#the brawler

Tary and The Brawler!! Brawler belongs to @fuck-it-we-brawl and they are currently fighting!!! Vote for your favorite blonde here

Fanart for @fuck-it-we-brawl 's 10th class OC! I think she's really cool so I wanted to try drawing her. I hope I did her Justice ^^ The Brawler belongs to @fuck-it-we-brawl I'm honestly new to the TF2 side of Tumblr but theres so many cool TF2 OC's & Sonas on this site, I love the creativity.

Alli from Brawl Stars, this is not a finished work, it's a sketch. I'll post the finished work later, support it with a like! 💗💗💗💗

"I want to fucking throw up." Mitch really could feel his breakfast heaving inside him like the ocean in a hurricane. Nausea, a fever, shaking- one glancing at the Detroit native without a lick of context might think he was terribly ill, but despite how Mitch may have felt, this wasn't exactly the case. It wasn't any germ or virus making Mitch feel this way- it was pure unadulterated rage, a feeling that only pitched up every time he looked at the ruggedly handsome older man in front of him. That man, for his part, simply puffed at his cigar in an infuriatingly casual manner, eyeing the Brawler with the sort of detached concern one might have for seeing a complete stranger on the street in distress. "Well, just don't do it on my boots, boy. Honestly, I don't know what the hell your problem is. You'd think you'd been put on a team with the devil himself." "I might's well have been!" Lighting up his own cigarette, Mitch paced back and forth like a wild animal, puffing smoke as if there really were hot coals inside him. He didn't look Auggie in the face once, though occasionally his sharp blue eyes flicked over to the other man's general direction. "This had to be some kind of a sick fucking joke. Whoever put this together had to have known I didn't want a damn thing to do with you that wasn't fighting you and thought it'd be a huge fucking laugh if I had to fight through this tournament with you stuck to my ass like a barnacle." For once, the self righteous smirk dropped from the older man's face slightly, and he sighed, grinding out his cigar in an ashtray and pocketing the rest. "You're looking at this all wrong, Mitch. You got no appreciation for angles. Think. You wanted to go into this all alone, just you against the world. That isn't a noble or heroic tack, boy, that's the sucker's path. But you're not alone. You're with me, the best damn fist fighter in the whole of this company. And you? You got my genes, and inherited my knack for throwing hands. You shut your mouth, suck it up, and follow my lead? We could win the whole damn thing, son." Mitch's eyes flashed. One hand zipped forward, fingers gripping tighter than rigor mortis on Auggie's bandanna, tugging the man toe to toe with him. "You. Call me 'son'. One more fucking time? I'm giving you a matching gouge on the other side of your face. You don't got that right. You gave it up a long time ago. Got it?" "Hey, hey! Relax!" Auggie held his hands up flat. Mitch relinquished his grip slowly. "Fine. Read you loud and clear. But I'm serious. You think on that, maybe consider giving me an inch. Working with me a little. It'll be worth your while." Straightening his bandanna, Auggie sauntered off, probably to the nearest bar. Snorting, Mitch headed toward the medbay. Pen had probably gotten her shot by now and, as much as the girl and the oddball doctor seemed to get along, Mitch didn't want to rely on Medic to play babysitter. He didn't want to rely on anyone. But least of all the man who'd brought him into this world and left.

2021 "The Brawler" 1970's Ferrari 308 GTS, by Carlos Pecino. Restomod Repowered by a 710hp McLaren M840T twin-turbocharged V8.