Summary: You moved from Australia to the OBX to get away from your toxic family. JJ comforts you after a phone call from your mom.
Warnings: Alcohol
Word Count: 1,700
A/N: Wrote this for my aussie bestie and one of the best writers I know, @daggersanddresses happy mf birthday!!!🎂 I'm so insanely grateful for you every single day, you've been such a light in my life the last few months and somebody that I can talk to about literally anything. I hope you like this and have the best day🩷
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩𖦹⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩
Everybody had headed to bed at the Chateau, leaving just you and your best friend, JJ Maybank.
He had only gone back to the house because you’d joked—half-serious—that the wine was empty and therefore the night was ruined.
“Stay right there,” he squeezed your shoulder and stood. “I’ll save us.”
When he came back down the dock, two plastic cups dangling from his fingers, he was already smiling—ready to make some dumb comment about how loud Pope was snoring on the couch.
Then he saw you.
You were sitting at the edge of the dock, knees pulled up, phone face-down beside you. Your shoulders were too tense. Your breathing was off. You scrubbed at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie like you were trying to erase something.
JJ slowed without meaning to. “…Hey,” he said quietly, setting the cups down. “What’s goin’ on?”
You jumped a little, then forced a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “Nothing. Just—I'm fine, Jayj. Don't worry about it."
JJ frowned. He’d heard you lie before. You were bad at it. “Yeah, no,” he said gently. “Come on. What happened in the last five minutes? You suck at lying... at least to me.”
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help the corner of your lips from twitching up a little. "You're right."
He sat down next to you, close enough that your shoulders brushed. “You wanna tell me why you’re cryin’ on my dock, or am I supposed to guess?”
"It's John B's dock," you mumble and he couldn't help but snort at himself. "Or his dad's." You picked at a splinter in the wood. "You don’t have to—”
“I know,” he cut in softly. “But I want to.”
That did it. Your shoulders sagged a little, like you’d been holding yourself together with tape and it finally gave. Your eyes filled with fresh tears. “My mum called,” you said quietly. “From Australia.”
JJ’s jaw tightened instantly.
“Yeah,” you went on, staring out at the water. “She wants me and my sister to move back. Says it’s time to ‘come home.’ Like I didn’t leave for a reason. She keeps acting like I just… went on holiday,” you said, voice cracking. “Like she and my dad weren't awful. Like I didn’t run away because staying felt worse.” You wiped at your eyes again, frustrated. “She still thinks she gets to decide where I live, it's ridiculous.”
He exhaled slowly, anger simmering just under his skin. “That’s messed up.”
You laughed weakly. “That’s one word for it... or two."
He laughs quietly then his face turns serious. “She can’t make you go back,” he said firmly.
“I know. I'm not.” You lifted your chin, stubborn even through the tears. “I didn’t survive all that just to end up back there. I’d never go back. As much as I miss it.”
He couldn't help but think about how brave you were for doing what you had to do. JJ watched you for a second, something fierce and protective settling in his chest.
“Good,” he said. “Don’t.”
You glanced at him, surprised by how sure he sounded. Then, like you always did when things got too heavy, you deflected. You grabbed one of the cups and held it up. “Sorry, I think wine makes me emotional. Or something.”
JJ shook his head, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Hey, you don’t gotta have excuses for bein’ upset. 'Specially not with me”
You went quiet at that.
He nudged your knee with his. “You’re allowed to feel things without explaining yourself.”
Your eyes filled again, but this time you were smiling too. You blinked out a tear, wiping it away quickly with a sniffle. “Thanks. You’re the best J, seriously.”
“You're not wrong,” he said, shrugging, smiling dopily at you. "I'm just the best there is. No doubt about it."
You laughed, soft and teary, and that seemed to unlock something in him. He grinned, relieved. “There it is,” he said. “That smile. Been chasin’ that since you moved here.”
That made you melt a little but you tried to hold it together. “You were obsessed with my accent before you even knew me,” you teased quietly.
He scoffed. “Obsessed is a strong word. Bloody hell, Y/N.”
You barked out a laugh. “You literally made me say ‘water’ a thousand times in the first week. And haven't stopped calling 'trash cans' 'rubbish bins.'”
“I love your accent. It's like... calming,” he said defensively. “And—” He hesitated, then smirked. “Okay, maybe a little sexy. Don’t tell anyone.”
You laughed, wiping at your cheeks, which had become a little warmer at the last comment. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Hey,” he said, suddenly putting on what he clearly thought you sounded like. “Oi, reckon it’ll be fine, yeah? Just pop back to Aus—”
You burst out laughing. “JJ! That’s so not Australian. That’s British.”
“Same thing, mate," he said proudly.
“It absolutely is not.”
“Whatever. You should hear your impression of me when I’m drunk.”
You grinned. “You mean like this: Ah’m fahn, ah swear,” you drawled terribly. “Dude ah only had lahk six beers.”
He gasped. “I don't get that southern, oh my god.” JJ covered his face with his hands, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.
You giggled. "Uh, yeah you do. Say 'Australian.' Right now."
"Australian?" he smiled, cocking a brow.
"See? Ah-strayl-ee-enn. So southern." You couldn't help but giggle as his jaw dropped in mock offense.
His nose crinkled. "Ok. Say 'Cleo, no.'"
You covered you mouth with a hand, giggling and shook you head.
"Pleeease."
You rolled your eyes, scoffing before giving in. "Cleor nauuuuur. There. Happy?"
He threw his head back in laughter. "So happy. That's my little h2o mermaid."
You were still laughing when he slid his arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently into his side. You leaned into him without thinking, head tipping against him like it belonged there.
He stared out at the water, quieter now. “I don’t wanna imagine the OBX without you,” he said. “You ran away to the right place. Kinda feels like… like you’re supposed to be here.”
Your chest tightened. “JJ…”
He glanced down at you, trying to make it a joke. “Plus, I hear Australia’s got a lotta blond surfer dudes. I kinda wanna be the only one of those in your life.”
You smiled up at him, eyes warm and sure, heart racing a little. “Yeah. But none of them are like you. Nobody is.”
His breath caught a little. “That right?”
You nodded. “Yeah. One of a kind.”
You stared at each other for a moment. Then suddenly he was leaning in slowly, giving you time to stop him. You didn't. When your lips met his, it was soft and careful, like something precious neither of you wanted to break. His calloused hand went up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin.
When he pulled back, forehead resting against yours, he smiled.
“You're really stuck here now,” he said quietly.
