#I should get a dartboard and tape a picture of his face to it

[tf2occontest]

Pierce / The Supplier VS The Renaissance Man

(Full matchup list here)

Alright team, here's a recap: This is a contest to determine who amongst you will take the top of the leaderboards and be hired at TFI! Simply put, whoever gets the most votes gets to move on, and whoever doesn't... Well. They'll be put down swiftly and cleanly. :}

So, mann your stations, because here are your next contestants! Vote for your favorite mercenary who you want to win the TF2 OC Contest! - P

OC INFO UNDER THE CUT!

We highly encourage you to take a peek to make your decision!

Pierce / The Supplier

@sharkk-fin

Image credit: @/sharkk-fin

Meet the RED Supplier. This guy's not the brightest or the nicest, but he gets the job done! His job is to deliver ammo boxes and medkits to his teammates as fast as possible. When you put it that way, it sounds like a fun video game! Pretty useful when there's none nearby, and your teammates are off doing who knows what! I mean, how many times has THAT happened to you? You're super low on health, or you're in the middle of fighting someone, and there's no resupply nearby?? They're halfway across the map! Medic's busy trying to recreate Meet the Medic, and Engineer's dispenser was JUST destroyed! Sounds like you need someone fast and reliable to help you get back on your feet. Well, I can't promise he'll be reliable, but he sure is fast!

But of course, there's a catch. You can't have someone who's good at his job AND is the sweetest guy on earth. He has his likeable aspects of course, but he's still an asshole. He's got this huge ego, and a love for pulling pranks on his teammates. He's a huge jerk and will probably make your work life miserable! Maybe you can tape a picture of his face to a dartboard and throw darts at it, make the thought of punching that smug grin off his face your reason for getting up for work that day! But if you can look past all that, and somehow befriend him, he's a cool guy! Loyal and nicer to the people he cares about, but that still won't stop him from playing pranks.

He's great at his job, but not so great with people. If you're willing to sacrifice the sanity and happiness of your favorite mercs for a successful mission, he's your guy! A vote for Supplier is a vote for (hopefully) not waiting 12 seconds before respawning because you couldn't get to a medkit in time!

The Renaissance Man

@mnyehlike

Image credit: @/mnyehlike

The Renaissance Man class is a classier (heh) jack-of-all-trades type character. He's not exemplary at any one thing, but he's dabbled in a lot, and thus has multiple fields of expertise that can be called upon for battle purposes. The RED Renaissance (Cardinal) likes to keep his secrets much closer to his chest, to the point of engaging in a cat-and-mouse game with his Spy to keep everything about him, his past, and why he knows so much a secret (there might also be a situationship there, but nobody knows for sure). The BLU Rennaisance (Jay) doesn't have to work to keep his secrets, as nobody particularly cares. He's reclusive, preferring the company of a greenhouse and its occupants to any team members. He sometimes gives clippings of more dangerous plants to his Medic for experiments. The job of The Rennaisance Man is to fill in whenever a different merc needs to call out sick, on paper, but in practice, he's called into battle whenever the hell he or the rest of the team likes to have an extra man in the role he's imitating. His most valuable skill is the ability to imitate the skill set of anyone. This includes any mutants or robots; a little magic goes a long way. Where does the magic come from? The Rennaisance Man never shows and tells. (On the misspelling of the name; Cardinal has lobbied to get it fixed since he joined up. Jay lobbies to keep it the same, just to piss Cardinal off. Not changing the paperwork is easier than changing it.)

[xxxdragonfucker69xxx]

Shadow's first thought as he returned slowly to consciousness was that a barrel of firedust had gone off inside the Sanctuary. Well, that was his second thought. His first thought was that his head fucking hurt.

He was on the back of the sofa, which had been overturned so that its back was now a flat surface and its cushions were a wall. Something red was on the floor a centimeter from his face; Shadow blinked until it came into focus as a flimsy red cup.

Oh. Right.

On top of him, someone groaned. Shadow tilted his head up to see; he was at the bottom of a pile four men deep. Seal's legs were across Shadow's torso, though most of the boy's body was on the floor; above him was Harvester, with a blackened right eye, and atop them all was the new boy.

