#tf2occontest

[cornelia-likes-tf2]

VS CARD I MADE FOR SYLVIAAAAAAA

It took me so unbelievably longgggg, but hey! Telecaster primary form showcaseeeee yiepppeeee

And remember, vote for her on the @tf2occontest ! :D (if you want)

[twofistedheart]

Anyone But You

"I want to fucking throw up." Mitch really could feel his breakfast heaving inside him like the ocean in a hurricane. Nausea, a fever, shaking- one glancing at the Detroit native without a lick of context might think he was terribly ill, but despite how Mitch may have felt, this wasn't exactly the case. It wasn't any germ or virus making Mitch feel this way- it was pure unadulterated rage, a feeling that only pitched up every time he looked at the ruggedly handsome older man in front of him. That man, for his part, simply puffed at his cigar in an infuriatingly casual manner, eyeing the Brawler with the sort of detached concern one might have for seeing a complete stranger on the street in distress. "Well, just don't do it on my boots, boy. Honestly, I don't know what the hell your problem is. You'd think you'd been put on a team with the devil himself." "I might's well have been!" Lighting up his own cigarette, Mitch paced back and forth like a wild animal, puffing smoke as if there really were hot coals inside him. He didn't look Auggie in the face once, though occasionally his sharp blue eyes flicked over to the other man's general direction. "This had to be some kind of a sick fucking joke. Whoever put this together had to have known I didn't want a damn thing to do with you that wasn't fighting you and thought it'd be a huge fucking laugh if I had to fight through this tournament with you stuck to my ass like a barnacle." For once, the self righteous smirk dropped from the older man's face slightly, and he sighed, grinding out his cigar in an ashtray and pocketing the rest. "You're looking at this all wrong, Mitch. You got no appreciation for angles. Think. You wanted to go into this all alone, just you against the world. That isn't a noble or heroic tack, boy, that's the sucker's path. But you're not alone. You're with me, the best damn fist fighter in the whole of this company. And you? You got my genes, and inherited my knack for throwing hands. You shut your mouth, suck it up, and follow my lead? We could win the whole damn thing, son." Mitch's eyes flashed. One hand zipped forward, fingers gripping tighter than rigor mortis on Auggie's bandanna, tugging the man toe to toe with him. "You. Call me 'son'. One more fucking time? I'm giving you a matching gouge on the other side of your face. You don't got that right. You gave it up a long time ago. Got it?" "Hey, hey! Relax!" Auggie held his hands up flat. Mitch relinquished his grip slowly. "Fine. Read you loud and clear. But I'm serious. You think on that, maybe consider giving me an inch. Working with me a little. It'll be worth your while." Straightening his bandanna, Auggie sauntered off, probably to the nearest bar. Snorting, Mitch headed toward the medbay. Pen had probably gotten her shot by now and, as much as the girl and the oddball doctor seemed to get along, Mitch didn't want to rely on Medic to play babysitter. He didn't want to rely on anyone. But least of all the man who'd brought him into this world and left.

[catboy-medic-tf2]

TFTOBER DAY 28- CUSTOM CLASS

MEET THE BLACKSMITH

Chill guy, mid-30s, from spain

[cornelia-likes-tf2]

Heeey everybody!!! Sylvia is joining the @tf2occontest !!!! She reeeally wouldn't mind that the Administrator recognized her as legitimate! So show you support by bringin' her to the top!

JOIN THE CONTEST TODAY!

[twofistedheart]

Auggie: Ladies, Gentlemen, and Friends! Now's your opportunity to get to know yours truly, August Heart, and my boy Mitch- the one and only Brawlers! Get to know us, and why the two of us will smash the competition to dust!

Mitch: Fucking christ. Whatever.

-------

ASKS ARE OPEN!

[god-mouths]

he made it to the second round so apparently people like him. limited time open ask box for this guy if you want to talk to him for some reason. responses will be shitty doodles

[twofistedheart]

A.Y.F.

“Done already. Damn.”

