#the reverend

[tf2occontest]

Elijah King & Egon; The Assistants VS The Reverend

(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!

Elijah King & Egon; The Assistants

@gordonfreemanreal

Image credit: @/gordonfreemanreal

The Assistants, while an unassuming class, are a valuable part of not only their respective teams, but the administration! You could count Pauling herself as the Admin Assistant, but regardless, my girls are here to lend a helping hand (as their emblems suggest)! In battle, they take on a sort of subclass role with anyone who needs an extra set of hands! For example, when helping the Demos, they take on something akin to the Demoknight subclass, a Trapper to help the Snipers, a Batter to assist the Scouts, etc etc. This even goes for any 10th classes (I’m looking at you, TF3)! When not in battle, however, they usually do a lot of paperwork to help Miss Pauling, or go on any special contracts that’s asked of them (usually transporting cargo).

Now for a bit about the girls themselves. Elijah King (she/he) was raised in a lab by none other than….(drumroll please)....the RED Medic! (We do love a nepo baby.) Soon after the doctor was forced to leave the facility after becoming too close to Eli, she escaped, got a fun little bout of amnesia, and started living her life in New Mexico! She bounced from job to job, getting experience in all kindsa places; mechanic, bartender, and bouncer were just a few jobs she had. But, one day, she was approached by a lovely woman in purple and offered a job. She took it, and the rest is history! Now this bubbly, flirty, fun-loving gal finally has a home…and maybe one day, she’ll realize she found her father as well.

Egon (he/him), in short, is Eli’s clone. He has a fun little secret, though: he remembers Everything. He doesn’t have amnesia! It kinda kills him to see Eli on the other team with their father and not even knowing it! The only thing more frustrating than that is the fact that their father is Intentionally keeping it from her! …It doesn’t help that he completely rejected Egon when he tried to reconnect. That definitely won’t give Egon issues about Technically being Eli and having to cobble a new identity for himself in a very short period of time. It certainly doesn’t make him sad and bitter. Lucky for him, the entirety of the BLU team is sad and bitter in some way, so he fits right in! Now he’s just gotta keep everyone from finding out he’s a clone…Not that eventually getting temporarily kidnapped and re-experimented on helps his odds. Now he’s got even More unnatural eyes, along with other problems. Eh, he’s probably fine.

So, I bet you’re wondering: Why should you vote for these gals? Their backstory seems weird and tragic and probably doesn’t fit at all in line with your interpretation of Medic! Well, my friend, come close and I’ll tell you.

BECAUSE IT’S FUN, DAMNIT!! VOTE FOR THE ASSISTANTS TO HAVE FUN AND WHIMSY IN YOUR LIFE!!! GO GO GO!!!!!!!

The Reverend

@coopster3d

Image credit: @/coopster3d

The Reverend is a religious fanatic hailing from Southern Italy, where he was raised in a commune by a group of reclusive nuns. Where, according to him, he was taught the basic necessary skills for life, which include but are not limited to: Small sword combat, butchering, and Ecclesiastical Latin. It is unknown how exactly he was ordained as his denomination remains unclear. He often fails to mention that throughout his travels, he's made some adjustments to the standard Bible, adding his own footnotes, amendments, and even on occasion, pages which he believes are the true gospel, taken from a multitude of other religions, leading to a mishmash of ideals and beliefs full of unexplained rituals. Within the team The Reverend plays a heavily supportive role, serving initially as on-base staff in the form of a “Therapist” to the Mercs, which unfortunately or not, was not clearly conveyed leading to a sacrificial killing in the Intelligence Room. Now, he is a full time member of the Mercenary team!

CLASS INFORMATION

Primary Stock: Thurible/Censer A golden Thurible, which, when held, creates an aura around The Reverend. Teammates in range, when damaged, contribute to a shield meter. When full, the user can activate a direction shield [stylized as a building mist which hardens into a thin shield the size of three heavys stood shoulder to shoulder] that protects against projectile damage and protects The Reverend from "Hell-fire" [Pyro's flames] while active. In order to use this effectively, The Reverend has to directly put himself in front of the front line, only properly using this shield when putting himself in a direct line of fire beforehand. When not activating his shield, The Reverend uses his thurible similar to that of a flail, creating a mid ranged weapon which is used to protect himself and others in a select radius around him.

