#tf2 sniper x Oc

[ranger-la-criatura]

"I didn't know we had other RED team! These two were cool, and Nurse is very pretty. Hope next time I can show her some lizards."

So... @mrsvalentinefucker1 I drew us with our men, I hope I did a decent job with Nurse!

[dadconnoisseur]

Tf2 brainrot is real-

Yes I know I’m cringe

[bonk9999]

Selfshipp BLU TEAM-SONA???

He's Angel...yeahyeah im cringe but free, the blue Sniper have a big crush on this depressed dude but he doesnt love him back<\3

I consider Angel an oc more like a proper 'sona' but ok...

P.S: Bro didn't have medicine studies, lol, he's a doctor...in story of arts...lol

[slashycassy]

•TF2 SNIPER X OC

PILOT CHAPTER: "Rifles and Baccarats"

AN: There we go with the pilot of this story i hope you will enjoy it. This chapter is mostly to introduce the lady of the story but also to set up a plot that we will use later English is not my native language please excuse my mistakes Trigger Warning: none, just some very light suggestive description Word count: 2,100 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

March, 1987

The night is young, golden crescent moon in the sky, little to no cloud and a soft chill wind passing in the air. Chatter and laughs are heard from the main room of the casino, warming the place. Fizzy wines, soft jazz and the clicks of glasses and heels are the soundtrack from this sweet evening at the “Royale”.

Most of the people there are seated are the tables, playing cards and gambling. Tonight’s great entertainment: The Roulette. The tiny bead rolling over the red and black numbered tiles, gaining gasps of anticipations, groans of defeat and cheers of victory.

The other tables were busy too, masters of card games, especially Poker, were testing their most efficient strategy to ensure the most successful combination of strong cards.

The men were mostly the one gambling in the hot and glamorous atmosphere of the casino, wives and maybe mistresses around them, blinded my the money they could offer them.

Non-players were scattered around the casino, the bar counter almost full of fortunate guests, the smoking room less crowded but still allowing smokers to chat among themselves.

Tonight is a special night, it is the Casino’s fifth anniversary since the owner changed, Mann Co had finally conceded this old building in downtown Santa Fe, previously being the Builders League United weapon warehouse, leading the land to go on neutral grounds between the two teams, in theory.

Today, the “Royale” is known as one of the most prestigious casino of the southern states, after the ones in Las Vegas and Los Angeles, not only for the quality of the place but also because of its owner. That loud mouth, strong minded, landlady that made her way by herself in the game industry. She is as hated as loved by a lot of people, some idolize her, some envy her.

It was a rare sight. It was not everyday a young french immigrant woman could made such a journey through success this quickly, especially in those times. She had arrived in New Mexico five years prior with money, ambition and the will to become someone: a true believer of the American Dream who believed just right.

Her appearance might have helped a bit, some describe her as a “Siren for success, luring everyone that could be helpful to take her to the top”.

With a puff of tobacco-scented smoke, she is looking at the moon, leaning on one of the balconies’ railing. Her face shows nothing but indifference to the party going on inside her place. She’s too used to that, and it is becoming boring and uninteresting, but it’s also important for her to keep the casino busy with the elites having fun.

Well, the said-elites are the mostly the ones making those parties “boring and uninteresting”, all of them acting as snobbish as they can act, flaunting goods they don’t even need.

She maybe looks like them, by the way she dresses, the size of her house or by her net-worth, but she can’t help kind of despise them, because unlike them, she knows how to stay humble. She was taught to be.

She takes one final drag of her cigarette, dusting the last ashes in the nearest ashtray and sliding her stilettos heels back one before returning inside. The once muffled noise is now returning to her in full volume.

Carefully going down the stairs to the main room, she gets a few astonished looks from the latest guests. Taking in how her long sleeveless red velvety dress was hugging her skin, how her neat black hair was falling on her shoulders. The tattoos on her arms and back on display. She puts on her polite smile.

She grabs a flute glass of a purplish sparkling drink from a silver tray held by a waiter. Seeing him now holding an empty plateau, she kindly dismisses him, allowing him a little break. She walks in the crowd, smiling and waving at the guests. She’s heading toward a very particular room of the casino, where her ‘special guests’ were waiting for her.

