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spell-cleaver · 2 years

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Whumptober Day 2: NOWHERE TO RUN Cornered | Caged | Confrontation

Read it on AO3 or on FFN instead!

Eriadu had been the last place Leia wanted to go for a mission, but they hadn’t had much choice. One of their most powerful benefactors—a distant relative of the brutish Tarkin family, in fact—had been antsy since the Battle of Yavin and the death of his head of house. The Alliance had thought that sending Leia, the symbol of all the wrong Tarkin and his Death Star had done, would convince the sleemo that continuing to fund them would be the only way he could possibly clean himself of the stain of association.

Luke, when he and Han had dropped her in the spaceport, hadn’t had such a negative opinion of it. He’d been almost sympathetic to the man for having to grapple with his wicked relative. Leia and Han had exchanged a look when he made that comment, but while Han scoffed, Leia had to admit that it was Luke’s comment which had convinced her to actually go through with it. Blast that farm boy and his inexperienced heart.

The spaceport in Eriadu City was too connected to the rest of the galaxy; she and her escort had been dumped in Phelar, a smaller city. Wilfred Tarkin, their secret benefactor, was the vice-principal of the Imperial Junior Academy on Eriadu, just outside Phelar. She’d seen it out the window of the train they’d taken to get here: a dark silhouette of permacrete spires on the horizon, a wasteland in the middle of a verdant jungle. The heavy sweat on the back of her neck, mostly from Eriadu’s oppressive humidity, went cold at the sight of it.

She wondered how many children were being brainwashed into hating her in the mere seconds she watched it. It was years since she’d been a member of the Junior Senate and had visited an academy herself, but she remembered the experience. The Empire stripped them of their identities beyond numbers and gave them a faceless helmet to march onto the streets with, and they justified it with your sacrifice is necessary for the safety of the Empire.

One of the soldiers in her escort, Grey, nudged her. “This is our stop, miss.” He couldn’t call her Your Highness here, but she could tell he wanted to.

She nodded. “Let’s go.”

It was a short walk from the bus stop to the towering building that held Tarkin’s private penthouse. She was wearing enough makeup to disguise herself that it caked on her upper lip, but she still hesitated to look the receptionist in the eye.

The woman seemed the epitome of discretion, though, and clearly knew what was going on: she said, “Sir Tarkin has been expecting you, miss,” and waved them right up.

He met her on the top floor. Leia stepped out of the sleek turbolift into an equally as sleek—to the extent it looked uncomfortable—hallway. Tarkin was a reedy man without the bulk his elder relative had had, but the same skeletal features and proud mouth. Two stormtroopers flanked him, which Leia tensed at, but she sensed no immediate aggression from them. They seemed young and small, as well—shorter than Luke had been in the armour—so she could only assume they were some favoured students, here as extra protection.

His eyes widened when he saw her. “Are you…?”

“Princess Leia of Alderaan,” she confirmed, stepping forwards to extend her hand. He looked at it for a moment, as if expecting it to be rough with Rebel callouses, but her skin was as clean and soft as when she’d been in politics.

The way she saw it, she was still in politics.

He took her hand and shook it limply. She tried not to grimace. They needed his money, not his skills in charisma.

“Sir Tarkin,” she said. “I understand you have been reluctant to continue funding us since your uncle destroyed my planet.”

“Cousin,” he corrected. “Second-cousin, uh—” She stepped towards a door; he panicked, before realising she had no intention of snooping, just in him actually inviting her in. “—thrice-removed. I apologise for my poor manners, Your Highness. Please, come in. Sit down.”

He opened a pair of great double doors onto a living room, half of which was comprised by a balcony. The tropical storms that were endemic in summer meant that there were currently a set of transparisteel doors separating the living room from the outside veranda, but Leia paused to glance at the view, nonetheless. A storm was indeed rolling in: lightning flashed, and the beginning pitter-patter of rain began to strike the doors.

“Not your escort,” he said hurriedly, when Grey and his team tried to follow them. “Your escort, and mine, must stay outside.” She narrowed her eyes at him; he smiled sheepishly. “Confidential information. Details, bank records, precise deals; I can’t risk any of this reaching beyond your ears and mine, I’m sure you understand—”

“I understand,” she cut him off. “I am not pleased by it, but I understand. Captain,” she turned to Grey, “wait just outside the door. I will call on you if required.”