You smiled back, laughing a little breathily. “Fine with me.”
He kissed you again, deeper, and you had never felt more at home.
Content Warnings: Cheating, Affair, remarriage, no mention of y/n or the variation of 'you', Possible prequel?, third person written. Angst.
Words: 1707
Masterlist
Credit for Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics
Credit for the Divider Template: @cafekitsune
Note: You have many code names. Many. Many of them are used by certain people. Like the devil. You have many names. Boomer, Opal, Crimson and Emerald are the main ones used to refer to you. As your real name is covered in layers of black ink and confidential files restricted to the higher-ups.
Note 2: The only defining factors, I will give you, are the following: Codename. As labelled. Height. You are not small. You are rather tall, at least six feet and four inches. Roughly the same height as Ghost. Your voice is also quite deep, for reasons you can come up with yourself. As no answer is wrong or right. Might make an oc version sometime.
Note 3: I suggest listening to Moon Shadow by Cat Stevens when you read this.
Summary: “I don’t see you the same way anymore. I don’t respect cheaters, no matter the reason you might have had. You ruined this home by yourself.”
Boomer grew up on a farm in the Australian outback. Her father is an Australian Commando. Thus, she didn't see him nearly as often as her mother, who happened to cheat on her father while he was deployed. Her excuse was the lack of affection making her cheat with his older brother, Marcus. The CEO of a tech company he started up in America.
“I don’t see you the same way anymore. I don’t respect cheaters, no matter the reason you might have had. You ruined this home by yourself.” Boomer told her mother once her father came back on leave. He was immediately told by her.
Boomer decided to stay with her father, even though the divorce, and she hadn’t spoken to her mother since the end of the divorce had taken place. Her father, even though heart broken about the affair and the eventual divorce, he tried to keep a positive attitude through it all. Boomer saw right through quite often.
Pulling things apart, fixing them regardless of what it was, became Boomer's silent mantra as she grew older, mirroring the tireless work ethic of her father.
The farm grew quiet without her mother's laughter, but it grew stronger with the echoes of her father's footsteps and the occasional clank of tools as he taught her the ropes of being a true Australian commando.
She took to the training like a natural, her determination fuelled by the anger she felt towards her mother's betrayal. Each push-up, each mile run, every target hit, was a declaration of her loyalty to the truth and the man who never abandoned her.
“I don’t want to become my mother and cheat on any potential spouse, man or woman.” Boomer, adamant in wanting to be reliable regardless of any circumstances she would encounter in her life.
Her father often came home to small things fixed like the broken tractor, a leaky sink, and even a few upgrades to the farm’s security system.
Even reading into carpentry DIY projects like the bee aviaries she built from scratch. Her dedication to self-reliance grew, and so did her skills, a silent promise to never become what her mother was.
Her aunt, Alyssa, came over a few times a month to keep the house from going up in flames. Boomer showed her all the DIY things she made, often wanting to rescue bees from abandoned areas, unwanted areas and sometimes even from people’s backyards.
Her father had a slight smirk on his face when she brought home her first queen bee, a rare breed she had found in the forest. He knew she had her mother’s charm and beauty, but he was proud she had chosen a path of honesty and reliability.
Alyssa’s work as a beekeeper rehoming bees from areas where they aren’t wanted became an unexpected bonding point for Boomer. Her aunt’s gentle nature with the creatures and the way she spoke about them as if they were soldiers in a grand army, protecting the future of the planet, sparked a fascination within Boomer.
She began to see the world through a different lens, one that valued every creature’s contribution, and the delicate balance that needed to be maintained.
Her father noticed the change in her, the way she had found peace in the buzzing of the bees and the precision of their movements. He knew this was something more than just a phase; it was a piece of her soul finding its place in the world.
The farm grew not only in crops but in life as well, with more bees thriving under Alyssa’s guidance and Boomer’s care. It became a sanctuary for those who needed a second chance, a reflection of Boomer’s own spirit.
Boomer took the bee’s safety and health seriously, researching how to take care of the bees better and what ways to keep them happy as well as healthy.
Setting up a mini lab to study the bees in their natural environment without disrupting them became a weekend routine. The bees had become more than just a hobby; they were her silent companions, a symbol of her resilience and unyielding spirit.
One thing her father noticed was the ebony wood varnish on the bee aviaries, making them look more like a piece of art rather than a simple shelter for bees.
He knew his daughter had a creative side to her, but he never knew it would be expressed in such a way. Her creations weren’t just functional, but aesthetically pleasing, a reflection of her respect and admiration for the bees.
Each aviary was named after a character from an X-Men comic she loved as a child. She had found solace in their stories, in their struggle for acceptance and fighting for what they believed in despite their differences.
Her favourite, the Wolverine aviary, housed the most aggressive bees, which she found quite fitting. Each name was engraved in a small brass plate at the entrance, adding a touch of whimsy to the otherwise utilitarian structures.
She would then sell the honey on the farmer’s market for her pocket money. As she grew older, her love for bees remained as she got more invested in the military. She enlisted at seventeen, she told her father she wanted to because it felt like it was the right thing to do.
“I’ll give it my best shot, I promise.” Boomer pinky swore, her eyes gleaming with excitement and determination as she held her father’s hand tightly. His calloused grip returned the gesture, a silent promise of support and belief in her.
Her expertise in heavy weaponry like heavy machine guns, grenade launchers, rocket launchers, miniguns, anti-material rifles, and even the rare use of the Predator drone grew from her time in the military. She had always been a good shot, something her father had noticed when they used to go hunting together back in the outback.
Boomer dove into electrical engineering, electrical technology, nanotechnology and even robotics. During her military training, it was an eye-opener to an even bigger world. A world she is more than a little keen on learning more about day by day. Even reading more about in her downtime.
Growing up, her pets were bees and the blue Merle Shetland Sheepdogs that her aunt brought with her, which grew into a small pack over the years. They became her loyal companions, protecting the farm and the bees from predators. The dogs had an uncanny sense of when Boomer was upset, and they’d often sit by her side, offering comfort with their soft, warm presence. Her father named her first dog, Blue, after her mother’s favourite colour, hoping it would bring some peace to their lives.
Other than beekeeping and pulling things apart. The extracurricular activities she got into before she turned seventeen were gymnastics and ice skating.
Gymnastics was a way to keep her body in tip-top shape, she was always a fast learner and had a knack for acrobatics. The strength and flexibility it gave her were surprisingly useful in the field, allowing her to navigate tight spaces and pull off stunts most wouldn’t dare.