On her way, she makes the time for small talks with a few polite people that interrupted her walking. One of them was a tall older woman in a purple suit, she had congratulated the red-wearing lady for how much of a success this evening was. With a thank and a handshake, they parted their way, but the landlady could still feel her eyes in her back.

The French girl finally arrived at her destination, a private lounge. A bar and a single bartender were stood at the end on the room. In the middle sat a large poker table, with seven men around it six players and one dealer, playing cards. Their wives were quietly chatting, drinking and now eyeing the European entering the room, they kind off keep and suspicious feeling about her, because of how close she was to their husband.

“Messieurs*”, she says, the french word rolling on her tongue, alerting the men of her presence.

“Ah! Here is our lady!”, one of the men shouts.

He had ditched out his suit’s vest, to be more comfortable. He passes his hand in his grayish hair to comb it a bit.

“Good evening to you too, Mister Richards”, she responds with a heavy french accent that she cant’ get rid of, going to shake his hand.

She then looks at the other men and greets them one by one. “Raileigh, Oswald, Sinclair, Salvador, Decaro..” They were the other Casino owners of the southern States, big bosses in the game industry, her included, being the only woman.

She then turns to the wives.

“Ladies”

They answer with a polite smile.

She looks at the dealer and dismisses him. He stands, nods and leaves the lounge. She then sits at his place.

“You don’t play?” Salvador comments.

“Please, sir Salvador, the owner doesn’t play in their place, you told me so”, she adds with a playful wink.

She distributes the card to them, playing the dealer for them.

The play was going on well, lots of money were dealt and lots of drinks were downed. She stays focused, arbitrating the business men. The seven of them were talking about work and some partnerships and maybe organize a tournament, maybe in Las Vegas.

She notices the suggestive looks she gets from her male associates, how one of them was discretely touching her feet with his own under the table.

“All in for Sir Decaro, any calls?”, she announces.

“Fold.”

“Fold”

Sinclair raises the bet.

The mind game between Decaro and Sinclair began as she examines the two men. One of them a good player, the other is only here by luck. Decaro reveals his cards.

“Three of a kind for sir Decaro”, she declares

Sinclair sighs, a mischievous grin on his lips as he reveals his own cards.

“And a Flush for sir Sinclair, making him the winner of this game”, she adds, while Decaro was starting a fight with Sinclair, calling him a cheater.

She kicks a the annoying foot under the table, glaring at Oswald for his disrespectful behavior, knowing his wife was behind him, so was his mistress in the main room of the casino. She swears this man’s only wish is to have her knelt before him, giving him an oral treat. He’s a perverted men. Like her other colleagues in the room, but they were more subtle about it. God she hates them.

Being a business lady was an incredible job, but her associates were.. let’s say.. pains in the ass, but it was the routine after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moon is still fully in the night sky, but the scenery is not the same. The same wind feels cooler than before, no lights to be seen in the badlands. Some coyotes are howling their guts out to prove they exists.

Well hidden in a secluded plain area, some laughter are heard coming out from a building. Eight men are enjoying their victory from well-fought battle against competition. Here was the Reliable Excavation Demolition team, also known as the REDs. This team was composed of nine mercenaries, each of them an expert of their class, making them strategically balanced.

They were enjoying a nice game of card with a few beers, their chatter a symphony of multiple accents.

The youngest of them was throwing a tantrum against the wisest who had removed his construction helmet, blaming him for his obvious defeat in the card game, while the alcoholic one was drunkenly making fun of him for being a ‘cry baby’. Around the table were sat two other of the nine men, a tuxedo wearing one, smoking a cigarette and clearly annoyed by the young man's behavior, next to him, a gas-mask wearing one, they never really know who this one was, they just knew that he? She? Them? Whatever. This one liked to set things on fire.

In the same room, on the couch watching a quiet show, were sat three other men, the tallest and broadest one, a glasses wearing one, dressed in a white dress shirt, a beige vest and a red tie. They were pretending to listen to their loud colleague, his iron helmet covering his eyes but to the other mercenaries’ dismay, not his mouth. He was rambling about a certain Sun Tzu and how he said a lot of war-related stuff.

