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🩷
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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.
For a better reading experience: Rain on a Tin roof ASMR
Inspired by @miss-conduct
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?
“For anyone just tuning in, annyeong! I’m D.Va, with me is a special guest, a new friend of mine. This is Watson!” Hana announced, a wide smile on her face as a new flood of comments appeared at the side of the holographic computer screen. ‘Watson’ appeared to be the preferred household name used to address you now, even if most people knew your real name.
Sitting with Hana to play games wasn’t a challenge by any means, and you had promised her yesterday that you would join her before training with Soldier: 76 in the early hours of the morning. Turns out, she was incredibly popular online, so much so that, according to several comments that she gushed over, many viewers set alarms and reminders so that they could tune in live to see what she was up to.
The sheer concept of not only having such a heavy online following whilst still maintaining her position in the military was astounding on its own. What had completely blown you away was when she announced that she was able to earn a living off the internet – you hadn’t thought it was possible.
You looked over the bright screen, controller sitting more comfortable in your hands than it had in your previous gaming endeavours. The comment thread rolling quickly as Hana spoke to the commenters, answering questions while you guided the go-kart in the race you were participating in. The broadcast bringing live and, mostly positive feedback. You turned the playable characters vehicle, driving around a narrow bend in the race, hitting what looked like a blue, mutant fish head. The kart spinning for a few seconds as AI controlled karts zipped past before you could continue with the race.
You didn’t have much skill in terms of video games by any means, but neither Hana, nor her viewers seemed to mind as you played. As far as you knew anyway, you weren’t reading the comments, Hana monitoring them as you played.
“Watson, Samx19 wants to know if you like playing ‘ Blizz-kart Racer’, they also want you to know that it’s ‘refreshing to watch a player improve as they play .’” Hana relayed to you.
“Uh – it’s a go-kart game?” You started, eyebrows furrowing, “It kind of reminds me of ‘ Pole Position ’ to be honest with you. Only, the controls are different and you’re able to throw things at other racers.”
You heard Hana giggle as you entered your final lap of the map. “No one knows what that game even is .”
Her comment had a small smile tug at your lips, of course they wouldn’t know; it was a 1980’s arcade game.
“I think someone just searched it up – hold on a second guys.” She brought up the link from one of the comments, a picture and short description of the game popping up.
“Woah! That’s so vintage !” She looked at the screen, reading over some more comments. “OxTrot-63 wants you to know they think it’s cool you managed to play the game, Watson. Apparently, it’s not available online anymore. Oh! And they love your accent.”
“That’s just someone being nice. I used to play all kinds of ‘vintage’ games as a kid.” You shrugged, overtaking one of the go-karts. “I was as bad at them then as I am now actually.”
“Aw, come on! You’re really good at this game.”
“For a ‘noob’.” You told her, finishing what most others would probably already think.
“You’re improving!” She declared, almost defensive over your progress. Her gaze flicked down to the comments. “Everyone here agrees with me – some are even sending you donations!”
You listened as she rattled off increasingly strange usernames, thanking the viewers for sending in donations, her glowing smile met with enthusiasm. Your own smile, albeit small, spreading over your face. You came third.
“It’s great that they’re supporting you, D.Va. I’m glad I found some time to come and hang out with you.” You turned to her, the winning character animation appearing over the screen. Her eyes filled with joy as she looked at your points.
“GG!” She shouted, her smile turning to a grin as she looked at you. “You’re doing really well!”
“It’s alright.” You shrugged, looking at the time.
You had been streaming with Hana for around two hours, and you were running late for training with Soldier: 76. He’d no doubt make you suffer for that, yet, you didn’t find yourself caring if he’d up the intensity. It was a problem for future [Y/N] to sort out. You stood up from your chair, stretching, your arms popping at the elbow and shoulder joints.
“Well, not that I don’t love coming by and playing games, but I gotta go before I lose my extra life to the commander.” You looked to the camera, showing both Hana and you in the shot. You waved at the camera, and therefore, the viewers as you heard giggling.
“Sure thing! Make sure you meet up with us for dinner though, okay?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll see you this arvo.” You smiled at her.
Slapping your hands together and bumping your fists, you went on your way. Hana taking the stream over again, the controller in her hands. You picked up your boots on your way out of her bedroom door. Headed for the training hall. Your steps light as you set yourself into a jog, not wanting to be any later than you already were. Your pace only slowed when you encountered McCree in the hall, your pace and sock-clad feet not going unnoticed by the cowboy.
“Where’re you goin’ in such a hurry, darlin’?” He called as you approached him.
“Training hall.” You smiled up at him, noticing the shift in his demeanour when you did so. “My arse is grass if I’m late!”