“Likewise, Veers,” Tarkin added. “All of you wait outside.” They exited through a different door—one that presumably went to an antechamber of some kind.

“Veers?” Leia asked, eyebrows climbing.

“General Veers’s son, yes. Very talented boy. Has a good sense for right and wrong.”

“I’m hoping you do as well, Sir Tarkin. Otherwise, my trip here has been a waste, as has our entire association.”

“No, don’t give me that.” He finally sat down on the sofa opposite her. He hadn’t even offered her any drinks for her to be suspicious of; his hosting skills were deplorable, and his political skills even more so. “No, I reserve the right to judge whatever the hell happened on DS-1.”

“DS-1? You would use the official, clinical term for it? It is natural that the Empire does not want to call its own device a Death Star, but I would have hoped you’d know better.”

“What happened?” he snapped. “My cousin—”

“Second-cousin-thrice-removed.”

“—died there. Because of you and your lot. Are you friends with the pilot?”

“I am. He’s a good man.”

“A good man who killed my cousin.”

“Was your cousin a good man?”

He hesitated, sensing her trap, but not having the acumen to dodge around it. He blundered into it, instead. “I never personally experienced any issues in his company.”

“A good man who killed my parents, my aunts and uncles, my cousins, every other relative I could possibly have, and several other billion people when he destroyed my planet?”

“That rumour is unsubstantiated.”

She stood and made to leave. “If you choose to make such a baseless, transparent argument, we have nothing to discuss here.” She shouldn’t have let herself hope. Not when it came to Imperials. Luke was naïve, but she should know better. “You clearly funded the Alliance for a reason. I am increasingly sure it was to satisfy your own conscience, until it suddenly became too dangerous for you to stand.”

He stared at her.

“Am I right?”

“Is this how you speak to all your benefactors, Princess Leia? If so, I—” He cringed at her glare but kept talking. “—I am unsurprised that you find yourselves so desperate for funds.”

She stopped, halfway to the door.

He was right. She couldn’t afford to alienate him. They had won a small victory, but the war loomed before them, and the future was dark. They needed to take the blood money of grubby-handed scions like him who still bore fragile loyalty to the families who had raised them so wrong.

But if she turned around now, he would know he had her. She refused to let him dominate the discussion.

“We cannot deal with people we cannot trust,” she said. “Your loyalties are obviously split, between your family and your conscience. It is a division that all of us who have been raised in the Empire have to grapple with.” She turned back to him. “The Alliance is made of people who were strong enough to commit, despite these two sides. I am sorry, but I cannot tolerate a man who cannot make that choice and uses flimsy excuses about the morality of killing a murderer to cover that up.”

She’d calculated correctly, she thought. He was on the back foot again. Too weak to make the decision, and he knew it, but too smart to delude himself that if he did nothing, he wouldn’t be complicit in Imperial atrocities.

“I am a sympathiser,” he insisted. “We all are—all the boys I have with me here today, as well, because I know I can trust them. I can trust their sympathies and their moral code.”

“Like the son of General Veers?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

“He’s a good kid.”

“But can he—any of you—commit?” she pressed. “To either side. Can you make that choice?”

Her words did… something… to him. He straightened up, his posture as military-perfect as his second-cousin-thrice-removed’s had been. His face folded into something dark.

“Yes, Princess Leia,” he said. “I can. Boys!”

It happened before she could blink. The door burst open again, and the Imperial stormtrooper cadets filed out, their helmets down like they were about to use them as battering rams. One seized her from behind; before she could cry out to alert her own escort, he jabbed a hand over her mouth. She bit it, but the armour was hard.

“The new Governor of Eriadu will forgive all of our suspicious behaviour when we deliver you to him,” Tarkin informed her. “Do not condescend to me, Princess Leia. I know this choice of which you speak, and I know that I have made the right one.”

“You haven’t,” she got out. Even when she was restrained, he flinched at the harshness in her tone. “You’re far too weak to have.”

“Evidently not. Stun—”

She kicked the trooper holding her in the groin and twisted out of his grip. Before they could fire, she ducked out from between them, made to run—

But there was only the balcony behind her, with the storm blowing in.