Mitch Heart, The Brawler, shrugged his shoulders, giving a slight frown at the poll results. “Sucks, but it’s not so bad. Least it cut short the time I have to waste hanging out wi–” “With me. Right?” Mitch looked up. Auggie Heart was striding toward him with purpose. His voice, usually jovial or at least casual, was tight. The look on his face was one Mitch hadn’t seen on the older man before, but had caught a glimpse or two of in the mirror before- usually on really bad nights. Auggie continued his advance, that tight, too quiet tone continuing. “You couldn’t listen, boy. I told you to follow my lead and you couldn’t even fucking do that right. This isn’t my fault. No. This is yours.” “Christ, old man! What the hell is your problem? Heh, are you really that bent out of shape over losing a stupid-” Whatever Mitch was going to say next was blown out of him along with the rest of the wind as Auggie gave an inhuman lunge forward, balled up fist sheathed in spike-studded leather driving itself into the young man’s gut. And another. And another. There was no opening, no chance for a counter. Everything Mitch knew was wrong. August Heart was a liar, a carouser, a shameless serial lover- and the most dangerous pugilist that any part of the industries had ever seen. And yet, he didn’t yell or even raise his voice, even as he continued to strike his son in every vital area he could reach. “That’s the word, boy. Losing. I do not lose. Ever. I’ve never lost a damn thing in my life. But I did today. Because of you. Because you’re such a cold fish, without a scrap of your daddy’s charm or the will to work the marks at all. That’s why we’re out in the first goddamn round. That’s why we lost to a couple damn charlatans pulling rabbits out of their asses. Because damn near nobody liked us enough to vote for us, and it’s all your fault.” Mitch was reduced to a bloodied heap at this point, blinded by crimson flowing into his eyes. His breath wheezed, blood dribbling from between his lips, shaking hands reaching up out of pure instinct to try to protect himself, and thankfully, the hail of punches stopped. Unfortunately, they were replaced by the repeated kicks of a steel toed boot. Slam after slam. Kick after kick. “All. Your. Fault. It’s all. Your. Fault! You! Stupid! Waste! Fuck! You! FUCK! YOU!” Auggie’s voice finally rose, his face a twisted mask of rage. Whether his aim was to kill Mitch or just cause him as much pain as possible. But whatever it was, after a couple dozen more kicks, he began to slow, as if his anger was slowly burning itself out. Mitch felt fewer and fewer cannonballs being fired into his already black and blue midsection. He could feel his ribs moving around unnaturally, though. He could also feel a thick, wet wad smack against his cheek just before the other man’s footsteps receded into the distance. But between the cooling mass of saliva and phlegm, his own congealing blood and broken bones and missing teeth that were probably halfway across the base, Mitch could feel one more thing. Something hot blooming in his mind- a determined thought. He would train every day. He was damn good but he would get better. He would get stronger. Faster. He would break and rebuild himself again and again if that’s what it took, until he was the version of himself that could get even. Auggie Heart had never lost before now, so he said. And Mitch would make it his personal goal from now on to make sure he lost at least once more.  These were the thoughts that comforted Mitch as he felt his vital bodily functions grind to a halt, and until he woke up again in Respawn with a splitting headache.

[twofistedheart]

Um, hi! My name is Penny Heart, but most people just call me Pen. Like Penguin! Um, I'm 11 years old and I like to draw and paint, and I really like arctic animals! Like polar bears! And seals! And yeah, PENGUINS! I have a penguin stuffie named Brrr. He's my best friend except for Mitch.

Um, what else. Oh! I have Type 1 diabetes. That means I gotta be real careful about how much sugar I eat. And I gotta have shots everyday, and prick my fingers to make sure there isn't too much sugar in my blood. I hope you don't think that's weird! Mitch says lots of kids have it.

So... yeah! My brother Mitch and his dad- who isn't my dad- long story- is in this big contest! Please vote for him! He tries his best all the time and works so hard and he really deserves to win!

Thanks, and happy halloweenie!