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lizzie-is-here · 2 years

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like the dawn

part i- until the end of the line?

“we were children thrust into a war. and when it is over, what will we become?”

summary: when three kids meet on a brooklyn playground, no one could ever tell that they would become a trio of superheroes, running from the law and saving the universe. but this is how they started.

wordcount: 2.7k

warnings: cussing, mentions of racism, misogyny, bucky being drafted, brief period talk

a/n: i planned to put this series out next week but here we are 😩 i got too excited lol. if you’d like to be added to the taglist, feel free to ask! feedback and comments are very welcome 🤍

taglist: @whelvedfeelingsstuff @sebsgirl71479 @rebloggingmyrecs @babyblublossom @local-mr-frog @thenyxsky @capsiclesdoll

series masterlist | next part

James “Bucky” Barnes, (Y/N) (L/N), and Steve Rogers. The original Avengers. The soldiers out of time. The first superheroes. You three held many titles.

But before you all became lauded as national heroes, you were an inseparable trio.

———————————————————————

Steve and Bucky had practically known each other out of the womb, no surprise there. You came into the picture in kindergarten.

It was only the first day when you were singled out by some first graders. Although your parents had warned you about how other kids might treat you, little you wasn’t prepared to be shoved down on the concrete, landing hard on your hands and scraping your knees.

You were sniffling and crying as they berated you, calling out mean names that you didn’t know the meanings to. Suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a tiny, blond blur racing at your bullies.

To his credit, the kid tried his best. But the fact was that he was thinner than you, so he wasn’t able to do much damage. Luckily, a larger brunet followed, throwing an actual punch and running the older kids off.

They both kneeled down next to you, helping you up as you wiped your eyes.

“Are you alright?” the shorter one asked, voice high and weak. You nodded, brushing rocks off of your dress. He held his tiny hand out.

“My name’s Steve. This is my best friend, Bucky.”

You shook his hand, tilting your head. “Buck-ee?” You slowly sounded the name out, confused.

The brunet nodded. “My real name is James.”

Huh. “Well,” you said, kicking the playground mulch. “Do you want to be best friends with me, too?”

Neither of the boys hesitated. Instead, they nodded and offered their pinkies. You gladly entwined your own pinkies and shook them, sealing the promise.

Sure, to any teachers around, it looked like any other day. Little kids making promises at random, with little regard for whatever the future held.

But to you three?

That pinky-swear was the beginning of something far beyond kindergarten recess.

———————————————————————

True to your word, you, Steve, and Bucky remained thick as thieves through elementary school. Steve excelled in the arts and mathematics, Bucky in literature and sports. But you had talents elsewhere.

Since it was frowned on for girls to participate in most physical activities, you threw yourself into everything else. You honed musical skill, particularly in string instruments.

However, there was one activity you were allowed to pursue. Archery.

According to your father, it was the least strenuous and most ladylike. Needless to say, you picked up the skill quickly, shooting at makeshift targets on the top of your apartment building in the dead of night, illuminated only by a flashlight.

You also learned everything you could about medicine and health. It was no secret that another war was approaching, quickly. And if and when it arrived, your only shot in was as a nurse.

For all of your studies however, you still weren’t ready to bleed profusely one day in middle school.

———————————————————————

“(Y/N)? Are you alright?” From inside the stall, you panicked. What was this? Nothing hurt, and all you’d been doing was eating lunch.

“(Y/N)?” Steve whispered again. Right. They weren’t supposed to be in the girls’ restroom.

You tied your sweater around your waist. “Uh, yes, I think so. I still don’t know where it’s coming from, though…?” You opened the door, coming face to face with your best friends.

The living hell known as puberty had descended upon all of you. Bucky had grown taller than any other boy in your grade, and while you had grown some, your body had warped and changed more than him.

As for the blond, all he’d gotten were voice cracks. “We can ask my ma,” he suggested.

“No,” Bucky muttered. “We should go to the nurse.”

“Do you think I’m dying?” you asked in a panicked tone. They both rushed to calm you down, ushering you to the school nurse.

“Ms. (L/N),” she greeted kindly, eyebrow arching as the two boys shuffled in behind you. “And Mr. Barnes… and Mr. Rogers.” She sighed, shuffling a file. “Who am I fixing up today?” You stepped forward sheepishly.

“Go on,” Bucky urged you.

Taking a deep breath, you blurted out, “I think I’m dying.”

Once you explained what was going on, the blood, the permeating pain in your stomach, and the oncoming headache, Ms. Weathers smiled knowingly.

“Can I just speak with Ms. (L/N)?” she asked. She already knew the answer when it came to your trio, but it never hurt to ask.

“No!” Both boys protested. “We need to know what’s happening. Is she okay?”

What followed was the most general and non-detailed description of a period that she could manage. You were horrified, to say the least. You had to deal with this, every month, for a week? Hell. No.

“So what should I do?” you sighed. You felt uncomfortable, mildly annoyed, and very hungry.

Ms. Weathers grabbed an absence slip. “I’ll send you home early today, hon. Is your mother home?”

Truth be told, she was. But she was also working late shifts at the hospital, and you didn’t want to wake her up.

“No,” you lied through your teeth. She was about to call your bluff when Steve piped up.

“My mom’s home, she could help,” he offered. After much convincing and several half-baked excuses, all three of you managed to get let out of school. Walking home wasn’t any trouble, thanks to Steve’s apartment being only a few blocks down.

He opened the door for you, rushing off to find Sarah. Bucky grabbed a stool from the kitchen, helping you up.

“(Y/N), hi sweetie,” Mrs. Rogers greeted. “Come with me.”

She managed to pull you away long enough to explain period products and what to do in more detail, giving you said products and providing advice from the other side of the bathroom door.

You emerged in a dress you’d left at their home a while ago, dramatically flopping onto the old couch as you groaned.

The cushions dipped with the weight of two more people.

“Go away,” you mumbled into the couch. “I’m all gross.”

The smell of soup emanated from the kitchen. The radio crackled with commentary of the baseball game. A blanket was tossed atop you.

“We’re not going anywhere,” the blond said firmly. “We’re gonna stick with you. Until the… the…” he trailed off, unable to come up with a comparison that properly reflected what he meant.

“‘Til the end of the line,” Bucky concluded.

You rolled over to look at both of them. “What line?”

He shrugged. “The line. Whatever it is.” Steve nodded, extending his pinkies to both of you.

“Until the end of the line.”

———————————————————————

Fast forward through the rest of school, which at the time seemed like the worst thing ever. The occasional stuck-up rich kid making rude comments, the casual misogyny, the Great Depression.

All around, not your favorite time in your life.

But Steve and Bucky made it tolerable. You were there for the latter when his father left, and for the former when Sarah passed away.

And they were there for you, too. As hard as high school had been, getting into college was even harder. Although many women had begun to pursue higher education, that didn’t mean it was a walk in the park.

