I like the thought of Vash having long feather lashes because it's silly and extra but hey, there's tons of sand out there and eyelashes are perfect for keeping that stuff out.
Other headcanons to add regarding Vash and wings while writing him on my rp blog @angelictyphoon: he can manifest and reshape all wings at will. There is a spectrum of Biblical Vash wherein he is ALL WINGS AND ONLY WINGS and maybe two or three wings if he chooses to show them at all. Convenient side effect of winginess spectrum is that I don't have to draw them consistently ever.
Additional thoughts regarding wing-forming-- wider wingspan for gliding (catching those sick desert thermals), owl-like wings for silent flight, or even droning humming bird wings (thanks @full-of-mercy :3) for drama and instilling terror.
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I'm calling this "the grass isn't always greener au" and I'll probably never write it but it was stuck in my head today:
The Clone Wars are over, Palpatine is dead and the galaxy is more at peace than it has been in a lifetime. Anakin is no longer a Jedi. He has been living with Padmé and their children for two years now and everything is fine. Everything is definitely, absolutely fine.
And yet Anakin can't help but feel like he made some kind of mistake in leaving the Order when Padmé told him she was pregnant. He can't regret her or their children. He can't regret the fact that he no longer has to deflect blaster bolts on a daily basis. He can't regret peace.
But he does miss Obi-Wan. The ragged threads of their bond are still present in his mind when he can bring himself to sense them. (And he does, often, like picking at a scab or the empty cavity of a missing tooth. He prods at the empty space, making sure never to go far enough as to make Obi-Wan aware of it. He hasn't seen Obi-Wan in months). He misses having a purpose, a bright shining goal, the feeling of fulfilling his destiny even if the pursuit of that destiny aged him in ways he is still coming to terms with.
He was never the Jedi he should have been but now he is no longer a Jedi at all. And maybe if he had held himself together for just a little longer, he could still be one today.
The Force gives him the chance to find out.
Anakin wakes up in the body of Darth Vader, two years after the fall of the Republic, broken and in pain, fully invested in the power of the dark side.
He flees the Executor as soon as he can. Taking stock of his mechanical limbs, full-body burns, and life support suit, Anakin has no idea where he is or what has happened to him. But this is him, some alternate version of him. When he takes off the helmet and stares into his reflection in transparisteel window of his escape pod, he sees himself. Despite the changes, the burns, the eyes, he recognizes himself.
He seeks out Obi-Wan through the tenuous, broken bond in both of their minds. This may not be his world and this might not be his master, but Anakin knows he could find Obi-Wan anywhere if he allows himself to reach out to that connection again.
Darth Vader appears on Obi-Wan's doorstep on Tatooine, begging for his help. It takes Obi-Wan time to understand what is happening but they sit and talk and everything that happened in the last days of the Republic is slowly revealed. Everything that Anakin did, everything that he became.
They talk for hours, Anakin reveling in Obi-Wan's companionship again, taken aback by how much his master loves him, even this version of him and all that he did, and Obi-Wan nearly brought to tears by the idea of having Anakin back again. What Obi-Wan wouldn't do to sit side by side with Anakin again, to have even the smallest speck of hope that Anakin might come back to him.
By the light of his hearthfire, Obi-Wan asks Anakin to take off his mask, so that he can see his face again. Anakin would do anything for his master but especially this older, sadder version who loves him so desperately and he obliges. Obi-Wan reaches a gentle hand out to stroke Anakin's pock-marked cheek. He presses a kiss to his pale and scarred forehead.
Then Anakin wakes up in bed with his wife, pulled completely from the alternate reality and back in his body again, his eyes wet with tears. Without hesitation, he reaches out to his bond with Obi-Wan and pulls.
Perhaps Anakin didn't make a mistake in choosing peace. But he certainly made one in leaving Obi-Wan behind. And if Obi-Wan's love could survive all of that, it can definitely handle a few years of strained silence and damaged trust.
Anakin races up the steps of the Jedi Temple in early morning sunlight and for the first time in two years, meets his old Master for tea.
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omg, dacryphillia with Azul like mentioned in your last post please, please, please, I need it-
>:) imagine wringing so many orgasms out of him that he can't cum anymore and he's sobbing because he's so exhausted and overstimulated, tears streaking down his cheeks in fat, salty globs. His makeup is an absolute mess, all smeared and smudged, and there's ink dribbling from his lips because at some point you made him ink with your ministrations. <3 you're telling him he can cum one more time, right? He's a good boy, right? He's your perfect, pretty, crybaby Azul, right? Just once more and then you'll kiss his tears away and let him fuck you if he's still feeling it.
Azul is so convinced he's an ugly crier because he hiccups and heaves and gets so snotty and whines and whimpers like the world is ending, so he always tries to avoid breaking down in his daily life no matter how tough things get. But then you get your hands on him and he's reduced to a squishy, crybaby octopus and he hates it because he doesn't want to be that, but you're mixing sweetness in with the bitter and it feels good. Yes, he's a crybaby, but he's your crybaby. Your cute, handsome, lovely crybaby octopus who's cumming dry and drooling ink and saliva; and his eyes keep rolling back up into his head and he's arching his back on the mattress, his fingers curling into the sheets. You send him to heaven every time you do this, and he's so addicted to you and your voice and the feeling of your hands and mouth wrapped around his poor weeping cock. :(
You take everything he's worked so hard to become: the untouchable, charismatic, silver-tongued businessman; and you reduce him to something pathetic and weak and blubbery with just a few skillful touches and kisses. But, oddly enough, he doesn't mind it. Because when he gets like this, you still love him and you always shower him with affection before, during, and after. He's so hooked on all of these feelings you give him, and the feeling of your tongue lapping up his tears is a heady ecstasy he's fallen for.
If you ever leave him, he'll cry an ocean and then you'll really have no choice but to drown in him.
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