“Freeze, Princess—”

She fumbled for the latch and stumbled back, until her back hit the railings, hoping for a fire escape, something to jump to, anything she could use. None revealed themselves.

She was too high up. She had cornered herself, and now there was nowhere to run.

The troopers raised her blasters at her. She willed herself to still. Rain lashed their pristine white armour, dripping in rivulets down their blank, plasteel faces, fierce winds knocking over the neat furniture. Tarkin was glaring at the storm for the indignity of it.

“Someone made your choice for you, didn’t they?” she accused him. “They spotted a number trail, found out about your moment of compassion, your desire to use your pocket money to fund people who’ll do more for the galaxy than you ever will. And they gave you an ultimatum, before you disgraced them, once that you did not have the strength to refuse. You made your decision before I ever landed on this planet.”

“My mother reminded me of what Rebel propaganda had made me forget,” he spat. “The Empire is noble.”

“I don’t think it’s Rebel propaganda that’s been the real danger, to you. We’re not the ones who pretend that my planet is still intact.”

“You are the one pretending you still have a modicum of authority. I don’t even have to call you Princess—you’re a princess of nothing.”

She refused to let herself flinch. Thunder rumbled hungrily in the distance. “And yet you do,” she said. “Everyone in the Empire still does. The moment you’re faced with authority, you follow it with blind obedience.” She looked over the stormtroopers. All kids, who were apparently on an ISB watchlist for suspected sympathies, chosen by Tarkin for this task because their presence would make him feel better about his own inadequacies. They had obeyed him. He was their vice-principal. “That’s what you have all be taught.”

The troopers were utterly faceless. The regulations on height meant they were even the same stature, none shorter or taller than the others. She knew one of them was Veers, but she could never have guessed which.

That made her, suddenly, angry. She had always been angry—her anger at the Empire was something she had stoked since she was a teenager, slow-burning, only to flare with violence and hatred after Alderaan had died. But this was specific. This was an intense blend of both disdain and pity for these people, good people, who nonetheless did no thinking for themselves, because it was easier to follow orders.

The storm shone around her, dark and cold and bright and strong. Something deep inside her rumbled in unison with the thunder.

“Stun her!” Tarkin ordered.

“No,” she replied. “I order you to put your weapons down.”

Lightning flashed. It illuminated the smooth, instant motions as they did.

Tarkin gaped at them, and then he was a trembling excuse for a man when she faced him again, hands clenched at her side, her clothes clinging clammily to her like a second skin she needed to shed.

“You will continue to fund us,” she ordered. “You will use every last bright spark in that cowardly and clever brain of yours to make sure you do not get caught this time. But you will double your donations. I will leave this planet unharmed, and the Alliance will be the stronger for it.”

He bowed his head mindlessly. “Yes, Your Highness.”

She stepped back inside. For a moment, she thought to close the doors, but her stomach tugged, and a stray wind slammed them shut behind her.

“We’re done here.” She said to the stormtroopers, “Follow me.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” they chorused as one.

She opened the door and stepped out. Grey scrambled to attention. “Your Highness—”

He paused, taking in her soaked clothes, the troopers flanking her.

“They will be escorting us back to the spaceport to ensure we are left unharmed,” she said.

They did, indeed, escort Leia and the others back to the spaceport. They accompanied them on the Falcon all the way back to the Rebel base, where they shed their stormtrooper armour but not their stormtrooper tendencies and became the most reliable soldiers the Alliance had.

They never disobeyed an order.

#random words on a page #my writing #leia organa #whumptober #no.2 #superhumans

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youtwitinmyface · 8 months

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THE AMBASSADORS #6

Written by Mark Millar Drawn by Matteo Scalera Published by Image Comics PREVIOUSLY: THE AMBASSADORS #5 This is it, the big finale (yeah, I know I’m months late on this, but I have a life, sue me). Choon-He personally leads The Ambassadors to the cost of South Korea, where they gather to stop a massive tidal wave that could trigger an explosion at a local nuclear power plant. The team succeeds in…

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#image comics #MARK MILLAR #Matteo Scalera #super powers #superheroes #superhumans #The Ambassadors #The Ambassadors 6

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magickhajiit · 1 year

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Sokovia and Spiders (Chapter 1)

Rating-teen and up

All Chapters

Hail races away from the grey clouds above, meeting their mark they feel like freezing bullets when they hit Peter’s suit. There’s an actual bullet heading towards him right now, slicing through the air as a knife would butter. Appearing in the form of a prickle of apprehension his spidey sense warns him of it, giving him enough time to flip out of the way before splashing back onto the gravel. Within minutes of sneaking out of the apartment his suit had been drenched, the colour darkened to navy and blood red. The hail is a hallmark of New York winters right along with freezing breezes and angry people, summers might bring forth warmth, but winters bring a blistering hot derived from the anger of New York’s citizens.

