#tf2shipswag

[iaminsideyourwalls]

Puttin my girl in the @tf2shipswag OC tourney. Don't mind this propaganda for her. But do be very afraid because she's comin for your ass.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

@tf2shipswag 's tf2 oc poll game looks like such fun!! Here, have this low quality propaganda art that will hopefully convince you to vote for my dear Spyder (June)

[fratboycipher]

vote for carty hes the only one petty enough to put tripwires in an active warzone. @tf2shipswag am i doing this propaganda thing right

borrowed jack from @msmoon-and-the-cyberdemon to dunk on

[echohue]

Submitted a long time oc to @tf2shipswag 's oc tourney!

Time Traveler is a complicated class to explain but y'know, I'm gonna try my best to explain! They're an offense class, specializing in mostly being an annoying mosquito. They can Time Travel, which is their special ability, just think of Tracer from overwatch style. They are slower but stronger than Scout. Their jetboots have a fuel tank that can only recharge with time (LMAO), getting an ammo kit won't do it, cause ya know, that would be too hard to even shoot them. Basically when they are on the ground, they better just kill bind cause they are vulnerable as hell! In a base, it depends from BLU and RED. RED Time Traveler will mostly stay in his room to take care of his hundred of pet rats. But he will come out to show his inventions and creations! that mostly explode in his face like a cartoon. . . He is a choatic messy guy but he is very kind-hearted. BLU Time Traveler, his twin sister, is more logical and calmer than RED. She work double job at a ice cream parlor, poor her honestly. She sometimes makes food for the base or help with supplies since she can just teleport.

Updated references! (click for better quality <3)

[whynotzoidbergdotorg]

Some propaganda art of Femme Fatale for @tf2shipswag OC tournament!!!!! it’s been a while since I’ve drawn her so i was admittedly a little rusty lmao.

[meet-the-artist]

Vote for the Artist!

I entered Korrie into the @tf2shipswag tf2 oc tourney! A lot of friends have entered the tourney and I'm excited!

Go vote for the cute distraction with the toxic paint and roller skates!

Quick run down on the Artist as a class! She's a support class, being pretty weak but serving as the perfect distraction to any class. The Artist is basically a hybrid class between Scout and Pyro. She's the anti-Spy class and her fighting style is like a dualie user in Splatoon, quick dodging and being obnoxious.

As a character, she's a tough country gal who's been through a lot but she remains a determined and passionate goofball!

[ssolvix]

i have no art spoons rn im just a wittol artist i cant do propaganda for my girl Strix for the tf2 tournament

so uhhhhhhhhhh for now this message is brought to you by our sponsors: please vote for her she burn thing and lesbiam

[cinnamon-bunni]

me? posting something for once of my oc?? impossible, i know. but since i submitted my boy to the tf2octournament hosted by @tf2shipswag, I figured it be best to actually have something for him out there. So! here's just a little ficlet to introduce The Reaper :) will i write more propaganda for him? maybe!! i really like writing him so maybe depending how far he gets in the rounds i'll write more about him <33 word count: 1358 (thanks in advanced for reading and i hope you enjoy it! <3)

The plane he had boarded was set to leave in just a few minutes. As he let himself get comfortable in his seat, he scanned the cabin; an elderly couple boarded, dressed in their Sunday best, polite smiles on their faces with the lady's hand resting on her husband's as they walk to their seats; a young man who entered in a rush, flashing a smile to the stewardess who greeting him with a good morning. Based on the man's eyes that were filled with misery and his crumpled and ugly suit that was fit for a wedding, he would guess that he had been stood up and was heading home; a young stewardess at the entrance gave her best greetings to the passengers despite her shaky voice, with her back arched and shoulders stiff with tension—very obviously a new hire, one who was poor at her job of keeping up the air of hospitality; an older stewardess next the the younger, eyes sharp as she watched the newcomer, judging her every move.

The older employee darted her eyes over to him, and immediately straightened her impossibly straight back when she met his gaze. A smile graced her face as she nodded her head in acknowledgement.

He ought to smile. Most people would smile back in situations like that. So, he did—he gave his best "polite towards strangers" smile and raised his hand up for a short and brief wave. He practiced that one often. He was proud of that smile.

She moved her attention back to her coworker, cupping her hand and whispering in her ear once everyone had boarded, giving him the cue to move on. She didn't even appreciate his smile, though it did play in his favor, leaving him to be seen as just another traveler. It was better that way.