“Weren’t you shot two days ago?” He asks, eyebrows furrowing, your smile widening.
“Yeah! But I didn’t die – so I’m getting back into it.” He seemed a little worried by that, taking your arm to stop you in the middle of the hall. The smell of fresh gunpowder adding to his regular scent.
“You were shot and yer still going back, after one day of rest?”
“That’s right.” You pulled up your shirt. “Look, I’ve just got a gauze pad sittin’ there now. It’s really nothin’ to worry about.”
“Nothin’ t’worry about?” he looked down at the white patch attached to your abdomen. “How the hell did ya achieve that?”
“There’s way too much science involved for me to even begin to understand, cowboy.” You took your arm from his grasp, shrugging as you pointed down the hall. “I’d hate to leave you confused – actually, that’s a lie, I’d love to – but I’ve got somewhere I gotta be.”
You lightly slapped his shoulder before continuing you way down the hall, hearing him yell ‘Good luck’ after you as you turned a corner, going past the firing range. A small smile resting on your features, it had been a good morning so far.
You were at the training hall moments later, the idea of being put through another day of rigorous training not bothering you as much as it previously had. The training was nothing if not efficient. It had increased your stamina so much already, coupled with your strength training under Zaryanova, you were confident that you had been improving steadily.
Walking in, you saw two figures standing in the middle of the hall, only 76 being familiar to you. You sat down on the ground to put your boots on, inspecting the unfamiliar person. They wore a hood, long jacket coming down to rest at their ankles. The shoes they wore forming to their feet in a way that suggested they were sturdy. The ends of their pants coming down, looking as though they had been fitted under their knees. A visor rested over their face, the appearance starkly contrasting the one 76 wore.
“Jeez, is it bring your mask to work day?” You mumbled as you pulled the laces to your boots, making sure they were tight, yet comfortable. The pair approached you.
“This is Shrike.” Your commander announced as you laced up your boot and stood. “There’s been a change in today's regime. It’s time you learned what you’re dealing with.”
You looked between them, holding your hand out for Shrike to take, their hand holding yours in a firm handshake. Both were taller than you, it made you feel small. You straightened your shoulders.
“People call me Watson.” You introduced, letting go of their hand.
“You have much to learn.” They – she – said. “This way.”
You nodded and followed the pair, out of the training hall, towards the lower floors of the complex – the one underground. Your eyebrows furrowed, what was it they supposedly had to ‘teach’ you? Was it something to do with who you encountered a few days ago? If so, why were they important – were they a threat to the peace?
You followed them down the stairs and to a door that looked like a heavy vault entrance. Soldier: 76 entered a long code, one that you wouldn’t have been able to memorise if you tried. The door opened with the low sound of air compressors pushing the door open. You looked inside as the pair in front of you walked inside. There were files upon files, news-papers, and many of them having a big red ‘ CLASSIFIED ’ stamped on them. The last six decades must’ve been busy, you noted. A table sat in the middle, it was square and had a pair of chairs sitting at it across from each other. A holographic screen booting up at one end of the room.
“Take a seat.” 76 told you, gesturing to the chairs at the table. He was already sorting through some news articles.
You walked over and sat down in the closest chair, your knee bouncing as soon as you were seated. It was unnerving, the way the mood seemed to change, it felt heavy now, something was amiss.
“So, you had something you wanted me to know?” It was more a statement than a question, but you didn’t want the room to fall silent when you could be getting whatever you were supposed to be taking note of out of the way.
“It was suggested that you be informed of what you’ve missed.” He stated, pushing a pile of news articles your way. “In case your situation… becomes permanent.”
Your eyebrows drew together as you looked at him. Permanent? They really thought that there was no way home then, huh? You looked down at the articles in front of you, considering it intel you’d probably need either way. No matter the odds, you needed to stick to the end goal – getting home.
‘Omnica Corp Leading Tech in Positive New Direction ’
‘New Prototype to Be Released: OmniRobot’
‘Omnium to be released 2026’
Your eyebrows furrowed as you read over the headlines. The articles weren’t of much help either, they weren’t making a whole lot of sense.
“What’s… Omnica Crop?” You pick up the article in front of you, looking at the paper.
“A corporation focused on developing Omnics.” Shrike explained, your gaze turning to her. “They specialized in many kinds of weapons and domestic technologies.”
You nodded and scanned the article, it seemed as though the Omnica Corporation was, in part, responsible for the golden age of technology. Technologies of all kinds were developed in a rush to make the world better, more convenient to live in. Each company mentioned as shareholders, or in a way connected to the company seemed to be a part of developing it.