Spiderman had been on his way back home when he heard the commotion, the reason for the noise became quickly apparent as he leaned over the edge of the rooftop. A man was stood there, in one hand he was waved a gun threateningly in the air, in the other he was clutching the coat of a young woman. Despite his words being slurred and the stench of alcohol he was steady on his feet when he demanded her purse. He didn’t seem like the type of guy to use an authentic weapon but Peter was unwilling to take that chance. She hadn’t yet had a chance to react when spiderman leapt from the roof. He braced himself against the impact of the kick that made the assailant stumble backwards. Before he had the chance to regain his footing the woman took the opportunity to escape, heels clicking on the ground mark her departure. The moments distraction provided the criminal with ample time adjust his stance and pull the trigger.

Now there’s a bullet lodged in the brick wall, cracks spiralling from where it imploded, having sailed through the air where Peter had been standing only seconds earlier. Irritated at the murder attempt Peter flicks his wrist, he can just about hear the click of the web shooter mechanism firing before the criminal is secured to the wall.

‘’Hey, hey, hey, this is a new suit.’’ The guy just shouts obscenities at him from his place on the wall, eyes red around the edges, his scowl turning the lines on his face into deep crevices. Peter’s too busy looking at the newly formed hole in the wall, to pay any notice. In his mind's eye he can see what would have happened if the bullet hadn’t missed, metal slicing through spandex and skin before ripping through muscle. Turning his insides into a bloody smoothie. Damp gravel crunching under his weigh as blood loss causes him to crumple. He’d never been shot before, and he’s not adding it to his bucket list any time soon.

Inserting a new canister into his suit, his finger quick to fire. He hoists himself upwards, as soon as the web is secured onto a nearby lamppost, before sending a second. The rain has let up slightly as he swings through the city, no longer feeling like violent needles sticking into his skin.

Peter can hear him before he can see him, super senses allowing him to detect the suit’s inner engines from streets away. Why Ironman is hovering over the city at 11pm on a Tuesday is anyone's guess. Racking his mind for answers Peter theorises that he was after some criminal trading black market Stark tech. This area was halfway to home and a rough area of the city, infamous for its active drug gangs and weapons dealings. Yeah, that made sense.

Still, Spiderman slips into the alley, between two apartment blocks, hoping he'd either fly overhead or spontaneously change direction. He wasn’t hiding exactly, just temporarily avoiding. Ironman ignores Peter's inner prayer and continues onward. Just a couple of blocks away now, Peter can hear another accompanying voice.

‘’Do you have eyes on?’’ The question has a tinny quality about it, undetectable to most, making Peter think there must be a radio installed in his suit relaying the words.

Fortunately, he can’t recognise the voice, meaning Captain America or Thor are unlikely to drop in on him at any moment. Letting curiosity get the better of him he strains to hear more, hoping in this scenario curiosity doesn't kill the cat- or the spider in this case.

‘’No, not yet. Police reports confirm he’s been in this area recently.’’

‘’Maybe he’s already gone.’’

Peter’s stomach tumbles uncomfortably listening to the conversation unfold. They could be talking about someone else. They probably are. They have no reason to be hunting him. Though with Parker's luck there’s a good chance they are.

Still, there’s nothing to confirm this until, ‘’No, the web-slinger might be quick, but he doesn’t have super speed.’’ Unless his brand image has been stolen and there’s another web-slinging hero flinging himself around New York then it’s probably him.

Can I sue if there is? Peter wonders.