Ice skating, on the other hand, was her escape. The cool rush of the wind against her face, the sound of the blades cutting through the ice, it was her silent battlefield where she faced and conquered her inner demons, pushing herself beyond her limits.
Boomer, at sixteen years old, rescued a nine-month-old blind cat on the way home from school once, her father saw her with it. She was determined to care for the blind cat and named her, Shadow. The cat's full name is Moon Shadow. Naming it after the song Moon Shadow by Cat Stevens.
One of her father’s favourite songs. Thus, it became one of her many favourite songs as well. A classic ‘60s song amongst the many she would listen to on repeat. She listened to it when she got ready for bed, even after he passed months after her 24th birthday.
Her father’s death was a blow she never saw coming. A heart attack in his sleep, the doctor’s said it was peaceful. But for Boomer, it was anything but peaceful.
Her entire world had crumbled around her. The one constant, the one person she had always relied on, was no longer there.
It took a while to mourn her father, taking on many short term to keep herself from going off into the deep end. A distraction to keep her moving, both in mind, body and soul.
The farm remained her sanctuary, but now it was filled with the echoes of her father’s laughter, her aunt’s gentle guidance, and the ever-present hum of the bees.
She continued her military service with renewed vigor, channeling her grief into her work, seeking solace in the structure and discipline it provided.
Most of her dead dad jokes were made to help her cope with her father’s death. If he were around to hear them. He would most likely face palm himself. Followed by an even darker one in return.
“I loved my father. He’s got a darker sense of humour than I did and possibly ever have.” Boomer told her therapist. “I have my pet cats and my dogs. But I live on my own on the farm now.”
The therapist nodded, scribbling something down on her notepad. “How has that been for you?”
“Too quiet. I don’t particularly like the quiet as much as I used to. Maybe it was the fact I had other people around me?” Boomer answered, her voice filled with a tinge of sadness.
The therapist, Dr. Krovic, nodded thoughtfully. “It’s common to feel that way after a loss. The quiet can be deafening when you’re used to the noise of a loving home. Tell me, have you considered getting involved in any social activities? Maybe reconnecting with your mother?”
“If she wanted to, she would have made the effort ages ago.” Boomer replied.
The thought of her mother still brought a bitterness that lingered in the back of her throat. She knew the woman had moved on, living a life of luxury with her aunt’s husband, Marcus. It was a life that didn’t have room for her, not anymore.
Summary: You’re a 27 year old military Lance Corporal. You’d think that’d be good thing, but on a covert mission gone south, will you ever get to go home? Or will you adapt and find comfort right where you are? oh, and maybe you hadn’t heard, apparently time travel is a thing?
Catch up here!
“So, you’re telling me… Your dad took down a skyscraper ?” You asked Brigitte as the two of you jogged around the facility.
“A Titan, yeah.” She smiles at you, slowing down at the entrance to the main building of the facility. “He’s a brave man, and an excellent engineer.”
You could hear the pride in her voice, talking about her father who no doubt was very much a war veteran, much like many of the members of overwatch, both past and present. With the way she spoke about her father, you could tell that not only did she admire and respect the man, but he meant a great deal to her.
“Is that why you’re here? In the military?” She shakes her head, bright eyes turning to you.
“Well..yeah.” She places her hand on her hip. “It’s not enough to wait until the battle is over to fix amour or bandage wounds. If you can fight by someone’s side, you can try to keep the blows from falling.”
You stared at Brigitte, for her declaration, her passion and drive to join the military. Join Overwatch was far nobler than your own motivation to join the military years ago. She wanted to help her family and keep them out of harms way. You smiled at her, crossing your arms and sighing.
“You want to be their shield.”
“Huh…” Her eyebrows furrow in thought. “I guess you’re right. It’s a good way to put it.”
You nod and lean against one of the poles holding up the awning above you. “It’s less… wordy.”
“Mm. So, why did you join Overwatch?”
“I didn’t.” You watch as her expression turns quickly to confusion, as though she couldn’t quite believe it. “Not conventionally.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, one way or another, you’re going to find out…” You muse, glancing at your boots before turning your gaze to level hers. “Put simply, my ‘present’ is set about 60 years ago.”
“That’s not possible.” She laughs, shaking her head. “You’re joking.”
You blink at her, your expression unchanging.
“Oh…” She says when she looks at you. “You’re not kidding.”
“Yeah… Anyway, things went sideways back in 2017 and now I’m stuck here, possibly for good. I was already military so in a complicated way, I was… told that I would be working with Overwatch pretty much until I can go back to my own time.”
“So, you didn’t sign up for this?”
“Not in the slightest. But,” You shrug. “Sometimes you need to work with what’s in front of you. For me, it’s falling into the clockwork. Come on, I’ll show you.”
You wave over your shoulder for Brigitte to follow you, only stopping to wipe your boots on the concrete outside the door before entering the building. Your schedule was already thrown out the window by your newest companion, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t get her to come along for the rest of the day. You lead her to the laundry room, which, of course had no omnics in the vicinity.
“Does your dad take out all the omnics on one day?” You ask as you set about separating the clothes.
“He likes to get everything done as quickly as possible. And... He doesn’t like omnics very much.”
“I gathered that.” You look over at her. “Don’t just stand there, this is part of what I do here, you may as well learn a thing or two about running in the military. Even if it is from an old soldier like me.”
“Watson, you’re not that much older than me!” Brigitte laughs as she walks over to you.
“If a chronological sixty-five years is ‘not that much’” You joke as you shove a load of clothing into the large washer.
“Only five of those years count!” She says as she continues to sort the laundry.
“Still makes me older than you, kiddo.” You say as you walk back over and see that’s she’s sorted the rest of it.
There was a pause in the conversation as the sound of electronic machines went to work washing laundry, the electricity of lights humming above you. Although not entirely welcomed, you accepted the silence. It was a change to the mornings slow, but relatively productive start, and the boisterous nature of the day before. You look down at the patches on the arm of your jacket, making a note to repair the stitching around the edge of them. The Rising sun seated proudly above your flag. It would probably be considered something to put in a museum at this point, war shocked and all.
“What was it like?” Brigitte asks you, tearing your gaze from the patches, to look at her, eyes also on your arm.
“Australia? Or the army?” You ask, folding your arms.
She shrugs. “Both.”
“Well,” you sighed, “growing up at home wasn't without it’s challenges. There’s hot summers and cold winters.”