The eight of them.. eight? Yes one is missing.

The last mercenary of the team could be considered as an introvert or a loner, someone who enjoys his times alone. Even if every one of them had a room for themselves in the base, this one prefers to stay in the intimacy and quietness of his van.

That night, he had decided to trade the evening with his teammates with a tranquil wandering in the dark badlands. He had parked his camper next to a nice spot and had started a little campfire outside of it, to keep him a little warm in chilly weather.

He was cleaning his beloved rifle, piece by piece and humming a song by The Who, coming from his van’s radio. He had a solo mission coming up, the contract laying next to his sitting form as he looks at it from time to time. It was a simple elimination, nothing more, nothing less, something he already did a thousand times since his beginning as a mercenary. He knew how immoral this job was, his parents kept on reminding him, but at least he could win his life the best he could.

He brings a cup of coffee to his lips and sighs after taking a sip. The song changes to a Beatles song.

He starts to reassemble his rifle with precision and professionalism, he is after all, a professional. Once his rifle was back in one piece, he took his stuff and went back inside his camper van, closing the door and letting the campfire slowly die in the cold badlands air.

He locks himself inside before removing his boots and climbing up on his makeshift bed, laying on it and observing the ceiling of his van. A few photos were glued to the little walls of his ‘bedroom’, some of his teammates, his parents, one childhood photo of him holding a wooden bow, and some animal pictures he took in the Australian Outback.

He picks up his pack of cigarette, takes one and lights it, opening the little window over his head. Taking a drag of it, he looks at some magazines he had next to his bed, a lot of animal and wildlife magazines, some guns and rifles ones and a two or three.. private ones. Maybe he could peek into those later.

Finishing his cigarette and crushing the end in his ashtray he yawns. Maybe he should have stayed with his colleagues for at least one game and a beer. They aren’t mean to him, he actually enjoys spending time with them, but sometimes they are a bit too much, too loud, too annoying.. He was just used to loneliness, even in battle when he stays nested up on a tower for sniping, he stays most of his time alone. And he likes it.. right?

With a final sigh he removes his brown pants and takes off his red shirt, tossing them down the floor of his camper van, leaving him in his white tank top and boxers to be more comfortable of the upcoming night of sleep he will certainly oversleep.

Being an assassin was indeed a good job, but sometimes it gets quite boring, alone with his thoughts. It’s the routine after all.

(*messieurs = gentlemen)

[gerloveless]

TF2 OC/Selfinsert

I don't think I've ever introduced this little guy so...

The Rebel [they/he] isRomanian-Venezuelan and they're 25 years old with the ability to improvise shields and weapons, he is agile and flexible but not very strong. Oh and as they are an insert so is a vampire:3!

I mentioned Rebel is in a poly-relaptionship with Sniper and Medic?

[downundergarfield]

I decided that I wouldn't post this on my main account but I wanted to share something spicy with you.

Well Sniper x Samuel Wright.

This is definitely not target practice.

Light censorship under the cut.

If you want to see the full-feel free to DM my discord~ - severe_acrophobia

[apeirophobicsummit]

"...And the feeling of his warmth and strong hands holding my trembling body filled with warm calmness and confidence."

I'm not going to apologize for this.

[xxiamtiebrousxx]

Chapter Six (Snow Always Falls | Tf2 x OC)

The group returned to the castle. At this point all the sweets had been devoured. Harvey was taken back to his room, escorted by guards assigned to him. Mundy was shown to his room. He had been given privileges to explore the castle but he chose to stay in his room for the time being. Helen was showing the queens around. Dakota immediately took Rosella on her tour around the castle. She had no choice. Her boots clicked along the stone flooring of the castle. 

“So where’s my room?” Rosella asked. She held her hands behind her back.

“Down this hallway,” Dakota instructed. She placed one hand  on the stone wall, which was freezing to the touch. She ran her hand down the wall. “Take a right at the end of the hall and you’ll be there.” Rosella walked down the hallway, Dakota silently following behind her. 

“So tell me Princess, what do you like to do for fun around here?” Rosella asked. A gentle smile appeared on her face. Dakota scratched her neck.