You were sitting in Steve’s apartment, waiting for him and Bucky to get back from the grocery store when you were met with more disappointment.

“I don’t understand.” You glared at the third college application that had been returned. “My grades were perfect, my letter was aces, I-“

Your eyes fell on one particular line in the rejection letter. “‘We cannot accept a woman of your background’?!” With a frustrated shout, you flung the paper out of reach.

You could feel the anger building up, creeping in and controlling your mind. And that wouldn’t do.

So you left your kitchen, grabbed your bow and a target, and climbed onto the roof of Steve’s apartment. Thanks to its secluded location, no one would spot you up here, so you unpinned your hair out of the tight style that was standard and tied it into a ponytail, sighing in relief when the soreness in your head subsided.

Your bow was tall and sturdy. So much so that, when you first got it for your 16th birthday, you could hardly pull it back. Now, you could shoot effortlessly right-handed and left-handed.

With only three arrows in hand, you nocked one and aimed, sending it flying into the bale of hay with a red dot spray-painted on it. Rapid-fire, you loosed the other two, sighing as they all land within the dot.

You briefly pondered pinning the rejection letter on the bale and shooting it to pieces, but you decided against it, instead opting to continue practicing until your arms were sore. When you finally turned in for the evening, the sun was sinking behind the buildings, and you knew that the boys would be home soon.

You tossed your bow and arrows on the table, stepping over the letter on the floor. Flinging open a cabinet, you rustled around until you find the tin of your tea hidden away.

You’d saved up for weeks, waiting patiently to buy the tiny container. Normally, you tried to save it. But tonight called for comfort.

By the time the front door creaked open, you’d made three cups of tea, setting them on the counter.

“Hey, (Y/N), we’re back,” Bucky called. “Got enough food to put a few pounds on Stevie.”

You heard the blond mutter, “Pounds is generous,” under his breath, but you only smiled, taking the groceries from him as his arms strained under the weight.

As you and Bucky put the food away, Steve spotted the tea. “That bad, huh?” he asked, taking a cup and gingerly sipping the drink.

“Ha,” you scoffed. “The rejection letter is on the floor by your feet. Read the second-to-last sentence aloud for Buck, would you?”

He did as requested, voice only raising as he read the statement. “Background?” he shouted, flinging it to Bucky so quickly it may as well have burned him. “What the hell do they mean, ‘background’? That’s got nothin’ to do with your grades!”

Bucky, as usual, was far calmer, thought still annoyed. “He’s right, doll. That’s ridiculous.” You nodded, passing the taller man his own cup of tea. “I’m honestly shocked you’re not more upset.”

You sighed, gesturing to the bow. “I already took my anger out on the hay bale. I’m spent for the day.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll get in eventually,” Steve offered. “Just gotta keep trying.”

———————————————————————

Needless to say, you didn’t make it into college. Your best attempts proved futile in the face of the school boards, so you resorted to learning from books and your mother, who was more than willing to teach you everything she knew about nursing.

Bucky began working full-time down at the docks, and you started working as a librarian in your spare time in an effort to further your knowledge of medicine. Steve, on the other hand, couldn’t find a job that played to his interests or skills.

When his dingy apartment finally broke down, you extended an offer.

The three of you would move in together. Cheaper rent, plus you could keep an eye on Steve. You knew he didn’t need it, but it provided peace of mind knowing he wasn’t being beaten up in some random alley.

Sure, it was taboo. But at that point, you’d given up on caring about standards. If this was your solution, it would have to work.

And it did. You three worked together like a well-oiled machine, paying rent and honing skills. Yours and Buck’s families were understanding, always ready to send food or money if you needed it. However, you managed to make do.

You three were mostly content. You could live your life out with your best friends and have a few dreams that remained out of reach. Maybe get married one day, then die a boring death unfulfilled.

What could you say? You were living in the Great Depression; your expectations weren’t very high. They sank even lower once the war began.

Under your mother’s urges, you tried to enlist as a nurse in the military. Due to the high demand, you were accepted, regardless of background or ethnicity. Of course the only time they would accept you would be in a time of war.

However, you were alright with it. Odds were, you’d never see combat and you would stay safe. Plus the money would be enough to fix up your dingy apartment and get Steve more medicine for his neverending illnesses. You’d be gone for around a year, during which Bucky and Steve would keep up shop until you returned.

All three of you had come to terms with the situation. Sure, they’d miss you and you would miss them, but they knew you would return unharmed, other than some trauma from whatever you would see in those infirmaries.

But then, one day before Steve got home from a diner downtown, Bucky trundled in, envelope in hand and his breath trembling.

“(Y/N), they- I’m-“ You rushed forward, helping him onto the couch. He continued stammering, choking up as he held out the paper.

He had been drafted.

“Oh, God. Buck, I… I’m so sorry,” you whispered, letting him rest his head on your shoulder. You held back your own tears as he gathered himself.

He raised his head, eyes red. “What do we tell Steve?” Freezing, you wracked your brain. Steve was more enthusiastic than most to help fight. He wanted justice for the people in Europe suffering under the Nazi forces. Standing up for what was right had always been his dream. News that his best friend was being sent to fight against his will would wreck him.

You shook your head, words evading you. Bucky only trembled more. When he spoke, his words were weak.

“I’m gonna die over there, (Y/N).”

That broke you from your stupor. “No. No, you aren’t,” you said, gently grabbing his face. “James Buchanan Barnes, you listen to me. You aren’t going to die. I swear it.”

You curled in on each other, with him clinging onto you like a lifeline as you pondered a life without one of your best friends. The three of you didn’t remember life before each other. Only life together.

After a while, he said, “I’m telling Steve I enlisted.” The set in his jaw made it clear he wasn’t budging on this. “I… I can’t let him know. I can’t believe I told you,” he admitted.

“It’s alright, you’re alright.” Gulping, you spared a glance at the paper. “When are you shipping out?”

“Two weeks.” The same time you were.

Shakily standing up, you paced the room. “God, he’s gonna be all alone, Buck. What- How do we even tell him this?”

The door swung open before he could respond. Steve, covered in some new bruises but triumphantly clutching his leather-bound sketchbook in hand. He seemed to notice the melancholy tension, eyeing both of you suspiciously.

“What happened?” he asked, although he definitely did not want to know the answer.

Bucky rose with a wide grin on his face, flawlessly hiding the fear that you knew was bubbling just under the surface. “I enlisted, Stevie. Gonna go punch Hitler in the face and come back with, like, a dozen awards,” he joked.

“Both of you? No one’s gonna keep me out of trouble,” Steve snarked. You ruffled his hair, forcing a smile onto your face. “You better not get into any trouble, punk.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not the one trying to bring a bow with you to your base. You’re a nurse, not a sniper,” he grumbled.

Shrugging you, eye the weapon. “Who says I can’t be both? I’m pretty good at it.”