You tell her about general, broad slices of life as you remember the hot summers of running across hot roads and carparks in bare feet. Learning by getting all kinds of scrapes, cuts and bruises. And still making it back to your feet.
“Hell, even fell out of a tree a few times, break an arm if you’re lucky.” You remark, thumbing at the patch on your shoulder.
“Why would you want to break an arm?” You smiled at her.
“You get a cast, and for a while, you’re the coolest kid at school. It’s a badge of honour- almost. If you get hurt enough to need a cast, a bandage, something a kid can take a marker to – you’re the talk of whatever neighbourhood you live in.” You shrug and continue when you see another question in her eyes. “If you don’t break anything, you’re either very skilled, or very lucky.”
“And the animals? There’s bound to be tons of animals when you’re from.”
You smile and push yourself up to sit on the table you were leaning against, gaze on her again. “Kangaroos, koalas, kookaburras and foxes aren’t uncommon. At least, out where I lived.”
“Did you keep any as pets?” You laugh.
“I didn’t go ridin’ a ‘roo to school, if that’s what you mean. We only had a few animals that worked with us, two dogs. Dusty kept the sheep in line, and Red made sure the chickens were safe.”
“You had dogs!” Brigitte grinned, “Did you have any cats?”
You nodded. “Maris had a kitten, last I heard he was out catching mice instead of resting his injured foot.”
“A warrior cat.” Her tone was light, expression bright. You nodded.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“What about your parents, Watson? What are they like?”
You pause at the question, schooling your muscles that wanted to tense. When you answered, it was through a stiff jaw. “I.. lived with my aunt before the army.”
“Oh? What’s your aunt like?” You shake your head, knowing you had created a tense atmosphere already, and didn’t want to add to it.
“She was your run of the mill aunt, y'know? Nothing much there really..”
Liar.
Images dance across your vision, disappearing as fast as they arrive.
The uncomfortable tension slowly but never totally subsided as your conversation with Brigitte continued, for about the next hour or so, moving from family and home life to the places you had been before moving into the army. Places like the Opera, and Parliament Houses came up, as did less known places like the Giant Ram, Banana, and Pineapple. By the time you had gotten to the more serious questions, about being in the army and the difference from ‘the 10’s’ to ‘the 60’s’ you had moved from the laundry room to the training centre.
“Yeah, we didn’t have any pulse weapons.” You pushed up the barbell, Brigitte spotting for you. “It was more, gunpowder and explosives.”
“So, it’s like Papa’s turrets.” She notes as you lowered the bar. “That’s fifteen.”
Nodding, you push up again and accept Brigitte’s help in placing it onto the stand. You sit up and stretch out your arms, feeling the tension partially dissipate from your shoulders and arms. You groan quietly as you stand and turn to face her.
“Alright, you’ve sparred before, yeah?” You ask.
“Of course I have!” She exclaims, looking surprised that you’d ask.
“Alright,” you nod, “jump on the mat with me.”
You gesture towards the sparring mat, Brigitte walks towards, and past it, towards the sparring weapons. You shake your head as you stand on the mat. “You don’t need those.”
“Huh? Why not?” She turns towards you.
“Weapons won’t help you if you aren’t able to fight hand to hand.” You say, moving into a balanced stance, an encouraging smile on your face. “Come see if you’re a good shield.”
A smile lit up over her face as she approached the mat, eyes bright with the promise of competition. Stepping foot onto the mat, you waited for her to take her stance. She nodded to you.
There was a moment of pause before you sprung into action. Sprinting towards her, using the force of your feet to push forward, following through with your hips. Your right hand pushed forward with the aim of hitting her arm, groaning with the effort. She moved aside, foot knocking out one of yours, catching your balance for a moment before you re-centered. It was enough for Brigitte to land a hit to your shoulder. The pain of the hit shook through your arm with the tension.
You brought both arms up, one to grasp her wrist and the other to push her arm forwards, sending her centre of gravity out enough to twist her arm to her back, pushing her forward, huffing with the speed and effort it took to execute the move. You turn and watch as she picks herself up from stumbling forward, turning her gaze to you. She looked a tad surprised by the move and all you could do was let out a breathy laugh, urging her to come at you again.
You pushed forward as she did, deflecting the hit she tried to land with her leg, your arms moving again to block the hit that was aimed for your shoulder. A fight that had you moving faster to block and land a few when you found the opportunity. It felt different to facing Soldier: 76, not as hard, not as blow-for-blow in terms of speed. It was certainly different.
Dodging yet another blow, you crouch down and spring up to hit Brigitte in the abdomen, the blow landing at her exposed diaphragm. She was winded by the hit but recovered quickly enough for her leg to catch yours, causing you to fall on your arse. A winded groan of effort escaped you as your mind tried to catch up to the new position. Brigitte seated on top of you to pin you down, a victorious grin on her face.
“Hey, Watson!”
The owner of the voice gave you pause, eyes turning in the direction it came from, Brigitte also turning her gaze to look. The owner of the voice was McCree. Which in and of itself was a surprise. You raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah? What’s goin on?” You pushed yourself up as Brigitte got off of you.
“Boss wants to see yer pretty lil’ face in his office.”
“Is it urgent?” You pushed your sleeves up, rolling the ends.
“Urgent enough.” He shrugs, an apologetic smile on his face, “bit of a foul mood. Best get a move on.”
You nod and turn to Brigitte. “I’ll have to put a raincheck on the rest of this match.”
“Looking forward to it! Good luck in there.”
You pat McCree on the shoulder as you walk past and out of the training centre. You walk down the hall, wondering just what the commander would want you for, and if it was really that important, why couldn’t he come down himself? It wasn’t particularly strange, but it did leave your palms sweating, and muscles on the tense side of near uncomfortable.
You fucked up. Again. Your mind oh so helpfully chided.
Sighing, you came to a stop when you heard your name called, your actual name. You turned around and saw Angela jogging up to you, tablet held in one arm, the other calling for your attention. You raised your eyebrows at her.
“Where’s the fire?”
“I know you’re busy, but I need you in the med-bay when you have the chance. We need to talk.”
“Good or bad?” you ask, placing your hands in your pockets and nodding in the direction you were headed.
“It’s not bad, really..” She said as she walked by your side.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I’m concerned about your health.”
“Physical?” There was a twinge there, a hint you knew set in showing the potential for agitation in your voice. If this was about those stupid scans again…
“No, no. Not this time. I..heard about yesterday. And I believe that it would be best for us to work this out, together.”