Broken Star Doomed to Fall groaned again, rousing slightly. Unfortunately, the motion caused him to unbalance, and the young Abyssal snapped awake as he crashed to the ground -- directly onto Seal's prone form. There was a clang as Star's metal wings met the floor on either side, then a beat, then a yelp as Seal realized what was on top of him and started thrashing. Star was apologizing, trying to get off, but the Wings seemed uncooperative today and were weighing him down. Shadow closed his eyes, channeled Essence into the shield of his anima, and concentrated on extricating himself.

Finally he made it out and stood next to Harvester, who apparently had the same idea; both their castemarks were bleeding, and both were surrounded by wisps of darkness. He met eyes with the other Daybreak, who looked slightly sheepish. "Maybe I shoulda started them with something a little less intense," Harvester said, scratching his head. "Especially for the kid's first big party."

Shadow looked around the room. Paper banners with Nevertheless' immaculate handwriting wishing a beautiful year were strewn across the Sanctuary, most of them ripped or with sections missing. Tower's enormous form was curled up on top of the TV cabinet, which had one door open to show a blank blue screen. Red cups were everywhere, many tipped over in front of incriminating puddles. Desecration was laid out on the nap sofa, a blanket laid over her; someone had drawn a mustache on her face, poorly. A dartboard on the far wall had a hole punctured through its center. As Shadow watched, the dartboard fell off to reveal that the hole went into and through the wood of the wall itself, with singe marks around the edges.

"Perhaps," Shadow said.

Star and Seal separated, finally upright. Star's shirt was completely shredded, either from the spikes in his own body or from the fight. Seal was breathing heavily and a little flushed. "Next time wake me up like a regular fucking person," he was yelling, "not by falling on me with a damn body full of knives."

"Can you pleashe schtop yelling," Star muttered, rubbing his forehead. "I shaid I was schorry. Schol, my head hurtsh."

"Leave him be, Seal," Shadow said, stepping in before the argument escalated any further. "Help me find my eyepatch." He had, indeed, clapped his hand over his bad eye a few moments ago when he realized he was melting the material of the table.

Star perked up visibly at Shadow's words. "Hey, I can do that!" he said. "I'm good at thish!" He took a step, then staggered. "Okay, maybe not sho musch right now. Shadow, can you Medishine Scharm me or shomefing?"

Shadow crossed his arms, though the effect was ruined slightly by having to keep his right eye closed. "I could, yes. But I think you'll be better served by learning a lesson. Consider it my birthday gift to you." Not that that stopped Shadow from quickly performing the Plague-Banishing Incitation on himself.

Star moaned and fell back onto the couch, covering his face with his hands. "Well, thatsh it den," he said. "I'm doomed. I'll die in my shleep. Betrayed, abandoned by my own friendsh --"

Seal was snickering not too quietly in the corner. Harvester tapped Star's forehead with a bottle of beer, miraculously intact. "Hair of the dog," he said. "That one's my birthday gift to you."

Shadow glared at Harvester, who shrugged. "Ain't no need for Charms when you got farm wisdom," he said, tapping the side of his head. Star used the opportunity to pry the bottle-cap off with his metal teeth; behind them, Seal started rapidly picking cushions up and putting them down, muttering to himself. Star chugged the bottle slowly and set it down.

"Whoa," he said, putting his hands out to steady himself. "I actually do feel better." Shadow frowned, then turned away internally to look through his All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight. Sure enough, a trail of healing Essence emanated from where Harvester's hand was clapped on Star's shoulder. Harvester caught him looking and shrugged again. "Birthday present", he said in Old Realm. Shadow sighed again.

"Okay," Star said, pulling out a strange hat from his pocket and setting it on his head. He clapped his hands, and Shadow had to admit that he was glad to see Star so happy about something. "Alright, okay, let'sh shee. What was the last fing you remember?"

Shadow frowned and cast his mind back. Vague images floated across his memory: incomprehensible music played that was far too loud for his liking, incomprehensible drinking games Desecration and Seal insisted were de rigueur among the youth. Wait. "Something about.... pinging?" he said. "Beer pinging?"