“So…” You sighed, eyebrows furrowing, leaning your chin against your hand. “There’s another race for new tech that went on, and this was part of it?”
“That’s right.” She said, pointing to the other articles. “Technology over the last century has been rapid in its’ development, but far more accelerated over the last forty or so years.”
“So… it’s the ‘ Back to the Future’ I was expecting back in 2017 then?”
The pair looked at each other, and in that moment, you felt much older.
“Heh… Reference for another time I guess… Anyway, we have the new tech race. What else do I need to know?”
Soldier: 76 collected the news articles into a pile, placing them down the table to make space as he brought up some information on the holographic screen. It was yet another article, but it had more pictures, and even some video reports. The title read ‘ Horizon Lunar Colony.’
“Are… Are we on the moon? – uh – humanity I mean.” You clarified, taking in both the name, and the first few pictures.
“No. The colony’s run by Gorillas and apes now.” 76 was the one to answer your question this time, breaking from his stoic silence. Your eyebrows furrowed as you read over the article.
“Was it just to live on the moon? What happened to mars?” Your gaze flicked up to them.
“Mars was too expensive to transport materials.” Shrike tells you, gesturing to the screen. “Athena, show file X7GS-5 on the Horizon Lunar Colony.”
“ Yes, Shrike. ” Athena’s voice came through the holographic screen, photographs appearing of the base. The first few you looked at were the construction, and the scientists. You looked over them as the images lowered in frequency, time stamps becoming further apart.
“And, you said it’s run by gorillas? Like… Winston?”
“He was part of the experiment, yes.” Your eyes widened as you looked at her.
“Winston was on the moon ? Part of all of that?” Shrike nods and looks at the photograph of two apes looking at a security camera.
“He has been through much.” She sighs, the only hint to it being the rise and fall of her shoulders. “He arrived back on earth just before things became… complicated.”
“Complicated?” Your gaze flicked between them as you grew confused. “What do you mean?”
“ The Horizon Lunar Colony focused on: Space exploration, and habitation of interplanetary spaces. The Colony focused its efforts on genetic modification as part of its secondary objectives. ” Athena informed. “ In 2064, Specimen 28 arrived on earth as the only subject non-adversely affected by the therapy provided by staff. ”
You mulled over the information, processing the fact that it was only about twelve years ago that Winston had come back from practically a lifetime on the moon. He certainly didn’t seem like he had spent time up there with his aggressive brothers. Maybe he got passed it, spending a decade back on earth. With the experience he had it was almost a miracle that he didn’t end up stuck with the rest of them on the moon.
“Okay – so let me get this straight… Winston was on the moon, and The Omnica Company… Sorry, Omnica corporation were making robots, no, Omnics . Yeah?” Your eyes scanned between the two masked individuals, both of which were agreeing with the facts you simplified.
Your eyes fell to the gap. These were articles, yes, but there was about forty years-worth of history between them. You glanced at the article about Omnium, which turned out to be just another name for the manufacturing of the Omnics under complete artificial intelligence.
“What happened in the middle here? With the Omnium plants. I mean, I’m kind of expecting I-Robot .” You lean back as you watch the pair glance between each other, a tension growing in the air. You could almost cut it with a knife, as the usual lightness common to your home country gave way to your sense of being completely serious. You quirked an eyebrow. “What? What happened?”
“The Omnic Crisis…” Shrike started, in what you could tell was her filling in 76’s role as informant. “It was an unpredictable event.”
A manila folder was dropped in front of you, the large red ink glaring at you as your fingers traced the side to untangle string from around it. You opened it, a hint of curiosity taking root within you. The contents of the folder were thick, the time stamp revealing that the crisis started around thirty years into your future.
“If I had to take a crack at it, I’d say the government but…” You placed your hand on the stack of information in front of you, index finger keeping your place in the centre of a paragraph. “How’d it start?”
“The omnium plants were shut down.” Shrike informed you, her voice calm. “They were decommissioned from the corporation-“
“But what does that have to do with the Crisis?” Shrike held up her hand, effectively telling you to shut up .
“The plants reactivated, self-sustaining code launching a Omnic legion of militarised robots. Slaughtering thousands. Both military and civilian.”
Your eyes widened as you stared at Shrike, technology that had the ability to not only turn itself back up, but launch military operations was simply unheard of. You assumed it was on a global scale, meaning that homes, even whole cities were possibly lost. You looked at Shrike, setting your shoulders, you wanted to hear more.
“How did you combat this? I mean, it’s obvious you won, to some extent at least.”