Her concern had you pausing, eyes moving to her as you turned down the staircase, bootsteps tapping, soft reverbs bouncing against the walls. You sighed. “That a medical, or personal opinion?”
“Both.” You stop, halfway down the flight, looking up at Angela’s empathetic expression.
Perhaps it was for the best that you would talk to someone. You didn’t know how much good it would do, or if it would even help. But given that you were of the assumption that Hana or Lena had told her about your instability the day before, you could see where she was coming from. It could be a mix of things, and maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad to have a medical report that was more than a single page thick.
Don't be stupid, you'll just waste her time.
“See you at 1600?”
“I’ll be expecting you.”
With that, you parted ways. At the end of the short hall at the bottom of the stairs was the commander’s office. You wiped your hands on your pants before knocking, the tense set of your shoulders unchanging as you opened the door.
Inside, the commander sat at his desk, as far as you could tell, his gaze was on the monitor. You shut the door behind you, standing at attention. The interior of his office was plain, no pictures, or decorations. It looked like an empty office despite the single box of files beside the desk.
“Take a seat.” He says, and so you do, stiffly walking over to the chair at the other side of the desk and sitting down. The metal sturdy, but not entirely uncomfortable.
“You need me?” You asked, eyebrows furrowed as you looked across the desk at him.
“A week ago, you came back talking about Magnil.” He folds his arms, leaning back in his chair, the lines across his forehead telling you that he had his eyebrows furrowed.
“That’s correct. But sir, I don’t understand, what-?”
“I want you on active duty.” He turns to his screen after that, pulling up a file on the holographic surface.
“Aren’t I already on active duty?” The confusion seeped into your voice, the chores and workouts weren’t just training, at least, in your opinion they weren’t.
“You’ll be posted in Denver, with McCree. We can’t get all the intel we need through our virtual channels, so you’ll have to investigate.”
“For how long?”
“The rest of the month.”
“Two weeks?” Your eyebrows raised. “Sir, that’s most of the time we have left.”
“I know that.” You shake your head, fingers gathering the material of your pants.
“See, I don’t think you do. McCree is an asset to your operation and having two of your operatives out on the field. We don’t have long and–”
“The decision isn't yours to make.” His stern tone had you clamping your mouth shut as he leaned his elbows against the desk, flicking his index finger to scroll through the file he was looking at. “You leave in three days.”
You could only stare as he pressed some buttons, a moment later, Athena notified you that there were documents sent to your virtual storage. You’d be leaving in a few days to investigate, you’d only have two weeks. An entire week too many.
“Sir?” You asked, your gaze trained on your C.O.
“Yes?” You sigh inwardly, a small bit disappointed.
“Is there anything I need to know? Anything you’re not telling me?”
“It’s all in the document –”
“I’m not asking about the document.” You interrupt, his dismissive tone throughout the conversation was more than irritating, and you were wondering if you had something to do with it. “This isn’t just about the mission, is it?”
You watch as Soldier turns his gaze to you, the set of his shoulders looked about as tense as yours. You levelled as he stared at you, sighing slowly. “There are agents concerned about you.”
“You’re one of them?” You lean backward in the chair, crossing your arms. He shrugs.
“It’s my job to watch out for you and the other young agents out there.”
“I’m older than you.” You tell him, hearing the amused huff he gives at your ironic statement.
“You know what I meant.”
“Doesn’t make it any less true.”
He folds his arms and leans his elbows on his desk, sighing. “Your outing with Agents Song and Oxton yesterday, I heard there were some complications.”
Your eyebrows furrow at the change of subject. “It was just a mild inconvenience. I’ll be right.”
Mild inconvenience? What a pathetic excuse.
“Watson.” He says, the tiredness leaning into his tone. “We can’t have these 'mild inconveniences' when you're’ out there by yourself on missions-“
“With all due respect sir, I appreciate your concern. But this is something I can manage on the field. You of all agents should understand the difference between civilian and field work.” You sit up, defensive. Didn’t he understand that you could handle it?
“I didn’t call you here to start an argument. But, as your commanding officer, it’s my job to make sure all agents are working at their best. Which includes you.”
You weren’t sure, or at least, not entirely, why your chest sank as the questions came flooding in. Did he actually care? Is all of this running after you just some babysitting gig?
Did anyone like you?
“Yes.. Of course you do.” You said, losing all the potential heat your voice had before. “Is there anything else you need to call my attention to, Sir?”
“No, that's it. You're dismissed.”
You nod and stand, turning and walking through the door at his office without another word. You had shit you had to deal with, worrying whether the people here actually cared or not was beyond your control. If it was their job, then they could waste the effort. All you had to do was free up enough time for them to get you home.
-
After your appointment with Angela, she hadn’t seen you around. In fact, it seemed that no one had seen much of you since Soldier: 76 notified you of your posting with McCree. Which was over 36 hours ago. It had her eyebrows furrowing, worried as both your doctor, and your friend. As far as she knew, you weren’t in your room, nor had you been in the mess hall.
Missing meals especially was concerning to her as proper nutrition was essential for you to stay healthy and deal with the stress your heightened senses were causing to you, not that she could tell if you noticed. She knew you tended to avoid loud areas, and had a tendency to avoid being outside during the middle of the day. Perhaps she would have to invest in a pair of glasses for you, like the ones she assigned to lena for missions.
Walking towards the medical bay, she encountered their resident mechanic.
“Hello there Torbjorn.” He stopped by her, eyebrows furrowed and a frustrated expression on his face.
“Heard you’re looking for that explosive agent.” He says, rather than greeting her.
“explosive..?” She asks, not entirely certain if she was talking about you, or one of the other agents on-site. “Do you mean Watson?”
“They've been staring at the same screw for the past hour!” He complains, “de är värdelösa.”
“Watson’s been in your workshop this whole time?” She asks, folding her arms over the tablet she was holding.
“Yes. Took apart their guns, ‘trying to figure out how they work’ and hasn’t left.”
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“I haven’t had the time, there’s too much to be fixed around here.” He says, turning and walking past her, calling over his shoulder. “Just get 'em out of my workshop!”
Angela shook her head and continued down the hallway, she knew the Swedish man was protective over his tools, as much, if not more so, than he was over his daughters, but this was just adding to her to-do list. She figured that she would need to get someone else to go after you, convince you to leave the workshop, if not for anything but to eat and get some sleep.