To be fair, hunting gangs is more of a Daredevil rather than an avenger thing. Ironman is practically on top of him now, a few more metres and he could look down and see him hanging from the wall uselessly. Futilely Peter shuffles down, wondering if it was better to be discovered or reveal himself. ‘’Hold on. I installed heat detecting sensors last week.’’

The flight part of fight or flight should kick in now, but at this moment, it evades Peter. Leaving him frozen as thin metal panels slide into place in Stark’s suit. ‘’See anything?’’

Ironman ignores the question in favour of hovering a little closer. So, he can glance directly into the mouth of the alleyway. Without the barriers of cloth and metal, Peter is sure they would be making awkward, uncomfortable eye contact right now.

When the silence continues for a beat too long Peter fills it, ‘’Err, Hi? I’m a big fan.’’

#superhumans #superhuman registration act #superhuman registration act fanfiction #peter parker #hurt peter parker #injured peter parker #marvel comics #marvel fanfiction #marvel spiderman fanfiction #avengers hunt spiderman #tony stark #marvel civil war #civil war comics #marvel 616

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meloncholy-solstice · 2 years

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We do a little advertising

Hi guys!

I’m writing a sci-fi/fantasy book series based in modern times called Demigods: Reloaded, the first two chapters of which are available for free to download and read on my p@treon here!

If you like stories with LGBT+ characters in fantastical worlds where there’s superpowers and strange creatures, and a mostly female roster of characters compared to a lot of other media in the genre, I would definitely suggest giving it a go and considering supporting the p@treon for monthly bundles of up to 5 chapters for only $7!

#writing #writer #lgbt #superpowers #superhumans #It's only going to be a patreon release im not uploading it anywhere else or attempting to publish it #as said the first two chapters are 100% free and a teaser for anyone who might be interested #so even if you don't care for the genre much please check it out anyway and see what you think!#please do share this around too so it can reach more people!

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kakashioo9 · 1 month

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#superhumans

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chantireviews · 1 month

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The 2023 CIBAs Paranormal Book Awards Finalists for Supernatural Fiction

The Paranormal Book Awards recognize emerging new talent and outstanding works in Supernatural Fiction. The Paranormal Book Awards is a division of the Chanticleer International Book Awards (The CIBAs). Chanticleer International Book Awards (the CIBAs) is looking for the best books Paranormal books featuring magic, the supernatural, weird otherworldly stories, superhumans (ex. Jessica Jones,…

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cate-to-minore · 1 month

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if a telepath tells me something in my mind but he doesn't speak my language (or none of the ones I know/can somewhat understand), would the words get automatically translated or would I just hear gibberish?

#random #questions #existential crisis #idk #superpowers #telepathy #telepathic communication #what if #how does it work #superhumans #i dont know how to tag this

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miroslawmagola · 4 months

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Extrasensory perception Miroslaw Magola alias Mind Force from Stan Lee Superhumans documentary aired on History Channel and Discovery Channel and Netflix by Miroslaw Magola Via Flickr: Extrasensory perception Miroslaw Magola alias Mind Force from Stan Lee Superhumans documentary aired on History Channel and Discovery Channel and Netflix

#perception #sensory #Extrasensory #History #documentary #Discovery Channel #Mind Force #SUPERHUMANS #Superbrain #AI #Stan Lee #Consciousness #flickr #comic books

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deafening-enthusiastic-dreamer · 5 months

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Moving

Pics taken from Pinterest.

I have soo much to say for this series i don't know where to begin.

It is worth the hype that it is getting, and honestly, I loved watching every bit of it.

we got 20 episodes of thrill, comedy, romance, secrets. I loved it.

If there is a part 2 coming, i hope it is, I know for a fact that it will be just as great, or even better then it is now.

Multiple main characters, having their own ' special episodes' stole my heart. We got in deep with each and every character's life, where they were , how they got there and what it means to have their ability, the good and the bad. The first few episodes might be bit confusing, but I give them that as it has a lot to unpack later on in the story.

But it fit well, they spoke about so many stories and then finally them being linked at the end quite well put.

#kdramas #kdrama #tv series #south korea #action #thriller #comedy #romance #crime movie #Moving #Good vs bad #good vs evil #powers #superhumans #superpowers

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wynsbackagain · 6 months

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Handel: Da tempeste (Julia Lezhneva, Helsinki Baroque Orchestra)

#youtube #Vocal bad*ssery #Superhumans #fandom #Music #music talk

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spell-cleaver · 2 years

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Whumptober Day 1: A LITTLE OUT OF THE ORDINARY Adverse Effects | Unconventional Restraints | “This wasn’t supposed to happen”

Read it on AO3 or on FFN instead!