Star snapped his fingers. "That'sh it!" he exclaimed, leading them over to the main table. There were still two triangles of red cups, mostly upright. "Beer pong! Alright, let'sh try..." The Day Caste spent some time walking around the table, hmming and muttering to himself. "Hah!" he said. "Right here. Shadow, come shtand right here." Shadow raised an eyebrow but went to oblige. Star clapped. "Yeah, that'sh it," the young man said. "You were walking pasht and shomeone got beer all over you. Look, the shtain fitsh right around your feet." Shadow looked down, but the carpet was so full of overlapping stains that he couldn't separate one from another. Hesiesh almighty. Someone was going to have to deal with this later, and it was probably going to be Shadow. Where was Phoenix when you needed him?

Star was still monologuing. "Okay, sho beer got all over your fashe and body, and then you went to.... to wash it off! The baffroom!" He marched over to the bathroom, leading the rest of them in procession -- even Seal, who seemed begrudgingly captivated, and Des, who had woken up and was sauntering along. Star turned the knob of the bathroom's door, and the whole thing fell over on top of him.

"I shwear that washn't my fault," Shtar -- er, Star -- squeaked from underneath it. Seal and Shadow quickly levered it off Star, and leaned it against the wall; Shadow noted that the edges had tape on them, as if someone had tried to hastily repair the door. Star picked himself up and dusted himself off. "Asch I wash schaying," he said loftily, and marched into the bathroom. It was little more than a closet with running water, and the rest of the Abyssals watched from outside the door with interest as Star spun around to take everything in. "Here", he declared, tapping the countertop. "You took the eyepatsch off to wash it, and then left it to dry, but shomeone elshe took it to..." he squinted into the mirror, miming to himself, "to help dry it off. That'sh nishe. Thish way!" He shouldered past them again, eliciting a yelp from Seal and another from Harvester who had to dodge out of the way to avoid upsetting the cup he had picked up from somewhere.

Over the course of their progress around the room, they discovered: several issues of Hotter than Malfeas (which Harv loudly disavowed knowing anything about but quickly claimed "to protect the youngins"), a crudely drawn picture of what appeared to be Seal having sexual congress with a tyrant lizard (which Seal disavowed knowing about but quickly claimed "was sweet as fucking hell and should go on the fridge"), several more stains of unknown composition, a hot pink sphere about the size of an eyeball (which Des claimed without hesitation or explanation except "oh, I was looking for that"), and one of Shadow's favorite arrows, which he washed off and replaced. Finally they came to a stop in the middle of the room. "Trail goesh cold here," Star said, scratching the edge of his mask. "Well, I got one more trick I'fe been wanting to try. Check thish out: Unknown Wishdom Epiffany." He closed his eyes before opening them again, now glowing red. Shadow thought he could see their light falling on silhouettes, like there were invisible things in the room being illuminated only to Star's eyes. Star frowned, peering around the room, before looking above him. "Huh. Doesh anyone have a shtick or shomefing?" Wordlessly, Seal reached into empty air and plucked out a burning mote of light that lengthened into a golden spear nine feet long, which Star used to prod at one of the ceiling panels. Suddenly he dropped the spear and dove to the side, which Shadow took as a cue to do the same.

There was a snort, then a series of thuds, then the ceiling panel fell from the roof carrying a small man clad in spike-studded black armor. He was curled in the fetal position, clutching something to his chest. As the gathered deathknights watched, Phoenix juddered to consciousness in fits and starts, blinking groggily in the fluorescent lights. "Ugh," he said, wincing and squeezing his eyes shut. "I haven't felt this bad since I was dead."

Star tried to keep his laughter in. "What'sch that you got there?" he asked. Phoenix blinked and looked down, uncurling his hand to reveal....Shadow's eyepatch.

Shadow raised his eyebrow and Phoenix handed it over, though Shadow had to stoop down to reach. "Well, hell," the Solar muttered. "No idea how that got there."

"Des dared Tower to try and get you to eat it," Star informed him. All attention flickered to Des, who shrugged. "Sounds like something I'd do," she said, popping a bright pink bubble that had appeared in her mouth. Shadow blinked again. Magic or not, this was too much for him.

"Thank you, Star," he said. "Now everyone get out of here. It is far too early to deal with this, and I am going back to bed."

[imlostinatunnel]

A Stranger (McCree Fan Fiction)

A stranger, silhouetted against the outside light, stood in the doorway for only a second. Cigar and cigarette smoke fogged the room. The fog was thicker over by the pool table where a fresh triangle of balls cracked and split from one another by a group of large men. A jukebox against the far wall played a recognizable song to the stranger. He took another second to absorb the familiarity of The High Side as the door shut behind him.

