Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Prompt: Traumatic Touch Aversion
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, Peter Nureyev & Ruby 7
Characters: Juno Steel, Peter Nureyev, Ruby 7 (Penumbra Podcast)
Additional Tags: Touch Aversion, Aftermath of Violence, Aftermath of Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 05
Series: Part 24 of Bad Things Happen Bingo
Summary:
During the Travel back to Rita after being rocketed into space from the Dokana base, Nureyev needs to make sure Juno isn't going to die from his injuries when he flinches away from all touch.
@chrumblr-whumblr Day Fourteen: Traumatic Touch Aversion
Fandom: Doctor Who (Fifth Doctor era). I rewatched Castrovalva and UGHUGHGH them <3 Set directly after Castrovalva
Words: 650ish
___
“Right then!” the Doctor said, slamming a lever down on the TARDIS consol. He spun around, facing his three young companions with a smile and clasped his hands together. “The planet of Florana--I rather think we all deserve a break, don’t you?”
The Doctor himself felt as fit as a fiddle--more, in fact. He was humming with new energy and he was excited to try out this new body, learn what he could do. He felt new and fresh, new body brimming with energy, new mind active and quick.
But he knew that while his regeneration process had allowed him a few chances to rest, his three young friends hadn’t had the easiest of times over the past day or so. Adric especially looked positively exhausted, leaning against the wall of the console room, head lowered. A few days relaxing on the gorgeous beaches of Florana would do them all some good.
He pulled the level to open the door and ushered his companions outside. Good--he’d landed correctly, for once. He’d been a little worried he’d miss the mark again. Immediately he felt himself relax, the last of the strain of regeneration fading. Adric perked up, a small glow already appearing on his pale cheeks. Nyssa gasped, clasping her hands together and staring out at the beautiful landscape before them.
Flowers spread across the land before them, every colour imaginable bathing the world in a beautiful light. Their scent was subtle but unmistakable, soft perfume of flowers flowing over them. Not far away the meadow faded slowly into a beautiful sandy beach, the sun sparkling off the water.
Only Tegan seemed unimpressed. She crossed her arms in the doorway of the TARDIS.
“Doctor,” she said accusingly. “This isn’t Heathrow.”
“Oh, come on Tegan!” the Doctor called. He shoved his hands in his pockets and strode outside. Nyssa and Adric were already rapidly making their way towards the beach. “It’s a time machine, I’ll get you back on time.”
Tegan gave a long suffering sigh, but she followed him out, stepping through the meadow.
A few deep breaths of Floranian air settled the Doctor more than he realised he needed settling. This regeneration had been strange, unsettled. He wasn’t entirely sure if everything had gone right and the thought worried him more than he wanted to admit.
But the clear, fresh air of the planet settled the last of his fears and he allowed himself to relax as he made his way towards the beach.
“Doctor!” Nyssa cried, running up the beach towards him. “Oh you must come and see.”
Before he could fully process, she had grabbed his arm.
He started, the abrupt touch sending a stab of wrongness and panic through him. He pulled away rapidly, jerking back and tugging his arm out of Nyssa’s grasp.
His arm felt prickly and not quite right, uncomfortable. Nyssa’s excited expression was rapidly replaced by one of concern.
“Doctor?” she asked.
He forced a smile, tucking his hands back in his pockets. His arm still felt strange--not painful, not entirely uncomfortable. Just…unpleasant. Wrong. It wasn’t something he’d ever experienced before.
Maybe something had gone wrong with the regeneration.
“What is it?” he asked, forcing a casual interest. Nyssa studied him for a long moment, clearly picking up that something wasn’t quite right, but she didn’t push him on it.
“Adric’s found some kind of strange creature,” Nyssa explained. “You alright?” Maybe she was going to push him on it.
He nodded, the sensation in his arm all but gone now. It was probably nothing.
“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. Just leftover regeneration side effects.” He grinned, and Nyssa smiled weakly back. “What kind of creature?”
Nyssa gestured him forward and started jogging lightly down the beach. She didn’t reach for his arm again.
The Doctor hurried after her, hoping this wasn’t going to be a permanent side effect.
___
Me looking at the fact that Peter Davison never really hugged his companions to avoid Implications: Oh we can make angst out of this.
Basically I love the idea that the Weird Regeneration caused some ongoing Issues for Five, that he had throughout that whole life. Maybe super sensitive to touch, maybe chronic pain, maybe something else. Not sure what exactly, i just love that concept because Five absolutely needs MORE pain in his life :D
The first of my Whumptober and Bad Things Happen Bingo fics!