Warnings for: very explicit gore and graphic violence, self-harm. Very very explicit stuff. You have been warned.

The stun blast hit him just as his fingers brushed the door of the escape pod, which was a cruel twist of destiny. Rough hands seized him under his shoulders; not quite unconscious, but still too woozy from that shock of energy to resist, Luke couldn’t stop them from dragging him back to his cell.

It was down several ladders, which had been absolute pains to get up with his shoulder injury, but much easier once he’d unlocked his binders with the Force. He grumbled to himself as they passed him down, and another set of broad, rough hands caught him none-too-gently at the bottom. So much work, so many times, and all for nothing.

His cell looked more appalling every time they threw him back inside it. It was a tiny, cramped area on a tiny, cramped ship, and the bounty hunters might keep it clean, but they weren’t generous with the furniture. Half the reason his shoulder still hurt so much from being wrenched during his capture was the sleeping conditions.

The floor embraced him with its hard, cold touch again. His nose didn’t appreciate it.

“What the hells?” someone demanded. Luke was starting to shake off the effects of that stun blast and looked up, grimacing. The bounty hunters’ leader, a violet-skinned Twi’lek with one of her lekku missing, had deigned to visit him again; that was a surprise. Usually, she just let her lackeys do all the recapturing. “That was your fifth attempt, mate. Are you ever gonna stop?”

Luke laughed into the floor. It was a conspiratorial chuckle, like he and the floor had a secret together.

She marched over to him and toed his side, pushing him onto his back so he was looking up at her. The number of blasters and binders hanging from her waist could have substituted as a kilt. Luke shivered suddenly, something horrible emanating from that arsenal. “Well?”

“You have no idea what Vader is gonna do to me,” Luke mumbled, his head growing increasingly sharp. But he’d keep faking wooziness. It would make her underestimate him.

“I know what he’s gonna do to me if I turn up without you.”

If he’d been less desperate, he’d have sympathised with her. That was what Luke did, much to Han’s despair. But Luke’s fear had thrummed through him like steroids for days by now, as the cell walls closed around him and the halls and ladders that led to the escape pods elongated into the distance. “Why should I care?”

“No reason. But I care a whole lot.” She grimaced. “I didn’t wanna use these. They seem cruel—they feel cruel.”

Warning bells started blaring. Luke jerked his head up, abandoning the woozy pretence. “What are you talking about?”

“But you’ve already proven that these are no challenge.” She tossed the pair of binders he’d escaped from aside. He resented that comment—they’d been a challenge, alright, he’d spent days figuring out how to bend the Force to unlock them—but he was more interested in the other pair of binders she pulled out. “Should’ve put these on you before. Only captured Jedi once, back at the start of the Empire, but these worked then, and they’ll work now.”

“What are those?” Luke scrambled back, but there wasn’t anywhere to scramble. The binders she pulled out looked identical to the ones she’d just thrown away, apart from their unsettling colour and texture. They were white, like they were made of bone, but they couldn’t be. Bone would splinter too easily.

And bone could not give off the dreadful aura those things did.

She saw his face. “Like I said, I didn’t wanna use ‘em. But you leave me no choice. Unless you’ll promise not to escape?”

Luke opened his mouth to do just that—but stopped. He couldn’t promise that. No matter how bad the binders were, surely they couldn’t be worse than the man who’d killed his father. “Never.”

She shrugged. “Wouldn’t have believed you anyway.”

When she reached down to snap the binders on him, he leapt to his feet. He was more clear-headed than he’d let on, but he wasn’t crystal clear; he stumbled for a moment, backing away until he hit the wall again. The door was locked when he reached for it, but she was still approaching him. He gathered all the control he had, pulled in the Force—and shoved.

Her single lek and clothes ruffled, but she didn’t move. The bone-white binders gleamed.

“Yeah,” she said. “That’s what these are for.” And seized his wrists in the binders’ white jaws.

He blacked out.