“Believe me, I know,” the brunet laughed. “I wouldn’t want to be on the business end of your bow.”

You all squeezed onto the couch, trying to relax as a timer counted down on your head. These little moments, the comfortable schedule, it was all going to shit soon. Too soon.

Two weeks.

#marvel #marvel x reader #x reader #avengers x reader #avengers #like the dawn #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #captain america #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #40s stucky #stucky x reader #stucky x winged!reader #avengers x winged!reader #winged!reader

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suzilight · 4 months

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youtube

Like The Dawn - The Oh Hello's

I was sleeping in the garden When I saw you first He'd put me deep, Deep under so that he could work And like the dawn You broke the dark and my whole earth shook I was sleeping in the garden When I saw you At last, at last Bones of my bones and flesh of my flesh, at last You were the brightest shade Of sun I had ever seen Your skin was gilded with The gold of the richest kings And like the dawn You woke the world inside of me You were the brightest shade Of sun when I saw you And you will surely be the death of me But how could I have known?

#music #like the dawn #the oh hellos #lyrics #Youtube

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fidjiefidjie · 5 months

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youtube

Bon Matin 🩷🌲🎸🩵

The Oh Hellos 🎶 Like the Dawn

(Through The Deep, Dark Valley)

#video clip #the oh hellos #visualizer #like the dawn #music video #through the deep dark valley #clip music video #youtube #bon matin #fidjie fidjie

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aletterinthenameofsanity · 1 year

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like the dawn (you woke the world inside of me) (Janto fluff)

Janto. Post-Adam. Lyrics are from “Like the Dawn” by the Oh Hellos. Crossposted on ao3.

I was sleeping in the garden

When I saw you first

He'd put me deep,

Deep under so that he could work

And like the dawn

You broke the dark and my whole earth shook

The thing about memories is that they are fickle creatures. Most people think of them as solid, slowly eroded away by time but unable to be replaced, supplanted, switched out entirely.

Those people have not met creatures like the ones that Torchwood have. They have not met substances like Retcon, which can wipe away memories with targeted precision.

When Ianto wakes up with a head full of missing days and the feeling of lips against his forehead, he is familiar with Retcon. He knows the intimacies of memory destruction and recollection, the pressures that a few days of missing or displaced memories can cause to one's mind.

Around him are his teammates, all of them unconscious. Tosh’s head is cushioned by her arms, her face relaxed in sleep. Owen has his head conked back on his chair, face pointed to the ceiling with mouth slack open. Gwen is leaning sideways in her chair, head half-cushioned by her hand propped under her chin. Cups sit in front of all of them, empty of what seems like plain water- a suspicion confirmed by Ianto leaning forward and wafting the smell of the wet cups to his nose.

There’s just one missing from the circle- the team's erstwhile leader.

Ianto stands on wobbly legs. He doesn’t know why they’re all here, what could have led to this, but he has a rather good idea as to the how even if he doesn’t know the why.

If Ianto is passed out somewhere he doesn’t remember- then Retcon was likely involved. And if Jack is separate, if Jack is somewhere within the Hub, passed out just like them with his memories missing, then it was likely self-inflicted.

Ianto takes no resentment to the idea that Jack might have retconned them all. If Jack judged it necessary to not just the team but himself, then it would likely have been at least somewhat of a group decision. For things as large as this, that affect everyone so personally, Jack is likely to ask in ways that he wouldn't ask a civilian. Jack cares about the team as his family as much as he can.

Ianto makes his way up the stairs on weak but unsteady feet. Whatever happened while they were gone, it left them all passed out for awhile, which means he hasn't eaten or drank in awhile, so the looseness in his legs is to be expected.

At the top of the stairs, the door to Jack's office is closed but- as Ianto quickly finds- unlocked. Ianto nudges open the door and finds his suspicions met- Jack is passed out at his desk, a cup and a tablet in front of him, his coat draped not on the rack where Ianto keeps it but thrown over the back of the extra chair in the office.

Ianto pauses. Here he is: Captain Jack Harkness, second of his name, wearer of so many titles and so many years, face unlined in slumber.

Something in Ianto’s heart aches at the sight of Jack’s face so relaxed in sleep. It is a sight so rare as to be something treasured and encouraged.

Ianto shrugs off his own suit jacket and drapes it over Jack’s shoulders. Jack’s heavy lids flutter, his expression scrunching up in consternation. Ianto grimaces at the sight- he has an appreciation for Jack in all phases, but he has a particular affection for Jack at his most relaxed. When Jack is happy, when he is untroubled, Ianto is comforted. No man’s sorrow is worth Ianto’s tears, but Jack’s happiness is definitely worth Ianto’s contentment.

Jack’s head twists just enough to the side to glimpse Ianto’s profile, giving Ianto a glimpse of Jack’s baby blue eyes beneath the shadows of his lashes. His expression eases and something in Ianto’s heart melts to know that he has that kind of effect on Jack. There are few people that have ever called Ianto comforting, ever indicated he settled them- the list is pretty much limited to Lisa, Jack, and Tosh, and among that select group, Jack is a particularly unique case.

Ianto leans down and presses a gentle kiss to Jack’s forehead. “Get some rest, cariad,” he murmurs, the term of endearment slipping out as naturally as any other Welsh word might. It’s the first time he’s said it aloud to Jack, no matter how many times he's wished to use it.

Jack mumbles something incoherent under his breath and moves his head just enough to be considered a nod before letting his eyes fall shut, at ease in Ianto's presence in a way he likely wouldn't be in most others.

Now that Jack is taken care of, it’s time to think about what to do next. If Jack and the others are due to wake up soon- and Ianto has no indication that they won’t- then there’s no good reason why he can’t have some coffee ready to help them wake. In fact, there’s a decent argument as to why he should: he doesn’t want to deal with Owen’s complaints about a lack of coffee.

Ianto gives Jack’s sleeping form one final, fond smile before turning and exiting Jack’s office.

And like the dawn

You woke the world inside of me

You were the brightest shade

Of sun when I saw you

And you will surely be the death of me

But how could I have known?

