#the prospector tf2

[technicalgator]

⛏️ 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛 🕯️

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Late to the party, but I finally finished the ref for my TF2 oc, The Prospector! A small, scrungly, bushy dwarf man who usually is on the defense with his motion-activated mines and shotgun!

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Ramblings and close-ups below! ⚙️

💡The Prospector is my 10th class TF2 oc, specializing in defensive game modes (Capture the Intel/Point). You’ll usually find him hanging around Engineer the most, as Prospector’s motion-activated mines are perfect to snag cloaked Spies! His melee ranges from his trusty pickaxe to the iconic frying pan, and for his 3rd weapon slot, a short-ranged weapon of some sort!

🕯️The Prospector’s full name is “Benedito ‘Bento’ Ribeiro”, and he originates from Ouro Preto, Brazil; a town with a mining history! He is a 45 latino man at the grand ol’ height of 5”4’ (and is teased endlessly by the other mercs about his height) :,]

⛏️On the battlefield, Prospector is a competitive bastard, thrilled in the high of battle and running on pure adrenaline. His smaller height also serves as an advantage despite the other’s teasing, as you’ll usually see him skittering across the map and is often overlooked >:]

Prospector doesn’t talk as much as most mercs, but will have snarky remarks for Domination lines or light insults. Other than that, you’ll usually hear him mutter insults or swears under his breath in his native language, Portuguese.

🪕Off the battlefield, Prospector is more mellow, quiet most of the times and only talks if he really has something to say. He’ll always try to appear gruff and indifferent, but he’s really an emotional bastard; easily flustered and has a soft spot for certain things (and people), such as his plants!

Prospector has a big soft spot for plants, ranging anywhere from succulents to plants from his home country (like the Walking Iris!). He’ll slowly collect all sorts of flora as a hobby, and if he’s not tending to his plants, he’ll practice music on his harmonica, or indulge in his other hobby; Lapidary!

Being a lapidarist, Prospector collects gemstones of all kinds, either from his own mining adventures or just as a collector, and will turn the gemstones into pieces of art. He has a small collection so far, creations ranging from animals to objects! Usually, a way Prospector shows his way of appreciating (or that he likes you as a mutual/friend) is leaving a hand-shaped gemstone of some kind of design in your living space!

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Anyways, that’s all I have for now, I’m really looking forward to drawing Prospector more, potentially with other mercs! Feel free to also request seeing Prospector interacting with any specific mercs (or even other TF2 ocs!✨). Thanks for sticking around this far and reading about my TF2 blorbo! 💖

[scrumptowne]

happy soldier sunday

sorry for being SUPER inactive, i've been just not happy with much of my art lately but im still gonna post some doodles that i DID like!!

most of it is my tf2 ocs, +1 benry and +1 prospector for @technicalgator (sorry for the ping LMAOO)

[120poundsofsolidusmuscle]

A Preview of my Story, Replica Rodeo

Below is a preview of a TF2 fanfiction up on AO3 that I’ve been working on for a while. It is still in progress and the fourteenth chapter is currently in the works.

SUMMARY:

“After finding the dismembered head of his teammate Spy, Mick Mundy (Sniper) calls upon the RED Team to help figure out "who bloody dunnit". Right when his search seems to be going south, Sniper uncovers a clue that flips their whole perception of who, or rather what, they've been working for the past four years on its head. Friendship amongst men! Dismembered body-part-related drama! Near-Senseless violence! Illegal exprimentation! A myriad of accents excruciatingly written out for all to see! Twelve pages worth of dense, expositionary, prose! Enjoy!”

PROLOGUE

The thing was: 

Not often did the sands of the Badlands turn without the wind—diamondbacks would slink across its surface undetected, then slither back down, into a crevice and back out of sight.  Roadrunners and jackrabbits, also, would skirt across the sand, leaving but a microscopic dent on its surface—Nothing would sway the aeolian dunes.  

 The desert knew its bounds and was content; it kept to itself and proved itself a harsh host to anyone who had unknowingly entered.  

New Mexico, where the Badlands reside, too was a desert—in a sense.  As of 1960 the census declared it had only a little over 90,000 inhabitants—nearly 54,000 less than the population of Jackson, Mississippi that year—the downtown of Albuquerque that of a small neighborhood to the likes of a New York burrow.  Not a soul would come to stay in the desert aside from the occasional band of prospectors or a particularly devoted coal-miner; people only left, went East to Texas, sought new thrills away from the desert’s humdrum.  From these facts stemmed the weariness felt by the Badlands' locals when construction vehicles began to drive the streets of a humble town by the name of Teufort.  