Blinked, blinked, blinked, and the world swam back into focus—distant, spinning, vague. There was shouting, hands shaking his shoulders, before she retreated. A long scream shattered his eardrums.

He stopped screaming long enough to suck in air. His head pounded like he hadn’t breathed, he hadn’t eaten, he hadn’t slept in days. It had only been a few times since joining the Alliance that he’d had to push himself to feel those symptoms, but he knew how they felt. This was infinitely worse.

Instinctively, he reached for the Force to steady himself, as gulps of air failed to fill the gaping void in his chest. Nothing responded. His cells tingled in flowing, stinging ripples through his flesh, like they’d run out of oxygen and were starting to die, one by one by one.

Breathing neither filled nor emptied the black hole that had replaced his soul, so he forced himself to stop panting, insofar as he could force himself to do anything right now. He peered up at the captain, but his neck spasmed and wouldn’t obey signals from his brain, so he just rolled his eyes upwards. Even then, all he saw were her knee-length combat boots. They looked worn, falling apart. Maybe she’d been hoping to buy new ones with his bounty.

“What… is… this?” Turning thoughts to words was nigh-impossible. His tongue flapped like a fish out of water, his saliva dribbling out from between his lips. His vision was going red. It wasn’t until hot droplets spattered on his cheeks that he realised he was crying blood.

The captain stared at him. “What the fuck.”

His heart thumped irregularly. Its silence was agonising. It was like it had anterograde amnesia and had to keep reteaching itself how to beat.

“What… have… you…” He sucked in a breath like there was a vacuum inside him, but he felt nothing. “Done to me!”

The words spewed out. Blood spattered with them. They landed on her stupid falling-apart-at-the-seams boots.

He couldn’t sense her there. Still, dead, unmoving in his senses, maybe she was a hallucination. Maybe she wasn’t real at all.

“Looks like Jedi react to losing the Force differently,” she said, backing away. Her face was pale as the binders, but he could not feel her fear. He did not give a shit about her fear.

“The… Force?” The Force was in everything. Every living thing. Were these horrible binders meant to… cut it off?

He’d sooner cut off his hands.

She had a knife, he remembered—she had a knife, she could cut off his hands, but she was backing away, the cleaver sheathed at her side winking mockingly, or maybe that was the lights spinning through his dying brain.

Then the door was open, closed, slammed shut. He tried to thrust his hands between the door and the wall before it did, crush his bones so he could get the binders off, but he punched the closed door instead, more blood christening the durasteel, dripping down his knuckles. With an immense force he shoved himself to his feet, staggering back and spreading his feet wide so he could stand, his weight teetering on the soles of his shoes.

He brought the binders up to his face; any further away, and he couldn’t see them well. His vision was too blurry, too chaotic, like his brain didn’t know how to interpret the light that struck his retinas. The binders were made of two fat bands clamped around his sore bare wrists; the skin of his arms on either side of them was as red and bloated as if he’d had an allergic reaction, flaking away like snowfall, his veins popping out like tapeworms crawling for safety. The bands were connected by a mockingly fine chain that hung in the air between them.

He stared at that chain. It trembled as he trembled.

It wasn’t a conscious thought that had him snap forwards and seize the chain between his teeth, grinding it between them to break it, break it, break it, but the chain was colder than ice. His teeth went numb. He kept at it despite his cold, brittle bite, but the chain was unyielding, and he tripped. His jaw smashed into the floor. Blood filled his mouth, teeth askew.

Vomit trickled out. It looked like it should be yellow, but the colour had been bleached from the world by a week in a grey cell, and now there was no colour to be seen at all.

He closed his eyes. He opened them again. The vomit pile was bigger.

The relief of brief unconsciousness vanished like a shot through hyperspace as his body tried whatever the hell it could to bolster itself against the attack on every front. He felt so much worse. Every muscle hurt. Breathing was no longer automatic; he mechanically forced the twitching cells of his diaphragm to stretch and contract, but the flood of air did not help beyond stopping him from dying quicker.

Maybe, if he couldn’t cut off his hands and he couldn’t bite off the chain… He made to clamp his teeth around the soft, spasming flesh just below his elbow. Blood filled his mouth, but he aborted the bite before completion as his strength fled him.