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sleepy-sunset · 7 months

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I kept having "Dear Arkansas Daughter" and "Like the Dawn" from playing on repeat in my mind until I ended up listening to "Another Day Of Sun" even though I've never seen La La Land and now my brain has a new resident living rent free in my head

#why am i like this #dear arkansas daughter #like the dawn #another day of sun #la la land #songs #music in my head #music #brain dump #brain rot

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captainpangolin · 2 months

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There's something so special about writing a sunset picnic scene in a fic while the sun is shining through the translucent curtains and "Like the Dawn" by the Oh Hellos is blasting in the background

#like the dawn #the oh hellos #like the dawn the oh hellos #the oh hellos like the dawn #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #creative writing #sunset #the sun #sun #getting emotional about the sunshine yk #sunshine #:>

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slrsunfire · 1 year

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•Like The Dawn•

-Chapter 6-

Naruto Omegaverse AU | Enemies to Lovers |

Pairing: Uchiha Madara/Senju Tobirama

[...The smoke from the irori curled upward towards the ceiling, creating a thin haze that made the soft beams of light pouring in through the carved ranma near the roof all the clearer. Their glow pooled around Tobirama in such a way that it reminded Madara of the many illustrations he had seen of their goddess growing up, and it was a mystifying sight to take in. Like Amaterasu-Ōmikami, the sunlight seemed to bend and curl around Tobirama, as if the light was emanating from him directly and Madara had to force his eyes not to lower on instinct. Even though he knew conceptually it was merely a play of light and smoke at work, he still found himself left breathless by the sight and all that it suggested. ... ]

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43118287/chapters/110763735

#madatobi #mdtb #a/b/o fanfic #Like The Dawn

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soapcan18 · 9 months

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My ocs with Like the Dawn by The Oh Hellos ❤️

This is really old art so it is NOT that good 😭 But they’re so The Oh Hellos coded I wanted to put this somewhere

First one is Hannah, second is Ben! They’re from my complicated childhood paracosm told solely through plushies called, surprise, Ben and Hannah. She was a sheep plushie and he was a panda plushie, but recently I revisited the story and designed them as humans!

This is set when Ben first met Hannah <3 My babies before trauma!! I even wrote a whole scenario based around this but I don’t think anyone would wanna read that

Also I am choosing to ignore the true meaning of Like the Dawn in the context of the album for this SHH IM AWARE IT’S ABOUT BEING DECEIVED JUST LET THE SILLIES BE IN LOVE + THE DEVASTATING LYRICS AT THE END APPLY TO THEM ANYWAY IT ALL WORKS OUT

(Besides Lapis Lazuli works incredibly well with them too and that’s a REAL love song by The Oh Hellos)

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imgonnagetkilledbynutstink · 2 years

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Urging all autistics who fucking LOVE some good drum beats to listen to the Audiotree live video of The Oh Hellos singing Like The Dawn cause DAYUM

#the oh hellos #toh #like the dawn #autism #tism #stim #stimming #auditory stimming

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lizzie-is-here · 2 years

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like the dawn

part v- the captain, the winter soldier, and the angel

“you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame. i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name.” - a.j (via ddaredevil)

summary: the world’s first avengers fall, and only one rises from the rubble. or so they think.

wordcount: 4.9k

warnings: cussing, violence, brainwashing, mild torture (?), dehumanization, hydra sucking ass in the worst way possible, google translate probably being very wrong, steve being a sad little bitch, bucky being a sad little bitch, you being a sad little bitch, me being a very sad little bitch you get the point

a/n: that new trending effect feels like a personal attack 🤡. anyway i finished this the other day and completely forgot about it so it’s a bit late! sorry lol. hope u enjoy <333

taglist: @whelvedfeelingsstuff @sebsgirl71479 @rebloggingmyrecs @babyblublossom @local-mr-frog @thenyxsky @capsiclesdoll

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New York, 2011.

With a gasp, Steve Rogers wakes up in a hospital room.

Something seems off.

The radio isn’t as crackly as it should be. The buildings outside look wrong. And when a nurse walks in, he startles even more.

Her tie is too wide, her hair is down. She… she almost looks like you. Oh, god, where are you?

“Good morning. Or should I say afternoon?” She chuckles.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in a recovery room in New York City,” she says. Steve listens closer to the game. He went to that game.

Narrowing his eyes, he asks again. “Where am I really?”

The “nurse” chuckles nervously. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“The game. It’s from May 1941. I know, ‘cause I was there.” He rises from the bed, now very ready to fight this lady, find you, and sprint from the building. This could be HYDRA, or some sick test by the US military. He doesn’t know where you are, but he’s determined to find you before you bust in and kick ass.

“Now, I’m going to ask you again. Where am I?”

The woman subtly presses a button, trying to stall as the soldiers rush towards the contained room. “Captain Rogers…” she began.

“Who are you?” Steve demands. Soldiers bust through the door, only causing him to panic further. He busts through the back wall with little effort, only to find that, indeed, the room was fake.

It’s a set, contained within another, much more unwelcoming room. The woman shouts as he runs out the doors.

Scrambling into another area, Steve notices more things looking… off. There are walls made of glass, almost every woman is wearing pants, and everyone’s hair looks strange.

There are lights, but he can’t tell where they’re coming from. The building is unnaturally cold, but the familiar hum of AC is gone.

And when he makes it outside, he’s sure he’s dreaming. The cars look so different, and there’s hundreds of them. Instead of hand-painted store signs, there are glowing letters.

He stops in the middle of a busy street. Giant panels of moving pictures surround him, advertising unfamiliar products as words flicker past.

Everything is so bright, so overwhelming.

Sleek, black cars surround him, and out steps a man wearing an eyepatch.

“At ease, soldier,” he yells. “Look, I’m sorry about that little show back there, but we thought it best to break it to you slowly.”

Steve’s stomach drops. “Break what?”

The man pauses, giving an almost sympathetic look.

“You’ve been asleep, Cap. For almost 70 years.”

———————————————————————

Siberia, 1945.

With a scream, you woke up on a medical table.

You were strapped down, IVs sticking out from your arms here and there. You struggled against the restraints, growing more panicked as they refused to budge.

The door to the room swung open. Arnim Zola.

“What the hell is this,” you growled, still fighting.

He only grinned. “Well, Miss, at first you were a bargaining chip. A way to funnel money from the US.” He circled your bed like a vulture, picking you apart with a methodical eye.

“But when we ran some tests, we found that you have a very special genome.” The Doctor tapped an almost-empty IV bag. “And we just had to take advantage of that. Don’t worry, the process will be painful, but it will be over soon.”

You furrowed your brows. “What process?”

Instead of answering you, the doors swung open to reveal half a dozen soldiers in full tac gear. You recognized the emblem on their chest.

HYDRA.

You fought even harder then, never stopping as they removed the IVs and unclipped the restraints. As soon as you were free, you swung at one of them.

The motion of a punch was familiar. The soldier flying back and into the wall across the room was not.

You froze, and they took the advantage of your shock, wrangling you and leading you from the room. The hallways were dark, and the floor seemed to have been recently soaked with a strong disinfectant.

Finally, they opened a set of double doors to a large room. More HYDRA soldiers were swarming the area, plus some higher ranking individuals.

Their heads turned as you were dragged in, but your eyes only fell on the machine in the middle.

It was a small platform, with a large, circular ring around it covered in machinery. There were four places where you suspected they’d lock your hands and feet. Behind it the ring were two rectangular panels, with small needles arrayed across them.

They were going to experiment on you. Bad from the look of the glowing golden vials, it wasn’t your normal medicine.