“Well would you look at what just breezed through the door,” said a drunken, old man.

The second man turned an laughed. “Hey, fella,” he worked out between drunken snickers. “You sure are a long way from Hollywood t’ be lookin’ like that!”

“Is that a carpet or a shower curtain you got around yer’ shoulders there?” the first man laughed.

No one in the bar payed any attention to the drunken old men, much to the stranger’s liking, as he walked to the counter, spurs jingling on every step. They continued to laugh until their bottles drew them back and they forgot what they were laughing about.

The stools seemed new from the last time he was here. Then again with the bar’s usual customers it made sense if the chairs and stools needed to be replaced at least once a month. The stranger took a seat, and whipped out a cigar plus a lighter. The bartender came around to him as his cigar lit up and smoke passed the brim of his hat.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked.

The stranger looked up at her, letting the dim light past his hat to meet his face. He gave a cheeky smile as he held the cigar in his teeth. “I’m lookin’ for somethin’ with a little… kick to it,” he said.

“I’ve got jus’ the thing,” she said ducking below the counter. She stood back up holding a bottle without a title. All that represented the drink was a jawless red skull with a cross on one eye.

The stranger grinned and gave the bartender a nod, taking the cigar out of his mouth to let the smoke out. He watched the drink fill the shot glass.

“Y’know,” said the bartender. “I haven’t seen a getup like that in a long time. Y’ remind me of—“

“Jesse McCree,” said a deep voice at the other end of the counter.

The bar silenced and the jukebox finished its song. The man was large and had tattoos running up both arms. The most prominent being a skull with wings. The symbol of the Deadlock Rebels. Even in this lighting, McCree could recognize it.

“I knew I recognized that look. Only one kid I know that would dress up like that,” the large man said, walking over to him. “Only he don’t look like a kid anymore.”

McCree felt every eye trained on him. “Ol’ Darren,” he started. “I thought that was your pile of rust outside. Though she looks better than the last time I saw her. Take ‘er in for a tuneup recently?”

“Last time you saw her she was bein’ confiscated by your new friends,” Darren said. “But she ain’t as rusty as that new arm of yours.” He leaned on the counter over McCree. “Looks a bit expensive if ya’ ask me.”

McCree only smirked as he pressed his cigar into an ashtray. He wouldn’t give Darren an inch. “Didn’t want t’keep the tattoo. I see y’ kept yours.”

“We all did,” Darren said.

McCree looked the rest of the room. Men and women rolled their left sleeve up to reveal the same tattoo Darren possessed. “Well I’ll be,” he said. “I didn’t think there was any luck of y’all gettin’ up and runnin’ again.” He picked his drink up, resting his elbow on the table. “Hope you ain’t mad at me,” he added.

“We don’t hold nothin’ against you and your friends,” Darren said. “In fact we got your picture hung up in here.” He gestured to the dartboard with McCree’s picture taped in the middle.

“Well how nice of y’all. You used my good side for once.”

“Speakin’ of your friends, Jesse. We heard they ain’t your friends anymore.”

“Now where did you hear something as silly as that?” McCree asked.

“It was all over the news,” Darren said. “You ain’t got no friends now. Finish yer’ drink, then we’re gonna finish you.”

“Fair enough.” In one swig he downed the shot. “Oh my,” McCree said. “Now that’s what I call a kick!”

Darren and the rest of the gang of nine or ten closed in on McCree with pool sticks and other melee weapons.

“Now hold up. Y’all ain’t gonna be so rude as to not let me pay my bill, are ya?”

“We’ll pick it off you when we’re done,” Darren said.

McCree grinned. “In that case…” His free arm flicked up from under his poncho and tossed a flash bang into the air. He pulled his hat over his face before it went off.

“What the hell?” Darren yelled, stumbling back.

McCree didn’t let him get too far. He grabbed him by his vest and threw him into the rest of the temporarily blinded gang. He snickered as he watched them tumble over one another trying to get up.

One man came from McCree’s left with a brand new stool raised above his head. McCree caught the stool as the man brought it down and drove the heel and sole of his boot into the man’s gut. The stool was his now, and he thought Darren should know.