Secondary Stock: The “Mercy Kill” Dagger Modeled after a sword used in early battles to put soldiers who were suffering grave injuries out of their misery in a quick and efficient way, The Reverend uses it similar to The Medic's Ubersaw. Instead of contributing to the thurible’s meter, it instead contributes to its own meter, which, when full, can be used to activate The Reverend's "Dying Wish." [Inspired by Priests being seen as undertakers, guiding souls to heaven or otherwise while on their deathbed.] When used, The Reverend can target a specific teammate under half-health and for a short time grants the target guaranteed Crits, but does not heal the target, nor protect them from any damage type other than the one the target themselves is dealing. [I.e. Heavy receives a buff against bullets, Pyro-fire, and Demo- explosives]

Melee Stock Options: Bible/Rosary The Reverend is against the use of guns and prefers to get up close and personal with his damage dealing. [Used as an excuse to personally "send people off" to the next life while praying for their soul.] He either uses his Bible to bludgeon his victims or, on occasion, wraps his Rosary around his knuckles to boost his hand-to-hand damage.

Support Slot Stock: Holy Water Mister Modeled after a garden mister used for plants, the bottle is instead filled with Holy Water blessed by The Reverend himself. Mechanically used to rid teammates of ailments, such as Jarate, Pyro's Fire, and works to undisguise enemy Spies. [This also has an ammo limit similar to Pyro's flamethrower]

EXTRA INFO

The Reverend, or as he is rarely called, Father Angelo, is known to be an enigmatic figure even among bizarre groups like the Mercenaries. He's rarely seen loitering in public spaces around the base, choosing to reside in his homemade "service" room, complete with a makeshift confession booth. When prompted, he'll say he prefers the quiet as it allows him a moment of reflection. He seems well put together and always walks through the halls with an upright rigidness, always seeming to peer down at people when speaking with them. That is of course unless he is genuinely interested, in which case he'll lean forward to inquire further, often expressing himself with his hands which he kept firmly laced together just moments before. The Reverend does not see most of his fellow men as solitary beings, in fact, most if not all of the Mercenaries are seen as a challenge to him. After all, what's more difficult than getting a group of cold-blooded murderers to repent? He's convinced himself he's already chosen for heaven, and that God put him on this earth for a reason, and the tribulations he's faced working with MANN CO. might just be that exact mission.

Of course the Father isn't a stranger to violence, on the field he maintains his saintly demeanor when grouped with his colleagues, which seems to be most often given his support role. Until he's given a chance to take matters into his own hands. The Reverend is incredibly vengeful, with an excellent memory for faces, he takes the time to chase enemies who he understands are close to death, and he finishes them off himself, usually bludgeoning them to death. He doesn't enjoy the act of killing, what he takes the most pleasure in is when his team finds him knelt over the dying victim, his hands gripping theirs as he prays for their safe travel to heaven, asking them to repent in their last moments.

FUN FACTS!

-The Reverend often wakes up at dawn and has a very specific morning ritual that includes tending to his small flock of chickens. -Despite his attempts, he is often shadowed by a murder of crows who he believes bring him bad luck, or more accurately, bring him a bad name. -He speaks Italian most fluently, with Ecclesiastical Latin and English following behind. He learned both during his time studying the Bible and its origins when he was younger. -His class emblem is known as "the all-seeing eye of god." -The specific translation The Reverend uses as the basis for his text is The Douay-Rheims Bible. -The Reverend’s full given name is Angelo Caruso, but he is rarely addressed by it, and instead was only called by his first name for most of his life. -When signing his name, he often uses the “o” of his name as a flourish, which leads to his signature looking closer to “Angel.” -The Reverend can play the tambourine verily well, he enjoys tambourine dancing and encourages people to join in for the purpose of worship.

[bigtrashdad]

is the infernal lifestyle right for you?

[sasster]

Here There Be Witches

Once again, we are moving things forward! With another brief trip to the past? Hm. [doc] tw: needles, the sewing kind but piercing skin/blood is involved —

As much as the Reverend enjoyed galavanting through the halls and grounds under his thumb, reveling in the fear that wafted off of his following in droves, he also enjoyed retiring to his quarters with the blinds pulled so tight that the sun itself couldn’t penetrate their security on a cloudless morning. He perhaps played too into the role he occupied on those nights, when he soaked in the magnitude of his power in total silence, in the deep brooding dark. It never bothered him much, how on the nose his behavior ended up being.