“ The Omnic Crisis was an event that no single country was equipped to fight. No one military could permanently shut down a single omnium. The adaptability of robots, once celebrated by humanity, had become a tactical nightmare. Fought by piloted Mechs, the countries of the world looked to professional gamers such as Hana ‘D.Va’ Song, Craig ‘Link’ Smith, and Sara ‘M.Use’ Velden. Their unparalleled reflexes allowed them to pilot the mechs and help turn the tide.” Athena’s voice came from the monitor at the end of the short room.
“Hold on. All I’m hearing is that the future is one big movie reference. I mean, come on-” You looked between them, gesturing to the monitor, “- piloted mechs? What is this? Pacific Rim ?”
Again, they shared a look.
“Watson,” Shrike started, “I understand this is a lot to take in, but the history of the world isn’t a joke, or a reference to a film.”
“Oh, no, of course it’s hilarious. It’s the biggest joke on the planet.” You chided looking at the images Athena was showing on the monitor. You saw the Overwatch logo, people looking on in fear of what you assumed were one of the many omnics. Feeling the stares of the two around you, and sensing that your smart mouth would get you into trouble, you decided to change the topic.
“So, Overwatch was created during the crisis. What happened?”
“Overwatch as it was before,” Soldier: 76 spoke, voice holding hints of frustration, “was supposed to bring hope and a time of peace. The Omnic Crisis slaughtered millions, and they blamed us for trying to help.”
You watched as more images appeared on the screen, articles even of overwatch being considered a hoax, hiding information, even corrupt. It made you rather upset, knowing their side of the story and that of course the public was willing to jump the gun without context. Hell, they had their own Captain America and they wanted to tear him down?
“And you were shut down? For a while. I mean, you’re running now, spread a bit thin maybe for what should be the talk of just about every city.” You looked to Shrike, and then to Soldier, they had grown quiet.
“Alright, so you survived the backlash then?”
Shrike placed her hand on your shoulder. “Overwatch was shut down. But the work here is good.”
“So-” you gestured to the monitor, “-this is all that’s left? All anyone knows? That the… Strike Commander died, and overwatch is just… Finished?”
You watch as she shakes her head. So, Overwatch was illegal, only due to the United Nations, acting as much like an absolute tool as you remembered it being. Your gaze turned back to the screen. Countries had populations thinned, if not destroyed, from Korea, to Russia, hell, even the United States.
An uncomfortable chill ran down your spine like an iron nail scraping against a corrugated fence. There was only one country you hadn’t heard or read during the conversation. Your eyes flick to your commander. He was an honest and blunt man, you could trust him to tell you exactly what happened. Right?
“Sir, in all of this… Where’s Australia?”
You never knew your home to walk away from a war if your allies were part of it. If the Crisis really had affected the entire globe, where the hell did you stand in all of it? Your expression changed from mere curiosity to an amalgamated form of worry and frustration as your commander sighed, the only indication being his shoulders rising and falling. You felt Shrike squeeze your shoulder, the gesture supposed to be reassuring.
“Watson, Australia survived the Crisis, they were a significant help in turning the tides, being resourceful as they are.” Shrike started, turning your attention to her.
You nodded along, your eyebrows furrowing, of course your country would get involved. They wouldn’t just stand out of something, be it their business or not. There was a but in there somewhere though, and you were afraid that it could be worse than you thought.
“After the war, your government gifted the omnium plant and a significant amount of land to the Omnics. Soon enough… The Australian Liberation Front formed, and war hit your country in its own way.”
“No.” You found yourself shaking your head, a disbelieving, yet frustrated smile stretching across your face. “Australia hasn’t had a war physically hit their shores since the Darwin bombings.”
“Watson, in your time, maybe that was true. But now, your country started its own battle.” You feel her hand move to your arm, her head tilted in a way that no doubt meant she was looking at you in sympathy, pity even. You cast your eyes downwards.
“…what happened?” You were hesitant to ask, but you needed to know. There needed to be a chance that your home was still safe. Still alive and running.
“The rebel group sabotaged the omnium’s fusion core… It exploded. Australia is a wasteland, the people there call themselves Junkers , Watson. As far as I know, you’re probably the only one left who calls themselves an Australian.”
Bullshit. It had to be. It wasn’t gone. It couldn’t be… could it?
Your home… A wasteland. You watched them as your hands clenched. They wouldn’t – couldn’t – be that stupid, could they? Were they really that selfish, over some land? Was it that unliveable that they couldn’t be called Australian anymore? You shouldn’t have asked. You didn’t want to be the only one left. Didn’t want to believe it. Australia, just… gone. Replaced with a post-apocalyptic knock-off that was barely worth mentioning.
