Mc76 Week 2018 has officially begun! Let’s start off the week with today’s prompt... Firsts!
Remember the tag your work as #Mc76 Week (or #Mc76Week for those on Twitter)! Also don’t forget to tag your work as the day prompt as well (ex: #Day One, #Firsts, #DayOne: Firsts, etc.). We’ll be setting up a queue as the week goes on, going through the tags and reblogging content.
If you plan to upload works on Ao3, we’ve created a collection to gather up all the fan fiction for Mc76 Week! When posting work, you can add your story to the Mc76 Week Collection. The collection will remain open long after the week is done, so you don’t have to worry too much about deadlines.
If you’re still having trouble coming up with ideas for today's prompt, make sure to stop by our Prompt Inspiration Page for some ideas! If you’re still having trouble, don’t worry about it! Come up with your own idea or story, you don’t have to do the prompt to participate in Mc76 Week!
Have a wonderful week folks! We’re looking to seeing what the community creates!
We run along the shore, we fall upon the sand, hand in hand; the sea laps up around us. Whole and alive. Free and satisfied.
I beg you stay a little longer, and you say you have to go.
And all these statues fall.
All these faces left behind.
Fire of a past people turned their backs on.
And I run along the shore, and I fall upon the rocks, and I’m swept away into the sea, alone. Aching, empty; dying.
And the trains on their tracks.
All these lonely roads walked.
The face only wanted for it’s forgotten crimes.
I beg you stay a little longer, and you say you have to go.
1 shot, 2 shot;
6 shots, fall.
And dead eyes search along the shore, and they full upon the sand. Build me a castle, before the tide comes back.
We run along the shore.
Washed away, the winter storms.
The north; the south.
I beg you stay a little longer, and you say you have a moment.
And we run along the shore, and we stumble on the pavement; the sirens ring around us. Whole and alive, standing and strong.
You beg me run a little further.
1 shot, 2 shot;
6 shots, fall.
And the trains off their tracks.
All these faces found again.
Free of guilt, and Satisfied.
And we run along the shore; and I run along the shore, and you run along the shore and we are washed away.
Of course Jesse McCree knew who Strike Commander Jack Morrison was. You’d have to have been living under a rock to not know him on sight. He was only the most famous hero of the Omnic Crisis, the leader of the world’s most influential organization after the UN, his face on TV every day, on every poster, in every tabloid.
So when Jesse McCree first met Jack Morrison, he couldn’t help but be a little... starstruck.
Mc76 Week: Past
Jesse had finally been left to his own devices for the first time since he’d arrived on base, and of course the first thing he’d done was get lost.
He was wandering a hallway in who knew what building anymore, he’d lost track, trying to find the showers that Reyes had mentioned when he’d rattled off the list of amenities before leaving. The last person he had expected to run into in this empty corridor at eleven o’clock at night had been Strike Commander Jack Morrison himself.
“Hey,” Strike Commander Morrison said when he saw Jesse, raising a casual hand in greeting and flashing him a dazzling smile with perfect white teeth.
Holy shit that was Jack Morrison, that was actually Jack Morrison standing there like any other person had any reason to be and not like he was one of the most powerful men on the planet, larger than life and looking at him, at Jesse, with eyes that were far too blue. And if Morrison looked good on TV, he was devastatingly handsome up close—chiseled jaw, tall and broad-chested, with golden hair and the trademark Overwatch coat that draped behind him like a cape.
Jesse realized that he had been staring openly, and that he should probably say something.
“Hi,” Jesse managed to choke, lamely. He tried to tip his hat but missed and only hit the brim with his hand, nearly knocking it off his head and forcing him to seize it by the top and shove it back down over his eyes.
But Morrison was smiling at him anyway.
“Nice hat, kid,” he said.
Nice hat kid nice hat kid nice hat kid—
Jesse realized his face was heating up, and the realization just made it even warmer.
“Th-thanks,” he stammered. “—Sir,” he added hastily. Wow, those eyes were way too blue to be allowed.
“McCree, right?” Morrison asked and did Jack Morrison know his name and when Jesse didn’t answer but didn’t correct him, Morrison went on; “Reyes told me about you. The kid from Deadlock with the cowboy hat and the six shots that never miss?”