Despite that being common knowledge among his following, it must have been that someone never received that memo, for very quickly the door to his bedroom was opened and the light made even faster work of flooding out that darkness and infringe on his peace. Accompanying the disruption was a soft voice, one he could never muster anger toward, that replaced the silence just as effectively.

“Matere,” the intruder spoke gently, and her voice quelled the irritation that bubbled up within him instantly. There was a specific sort of exasperation that carried along to the tune of her voice. His beloved crossed the room and sat on the bed before she continued. “I have been searching for you all evening. We need to speak.”

“Weaver, my love, you always have my ear.”

This much was always true, there was never a time where he would leave her to feel as though she’d been ignored. He’d also, unfortunately, never been known to respond to criticism. Weaver pursed her lips while she considered her approach.

“What troubles you?”

“I need to know what you are doing to that poor boy. What is happening to him?”

Now it was his turn to chew on his thoughts, and as he did, he shifted to place gloved hands on her shoulders. Being made to answer for himself and his actions, as rare of an instance as it was, would surely have ended differently if the inquiry had fallen from another’s lips. She knew this as well as he.

“Ailzea is fine.” He finally responded, keenly aware of how much she cared for his disappointingly passive descendant. He gave her shoulders a firm squeeze. “There is nothing to worry about regarding him.”

Weaver pulled away slightly and turned to face him, disappointment of her own painted on what little of her features that could be seen by the light of the hall. “Favion. What have you done to Faivon?”

Almost as soon as the question left her mouth, the Reverend barked out a surprised laugh. One that was born both of shock and genuine humor. There wasn’t a soul in the whole wretched city that would use the word poor as a descriptor for that beast of a yellow blood. Not the young man that spent his evenings prowling after smaller and weaker willed trolls. It would be a delusion, a mistake, to consider that boy a poor thing by any stretch of the imagination.

Matere had a list of other, much more suitable descriptions: Repulsive, disgusting, vile— To name a few.

Weaver was clearly not as humored as he, signified by the way the witch fully pulled away from her partner to instead stand by his bedside, hands balled into fists at her sides.

“Matere, this is not a laughing matter.”

“I would hardly cast pity upon Favion Lefera, animal that he is.”

She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest, with a nasty scowl a clear indication to her mate that she well and truly meant business.

“What did you do to him? Why is he getting more aggressive? Especially if you find such animalistic behavior to be beneath you.”

Matere felt himself grin, gloved hands clapping together to get the attention of the attendant from the hall. He, of course, did not consider the aggression of his little pet project to be beneath him. He was, in fact, extremely happy with the results of tampering with the boy. He wouldn’t give it up for anything, not even the peace of his mate.

Her ambivalence would be missed, however.

“I will show you.” He said when the attendant appeared in the doorway. “Bring Favion to us, quickly,” he commanded and watched as they practically flew down the hall in compliance. “You will not like it, and I sincerely do not believe that it can be undone.”

Weaver frowned at the taunt, but the pair were both well aware that even if it could be, it would only happen over the Reverend’s dead body.

—

The Restorer was not one for rushing. He never so much as broke out into a brisk walk, regardless of what it was he was attending to. That being the case, it was a head turning spectacle when he made quick work of covering the distance between his chambers and the front doors of the church upon hearing of Weaver’s arrival. Not quite a run, but enough to get the attention of any of the followers that happened to be along his path.

It was the juxtaposition of his typical placid expression coupled with the urgency that piqued most of the curiosity.

She met him at the door, before his arrival, she was nearly a statue, his only rival in a competition for stoniest expression, but her doe-eyed apprentice more than made up for her lack of excitement. The smaller of the two purple bloods was flitting about the entrance, gaping at the high ceilings and marveling wordlessly at the stained glass.

When Weaver saw the incesed priest approach, she broke into a grin of her own. “Ailzea, please forgive me that I could not come sooner,” she offered her apology quickly and enveloped him in a hug in the same instant, stooping a bit so that the hug was not distorted by their difference in height.

“That you found the time to come at all means all the world.” He replied in his usual cadence, unchanged by his mad dash to meet her at the door. “I see you bring a friend.”

“Ah, yes. This is Spider, my apprentice. The experience will be invaluable for her.” While they spoke of her, the pair turned their gazes to the young troll to find her staring up at the priest with stars in her eyes, mouth wide open. “I hope that this is alright with you, Ailzea.”