You wanted to disappear. Didn’t want the pair of eyes you felt on you now as your fingers dug into your palms, pushing against your thighs and arms trembling in anger. The people in your country were so stupid . How could they make a decision like that? Ruin so many lives? Parasites the lot of them. If what you were being told was true, then your sister had no hope of being alive. There was no way you could go home and see your childhood house if you couldn’t get back to 2017.
There was no way you could hear a kookaburra laugh before a storm, nor would you find cicada shells at the end of the summer. New generations wouldn’t experience what it was like to have to sprint across boiling concrete because they forgot shoes. They couldn’t just sit in their backyard with a campfire to bring them light near a tent used as anything from a castle or even a spaceship. There would be no running across the footpath covered in leaves to hear them crunch ing under their feet.
You were the only one left. The only Australian to know what it was like to experience the beauty and dangers of Australia without the fear of becoming radiated – the only one to be called an Australian with any ounce of pride . You were the only one.
And you hated it.
You couldn’t be the only one left. Not like this. Not with everything so blatantly stripped away, with everything suddenly crashing around you. There was so much left of home you hadn’t gotten the chance to see. That you had promised Maris you would see when you got home.
It was all their fault. It was the fault of the idiots down in Australia, the monumentally stupid decision that you made to join the army. The decision you made to go into the room with that giant piece of junk that someone would have had the gall to call science.
Your throat felt painfully tight, vision blurring. You couldn’t blame them. Not really. You probably would’ve done the same thing to protect your country. Coming out of a war immediately followed by handing those who still looked like the enemy not only land, but the very infrastructure that helped start the war? It wasn’t fair to blame them. It wasn’t. But you couldn’t help being angry. Couldn’t help wanting to throw the stupidly brave idiots through the closest wall.
You leant your head against the desk, taking a breath that trembled through you. Breathing out sounded like a pathetic whimper, and really, it was. More tears welled up in your eyes as you felt a pair of arms wrap around your shoulders. One of your hands came up to cover your mouth, you couldn’t stop. The tears were falling from your eyes, your shoulders were shaking. You didn’t want to cry in front of them. Didn’t want to be anything but a good soldier standing in line with the rest of them.
But you couldn’t. Your body wouldn’t stop shaking. You weren’t in control – you weren’t able to stop. Everything felt like it was crashing down around you without settling. A sob broke through and jolted your shoulders. It felt like you were choking on the dust of your memories with the realization that there wasn’t a soul that could truly know what you were talking about, not really.
You understood, you really did. You understood why they did it. You understood why people in the halls gave you sympathetic looks when you mentioned home or even spoke to people who hadn’t heard you speak before. What you didn’t understand was why is hurt . It hurt so much. Your heart hurt, aching, constricting with each beat. It felt broken. You felt broken.
Another sob broke through you, the person, Shrike, pulling you to her chest, one hand stroking your head with what you could only describe asa mother’s touch. Of course it was Shrike, your commander probably didn’t know how to cope with any emotion other than anger or calm. He didn’t seem to hold any sympathy towards you either. It was better than pity.
Soldier: 76 excused himself from the room when you started sobbing, the effort of trying to hold yourself together and ultimately failing burned into his mind like a brand. It was haunting . To see someone who had held it together for the last two months with only a relatively small outburst was startlingly impressive.
He couldn’t shake the way you imploded, shoulders hunching as you had bent forward to lean against the table, hair falling around your face. The way you shook with anger and refused to accept what was supposed to be your future instead of world history. In a word, he would only describe it as shattering. Clinging onto the idea that everything was fine, up until the last moment when you broke.
It made him wonder about the way you held yourself, standing almost at perfect attention all the time, pushing yourself past the point even he thought you were supposed to break. If your determined gaze when you sparred with him on the mat, the one-liners and apparent humour you displayed even if you couldn’t keep yourself upright, hell, even your smile.
It rivalled the damn sun when you were in the company of the younger agents sharing and creating memories and all he could think of now, was if it was all a façade. If you would even grow to like it here or if it was a front put on until you could go back.
The sound of your despair fell upon his ears again. He could feel your sorrow vicariously through the sound of the emotion you seemed to have no control over anymore. The sound of your broken sobs and barely coherent cries of ‘ it’s not fair! ’ affecting him more than he liked. He turned on his heels, walking down the hall, not one to dwell on emotions, nor wanting his own memories to rise to the surface. He didn’t find comfort in the way they set on his shoulders, nor the way it made swallowing harder, and so he refused to acknowledge them.
It wasn’t until he found himself at the top of the first flight of stairs that he found a pang of guilt settling against him for being an accomplice of your grief. Ungracefully tossing you the history of the world unflinchingly, and not a word as to why, leaving the explanation to both Ana and Athena. He was guilty of giving you no sympathy in the harshness of the world that he lived through, bringing to you like a ton of bricks when you took the operation of Overwatch with such understanding.