Holy shit Strike Commander Jack Morrison knew who he was, Strike Commander Jack Morrison just complimented him—
“Y-yeah—Thanks, sir,” Jesse managed to croak. Oh jeez, his blush was probably incredibly obvious by now. He ducked his head a little, hoping the brim of his hat would hide the worst of it.
“Say,” said Morrison, “you ever seen any of those old westerns?”
“Old westerns, sir?” Jesse repeated in confusion, looking back up.
“You know," Morrison continued, "like ‘A Fistful of Dollars’? ‘The Good the Bad the Ugly’? ‘Pale Rider’? ‘The Outlaw Josey Wales’?”
“No, sir?”
Morrison’s face lit up and he grinned and oh Jesus, if he had looked handsome before, that was nothing compared to now—“Oh, I love them, you really need to—We do a movie night every Saturday, I could have us watch an Eastwood; I can ask Reyes to give you that evening off if you wanted to come?”
Strike Commander Jack Morrison just invited him to watch a movie with his friends, Strike Commander Jack Morrison just invited him to watch a movie with him, Strike Commander Jack Morrison just—
“Yes—“ Jesse blurted out, before trying to control himself as he added, “I mean—Can I? Sir?”
“Of course!” Morrison actually looked excited and holy shit he could blind someone with that grin if he wasn’t careful. “I’ll look forward to seeing you there.”
“Thank you! Sir,” Jesse said, not sure this was really happening.
Morrison gave him a clap on the shoulder with one of his big hands. “I think you’ll really enjoy it.”
And just like that Morrison was gone, down the hallway the way Jesse had came, disappearing from view around the corner, and Jesse stared at where he had gone before realizing that he still had no idea where the showers were.
We’ve gone through the votes, and based on the results from the first poll, we have compiled a list of final candidates for the second and final round of voting for prompts!
The same rules apply as before: Ideally, each prompt should:
be inspiring for both artists and writers
be applicable to the multiple flavors of Mc76 (soft, angsty, dark, cute, etc…) since the ship is a bit of a wildcard without popular tropes or takes
And again, keep in mind when considering specific vs abstract/vague prompts, that we’re probably listing example takes/ideas beneath each prompt to help people get ideas. But most importantly, pick the prompts you think you and your fellow Mc76 shippers would have fun with the most!
As a reminder, because this is the Final Voting, please make sure that you’re voting for seven (7) prompts, no more, no less!
The second round of voting will last until Saturday, January 20th at 11:59pm EST.
=> Please Click Here To Cast Your Votes! <=
Once the final round of voting has come to an end, we’ll tally them up, and release the prompt for this years Mc76 Week! Have fun everyone!
Smell that, wilting grain, the melted snow revealing all the withered stalks. How’d he end up here anyway? Bullet wound to his shoulder, possibly bleeding to death. He smelled copper, and tasted iron; petrichor. That’s what Jack called that musty, wet smell. Petrichor. What a nice word to say, over and over, just seemed to work. He’d never heard of it till his Overwatch days. Dust after rain.
“Jack...” he murmured turned his head around, he could feel the cold and damp seeping into his bones. So tired, so cold, and everything was so quiet. Had they driven off the Talon soldiers? “Jack?”
Movement hardly managed to rouse him as he stared at the grey skies. Sound of rifle fire cracked through his hazy mind. Pulse rifle, about 50 yards away. Even if Jesse were to shout he wouldn’t be heard that far away. No one had come to check if he’d actually died. He supposed that was lucky. Hadn’t he always been lucky? Lucky to run into Overwatch, lucky to make it out before it collapsed, lucky to find Jack again. Seems his luck had run out. Jesse let his eyes shut, just a moment wouldn’t hurt.
“Jesse?” came a voice. The sensation of motion, he was rising up. He could hear the heavy breathing, and feel the steady bobbing of the easy, practiced jog. The crinkling of dry straw when he was dropped in. Did he hear horses? Snorting and clopping. “Jesse come on.” He cracked his lids, a barely made out the pale face hovering over him. His serape was thrown away, and his shirt torn. “You need to stay with me. Stay awake. You’re going to be okay.” Was he?
McCree felt calloused fingers working at the wound, checking to see if the bullet had passed through or if it was lodged somewhere. He supposed it should hurt but he was so beyond pain it just felt strange. Copper, and iron; the straw smelled of must.
Petrichor. Remember, Petrichor.