Never one to mistreat the youth, Ailzea untangled himself from his elder and greeted the young witch with a wave. “Of course it is no trouble.”

Spider pumped a fist up in triumph, much to the amusement of her mentor.

“Please, follow me.” He instructed as he began to lead the way back to his study, “My children are already waiting on us.”

The walk back to the study was uneventful. Beyond Spider’s occasional asking after what corridors would lead to which rooms and the priest obliging her curiosity, it featured only the elder trolls catching up on their lost time. Occasionally, Spider ran ahead of them to get a better look at a stained glass piece or old painting, ghosting fingers around their edges in reverence, then waiting for the entourage to catch up.

“She has quite an eye for the arts.” The priest observed.

“It is all she talks about outside of her studies.”

When they arrived at the study, Ailzea led his guests to where they were met by his children as promised. The two young Roatus’ were seated at his work table, scrutinizing the project he’d left abandoned when Weaver was announced.

“I’m thinkin’ it’s another mantis.” Archie said after straightening up from inspecting it closely.

”It’s not always going to be a mantis,” Marrie argued, letting her fingers trail at the base of the figure.

“A man can’t dream? Need another one to display my collection.”

Marrie rolled her eyes.

“It is going to be a giraffe,” the priest announced their presence with the clarification. “I will happily make you another display piece afterwards.” He promised and Archie grinned in response.

“You spoil him, you know.” Marrie said and gave her brother a playful shove. “That’s why he’s like that.”

“It cannot be helped.”

Archie only returned her shove with a mischievous grin. “Who’sat with you, pops?” He indicated the witch and appearance with a small gesture.

“This is Weaver, an old friend that may be able to help us with Marrie’s arm.” As he spoke, he looked down to then introduce Spider, but found that she’d already made it her business to inspect his daughter with gusto.

Though she did not touch her, she openly marveled at the craftsmanship with which she was put together.

“Please forgive my curious Spider,” Weaver said softly, stern gaze on her apprentice. “She finds the magic in everything.”

Marrie only giggled. “That’s not something to apologize for! It’s a good thing. I’m Marrie, this is Archie.”

Her brother leaned back against the table, his attention now on the witch that stood near his father. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Whadya gonna do for Marrie?” His inquiry was a simple one, but he was only successful in hiding the anxiety behind it from the pair he’d just met.

“Straight to the point. He is certainly a Roatus.” Weaver could not contain her smile as she moved in closer to get a better look at Marrie and the arm that she had in a sling. “I’ve not had the pleasure of doing this on one of your father’s creations, but there is no reason it shouldn’t work — Spider, the supplies — May I?”

Spider began to dig into her messenger bag and pulled out all sorts of odds and ends that Archie eyed as she set them on the table. It was nothing that Ailzea’d never seen before, so he busied himself clearing the table to leave space for her to work.

Marrie leaned in toward Weaver and offered up her arm, Weaver delicately undid the sling.

On the table in place of the wooden figure and wood working tools, Spider placed two jars of pitch black liquids, two needles, and a spool of purple thread. Archie raised his brows at the collection, but said nothing. Weaver continued.

“It is a simple enough procedure. I will stitch life into the arm,” with a soft click, she popped it out of the socket. “Then I will sew that force into Marrie.”

“And that’ll work?”

“I should have no reason to think otherwise.”

Archie casted a worried glance to his big sister, who beamed back at him.

“Never heard of magic like that.”

“You have my word, there is nothing to worry about.”

—

The Reverend was not a patient man. Even his matesprit could not wiggle her way around the shortness of that fuse. He sighed behind her as she examined the yellow blood.

“Matere, you need not breathe over my shoulder while I work.”

When he made no indication that he’d be leaving, it was her turn to sigh, but she continued moving. First she dipped the needle into the jar of liquid before her. Then she raised it to her eyes for inspection.

The entire thing and long trail of thread tied to it glistened in the light of the Reverend’s study.

“Favion,” he addressed the boy that sat obediently in front of her with the back of his neck fully exposed. The boy responded with a grunt. “How do you feel?”

It was not genuine worry with which the Reverend asked the question, rather it was purely scientific interest.

“Dying.” Came the gruff response. “Then undying. All the time.”

Matere hummed, one that sounded closer to a purr. He had not expected the results to be what they were, but they were a delight either way.

