brb committing fic crimes

trope favs:

kidnapping

torture

sadistic whumpers

non con (explicit or nonexplicit)

permanent injury

disabled whumpees

weirdly specific but anything with hair touching (grabbing, petting, pulling, grooming/cutting)

intimate whumpers

mind control

dislikes (more meh, i'll read them but they don't give me whumperflies):

sickfic

environmental whump

pregnancy (yes, i've written it, no, i don't care for it)

squicks:

honestly not much I've become a lot more tolerant of things over the years. that said...

self-harm (less squick and more idk if it will trigger me or not so best to avoid it)

hanahaki (no thanks 👍)

major character death

i don't use tags that often but when i do...

organizational tags i use: #fic rec (for, you guessed it, fic recs), #temp rambles (for my non whump/fic/blorbo posts), #ts69 ideas (for when i make my own prompts), #fic crimes (for when i post my fics)

----(og)----

Vokara hated her job sometimes. She loved it too, of course, loved the reward of saving a life, healing wounds, taking away her patients’ pain. It was deeply fulfilling work, and she couldn’t see herself anywhere else, doing anything else.

But at times like this… she hated it.

Jedi didn’t hate, but faced with the evidence of months of suffering, months of torture, written in scars on the broken body in front of her, she couldn’t help it.

Someone—someone she didn’t even want to think the name of, lest she go down to the prison and break her oath as a Healer—had done this. Had… inflicted such immense harm on a man who had never and would never deserve it. A man who she cared dearly for, who had been her patient since she was a young Padawan-Healer and he an even younger crècheling. Someone had looked at this man and decided to hurt him beyond repair.

And for what?

----(rewrite)----

Vokara hated her job, sometimes. She loved it, too, of course. Loved the reward of saving a life, healing a wound, easing a patient’s pain. The work was deeply fulfilling, and to imagine herself anywhere else, doing anything else was simply… inconceivable.

But not all lives could be saved. Not all wounds could be healed. Not all pain could be eased. At times like those, at times like this… she hated being a Healer.

To hate was not the Jedi way, but in the rare moments, Vokara allowed herself this one concession to sentient nature. Master Yoda would tell her to meditate, to release her hate to the Force, and she would. Later. But for now, faced with the evidence of months of suffering, months of torture, written in scars on the broken body in front of her, spelled out in technical terms on the scanner in front of her, she couldn’t help but hold onto it.

She had met Obi-Wan as a young Padawan-Healer, and he an even younger crècheling, newly arrived to the Temple. He had come down with the Dantooine flu, and spent three days feverish and delirious in the Halls, under Vokara and her Master’s watchful eyes. He was the most stubborn patients she had ever met, and one of the most beloved. She had cared for him as an Initiate, a Padawan, a Knight, and a Master. She had saved his life on dozens of occasions, and healed his injuries more times than she could count.

Whether she could heal him this time… they could only hope.

Someone—someone she refused to even think the name of, lest she go down to the detention cells below and break her oath—had done this. Had… purposefully inflicted such immense harm on a man who had never and would never deserve it.

Someone had looked at this man and decided to hurt him beyond repair.