A mixture of 100 word drabbles capturing moments in time. Many are series of drabbles with a common story thread. Others are stand alone. Mainly Luke/Vader or a Dark Luke, but also Mara, Han, Leia, Beru, Owen, Palpatine, Obi-Wan, Wedge, et al
Rated: Fiction T - English - Hurt/Comfort/Angst - Luke S., Darth Vader, Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan K. - Chapters: 119 - Words: 44,035 - Reviews: 493 - Favs: 86 - Follows: 94 - Updated: 4/10 - Published: 1/31/2009 - id: 4830188
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AN: FFN seems to have fixed itself again, so I thought I'd take the moment of opportunity and post these drabbles. Again, the "Dark" thread continues.
Many thanks to those who have commented on the drabbles.
All previous disclaimers apply!
Death
It was with pride that he watched his son stride from the turbolift toward him. It was with pride that he saw the bridge crew cringe with fear at his passing and it was pride that rose, swelled, within as his son kneeled before him and dipped his head in supplication.
"It is done?"
"Yes, father."
Pride again. Vader turned from him, left him kneeling, looked out beyond the view port to the vastness of the Galaxy, to his Empire.
Out there his son's title of Darth was forgotten, unused, needless.
He was simply the Fuar Bas.
The Cold Death.
Dignity
He stared at the cold durasteel deck plates waiting for his father to dismiss him. He did not move, he did not blink, he merely breathed.
His father could keep him like this for hours, could keep him on his knees and strip him of his dignity if he so pleased.
He was the only being who could.
Palpatine had tried.
Had failed.
The old man's neck had snapped in his hand like a gnarled twig.
His lips tugged into a brief smirk, but he smothered it, hid it, as Vader's boots stepped once more into his line of vision.
Desire
Vader turned at the burst of emotions from his son. There had been satisfaction, hatred and a searing, naked malice.
It was gone now, replaced by the cold indifference that the boy had carried since the day he was lifted from the bacta tank.
But Vader was not fooled.
His son had been a Skywalker.
His blood burned with desire, with passion. He craved the heat of battle, the blazing flames of war and conquest. He raged and delighted in each stroke of his lightsaber as it brought him closer to the one thing he craved the most.
His freedom.
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