Inside of Favion the Reverend’s decaying voodoos fought for dominance with his descendant’s life giving voodoos, both of which dampened by the boy's own nullifying psionic ability.

Neither power, much to the Reverend’s entertainment, would stop coursing through the lowblood until they finished the job. And his natural defense mechanism would see to it that this never came to be.

He eyed the blackened vein-like fissures that crackled out in all directions on the yellow blood’s neck with a smug sense of satisfaction.

“Does it hurt?”

“It throbs.”

“Matere, your hand.” Weaver interrupted, and he complied.

She wasted no time, plunging the liquid soaked needle into his exposed flesh. It began to sting and he swallowed a wince when she pulled it out the other side, coating it and the full length of the accompanying thread in a slick of his blood.

The witch waited until it started to glow before she turned her attention back to Favion.

“This will burn the entire time, and it is not a cure.”

Favion grunted.

“But it will help with the deterioration and aggression.” It took a lot of convincing for the Reverend to even allow this level of intervention. Love being as powerful as it is. “Temporarily.”

He grunted again, which she took as confirmation that he understood. With deft hands, she began to stitch along the rotting mark left behind by her lover.

—

“S’it have to be our old man?” Archie asked, watching the witch saturate the needles and their attached threads in their own jars of the unknown liquid. She mumbled something over the set, leading them to start bubbling in their containment, before responding.

“Not necessarily. It just needs to be very fresh blood, but I imagine there is something special about Roatus blood that will be better for your sister in the long run.”

He held his wrist up to her face, when her gaze traveled up to meet his, there was something of determination in his eyes.

“Let me, then.”

Weaver smiled, then she tossed a glance to Ailzea, who nodded his approval.

“You love your family a great deal, is that right Archie?”

“‘Course I do.”

“And who am I to deny a love so fierce?”

Marrie was all smiles, hand clasped in her brother’s free hand.

“Spider,” the apprentice popped up by her side. “See to Archie.” She instructed as she lifted up Marrie’s severed arm and one of the soaked needles.

Spider fist pumped once more and very carefully took the remaining needle from its solution with one hand and Archie’s exposed wrist with the other.

“You’ll feel a little pinch!” She announced.

“Lay it on me.” He replied as his sister squeezed his hand tightly.

[reallivewire]

Everyone get dirtier now

[strongstaryuri]

what am i supposed to do.. hearing you call me beautiful after all this time?

[sinshiney]

Nova AU: Reverend Daughter Gideon

[I had a thought that rather than doing canon Harrow's style of corpse puppeting, RD Gideon would get really into programming her constructs with complex instructions (like getting the skellys to dab every time Nova says the word "die"). Her mother's skeleton is her ongoing pet project and she teaches it to mimic affection.]

[bernhard-schipper]

Coming soon - new album:

"Jurij" by Šćiperta Maroder (track list under development)

01 - 'And now I wanna be your God' (Music: The Stooges / Lyrics: B. Schipper) 02 - 'Herman P.' (Music: Psychic TV / Lyrics: B. Schipper) 03 - 'Brat Moj' (Music: Laibach / Lyrics: Laibach) 04 - 'Roman U.' (Music: Psychic TV / B. Schipper)

[tf2occontest]

The Reverend VS The Glider

(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!

The Reverend

@coopster3d

Image credit: @/coopster3d

The Reverend is a religious fanatic hailing from Southern Italy, where he was raised in a commune by a group of reclusive nuns. Where, according to him, he was taught the basic necessary skills for life, which include but are not limited to: Small sword combat, butchering, and Ecclesiastical Latin. It is unknown how exactly he was ordained as his denomination remains unclear. He often fails to mention that throughout his travels, he's made some adjustments to the standard Bible, adding his own footnotes, amendments, and even on occasion, pages which he believes are the true gospel, taken from a multitude of other religions, leading to a mishmash of ideals and beliefs full of unexplained rituals. Within the team The Reverend plays a heavily supportive role, serving initially as on-base staff in the form of a “Therapist” to the Mercs, which unfortunately or not, was not clearly conveyed leading to a sacrificial killing in the Intelligence Room. Now, he is a full time member of the Mercenary team!