Darren was the first one up and wasted no time trying to find McCree. Only McCree found Darren’s head with the seat of the stool first. He too was down for the count, and sadly so was the stool as it splintered apart.

The rest of the gang was up, six with weapons in hand, and they were already finding their way towards McCree. He was ready. He put a had on his holstered gun, a customized peacekeeper he had grown up with and a reminder of past times. He got a feel for where everyone was and where they would be.

He drew his gun. His left hand fanned the hammer and he listened to each bullet fly through the air. He wasn’t aiming to kill. All he aimed for were the objects being used as weapons, and he hit them all out of their hands with ease.

“I ain’t seen crazy shootin’ like that since that one movie with the six-armed cowboy!” said one of the drunken men.

McCree reloaded his gun as fast as he fired it and took aim at the crowd with his hand ready on the hammer. “Y’all best head for th’ hills,” he said with a smirk.

The gang had gotten the message, judging from the speed they ran out the building with.

Darren came to. A large bruise forming on his forehead, and a little bit blood poured from under his eye. He opened his eyes to see McCree kneeling over him while digging through his wallet.

“Well, my friends and I are having a nice little reunion. We’re gonna be doing some work ‘round these parts. We’d appreciate it if you and your ‘gang’ didn’t interrupt us while we’re here. Otherwise you might not be gettin’ up a second time.”

McCree took a wad of cash from Darren’s wallet before tossing it on his chest. “This should cover the drink and the damage, ma’am.” McCree said to the bartender. He tipped his hat before walking out the door.

The High Side is the bar on Route 66 in front of the second checkpoint and they do, indeed, have McCree’s picture on the dartboard! That’s the inspiration behind this.

[tf2occontest]

Pierce / The Supplier VS The Therapist

(Full matchup list here)

Alright team, here's a recap: This is a contest to determine who amongst you will take the top of the leaderboards and be hired at TFI! Simply put, whoever gets the most votes gets to move on, and whoever doesn't... Well. They'll be put down swiftly and cleanly. :}

So, mann your stations, because here are your next contestants! Vote for your favorite mercenary who you want to win the TF2 OC Contest! - P

OC INFO UNDER THE CUT!

We highly encourage you to take a peek to make your decision!

Pierce / The Supplier

@sharkk-fin

Image credit: @/sharkk-fin

Meet the RED Supplier. This guy's not the brightest or the nicest, but he gets the job done! His job is to deliver ammo boxes and medkits to his teammates as fast as possible. When you put it that way, it sounds like a fun video game! Pretty useful when there's none nearby, and your teammates are off doing who knows what! I mean, how many times has THAT happened to you? You're super low on health, or you're in the middle of fighting someone, and there's no resupply nearby?? They're halfway across the map! Medic's busy trying to recreate Meet the Medic, and Engineer's dispenser was JUST destroyed! Sounds like you need someone fast and reliable to help you get back on your feet. Well, I can't promise he'll be reliable, but he sure is fast!

But of course, there's a catch. You can't have someone who's good at his job AND is the sweetest guy on earth. He has his likeable aspects of course, but he's still an asshole. He's got this huge ego, and a love for pulling pranks on his teammates. He's a huge jerk and will probably make your work life miserable! Maybe you can tape a picture of his face to a dartboard and throw darts at it, make the thought of punching that smug grin off his face your reason for getting up for work that day! But if you can look past all that, and somehow befriend him, he's a cool guy! Loyal and nicer to the people he cares about, but that still won't stop him from playing pranks.

He's great at his job, but not so great with people. If you're willing to sacrifice the sanity and happiness of your favorite mercs for a successful mission, he's your guy! A vote for Supplier is a vote for (hopefully) not waiting 12 seconds before respawning because you couldn't get to a medkit in time!

The Therapist

@hazardtoons

Image credit: @/hazardtoons

You wouldn’t expect an organisation like Team Fortress Industries to invest in something like mental health treatment for its hardened soldiers. The one giving them this generous care is a woman only known by those who work at the company as Therapist - a seemingly well-intentioned lady there to give everything from a shoulder to cry on to someone to seek advice from.

There is a catch, however. Not all the information she gathers from her clients is used for good. Underlying that comforting presence is another tool of oppression used in the company.