“Yeah there’s tons to do around here,” she said. “There’s the lake, the fair, which is coming up soon, the woods. Heck, even the town itself is fun to visit.” Dakota smiled ear to ear. “If you want, I can take you there sometime this week.” Rosella nodded.

“I would like that very much,” she answered. The two princesses arrived at the front door of Rosella’s room. “I’ll see you at dinner, yes?” Dakota nodded.

“It’s a five, don’t miss it,” she replied. “Usually there are left-overs but with the more people there are in this household, I’m beginning to doubt it.” 

“I’ll be there,” she said. Rosella nodded and closed her door. 

“That was easy.” Dakota retraced back her steps and followed the familiar path back to the throne room. Helen, Anastasia, and Isabel sat in golden chairs that had been brought up. They sat in the middle of the room, almost like they were huddling. Whispers shot back and forth between the queens. Strange it seemed to Dakota. The queens were like a secret council. Not even guards were present. Dakota cleared her throat, catching the attention of the three  queens. The group broke up. Helen scooted her seat, turned it around and faced Dakota.

“Yes dear?” Helen asked. 

“Oh yes,” Dakota hesitated. She brought her hands to her side. “I was wondering if I could take Rosella out sometime. It doesn’t have to be now, it can be later.” Helen’s eyes wandered over to Anatasia, who gave a nod of approval. 

“That’s a yes,” Helen replied. Dakota smiled.

“Thank you,” she answered. “May I be excused?” 

Harvey watched from the tall doors, planning his next move. He spent a few minutes in his room deciding what to tell Dakota in order to woo her. He straightened out his blue tunic and slicked back his caramel hair. He exhaled.

“Okay let’s do this,” he said. He turned around and stopped Dakota just as she approached the doors. He leaned against them with one arm. “Hey,” he said smoothly. Dakota blinked. What did she just witness? Her eyebrows creased.

“Are you okay Harvey?” she asked. He nodded.

“Yeah, I’m okay now that you’re here,” he said. Oh no, please not this, Dakota begged inside her mind. “Heh, why so quiet? Have I left you speechless?” Dakota tried not to face-palm in front of Harvey. This was extremely embarrassing. Harvey didn’t know how ridiculous he looked.

“You know what Harvey,” Dakota said, patting his shoulders, “you should work on your skills before talking to me again.” She ducked under Harvey’s arm and snuck off.  He groaned.

“Too overboard!” he told himself. He made a mental note to tone it down when he saw Dakota again. 

The princess fled to the kitchen. Her dark red skirt flapped behind her as she rushed out to leave Harvey’s view. The kitchen was her safe place. Mundy was there among the cooks. He sliced the skin off a granny apple, letting them fall onto a cutting board. Dakota approached him.

“What’s your opinion on apple skin?” she asked, picking up the green pieces. She took a bite. “I think they are what give apples more flavor.” Mundy grunted.

“I don’t like ‘em, granny apples,” he replied. “That’s why Oi cut off the skin. Oi enjoy them more like that. You can have the slices.” Dakota happily took all the slices Mundy successfully cut off. The sour taste of granny apples were delicious. Dakota couldn’t ask for a better snack. She grinned in between bites. “What are you smiling at?”

“Nothing,” Dakota replied. Mundy scoffed, placing the knife on the counter. “What? I’m not allowed to smile when around you?” she asked.

Harvey had snuck into the kitchen not longer after Dakota arrived. He planned to redo the previous conversation with her and try again. His grip on the doorway frame was strong enough to break it. He gritted his teeth in anger as he watched Dakota and Mundy get into a friendly argument about which apple was the best. It quickly turned into a laugh. Harvey was not liking what he was seeing.

How was he supposed to get close to the princess when she was bonding with an ex-inmate over apples? Harvey had no chance when she was finding someone else.

“Hey Harvey, wanna join us?” Harvey was pulled out of his thoughts. Dakota was waving him over. Harvey maneuvered through the kitchen staff as they brought out food, moved around, and did their work. He barely squeezed through. The kitchen was so busy cooking. “So nice of you to join us,” Dakota said. Harvey grinned.