Pairings: None
CW: implied rape/non-con, implied torture
Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn
Summary: Qui-Gon's Padawan is kidnapped while on a mission. When he finds him, he learns that rescuing does not always equal saving.
read on ao3...
--
Snippet:
The room was dark when Qui-Gon entered, the only light coming from the hallway and his lightsaber. It illuminated a cage shoved in the back corner, a small cage with a dirty figure crammed in it.
His heart was in his throat, the worry that had been burning in him for the past fifteen days coalescing into a tight knot that made it hard to breathe. But the hope…
The hope burned brighter.
Hope that he might have finally found…
“Obi-Wan?”
As he got closer, he could make out more details. The figure in the cage had their head down, hiding their face in their knees. Their shins were either bruised or filthy, possibly both, it was hard to tell in the green glow of the saber. Their arms were stretched up, hands poking through the top of the cage, the chain of the cuffs that connected them hung over one of the bars. Their fingers were at odd angles, swollen and dark with bruising. Their bare flesh was pale in the dim light, blood glistening on their skin. He could just barely see the edge of a blindfold wrapped around their head.
He couldn’t breathe. His vision was tunneling and he couldn’t breathe.
“Roman, are you okay? Oh God.”
Were they still touching him or was it the phantom feeling of hands ghosting his skin?
”Stop,” he rasped, almost choking on the word.
His knees buckled, and he had to catch himself on the wall next to him. Distantly he could hear whispers and he knew, he knew it wasn’t them.
Roman had managed to get away from his parents with Remus and Pryce years ago. So why was it all he could hear was their words? Their insults followed by praises followed by touching.
So much touching.
Too much touching.
“Let go!” he snapped, yanking away when he felt a more firm touch on his shoulder.
He felt them yank back, heard them stammer in worry. Fuck, he was supposed to be meeting with someone, wasn’t he? The cute boy he’d been texting lately.
Roman leaned back against the wall he’d had his hand on, shoving a hand through his hair before quickly pulling it away.
Felt too much like his dad pulling.
“I- goodness, I’m so sorry Roman, I didn’t mean to, is there anything I can do?”
Finally looking up from the ground, thought his vision was still tunneling and his breathing still erratic, Roman looked at who had touched him.
Thomas. Right, the guy he was supposed to be going on a date with today.
He forgot to ask him not to touch without warning, didn’t he?
The whispers surrounding him made his heart jump in his throat. They still sounded like his parents. Still sounded like his mom telling him he was the prettiest or his dad telling him to be still.
Shit, fuck, he needed Pryce. Or Remus. Or, fuck maybe Picani would be the best option, but he hated therapy. He hated it so much he didn’t want to think about his childhood.
Thomas continued to stare at him in worry, wringing his hands together and staying at least a foot away from him to avoid accidentally touching him.
Roman wanted to throw up. He looked so much like Pryce when their dad was about to get mad at him.
The thought made anxiety spike through him, and Roman swore that he was going to combust with addition to his current panic and the hands still roaming his body.
Fuck, he needed to get home.
“Sorry,” he forced out, and without giving Thomas the time to react he bolted away.
God, he hoped Pryce was okay. Logically, he knew he was. Their parents were rotting in jail, Remus was going to be spending the entire day with their youngest brother, Pryce was okay.
But the fear that he wasn’t was overpowering. The terrifying thought that Pryce was being punished because he was the youngest, the least athletic, the least favorite had Roman pushing to get home.
Didn’t he bring his car when he went to meet up with Thomas?
Too late to go back now.
Roman wasn’t sure how long it took him to get home, all he could focus on was the overwhelming fear for Pryce’s safety and the whispers he could still hear despite running and not being able to stop long enough to process actual people talking.
Fuck he hoped this didn’t throw him into a flashback when he finally got to his brothers.
Getting home should’ve been a relief, should’ve helped ease his anxiety and terror.
Remus’ car wasn’t in the driveway or the garage.
His hand shook when he tried to get the key in the lock. It took him five tries to get it unlocked.
He forgot about the deadbolt until he pushed the door and it still didn’t budge.
The sob he let out in response was supposed to be a groaned swear.
Three more tries to get the deadbolt undone.
When he finally got inside he rushed straight towards Pryce’s room. Just in case Remus was only leaving for a little bit to grab something for their day together.
“Roman?” Pryce asked, looking up from the notebook he’d been writing in before Roman had appeared in the doorway.
He looked fine. Was he hiding something again?