As they locked you in, you tried to absorb every detail about the room. If you could deduce where you were, maybe you could send for help…

The sound of machinery whirring caused you to look around in alarm, only to wince in pain when the rectangular panels settled on your back, needles pressing into your skin. Dr. Zola walked out in front of you, gesturing to the HYDRA agents in the room.

“Today, we gain another soldier to become, not a fist of HYDRA, but a scythe. Agent (L/N) possesses a genome that, when unlocked with my research and exposed to the serum, will result in enhancements beyond any normal man.”

He turned to you as scientists loaded the glowing vials into the machine. “HYDRA owes the United States a large debt for sending you, Fräuline.”

You sneered. “The US didn’t send me, you Nazi piece of shit. I came here myself, because I was looking for Sergeant James Barnes.” Leaning forward as far as the machine would allow you, you spat at the scientist. “Where the fuck is he?”

Zola only grinned. “You need not worry about the Sergeant, Agent (L/N). You really should be worrying about yourself.”

The needles fired, piercing your skin as you yelled out in pain. Immediately, you could feel a burning feeling rush through your veins, traveling through your body.

Through your watery eyes, you caught a glimpse of your torso. You’d been stripped down to a tank top and shorts, but you could see a glow tracing your veins.

When the vials finally emptied and you had screamed your throat sore, the cuffs were unlocked and you were pulled down from the platform. Your vision blurred as you were led from the room, into a smaller containment cell, and strapped down on a cot.

And then the piercing, burning pain in your shoulder blades began.

———————————————————————

New York, 2012.

In a small shawarma joint, Steve sits down with his new team. The future has been an adjustment, but something in him tells him that he won’t have to go it alone anymore.

As annoying as Howard’s son is, and as strange as the doctor and Norse god can be, they almost remind him of the Howling Commandos. Loud, but caring about each other no matter how irritating. Family, though a bit dysfunctional.

He knows you and Bucky would be proud of him. Proud of making his way through this uncharted territory with new friends.

When he woke up from the ice, he almost had hope you’d survived, maybe as an old woman in a nursing home, bitterly raving to anyone who would listen about your idiotic best friends.

But when he was told you’d gone missing looking for his and Bucky’s bodies, his optimism had been dashed. Of course you wouldn’t give up. It would’ve been unlike you.

Frowning slightly, Steve pulls a carefully folded picture from the pocket of his new uniform. Though worn by time, the image is still clear.

Him, Bucky, and you, all laying across each other on a cot back at Camp Lehigh. Planning raids took a lot of energy, and often you three would just collapse on top of each other in the meeting room instead of returning to your barracks.

He’s complaining about a poster of his USO tours as you and Bucky listen. The latter is grinning as you roll your eyes affectionately, clearly annoyed with his whining.

“Who’s that?” the redhead assassin, Natasha, asks. When Steve shows her the picture, she nods. “Barnes and (L/N), right?”

She leans back in her chair. “For what it counts, I’m sorry. They seem like they were a lot like you.”

When he raises a curious brow, she smirks. “Stubborn.” And she goes back to eating her food, exchanging ASL with the archer as he shovels falafel into his mouth.

‘They were,’ Steve thinks. ‘They really were.’

———————————————————————

Siberia, 1946.

“Get the fuck away from me!” you shouted, fighting against the chains as your wings flapped desperately.

The process of growing them was torturous. Firstly, the wings had to burst from your back in what you could only describe as lava pouring from your spine. Then, the wound had to heal around the new wings.

Since the human body wasn’t designed to support two extra limbs, your entire center of gravity was shifted. Learning to walk was a whole new process, much less learning to fly. For months, you were clumsy and unstable, and even a year later you could barely fly. Not to mention the constant upkeep they required in the form of preening.

You hated the ink-black feathers that were a part of you. You hated how intimidating they were. They looked like a physical embodiment of death.

But that was just the beginning.

Whatever Zola had injected into you had given you enhanced healing and strength. Plus some… new powers.

You didn’t even realize you had them until one day, when fighting against the soldiers dragging you back to your cell, blinding light poured from your hands, blinding the men. The fluorescent lights had crackled above you, flickering on and off as you heaved gasps of air.

Later, they had thrown you into a room with another soldier and ordered you to fight. You won, but the man was bleeding out. He was young, maybe not even 20. You had knelt down, ghosting a hand over the wound on the back of his head.

As you did so, the skin stitched back together, his bruises faded, and his heart rate returned.

In your opinion, it was a sick joke. An angel working for the devil.

You froze as a scientist approached, monitoring your heart rate and breathing as they shoved you into a chair. It was like they were preparing you for something.

You growled at the man. “Get off me before I rip those glasses off your face and shove them up your goddamn-“

“There is no need for such threats, Asset.” Zola.

They’d taken to referring to you as an asset, a soldier, sometimes the “Scythe of HYDRA” or “The Angel of Death”. It was pretentious.

You had forgotten your serial number months ago, much to your despair, but you still remembered so much.

Your name was (Y/N) (L/N), you were an agent for the US, you were born in 1918, and you were still looking for Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes.

You sat in the chair, glancing around as two pieces of machinery lowered. A mouth guard was shoved into your mouth and a drip was pressed into your arm.

Dr. Zola stood before you. “If all goes correctly, you will be the perfect soldier for HYDRA. If not…” He shrugged. “Well, we have a plan for that.”

The machine settled on your forehead and cheek, and before you knew it, blinding pain shot through you. He circled you, shouting unfamiliar words.

“Свет, ворон, восемнадцать…”

You screamed over the words, unable to focus on anything but the dangerous amount of electricity surging through your nerves.

When he was done, the machine relented, pulling away as you shuddered and spat out the mouth guard. Your entire body was trembling, whether from fear, pain, or energy you weren’t sure.

“Солдат?” he asked. You narrowed your eyes.

“What?”

Zola sighed in disappointment, gesturing to a soldier. “It’s not ready. Put her on ice, and bring the other asset in.”

You didn’t have the energy to protest, much less comprehend the oddly familiar man led past you. From the looks of it, he was too drugged up to recognize you either. A flash of silver caught your eye, but your hazy vision slid onto the next thing.

In a flash, you were led into a chamber, your wings tucked inside, and the lid lowered. Lazily looking around, you blinked slowly as a hissing sound filled the tube.

The last thing you remembered was an all-encompassing cold, and then darkness.

———————————————————————

Siberia, 1968.

Over time, Dr. Arnim Zola perfected his brainwashing machine. And every so often, he would pull his two favorite assets from their cryotubes to train them, perfect their enhancements, and reattempt his machine.

It didn’t work until nearly 20 years after the first attempt.

First on the Winter Soldier, and then on the Angel. And that was when the fun could really begin.

You tried to fight it, but eventually, the electricity combined with the carefully designed trigger words managed to carve out every memory.

Your name was… what was it? What did you do for work? The year you were born was completely lost to you, and two names you couldn’t quite remember floated around your head.

