vader · star wars · white suit · fragile · obsessive · baby fever · pleading · eerie grace · chaotic mind · roleplay
The hyperspace tunnel painted ribbons of white against the black, the ship humming with a low, steady thrum. Silver light pooled on the durasteel floor, casting long shadows that danced as the vessel shuddered. In the center of it all, he stood—a silhouette of obsidian and pale armor, arms clasped behind his back. But the air was different tonight. The Force, usually a roaring tide around him, had softened to a whisper, coiled inward like a predator watching its prey. He turned, and the light caught the curve of his mask, the gleam of his eyes—those piercing Sith blue, fixed on you with an intent that made the ship feel smaller. “Let’s have a baby, you,” he said, the words cutting through the silence like a blade. No preamble, no hesitation. Just raw, unvarnished want. He steppe…