“Are you hurt?” he asked, the words rushing out of him as he looked over his little brother, wishing he could go over and check but the hands were still there.
“No, scars are healed, no scabs, no cuts,” Pryce immediately answered.
Roman must not have looked convinced because Pryce tugged off the hoodie he’d been wearing and showed off his arms.
“Shirt?” he asked, uncertain because he hated making Pryce show so much of himself, but he had to be sure.
He wouldn’t put it past his parents to go hiding the shit they did from him again.
Pryce pulled off his shirt and lifted his binder to show his rib cage. All Roman could see were the round cigarette burns. His brother then got off his bed and squirmed his binder up until it was scrunched under his armpits to show Roman the scars he had there.
All healed.
Roman’s terror for Pryce’s safety lessened just a bit. His anxiety was still bad, and he was still dealing with whispers from the past and the ghost touches, but Pryce was safe and uninjured.
“What happened?” his brother asked, pulling his binder back down and his shirt back on before he turned back to Roman, frowning in concern.
“I- Unexpected touch I’m- fuck where’s Remus. Is he okay?”
Pryce nodded, then his eyes widened.
“Did you close the door on the way in?”
Roman swore, then rushed back towards the living room, desperate to get the door closed and relocked before Remus came home.
It’d fucking suck if he accidentally triggered his brother in the midst of him trying to abate his own terror from being triggered himself.
Pryce followed him, his notebook and feather pen in hand. He plopped himself on the couch and when Roman turned from the door, he nodded towards the red recliner.
“I’m working on poetry for class, if you wanna listen to what I’ve got.”
Roman nodded, moving to sit in what Pryce kept calling the “triggered chair” despite how many times Roman told him to stop.
Being able to curl up and see the entire living room plus the front door and the hallway that lead to the back door helped to ease some of his anxiety, and hearing Pryce read to him helped quiet the whispers.
He just needed his weighted blanket, and he’d be all set to start calming down. Hopefully Thomas would be willing to reschedule their date for another time.
Hiiiiii!!! So this isn't fandom specific at all, just some random shit. But you know what I really really really love. When a character gets tortured and develops touch-aversion and the team respects that. But this leads to touch-starvation and at the end of the day he has to relearn how to handle physical contact. And there is so much emotional whump and tears. Oh so many sweet tears.
Hi! What about 'Traumatic touch aversion' for Klance from the show Voltron for your Bingo? It would be nice if the team didn't know about it and Keith was the one to accidentaly trigger a response from Lance. Have a lovely day :)
Anonymous asked: I would love to see you write Lance with Touch Aversion (O5). Thank you!
Anonymous asked: Hey darling, could you do Traumatic Touch aversion?
So, I really wanted this to be my thank you for 100 followers, but as you can see, that didn’t happen. Then I really wanted this to be Lance’s birthday present, but as you can see, that also didn’t happen. So happy belated birthday to Lance, and thank you all for 100 followers!
Also, sorry if this isn’t what you wanted or had in mind for Traumatic Touch Aversion, it’s more PTSD, but I really hope y’all like it!
Light peeked into his cell. The first light he had seen in what seemed like forever. It pierced his eyes and had him curling in on himself instinctively.
“Oh, Lance.” A soft voice spoke above him. He knew that voice, didn’t he? He tried to open his eyes only to shrink back immediately after. Were those eyes purple? Dry, calloused hands reached for him and grabbed his biceps to pull him up.
He curled in even further on himself and a small whimper escaped him.
“Shit. Hey, I found him, but I’m going to need some help getting him out of here.” There was a pause, “It’s bad.”
More hands grabbed his arms and and they weren’t familiar hands. The purple hands gripped his arms and pulled him forward into another room where they would do who knows what to him again. He didn’t want to go back in, couldn’t go back in. He-
“Don’t worry, Lance. We’ve got you.” Who’s got him? They have him. They have always had him. Hands grip him around his chest, and he’s back on the table. He feels the strips of leather constricting his breathing. He can’t move. He can’t breathe. He can’t-
He’s being carried. Carried to the room. They’re going to- “Lance, stop moving. I don’t want to drop you before we can get you into a healing pod.” The voice was warm and inviting and familiar, but Lance couldn’t help but wince away from it. They’re not here to help him. They’re taking him to the room again. He won’t be able to move. He won’t be able to breathe. They’re going to stick him full of needles and drugs again and-
He risked cracking his eyelids open briefly and was almost instantly blinded by the sheer amount of light that flooded his pupils. He forced them to stay open though. There was bright white light. He wasn’t on his way to the room. He couldn’t be on his way to the room.