The pilot entered the cabin to introduce himself and talk about the flight. A charming silver fox who happily explained the planned trip ahead of them, the duration, and how he hoped they all enjoyed themselves.

He inwardly scoffed at the idea of a seventeen-hour trip. He figured it'd be an eighteen, perhaps even nineteen-hour flight, depending on how poor the weather was over the Atlantic. Either way, it left him with plenty of time on his hands.

Next to his seat was a briefcase that he had brought on with him. The plane started to shake as it took off, but he paid no mind to it—unlike the passengers around him, all murmuring to themselves in hushed and distressed voices—as he brought it into his lap and popped it open.

The main item of importance, in his opinion, was the map that could be found inside. The second item of importance was the vile of poison that could be found in a secret compartment of the briefcase, tucked away right next to a small set of knives, but considering how he was in a public space with law-abiding citizens, he decided that the map would be the thing he would bring out. He unfolded it, mouth twitching in irritation of the loud crackling and the sheer size of the old map of New York City.

He already studied the map hours prior before he boarded. He studied the second he had received his next mission. But looking over his plan thrice never hurt anyone. Except for the person he was meant to kill, perhaps.

He fished out a marker from the briefcase, then dropped it back near his feet. He read and reread street names, restaurants, hotels, anything and everything that he would need. The mayor of the city, he recalled, enjoyed Italian food. He already knew the politician's favorite places like the back of his hand. He found the names and circled them.

Food would be the easiest to kill the man, despite it not being his favorite way to kill a man. But the poison that was supplied would work well with the food. The mayor was far from being the definition from being healthy, and with the stresses of running a city, along with reelection coming up? Why, no one would bat an eye if he had a heart attack, would they? Even if officials suspected foul play, he would be back on a plane to England before they could even pinpoint a lead suspect.

The mayor was a good man, at least from what he could tell. Opinions were rarely formed on the job, as it was never his business who his next hit was. It never mattered in his eyes. But as a politician, he was sure the mayor had to be guilty of something, and that was enough to calm the tiniest part in his brain that still had the title of his conscience.

He laughed aloud to himself. The idea of him still having a conscience amused him. He kept his head down and continued his work. Albeit boring, having to memorize every inch of the map, going over his plan again and again and again until it was burned into his brain, he knew it was necessary. But oh, how did he hate monotonous work.

"First time going to New York?" A different stewardess stood in the aisle, a cart covered in a nice tablecloth in front of her. On the cart were an array of drinks, different fancy bottles for each fancy drink.

He smiled up at her as he answered, "first time traveling to America, actually." It was true, actually—the rare truth he found himself admitting to another person. He never left Europe before.

She nodded. "I've been there a few times for vacation, it's quite nice there. Especially New York." She then gestures to her cart, asking in a peppy tone, "refreshments?" ultimately ended their conversation.

He took a water and went right back to work. He spent a good portion of the flight hunched over his map, and an even bigger part staring at nothing. Planning on a map could only take up so much time, and he didn't have any hobbies; he didn't even really bring anything to entertain himself.

He reminded himself that that didn't matter. He was a man on a mission, a hunt. Entertainment didn't matter.

Besides, between his mind, the map, and the conversationalists on the plane, he was able to keep busy. The stewardesses aboard all met him with kindness that was required of them, and he returned with the same. The other passengers made small talk, asking about his reason for traveling, the type of work he does. He forced a smile on his face as lies slipped out of his mouth with ease. He forced a laugh at the dull jokes, a quip of his own to appear friendly, and small hums and noises when he couldn't think of anything quick enough to respond with.

Honestly, dealing with people was more exhausting than anything in his line of work. Smiling, while hard to get down, made things better, he found. It was quite easy to lose as well, he knew that well enough, but thankfully he was able to keep that smile until the chattering numskulls moved on. Now, if they just kept him out of everything else, he would be grateful.

Fortunately, the last few hours of the trip went just like that. He was in his alone and quiet area, thinking about New York. He wouldn't lie to himself and say he wasn't excited. Although there for a job, the idea of being somewhere new was exhilarating for him. So many new sights, new people, new sensations and wonders and emotions...

But maybe he could enjoy that afterward. He was The Reaper afterall, and he'd be damned if he didn't finish the job. Maybe he could celebrate after he finished with everything. A single glass of champagne by himself in his hotel room after a good day of assassinating the mayor sounded like a great plan to him.

Reaper grinned to himself, letting himself revel in the rare feeling of joy that he felt before the plane landed. How titillating the experience would be. He couldn't wait.