Teufort was, by stereotype, a small town in every aspect:  The town hall was a ten minute walk from the trailer park, the town’s sheriff was childhood friends with the priest, everyone knew anyone you could give a name to, by consequence they were also very inbred and, therefore, all a bit off their rocker.  With the desert as its back door, Tuefort had everything it could need, never needed to change—the construction vehicles that had arrived were out of the scope of most resident’s comprehension.  

That being said, the trucks were not welcome.

Pots and pans and desert stones, anything the people had on them, were thrown at the truck’s vehicles as they passed through.  In reality, the commissioned workers were not after anything in Teufort, only in what the townspeople had left behind.  

As one local recounts: 

They was  jus’  rollin’ in one day, like our ‘ole Tuefort was their house or somethin’!  We was angry, real sore with them folks. I ‘member crotchety ‘ole Darlene done broke every lamp in ‘er house tryna stop that one feller!

[…] Right, right.  Well… In ‘63 that’s when they came.  They claimed the abandoned beef gristle mill as their own, along with that unused blue building right by it.  They stopped comin’ in ‘65, but that’s when all the doctors and agents started to come in.  I’m lucky I still ‘member them faces!  

Nobody knows what happened after that, them lab-coats went into the desert and never came back.  Hm.  ‘Ole Darlene figured they went to live in the mines, anyone who went out dere to see never came back so I figure she must have been right.  

The only thing that ever came after that was that big van.  I reckon they had pris’ners in dere.  My best bet?  Some sort of secret lab, usin’ them lawbreakers as lil guinea pigs.  

Scary to imagine, ain’t it?

But the citizens of Teufort had learned to pay those future distractions no mind.  At that point they had endured five years of vehicular traffic, it was now expected.  Now only a young child would rush outside when it saw a truck coming.  Because of the familiarity that had been built, most people missed the van coming to a stop in (what could be assumed to be) the center of the town.  

CHAPTER ONE

The passenger door opened to reveal a viridian leg, the body of a young woman, no older than twenty-one, followed as she lowered herself out of the car, slipping a little on the loose ground when  she closed the van’s door.  

She was small in stature and wore a simple secretary’s dress, its fabric a trendy purple and its cascade collar viridian, same as her stockings.  She wore no belt, the dress was fitted.  On her feet were a feminine pair of black loafers, her hair, of a similar darkness, was parted down the middle, slicked back, and pulled into a neat roll at her neck.  

With one hand she adjusted her cat eyes, in the other she held a clipboard thick with multiple files.  

“Hi, hello!” She said rather loudly in an attempt to grab the attention of the surrounding townspeople.  Only a few heads turned.  

“OK, good I’ve got your attention,” she continued: “Hi everyone!  How are we all doing?” Her question was met with silent stares.

“Okay… Well I’m doing pretty good too.  Glad to hear it.  Anyway, to talk about how my day is going is not why I’m here. 

“You most likely saw me get out of this sketchy looking van,” she motioned behind her, “and you wouldn’t be to blame for feeling a little apprehensive about the whole me standing here and talking to you,” she was trying to honey her words but it was not succeeding, “Y’know, stranger lady in an ugly purple dress, shouting… you know the drill!  Or maybe you don’t, I’m not sure.

“Again, anyway.  I’ve come to explain all that’s been going on out here for the past several years, I hope you’ve noticed, and also that there may be some changes coming to how you go about your days out here, okay?” 

The small crowd murmured.  

“Alright.  Well, for starters you can call me Miss Pauling, and you may or may not know but this land you're standing on right here is owned by a man by the name of Redmond Mann, in fact I believe he built this town—uh—Teufort!  Teufort.”

Again, she was met with blank stares.  

“Well, in that case…” she opened a folder on her clipboard, “Listen up.

“In exactly one year any land one thousand feet past the chapel will be OFF LIMITS to anyone except authorized personnel. This includes the residents of Teufort, you guys.” 

The crowd stirred. 

After a moment of silence someone spoke: “Well, how will we know where a thousand feet is?”

Miss Pauling replied: “And that is exactly what I was about to get to,” she began to read from a paper, “at one thousand feet past the town’s edge, a barricade will be put up and no one besides authorized personnel will be able to enter without special and specific permission.  If an unauthorized person were to enter the restricted area, such an action will be punishable by death.  Please sign below to confirm that you have read and accepted these terms and will be held accountable for any mal-action you may take. 

“Oh, okay, that brings me to my next point: You guys need to sign these forms for me so that we can’t be brought to court if you decide to trespass.” 

After a moment of silence someone replied: “Uh, lady.  None of us here can read.”

END OF PREVIEW

If this had interested you please consider checking my story out on AO3. I’m fairly new to fanfiction as well as tumblr so any advice regarding promoting it would be greatly appreciated.

[technicalgator]

YOUR SILLY NEEDS TO BE KISSED

He will allow ONE (1) kiss, as a treat <3