CLASS INFORMATION

Primary Stock: Thurible/Censer A golden Thurible, which, when held, creates an aura around The Reverend. Teammates in range, when damaged, contribute to a shield meter. When full, the user can activate a direction shield [stylized as a building mist which hardens into a thin shield the size of three heavys stood shoulder to shoulder] that protects against projectile damage and protects The Reverend from "Hell-fire" [Pyro's flames] while active. In order to use this effectively, The Reverend has to directly put himself in front of the front line, only properly using this shield when putting himself in a direct line of fire beforehand. When not activating his shield, The Reverend uses his thurible similar to that of a flail, creating a mid ranged weapon which is used to protect himself and others in a select radius around him.

Secondary Stock: The “Mercy Kill” Dagger Modeled after a sword used in early battles to put soldiers who were suffering grave injuries out of their misery in a quick and efficient way, The Reverend uses it similar to The Medic's Ubersaw. Instead of contributing to the thurible’s meter, it instead contributes to its own meter, which, when full, can be used to activate The Reverend's "Dying Wish." [Inspired by Priests being seen as undertakers, guiding souls to heaven or otherwise while on their deathbed.] When used, The Reverend can target a specific teammate under half-health and for a short time grants the target guaranteed Crits, but does not heal the target, nor protect them from any damage type other than the one the target themselves is dealing. [I.e. Heavy receives a buff against bullets, Pyro-fire, and Demo- explosives]

Melee Stock Options: Bible/Rosary The Reverend is against the use of guns and prefers to get up close and personal with his damage dealing. [Used as an excuse to personally "send people off" to the next life while praying for their soul.] He either uses his Bible to bludgeon his victims or, on occasion, wraps his Rosary around his knuckles to boost his hand-to-hand damage.

Support Slot Stock: Holy Water Mister Modeled after a garden mister used for plants, the bottle is instead filled with Holy Water blessed by The Reverend himself. Mechanically used to rid teammates of ailments, such as Jarate, Pyro's Fire, and works to undisguise enemy Spies. [This also has an ammo limit similar to Pyro's flamethrower]

EXTRA INFO

The Reverend, or as he is rarely called, Father Angelo, is known to be an enigmatic figure even among bizarre groups like the Mercenaries. He's rarely seen loitering in public spaces around the base, choosing to reside in his homemade "service" room, complete with a makeshift confession booth. When prompted, he'll say he prefers the quiet as it allows him a moment of reflection. He seems well put together and always walks through the halls with an upright rigidness, always seeming to peer down at people when speaking with them. That is of course unless he is genuinely interested, in which case he'll lean forward to inquire further, often expressing himself with his hands which he kept firmly laced together just moments before. The Reverend does not see most of his fellow men as solitary beings, in fact, most if not all of the Mercenaries are seen as a challenge to him. After all, what's more difficult than getting a group of cold-blooded murderers to repent? He's convinced himself he's already chosen for heaven, and that God put him on this earth for a reason, and the tribulations he's faced working with MANN CO. might just be that exact mission.

Of course the Father isn't a stranger to violence, on the field he maintains his saintly demeanor when grouped with his colleagues, which seems to be most often given his support role. Until he's given a chance to take matters into his own hands. The Reverend is incredibly vengeful, with an excellent memory for faces, he takes the time to chase enemies who he understands are close to death, and he finishes them off himself, usually bludgeoning them to death. He doesn't enjoy the act of killing, what he takes the most pleasure in is when his team finds him knelt over the dying victim, his hands gripping theirs as he prays for their safe travel to heaven, asking them to repent in their last moments.

FUN FACTS!

-The Reverend often wakes up at dawn and has a very specific morning ritual that includes tending to his small flock of chickens. -Despite his attempts, he is often shadowed by a murder of crows who he believes bring him bad luck, or more accurately, bring him a bad name. -He speaks Italian most fluently, with Ecclesiastical Latin and English following behind. He learned both during his time studying the Bible and its origins when he was younger. -His class emblem is known as "the all-seeing eye of god." -The specific translation The Reverend uses as the basis for his text is The Douay-Rheims Bible. -The Reverend’s full given name is Angelo Caruso, but he is rarely addressed by it, and instead was only called by his first name for most of his life. -When signing his name, he often uses the “o” of his name as a flourish, which leads to his signature looking closer to “Angel.” -The Reverend can play the tambourine verily well, he enjoys tambourine dancing and encourages people to join in for the purpose of worship.

The Glider

@ruthytwoshakes

Image credit: @/ruthytwoshakes

It's a bird! It's a plane! It's a depressed middle-aged Italian with a flight suit! Please welcome the Glider from TEAMFORTRESS: SPECIAL FORCES, to the best opportunity of all: a job where you merk the exact same team in a different color.