The challenges you saw and the revolts that Athena had shown you in images from the press left you not with a glorifying awe, nor anger towards the actions of his younger self. Your eyes held all the understanding that he had wished for from the public years ago. A patient understanding that knew overwatch as a group of people doing their best, one that left him with a guilty conscience as he didn’t allow you a shred of the same attitude that you so willingly passed onto them.
It surprised him. How was it that a young person from the past could show such understanding towards something you hadn’t lived through? Something you could have faced if you hadn’t wound up here? It was more than they – he – deserved.
-
You felt a headache sitting behind your eyes, face only having just calmed down from crying earlier. You were sure you looked less than presentable, but at this point you really didn’t care. A numbness growing over you, no amount of denying it was going to make it any less true. You had to accept the fact that you couldn’t go back home, not like it was.
‘ There are many tests of life, ya Danaaya. I know there is pain now. It will pass. ’ Shrike had told you when you were calm enough to listen to her. You got the feeling that at some point, she was a mother. It was comforting to have that kind of touch, gentle and reassuring even this facility that was all too often leaving you with bad news.
You walked into the mess hall, figuring that you’d at least greet Hana and the others like you promised her that morning. When they say you, a chorus of loud, and enthusiastic greetings were sent your way. You sat across from Hana and Lúcio.
“Hey cara ,” Lúcio said as you sat down, his eyebrows drawing together, “tough day?”
“Something like that.” You said, a small smile on you face, as much as you could manage. You could be fine. You had to be.
“Was it because you were late this morning?” Hana chimes in, not giving you a chance to respond to her first question. “Let me guess, more laps? Bigger weights?”
A smirk crosses her face as Lúcio joins in. “Another jab at the Commander?”
“How ‘bout-a unwanted history lesson?” You sighed, folding your arms and laying your head against them on the table.
“Codswallop! That’s got to be against the rules. Isn’t it?” Tracer asked as she sat next to you, two plates in hand, one of which she places next to your head.
“By the looks of it… I ain’t goin’ home any time soon guys.” You could feel the sympathy that radiated off of the three kids around you as you closed your eyes. Not wanting to deal with this.
“Of course you’ll get home, love. If Winston was able to fix my jam, then I’m sure you’ve got it made.” The hopeful tone of her voice didn’t make you feel any better.
“If you say so.” You brought your head up, Hana placing a hand on your arms.
“In the meantime, you can play games with me! You’ve still got a lot to learn Watson!” Hana grinned at you, her tone cheerful and full of determination. You shrugged.
“Guess so.”
“Hey, don’t forget, Parceira, even if you don’t get home as soon as you want to, you still got us!” Lúcio’s tone caught your attention, it was more sombre, you looked at him. He had a small smile on his face, eyebrows upturned in a way that you guessed was supposed to be sympathetic. You nodded as the trio around you smiled.
“I suppose I do.”
“Trust us love. There’s a lot of people here who care about you,” Tracers arm snaked around your shoulders, squeezing you into a gentle side hug. “You don’t have to be in a rush all the time, you know.”
“Lena does enough of that on her own!” Hana smiles at you as a weak smile graces your face. That much was certainly true.
“You’ll get home.” Lúcio jumps in. “We know you will.”
“You just have to patient.” Lena rubbed your arm, squeezing your shoulder as she brought her arm from around you.
You nodded, your smile only a tad wider than when the conversation started. But it was enough to curb some of the worry these young people had for you. The conversation slowly filtering back to Hana’s stream, Lena’s organised visit to see a special friend of hers. Even Lúcio had news, his new album was due to come out in a few months.
On the other hand, you didn’t have much of an appetite, preferring to listen to the idle chatter until you were too tired to really stand it. The mindlessness of it leaving your mind wondering to the wreckage that was supposed to be your home. With the lack of interest in both food, and social interaction, you excused yourself with the promise of seeing them again tomorrow. Their conversation clearly not finished yet.
You left the mess hall, choosing to head to your room. The halls were quiet, your bootsteps tapping against the floor to fill the silence. You turned down the hall, steps faltering when you saw the window as the end of it. The sun was setting, not quite red. In fact, it was a dusty pink that spread across the sky. You turned your gaze, not finding it in you to watch the sunset. You couldn’t do it, not after what you found out today, too mentally and emotionally exhausted to find solace in watching it.
You walked to your bedroom, the goal of showering and falling into bed weighing into your mind. The prospect itself rather attractive as you stepped into your room, wanting to be left - -
“What do you think you’re doing?” A familiar, rough voice called out.