Her lonely walk down the hallway had her reading forms and files sent to her by Winston. Hanzo would need to have his prostheses checked and recalibrated, and so would McCree. Although, Jesse’s check-up would have to be conducted before his posting. The electricity production had to be sorted out, unless of course Torbjorn had already fixed it but hadn’t got the paperwork through to her. Bandages to be restocked, her staff needed to be repaired. That was a job for tomorrow morning.
She sat down at her desk and sighed, which she knew she was doing a lot of lately. Everything was running her off her feet lately, so much so that she had started wearing flat, sturdy boots over anything with heels. It’d be all worth it to keep the world safe. In the end, that was the primary goal, ensure that people were safe, and to keep the world at peace.
Around fifteen minutes later, Angela was filling in forms and sorting documents when Soldier: 76 walked in, telltale boot steps leading up to her desk.
"Angela."
"What seems to be the trouble, Jack?" She asks, flipping to a new page in her work.
"You haven't seen Watson, have you?"
"No. Torbjorn told me that they were in his workshop." She says, glancing at him. "Meddling… Is something wrong?"
"They were supposed to attend a briefing with McCree."
Angela nods.
"They didn't show."
"Well, that certainly is odd.. perhaps you should check on them."
Angela gives barely a wave of her hand as she flips to the next page of her work. 76 knew that, that was her way of dismissing him. Torbjorns workshop. That's where you'd been hiding away. Not attending briefings or getting up to date on any new intel, at least, not in person. In truth, he didn't know how this mission would go, given your recent outing. He knew that he should place more trust in you, but he couldn't help the concern that surfaced when you were so reckless .
He knew that, at times, he wasn't exactly the most cautious, however, seeing you throw yourself at every obstacle and pushing through it like there wasn't anything to it despite the consequences… it was remarkable as it was concerning.
Soldier 76 walked through the doors to the workshop, a place that was connected to the outside by a large roller door. Looking around, it didn't take much to find you, sitting on a stool, leaning over the desk, one arm hanging down, and your head on the other. Overall, he thought the position looked uncomfortable, just like when he found you out in the rain, soaked and asleep. Though, you weren't shivering this time.
He looks over you as he stepped closer, your regular attire a mess. The jacket you usually wore laid on the bench, partially under your head. The bench was covered in half assembled parts of your weapons what needed to be whole by tomorrow, and your face overall, a mess of soot and tired under eyes.
Stopping next to you, Soldier: 76 looks at your jacket, and the line of thread connecting it to a sewing needle in your hand, which he carefully removes so that you don’t stick yourself with it in your sleep. Your lack of response as he moves you from leaning on the desk makes his concern levels rise, in his experience, you would’ve been a little more than the rag doll he had before him.
Briefly he wonders if this was all the cause of what he said to you 42 hours ago. His gaze turns to you as he carefully lifts you up, a practiced ease from the times he’s had to move you in the past. When you’re settled, like an exhausted dead weight, he looks to your jacket, and the new patch sewn there…
An Overwatch patch.
He had heard some of the details of your panic attack, and the way a civilian attacked you for brandishing an overwatch logo in public.. so why did you have it on your sleeve with the others you carried on your arm..?
A seed of guilt settles in his stomach as he picks it up and turns, headed towards the sleeping quarters. He had once been the head of this organisation, and, while he wasn’t nearly the same man, he still put all of the responsibility upon himself and the way it all fell apart. You had seen some of the history, just enough to catch you up on world events, and what to expect. Yet, for him, nothing could have prepared him for you entering his world. The way you fought and trained until you could barely walk the next morning. Back talking him and taking the extra laps or reps with an attitude, almost like you had won even if you were the one on the floor in a puddle of your own sweat and tears… the way you made coffee.
Nothing could prepare him for that. Even the way you laid in his arms now as he walked down the last hallway to your door. There was so much that changed with you here. 76 himself had, as much as he didn’t like to admit, things were just.. a little better with you there.
Stepping into your room, he takes careful strides to your bed, and lays you down so he can unlace and remove your boots. Your unconscious body sinks into the firm mattress as he does so, preventing him from moving the blanket over you. He looks at your face, and moves some of your hair away from your eyes.. you looked distressed, even there, where you were safe enough. He couldn’t help the concern in his thoughts.
Of course you’re supposed to worry. You’re their commanding officer. He told himself as he stepped out of the room, that’s all it was. Tomorrow you’d be on a mission with McCree. It was only natural for him to worry after your well-being in this situation.
Right ?
-
The next morning, you were sitting in the dropship to Denver. Your eyes on a tablet, rereading the intel to ensure you had it down. According to what you were reading, word had spread that the next big drug on the market was being released at your destination. As far as they were concerned, it could be Magnil, which wasn’t exactly reassuring. The word ‘could’ in any situation pertaining to intel you needed left room for a giant spanner to be thrown in the works.
You bounced your knee as you sat there, scanning the intel over and over. There were no contacts in the area, but there was a safehouse. You wouldn’t be able to trust anyone. This wasn’t good, if you got separated from McCree, then you wouldn’t have any real way of contacting him. Not that you could really see a problem with losing him, he always dressed like a cowboy from old western movies. Would that compromise stealth? The point of going to Denver was to gather intel, if you couldn’t do that then-
“Hey, what’s with that look?” A sense of déjà vu hit you. “Yer lookin’ a bit stressed there.”
You stared across the small space to McCree, and for a second, you swore you could see Jenks instead of the Southern man in front of you. “W-what?”
“Don’t get me wrong, darlin’. Starin’ at that screen would give anyone a headache. But yer not lookin’ yerself.”
“Oh. Well…” You gesture to the screen. “Intel’s not exactly helpful.”
“It’s not bad though, considerin’.” He says, shrugging. “Best not t’go in with a concrete plan. Could come crashin’ down if yer not ready for it.”
“You talkin’ from experience?”
“You’d be surprised the kinda wisdom I could impart on you handsome.”
“That so?”
He nods, and the conversation drops, at least for a few moments. You turn your gaze, but not your attention, back to the tablet, mind flicking back to the similarity between McCree and your probably now dead, if not, elderly friend.
You missed him terribly. What was the last thing you had spoken about…? His baby. You wondered if they grew up well, they’d be at least sixty years old by now. The thought had you a little floored. A whole lifetime, literally, will have passed in your absence if you aren’t able to go back. You wouldn’t be able to hear the sap talk about his kid with the brightness of a thousand suns.
“Watson? Hey, Watson? You alright?”