The Glider takes a new approach to our gravel field; with his one-of-a-kind “Gliding Suit” and endless supply of ariel ammo, he’s a menace from a never before seen angle in Team Fortress 2. Above.

He's a bit outta his gourd, spending most of your life isolated in a forest studying "Italy's Shame," Leonardo Da Vinci will do that to you. But no worries! His good cooking and friendly-ish attitude will do more than enough to get you to look past his fre- OCCASIONAL!! Grazie tante! - "mad scientist" outbursts. About planes. Freak. Just whatever you do, DO NOT call it a “Flight Suit.” There’s a difference. He’s not called “The Flyer,” for pete sakes.

[hawki-doodles]

Introducing the best thing since Brokeback Mountain...

...BIBLEBELT MOUNTAIN!!!

Biblebelt art (Engineer x Reverend), posted with (vague) permission from the wonderful @coopster3d.

They're my OTP <333

VOTE THE REVEREND IN THE @tf2occontest COMING UP!!! HE KISSES COWBOYS!!!

[sasster]

Knife Skills

Another backstory Ailzea drabble! Again he’s like.. Early twenties during this time in his life.

[Google doc for the dark background enjoyer]

The cut of the knife has a way of bringing great comfort to Ailzea, one that he could never quantify with words if asked, provided that anything but flesh was on the other side of it. Thankfully, no one is asking and the wood shavings fall harmlessly to the ground as he carves a block out into the shape of a chest.

It is always quiet on this side of the church, so he sits in peace propped up against a wall that faces the forest that threads along the south side of his ancestors territory.

What he wouldn’t give to disappear into that forest. Not that such an escape would do him much justice.

At least for now he gets to be alone. No one ever bothers with this side of the church, not even Favion makes it his business to harass him when he comes out here. He never wonders why that is, Ailzea only finds himself grateful for it.

Little by little the block in his hand starts to take the shape that he is looking for.

Life should just be this.

Maybe an hour or so passes, the chest is fitted with two lovingly carved arms by now, before anyone makes an appearance. A groundskeeper that Ailzea has seen once or twice, but never interacted with, rounds the corner and jumps with a start when he sees the young Roatus.

The delightful smile on his face stays where it is.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you,” Ailzea says into the wood as he carves out the shape of a leg from a new block, having looked up only briefly to see who it was. “I can leave if you need me to, Tunsen.”

The older, much much older, troll does not seem surprised to be addressed by name.

“I don’t mind the company,” his voice is kind. “You can stay right where you are.”

As he speaks, he moves to trim at the weeds beginning to sprout at the base of the wall.

“Provided you clean up after yourself.”

It is in jest, that much Ailzea can tell, but that he would talk to him so flippantly where no other troll would dare interact with the descendant of the Reverend, it draws his attention back to the olive blood.

“Of course I will.”

“Then we can be friends.”

The groundskeeper is an older troll, there is no telling how long he has been under the Reverend’s employ, but his kind smile and the gentle cadence with which he speaks seems to have the ability to lure any troll into a sense of comfort. Safety even.

He seems out of place.

Ailzea watches as he grips a particularly stubborn weed and gives a great tug. He thinks that he likes his job, because his smile never leaves his face. That is a lovely thought.

“Yes, we can be friends,” the younger troll finally says, setting the doll and tools to the side. “Would you like some help?”

“Oh. We really can be friends if you’re going to be helpful about it!” The groundskeeper punctuates the statement with a laugh. “Glad I passed the sniff test.”

“Between us, it is not so difficult to do.”

Tunsen laughs again.

“You’re a good boy.”

No one has ever said that before.

“Thank you.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The cut of the knife has always been Ailzea’s best friend. But he has made another. This friend is much older than him and provides the same level of comfort that carving away at the articulated mantis he’d been working on provides. His carver's knife slides over the head of the mantis to smooth it out and sends a small amount of shavings into the pile accumulating on the surface of his desk.

His new friend knocks on the door when he visits his room, he knows that it is him because no one else knocks on the door here.

Tunsen enters when the permission is given with two objects in tow. A piece of wood and a book that the boy had never read before. He always brings a gift if he can.

“You do not have to bring me anything, Tunsen.” Ailzea says as the book and wood block are set in front of him.