Your gaze snapped up from the floor. You had made quite the mistake, this wasn’t your room at all. It was your commanders’ . Your cheeks burned , embarrassment creeping into the mix of exhausting emotions. Soldier: 76 wasn’t wearing his leather Jacket, a short black shirt clung to his torso, un tucked and resting over the top of a pair of dark track pants. They sat low on his hips, towel in his hand signifying that he had probably come out of the shower very recently.
He was practically naked as he stood there, his arms folded over his wide chest, red of his visor glaring at you in anger.
“I - - I’m sorry Sir. I just - - I thought – ” You stammered.
“No, you didn’t think . Did your parents not teach you any manners?”
“N-no, Sir – I mean – of course they did, Sir.” God you were flustered. Stop staring . “But – they’re - - I’m terribly sorry I didn’t – ”
“Just stop. ” He raised a hand, running it through his hair. He looked tired, posture slouched as he sighed. “Just… stop talking .”
You shut your mouth, biting it in an attempt not to embarrass yourself further. A shallow grave was looking good right about now. Was he going to make you run laps? Scrub the training centre from top to bottom again? Work your arse off until you couldn’t stand? Maybe he’d have you hang from the high bar until your arms dislocated.
“Listen, kid.” He said, voice rough, tired, and not as hostile as it was before as you tried to keep your eyes directly on his visor instead of the environment around you. “Go get yourself some sleep, a decent six hours would do you good. Sort yourself out and report for training in the morning.”
“Uh – yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” You nodded, stepping back, awkwardly retreating from the dragons’ den and bumping into the door. “Sorry – sorry.”
You closed the door behind you, wiping your hands on your pants as you looked around the hall. Your door was directly across the hall from his. You weren’t sure if you should be delighted because you didn’t have far to retreat to or mortified because your room was a mere few meters away. If you had’ve turned left instead of right, you could’ve avoided interacting with the higher ranked man.
Did you want to avoid him? You weren’t sure. With everything so rapidly changing all the time, he was the only constant. The only unchanging factor. He was the same stick-up-the-arse man you were tackled by when you first arrived months ago. It really only made sense that you would cling to an unchanging factor, was it really all this that lead you pathetically clinging onto the unchanging nature of a C.O.? Where was it you stood with him anyway?
You placed your hand to your side. It was true that the bullet wound hadn’t needed stitches, but it remained badly bruised. It was even tender now. The image of Soldier: 76 carrying you, taking you from the battle field crossed your mind. He was such a strong man, a wall of muscle that lifted you with so much ease. You must’ve looked pathetic, losing so much blood and getting yourself shot like that.
No.
You had to move forward. Push from that and make sure it didn’t happen again, especially not to someone else. You had to stop thinking about the people who ranked higher than you as anything but that. Higher ranked officers. Hell, your rank was a trivial piece of history now. You were a cadet now. You didn’t want to confuse duty with the petty emotions of a highly intricate situation. No matter how physically attractive anyone around you was, that was no excuse for relying on them for anything.
You had to focus on your primary objective. Getting home.
You walked to the small dresser, taking from it a standard issue tank top and trackie dacks. All of your clothes fit in the top drawer, having nothing but the clothes you arrived with and a few sets of clothes from the resident angel and medic, Doctor Zeigler.
You walked into the bathroom and showered, the water as hot as you could stand it, part of you hoping you could scrub away the memories of the day. You washed your hair and body before stepping out and drying off. After dressing you made a beeline for the bed, climbing down onto the floor next to the bed that still felt too soft for you to get a full night’s sleep on. You hoped that you could get a few hours, as suggested by your commander.
You couldn’t sleep. A storm had rolled in about an hour ago, the sound of thunder and lightning flashing didn’t bother you. In fact, the electrical storm was closely tied with fond memories of running out in the rain only to get drenched on a hot summer’s night. You could feel the buzz of electricity across your skin like a subtle high. Your bare footsteps padding along the dim halls. Your hair sitting messily on your shoulders, band on your wrist in case you needed to tie it back. Your destination targeted outside, so you could go run in the rain, get your feet dirty in the muddy grass. The scent of rain to fill your lungs.
Feel like you were at home, if only for a moment.
You made your way outside, carefully shutting the door behind you, standing under an awning as the rain pelted down in fat droplets on the ground, and metal shelter above you. You took a deep breath through your nose, the scent of dirt, grass, and dense cool air filled your senses. The sound of the rain on the awning was like a tin roof. It brought a tearful grin on your face. You loved that sound.