McCree was leaning forward in his chair, hair in need of a trim in his eyes as he looked at you, concern written over his face. You furrow your eyebrows, was there something wrong? You bring a hand up to your face, where he was looking, and flinch when it comes away wet. Only to find that tears had spilled from your eyes.
“Huh. Not even two hours out, and I’m emotional already.” You joke, wiping your cheeks.
“Listen, I know yer a tough kid and you’d rather not talk about it, but.. what’s wrong?” he says, getting up from his seat and walking over to you in about two steps. “I can’t have you buryin’ yer head in the sand on this.”
“It’s just…” You sigh and breathe slowly, sitting back in your chair. “You remind me of someone, believe it or not. And I’m only really remembering that the last time I talked to him, he had a kid on the way.”
“Well shit.” He says, patting your shoulder, voice sympathetic and as he takes the seat next to you. “Tell me about him.”
Summary: During the war, Bucky met a quirky Australian stretcher bearer. What happens when he meets their grandchild?
Written for: @buckybarnesbingo
Words: 1007
Square Filled: B4- Mates
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Australian!Reader
Warnings: Mild swearing, drinking, smoking
London, 1943
Bucky and his squadron were given some time of to rest before being shipped out again. Everyone was in a party mood; drinking, talking to the beautiful women, just having a great time. Even Steve seemed to be enjoying himself. Bucky stepped outside for a few minutes to get a little fresh air. As he walked out the door, he noticed a soldier in a different uniform leaning against the wall smoking.
“How’s it goin’?” he drawled in a thick accent that Bucky couldn’t quite place.
“Good…” Bucky replied, unsure if this was the correct response.
“Durry?” the man asked, offering out one of his cigarettes.
Bucky wasn’t much of a smoker but an occasional one or two when he was out in social events. He took the offered cig and lit it up.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” Bucky asked.
“Me? A pom? Nah,” he scoffed. “I’m from Australia. I’m a stretcher-bearer. Gimme a sec, mate… Dazza, if you slip in your spew, I’m not taking you back to the barracks like that!”
Bucky looked to see him yelling at another man who had stumbled out of the bar to lean on a nearby wall to throw up. He only gave the middle finger in response. Bucky was used to rowdy soldiers but this was different.
“Look at ‘im. Pissed off his face yet still responsive,” the man chuckled to himself before giving Bucky a formal introduction to which Bucky also introduced himself.
“So, Jimbo, you got someone waiting for you back home?”
“Nah. Maybe one day I’ll meet the right one but for now, I’m still single,” Bucky casually shrugged.
“It’s alright, mate. Sometimes it takes a while, sometimes it’ll catch you by surprise. Take my sheila for instance. Never thought I’d ever get married but then, there she was,” he smiled, taking out a picture for Bucky to look at.
Bucky smiled softly at the portrait of a young woman standing with this goofball beside him. They seemed to be very much in love. The conversation was cut short by a crash as ‘Dazza’ fell over. The Australian rolled his eyes.
“Come on, Daz. Let’s get you back,” he sighed.
“Need a hand?” Bucky offered.
“I’ve got it, mate. Daz might be a pain in the arse but he’s my mate and I’ll get him back alright,” he reassured him with a smile.
Bucky watched as the hauled the drunk soldier over his shoulder and carried him away.
“Hope to see you again sometime, Jimbo!” he called as he headed off.
Bucky hoped so too. This guy may have been a little rough but he seemed like an overall good guy.
…
For the rest of Bucky’s stay in London, he ran into the soldier a few times. He got to know the Aussie better and learnt a little bit about life in Australia. Whenever someone would have a bit too much to drink, Bucky would help him carry them back to where ever they were staying. As the stretcher-bearer said, ‘they might be a pain in the arse sometimes but you always have your mate’s back’. The pair of them even promised to exchange letters once the war was over. Unfortunately, Bucky never got to keep his end of the promise.
…
London, present day
The Avengers had taken up a mission in England and with it complete, they had some time to have a look around. Bucky and Steve took an opportunity to have a look around the old places they went to back during the war. To their surprise, the Whip and Fiddle pub was still a functioning establishment. The interior had changed a little but it was still like they remembered it. Bucky ordered a drink and sat down at the bar. Memories began to play out in his mind. He barely noticed when someone sat next to him. After a while, he could feel somebody was staring at him.
“Can I help you?”
The person jumped at suddenly being spoken to.
“Sorry for staring. You just look like a guy in one of my grandpa’s pictures,” they sheepishly smiled.
Wait, Bucky recognised that accent.
“You wouldn’t happen to be Australian, would you?” Bucky pried.
“Yep! Born and raised! I’m taking a tour of the places my grandpa went during the war. He passed away recently and I just wanted to find some way to honour him…”
Bucky’s heart started to beat a little faster.
“Do you have a picture of him?”
“Sure do!”
You handed him a picture that you had taken with your phone. The man was much older but he still recognised that same goofy smile with the cigarette dangling from his lips.
“I knew him,” he breathed.
“You did?”
“Back during the war…”
Bucky went on to explain his situation, how he had stayed so young and how he knew your grandfather during the war.
You were in awe of his story. Your grandfather had told you stories about Jimbo Barnes over the years but now here you were actually talking to the man himself. Bucky told you stories about what antics your grandpa got up to in the pub and you told him what life was like for him once he had returned. You both laughed at the stories until the laughter died down.
“I miss the old bugger,” you sadly smiled.
“He was a good… mate,” he smiled back, using your own lingo.
“He was… I’ve really enjoyed talking with you, Bucky.”
“I’ve enjoyed talking with you too. Could I have your number so we could keep in touch?”
“I’d like that,” you smiled.
You would have like to think that your grandfather brought the two of you together. Maybe the pair of you would form a different kind of mateship.
Imagine being an Australian travelling through America when you encounter Molly O'Shea. Over many encounters, you two become close, and she opens up about her problems with Dutch, that she's lost faith in him. Mustering up the courage and preparing for rejection, you ask her to come to Australia with you, where she can start a new life with you.
(Gif is not mine, credit to creator)
Feel free to use this prompt in your own fics! Just please tag me in it if you do! Have fun!
Toshinori visiting his Aussie S/O throughout the year
Author’s Notes: I honestly just wanna complain about the weather in Australia and what better way than to let Toshi suffer through it! I’m horrible, I know.
~~~
Summer a.k.a. Tis the season to melt on the asphalt
☀Visiting you between December and February means that he’ll pop around for Christmas!