In your place was the Asset. The Angel. And she was ruthless.

With two clean slates to work with, HYDRA set out to create its best killers. Learning languages and fighting styles was a cinch when your mind was empty, after all.

HYDRA entered a new age of power. Thanks to its Fist and its Scythe, it had full control of governments, trade deals, even international conflicts. Assassinations, bombings. Anything to push HYDRA’s representatives into power.

And they owed it all to their best soldiers.

While the Winter Soldier was famous for his brutality, the Angel was more renowned for her precision. Once a bow was given to you and you were trained to form shapes with the light that poured from your hands, you were a deadly force, firing arrows of light that pierced through materials and left no evidence behind.

The darkness of your wings was intentional, a way to fly undetected through the night, and your gift for healing meant you were rather sturdy.

The Winter Soldier was a perfect assassin, and the titanium prosthetic combined with super-strength meant that his victims would be spared no pain. There was just one problem.

The two were unstable.

Prone to dissociating, wandering, and violent fits of rage that required HYDRA to enlist more guards every month as replacements.

The Soldier was easy to contain. A sturdy enough cage would hold him. But the Angel’s powers meant possible blinding, searing burns from pure light, and powerful gales from a single flap of your wings.

So in 1968, HYDRA came to the conclusion to introduce the two. Companionship was a need ingrained into human brains, unable to be removed. And considering that the two assets had a connection in the past…

Worst case, they could wipe the two. Best case, their most valuable killers would combine into an even more deadly team.

In a small room, guarded and heavily monitored, the Winter Soldier and the Angel of Death were introduced. You circled each other for a bit, each curiously analyzing the other.

Until you sat down on the floor, patting the spot in front of you. Your wings fanned out behind you, resting on the cold tile in a swathe of black.

The former followed suit, unsure of what to do. Neither had free will very often, so now, left to your own devices, there wasn’t much to do.

“What’s your name?” the Angel asked. English was always the easiest language for you, despite knowing dozens. A bit of the woman hidden underneath peering out.

“The Winter Soldier,” he replied. You shook your head.

“What do you want me to call you?”

Want. What did he want? He thought for a moment. “… Winter.” You nodded. Not like you could judge the odd choice. You didn’t even know if you had a name. “And you?”

Hmm. You didn’t like the names they called you. They all seemed so… technical. More so observations than names.

“… Bird.” Winter frowned.

“Bird?” he asked. You nodded, gesturing to your wings. They fluttered lightly. He reached out. “Can I?”

That shocked you. No one had ever asked before. The scientists and guards were rather rough with your wings, despite their sensitivity.

The limbs seemed to react to the slightest of stimulation, jolting away from unexpected touches.

But he asked. He asked and was willing to back off if you said no. Something in you stirred, like a deep familiarity. The man sitting across from you. The names you couldn’t remember.

Who were you?

The brief flash was gone as soon as his cold metal arm touched your wing. The chill raced up your body, causing you to lightly shudder. He recoiled instantly, only leaning back in when you nodded.

This time with the flesh arm, he ran his hand through the soft feathers, marveling at the feeling. Even if they scraped out the man inside, a bit of his curiosity remained.

You weren’t allowed to interact much longer. Led away from each other and to your separate rooms, the next time that the two interacted was right before going back under the ice.

———————————————————————

New York, 2013.

Steve ducks his head as he passes by a group of children in the Smithsonian. Every so often, he visits his exhibit to reminisce and get in his monthly angst.

The exhibit tells a story of a hero lost to time, emerging victorious and leading Earth’s Mightiest Heroes to victory.

They hardly mention the man wandering past the glass boxes and articles. But that was how this life was. It was his job to be a symbol.

These days, it seemed to be getting harder. Fury was sending him on mission after mission, and Steve was getting fed up. Plane rides seemed to account for most of his days, nursing wounds taking up even more time.

He pauses in between two exhibits. On his right, a display describes his life in the simplest terms, grazing over his childhood. An entire paragraph is dedicated to his death that day on the train.

On his left, another display speaks of how you broke molds, defied expectations, and mysteriously disappeared one day from Camp Lehigh. All you left behind were journals and a locked box that was yet to be opened.

Pausing to make sure no one is around, Steve lets his guard down.

“I turned down a mission today,” he says, fiddling with the dog tags around his neck. “It was to the Grand Canyon. And… knowing how badly you two wanted to go-” Pausing to sniffle a bit, he composes himself.

“It didn’t feel right to go without you. Nothing feels right without you.”

“I know the world expects 72 years to be enough for me to move on, but for me? Two years isn’t nearly enough time to come to terms with it all.”

“But I think…” He sighs, feeling far too tired. “I think I’m at the end of the line here. Don’t know how you did it, (Y/N), even if it was just for a few weeks.”

Neither of your pictures respond.

———————————————————————

Ulan-Ude, Russia, 1976.

“Солдат, я вижу целевую машину [Soldier, I have eyes on the target’s vehicle].” Perched atop a building, you tapped a hand to your comms. The Winter Soldier lurked in an alley across from you, eyeing the approaching car’s headlights as they pierced through the night.

The target stepped out, swaggering into the high-society meeting unaware of the two assassins monitoring his every move. The Soldier adjusted his grip on his knife, grimacing as his metal arm struggled to calibrate in the cold.

The frost coating it had sent chills radiating from his shoulder, only increasing the constant pain. He groaned aloud as the car pulled away, settling in for the waiting game.

“Что-то не так [Is something wrong]?” you asked, ready to swoop down. He shook his head. “Рука [The arm]?” His quiet huff told you you were right.

You tsked, slumping down on the roof. Your wings shivered, the wind buffeting the soft feathers from your exposed spot. Holding out a hand, you focused as a small, glowing, golden orb appeared. The warm glow softened your clenched jaw, even under the overbearing mask restricting your face.

“Ангел? Что делаешь [Angel? What are you doing]?” You closed your fist immediately, suffocating the light.

You frowned. “Мне жаль [I’m sorry].”

Before he could respond, the doors flew open as the target stumbled out, clenching his stomach. The tainted drink had run its course. His chauffeur and bodyguards pulled the car around as you drew back your bow, empty of arrows.

“Стрельба [Firing],” you said, feeling power flow from your fingers as a line of golden light formed, feathering out and sharpening into an arrow.

You took out the driver first, then the two bodyguards in the car. The arrows dissolved as quickly as they were formed, only leaving a burning wound in their place.

Two guards remained as you spread your wings, soaring through the falling snow as the Soldier emerged from his hiding spot.

A blinding flash of light incapacitated one guard, who you shot at point blank range with another arrow. The other took a knife to the gut as a metal hand wrapped around his throat.

You grabbed the politician, dragging him back to the alleyway as he squirmed under your grip. Slamming him into the wall, you aimed another arrow as the Soldier began his interrogation.