He was placed in a healing pod, and his eyes managed to follow the people that had placed him there. They were looking at him, concern on their faces and in their expressions. It was familiar, almost too familiar almost like there they were, watching him for any reaction. He was just some experiment for them. How would this drug interact with human anatomy? How much could we get him to scream this time?
He closed his eyes, but sleep offered no respite from the nightmares.
When he finally woke, the room was dark. He caught himself before he could stumble to the ground and he sighed at the almost foreign sensation of walking and holding himself up with his own two feet. He needed to use the side of a table to keep himself up, but he was standing. On his own.
“Lance?” A voice called from the darkness. He started and turned towards the voice.
His blood ran cold when he saw the mound in the corner. From the middle of it shone two eyes that reflected yellow light straight through the darkness and shot fear right through his heart.
“We weren’t expecting you to come out for another day or two.” The mound rose and so did the fear in Lance’s chest. I’m not free, not free, not free. I can never be free, they’ll follow me everywhere, and they’ll always come back for me. I’ll never escape. I’ll never be free. Never be free, never be free, never be free.
“Are you okay, Lance?” The mound seemed to slide away and reveal a vaguely human shape. It was like the mass of a monster just melted away to reveal the inky black skeleton underneath. The fear continued to rise.
The skeleton moved towards him, and Lance tried to move away, but his feet were rooted to the floor. His muscles were locked in place. A Galran soldier standing at the end of the table, looking down at him. He was strapped to the table, cold metal under him, sapping the warmth from his body unforgivingly. He was so gaunt, he looked like a skeleton.
His vision flashed between the two images until they almost blended into one. One figure, one enemy, one fear.
The lights flipped on, and suddenly Lance could move again. He could breathe again. The mound that had melted off of the Galran monster -not a monster, Keith- was nothing more than a pile of blankets that had fallen from his shoulders when he woke up.
Tension dissolved from his body. Keith was fine. He knew Keith. There was no way that Keith would hurt him.
“Lance, I asked if you were okay. Is there anything I can get you?” Keith asked, “I can go and get the others if you want.”
The blue paladin shook his head, he didn’t trust his vocal cords after all they did was scream. The red paladin looked worriedly at him before picking up a small plate and glass of water from beside where he had been sleeping.
“We didn’t think you were going to wake up this soon, but I couldn’t eat earlier, so you can have it.” He slid the plate on the surface of the table so that it came to a stop right in front of Lance’s hand. He smiled slightly at it. “Are you impressed? I’ve been practicing for the day when we get back to Earth, and I can be one of those bartenders you see in movies.”
Lance quirked an eyebrow at him before looking down at the food. It was just the normal green food goo that they had as a team, there was nothing special about it, but he heard his stomach rumble nevertheless.
Cautiously he raised a bite to his lips, already tasting the spoiled food, half decomposed. Who knew what it was? Was is vegetation or past prisoners? Maggots crawled through his grimy fingers, the only utensils he was allowed-
The fork fell to the plate with a loud clatter. Despite nothing being in his stomach, Lance felt contractions as if he were going to throw up everything in his gut. Bile rose in the back of his throat and keep it down, keep it down, keep it down, you don’t know when the next time you’ll get to eat is-
Lance shook his head clear of the images of decomposing food and lifted the forkful to his mouth again. He forced his lips closed around it and slimy, greasy, rotten it tasted like normal. Like the first months that he had been in the Castle. He couldn’t help the tears falling down his face. It tasted like home.
“Are you okay?” Keith asked. He was biting his bottom lip, and his eyebrows were furrowed together in concern. He reached up a hand to wipe Lance’s tears away and Soldiers taking swings. One, two, one, two, one, two. Impacts throwing his head into the wall behind him. Hands holding his head up to look at their handiwork right before-
Lance didn’t think he could move as fast as he could in his condition, but he did. He was away from the soldiers, the enemy, the people who would hurt Keith.
But he was also away from the table, and his legs gave out beneath him. The red paladin reached out to steady him hands grabbed at his arms, pulling him roughly to his feet. Raucous laughter surrounded him as his head was thrust underwater again. He’s the blue paladin, why is he drowning?
Keith a soldier kneels in front of him, worry hatred on his face and Lance flinches back. Hands touch his shoulder where fire explodes across his skin. The brand fresh from the hearth hissing angrily as it burns through layers of skin. Sweat breaks out on his skin, and he screams. He had never felt pain this intense before, and he felt a hot poker on his other shoulder where Keith was shaking him awake, back to reality.