☀Toshi joins in on the family BBQ lunch and, boy, your family adores him! One time, you greeted me with a water pistol while you were having a water fight with siblings and/or cousins, acting like you’re children again. Let’s just say the next year, Toshi got his revenge! >:D
☀Though there are times he’s close to melting even in the loose clothing you suggested, then you waltz in still wearing your god damn jeans! What the hell!? You are not logical!
☀Speaking of melting, you have the cure for that; Zooper Doopers! You most likely had them through childhood and there is nothing better than chewing on ice! You know what’s better? Flavoured ice! He grows to love them, trust me.
☀Say ‘sandles’ or ‘flip-flops’, don’t say ‘thongs’ around him. Your friends may know what you mean, but poor Toshi is gonna be choking on his own blood at the mere mention of the word!
☀He misses some of his students during the time he ventures down under, so he ends up face-timing Izuka while you two are out seeing the city or maybe even travelling to see something like the Big Banana!
☀Toshi has also learned to keep some bug spray nearby at all times, or a heavy shoe at the least. The heat means the bugs want to squat, especially the fucking spiders. Teach him the best Bug-Squishing techniques you got!
Autumn a.k.a. Crunch Time! (For leaves)
🍁Autumn is just slightly cooler summer, let’s be real! The upside to this is that the fallen leaves start to dry up. You cannot go anywhere without the crunch of the leaves. Makes it easy to hear when he’s arrived just outside your home. That and Toshi can’t help but chuckle when he finds you just stomping around outside your home cause you found a good patch.
🍁That’s really it, otherwise, it’s just a toned-down version of Summer. You can finally walk on asphalt without cooking eggs or melting your feet
Winter a.k.a. What is Ween-Ter
🌧Not one bit of snow to be seen, unless you really want to travel to a mountain to get in. It makes us Aussies look pathetic compared to Japan which gets snow. Give us a break, we’re exposed to heat enough that we nearly go into shock when the temperature finally starts to drop.
🌧Toshi knows this means it’s cuddle season and he knows that you already have the blanket cocoon ready for him.
🌧Who needs a heater that costs money when you have a loving boyfriend that is a walking heater. Toshi’s happy to oblige. Skeleton or not, he’s gonna warm you up very quickly. Not like that, you nasty! .... okay, maybe a few times. Hey, if it works, it works.
🌧With cuddle season, comes staying in bed or on the couch while nestled in the blanket cocoon with Toshi. You hoarded your favourite share (or not) snacks and collected your favourite movies for a marathon.
🌧Sleep ins. They are mandatory. It’s too cold to get up at a good time, and the very warm bed with a side of absolutely adoring (and warm!) boyfriend is very convincing. Toshinori needs to relax for once, so make sure to hammer in the sleep in routine. It;’s your excuse to be ever so slightly clingy.
🌧The years of these winters let you perfect your coffee/tea/hot chocolate technique, So you get to treat your boyfriend to your mastery of the warm drink. It’s the only other way you warm his insides and you do that by just existing.
🌧It’s either rain or wind. Both are no fun when you need to get somewhere. Rain is the only thing that can be good and that’s for a nice soundtrack to wake up to on a Sunday morning. Wind tell every tree around you to do the flop, lucky Toshi can easily help get those out of the way.
Spring a.k.a. Attack of the Pollen
🌸Spring is just a prologue to summer, but it’s all over the place. One day, it’s boiling hot and next it will be raining heavily. Spring does not know what it is and on top of that, it wants to kill people.
🌸Speaking of Spring not making its fucking mind up. Normally it’s day by day in the other season at the worst. But Spring can change in a matter of hours. You and Toshi start out the day in shorts and shirt, but then two hours later, you’re back in that winter blanket cocoon that’s still perfectly shaped for you both from the previous season.
🌸You better hope that neither Toshinori or yourself get Hayfever cause it is a bitch to deal with. Medication doesn’t work. You don’t even need to step out the door for you to start reacting! It’s a nightmare! and poor Toshinori is worrying over you because your eyes are weeping and sniffling. More reason to stay inside.
🌸For the lucky bastards that don’t blow up the moment they go outside, Spring is the time you tend to actually leave the house, cause those perfect goldilocks days are just slightly more common in this season.
🌸Especially where I live, this is when our country show is on. You go in to check on the items you entered, but you’re there mostly for the games, the show bags and the doughnuts. Toshi appreciates these type of days, especially when he’s Small Might, it gives him a sense of normality. That he isn’t number 1 pro hero. He’s Toshinori, just having fun with his partner.
HC how would the gang react to a reader with a thiCC australian accent? May I also add: theyre from the future and gen z
alright so i’m not 100% sure i got the kind of thing you were asking for, but i’m trying to speed up how long it takes me to answer these-i hope you like it!
gender neutral!reader
correct me if i’m wrong, but gen z kids are, at oldest, like 20 right now? maybe younger?
i have no idea
so most of the gang is a little uncomfortable around a young kid that acts as world-weary as you do, and that probably sought them out for once
it’s not like you’re cut out for the outlaw life, after all- you’re very obsessed with cleanliness (by 1899 standards at least), and you don’t have as much physical roughness as you’d expect someone as tough as you are
micah thinks you’re some rich kid putting on an act, and pushes you, trying to get you to drop the character
honestly part of the reason dutch agrees to take you in in the first place is how worked up you get over various social injustices, even if it’s hard to understand what you’re saying
you’re uneasy around guns and yet super calm around all sorts of wildlife- like that scary snake mary-beth saw when she came over to show you a broach she’d swiped in town
she’d screamed when she saw it’s black scales hanging off of a nearby branch, and you’d just looked over at the little rat snake and turned the page in the book you were reading
he’s not harming anything, not much of a threat to anyone
a lot of them find you absolutely vulgar, tbh, the idea of what counts as ‘coarse language’ has shifted a lot over the last 120 years
arthur is somewhat distant, can’t help but see you as john 2.0, even if you’re too wise to believe any of dutch’s hot air
and snark back at him as much as, if not more than, anyone else
sean likes you, though, and takes to hanging out with you in camp
he feels like you’re a kindred spirit, says you’re like a funny english version of himself at the campfire one evening
you’re quick to correct him, telling him you’re not from europe at all, but from australia
stares at that, most of the camp doesn’t have a good idea of what australia’s like, so you could probably pin all your weirdness on that, really
dutch probably thinks it’s like ~tahiti~, given how he talks abt it in his one speech
strauss will 100% parade you around camp when you tell them where you’re from, you’re like his new favorite person now