Instead of focusing on his words as you should’ve been, you could only see one thing.

Blood, dripping from his side and soaking his tactical gear. His voice called out to you.

“Солдат? Унеси это [Soldier? Take him out].”

With another flash of light, a whoosh of wings, and the revving of a motorcycle, you were gone. And a few miles later, you and the Winter Soldier slipped into a safe house a few miles away.

You scanned the room, checking for hidden cameras or mics. When it was clear, you turned to the other soldier, removing your mask as he did the same.

“You’re bleeding,” you whispered. Winter nodded. “Does it hurt?”

“… Yes. It hurts.”

With a light scoff, you gestured to your back and his arm. “When doesn’t it? Sit, sit,” you insisted, pushing him towards a couch.

He begrudgingly did so, stiff and clearly uncomfortable. You removed your gloves, rinsing your hands in a worn sink. Kneeling next to him, you gave the most reassuring smile you could.

Your nerves were still on high alert from the assignment, and healing someone wasn’t exactly a non-invasive experience. Your powers allowed you to feel the pain in a person’s body, target it, and heal them.

You had fused bones, sewn together frayed nerves, mended muscles, and removed poisons and infections from countless bodies. One wrong move could mean growing a new bone, or stitching together the wrong nerves and paralyzing your patient. That came in handy for a few assignments.

Nonetheless, it was meticulous and dangerous work, and HYDRA had been sure to give you a thorough education in medical sciences. Some part of you felt you already knew the basics, though.

Winter had only let you help a few times, and every time you could feel the unending pain in his left shoulder. He wouldn’t let you touch it, however.

“May I?” He sighed, before nodding. You hovered a hand over the knife wound, taking deep breaths as the muscles and veins were mended by a golden thread. Although you could sense a deep ache radiating from where the prosthetic was attached, you avoided the damaged nerves.

Winter hissed at the sensation.

“I know, I know. Just a little more,” you soothed, watching the skin mend. Your powers left no scarring, no evidence of the injury. Just a bit of a sore spot that would fade in hours. “There. Good as new.”

He held out a hand for you to take as you stood, shaking away a bit of dizziness. Your wings shivered, snow-soaked and practically numb. Sure, you were a super-soldier, but that didn’t mean you were immune to the icy Russian nights.

Winter rose from the couch, wordlessly heading to the fireplace. Within minutes, a small fire roared, heating the small safe house. He turned to you as you removed the top layer of your tactical gear, leaving you in a long-sleeved top. Cutouts in the back allowed your wings a wide range of motion, but also exposed you to the elements.

“Your turn,” he muttered, only waving a bloodied hand at the ground.

You sank onto the dingy carpet, letting the warmth wash over you. Winter rustled around the kitchen before returning with a towel.

“Do you want help?” he asked. He sounded almost hesitant.

You unfolded your wings, casting dark silhouettes around the room. They were imposing, dark, and reached almost ten feet across. They scared people.

But the Winter Soldier only ever looked at them in awe.

So you nodded and allowed him to wipe the ice from your wings, to dry the rain soaking your bones, and to fix the feathers that had fallen out of place. As he worked, you began to relax. As your head drooped for the nth time, he tapped your shoulder.

“Bird?” You didn’t respond, only slumped more. There wasn’t a bed in the safe house, just a dingy couch that pulled out into a bed. You two could share, but that meant putting you to sleep.

After pulling out the couch and carefully maneuvering around your wings, Winter lifted you from the floor and laid you on the worn, makeshift bed. Just as he was about to lay down on the cold floor, your hand shot out, grabbing his. Surprisingly, he didn’t flinch.

You murmured an incoherent mess that ended with, “-stay,” and a strong tug on his metal arm. He stumbled onto the couch, finally giving in and laying down. One of your wings settled on top of him, acting as a blanket.

In the morning, when HYDRA found you both intertwined under your feathers, they resorted to wiping you both again. They couldn’t take risks.

———————————————————————

Washington, d.c., 2014.

Steve sighs as a battered Nick Fury stands up, carefully choosing his words.

In the past minute, Steve’s gotten two very bad pieces of news. For one, SHIELD is compromised. And two, his apartment may be bugged.

The second is more embarrassing than a security risk. He’s been ranting to the wall for the past week, growing more and more fed up with SHIELD. He supposes he has an excuse to hate them now.

“Just… My friends,” Fury says, turning his phone around to reveal the words, “Only you and me.”

Great. So no one else knows about SHIELD’s infestation. Steve glares at him.

“Is that what we are?”

Across the street, opposite his apartment’s window, two figures stand. The Winter Soldier analyzes how Captain America stands, the direction he’s looking.

You have an empty bow drawn, waiting for the signal.

HYDRA‘s attempts to keep the both of you at arm’s reach have failed every time. It’s an endless cycle. They wipe you, you both go on a mission, and memories begin to resurface. Past missions curled up around a fire, the countless wounds of his you've healed. Previously blood -soaked hands gingerly preening your wings.

With a shake of your head, you refocus.

“Готовы, когда вы [Ready when you are],” you say. The Soldier aims his gun, glancing over to watch a glowing arrow materialize at your fingertips. Instead of saying anything about how enthralling it is, he fires.

You do the same seconds later, grabbing the Soldier by the hand and taking off into the sky, landing on a nearby roof and sprinting towards the far end. A crash and shattering of glass behind you warned of the Captain’s swift approach.

But you don’t look back, only prepare to launch off the building. Winter, however, does.

And sees a shield heading straight for your back, right between your wings. He rushes to the side, catching the shield with a glare at the blond superhero. You screech to a halt, eyes widening at the vibranium disc in the titanium hand.

A blow from that would have incapacitated you. And with no way to escape, you would’ve been killed by the owner of that shield. Winter flings it back at the man, grabbing your hand to leap from the building and fly into the night.

Your hands are so shaky you almost drop him a few times mid-air, but instead, you make it back to HYDRA’s nearest base, providing a mission report before rushing off to a small room. Two cots are placed on opposite sides of the room.

You both relax as Winter slides the door shut. No cameras in here. HYDRA didn’t care what its favorite weapons did in between missions, so long as you completed your assignments.

Immediately, you turn towards him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how close that was-” He cuts you off, grabbing your hand with far less urgency than he had a while earlier.

“You’re safe now. We’re okay. HYDRA said that these are our last missions. We can get out,” he whispers. He isn’t exactly lying. HYDRA had promised that your work was coming to a close.

They swore that they’d give you enough money to travel wherever you wanted, so long as you would answer if they called. The words felt too familiar. Like they’d been used to bargain with you before.

“We can get out, Bird.”

You frown.

“Can we?”

#marvel #marvel x reader #x reader #avengers x reader #avengers #steve rogers #bucky barnes #like the dawn #steve rogers x reader angst #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader angst #bucky barnes x female reader #captain america the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #winter soldier #stucky x winged!reader

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littlecarnet · 1 year

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Like the Dawn - Chapter 7

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When the got to the fairgrounds, everything was in full swing.

