joanie98

[trigunwritings]

Hello hell-o!!, so i wanna request can i get Gn! Reader with base on a song hire the song

Gn! Reader who is an angel who fall from the heaven , disguise her self as a human, Bit by bit they try and try to help people , but somewhat felling bit sad and you know.. Kinda hate himself , eventually they meet humanoid typhoon it self, and so bit by bit spent time with him, The reader wanted to show her true self ( like wings and Halo things ect) and yet they did but reader said " I'm look bad aren't i? " But Ofc you know Vash Like shut the reader up and tell that they are Not bad ect ect

SO YE IT'S MIGHT BE SAD A LIL BUT IN THE END READER HAPPY WOOO!!!

One step placed in front of the one before it, the motion even and repeating. It’s almost a mantra of physical movement, over and over again with no seeming end in sight—both metaphorical as much as physical. Onward. That’s all you can think. Onward and onward.

How long? The hot days and cold nights have begun to blur together.

How far? You’ve lost count of the steps since last meeting the eyes of another living thing.

The feeling of sand beneath your feet has gone numb, faded into the background of pure existence just like everything else; the sharp wind, the cold darkness, the air burning beneath a merciless sun. Things like hunger, sleep, thirst—they are nothing, but you are not without a physical sense that feels lacking and empty.

But it’s for the best, you tell yourself.

A lie, you tell yourself.

-

It’s never a good idea to stay in one place too long. If you do, people begin to get curious; from there, curiosity turns into suspicion, then to realization, and then accusation. It’s the same cycle every. single. time. Once one person knows the origin of their town’s newfound ‘miracles’ then its only a matter of hours to get out before they inevitably try to corner you with desperate pleas and agonizing voices of hope.

Please heal my son, he’s been sick for so long-

-bless our crops so that they will finally grow, or else we’ll starve-

-you can’t leave without helping us!

Help us.

You have to.

Each voice is a stone you drag along behind you, tied inexplicably to your memories no matter how hard you want to forget them. Sometimes they are just desperate and think they must convince you to part with some of your strength in order to heal their sick, their tired, their hungry. Other times—most other times—they think you are selfish and evil. To be capable of helping people and not doing so, they say, is that not a form of evil itself?

And that is why you roam. Why you can’t afford to stay without bringing even more harm and fear to the very people you want to help. Why you are afraid to let anyone see you. Know you.

Beg you.

Curse you.

It’s for the best, you tell yourself.

-

Your existence spans so many years that its hard to pull specific moments apart from the relative gray that haunts you. Moments of fleeting joy interspersed with empty desert, sand beneath your feet and wind howling in your ears.

But is shattered by the companionship of one singular man, and his name is Vash.

At first you’re wary of him, hoping to leave his presence and escape to your self-enforced isolation every moment that you can. And yet somehow he sticks to you without fail, as if he has the same levels of unending stamina and inhuman lack of basic needs—but he is so… bright? Joyful? Having grown so used to the cold, dark auras of people in need, Vash’s soul is like staring directly into the sun.

You think that he will wander off on his own path eventually, but he doesn’t—nor does he ask any questions when most would.

The random feathers strewn about camp in the morning after bedding down for the night (it felt nice to sleep again).

Your constant supply of food somehow procured from deep within the old bag on your shoulders (when did it taste so good?).

He did not even question when, in the quiet moments beneath the dark night sky, you held up your cupped hands so that he could sip from the water that miraculously came into existence from nothing at all. And as you sipped in kind, it tasted so cool and refreshing against your dry throat.

When had it been so quenching?

-

“Vash.”

The sound of his name stopped the man mid-step. He turns, eyes glancing back towards you curiously but saying nothing in reply.

He has to know. Why won’t he say something about it? Why isn’t he calling you selfish?

“I’m not human,” you say, the words like needles against your tongue.

He’s quiet for a moment before a soft smile pulls at his lips.

“I know.”

“This is not what I really look like.”

“I know.”

You stare at him for an unknown amount of time before your gaze moves down towards the sand shifting around your feet. How many grains of sand was there on this planet? How many people had succumbed to its deadly embrace? Starvation when you could have created food, illness when you could have healed them. How many people have died in which you could have saved?

A hand suddenly comes down upon your shoulder, jolting you from your thoughts so viscerally that when you look back up to see Vash standing in front of you, there must be tears in your eyes from how much they burn.

“Having the power to help one person doesn’t obligate you to help everyone.”

Hypocrite, but an honest one.

He brings his hands up to cup either side of your face. Is that empathy in his eyes? An understanding? Whatever emotion lies within them, it is interlaced with a pain you are all too familiar with. The pain of regret and guilt.

But his touch is soft and warm. New and unfamiliar. In that very moment, you suddenly realize that there’s not a singular moment within the gray sea of existence that you remember someone touching you like this. It’s nice.

And that’s when your wings shimmer into material existence. Feathers swirl in the air around you both, as numerous and white as forgotten bones strewn across the desert. With but a simple motion they expand outward, so wide that they cast a dark shadow across Vash’s entire body from the suns behind you. Two, four… six? Maybe more, countable and uncountable in ways a human’s eyes can’t always perceive.

The golden ring of light above your head sits like a crown, though it feels many times heavier. Neither a physical or material shape, it hums and wavers in and out of existence as the sunlight scatters through the air. You can even feel the marks start taking shape on your skin—words of a language so old that it spoke the universe into existence.

And Vash doesn’t look away from you.

He watches, smile never fading, holding your face in his palms even when he must feel the weight of a thousand mountains on his shoulders in your presence. Even as the air is hard to breathe, even when your very whispers are like thunder, he looks at you with such fondness.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs. “So beautiful.”

And for the first time since the dawn of time itself, you truly believed him.