This was what it felt like without the Force. The desperation of a hunted animal caught in a trap, trying to gnaw off a limb—

He vomited again. Acid stung his insensible skin, blood spurting from his arm and his mouth. What did that mean? Where was he bleeding inside?

His cheeks were still hot and wet. Everywhere? His trousers were damp and foul-smelling as well, stained with dark splotches. Had he pissed himself at some point in this pain? Was he pissing out his own blood?

The door was open behind him. He spun around—the captain was there, as were a few other bounty hunters, crowding the door, gaping at him.

“What is that…”

“What’s happening to him…”

“Silva, we gotta get those off him…”

“Is he gonna die?”

“Are we gonna get paid?”

“What the hells is—”

He lunged at them, eyes for the weapons, anything to fight his way out of here, anything to end his pain—

The door slammed shut, he slammed his head, and darkness slammed into him.

When his brain dragged him back to consciousness again, there wasn’t much point. He wasn’t lucid enough to smell anything, which was good; his whole body was drenched with something, something hot and cold and warm, and he did not want to think what it was. Shivers wracked his frame—the only thing that told him he had a spark of energy left, because his heart was still thump, thump, thumping ever slower, and his lungs were fraying like overused shopping bags, and his eyes saw nothing at all.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“We’ve got Skywalker, Lord Vader, obviously. That’s more than anyone else can say.”

“That is because I kill the bounty hunters who displease me, hunter. They cannot say anything. Nor will you be able to if you do not explain why Skywalker is in this state.”

“He was trying to escape, and we couldn’t hold onto him otherwise, and—”

Hard hands had clamped around his wrists. He let them drag him upright until he hung from their grip like a curtain caught on a rail. “You have acquired binders to block the Force.”

“Haven’t seen much use for them in a while, but back when Jedi had such high bounties, they—”

“It would be acceptable in that situation. But Skywalker’s bounty states that I require him alive.”

Another voice. “He’s alive, Vader. Look at him. He’s crying.” There were tears streaked his already-bloodstained face again.

The hands reached down and, with a snap, unlocked the binders. As the Force barrelled back into Luke, he hiccupped for air like a squealing kettle. Light, colour, function cut back into him; he screamed. And with this new, painful awareness, he felt it in excruciating detail as four of the five bounty hunters slowly… slowly… asphyxiated.

Their dead bodies dropped to the floor. The absence of their lives in the Force was another vacuum to flood into and for a moment Luke was there, in their heads as they died, staring at Darth Vader out of their eyes, and the borrowed nervous systems of their bodies was the only reason he was able to feel afraid.

Then he opened his eyes and stared up at the man whose hand he was hanging from, his vision still red but whitening.

“You do not understand how the Force works, you incompetent fool.”

“Incompetent?” the captain scoffed, but nervously, eyeing her dead crewmates. “I got him here for you.”

“The Force is everywhere. In everyone. It is produced by life and vital to life itself. You would have killed Skywalker by removing it from him entirely.”

“Bantha shit. That’s never happened with any other Jedi—”

Vader dropped Luke to seize her, his hand constricting around her neck. “Skywalker,” he said, “is no ordinary Jedi.”

He leaned down to pick up the discarded binders—and snapped them around her wrists. The captain shrieked, her knees buckling, shaking. Luke stared, disturbed, at how she simply vanished.

“Take her to the cells,” Vader ordered to stormtroopers Luke hadn’t realised were there. “She holds as much aptitude for the Force as a rat. She will die in as much agony as Skywalker would have—but far, far more slowly.” He turned to look down at Luke, sprawled on the floor. The floor drenched in his excrement. “It is less than she deserves.”

He reached down to take Luke’s arm. Luke wasn’t really in a position to reject it, but he tried, only to stumble into Vader’s other arm.

“It is regrettable, young one, that the inheritance which makes you so powerful also makes you so vulnerable to this. But this alone.”

“The hell do you know about my inheritance?” he got out, trying to push Vader away.

Vader caught his flailing arm. The blood from Luke’s bite wounds seeped into the leather of his glove.

He said, “More than anyone else will tell you.”

#tw: body horror #tw: gore #tw: graphic depictions of violence #tw: self harm #random words on a page #superhumans #whumptober 2022 #my writing #luke skywalker #darth vader #for darkness shows the stars

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