Leaning down and rolling the ends of your sweatpants up, you listened to the rain. It splashed up to just under your knees when you stood, the cool air causing goose bumps to appear over your legs. But you figured that your pants wouldn’t get too dirty from the mud as you looked out into the dark, only being able to see as your eyes became accustomed to it. Your line of sight was about twenty meters around. You bounced on the balls of your face and your grin spread into an energy that shot through your very bones. Your feet pushed you forward as you bounded out from under the awning, splashing against the wet grass. Dirt came up from the ground, sticking to your feet, legs, and the bottoms of your pants.
Left. In. Right. Left. Out. You breathed as you ran, rain drenching you with the sheer amount that was coming down from the sky. The world became smaller as you were only able to see the dim lighting from the facility, rather than the silhouette of it. The feeling of freedom ran over you as your solid legs pushed you forwards. The grin on your face only widening as you let out a shout, thunder rumbling to meet you as you slowed to a jog.
You shouted again. It felt fantastic.
Your mind ran to a faraway place, the sound of childish laughter, the owners face springing to your mind as you imagined being far away from the future. Into the past with your little sister, at home. You could see her laughing beside you, her hair wet and sticking to her face and a million other directions. You could spend a million years in that memory, running through the rain with your sister, laughing and playing, even singing your favourite tunes badly.
You tried, the only one coming to mind was the jukebox classic that she’d screech at too early hours of the day. Joan Jett. The rest of the world fell away as you danced in the rain, kicking up waves of water, dirt, loose grass and water covering you as you lost yourself in the memory of your younger self dancing with your little sister under heavy rain in the front yard.
It would’ve no doubt looked ridiculous as you ran around, dancing as if she were here with you now, singing, admittedly more on-key than you would’ve a lifetime ago. Enjoying the chilling rain soaking you through, almost to your bones, clothes drenched and heavy. Not a care in the damn world.
You didn’t care. For now, you were home.
-
You woke up in a different environment than you had fallen asleep. A soft, but firm surface beneath you as you sat up. A different set of clothes on you, hair still wet, meaning last night wasn’t a dream. Opening your eyes and yawning, you looked around to find that you were on your bed, rather than beside it, in your room and not outside. The rain was still falling outside, though not to the degree it had been last night. What time was it? And, more importantly, who brought you back to your room?
Your guess was McCree, although Tracer was just as likely to bring you inside. There was light outside, so it was morning. Looking at the clock, you found that it was about ten. Commander 76 was going to eat you for lunch. Probably.
You got up, showering quickly and getting dressed in yet another pair of trackies, and a loose shirt. You made sure to make the bed before you left the room, running down the hall, boots and socks in hand. You figured that you’d slip them on in the training hall, no more time to waste. Maybe the commander would go easy on you today – not that you really expected him to, but it was worth a shot. On your way, you jogged towards Lena, a smile on her face.
“Good morning, love!” She called.
“G’mornin’ Tracer.” You greeted, coming to a stop as you reached her. “You wouldn’t by chance, have found me outside last night, would you?”
“No, I haven’t seen you since dinner yesterday.” She said, brows furrowing as she looked at you. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“It’s nothin’ really.” You shook your head, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’m runnin’ a bit late, on the highway to hell so to speak. But I’ll swing by later. Alright mate?”
“Of course. I’ll see you and the others later!” her smile lit up the halls as you continued your jog down towards the training centre. Maybe it was McCree who put you to bed then? Unless someone woke you and you just don’t remember.
You ran into the training centre, dropping onto the floor by the sparring area to throw on both your socks and boots. Soldier: 76 was across the way, doing a set of chin-ups with controlled ease. It wouldn’t be wise to interrupt. You yanked the laces in your boots, from the base of the interwoven strings, up through to the top until they were as tight as you could get them without being uncomfortable.
As you tucked the ends of your pants into the tops of your boots, you heard him drop from the bar, landing on the floor with a small grunt. He turned to see you getting up, patting down your shirt.
“Cadet.” He said, acknowledging your presence in the room. The word stung. “You’re late.”
“Yes, sir.” You nodded, arms by your side as you stood straight, at attention. “I don’t mean to make you hot under the collar, sir. I woke up late.”
“How would…” You heard him mumble, clearly confused. You swore you saw his ears turn somewhat red as he shook his head. You released your mistake, yet again.
“I – I mean angry, sir.” You explained, cheeks heating up as the American version of the slang rushed into your mind. The future still had slang differences, and it seemed you would have to be a little more careful about your turn of phrase.
You noticed that you were using more slang terms. Even ones that you might not have used if you were back home. Maybe you were just trying to bring more of home with you here in the future. But someone had to be a True blue… right?
“Just get your ass on the mat.” Soldier: 76 said, running his fingers through his white hair.
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