But he was being held up again, the cold was almost too much for him as he shivered in the Galran’s grasp. His nose was dripping considerably, and his teeth chattered against each other. He couldn’t speak, even if he wanted to.
“Lance, look at me, please,” Keith begged, his hands gripping the sides of his face gently painfully. He couldn’t move anything but his eyes which flitted around the room looking for something anything that wasn’t just a shadow in the dark. Glints of silver caught his eye, but not for long. Then they were getting closer and closer to his eyes. “Look at me and hold still, otherwise this is going to hurt.”
But this is Keith. Keith and his violet Galra eyes which would never always hurt him. ”Look at me.”
BtHB card request for @friendlylocalwhumper!! Some traumatic touch aversion with Will c:
A day when both Sophronia and William were free was rare. Before his capture they’d made it a point to spend time together outside of their duties when they could, but Sophronia hadn’t wanted to rush William now that he was home again. Daniel had done…a lot. More than William was willing to talk about. The last thing Sophronia wanted to do was push him out of his comfort zone so soon after getting back into it.
He was careful with his words, now. More careful than he had already been anyway, as if one turn of phrase or pun might spell disaster. He didn’t like people getting too close to him, whereas before he’d had next to no personal bubble that others needed to even think about. He still made contact with people, but Sophronia didn’t miss that momentary hesitation each time.
He wasn’t sleeping, either. That was the strangest, and yet most obvious effect. Sleeping was almost a hobby for William, but now he avoided it with the same desperation that children tried to avoid the dentist, or having their humours balanced. It wasn’t healthy in the slightest. Thinking he’d needed to relax, she had invited him out for drinks.
It had gone well, both of them getting tipsy enough to relax, and Sophronia had decided to call it a night. When William offered to walk her home, she didn’t hesitate to accept. Perhaps the alcohol would loosen the mask he clung to so tightly. Plus, even if she could handle herself, it was nice seeing that Daniel hadn’t stolen his want to help others.
The night was warm, wrapping them both in the humid summer air. The streetlights shone down on them as they walked, occasionally bumping shoulders and laughing--William open and wheezing, her own quiet and lilting. There weren’t too many people out either, they could just take their time. “Benn--Will,” She started, catching herself slipping now that they were outside, no drinks in their hands. “Can I be honest with you?”
He looked at her curiously, hazel eyes more open than she’d seen them since she’d gotten him away from Daniel. “Yeah Soph, you know I don’t get my feelings hurt easily.” He paired the playful words with a grin.
“I’m worried about you.”
As if physically pierced by Sophronia’s words, William stumbled, tripping over only his own sudden anxieties. All that openness disappeared, ripped back inside his head in an instant, flung behind worry and anxiety and something else. And then even that was gone, as William regained his balance. “C’mon, I’m fine.” He grinned again, too calculated, too careful.
Sophronia scoffed. “I’ve known you since the day you died, don’t insult me.” Tension gathered in William’s shoulders. “You were gone for over a year. A year. There’s no way you’re really okay. You were tortured.” She took one small step closer, her chest aching when she saw how he shrunk backwards, as if all too aware of how much taller she was than him in that moment. “You aren’t even sleeping, I can tell. You can talk to me you know.”
William’s fingers wound into the hem of the shirt he wore. “I’m--” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “Sophie, it’s fine, I’m okay. I know I can talk to you if I need to, but I don’t.” An edge had slid into his voice, force that he didn’t usually use. He stepped backwards again, towards the street, and his heel met open air instead of solid sidewalk.
The car’s horn barely registered in the hum of the city at night. All Sophronia saw was the terror that crossed William’s face, how he reached for her to try to regain his balance. She lunged forward and gripped William’s arm, yanking him to safety. He stumbled forward with a yelp, falling against Sophronia’s solid, steady form. “It’s okay, it’s fine, you’re safe.” She muttered, more to herself than to William as the car passed by harmlessly.
She brought a hand to the back of his head, fingers threading into his hair as she shifted her hold to his bicep.
Not a moment after her fingers tightened around his arm again, William shoved her away. Sophronia yelped as she staggered, catching herself against a building’s wall. It wasn’t a playful push, or an angry one, he’d put a lot of strength into it. The angry words she had ready died on her lips when she got a look at William.
He was ready to bolt. Hazel eyes were wide, locked onto her like prey that had been cornered. He shook, so hard that she could see it from where she was. He tried to speak a few times, before swallowing hard. His voice came out low, haunted.