“Thanks for inviting me,” he said. Mundy scoffed. “Well, thank you Dakota, for inviting me. It was getting boring over there.” Doing what? Staring off into space? Dakota thought to herself. She wasn’t trying to be rude, thinking like that, but Harvey’s eyes had wandered to her and Mundy and it was getting weird. 

“So Harvey, do you like eating apple skin?”

[howdylogan]

draws, sketches and doodles made with @evangelina830 !!

(it was fun draw together :'d thank youu)

(a large publication. more drawings below.)

[ragequat]

tf2 art/shape study i did

i already posted this to my twitter and it blew up over there so i thought id share it here too , maybe yall would find this guide useful :D

[spidercat-karma]

Just a big idiot who loves scratching

Karma spy and Strizh sniper :з

They never admit to anyone that they really enjoy spending time together, despite being actively angry and insulting each other during the day on the battlefield

[ranger-la-criatura]

Ranger and her giant rocks! Sniper's gonna have a real good chat with her later on.

Good luck trying to get THAT out.

[neonghozt]

Spike n frank get it on

OG + glasses

[gerloveless]

TF2 comic spoilers???!

Ik isn't that good but i'm trying and lately i don't feel soo fine

[downundergarfield]

Since this is my writing blog I will leave here a small post about the timeline of the relationship between my oc Samuel Wright and Sniper. Bon appetit.

Samuel Wright x Sniper tf2 ship timeline

Samuel Downwell Wright. The sniper from the BLU team, who once faced the Sniper on the battlefield and has since gone crazy because he had not seen such professional work before, he was ready to swear that sticking his head out with this particular sniper was a big mistake. Fear and envy mixed in him, and eventually flowed into adoration. He began to track down all the actions of the Sniper, to learn from him from the outside. Yes, he's a simp, but the Sniper didn't notice it, he doesn't give a fuck, he's not up to it, he has his own life. For him, Sam is the same as the rest of the snipers - the head in the scope, and then its remnants.

But Wright slowly but surely studied and learned much more. He was a fan of his, completely forgetting that this is actually a war. This, of course, turned out bad for him.

In my verse, all teams, even wandering and separated from Mann-co, come together to fight Greymann's robots. It was a big stage and step for Sam, he thought that he would finally be able to meet his idol, work side by side.

Yeah, the dick was swimming there. (Russian expression meaning "of course not")

Mick found out about Sam's feelings during this time and it turned him away. He took it out on Sam, hated him, let off steam. The Sniper did not dare to do this with others, and sometimes he wanted to shout at someone. So his "fanatic" became a great target. He is a fanatic, he will endure, forgive. So there is no smell of romance here.

Of course, Sam eventually shocked with this, got upset a lot, was afraid that he wasn't doing enough, and then his hyperfix came off. He took off his rose-colored glasses, finally realized WHAT exactly he was doing wrong. And he began to snap at the Sniper himself at times, ignore, try not to give in.

So they fucked up until the end of Mannco. In the comics, they were disbanded. These two have also spread out in their places.

Mick to his home, to his parents, unfortunately dead.

And Sam walked a lot, for a long time, first to Spain to his best friend - demoman (of his team ofc, not Tavish), then he walked there, here. Reluctantly, he returned home to his parents. And when the opportunity presented itself to return to mercenary work again, he agreed with a bullet's speed. Because his father is a tyrant. And he regarded Sam's love for the Sniper as "dirty, disgusting faggotry."

So here they met again. Sam had cooled down, and Mick was a little sorry for the little one. Then they got a little closer as friends, but it didn't go any further.

The Sniper was pleased that he was not completely alone again, Sam listened to him attentively, supported him, comforted him, accepted him as he is, just like parents. It helped the Sniper a little bit, made everything warmer.

And Wright realized that he did not get rid of feelings, but simply buried them deep inside out of fear of getting them again. They have blossomed to be a support for the Sniper.

So they became friends, but it didn't go into the romantic. I get off with the fact that Sam can joke a little flirty, and the Sniper will hit him on the back of the head like "stfu gay bitch" but will not leave.

I hope nothing was lost in translation.

[ranger-la-criatura]

Would ya look at that, I think I just exploded. <3

Sniper's POV of @ranger-la-criatura (fanart cuz am bored lol)