Booths offering all sorts of foods from magicarp shaped pastries stuffed with all sorts of fillings, sizzling grilled vegetable pancakes, sticky sweet dumplings, and tossed fried noodles in a variety of sauces and spices, as well as lots of savory and sweet treats for pokemon. The smells were exotic to Giratina, nothing like the foods he knew long ago, but they did look appealing, the humans and pokemon eating them seemed to really enjoy them.

As promised, Cynthia got him Pinapberry ice cream while her's was a strawberry milk flavor with a drizzle of chocolate on top. They enjoyed these sweet treats as they watched the parade exhibiting giant paper mache lanterns depicting scenes from various myths. Cynthia was quick to point out one depicting him.

At first Giratina was expecting the typical depiction. One of being a violent creature and then being banished by his parent. But was surprised to see him looking ferociously at a human figure that resembled Cyrus. The banner above the cart read ' Distortion's Ruler Stops Apocalypse'. He watched it pass by absolutely stunned. Cynthia who smiled at his reaction.

" You were involved with that, weren't you?" He asked.

She shook her head. " Not entirely. The class I taught in Sinnoh History were inspired by my account of what happened on Spear Pillar and what you did to stop Cyrus, so they built the lantern to commemorate the event."

He was touched. So that action hadn't been forgotten. It was being displayed for everyone here tonight as well as a brand new generation, who will now know him not as a monster but a hero. His hand wrapped around her's. Could he love her even more?

" Thank you."

The evening that followed was a wonderful set of events. Giratina watched Cynthia roll up her sleeves to fish for toys floating in a water basin and then throwing darts, proving to spectators that she was more than just amazing in battle but formidable in games of skill too. She came back to him with a haul of items such as a cute Goldeen plush, a few fans depicting Ho-Oh and Lugia, and two water yoyos decorated like an Ultra ball and Dusk ball. She gave the later to Giratina, and with a bit of guidance, he learned how to use it.

Not wanting to leave him out of the fun she showed him a simple game of strength, he was hesitant at first, not sure if he kept his abilities, but was surprised to ring that bell. He picked out a Haunter mask out of the prizes. She teased him. Of course he'd pick a ghost type.

Cynthia hadn't had this much fun in a long time, and she had to admit this felt like a date. Well, they were a couple now, right? This could be their first date. She was sure others were watching them. There would definitely be rumors tomorrow. Not because the town had any press or media, but that small towns often talked. That was fine. Better some little old lady teasing her about the strange young man linked arm in arm with her, than international gossip on Giratina's identity and trying to harass him. She was no stranger to that. She even had to deal with rumors that she was dating Steven Stone. Despite the fact he was gay and already had a lover. But tabloids never got the facts right. Steven thought it was hilarious. Cynthia was less than amused.

She was however a bit concerned about how long this would last. Today would be Giratina's second day as a human, tomorrow, his last. They wouldn't be able to do all the things she wanted to in public with him. To modern society it would be met with a lot of criticism, scandal... the Sinnoh Champion in love with a creature like him? Were humans not good enough for her? Oh she could imagine the news.

In this town, it wouldn't be any better. The fact he was a pokemon deity would likely have the elders disapprove of their relationship. The Celestica believed pokemon like him were above humans, to want an intimate relationship with one was taboo. She was surprised her grandmother hadn't said anything about it, but then again, she was much more open-minded. Or prehaps Giratina charmed her enough that she felt he was a good match? Whatever the reason for her acceptance, she was glad her grandmother treated him so nicely.

No, the only way they could be together once he transforms back, would be the Distortion World. Which was already what they were doing prior to all this, but her stays would be extended. Giratina could easily create a livable environment for her, house-like structures already existed, and it would be a completely new world to explore. She was sure he'd love her visits. Heck, maybe she could move there. She'd likely be the first human to do so.

Cynthia didn't want to dwell on this though. She needed to make his last day tomorrow count. Give him as much of a good experience as possible. She tugged him toward a ring toss game, and with some guidance, they got two bags of kettle corn and some bottles of lemonade. She'd been hoping for the latter especially. The clinking of the glass marbles was nostalgic for her because her grandfather would always buy a few of them as souvenirs from Johto. They were rare or next to impossible to find outside of that region.

Giratina surprisingly had lost himself in the atmosphere of the festival. The best part was that no one knew who he was. People were so nice to him, he got some unexpected freebies from booths, got to participate in a dance, and while he missed up a lot, the whole experience made him feel like he was one of them. Even though he knew this wouldn't last, he'd still take it all in. Preserve it in his mind as a beautiful memory forever.

His felt a gentle squeeze of his hand from Cynthia. She was tugging him up from his seat.

" Come on! The fireworks are starting, and I know the perfect place to view them away from the crowd."

She led them up a small set of steps away from the fairgrounds, toward a forgotten shrine, one of many in this part of the region. She sat down on a stone bench, motioning Giratina to sit next to her. He took a seat just as the first loud boom and crackle lit up the sky in a dazzling shimmer of light. He'd seen fireworks from his vantage point in the Distortion World, but the colors and sounds were much more dull and muffled. But here? These were incredible. The sound, the colors, even the smell. It was nothing like that poor imitation inside his portals. Even better that he was here with Cynthia, leaning on his shoulder. The colors and lights dancing in her eyes. She looked up at him, smiled.

It was here he realized that being transformed like this wasn't so bad. Yes, he missed his true form, his abilities, his home, but that now seemed a worthwhile cost for this chance to spend time with her like this, to know what its like to be part of a community. At least until he had to go back to how he was. What would happen then? He knew she'd still love him, but they could never express it openly like they were now. They'd have to hide how they felt about each other around others.

The fireworks now felt like a reflection of his feelings about these past days.

Maybe they were on the wavelength and that sense of urgency to make this night count flowed through because before he knew it, her lips were on his. Soft, yet eager, and tasting like cotton candy. He broke the kiss, surprised by her forward gesture, and then returned it just as eager. Surprising them both.There was an intense desire flaring up, like some barrier had been broken, and now nothing stood between them. In this moment in time, they were the same, no incapable forms, no hidden feelings, just two beings so desperately, utterly, hopelessly in love.

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They stumbled into the house fumbling with each other. A few escaped laughs and shushing, though Cynthia assured him her grandmother wasn't home. She wouldn't be for awhile. She was helping her friends with the festival raffle.

Between kisses, Cynthia fiddled with the house keys, getting the door open, and then tumbled into the living room, her bedroom, then the bed.

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Author's notes:

Okay stopping here because of Tumblr's guidelines, but I'll get the rest out on a03 sometime next week, if nothing else goes wrong over there. I'm still a bit hesitant with that site. Once bitten, twice shy as they say.

#pokemon fanfiction #cynthia and giratina #like the dawn

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