“...-oh. Oh Primus I’m- I’m okay, it’s fine, let me get up-”
The clock's face shined brightly among the darkroom and over Sirius's face. Its red numbers glared angrily, and Sirius had half a mind to unplug it from the wall and roll over to cuddle up to Severus again. He wasn't sure what had woken him up, but he hadn't slept very long. The moon was just barely two-thirds way up, even though the rain clouds blocked it from view. Feeling back against the bed beside him, Sirius realized it was empty and cold and that got him frowning. He sat up and glanced around, only to look out the hall and see the very dim light from the bulb above the stovetop. Severus was still up?
Making himself get up to check, the groggy wizard padded quietly into the living room, glancing around for his lover while running a hand through unruly locks. It didn't take but a second to see the backdoor open and the other man's frame sunk down on their porch. Concern immediately crept into his heart and Sirius closed the distance, ignoring how the cold in the air wanted to make him shiver. He was about to say a comment, something stupid and along the lines of how they would both be catching colds until he saw the man crying. It was then that any joke or amusement faded away and he carefully sat down beside him. "Hey..." He murmured, searching over Severus's face while his hand moved to his back and softly rubbed up and down his spine. "...Whatever's got its hold on you, you don't have to do it alone...I'm here for you if you want to talk about it or not, love." He breathed quietly, knowing sometimes talking about things only made it worse. He couldn't help but wrap his arm around him though, giving Severus's side a gentle squeeze as the rain pitter-pattered down around them.
It’d been years since he’d had a memory quite this intense.. he knew it was far more than a memory. Muggles had a term for it: flashback. For a few excruciatingly slow minutes he’d been there again. One moment he was working on his lesson plans and the next the lightning flashed. That was what he remembered before suddenly he was in his old room, hearing the screaming and pounding from the other side of the door moments before that violence and anger was directed his way. He was frozen, eyes already glazing over as he just ... took it. No blinking, no crying, no flinching. If he did the efforts would double, he’d learned his lesson long ago. Severus worked to steady his breathing even though his heart was beating erratically in his chest and each blow caused a horrid spike of pain but he made no noise, simply curling up and protecting his center -- his mom had taught him that, more damage was done when Tobias was able to get to his organs.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, mind had drifted away like it did all those years ago. When Severus came back to, he was sweating and curled up on the floor of his home office. Severus took a deep breath, the skin felt just as raw and sensitive as if he’d really received the blows.. he was sure there were some new scratches on his arms as well. Shakily, he made it to his feet and did the only thing he could think of to remember exactly where and when he was: he needed fresh air, something to fully shake the ghosts of his past away or at least lock them back in their box. Severus walked right out into the rain, standing under the steady drops until he was shivering until his mind caught up with ... everything. He slumped down onto the nearest seat, tears came then with silent but quivering sobs. Powerless. Weak. Afraid. Emotions he typically repressed were now all he felt. He heard the greeting and he was too tired to even attempt to hide the tears.
The touch was unexpected and he couldn’t help or hide the flinch his body gave but the warmth radiating off Sirius’ hand permeated the blanket of ice that covered his form. He inhaled deeply, letting out a shuddering breath when the hand moved down his back but it was the words.. specifically the use of that pet name at the end that broke him. Severus sobbed, turning so his face was buried against Sirius’ side and he simply let it go.. everything. He hadn’t made noise while crying in too many years and now he was sucking gasping breaths in even while pressed against Sirius’ side. Even if he wanted to, there were no words he could say right now.