“I know,” the elder responds with a smile that reaches his eyes, forcing him to squint. “I know that I don’t.”

“Hm.”

The young Roatus looks to his barren bookshelves and then back to Tunsen.

“It looked a bit lonely.”

“It is.”

“The wood is lime. It is soft, I am eager to see what you make of it.”

“I’ll have to return your kindness.”

Tunsen shrugs. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

Very suddenly Ailzea is reminded that no one knocks on his door, when the voice of his ancestor fills the room.

It is entirely too loud.

It takes up too much space.

“What business does my groundskeeper have inside?” It demands.

His questioning is simple, but his anger is tangible.

Tunsen says nothing, his back to the Reverend. His smile is tight.

Ailzea always struggled to understand how people were able to wear their emotions on their sleeves like that. He tries, in vain, to conceal the two offerings.

They make eye contact, then his ancestor’s gaze falls on the wooden block on the desk.

The Reverend smiles.

“Face me.”

Tunsen turns.

Ailzea only watches as the elder enters the room fully and snatches his friend off his feet, a gloved hand secured firmly over his face.

There is hardly time for him to register what is unfolding.

A few seconds more pass and the fabric of the glove begins to wilt away.

“Let this be a lesson to you, Ailzea.”

Ailzea does not react.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The cut of the knife has never failed Ailzea before and with the death of his predecessor, he prays that it will do him just one more justice. He hold onto a dagger in his hand as though it is a lifeline.

Though he has only tested it once before, there is a shred of hope within him that his ancestor’s grisly power can be undone. There is an interesting quality to that ability, the undead he created always found their way back to places they frequented when they were still living. The Reverend laughed when telling Ailzea that this was perfect as it emulated the hustle and bustle of a real city, excepting that they all continued to defer to his will intrinsically.

He is thankful for this abrupt memory as it removes the guilt of having dispatched the brute almost as soon as it appears in his head.

Ailzea rounds the corner to the south lawn of the church, mulling his relationship with his late ancestor over as he does. He thinks, maybe, the world is better off that he stays late.

“Tunsen? Are you here?” He asks softly.

There is no real answer, aside from the snarling of the undead. He expected nothing more.

“I came to help.”

More snarling.

The corpse he addresses sits slumped over a weed it lacks the strength to yank out of the ground.

“I do not know how much of the real you is still in there, but I want to apologize for what I am about to do.”

Though his voice is quiet and the steps he takes toward his friend are soft, the daywalkers attention is on him in an instant.

Face marred by a dark spot with sprawling veins that reach for more, a gift from the Reverend, it hisses and snaps its teeth at him. Still he presses on.

When he gets close enough to it, his ancestors' scent rolling off of him, it becomes docile and returns to the stubborn weed.

“You should not have suffered for so long, not for your kindness. I apologize for my cowardice.”

Ailzea grips the dagger in his hand, clean of the Reverend’s blood, and plunges it into his friend’s temple from behind.

There is no startled cry, gurgling, or snarling. The body simply slumps over and onto the ground.

It is silent.

Ailzea lets out a sigh and sits on the ground near the body, pulling his head into his lap.

“I would have done this long ago,” he confides, stroking his fingers through dirty hair. “But he would have just done it again.”

A pleasant hum fills the air as he activates his powers. At this point he is proficient, he has no doubt that it will work.

Only a few minutes pass, he would guess maybe fifteen, before Tunsen starts to stir in his lap.

They sit in silence for a peaceful moment.

“You did not have to do that.” The groundskeeper finally whispers, voice hoarse. “You didn’t.”

“I know.”

“You’re a good boy,” he asserts, reaching a hand to pat his arm. “A very kind boy.”

[abovesn4kes]

Totally forgot to post the rest of these designs here! More to follow soon :-)

Doodles below!

[addamii]

I don’t draw Gideon nearly enough so here’s reverend daughter au Gideon :)

[blacksalander]

Reverend Mother Jessica Atreides

[the-gom-jabbar]

The whole genetics project of the Bene Gesserit may have been dubbed a failure because Paul wasn't a girl but there was nothing stopping Paul and Feyd-Ruatha acting on that sexual tension they had in both book and film.

Paul could have taken Feyd as a third Consort. Just imagine Paul with his Empress Irulan and his wife Chani sitting at his side and Feyd just sprawled on the dais steps just wearing something scandalous like

You were right Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam, wasted potential.