“Jesse....inject...stay awake,” he only managed to catch a few of the words Jack was saying. A feeling of something pushed into the wound and expanding. Foam...right, it’d stop the bleeding allow the wound to heal faster. So maybe his luck hadn’t run out just yet.
“Petrichor...” he mumbled with a smile. Jack’s confused face only fueled his grin. “Petrichor.”
“Petrichor...?” Jack asked furrowing his brow. Jesse wasn’t entirely lucid enough to explain. He reached his metal arm up, and Jack let his fingers interlock with the cowboy’s. “You’re going to be alright.”
Jesse believed him as he lay back, taking shallow breaths, and closed his eyes. Kinda nice to be in a stable, sleeping with the horses, he was sure a cowboy or two had done this before.
He felt something draped over him, horse blanket, smelled of the animal. On his good side, he was joined by the old Soldier, laying down; covered in a blanket. Must be exhausting, out here at his age. Being ambushed by Talon. Jesse felt himself drifting off.
Jack wrapped and arm around him, and at least he knew for a while he was probably safe. At least this straw was pretty comfortable.
The rise and fall, that’s what they’ll call it in fancy museums. When they’ve forgotten what really happens all they’ll have for a title is: The Rise and Fall of Overwatch. It’ll be full of sappy garbage about heroes, showing pretty mock battle scenes maybe it’ll have uniforms on mannequins. Maybe it’ll have wax figures, scale models of their equipment, terrifying comparisons with the sizes of Omnics they fought.
A bunch of feel good fluff to satisfy a family on their weekend off. Maybe it’ll even be a traveling exhibit. Just another remnant of history, that can be looked at with the rose tinted glasses of good vs evil.
Most of it was just grey.
Things that had to be done.
Back then he’d almost believed in that garbage. Good guys fighting the bad guys, but as he’d gotten older, the feeling faded away. They weren't the good guys. Not the bad ones. Just some people still fighting against invisible problems. People expected them to solve the riddle of peace. They didn’t.
They never could.
It’s a cold morning, and a lit cigarette; he’s breathing in icicles and smoke. Sun hasn’t even managed to crack the horizon, cause here in the north it’ll be another hour or so. He can’t help it, being up at this time. His body had gone from farming time to military time, and finally to not waking up at all, just awake through nights at a time. It had done damage to him probably. He didn’t look so bad, super soldier enhancement would do that for you. He did feel it.
Age, strange thing to think about now. Used to just be some number far off, 55, at least he was pretty sure that was the number. His dad had said eventually you lost count, and it wasn’t like he was going to celebrate it.
“Do you always get up this early?” asked a groggy voice from behind. He glanced over his shoulder. A man wrapped tight in a red bit of cloth, not exactly dressed for the weather.
“No sometimes I get up earlier,” he’d reply and drop the cigarette, using his boot to put it out. This sleepy town they were holed up in was so quiet. It wasn’t home, but it felt like it when his eyes were closed.
“Jack, it’s like 3 degrees out, why the hell are you just standing out here?” his companion demanded.
“Something out here we need to look into, Jesse; we can buy you a coat if you’re going to complain.”
Jesse grumbled and disappeared back inside the motel room. Jack pulled another cigarette out of the pack. Weird having Jesse out here with him. He was having trouble seeing the scruffy outlaw as the kid he’d met back in New Mexico.
Cheeky, 17 year old. How’d he ever end up as the number one most wanted criminal in the US? Wrong place, wrong time. Well, Jack could get a lot of mileage out of Gabriel’s teachings. Not that he particularly wanted to think about that waste of skin. He found his face curling into a sour scowl at the thought of Gabriel.
Maybe they’d find him after all this time, alive, and miserable. That’d really satisfy the new festering displeasure in Jack’s soul. Jesse didn’t seem to keen on the man either, seemed like only yesterday they were out on missions together. Jesse’d had a lot of respect for Gabe. Now? Well seems he regrets not being able to put a bullet through the man’s head himself.
What a waste, expending energy on hating the dead.
They’d both grown old on that kind of feeling.
His cigarette was just burning out on his lip, as he stared out over the parking lot and on towards the highway. Big empty flat land, full of snow. No sign of the crisis here. Course even if there was, snow made for a good way to cover a body. He dropped the cigarette smoldering in a pile of slush, and went back inside. Time to get ready to go.
